Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
She had this particular shading technique, a way of layering grey wash that created depth and dimension most artists couldn't replicate.
It gave her pieces an almost three-dimensional quality, like the images were trying to crawl off the skin. Collectors knew her style instantly. Other artists tried to copy it, and failed.
When you saw one of Posie's pieces, you knew it was hers.
And everything about the art on Ryan's body says Posie was here.
Since she's dead, I couldn't just go in and ask her about the work. But the shop on Cache Street wasn't hers. And it's still open. Stella Six Feathers owns that shop. Local. 24 now. Grew up on the Wind River Indian Reservation. Bought the parlor on Cache Street when she was nineteen after doing four consecutive consensual-non-consents in one year for the auction house.
Stella was one of the first girls to come through and I wanted to make sure she was OK after she 'retired', so I went into the shop two years later to check up on her.
Anonymously, obviously. She didn't know who I was. Didn't know I ran the auction house.
But I like to make sure the girls are getting on well, especially after CNC's, and was delighted to find that Stella had turned her year of rape fantasies into a very lucrative business. She had five other artists working for her.
Posie Little was one of them.
While I was there, I fell in love with Posie's work and booked my first appointment.
This morning, I went back into that shop and started asking questions. Stella, who didn't know me from Adam, but recognized Posie's work when I privately showed her the tattoo Posie did, got immediately chatty about the 'psychopath with the bird tattoos.'
She told me… a lot.
And now… I'm starting to think Ryan Adamson might need his scales balanced.
Chapter 11
Scarletta
"What is this?"
Ryan's grin shifts into something easier. Genuine, almost. "The future." He gestures toward the TRX rig. "This is my prototype. A full-body suspension training program. But not the basic crap you see in other gyms. This is advanced shit, ya know? A personal training program developed by me."
I stare at the modified table with stirrups. The restraint points. The cameras positioned at angles that would capture everything.
He really thinks I'm going to buy that?
Training?
To be fair, Scarletta, you bought the idea of being sold at a sex auction.
Then signed up for a hunt in a maze.
Touché.
"See, I've got this vision," Ryan continues, walking toward the rig with the confidence of someone who's practiced this pitch enough times it sounds genuine. "I'm gonna convert this whole space into a suspension studio. Group classes. Advanced programs. Something no one else in Idaho Falls is offering."
He turns back to me, and his smile is the kind of easy that probably works on most women. Warm. Excited. Like he's letting me in on a secret.
"I've got a big-deal investor meeting tomorrow at noon. Massive money ask. The kind that could make this happen. But they want proof of concept before they commit to the buildout. They need to see it in action."
Of course, they do.
"That's where you come in, button." He winks at me. Actually winks at me. "I need a model. And… like I said when I took you on for training, you're my only client at the moment."
Like he took me on?
He's making it sound like it was my idea. It wasn't. He's the one who came on to me.
Of course, he did, Scarletta. He was setting you up for this.
Obviously, inner monologue. I'm not a complete fucking idiot. I do actually have real-world experience in the realms of performance sex.
I'm not sure what the look on my face is saying right now, but I'm fairly certain it's not what he expected. Because he launches into pitch number two. "I'll pay you." This comes out softer. Lower. "It's not a lot, but… like… ten grand?"
Ten grand.
He's right. To me, ten grand is half of the base pay for the sex auction. And while that was filmed, it was filmed by Caleb. Maybe I don't know him that well, but he doesn't come off as the type of man who likes to sell his videos.
And Ryan… does.
He makes porn. I'm a hundred-percent certain of it.
"Twenty," Ryan says. "Twenty grand."
"Twenty grand to… act in your presentation?"
"You don't understand the kind of money at stake here, button. It's three million dollars."
"Three million." I look around. "To turn this into a TRX studio?"
"The insurance is insane," he counters.
OK. I can see that he's going to keep this performance going, no matter what. So I decide to cut to the chase. "What do you really want from me, Ryan? Because while I'm definitely interested in what's going on here…" I motion to the equipment, holding eye contact as I do it. "Especially the stirrups on that table."