Page 22 of The Maverick
Yes, I knew why—since I’d hosted Nessa Lambert’s art in my museum. Her style of art spoke to me. Each of her paintings was like a hidden message I couldn’t decode, and I considered myself extremely versed in paintings.
Besides the mysterious artwork, she was also beautiful and unreachable. It was as though she had built an invisible wall around herself, keeping people away. I’d never met a woman like that. Most women wanted me to get close to them so I could know their desires. Those women didn’t want to be with a physically disabled man. They only saw my wealth and success.
“Have you tried walking without a cane?” Kelly asks, pointing to the cane leaning on my chair.
“I have,” I say. “But I prefer my cane. Does that bother you?”
“Of course not.” She smiles and twirls a golden lock of hair. “I just don’t want you to trip when we dance.”
My patience snaps. “Who says we’re going to dance?”
That kind of conversation had occurred too many times. It was hard to find someone who truly saw me for who I was beyond the cane. I had more to offer than what was in my bank account.
My mind wandered back to Vanessa. She and I were similar. We were islands, detached from the mainland. There were things we didn’t want others to know. We were close enough to hop back onto the mainland when necessary, but we preferred being away to protect ourselves. What was she protecting?
She’d been present the day at the museum when Orion revealed his identity to Remington, Royce, Grayson, Forrest, and Arrow. He’d shown them one of my private rooms that held Orion’s precious art that he’d stolen from members of the Trogyn. He’d given it to me to do with as I pleased.
How would I reveal Vanessa’s identity to my family? They’d find out sooner or later about her real name. There had to be a way for her to work under her artist’s name without the public knowing about Vanessa, at least not until she was ready. I had to intercept whatever Emmanuel planned to do.
I needed to find out everything about this fucker.
More importantly, who had Vanessa killed? I needed the entire story.
Slow down.
The muscle on my right leg twitched, and a slight pain shot up my thigh. I knew my body well. Stress showed itself in my injuries. Twitching, aching, numbing, and cramping were all symptoms that told me I had to slow down. I had a habit of trying to do too much. Even my doctor told me to cut back.
Sighing, I stared at my priority list and the names of my enemies. Sometimes, I had to break the societal rulesto get things doneappropriately. Sometimes, punishment for criminals required breaking the law. These fucking laws didn’t help me when I needed them. Rather, they protected the people who destroyed my family. The principal of my school, the police officer who claimed I lied about the “good” boys from prestigious families, and the judge who sided with those families. These were “respected” authorities who were supposed to help me.
Where was the justice in that? Those names were on my shit list too, but they weren’t a priority yet.
Corruption reigned supreme these days. For that reason, my WaterFyre Rising friends and I created the V.A.T.V.—Vigilantes Against the Villains. I never imagined being part of such a unique group of intelligent men who thought beyond the norm.
Below my family’s killers was The Trogyn—a dangerous crime syndicate with ties to powerful people all over the world. They knew my friends had ruined their business and were now retaliating. We had to stop them. It all started when Remington and his friends witnessed a crime by this organization. From that day, the past had followed each of these boys. The Trogyn’s crime businesses ranged from sex trafficking and drugs to money laundering, racketeering, and so much more. If I didn’t get rid of The Trogyn, they’d come for my businesses too. I’d worked too hard for anyone to take them.
Next on the list was to find Joseph Gallo, my seventy-year-old curator. He’d been gone a month, and nothing on the recordings at the museum showed anything worthwhile. Concern warred in me. I hadn’t heard about any dead bodies being reported, so that meant he was still alive. But then again, what if he’d been taken and transported elsewhere? But who would take an old man?
Think positive, Attikus.
I released a sigh as I typed in my next priority: Vanessa Lam.
I sat back, staring at the name. Who was my “wife?” What kind of past had caught up to her? I had to know who was going to live in my house. That thought reminded me I had to move some things around the guest suite, which had its own bathroom, kitchen, and living room. She wouldn’t need to leave that suite if she didn’t want to.
We would remain professional. Our relationship was a business one. I typed in her name in the discreet search engine owned by Orion’s company. A few Vanessa Lams popped into the search. I clicked on an image from Bangor’s Daily News, showing a group of students from the University of Maine. A young girl resembling Vanessa stood with her classmates, holding a tray of seedlings. Joy beamed from her face.
The article stated these were botany students volunteering their time at the Horticulture Club. I dug deeper and discovered my future wife was the top student in her class. She was offered a scholarship to attend Harvard for a masters in botany, but she didn’t go.
Why? What made her turn to art? There was nothing wrong with being an artist, but it was a tough profession. She could have made a stable living as a botanist or a horticulturist. I could see those interests in her paintings now. She’d incorporated all kinds of plants and flowers in them.
This discovery made her even more attractive to me. Would she consider working for Healthy Horizon? My innovative farms would benefit from her knowledge. This was something to discuss later.
Who taught her how to paint?
CHAPTER TWELVE
VANESSA
I wokeup the next day full of vigor. Usually, I’d have slept in on a Saturday, but curiosity burned in me. I blamed it on the dream I had about my future fake husband. It wasn’t the dream I expected. A fake marriage and a quick wedding had muddled my mind. So my subconscious mind devised a sexy wedding night that could never happen. I shivered as the vivid dream replayed in my head. Attikus had been covered in edible paint, and I was the artist spreading it around his body with my hands, mouth, and tongue.
