Page 2 of Revelation

There’s a long pause. “You’re such a fucking pain in the ass, you know that? A terrorist and a colossal pain in the ass.”

“I told you—I’m aScorpio. We’re extremely focused and we also have a disproportionate sense of entitlement. Plus, I gave you my three photos—a deal’s a deal.”

He laughs. “Oh my God, those photos, Kat.”

“You liked them?”

“Ilovedthem. The one of you in your undies was so hot—and then I practically pissed myself laughing at the one of you pretending to barf over the toilet. You’re so funny.”

“Thank you. You’re pretty funny yourself—but funny ain’t gonna get you off the hook, dude. Those photos are part of your application, which means they’re part of your promise.”

He grunts. “Fine. Are you familiar with Macs?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one—from your brother, actually.”

“My brother gave you a Mac?”

“Yeah. To replace the one The Club stole from me.”

“That was awfully nice of him—I didn’t know Jonas knew how to be nice.”

“Yeah. He’s been super nice to me. Okay, quit stalling. Where are the photos?”

He groans. “Fine. Go to ‘Finder’ and click on ‘Pictures’ on the left side of the screen.”

“Yep. Okay.”

“And now do you see the folder...” Josh says, but I don’t hear the rest of his sentence because something has caught my attention on Josh’s laptop screen: a folder labeled “Sick Fuck.” Well, jeez, with a name like that, the folder might as well be named “Open me, Kat!”

“Do you see it?” Josh says.

“Mmm hmm,” I say, clicking on the “Sick Fuck” folder.

Oh my God.I’m looking at a bunch of photos of naked women—lots and lots of naked women—all of them blonde, all of them gorgeous, and all of them striking poses like porn stars.

“Kat? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, scrolling through the photos. There’s probably close to twenty different women here. “Josh, who are all the blondes?”

“What?” he asks, his voice suddenly tight.

“The porn stars in the folder labeled ‘Sick Fuck’?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ! Get out of there, Kat! That’s personal!”

“Who are they?”

“I didn’t give you permission to look through my private stuff.Get the fuck out of there right now.Jesus!”

“Oh, waah, waah. So you like porn—you’re such a pervert.” I laugh, but he doesn’t join me. “Come on. Just tell me who they are. It’s no big whoop.”

“This is a total breach of trust. Absolutely inexcusable.”

I ignore his outrage. It’s an extremely effective tactic I’ve learned from observing my brothers over the years: remain calm in the face of indignation and then deny, deny, deny any and all wrongdoing until the person angry with you simply forgets what they’re mad about.

“Are these photos off the Internet, or are they women you actually know?” I ask calmly.

There’s a long silence. “This is total bullshit,” he grumbles, but it’s clear his outrage is already beginning to soften. “I want to lodge a formal complaint,” he says.

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