Vulnerable (Barons of Sodom) (22 page)

“If you could
get yourself to that island,” Elliot says earnestly, “See for yourself what
goes on there, just imagine the kind of story you could write. It would be the
first of its kind, and you’re exactly the person to write it.”

“You really want
me to take this assignment?” I ask, swallowing hard. “I’m not exactly what you
would call...wild, or—”

“But that’s
perfect. I wouldn’t want to send in an actual party girl, just someone who can
play the role” Elliot insists. “I want you to infiltrate The Club, and the
Circle of Death MC. I want you to introduce our readers to the whole outlaw
biker culture. But more importantly, I want you to target one man in
particular. The president of the Circle of Death: Devlin Vile.”

Devlin Vile. The
name blazes through my mind like a lick of flame. A shudder trickles down my
spine, vertebra by vertebra, as I imagine what this man must be like. What he
must be capable of.

“He’s the
youngest club president on record, just shy of thirty,” Elliot goes on, “Came
up from absolutely nothing. And the best part is, he’s the sexiest motherfucker
you’re likely to ever lay eyes on.”

“That seems like
a bit of an overstate...” I trail off as Elliot pulls up a full-body picture of
our proposed target on her computer screen.

I’m surprised my
jaw doesn’t hit Elliot’s desk. Holy shit. She was not exaggerating. The man is
the picture is tall, built, and utterly gorgeous. His dark, brooding features
are just as sharply cut as his every defined muscle. His towering form is
perfectly balanced, and every inch of skin from his neck down seems to be inked
with intricate tattoos. He’s the epitome of the sexy bad boy. Unlike any man
I’ve ever met in my life.

“This is the guy
you want me to...investigate, then?” I say slowly.

“That’s right,”
Elliot says, “You bring me a story about Devlin Vile’s sexy, illicit, depraved
lifestyle, and you’ve got yourself a job. Not to mention a 50K starting bonus.”

“I’m sorry, I
don’t think I heard that correctly,” I start. “Did you say—?”

“Fifty thousand
dollars, yes,” Elliot confirms, amused by my gobsmacked expression.

I try and fail
to wrap my head around the very idea fifty thousand dollars. That amount of
money would be game changing for me. Life changing. I could clear myself of
student loans forever with a single assignment. The prospect of being debt free
so soon after graduating is enough to make my mouth water.

But even if
there weren’t a small fortune to be had for writing this story, I knew the
second Elliot brought up the Circle of Death that I was going to end up taking
it. As betrayed and hurt as I still feel by my sister’s desertion, I can’t pass
up this opportunity to find her again. The possibility of seeing her again
would have given me more than enough reason to take the job. And as my eyes
dart back to the picture of Devlin Vile, smoldering on Elliot’s computer
screen...Well, it seems all of a sudden that this decision is a no-brainer.

“So what do you
say, Logan?” Elliot asks, “Can I count you in?”

“Could I
just...have a day to think about it?” I ask nervously, “It’s a pretty big
decision for me, you know?”

“Of course,” she
smiles, “Sleep on it, think it over, and get back to me as soon as you can. All
right?”

She rises from
her desk and extends her hand to me. I pull myself to standing and clasp hands
with her. I can feel, in this moment, that my whole could be about to change.
But the question is, am I really ready for it?

***

I can see my
mother’s nose wrinkling the moment I set foot into the restaurant. There was no
time for me to go home and change before meeting my parents for lunch. They
made a reservation at a swanky Italian joint in one of Boston’s more upscale
neighborhoods, and I couldn’t very well say no. They’re in town for a couple of
days to see me receive my supposedly “useless” diploma, which means they’ll be
expecting me to spend every spare moment showing them around Boston. I really
do love my parents, don’t get me wrong. But shepherding them around the city
while my mother nitpicks everything and my dad zones out is not exactly my idea
of a good time.

“I don’t know
why you insist on dressing like one of those Brooklyn hippies all the time,” my
mother says in way of greeting.

