Page 109 of SNOB

Newhaven Sex Trafficking Ring Leader Found Dead

My eyes slowly move to Mac’s.

His eyes slowly move to mine.

“Mac, what did you do?”

His arm comes around me, his voice a whisper but it’s loud in my ear. “Beau was an accident. This wasn’t.”

THIRTY-THREE

MAC

I can get used to this.

But I can’t.

The last two days with Ember won’t erase the damage we’ve done. No matter how hard I fuck her, no matter how hard I keep her close. A man has to face his future.

Walking back into the new studio, her new studio, I’m prepared to tell her my plan. Prepared to make things right.

Soul music comes from the residency space, Ember singing along with the song. A new sound I’ve never heard before.

My grip on the coffee cups tighten as I think about what I’m about to do. But it’s for her. It’s for us.

She doesn’t notice me when I step in, her hair piled on her head, her eyes on the canvas in front of her. Whatever she’s working on looks like it’s coming together. She’s found her inspiration and I’m way too much of a pompous prick to deny I’ve had something to do with it.

I set my butterfly free.

Pencils spill at the feet of the stool she sits on, one tucked into her hair. Leaning against the entryway, my eyes move to the canvas in front of her, light streaming into the room. Red and orange fill the canvas along with a lot of black. It looks like a mix of items in a blaze.

“Back to work already?”

She looks over her shoulder with a wide smile. “You wear sweats?” She’s in some too, looking fresher with some new clothes and access to the large residency shower. A baggy tee and black joggers matches her calm demeanour.

I shrug, moving towards her. This time with Ember eases my brain, so does time away from my father and it shows in my joggers and hoodie. “Easier for you to get off.” There’s peace with us. Peace within me. It’s something I’ve never felt before.

But it can’t last.

She laughs as I hand her a coffee, a melody that stirs me. I can’t get too attached to this glimpse in our future. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Using your words?” she teases. “Just a sec, let me finish this one thing.” She puts the pencil back to the canvas. “I keep having flashes of Red’s or Picasso’s in my head. It’s always better to get it out on paper. I don’t remember much. I don’t even remember the faces of the men from the red room.” My neck tightens, thinking of any other fucker’s hands on her. “But each of them had an item I focused on. Shoes, or a belt. A wallet or a lighter.” On her last word my eyes shift to the thing she’s scribbling in. A lighter.

But it’s not until she includes the ‘S’ on the front that my hand squishes the coffee cup in my hand. Hot liquid pours out over my skin but the heat isn’t enough to distract me. “Ember, you saw that lighter?”

She looks back at me, her smile fading. “Yeah, it looks familiar, right?”

Too fucking familiar. “You sure you saw that?”

Her eyes move back to her work, right before the pencil drops from her hand. That same hand comes to her mouth. “Mac, I—” Her shoulders drop. “I’m not sure, everything was such a blur. Maybe I imagined it.”

Too late.

“I’ll be back.” Moving over I pull her head to me, planting a kiss on that fiery bundle of curls. “Pack your things.”

Harry Halston may have found immunity in Paradise Hill.

But he’ll never be the same again.

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