Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Finally, a spark.
Something human.
Something hurt.
Something dangerous.
I believe him, too.
I believe he was the rock star he claims to be because he’s taken this so personally. And if his ceramics weren’t paying the bills, he didn’t skimp on the quality. They have this attention to detail that’s so rare.
Crazy or not, the man is gifted—and now that gift is useless.
All because he was born in the wrong time.
All because we live in a time where art can be fabricated by an algorithm.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying to find sympathy. “I really am. You didn’t deserve that, Lee, but you can’t believe it justifies this. Don’t you see? You can’t put that broken piece of your life back together by carving away someone else’s.”
“Like hell.” He snarls, flicking the gun up again. “What do you know? Kane Saint’s company took my soul. He took it, he used my work to train his beast. Just coaxed it into his palm like a butterfly and then he squashed it.” He makes a fist, rattling it until I see the veins bulge up his arm. “And all I could do—all I could fucking do—was watch it get murdered in slow motion. Gone in a few weeks. All so heart and soul and beauty could be replaced by a zombie running on a prompt. It’s not just a crime against me, Miss Blackthorn. It’s an atrocity against humanity—and it’s up to me to make it right, starting tonight.”
Yikes.
The last piece clicks into place.
Robin Hood level delusions of grandeur.
There’s nothing worse than when someone believes they’re the victim, taking up a noble cause.
It’s the kind of thought that creates assassins, tyrants, and terrorists.
I bite my lip so hard it hurts, realizing I’m face-to-face with a loose cannon.
“And you know what happened next?” he growls, lowering his gun again and pacing the small space. The wind whistles overhead, howling against the doors above. “My whole fucking life imploded.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but he’s not looking at me anymore, too lost in his own shredded ego.
Then his face twists and there’s more than tormented rage.
“The people who were supposed to care—friends I knew for years—they blamed me for feeding my work into the training engine.”
Oh, no.
I see it now, the picture he’s painting. The poor artist whose life work has been destroyed, transformed into a hated laughingstock on top of it.
“My wife.” His voice scrapes like rust. “When I needed her most, she told me she couldn’t deal with it anymore—with me. She took the kids. And guess what, princess? The courts sided with her. No visitation rights. They said I was out of work. They called me unstable.” He spits on the floor.
“That’s awful,” I say. Awful and a hundred percent true.
His gaze snaps back to me.
“That’s nothing coming from you. You crawled into his bed. You played house with him, one big happy family after he destroyed mine.” He swings the flashlight, illuminating his face for a heartbeat. Not so empty anymore. There’s a crazed, violent spark in his eyes. “But maybe you sticking around isn’t an annoying mistake. What if it’s karma?”
I don’t know if he’s seeing me or my dead body.
It’s terrifying, watching him unravel more by the second.
He’s not remotely healthy.
It’s not hard to see why his wife must have fled. I’m sure the income and social humiliation didn’t help, but the mild-mannered interior designer and dad turned dangerous.
He became consumed.
All that killer obsession fixed on Kane and anyone close to him by default.
Not the company.
Not the executives or investors who decided to twist their own founding vision.
That poor woman must’ve been so scared for their kids if he started lashing out like this.
There’s no room for revenge in any relationship.
Holding my breath, I move slowly, pushing my hands up in front of me as I stand haltingly. I treat him like the unpredictable wild animal I don’t dare frighten.
“What are you doing? Don’t move!” he screams.
“My leg was cramped. Sorry. I’m staying right here.” I press my back against the wall. Not a threat, not a threat. “It sounds like you’ve had it super rough.”
“Yeah, well…” He scratches his neck. “It never would’ve happened if it wasn’t for that money-grubbing jockstrop bringing in enough cash to turn OptiSynth into a monster. He was the face of it, you know. The one they trotted out to bring more investors in. Dumb fucking ice-freak can’t be good for much else.”
I nod, inwardly wincing.
“He fed the monster. He brought it to life. He robbed us blind!” His gun jabs the air and I jump. “Fuck, if he hadn’t gotten all the wrong people on board, if it hadn’t launched, I wouldn’t be ruined. At least, I wouldn’t have been tricked into slashing my own throat. And not just me. So many people, kids just starting out who’ll never get to live off their creativity. The children, lifeless, and their children’s children.”