by Lucy Auburn
The camera screen flickers to life and blinks out again, torn and broken. I try pulling the photos up, but a big red sign flashes across the screen: SYSTEM ERROR. Turning off and back on again does nothing.
"I can't believe this." I stare at the camera, certain I must be cursed. "Everything I touch is ruined. Even this. It was my one chance, and..."
Distantly, I hear the sound of the car door slamming. That must be Blake, coming around the rear of the car to tell me I'm a fuck up. He'll probably make fun of me for thinking I could ever pull this off, laugh in my face for believing he was actually falling in love with me, and tell me to get my own ride home, because he's going to drive the Maserati back and leave me here to think about what I've done.
"What's wrong?"
I look up at him as he comes to a stop in front of the broken camera and my shattered hopes and dreams. "I dropped it. I fucked it up. Everything I touch is just... fucked up the instant I touch it."
"It's just one camera, Brenna. I'm sure we can figure out some other way to catch Hass." Kneeling beside me, Blake picks up the lens, which is bent at the end, and fiddles with it for a moment. "The mount just needs to be replaced. Until then, I bet a pair of pliers would hold it together, and I know Cole keeps a toolbox in his trunk. It can be fixed."
"But the camera is ruined."
"Let me see it."
As I hand the body of the camera over our hands brush together, and a spark of electricity goes off inside me. It's unfair that a cold, distant statue of a boy should be so impossibly warm, should give me so much comfort with a simple gesture or a few reassuring words. Watching him mess with the camera, testing different things, I wonder why he's doing this—actually helping me.
It almost makes me think he might really...
"There." Holding the camera up, Blake shows me the clear, bright screen, absent of any glitches or the red flashing warning sign. "I just had to blow some dirt off the sensor, take the battery pack out, and restart it. Now it's like new... mostly. That smudge of dirt won't go away, but you can still photograph crimes with it. Just don't try to win any photography contests."
"The lens, though." I take a deep breath in, trying not to let the tears I'm holding inside fall from the corners of my eyes and spill down my cheeks. The last thing I need is to look weaker than I am in front of Blake Lee. "How will we attach the lens?"
"Here—hold this."
He hands me the camera body, grabs the lens, and strides around to the back of the car, where a small, streamlined trunk barely takes up any room. As he opens the latch and grabs a toolbox inside, I look back towards the end of the runway, where three girls have been dragged off the plane and down its stairs. They're standing in the cold, shivering in fishnets and flimsy clothing, all of them thin, pale, and impossibly made up.
At first I wonder why there are three of them, until I realize that of course Hass would want options. To him these aren't three human lives; they're a menu of flesh, and he gets to pick which one he wants. Like ordering a sushi roll or putting your favorite color of tennis shoes in your cart online.
I wonder what will happen to the two girls he doesn't pick. Maybe they'll be lucky and get to go home, but somehow I doubt that. More likely they have other billionaires to service in exchange for money—teenage billionaires, or ones in their sixties, it won't matter either way to the men brokering them off for money. No doubt they came here believing they would get the American dream, or some semblance of it, not realizing they'd simply be sold to the highest bidder and kept in fear for the rest of their lives.
An engine rumbles to life around the curve of the road, and moments later the nose of a silver sports car turns down the asphalt. I watch it go by and swing towards the tiny airport: Ferdinand Von Hassell, here to inspect his goods. It's now or never—if Blake hasn't fixed the telephoto lens, then we have to figure out a backup plan, fast. Otherwise we'll lose our chance to take Hass down—if that's even possible. Blake is starting to make me wonder if these rich assholes will get to do what they want, no matter how the rest of us try to take them down for their numerous sins.
I watch as the silver sports car parks, and know we don't have much time. "Blake, tell me that telephoto lens will go back on the camera."
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it looks like the mount is permanently fucked." Pacing around to my side of the car, he holds up a much smaller, less useful lens. "The good news is, I found the kit lens in the camera bag. So you can at least use the camera."
