by Hart, Lane
“Four more laps,” he says casually as we rumble past the pit row.
“Let’s make them memorable!” I cackle, thoroughly enjoying myself.
Zoe’s car has fallen back a bit, as her monitor is clearly being a bit heavy with his brake through the curves. That holds true through the rest of our time on the track, as she stays at least a turn behind while we whiz around the track.
When my passenger finally directs me to head back down the pit row, I’m almost relieved. This is the most powerful car I’ve ever been in, surpassing even my souped-up Camaro, and my hands are almost trembling from the adrenaline of keeping it under control.
“Holy shit, that was amazing!” I yell as I kill the engine, and start trying to clamber out of the car.
“I’ll come around and help you squeeze out,” my monitor says. “A lot of people end up falling and busting their ass when they try to get back through the window.”
He helps me get out of the car as Zoe pulls up behind us. I smile and wave at her, but even through the helmet I can see her scowling. “That wasn’t a race! You cheated!” she calls out to me as she struggles to get out of the car.
I rush over to help her and make sure she doesn’t inadvertently bust her ass trying to get out and yell at me. Laughing, I sweep her off her feet and swing her around before setting her down and helping her remove her helmet.
“It was as close to a race as I’ll ever come,” I tell her. “Thank you for this. It was amazing. Having you home for Christmas will be amazing too.”
“Uh-huh,” she agrees with a laugh. “I guess a promise is a promise, but don’t you dare go around bragging that you beat me! If I hadn’t gotten someone’s grandma as my passenger…” she yells out as her monitor walks off, raising a hand in acknowledgement of her insult, “then things would have turned out a lot differently!”
“I’m pretty happy with how things have turned out,” I tell her with a grin. “Wanna grab a cold one and watch the race with me?”
“Fine. But you’re paying,” Zoe agrees with a smirk.
Chapter Ten
Zoe
I should be exhausted after the day Winston and I had. Even after all the fun at the racetrack though, I’m so freaking nervous about the upcoming job interview that I toss and turn all night. My lack of sleep is why, at first, I think I’m seeing things from the kitchen window Monday morning when a cherry red Camaro pulls up at my dad’s house and Winston climbs out.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter to myself while grabbing my purse and tossing my phone in it before locking up and heading out in my black Versace dress and matching stilettos.
I meet my stepbrother on the steps. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” I ask. “If so, it’s not funny, Winston.”
“What?” He glances over his shoulder. “Oh. The car?”
“Yes, the car! The car that looks exactly like the one you fucked me on!”
“Well, that’s because it is that car,” he admits sheepishly.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask, wanting to shove him backward down the freaking stairs.
“I ended up having to buy it because there was some damage that couldn’t be repaired,” Winston explains. “The owner was seriously pissed off, so I offered to give him more than it was worth.”
“Oh my god!” I groan while rubbing my aching temples, thanks to a lack of sleep and my asshole stepbrother. “So, you bought the car we screwed on and decided to keep it for the past ten years?”
“It’s a fucking classic!” Winston exclaims. “It was then, and it’s worth even more now.”
“Whatever. I just…I can’t believe you.”
“Come on,” he says. “Forget the car and let me give you a ride. You don’t want to be late for your interview, do you? You can be pissed about the car later.”
“Oh, I’m pissed about the car now,” I assure him. “But fine. Let’s go. Unless there are cum stains on the upholstery from any of your many other conquests…”
“No cum stains, I swear. I don’t even eat or drink in my car, much less, fuck.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I scoff with a roll of my eyes before I hurry past him down the steps and climb in on the passenger side since I need this job today. Thankfully, he was telling the truth. Compared to the car Winston had when he was a teenager, this one is immaculate inside, like it’s hardly ever been driven.
When he climbs in the driver side, I say, “You keep this locked up in the garage most of the time?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “I prefer my bike as long as the weather is nice, and, well, it’s hard not to think about that night when I see it.”
“No kidding.”
“You look…nice,” he tells me, his eyes on the short hem of my dress that reveals a lot of thigh when I’m sitting.
“Stop stalling,” I tell him, and he finally cranks the engine.
The rest of the trip up Highway Seventeen is pretty quiet. At least being angry at Winston helps me temporarily forget how nervous I am for a few minutes. This job, it may be a regular paycheck, but it’s not something I ever imagined myself doing. But modeling opportunities are rare for me lately, and the events don’t pay much. With travel expenses, it pretty much comes out to a few hundred dollars. I can’t support myself on so little, especially when I need to pay rent. My dad would probably love to have me move back home, but at twenty-eight, I can’t see that happening unless I was absolutely desperate.
“What kind of place is this in the middle of nowhere?” Winston asks as we reach the Bolivia city limits.
“Ah, you know, just a company taking advantage of cheap property in a small town.”
“Where to now?” he asks.
“I think you go a mile and then take a right on Little Swamp Road.”
“That’s really the name of it?”
“Yes.”
