Shooting Scars: The Artists Trilogy 2 Read Online Free Page B

if only for a little while longer.
    I swallowed hard and let out a long, calm breath. “Sophia, we need to think about the next steps. You can’t go home again.” As eloquently and non-invasive as I could, I explained what we needed to do. To my amazement, she didn’t put up a fight, even when I said she’d have to change her name and cut off all contact with her old life. Perhaps she knew that Ben’s well-being was worth every sacrifice.
    “I understand,” she said as she smoothed back Ben’s thick, beautiful hair. My god, he was going to be a lady-killer one day. “But I can’t just up and leave like that.” She snapped her fingers. “We have to go back to the apartment so I can get my stuff.”
    “Your brothers—”
    “Aren’t even in town anymore. They’re in Fresno.”
    “How do you know?”
    She shot me a dirty look. “They might have sold me out, but I’m their sister. I knew their plans for the week before any of this happened.”
    I flipped down the visor, squinting at the sun which was spearing the I-10 with golden flames. “Sophia …”
    “What?”
    I shook my head. “Aren’t you … surprised? Upset? You
are
their sister and they sold you out.”
    She sat back in her seat, silence blanketing us. “Yes. I am surprised and I am upset. I don’t know what to tell you, Camden. One minute I was at home feeding Ben, the next …”
    She sniffed and her whole body started shaking.
    “It’s okay,” I soothed her. “We don’t have to talk about it. We’ll get you home tonight but in the morning, we’re gone. For good. You understand what’s happening?”
    Sophia nodded. “I hope I don’t see LA again.”
    I hoped, for all our sakes, that she was right.

CHAPTER THREE
ELLIE
    I woke up in hell.
    At first, I couldn’t see anything but flashing lights and moving shapes. That alone did not make it hell. Neither did the increasing urge to vomit and the pounding blood in my head that made me wince painfully with each breath.
    What made it hell was when my eyes opened enough to focus on the flashing lights. It was the soft, baby-new glow of morning being scattered by an azure blue curtain that waved back and forth by an open window. Despite the bars that created zebra shadows on the carpeted floor, the window was familiar.
    The curtain was too. I’d picked out that curtain from Bed, Bath & Beyond, thinking the blue matched the surf outside. I’d hung that curtain myself.
    Six years ago.
    I sat up, limbs and head heavy with a tincture of chemicals, panic and total disgust. I was back in our old bedroom, the one I used to share with Javier. I was
back
.
    And the slippery son of a bitch had drugged me.
    I got out of bed and nearly fell flat on my face, my legs tangled in the sheets. The room had stayed the same. Save for the security bars on the window, everything looked exactly as it had before. For six years, it had stayed the same while the man who slept there grew something terrible in his heart. I could see it in his eyes, the coldness, the games. Or maybe I could see now what I couldn’t see then.
    There was no use dwelling on it. He wanted me to swim in this past, that’s why I was here. He wanted the past to drown me. I wouldn’t let it. I wouldn’t let him win. I was Ellie Watt, not Eden White, and I was stronger than this.
    I had no past. There was only now.
    I took the next step – as unsteady as I was – and tried the door. It wasn’t locked.
    I peered out into the hallway and fought the memory that wanted to intrude, that time I discovered Javier slitting the throat of one of his friends. I shot down the memory, threw fresh dirt over it. I moved on and moved down the hall, my feet bare and sticking to the hardwood floor.
    Sunlight dazzled the kitchen, streaming in through the large windows that overlooked the dune grass, sand and ocean. Javier was sitting at the table, drinking orange juice and flipping through the
Los Angeles Times
, eyes darting from page to page.
    It could