Chapter 13: The Tail (Leo POV)
Chapter 13: The Tail (Leo POV)
I’m standing by my window, the room dark except for a streetlight cutting through the blinds. Daniel’s voice is still in my ears, soft and shaky. “I can’t let this happen,” he whispered while I was half-asleep on the mattress. Headlights flashed across the wall, bright and fast, and I sit up now, rubbing my eyes. He’s in a chair, staring at me, his face tight. “What was that light?” I ask, my voice rough from sleep. He doesn’t answer right away, just looks at the window, then back at me. “Nothing,” he says, but his hands are clenched, white at the knuckles. I don’t buy it. I get up, barefoot, and pull the blinds apart. There’s a car parked across the street, black and quiet, a guy inside holding something, a camera. He’s snapping photos, the flash popping quick.
“Hey!” I yell, loud enough to wake the whole building, and yank the window open. Cold air hits me, sharp on my skin. The guy looks up, smirks, and starts the car. I turn to Daniel, pointing outside. “Who’s that?” He stands, slow and stiff, and steps over. He looks out, his jaw tightening. “The PI. My dad’s guy. Claire warned me.” My stomach twists, hot and fast. “He’s taking pictures of me? For what?” Daniel rubs his face, hard, and mutters, “To mess with us. To scare me off you.” I grab my boots, pulling them on quick, laces flapping. “Let’s get him.”
We’re out the door in seconds, my boots pounding down the stairs, Daniel right behind me. The street’s wet, puddles shining under the lights, and the car’s still there, engine rumbling now. I run at it, yelling again. “Hey! Stop!” The guy laughs, loud and mean, and peels out, tires squealing. Daniel grabs my arm, pulling me back as the car swerves around a corner, gone. I shake him off, breathing hard, my hands in fists. “He’s laughing at us! What’s he want?” Daniel steps back, hands in his pockets. “Proof. Something to use. Dad’s not playing, Leo.” I glare at the empty street, my chest tight. “Let him come. I’m not hiding.”
Back inside, my apartment feels smaller, the air heavy. Daniel sits on the mattress, head down, while I grab a canvas from the stack. It’s blank, rough, and I set it on the easel. My phone buzzes on the table, loud in the quiet, and I pick it up, Max. I answer, keeping my voice steady. “Yeah?” He’s quick, sounding annoyed. “Got another buyer, Leo. Likes your stuff, offering ten grand. But word’s out, those rumors from that video? They’re killing your buzz. People think you’re trouble.” I grip the phone harder, paint still under my nails. “Trouble? It’s my life, not theirs. Set it up.” He grunts. “Fine, but you better deliver. Tomorrow.” I hang up, tossing the phone back, and it clatters against a paint can.
I grab a brush, dip it in black, and start slashing at the canvas. Hard lines, fast strokes, my arm moving like it’s fighting something. Daniel watches me, quiet, his eyes following every move. “What’s that one?” he asks, voice low. I don’t look at him, just keep painting. “Doesn’t matter. It’s for the buyer. I’ve got two days left, I’m not stopping.” He stands, stepping closer, his shadow falling over the easel. “You’re pushing too hard,” he says, soft but firm. I stop, brush dripping, and turn to him. “And you’re not pushing enough. Your dad’s got a guy on me, and you’re just sitting there.” He flinches, like I hit him, and steps right up to me.
“Leo,” he says, grabbing my shoulders, “I’m trying to keep you safe.” His voice is tight, his hands warm through my shirt. I drop the brush, it hits the floor with a thud, and kiss him. It’s quick, hard, my lips smashing into his, paint smearing onto his jacket. He kisses back, stiff at first, his hands sliding to my neck, but it’s not like before, something’s off, strained. I pull back, breathing fast, and look at him. His eyes are dark, distant, not meeting mine. “What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice sharp. He shakes his head, stepping away. “Nothing. Just tired.”
I don’t believe him. He’s hovering now, pacing my small room, hands in his pockets again. I go back to the canvas, slashing more paint, red this time, my heart pounding loud. Hours pass, the painting taking shape, a jagged face, angry lines, maybe him, maybe me. Daniel’s quiet, sitting again, watching me work. My phone’s dead, but his buzzes, loud and sudden, cutting through the silence. He pulls it out, stares at the screen, and his face goes tight, pale. I step over, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Who’s that?” He doesn’t answer, just keeps staring, his thumb hovering over the phone. I grab it from him, quick, and read the text, his dad. “End it by tomorrow, or he’s done.” My chest goes cold, and I shove the phone at him. “What’s this?”
He pulls it back, fast, shoving it in his pocket. “Nothing,” he says, voice flat, but his hands shake. I step closer, right in his face, my voice loud. “Don’t lie, what’s he doing to you?” He looks at me, eyes wide, but doesn’t say a word, just stands there, breathing hard, like he’s hiding something big.