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“Not when my targets keep moving.” I narrow my eyes at him.

I groan and look down at the heavy object in my hand.

“You told me that you want a new career. I’m giving it to you. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“I don’t think this thing is safe in my hands. I could drop it, and then boom.”

Trig works his way behind me. He starts pointing out things, and using terms that I have no idea about. I feel frustrated, tired, and hungry. Not to mention the weather today is hot.

“I can’t do this,” I say, as I shove the object back into his hands.

“Do you want me to point and shoot? It’s not hard.”

“I would love to see you do that, since you’ve been barking at me for the last thirty minutes about what not to do.”

“Stay still then,” he says.

“Now you want to shoot me? You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Who wouldn’t want to shoot you?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be shot.” I raise my eyebrows.

“I’m shooting you. I don’t care what you say.”

At that very moment, I realize how crazy the conversation sounds, especially when it involves Trig, a prior hitman.

“Just stand still and let me take your picture,” Trig commands.

“Fine,” I grumble.

He starts clicking away and at first, I’m nervous, but after about fifteen pictures later, I’m twirling and moving around to different poses. I don’t even care that a few people have stopped to watch us. He takes several more and then he motions me over.

“Look at this one,” he says.

I look down and smile. It’s beautiful, and the way the light falls behind me is perfect.

“See how the contrast is different in this picture than in this one.”

I nod. He hands me the camera and then waves his arm just once.

“I refuse to let you give up. The world is yours for the taking. Start clicking, girl.”

Two weeks ago Trig finally opened up and told me what he did for a living prior to being The Savior’s hitman. He was a photographer. People would hire him for big events such as weddings, anniversaries, and even birthdays. I didn’t believe him at first. I laughed. He could have told me he was a mechanic or a security guard or even a stripper and I would have nodded, but not a photographer. He just doesn’t fit the mold. He’s a little rough around the edges, and looks more like a professional fighter than a cameraman looks, but maybe that’s because I’ve seen him kill people. He told me he was a gym rat, and loved to work out, and that sometimes he took boxing classes, but that was it. Photography was his thing. Me, personally, I don’t even know anyone that works in that field, but I imagine the artsy geek chic guy if anybody, and Trig is the guy that most mothers warn their good little girls about. But apparently, looks are deceiving, because he was very serious when he told me. Eventually I stopped laughing and forced myself to accept it. Not that it’s a bad thing; it’s just not what I expected. After we talked a little more, he said he had done a few boudoir photo shoots in the past and that something like that might be right up my alley. Boudoir is basically just shooting suggestive pictures of women. Count me in, I thought. I didn’t realize that when I jumped at the idea, I’d have to learn how to use this big ass camera with all of its millions of functions.

“We could open up our own company here. We’ll call it Krackle Photos.”

I look at him and start laughing.

“You have no idea how much I hate that name. Of all the last names, we get Krackle. It reminds me of a plumber’s ass crack.”

“Whatever then. It can be any name. Besides, Krackle has a legit sound to it.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“I guess we could, once I know what the hell I’m doing.”

“A few months from now you’ll be a pro,” Trig says. “We just need to build up some clients in the meantime.”

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