I, Porn Star(109)

God, Clay covered it up. My heart continues to race as I scroll back up and stare at Clayton Getty’s picture in the bio.

Yes, my biological father isn’t just a third-generation brothel landlord, he’s also a corrupt sheriff in charge of law enforcement at Getty Falls. And he took a leave of absence the day after I burned his whorehouse down and skipped town.

I’m staring at his picture when a retweet pops into the feed.

Person of interest sought in Getty Falls fire. Elyse Gilbert, 5”4’ has been missing since the fire. If seen, contact Sheriffs Dept. There’s a link beneath the message along with my picture. The phone clatters to the ground as ice drenches me from head to toe. My heart bangs against my ribs and I struggle to breathe.

I scramble for the phone again. I turn off the wi-fi and jump up from the sofa. But the truth is inescapable. If I needed confirmation that Clayton was coming after me, I have it.

But would he have put my name and picture up on social media if he knew where I was? Does the fishing expedition mean he’s lost my trail? I force the fear aside and try to think things through properly. Since quitting my job at Blackwood Tower, I’ve been off the radar for a week. Even if he knows I’m in New York, my not using public transportation right now may be working to keep him from finding me.

All the same, I need to bring this to a head sooner rather than later. Every day he wastes time trying to find me and doesn’t means his attention might shift to locating Petra.

I glance at the phone, debate whether to call Fionnella to tease out a more specific date for when I’ll next see Q.

The phone vibrates just then, making me jump.

Quinn.

My heart leaps for a different reason. Hands shaking, I answer the phone.

“Hi.”

“What’s wrong?” The coarse rasp of his voice holds a layer of concern.

I suck in a deep breath. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me, Elyse.” Steel layers over concern.

I rub my forehead in agitation. “I did something. And it’s catching up to me.”

“Are you in danger?”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. “I’m trying my best not to be.”

“And how are you doing that?” he fires back.

How can I tell him that I’m selling my body to pay off the pimp whose empire I destroyed? “I’m still trying to work that out.”

Quinn stays silent for a minute. “Would you consider my help?”

My heart flutters like mad. “Thanks, but no.”

“You would offer me relief, but won’t take help in return?” he rasps.

The differences between us charges up like an invisible wall. I’m not sure exactly what his issues are, but mine will land me murder and arson charges should they ever get out. “This…it’s not the same. You advised me to run not too long ago. I think it’s only fair that I tell you to do the same.”

“Why?”

I rub harder. “I’d hate for you to be caught up in my shit, Quinn.”

“Too late.” The way he says it, soft, deadly, like a coiled, poisonous snake fat with venom, just itching to sink its lethal fangs into something.

I shiver despite the ambient temperature. “It’s not—”

“We can table this discussion for another time, but don’t waste more words on this. I want to see you today.”

I should say no. I should. I should stay inside, hide from Clay.

A broken piece of me picks itself up off the floor, stabs at the fear. “Okay. I’m not sure what kind of company I’ll be though.”#p#分页标题#e#

“Leave your mood to me. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

He hangs up, leaving me with yet another head full of questions.

I don’t call Fionnella. And I slap a to be continued sticker on my puzzling feelings about Q and shove it to the back of my mind.

But there’s one call I’ve been putting off. I dig out my backpack, pull out the picture of Ma and I and turn over the frame. The alphanumeric code I wrote translates to a phone number, and I dial it with shaking hands.

“Hello?” A tentative voice answers.

“It’s me. Elyse.”

“Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. We’ve been so worried! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Ringwald.”

Her laughter is tinged with relief. “I told you, call me Doris.”

“Doris…is she there?”

“Of course. Hold on.”

The phone clatters softly, then it’s picked up again.

“Elyse?”

My heart leaps and tears burn. “Petra. How…how’s things?”

“Good. Well, good with a heavy dose of boring,” she amends.