by JA Huss
Lily is standing over my camera tripod, looking very much like she’s trying to find the right button to play back the footage I just took.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, my God,” she says, jumping back. “Sorry. It’s just you never show me any of your work. Did you just…” She looks at the camera. “You know…”
“Take pictures?” I say, walking over and removing the camera from the tripod and taking it into the kitchen so I can lock it inside the safe. “Yes. But if you think I’m showing you, you’re out of your mind.”
“I can see them all online, you know. I have seen them all online.”
“I know,” I say, shutting the safe. “But those are all finished. You know I don’t like to share the raw images.”
Lily stares at me for a long second. Like she’s seriously thinking things through. I can practically see her mind whirling. “If you got it, flaunt it,” she says. “Just embrace it, sis. I mean, how many women can say they make money with their bodies and it doesn’t involve sex?”
“I flaunt it quite enough, thank you,” I say, motioning her towards the door. “And there’s no way you’ll make your class if we stop at the theater for coffee. So I’ll walk you back on campus and we’ll grab one from the street vendor.”
“That’s no fun,” she says, slightly whiny. I open the door and we both walk through. “The whole point was cinnamon, Katya.”
“We’ll get cinnamon the next time you show up, providing that you have more time. You know the line over at the theater will be out the door at this time of day.”
I don’t really expect a fight from her. And I don’t get one. Lily is not too confrontational. Her opinions are as strong as anyone’s, but she’s rarely up for a fight. Especially when she knows I’m right.
So we twine our arms together and walk the three blocks down to campus, stopping at the corner of Laurel and College for a coffee.
“Did you hear about the zombie biker thing this weekend?” Lily asks, once we get our coffee and we’re headed towards her class in the Clark Building.
“Now why would I ever care about that?” I say, faking a smile as I take a sip of my drink.
“Oh, please. I know all about your sordid history, Katya.”
I almost choke. “What?”
“The tattoos?” She gives me a sideways glance from the corner of her eye. “Come on. You were into a guy like that once for sure. I never saw him, but I remember you sneaking out of the house after you thought I was asleep every time a motorcycle came near. And now that you’re back… well, why not hook up again? He’s still here, right?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I never had a biker boy. And no, that guy is not still here. He graduated a long time ago and moved away, just like everyone else.”
“Bummer,” Lily says. “Well, this is me.” She motions to the Clark Building. “Wish me luck on that presentation. If that stupid Brittany messes me up, I will kick her ass.”
“You will not.” I laugh. “I can’t even picture that in my wildest dreams.”
“I won’t, but I’ll want to.” And then she turns, waving over her shoulder, and disappears into a crowd of college kids as they all climb the stairs and enter the building.
I finish my coffee as I walk back the way we came. I won’t be able to put her off the Fort Collins Theater for much longer. It’s a very popular place with the students. It’s a restaurant, coffee shop, and theater. They have live events every once in a while, but mostly it plays those artsy indie films that always end up with awards only pretentious people know about. And this week, it’s a haunted house for Halloween.
But I won’t have to confront that place today and that’s the only thing that matters.
I will be taking the alley back to my building, unwilling to chance another trip down College in full view of Oliver’s office window. I want to look up there so bad as I cross the street, but it’s windy, so I duck my head into it and keep on track, turning left into the alley that will hide me for three blocks.
When I get back into my apartment, I take my clothes off again, tie the silky tea-green robe around my body, and get the camera from the safe.
I don’t edit it. I wasn’t recording the audio and I know my face was not in the frame, so why bother. There’s really nothing on there but his words on my breasts.
It’s enough. It’s always been enough.
I open my laptop, pull up the website, Hook-Me-Up, and log in.
No messages flash from my little mailbox icon in the upper right corner, but that’s not surprising. My profile is private.
What does take me by surprise are the little red “like” hearts and the one-new-view alert on each of my three previously uploaded videos.