We keep driving and take the turn, then we’re headed down a bumpy, mostly dirt road in the middle of a field, miles away from everything before we finally reach a farmhouse with a rundown barn, stable, and several metal enclosed buildings lined up in a row. There are huge, buff men standing around, talking in front of each of the doors. It’s not exactly what I had in mind and I almost tell Winston to turn around and get us the hell out of here before he says, “What the fuck is this place, Zoe?”
“It’s a farm, obviously.”
“And are they going to hire you to feed the chickens and milk cows?”
“No. I don’t think so. Just stay here,” I tell him when he reaches over for the door handle. “Please, Winston? I’ll have my phone with me, and they probably won’t let you inside anyway.”
“I’m walking you in,” he grits out. “Either that, or we’re leaving.”
“Fine,” I huff. “But don’t say anything and keep your opinions to yourself.”
Both of us climb out of the car and hesitate a second after shutting the doors. Winston glances over the top of the roof with his eyebrow raised in question. But no, we came this far and I’m not leaving until I talk to the owner, like I agreed. The pay is great, I’m just not sure if it’s enough to make it worth it.
I finally start around the car and go up the steps to the front of the house where a tattooed man with his arms crossed over his chest rests his back against the door.
“Hi, I’m Zoe Donahue and I’m here to see Mr. Stanton.”
“You can go in. He has to stay out here,” the guy with dark tattoos up and down his arms says, with a nod of his chin toward Winston.
“Go ahead,” my stepbrother actually replies when he pulls out his phone from his pocket and slowly backs away. “I, ah, I need to make some calls in the car.”
“Okay,” I reply, a little disappointed he’s giving in so easily when the place is giving me the creeps.
“I’ll be right out here if you need me,” he adds. “You’ve got your phone?”
“Yeah, I do.” I pull it out of my purse and hold it up to keep it close.
&
nbsp; “My number’s still the same. You remember it?”
“Yes,” I reply. Mine’s the same as it’s always been too. Winston is still saved in my contacts and his name used to show up on the screen over and over again the first few weeks after I left home. Then suddenly, one day, it just stopped, and he never called me again.
“Good,” he replies before he finally jogs down the front steps and strides briskly over to the car where he slips inside. He’s acting unusual and I’m not sure why. Still, I take a deep breath and open the screen door to head into the house. My steps sound loud when my heels click and clack across the creaky wooden floor. A door to the left suddenly opens and then a guy with dirty blond hair steps out, wearing a pair of camo pants and a black tank top. At least, I hope his hair is dirty blond and not just greasy blond. “Zoe! I’m so glad you found the place. Come in and let’s talk.” He holds his arm out toward the room he came from.
“Great, thanks,” I tell him as I slip past him and into a bedroom that was turned into an office with a desk and computer, along with several folding chairs.
“Have a seat.”
I carefully sit down in a chair, afraid it’s so flimsy it may collapse under my weight.
“So,” the man who I’m assuming is Mr. Stanton starts when he sits on the desk right in front of me, “have you ever done porn or a sex tape before?”
“No,” I admit, my face turning a bright shade of red. Although, technically Winston and I were recorded on security cameras that night long ago having sex. I don’t think that counts.
“And you’re not sure if you’ll be able to?” Mr. Stanton guesses with a grin.
“Exactly.”
“Well, I assure you that we’re professionals here. Everyone is tested regularly, and all movies are scripted and choreographed so you know what happens before we shoot. If you don’t like the script, you pass on the movie, it’s that simple.”
“And you do all the filming here?” I ask curiously.
“Not here in this house, but yeah, here on the property. Each of those buildings you see are different scenes that are constantly changing, but we may record a few movies in each one before moving on.”
“And the pay?”
“Our pay usually starts at a thousand a film for our female actresses, but since you’re Zoe Donahue, a well-known name, we’re willing to offer you two thousand a scene to start out.”
“And how many… ‘scenes’ would I do in a month?”
“As many as you want,” he replies with a broad smile. “Some girls do three or four, others can knock out as many as ten or more. Each scene takes a day or two to film, then you’re free to move on to the next one. We could get you in a film by next week if you’re ready.”
“Wow, that’s, um…can I think about it for a few days?” I ask.
“Sure. Before you go, let me grab you a few of our DVDs to take home and watch to get a feel for the position.”
“Okay, thanks,” I reply, even though I’m not sure I need to see them. This, starring in a porno, is just not something I think I’m ready to do.
Chapter Eleven
Winston
“Answer the fucking phone! Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chant quietly as the phone at my ear rings while I keep an eye on the man at the front door of the house.
“Hello?” Danny, our IT guy, finally answers.
“Thank fuck,” I say in relief. “I need you to run an address and name, like right fucking now. It’s urgent.”
“Okay. Sure. Give me a second,” he says. “What is it?”
I tell him the address of the farmhouse and the name Stanton, then wait while he runs it.
“Oh shit,” he says on the other line.
“What?” I ask.
“Why did you need me to run this?”
“Just tell me!” I snap at him.
“That place and that man are associated with some hardcore porn production.”
