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Those photos, Cade? We’ll never live them down, will we?
When people see BOUND perfume, they’ll always see us. And when I smell it, I remember you and that photoshoot.
Yeah, we were only eighteen but didn’t look it. Mario Rossi, that man is a crazy designer, in a good way. He put us in black leather. Me in pants and no shirt, and you in a matching skirt and bustier. That’s what it’s called, right? I don’t know, but fuck, you looked like sex incarnate.
They slicked our hair back and our bodies down. And then Mario surprised everyone.
He put a collar on me and one on you with a gold chain connecting us.
It didn’t look tacky. Or raunchy.
We made it look beautiful.
Because it was.
The photographer ate it up because everyone could tell—we were in love. We were bound together. We were still virgins, but the tension was so hot between us that the lens caught it. How we looked like animals about to mate for life.
We were.
It was only days later when we finally did.
Our parents didn’t freak out about those photos, but others did.
Remember how our principal threatened to kick us out of school for it? Like we cared. We were graduating in two months. But Mama G raised holy hell, saying we were legally adults and doing our jobs and that they had no right to punish us.
I still see that picture of us in stores at Rossi counters, almost kissing and chained to each other.
It used to make me so fucking proud and sad at the same time.
Because they gave you hell about that picture, spraying you with cologne in the hall at school and calling you a slut.
Their cologne. Those guys. TJ and Gentry.
I’ve always wondered… if that photo of us is what finally set them off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I take a quiet moment to scope the salon.
The Beauty Hut is owned by Gentry Evans Properties, and I count eight hard-working women I bet he thinks he owns too.
They busy themselves with their clients, mostly tourists; I can tell by their sunburns. Locals know better. We shower in SPF.
When Penny came here the other week, she got nothing but closed lips. Her uniform made them nervous, so we’re back in plain clothes, getting pedicures while Jameson waits outside in his Jeep. He’s still digging for the owners of that liquor store. It lists a holding company, but we want real names.
That’s the dots we’ve connected so far.
The Pelican Bar. Sunset Rentals. The Beauty Hut. Gentry Evans has ownership in each. And wherever Gentry is, TJ lurks nearby.
Why they’re so close, I’ve never understood. Maybe they bonded over their sick obsession with me.
“Cat got your tongue?” Penny asks from her chair next to mine.
“No. The Devil demands my attention.”
“Which one? Redix Dean?”
“No.”