Someone watched them.
And they left me a video response in the closed comments.
Chapter Three - OLIVER
“Your fucking sister, man. You need to rein her in.” Corporate says those last few words with staccato emphasis, like he’s on edge.
“Which one?” I sigh. Fucking sisters. And then I press send on the video I just made, sitting back in my chair, enthralled with the idea that Katya Kalashova will be watching it very soon.
“Ariel,” West says, throwing up his arms and then walking across the room to slump down on the couch placed against the far wall. “How in the hell does she insert herself into my life like she’s been there forever? Did you know she and Tori are suddenly BFFs?”
“Hmmm,” I say.
“Right? No good, right?”
Weston Conrad might look a little panicked. But… well, I can’t blame him. My sisters are what most people would call… wild. Even Belle, who is the tame one, has a very unusual dark side.
“Are you gonna try to tell me this has nothing to do with what went down a couple weeks ago? Because if so, I’ll save you the trouble. I don’t buy it. Victoria is obsessed, man. Fucking obsessed.”
“With Ariel?”
“No, you dumbass. With my parents.”
“What? Why?”
“They called me up the other day, said they were coming for a visit and they want to meet Ethan. Said they might never get another grandchild, so they’re all in for this adoption thing. Tori threw a fucking fit.”
“Fuck.”
“Fuck is right. Your dirty parents, blah, blah, blah. Buying children, blah, blah, blah. Over my dead body. Etc., etc., etc.”
“Well, why doesn’t she tell you what she really thinks?” I laugh, rubbing my hand down my face.
West shoots me a look that makes it very clear he does not find this funny. “So now we’re in Fort Collins. Staying at your sister’s house, Oliver.”
“For how long?”
“Until my parents back off, she said.”
“How long’s that?”
“I dunno,” he snaps. “Do I look like I know how long I’m going to be held hostage in Shrikeville? You need to tell Ariel to talk her down for me, OK? You need to ask her to—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m not getting involved in your bullshit. Fuck that. I don’t even like you.”
“Scared?” West says, unsmiling.
“Uh, yeah. Dude, I don’t fuck with my sister’s plans. We get along because I keep my mouth shut and let her do whatever the hell she wants.”
“Well, that certainly worked with Cindy,” he says, half laughing. “Mysterious swooped right into your territory and took over.”
I sneer at him. “Like I could stop that after the fact.”
“Look,” West says. “Do you really want Tori hanging out with Ariel? Can you even imagine the trouble they will cause? I mean, I get you know what your sister’s capable of, but you have no clue how crazy Victoria Arias can be.”
“I have an idea,” I say. “Maybe we weren’t close after that shit went down in college, but Pax filled me in about the two of you. If she does something crazy—”
“She will, Oliver. They are planning something, I
just know it. And you’re the only one who can figure out what it is so we can put a stop to it. Do you understand that? I mean, can’t you talk to her? Just a quick, ‘Hey, did you know Victoria is kinda psycho? Maybe you should send her packing and save this town some trouble?’”
“Right.” I laugh. “I say that to Ariel and she becomes even more interested. I don’t think you know her very well. Cindy is the calm sister in this family. Belle is a hard-ass like you’ve never seen before. She took lessons from my Uncle Ford. Who, by the way, is Five’s father, just to give you an idea of what that means. And Jasmine spends her days tattooing bikers with my batshit-crazy uncles. We just better hope Ariel doesn’t get them all together because things will go down.”
“This is all your fault.”
“My fault?” I laugh. “Victoria is the instigator in this whole mess. Don’t pass this off on me.”
“Pass what off?”
Corporate and I both whirl around to find Tori and Ariel standing at the top of the stairwell.
“Yeah,” Ariel says. They both step forward into my office. “What are you talking about?”
“Just how long you guys are gonna be in town,” I say, directing that statement to Victoria.
She hates me. But I don’t take it personally. I think she hates everyone but Weston and the new kid they’re adopting.