“Porn?” I repeat with a string of curses. “She’s going to do porn? No fucking way.”
“You all right?” Danny asks.
“No, I’m not all right! But I’ll deal with her later. For now, can you text me the photos of the dagger tattoo on one of the men who took Tessa?”
“Sure. Give me a second. You guys have any luck finding him yet?”
“I think I may be staring right at him.”
“No shit?” Danny asks. “Is Roman with you?”
“No. I’m alone.”
“Well, don’t fucking engage!” he exclaims, like I’m an idiot.
“I won’t. And I only got a brief glimpse. Send me the pictures from the surveillance video and I’ll try to get a better look and see if it’s a match. But he’s standing outside of the porn place, so it wouldn’t be that big of a coincidence to find him here, right?”
“Not really. Except, what the hell are you doing outside a porn studio?”
“Long fucking story,” I grumble.
“Well, Winston, don’t be surprised if you hear some screams of pain instead of pleasure around there. Which would actually make sense if that guy is there, if it is him…” Danny babbles nervously.
“What are you talking about?”
“That company is known for making violent porn, like torturing woman and shit. Some of the women could be victims, not actresses, if you know what I mean.”
“Jesus fucking Christ! I need to get Zoe out of there!” I say, opening the car door just as the screen door swings wide and she steps out of the house. She even smiles and waves goodbye to the asshole at the door.
“Who is Zoe, and why is she in a porn studio?” Danny asks.
“Gotta go.” I shut my car door again and end the call just as Zoe climbs in the passenger seat.
“You’re never going to work for these fucking people unless it’s over my dead body!” I growl at her.
“I know. I’m not,” she whispers with a shaky breath. “That place is fucked up.”
“You have no idea just how fucked up!” I exclaim before I force myself to look cool and calm in front of the men wandering the grounds, since they’re bound to all be watching us. “But we’ll discuss what the hell you were thinking later. For now, do you have any business cards or promos?”
“I can give you my business card later, Winston, just get us out of here!”
“I will. Trust me, I can’t leave here soon enough. But first, I need the card, Zoe. Please? It’s important. I need an excuse to go talk to the man standing at the door again.”
“And that excuse is my business card?”
“Yes, I was going to say that you forgot to give it to his boss and ask if he will he make sure he has it.”
“I don’t want them contacting me!” she whispers. “Besides, they already have my number from when I set up the appointment.”
“Then what the hell does it matter? I need to see the tattoo on that man’s right arm again and I need to have a plausible excuse to go look at it. Did you get a good look?”
“I don’t know. He had lots of dark tats,” she remarks. “One on his arm was like a big knife maybe…”
“I think it’s a fucking dagger, and if I’m right, then he’s a dead man, one we’ve been looking for the past few months!”
“Okay,” Zoe agrees without any further questions. She just digs into her purse, finds a white card, and offers it to me.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll be right back. Don’t get out of this car again for anything.”
“I won’t,” she agrees with a nod.
Before I get out, I shrug off my Savage Kings cut, in case he didn’t see the name the first time. Hopefully, he’s not paying that close of attention because I don’t want him to know who is coming for him. Then, I climb out of the car.
“Hey man,” I say coolly as I climb the steps, when what I really want to do is slice his throat. “Could you give Zoe’s business card to your boss for us?”
“Yeah, whatever,” the guy agrees as he reaches out with his righ
t arm to take the card from between my fingers.
I remember the image of the tattoo clearly from a few months ago, and I could almost bet my life this is it. But I can’t exactly take him out now when there are a shit ton of other guys hanging around, all probably armed.
“Nice ink,” I comment. “You get that from around here?”
Fuck, I hope I don’t spook him.
“Yeah, man,” he says with a proud smile, flashing several missing teeth as he lifts his shirt sleeves to show be the rest of the handle. “Down around Shallotte, there’s this bomb ass dude who does killer designs.”
“No shit? I’ve been looking to get a sleeve done. You got his name?”
“Yeah sure, Anthony Bridges. He’s with Damaged Ink. Tell him Joey Simpson sent you so I can get that referral discount next time.”
“You’ve got it, Joey,” I reply before I hurry back to the car, relieved and amazed someone can do something so cruel to women and it doesn’t seem to faze him. I hurt Zoe’s feelings years ago and still haven’t forgiven myself for it. I guess that’s the difference between those of us with a soul, and those fuckers who wander the earth without them.
I drive like I’m in a race for my life, throwing up dust to get us to the highway as fast as possible. I’m not sure if I even breathe before we reach the main road and turn back toward Myrtle Beach.
“Fuck,” I say with a heavy exhale.
“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” Zoe asks from the passenger seat, where she’s still clutching the door like she’s hanging on for dear life.
“Not until you tell me what the fuck you were thinking? Porn, Zoe? Seriously?”
“H-how did you know that?” she asks.
“Because I had our IT guy do a search. And it isn’t just regular porn. It’s that sick shit where they hurt women, probably against their will!”
