Page 102 of SNOB

“We’re so happy to have you with us.” Picasso’s voice comes next while I tap Mac’s name and hit the little phone symbol. There’s no way I’m calling the cops. Not after what I did. Mac’s my way out.

Ring ring ring.

The elevator starts to whir, my eyes on the mechanics.

Ring ring ring.

I watch as it lowers, the sound of footsteps on the wood.

“C’mon, c’mon…”

Ring ring ring.

The elevator whirs again, laughter coming closer and closer.

I’m out of time.

Pulling the brick to my chest, I pull the phone out of the charger but it comes with it. “Fuck,” I mumble, trying to put it back, my shaky hands looking for the plug.

The elevator comes to a stop. So does the laughter.

Silence takes over.

“Well, if it isn’t the girl in question,” Picasso says, his eyes narrowing as my back hits the wall. “Just the girl we’re talking about.” Picasso steps inside the warehouse in brown cargo pants and his brown leather jacket. “You’re famous. Want to say hello to our new guest?”

My phone clatters to the ground when I see who’s behind him.

“Hello, Butterfly.”

THIRTY-ONE

MAC

Even when she looks like shit Ember looks like her own piece of art.

My heart pounds beneath my chest and I’m fighting every urge to hurl my fist through this fucker’s face.

She stares at me in awe, but she can’t give this away.

“How much?” I turn to Red to get his attention.

“Eight thousand.”

I bat an eye, acting like his price shocks me. “Five.”

“Fine. But only because this one can be tough to wrangle. Once you’re inside, that’s your problem,” he chuckles, eyeing her. It’s taking every inch of my goddamn grace not to send that brick by her foot into his skull. “Unless you’re into that.”

“Deal.” It’s the only word I can muster, the vein in my neck threatening to pop.

Ember looks at the ground as if she’s ashamed I’m seeing her like this. She doesn’t have that wig on like in the video, and the t-shirt she wears hangs off her dwindling body, her skin stained with bruises and cuts.

Don’t worry, Butterfly. I got you.

Red moves to Ember, who winces as he gets closer. When he grabs her by her arm, I have to look away. My stomach's on fire when I think about her being here this entire fucking time. “Come on.”

“Picasso, it hurts,” Ember pleads as he pulls her towards a big wooden garage door.

Picasso?

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