“Hello to you
too, Mom,” I smile tightly, sinking into the free chair at their table. “Hello
there, Dad.”

“Good morning,
sweetheart,” he says amiably, giving my hand an squeeze. That’s about as
affectionate we ever get in our family, truth be told. We’re not exactly the
hugging sort.

“Are you wearing
jeans?” Mom asks, aghast. She looks around the restaurant, checking to see if
we’ve getting the stink eye from any other diners on account of my casual attire.

“I’m sure they
won’t kick us out because of my poor taste,” I drawl, plucking up a menu and
burying my nose in the wine list.

“I hope you’re
right,” Mom sighs, taking a prim sip of her sparkling water.

“So, Logan. Are
you excited for your graduation?” my father asks, smiling at me warmly. His
rounded, friendly face, bespectacled eyes, and open expression put me at ease,
just as they always have.

“I’m excited to
be graduated,” I allow, “It’ll be nice to finally be out in the real world.”

“Have you found
some kind of job, then?” my mother asks, downright surprised.

“Well. I’ve
received a pretty interesting offer,” I begin.

“Interesting...”
my mother echoes suspiciously, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“On the
contrary,” I reply, “It could be very good. I was just at the interview before
I came to meet you. Which explains my less-than-fancy outfit, actually. I
wanted to blend in the company’s aesthetic.”

“Oh no...” my
mother groans, “You’re not going to be one of those hackers, are you? Like in
House of Cards? I saw that episode where they were are sitting around some
dreadful office in bean bag chairs—”

“I’m pretty sure
those were bloggers, Mom,” I correct her, “And no, that’s not exactly what I’d
be doing. The job I was called in for is more journalistic.”

“Journalism!” my
dad exclaims happily, “That sounds great!”

“I’ve read that
it’s a dying field,” Mom grumbles, “But do go on.”

“Well, the place
I interviewed was a publication called
FootSoldier
. It’s an outlet run
by Advance Media.”

“Oh, I think
I’ve heard of them,” my dad nods.

“I’m sure you
have,” I reply, encouraged by his enthusiasm. “They have tons of different
magazines, papers, online publications, all across the spectrum. But
FootSolider
is all about investigative journalism, focused on politics, culture and
lifestyle. The editor is willing to let me take a crack at my first assignment
right off the bat.”

“If it requires
occupying any parks or what have you, I think you should turn it down,” my mom
nods sagely.

“It doesn’t, I
assure you,” I go on. “But it is definitely unlike anything I’ve ever taken on
before. And if I do a good job with this first story, I’ll be officially hired.
There’s a pretty big bonus attached to this first assignment, too.”

“That’s great!”
my dad says, “How big are we talking?”

I hesitate
before responding, unsure of what my parents’ reaction might be.
“It’s...uh...fifty thousand dollars.”

A heavy moment
of silence falls upon us like a slab of cement. My parents stare at me, baffled
by the figure I’ve just spit out. But it only takes a second before my mom
recovers.

“Logan,” she
says sternly, “That kind of money doesn’t just fall out of the sky like that.
There’s no way this is a legitimate opportunity.”

“I have to agree
with your mother here,” my dad says earnestly. “It sounds like you might be
falling prey to some kind of hoax, Logan.”

“It’s not a
hoax,” I say, annoyed by their condescending tone. “Do you really think I’m
naive enough to get wrapped up in some kind of scam—?”

“Well, of course
you are!” my mother laughs, “You have no experience dealing with the real
world, Logan. You don’t know what people are capable of. And how eager most
people are to take advantage of a young, desperate girl like yourself.”

“So now I’m
desperate and an idiot?” I ask testily. “I thought you two would be happy for
me. Jobs like this aren’t exactly dime-a-dozen.”

“We’re just
worried, Logan,” my father says, “We’d rather you take a job that came with a
bit less risk, is all. You know, it’s not to late to start thinking about
graduate school for next year, honey.”

