Page 49 of Triple Protection
A text comes in from Camille with the rough proofs from the photoshoot with a text that says,
"Wanted you to see them first." And half a dozen fire emojis.
I scroll through them, my jaw absolutely slack. They're incredible. I may be biased, but they're easily the most beautiful photos I've ever seen. The boys' faces are artfully missing or out of focus enough to allow the viewer's eye to focus on the lingerie. But my thumb stills and shakes a little as I gasp. One photo leaves me absolutely stunned.
The boys all look at me in concern, but my eyes go to Brick.
The photo is from our shoot together. It must have been a test or a B roll picture because the lingerie’s not even in it. It's Brick and I, from about mid-thigh down. He was resting back against something, one bare foot and his running blade caging in my legs. I'm on the balls of one of my feet, but the other one, pink toe tips and all, is wrapped around his running blade.
It's a work of art.
I take pictures for a living, not as curated and beautiful as Camille's, but I know art when I see it. The juxtaposition of his thick calves and my slender ones, soft brown leg hair and my smooth, pale skin, my pretty pink toe nails against his masculine metal appendage. It steals my breath away.
Brick looks at me with equal parts concern and curiosity. I don't explain. I simply forward the picture to his cell and wait for his reaction. His phone dings and he picks it up, curiously. He opens my message and the air whooshes from his chest. His large, meaty hand rubs against his mouth in an attempt at hiding the emotion there.
I walk up to him, standing before him between his legs. He pulls me onto his lap, straddling him. He wraps two strong, thick arms around me, pulling me close against his chest.
"Thank you," he sighs into my hair.
"For what?" I whisper.
"You make me feel like more of a man. You make me feel strong and capable, despite my leg."
"No." I correct, pulling back so I can look him in the eye. He bring my hand to his cheek and leans into it. "You were already all of those things. It's just easier to see when it's reflected next to my small and vulnerable body."
He holds me close. I can tell he's not comfortable with the praise, but he doesn't fight me on it either.
"Can I post this one? Do you think it might help other amputees feel better? To see how beautiful it can be when you don't hide it?" I know absolutely nothing about the amputee community, or their struggles. But I know Brick, and I know his struggles, and I know what impact this photo had on him.
He shakes his head. "Always looking for ways to help others." He places a sweet, chaste kiss on my lips, my cheek, and my forehead before catching my gaze again. "I think that's a great idea."
I hop off his lap and settle on the couch next to him before pulling up my app and preparing to post the picture.
The doorbell rings and I hop off the couch. "I'll get it!"
Alex's strong arm at my waist stopped me. "No, you won't."
Right. Stalker. Safety. I've been riding the high of our new relationship and our earth-shattering night last night that I'd momentarily forgotten about it all. Alex returns with a box and hands it to me to open.
The boys start talking about the logistics of DigiCon behind me. Liam says something about tapping into the venue's security cameras (not that I was entirely sure that was legal), while Brick and Alex start talking about the physical vulnerabilities. I tune them out. I'm in too good a mood to worry about that crap. And besides, that's why I've hired them, so they can worry about that stuff and let me just be me.
I happily open the box to find a thick white piece of paper sitting on top of what looks like shredded newspaper.
You were supposed to wait for me.
It says in thick, black, handwriting. My stomach and my blood pressure drops. I gasp before stepping away from the box. The boys instantly pick up on the change in the room. I feel dizzy, my legs suddenly hollow, before my breath picks up and black dots start to crowd my vision. The telltale signs of a panic attack. Something niggles at the back of my brain, though. Something I am missing, something I have to do. Animal instinct forces my eyes to narrow in on the newspaper. I pull it hastily out of the box. I can hear the boys shouting something but they sound far away.
There is a message here, a clue... I just know it. I spread out the long strips of paper on the island, but they aren't newspaper. There are no words. This is a graphic, an image. Shaking, my runaway brain starts moving the pieces together, like the world's most terrifying puzzle. There are four images. I find the bottoms of four images, with timestamps, all taken a few minutes apart. I start to get frustrated at how difficult it is to piece these images together and how hard my hands were shaking. Finally, another set of hands joins mine and helps me to place the pieces together.
When they're almost half complete I step back and gasp.
The images are of people.
They are of bodies.
They are us.
Brick's ass, my ankle, my hair, Alex in a chair, Liam leaning over me. They're screenshots from my security camera. From my bedroom. Of our lovemaking.