"How far will the kit lens be able to get us?"
He shrugs, looking annoyed. "You're the artist. You tell me."
"I'm not an—you know what, whatever. Let's just do this."
Grabbing the lens from his hand, I do my best not to touch my fingertips to his skin, and find myself blushing anyway. Touching him, not touching him—all of it is just me trying to navigate myself around the undeniable attraction I feel to him and the rest of the Elites. No matter what I do, no matter how I act, I'll feel this way as long as they're around to make me feel it. So I'll be better off the sooner I leave Coleridge, since the only thing that waits for me here is temptation, secrecy, and lies.
Twisting the lens onto the body of the camera, I flick on the screen and check to see how far into the airport it can zoom. My heart plummets as I twist the lens as far as it can go only to get no details at all, not even more than a slim slash of pixels where each of the girls stands. The only way to get this finished and done with is to cross the street and hide out somewhere close enough to see what's going on—which means putting myself at far more risk than I originally bargained for.
"What's wrong? Is it not working?" Blake hovers unusually close to me, acting invested in this for the first time since the day started. "You can always try blowing dust out of the sensor."
"It works," I tell him, "but I'll have to get closer if we want anything good enough to go on the blog."
"What—can't you just put blurry, pixellated photos on there and tell everyone it was Hass? You're just an anonymous blogger, after all. It's not like you're a journalist. Or this is the aughts. No one will give a shit if it's just speculation."
"I will. And so will the cops. Not to mention the judge we need to sign a warrant so the police can find all the evidence they need at Hass's family home. If we're gonna do this, we have to do it right—even if that means getting closer to the action."
Blake stares at me, something slightly anxious in his eyes. "But they almost killed you the last time you dug into them."
I frown at him, yet again puzzled and irritated by all the vagueness. Who is 'them?'"
He closes his mouth. "Nevermind. You don't need to know."
"Of course." I grit my teeth together, frustration building inside me. "I'd give anything to know the truth, but you'll never tell me. Some kind of love that is."
Yanking the camera strap around my shoulder, I head towards the road, intent on finding a place to hide near the airport hanger and getting the proof I need to take down Hass—and get the hell out of here, for good. I hear footsteps in the leaves behind me, and fume at the fact that Blake is following me.
Whirling around, I yell at him, "Go back! I don't need your help."
"I thought you wanted to be protected." He advances on me instead of backing away, brown eyes intent on my face, his breath fogging in the cold winter air as the sun sets. "You said that you wanted one of us here just in case something happened. Well, I'm here. And I'm not going to let you out of my sight."
"I should've just gone alone." For some reason I'm breathing heavily, even though I haven't done anything at all. My heart is racing, my blood pressure rising, every nerve on end—all because he's standing close to me, moving closer by the second, his mouth saying things I don't understand. "Don't follow me. We'll be more conspicuous together."
Blake frowns, narrowing his eyes at me. "Is this because I said I'm falling in love with you? Do you feel awkward now? Because that's a stupid reason to put
your life at risk."
"No, it's—that's not it."
"I can take it back," he says, voice resentful and churlish, sounding nothing like a young man in love. "I don't like you at all. I'm not falling in love with you."
I sigh, shaking my head at him. "You're not very convincing, which sucks because until now, I thought you were definitely wrong about how you felt. But the reason why I don't want you with me has nothing to do with... this." I motion back and forth between us, my fluttering fingers encapsulating everything this is, no words for what it could be or isn't. "Someone needs to be lookout in case I'm caught, and if you're next to me you'll just be caught too. More importantly, there's no reason for two of us to go when only one person is needed to operate the camera. I can be quiet, I can go in and out—but not with you breathing down my neck."
"I'm very quiet," he says with a frown. "I get your point, but..."
"But what?"
"I don't like sending you off into danger."