“As long as necessary,” she replies, narrowing her eyes. “If Weston’s parents, and I use that word to be polite, think they’re going to get their claws into my child, they’ve got another thing coming.”
“They just want to meet him, Tori. For fuck’s sake.”
“Why?”
“Why?” West asks. “Because I’m adopting him. We’re getting married. They’re my parents. They love me.”
I wait for an explosion from Tori. I do kind of agree with her on this. The Conrads are suspicious as hell. I’ve tried to look into their past, but it’s nothing but photographs in the society pages of the Boston Globe and board meetings on the long list of charities they fund.
Everyone has dirt. So when you can’t find it easily, red flags abound.
“I know they love you,” Tori says, playing it cool. Her beautiful face—and there’s no denying this woman’s beauty—lights up with a smile as she walks over to her man and entwines their arms together. “But I don’t love them. I don’t trust them, or like them, or want anything to do with them.” She blinks her violet eyes innocently as she gazes up at West. “Sweetie.”
“Whatever.” West sighs. “They’re not coming here, so no need to dwell.”
“Hey, you know what?” Ariel says, a devious glint of mischief flashing in her eyes. “There’s a house for sale on Mountain Avenue, right down the street from mine. You should go look at it, you guys.”
“No—”
“Oh, man. I love that street,” Tori pipes up.
“Houses never come up for sale,” Ariel continues, undeterred.
“No,” West repeats. “We’re not buying another house. I just paid off the one we have in Burbank, Tori. We don’t even have the money. And who the fuck needs a headhunter in Fort Collins, Colorado, anyway?”
“Oh, we have lots of million-dollar tech companies down in the metro area, Weston.” That’s Ariel. And now I see what West was talking about. These two are definitely up to something. “And FoCo airport isn’t far away. You guys have that jet, right? You don’t even have to drive down to Denver International to get out of here. You can fly anywhere you need to go.”
“Did you put her up to this?” West asks Tori.
Another innocent batting of her eyelashes from Miss Arias. “Me? Why, no. We’re just good friends. Don’t friends want to live close to each other? And besides, Ellie and Mac already live in Colorado too. I bet Cindy comes home.” Tori looks at me. “Don’t you think Cindy will move home, Oliver? And that Pax, he’s smitten with her. He’ll live anywhere she wants.”
“No,” West says, determined.
“We could sell the Burbank house. It’s worth a lot more than the houses here, for sure.”
“Tori, no.”
“What’s going on?” Every head turns towards the stairwell where Cindy and Paxton are walking into my office.
“Shit,” West and I say together.
“Look!” Tori says. “See! I told you!”
“Oh, my God,” Cindy says. “I feel like I haven’t been home in forever.” She runs over to Ariel and they hug, like they didn’t just see each other two weeks ago.
I glare at Pax. He glares back. “What the fuck happened to you?” I ask, motioning towards the black eye he’s sporting.
“Um—” Pax says.
“Dad got a little crazy this morning,” Cindy says, her shuffling feet giving away her apprehension about the encounter.
I can’t help it. I laugh. “Is that why he was outside waving his arms around like a maniac twenty minutes ago?”
“That would be correct,” Pax says, walking over to the little makeshift bar I have set up in a corner. He pulls down a glass, gets some ice from the mini fridge-freezer, and then drops it in with a clink. He reaches for the bourbon and pours.
“You do realize it’s not even nine AM?” I call out to Pax. He ignores me.
“I think the meet-and-greet went really well,” Cindy says, nervous smile all over her face. “It was over in like ten seconds.”
“Ford pulled him off.” Ariel laughs. “Belle called me.” And then she deadpans a look over at Pax, who is too busy gulping down his liquor to give a shit. “You had that coming, Mysterious.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, refilling his glass. Cindy walks over and starts making an ice pack for his eye as I picture that fight in my head.
