Read Online 420 by Kenya Wright, Jackie Sheats - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kenya Wright, Jackie Sheats
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someone cut into the freaking buildings somehow without ruining the mural, and then shipped them off to Miami.
“How much did it cost to get your own work from the street?” I asked.
“A fortune for each one. It’s why I only have a few.”
“How many murals have you painted?”
“I stopped counting at a hundred.”
“Damn.” I shook my head. “Amazing.”
Wolf utilized the wall to add to his work. If windows were there, they became the eye of a creature or the opening to a bulging and beating heart. If there were pipes, then he made them the legs or borders of an image.
And he loved color—golden rays where black should be, heavy coats of aqua blues and grassy greens. The few times he used black and white, they were to make a somber point. Solid black prisoners stuck behind white bars as they peered out onto world bursting of color.
“I can’t believe you’re Wolf.”
“Are you sure?” He smirked. “I could be a rich guy that’s obsessed with him.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You have a pretty big reputation for sneaking into places and painting murals in the living rooms of those who steal your work.”
“Awww. You’ve heard the stories.”
“Those stories are what breathe life into our world. It makes new artists like me, motivated to step in the big boys’ shoes.”
“And big girls.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “And big girls.”
“Come here.” He led me into the further into his gallery past tons of white space where future murals would probably go. Far in the back, the whole wall was covered with a massive ceiling-to-floor curtain. Two big ladders lay on the floor next to tons of new spray cans, some still in packaged boxes.
His fingers shook more against my hand. “I’ve been working on a concept, but I think there’s something missing. I want you to help me.”
I let go of his hand. “What?”
He looked away. “Paint with me.”
I walked around and got in front of him, but he wouldn’t maintain eye contact. “What? I can’t paint with. . .Wolf, the legend. No.”
“Just take a look at the concept first.” He headed over to the side of the curtain and pressed a button near it. Buzzing sounded. The fabric moved away and revealed a mural on a brick wall.
I gasped.
He’d painted me. My red hair swarmed over my head like a cape made of blood. It dripped down my bare body, covering all of the appropriate places, yet lathering me in erotic mystery. I held an empty basket in my hand. My eyes were closed and full lips formed into a straight line. Dark skeletal woods stood off in the distance behind me.
“Paint with me,” he whispered.
“This is. . .”
“It needs your touch.”
“It needs nothing.”
“Trust me, Red.”
“But—”
“Paint with me.”
And I did.
We mounted the ladders against the wall and he followed my vision. Something else needed to be there to finish the story.
The wolf.
I painted my feelings.
I placed a massive wolf that merged within the cape of my hair, consuming me, his jaw locked onto my head, but not piercing the skin, more just forming around me just like that cape. In the image we became one. The predator and prey, neither sure who truly had the other trapped.
We did this for hours. Fumes filled the room. He turned on this special ventilation system that sucked in the vapors. We smoked too. He rolled long blunts filled with sticky leaves that shimmered right before my eyes. When sweat beaded around his forehead, he took off his shirt and turned up the air conditioner.
Damn. How can I paint with him half naked?
On the ladder, I watched him. His whole body was coiled muscle. No wonder he could sneak in and out of places with no problem. I could picture him jumping up walls with ease and racing away in the night before anyone knew that he’d been there.
He looked up at me and froze.
“What’s wrong?” I climbed down the ladder. “You don’t like being stalked? You don’t like it, when someone is being creepy with
“How much did it cost to get your own work from the street?” I asked.
“A fortune for each one. It’s why I only have a few.”
“How many murals have you painted?”
“I stopped counting at a hundred.”
“Damn.” I shook my head. “Amazing.”
Wolf utilized the wall to add to his work. If windows were there, they became the eye of a creature or the opening to a bulging and beating heart. If there were pipes, then he made them the legs or borders of an image.
And he loved color—golden rays where black should be, heavy coats of aqua blues and grassy greens. The few times he used black and white, they were to make a somber point. Solid black prisoners stuck behind white bars as they peered out onto world bursting of color.
“I can’t believe you’re Wolf.”
“Are you sure?” He smirked. “I could be a rich guy that’s obsessed with him.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You have a pretty big reputation for sneaking into places and painting murals in the living rooms of those who steal your work.”
“Awww. You’ve heard the stories.”
“Those stories are what breathe life into our world. It makes new artists like me, motivated to step in the big boys’ shoes.”
“And big girls.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “And big girls.”
“Come here.” He led me into the further into his gallery past tons of white space where future murals would probably go. Far in the back, the whole wall was covered with a massive ceiling-to-floor curtain. Two big ladders lay on the floor next to tons of new spray cans, some still in packaged boxes.
His fingers shook more against my hand. “I’ve been working on a concept, but I think there’s something missing. I want you to help me.”
I let go of his hand. “What?”
He looked away. “Paint with me.”
I walked around and got in front of him, but he wouldn’t maintain eye contact. “What? I can’t paint with. . .Wolf, the legend. No.”
“Just take a look at the concept first.” He headed over to the side of the curtain and pressed a button near it. Buzzing sounded. The fabric moved away and revealed a mural on a brick wall.
I gasped.
He’d painted me. My red hair swarmed over my head like a cape made of blood. It dripped down my bare body, covering all of the appropriate places, yet lathering me in erotic mystery. I held an empty basket in my hand. My eyes were closed and full lips formed into a straight line. Dark skeletal woods stood off in the distance behind me.
“Paint with me,” he whispered.
“This is. . .”
“It needs your touch.”
“It needs nothing.”
“Trust me, Red.”
“But—”
“Paint with me.”
And I did.
We mounted the ladders against the wall and he followed my vision. Something else needed to be there to finish the story.
The wolf.
I painted my feelings.
I placed a massive wolf that merged within the cape of my hair, consuming me, his jaw locked onto my head, but not piercing the skin, more just forming around me just like that cape. In the image we became one. The predator and prey, neither sure who truly had the other trapped.
We did this for hours. Fumes filled the room. He turned on this special ventilation system that sucked in the vapors. We smoked too. He rolled long blunts filled with sticky leaves that shimmered right before my eyes. When sweat beaded around his forehead, he took off his shirt and turned up the air conditioner.
Damn. How can I paint with him half naked?
On the ladder, I watched him. His whole body was coiled muscle. No wonder he could sneak in and out of places with no problem. I could picture him jumping up walls with ease and racing away in the night before anyone knew that he’d been there.
He looked up at me and froze.
“What’s wrong?” I climbed down the ladder. “You don’t like being stalked? You don’t like it, when someone is being creepy with
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