Page 97 of SNOB

“Is this going to be a problem?” Another voice sounds familiar too.

“No,” Picasso says, a slap coming to my face. It doesn’t bring the same feel that Mac’s hand does. No, this is punishment. Tipping my head back, Picasso whispers, “Open up for me, Butterfly.” Folding my lips closed doesn’t work. It takes almost nothing for him to tip my mouth open before cold liquid hits my tongue and pours down my throat.

It tastes familiar.

Sweet and bitter.

But by the time I remember, it’s too late.

The Lady Killer sticks to its name as the world around me dims. Picasso chuckles, his voice turning into a distant murmur. “Atta girl.”

TWENTY-NINE

MAC

“Genius.”

The bucket of paste drops to the floor, “Lovers from the Past” by Mureux ringing in my left ear-pod.

Staring up at another one of her works sends a wave of warmth through me. But it only replaces that coldness for a moment.

“She is kind of a genius, isn’t she?” A familiar voice joins me on my right. Cara Walsh. “So you’re the one doing this all over town.” Her heels click towards the Sun House wall. But that’s only half true.

I’m using my privilege to my advantage. The Hill isn’t the only place where massive paste-ups of Ember’s artwork adorn a wall. I’ve hired people from the next couple of towns to do the same. And I didn’t stop there. No state or country was off the list. It’s been a week and we’ve made good groundwork. But I won’t take credit for this. Ember’s art is hard to miss.

“Thought you left town a long time ago,” I say, dropping the roller into the bucket.

It’s best to keep moving when doing these things. It’s far from legal. Especially in a town like this. I’d hate for Charlotte to pin the blame on me. The McKinsleys don’t need more drama.

Ember’s work adds a whole new definition to the town. And if I can’t find her, maybe somewhere, wherever she is, she’ll see it.

“I was actually looking for you,” Cara says, leaning against the wall in a white wide-brimmed hat. Her orange dress trails down to the ground. While her face shares similarities with Ember's, her body is different. She’s as mannequin-like as the other girls in this town, fitting in with an aesthetic Ember never needed to.

“Yeah?” Reaching into the back pocket of my black denim jeans, I grab my case of cigarettes. “Why the fuck is that?”

“We’re dropping you as a prospect,” Cara says. “Wanted to tell you face-to-face.”

The news doesn’t come as a surprise. Instead of working on getting my body back in shape, I’ve tended to other things. “Have you seen her?”

“Ember?” Cara lets out a laugh. “God, no.”

My jaw tightens. “Have you looked?”

“I was very clear about my relationship, or lack thereof, with Ember,” she sighs as if her daughter’s existence bores her. “Honestly, the further away from her the better it is for business.”

“Jake died, did you know that?” When I got to Ember’s trailer, it was too late. The only thing left behind was police tape and a padlock on the door.

“Well, that’s what happens when you drown yourself in alcohol.” Silence overtakes us before she continues. “Send her my condolences.”

“Fuck your condolences.” My hand hits the wall, almost shattering the bones inside. “I won’t be sending anything on your behalf.” Not like I could. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve her. No one does.”

She laughs again. “And you do? That family will grind you down.”

“What family?” Picking up my supplies, I glare into those eyes wishing they were hers. There’s a resemblance but her mother doesn’t have that fire in her eyes. Not like Ember. “As far as I know, I’m all she’s got.” Moving towards my car, I make sure she hears my last words. “Don’t come back.”

Once inside my car, a heaviness takes me. My head hits the seat. “Where the fuck are you?” I mutter.

Picking up my phone from the passenger’s seat, her seat, I don’t get any answers. Still no text. Still no call. My people haven’t seen her. No one has. My hands turn to fists.

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