Page 77 of Controlled Burn
“You survive it.” McKenna’s words were final. “There’s a difference.”
She left Talia standing there, heart racing, blood pounding in her ears. This wasn’t just guilt or rumor anymore. There was proof. There were eyes.
She wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.
It was after drills. She opened her cubby, and there, sitting on top of her folded pants, was a plain white envelope.
Her pulse spiked. She glanced around—no one was watching, or so it seemed. She palmed the envelope, waited until she was locked in the bathroom before opening it.
Inside: a photo, low-res, but no mistaking the truth of it.
Her—on her knees, mouth parted, hair wild. Jake behind, hand twisted in her hair, Ryan in front, his face twisted in pleasure. Her own body—ruined, exposed, center of the shot.
One line typed beneath, in courier font:You looked like you were made for that. Bet Maddox would like a copy.
She stared at the photo. Her stomach dropped, then flipped, then settled somewhere cold and dangerous. You want to scare me? Try harder.
But the memory burned: Ryan’s voice in her ear, Jake’s hands at her hips, the way they fucked her until she was nothing but open, desperate sound.
How she’d let herself be filmed—knowing, not caring. Wanting to see just how far she’d fallen.
She carried the photo all shift, a secret brand. Every move she made, every flash of soreness, every dark whisper of last night replayed in vivid, searing detail: Her face pressed into the pillow, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other clawing at Jake’s thigh as he drove into her from behind. Ryan’s weight pinningher down, his hand wrapped in her hair, his words raw and dirty: “Take it, Talia. Take it all. You like being ruined, don’t you?” Her own voice, breaking apart: “Yes. Please. Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—”
Jake cornered her in the turnout room and broke her thoughts. She was alone, running checks. He slipped in through the side door and shut it behind him.
“Talia—”
She didn’t look up. “You recorded it?” she asked flatly.
He hesitated. “No. I mean—okay, yes, but it wasn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean for anyone to see it.”
“Then why was it left unlocked on the table?”
His mouth opened. Closed.
“You’re not that careless,” she said, her voice quieter now. “So either you’re fucking stupid, or you thought you could use it.”
Jake swallowed. “It was just for me. Okay? Just… fuck, you were so hot, and—”
“Stop talking.”
He did.
Talia turned, gloves still in hand. Her expression was unreadable.
“What do you want, Jake?”
He leaned against the shelf. “You already know.”
Disgust flared behind her eyes.
“You think I’m yours now?” she said. “Because you played backup singer while I unraveled?”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “No. I think if Maddox saw that picture, things might get ugly for you.”
Talia smiled—sharp, icy. “For me?” Her laugh was soft. Dangerous. “Sweetheart, Maddox is already choking on his guilt. That picture? It would just prove what he lost.”
Jake stepped closer. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want… more.”