This apparent crush he has on me, fleeting as it will hopefully turn out to be, is going to be a problem. "I need you to let me do this. Whether it's dangerous or not, it's what has to happen."
His nostrils flare and his jaw tightens in frustration. "Fine. But only if you let me do this."
"Let you do—what!?"
Before I can step back or slap him away, he reaches out, puts his hand on my waist, and draws me close. "A kiss for good luck."
"Luck?"
"And to figure out if what I'm feeling is real." His eyes dance with an uncharacteristic mischief, and I feel like I'm seeing things. "You kissed me last time. This time, I'll kiss you."
Leaning down, he meets my lips in a scorching kiss that shocks and delights me.
It's the storm after the calm.
Energy meeting and clashing in the heavens.
Two statues coming to life.
We kiss with a passion I didn't know I had before now. My hands go limp, the camera strap hanging from my shoulder as I lean towards him and open my mouth to his scorching tongue and lips.
I never knew that so much passion was hiding behind his still, serious face. The way he kisses me is completely different from every interaction we've ever had before. It's passionate, all-consuming, and, most shocking of all, actually sweet.
When he steps back he takes with him my belief that he's nothing but a still statue, along with the breath in my lungs and my ability to stand up straight. I'm practically swaying on my feet—and what's worse, I have to get across the street in just a few seconds, because Hass is getting out of his car and heading towards the plane and its passengers.
"I have to go." Looking up into Blake's brown eyes, I'm suddenly struck by the realization that his hands on my waist are the only thing holding me up and keeping me steady. "You weren't kidding, were you? It wasn't a prank."
"When I said I'm falling in love with you? No." He shakes his head, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and my knees briefly tremble. "I was deadly serious. And so is what you need to do, so if you're in any danger, I'm going to call the authorities. No matter what Cole says about dragging the cops into this. So stay safe."
"That's the plan," I tell him lightly, but the truth is, so far today has gone nowhere near to plan.
So let's hope this last, final bit is different than the rest has been.
I need a win.
Chapter 15
I have to hike across the street to get to the airport hanger parking lot. Hass and his thugs are around the corner to the back, so I head towards the front, crossing my fingers that no one will be on lookout.
Everything about this is dangerous.
As I find some crates in the airport hanger to hide behind, I find myself wondering why I didn't make Blake do this instead. But the truth is I wouldn't trust him to pull it off the way I will. This is personal. It was my brother who was killed because of whatever Hass is involved in. Not to mention he's too tall to fit into the spot between crates I plan on wedging myself into to get a good view of Hass's criminal activities.
There's a good twenty feet between my current hiding spot and the one I need to get into to film Hass. I can see his tall, angular form get out of his car and pace back and forth, cell phone to his ear. The passenger side door opens a bit, and a woman's leg reaches out, resting for a moment. I'd recognize those custom designer shoes anywhere.
Georgia Johnson herself is here with her shitty not-quite-ex boyfriend.
My mind races. I wonder if she knows what he's here for—if she's involved too, or if he's kept her in the dark. I'd believe a lot of things of Georgia, but not that she supports human trafficking.
Hass turns his back to me as he raises his voice on the phone, so I take this chance, the only one I might get. It feels like my footsteps, quiet as they are, ring out through the empty airport hanger, but Hass doesn't turn as I run in a crouch towards the sliver of a break between two crates near the hanger door. Sliding into my spot, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse.
If I'm caught right here, right now, no excuse I come up with will fly. They'll know what I'm up to, and if Blake doesn't pull me out in time, I could wind up just as dead as my brother.
It's hard to keep my hands from shaking as I flip the camera on. Hard not to think that Hass, who is maybe fifteen feet away from me at the most, will hear even the quietest of noise from the shutter as I experimentally take a few photos of him.
This close, I can hear his side of the phone conversation, and see Georgia's impatient face as she waits in the car for him.
"No, the pickup was supposed to take ten minutes."
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Well, bring it to me later on then." A pause. Hass paces away.
