Chapter 12: The Threat (Daniel POV)
Chapter 12: The Threat (Daniel POV)
I’m sitting on Leo’s mattress, my phone still warm in my hand from Dad’s call. “He’ll hurt you,” I just told him, my voice shaking, and he’s staring at me, eyes wide. “What’s he mean?” he asks, sharp and loud, leaning closer. I drop the phone onto the bed, the springs creaking under me, and rub my face hard. My head’s spinning, Dad’s voice still echoes, low and mean. “End it, Daniel, or your boyfriend pays.” I look at Leo, his paint-stained shirt, his messy hair, and my chest hurts. “He’ll ruin you,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “He told me to stop seeing you, or he’ll come after you. Your art, your life, everything.”
Leo stands up fast, hands on his hips. “I’m not scared!” he snaps, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Let him try. I’ve got three days left, I’ll beat this.” He turns to his easel, the canvas he’s been working on for that buyer, and grabs a brush. Paint’s already on it, black and wet, and he starts slashing at the picture, making the lines sharper. I watch him, my stomach twisting. “Leo, you don’t get it. He’s not bluffing. He kicked me out of the company today. He’ll do worse to you.” He doesn’t stop painting, just shakes his head. “I don’t care. I’m finishing this, selling it, paying rent. He can’t stop me.”
I get up, stepping closer, my boots scuffing the floor. “You’re crazy. He’s got power, money, people. He’ll find a way.” Leo spins around, brush in hand, paint dripping onto his jeans. “And what? I run? Hide? No way. I’m not letting him win.” His eyes are hard, bright, and I want to believe him, but Dad’s words dig in deep. I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off, pointing the brush at me. “Help me deliver this, or get out. I’m doing it.” I sigh, hands in my pockets, and nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”
He finishes the canvas in an hour, wiping his hands on a rag, black streaks smearing everywhere. It’s good, cleaner, like the buyer wanted, but still raw, still him. We wrap it in a sheet, carry it down the stairs, and load it into my truck. The rain’s stopped, but the air’s cold, wet, sticking to my skin. Leo’s quiet on the drive, staring out the window, his leg bouncing again. We pull up to the bar where Max set the meet. The buyer’s there, same cheap suit, sipping a beer. He looks at the canvas when we unwrap it, nodding slow. “Better,” he says, pulling out a wad of cash. “Fifteen grand, like I said.” He counts it out, hands it to Leo, who stuffs it in his pocket, grinning small. “Thanks,” Leo says, and the guy walks off.
We head to his landlord’s place next, a grimy office two blocks away. Leo knocks, and a big guy, Grady, opens the door, bald head shining under a light. “Rent,” Leo says, pulling out the cash, counting it fast. Grady takes it, grunts, and shuts the door. Leo turns to me, his grin bigger now, and grabs my jacket. “I did it,” he says, voice loud, and kisses me hard. His lips hit mine, warm and fierce, his hands gripping tight. I kiss him back for a second, tasting the victory, but Dad’s threat slams into me, cold and heavy. I stiffen, pulling back, my hands dropping to my sides. Leo frowns, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, looking away, the street dark around us. “Nothing. Just tired.” He doesn’t buy it, I can tell, but he lets it go, walking back to the truck. We drive to his place in silence, my hands tight on the wheel, my mind racing. I park, and he climbs out, heading upstairs. I follow, slower, my boots dragging. Inside, he tosses his jacket on a chair, paint cans clinking as he moves them. “Three days left,” he says, turning to me. “I’m safe now. We’re good, right?” I nod, but it feels like a lie, my chest heavy with what Dad said.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, loud and sudden. I pull it out, Claire. I answer, stepping away from Leo, who’s grabbing a beer from the fridge. “Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low. She’s quick, her words sharp. “Daniel, your dad’s hired a PI. He’s tailing Leo now, digging into him. I heard it from a friend at the office.” My stomach drops, cold and fast. “Tailing him? For what?” She sighs, loud through the line. “To scare you. To hurt him. I don’t know, just watch out.” I hang up, clenching my fists, the phone hot in my hand. Leo’s back, holding two beers, offering me one. “Who was that?” he asks, eyes narrow.
“Claire,” I say, taking the beer but not drinking. “Dad’s got a PI on you. He’s serious, Leo.” He sets his beer down, hard, liquid sloshing. “Let him come. I’ve got rent covered, I’m not running.” I step closer, my voice low. “You don’t get it. He’ll find something, your art, your past. I have to protect you.” He laughs, short and rough. “Protect me? I don’t need saving. Relax.” He flops onto the mattress, kicking off his boots, and I watch him, my heart pounding. He’s wrong. Dad won’t stop.
Hours pass, the apartment quiet, just the hum of the fridge. Leo falls asleep, sprawled out, one arm over his face. I sit in a chair, beer still unopened, staring at him. His chest rises slow, steady, paint still on his hands. He looks peaceful, strong, and I hate that I’m the one putting him in danger. Dad’s voice plays over and over, “End it, or he pays.” I clench my fists tighter, nails biting my skin. I can’t let him get hurt. Not for me. I whisper, “I can’t let this happen,” my voice soft, barely there. Headlights flash through the window, bright and quick, cutting across the wall. I freeze, watching Leo sleep, my breath stuck in my chest.