“You could take
the year to apply, live at home with us, and get yourself on track for a real
career,” my mom says. “Enough of this high-stakes blogging nonsense.”

“This job offer
you’ve been given...It just doesn’t sound right to us,” my dad goes on, “It
sounds like those people are just trying to take you for a ride.”

“You just don’t
have the life experience to be able to see it,” my mom remarks, signaling for
the waiter to refill her water glass. “Take it from us, dear.”

I can practically
feel the steam pouring out of my ears as I look back and forth between my
parents, smiling serenely at me from across the table.

“I don’t have
the life experience?” I say slowly, my voice filled with outrage. “I’ve been
taking care of myself for years. Ever since I started school. Or have you
forgotten that I’ve been putting myself through college on my own?”

“It was your
choice not to study something practical,” my mom says. “You know we would have
paid the way if you’d gone for math, or science—”

“But I didn’t. I
chose to study the thing I’m actually passionate about. Are you familiar with
the term, passionate?” I fume.

“Don’t take that
tone with me, Logan,” my mother warns.

“Don’t talk to
me as though I’m a petulant child,” I shoot back.

“Then stop acting
like one,” she all but hisses, “And keep your voice down. We’re in public, in
case you haven’t noticed.”

“Why don’t we
all just take a breath and order some lunch, OK?” my dad puts in, trying to
play the peacekeeper. “Let us treat you to a nice meal, Logan.”

“Sorry Dad,” I
say firmly. “I seem to have lost my appetite. Besides, I wouldn’t want to go on
mooching off your generosity. I think I’d better just leave you to it.”

“You’re
overreacting, Logan,” my mom sighs, “But if you must go blow off some steam,
then by all means do so. We’ll see you at the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Actually Mom, I
don’t think I’ll be attending the graduation ceremony,” I say, rising to my
feet. “But you two are welcome to go and have a good time.”

“Why are you
doing this?” my mom hisses. “Why can’t you just show us a little bit of
respect, Logan?”

“Because you
can’t seem to show me any in return,” I say sadly. “Maybe, once I’ve shown you
that I can take care of myself and do what I love, you’ll start to see what I’m
made of. But honestly, Mom, I’m not holding my breath. Enjoy your lunch.”

I turn away from
my parents and hurry away from their table. The last thing I want is for them
to see the disappointed, frustrated tears that stream down my cheeks. Nothing
I’ve done has ever been good enough for them, but I honestly thought that this
job might finally be the thing to impress them. Maybe even convince them that
I’m as determined and intelligent as they always hoped I would be. I guess that
was just more empty, wishful thinking.

Boston is
absolutely packed with happy families in the midst of graduation festivities. I
pick my way through the boisterous, smiling groups as I walk back to my
apartment, unable to hold back my tears. I’d give anything to have a whole,
supportive, loving family. A group that always had my back, no matter what.
Maybe Juliet had the right idea, seeking one out somewhere else.

By the time I
finally make it back to my apartment, I feel like I’ve been hit by a wrecking
ball. Emma is out gallivanting with her artsy friends for the afternoon, so the
apartment is totally empty. I glance around at the threadbare space, listening
to the muffled city sounds filtering through the walls. I don’t think I’ve ever
left this lonely in my life. With no one around to see me, I sink onto the
dusty hardwood floor and have the good, honest cry that’s been building up for
longer than I care to admit.

I don’t know how
much time goes by before I feel like I can solider on. By my tears have been of
the restorative type, it would seem. By the time I rise shakily to my feet once
more, I’ve come to a decision. I’m not going to let doubt or uncertainty hold
me back any longer. So what if I don’t have a support system holding me up?
That’s not going to stop me from stepping out onto the high wire any
longer...no matter how risky and downright insane that might be.

With steely
determination, I sit myself down in front of my laptop and compose a new email
to Elliot Simmons.