I smile and feel sorta satisfied that my big, bad friend got slugged by my big, bad father. “Did you hit him back?” I ask, wondering.
Pax shoots me a disgusted look over his shoulder, then goes back to his drink.
“Anyway,” Tori says. “Isn’t it great that we’re all here?”
“You know what would be even greater?” Cindy calls from the bar. “If Ellie came up too.”
“Right?” Ariel says. “And Ivy. Oh, let’s go call Ivy. I’m sure she could use a nice vacation from all the stress.”
All three girls are suddenly on the move and a few seconds later it’s just me, Pax, and West.
“We’re in big trouble,” West says.
Pax slumps down into a chair in front of my desk, drink in one hand, other hand holding the ice over his eye. He sighs. “I got a call from Liam Henry just before we left California.”
West and I shoot each other suspicious looks. Then direct our attention to Pax.
Pax stares at me for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. His gaze tracks to West. Eyes red and bleary. Filled with fatigue, like he hasn’t slept in a while. “Says he’s gonna tell me what’s going on.”
“Yeah?” West says, that one word laced with suspicion. He narrows his eyes at Pax and I start to get a very bad feeling about all this.
“Yeah,” Pax says, swirling the ice around in his glass. “Says all I gotta do is finish the job I started and every question about that night will be answered.”
Chapter Four - KATYA
“Katya,” Oliver says in the video. Just the sound of his voice is enough to make my whole body tingle. I have to pause it and swallow hard, butterflies taking over inside my stomach.
“Get it together,” I say out loud. “Keep calm and don’t lose your nerve.”
Easier said than done.
I have to close my eyes and take deep, deep breaths. How can one word affect me like this? After almost four years. One word.
That word is your name coming from the lips of the only man you ever cared for. And you have a job to do. So focus.
The voice in my head isn’t mine, though. And that’s equally as unsettling.
I get up and go to the kitchen, take out my bottle of Stoli vodka from the freezer, and set it in front of me. The bottle isn
’t pretty like Grey Goose. It’s not something you keep to admire like Crystal Head. In fact, the label screams Cold War communism. But it’s got a lot of memories. Good memories. Stoli is like grilled cheese and tomato soup when you’re sick.
Comfort.
I grab a long-stemmed cordial glass and pour. Just one ounce. I don’t want a buzz, I just want… comfort.
“To coming home,” I say, then down the shot.
It goes down smooth, replacing the chill with fiery heat. I carefully set the glass down and turn to face the computer.
This is why I’m here. This is what I’ve been planning for. This is the moment of truth.
I go back to my desk and press play.
“Why did you come back?”
“If you really don’t know why,” I say, “you will soon.”
His hand is wrapped around his thick cock. Tip of his thumb sliding up and over the crown of his head with each stroke.
“I know it’s you,” he says. “Katya Kalashova. I really never thought I’d see you again.” And then he laughs. “Well, I can’t see you yet, can I? But you’re here for a reason.” A pause. “I will see you and if you try to leave town again, sneak away like a fucking coward…”
But he doesn’t finish. He stops talking and closes his eyes. His hand busy on his cock. Sliding up and down, slowly at first. Then faster.
His head tips back, his breath becoming heavier, louder.
I watch. Unable to take my eyes off him. He looks up at the ceiling, then closes his eyes—the relief of release all over his face as he comes on his stomach. The semen is milky white. A steady bursting stream like it’s been a while since he’s had this pleasure.
“Oliver,” I say. My fingertips are touching him on the screen. “Oli—”
My phone rings. Not the cell that Lily calls me on. But the disposable one I keep in the kitchen drawer next to the stove. I know who it is by the ringtone, but I don’t want to talk to him. Not yet, not now. I don’t want to think about why I’m here—other than one last chance to get what I want out of life.
The ringing stops and I don’t wait for the voicemail. He would never leave a voicemail. This is all too sketchy to leave evidence behind.