I wonder why it is that he hasn't gone to the other side of the lot, past the plane, to see the women—from where he is they're not even visible, no doubt standing outside in the cold freezing to death. I'll have to move as he does in order to get close enough to photograph them. There's a spot I can get to, right outside the doors behind a parked baggage car, but I'll have to wait until Hass has walked past to run out and crouch behind it.
Georgia's designer shoe taps out an impatient rhythm on the asphalt as she waits for Hass. The evening light is draining from the air as the sun sets; soon it'll be even colder, the half-dressed girls shivering in their skimpy clothes. I can't seem to stop darting glances at Georgia, wondering how it is that she's here, with him, doing this. It's hard to decide which thought is worse: that she knows, or that she doesn't know.
"Hass!" Stretching up and out of the car, Georgia aims a frustrated pout in his direction, stopping him in the middle of his phone call. "How much longer is this little detour going to take? Our reservation is in fifteen minutes, and you said we'd be celebrating our three month anniversary."
I take a few photos of her, more to get used to focusing the lens than anything. One in the middle, as she takes a step forward, strikes me. Playing them back on the screen, I zoom in on her leg and suck in a breath as I spot bruises in a familiar formation, spaced apart like a handprint.
No doubt she'd say, if she heard my worry for her, that she can handle him. That it's none of my business. Even, that she'd get me back for getting involved if I try to poke my nose in. After all, she didn't like it very much when I waved my knife around in response to him pushing her against a wall and groping her.
Having sympathy for Georgia Johnson is like having sympathy for the devil himself. But there it is anyway, a hot knife of worry in my stomach. Even after everything she's done to me, I wouldn't wish this on her—because she's not my worst enemy when he's standing right there next to her.
Into the phone, Hass, says, "Just give me a minute." Then he covers the mouthpiece with his hand—apparently he's too rich of a dumbass to know the mute button exists—and stalks towards Georgia, advancing on her until she shrinks back against the hood of his sports car. "I'm in the middle of some very important business. So your fucking reservatio
n can fucking wait, you addle-brained dumbass. Some of us do more with our inherited wealth than shop online all day and stuff our faces with fattening food."
I wince at the way he towers over her, how he reaches up to tug on a lock of her red hair, his movements decidedly non-playful. There's a threat written in every tense line of his body, but I find that I can't lift the camera to take a single photograph, because my arms are shaking and he's standing so close that I'm afraid I'll be Georgia next if he hears me.
Georgia protests in a low, shaky voice. "I do not eat fattening food."
I have to roll my eyes. Of course she would object to that part, which matters the least out of all of it. She should be shoving him away, telling him not to insult her. If it were me or another one of the girls she would. But shockingly, her take-no-prisoners attitude seems to disappear when Hass is around.
"Get back in the car, Georgia." Hass sneers at her and opens the passenger door, shoving her forward. "Mind your business and stay in there."
"Ow!" Lifting her foot, she rubs at an ankle that must've twisted as he shoved her. "What is wrong with you? Just tell me what you're doing. It's our anniversary, Hass. Nothing can be more important than that."
"Nothing?" His voice goes low and still, and I feel my body respond to the implicit threat in it, my heart racing and my adrenaline pumping. "You stupid bitch. This is more important than anything you'll ever do with your pathetic life."
Grabbing her wrist, he yanks her and spins her so hard that she cries out. I go still and cold as he shoves her back, her stumbling steps bringing her closer and closer to my hiding spot by the second.
As he advances on her, he lectures her in a cold and condescending voice. "I brought you along because you wouldn't stop whining, but make no mistake, Georgia, I don't need you here." With a suddenness that shocks me, he raises his arm and backhands her across the face so hard even my teeth rattle. Then he grabs her elbow and yanks her close to him, his face inches away from her reddening cheek as he says, "If you don't behave yourself, I'll leave you behind in this airplane hanger overnight. Maybe a little exposure will give you the sense to leave well enough alone."