Page 12 of Brutal King

“Why? Because they’re failing?”

“Because I want them.” His lips pull upward in an amused sort of way that does both very good and very bad things to my insides.

“Because you want them,” I repeat. “Do yougenerallytake over things just because you want them?”

“What other reason would there be?”

“Well…” I can’t think of one. “I guess if you have the money.”

“There’s more to it than money. There’s will. Desire. Obsession. Those are all the things that drive me to get what I want at any cost.”

“Nothing too expensive, huh?”

“Never.”

I can see his point. What I’ve wanted out of life has taken more than money to achieve. “I get it.”

“So, what’s your major?”

“My major? Oh. At school. I…” I’m about say I major in political science, but what comes out instead is, “Photojournalism.”

He cocks his head as if he wasn’t expecting that. “You want to be a journalist?”

“Photographer, actually. I want to capture stories visually. I want to show that there’s more than what the human eye can see. Angles and shadows and lines. There’s so much more to everything. People especially.”

“How so?”

I shrug. “It’s hard to say. It’s like, the shot is so instant, so precise, it can see past the shell of a person. There are micro expressions that we don’t perceive when someone is active, but the camera captures it. And the eyes… Don’t get me started on the eyes. You can learn a lot about people through photos.”

“You’re passionate about it.” He grins and I realize that I’ve actually pulled away from the seat in my excitement to discuss this with someone.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Color or black and white?”

“Black and white, of course.” I tilt my head. “Do you like photography?”

He chuckles. “Not as much as you, it seems. But maybe it’s that I haven’t been shown by the right person.”

There’s something hidden between the lines, or it could be the low timbre of his voice as he says it. But it’s there and I pick up on it instantly.

I bite my lower lip in an attempt to keep my smile from giving away the fact that he’s not just giving me butterflies, but straight up birds. “Maybe someday the right person will show you.”

“Maybe she will.” He turns slightly to me, his sterling eyes glittering in the low light emanating from the dashboard. “Why don’t you have your camera out now? You never know, tonight could turn into one hell of a story.”

“I left it behind.” I don’t tell him it’salreadybeen one hell of a story. Actually, it’s more like a shit show. I definitely don’t want to document that.

“Hmm. So, you’re a student photographer with no camera, no money, and a questionable destination. Did you run away from home?”

A burst of laughter erupts from me. “I’m too old to be a runaway.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not running from something.”

I study his strong profile and confident demeanor. He’s dressed impeccably and definitely rich, yet able to handle a man without breaking a sweat. So far, he hasn’t murdered me. I’m guessing I can trust him with more than my name.

“My brother,” I say. “He’s an overbearing oaf.”

“How so?”

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