He’s sent me back promos for the series—it’s a series now—the photo of Kiro with the caption:You won’t believe where we found Savage Adonis.There’s another promo that’s more hypey—Caged by a madman. Strapped to a bed in a mental hospital, Savage Adonis emerges and you wouldn’t believe how.He has another that’s the mystery angle:Why was the public lied to? Why was Savage Adonis being hidden? Get a front seat to his reunion with the pack. The wolf boy bares all, exclusively toStormline.
I put in a call.
“Like them?” he says. “I was going to work in the mob and a hail of bullets, but nobody would believe it then. This fucking story has everything. I need the high-res versions. You need to send those.”
“Look—I’m not going for the kill here. This is going to be a serious profile. Andbares all? No.”
“He’s practically a caveman. Don’t tell me you can’t get him to strip down and sign a piece of paper.”
“That’s not how I’m working this story,” I say. “This is not an exploitation piece.”
There’s a silence. It was the wrong thing to say. From Murray’s point of view, this is all about exploitation.
“You need to trust me,” I add. “You need to trust me to do the right thingandto deliver.”
“No, actually I just need you to deliver,” he says. “I’m paying you to deliver, got it?”
Anger rises up in me. “No, actually, you’re paying me to deliver research and up to a thousand words if needed on a meth supply line at the Fancher Institute,” I say. “Instead you’re getting Savage fucking Adonis. Even though we don’t have so much as a contract on it.”
“I’ve sent you money.”
“I’ll send it back.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence where Murray wants me sweating. I do, a little. I don’t want him sending a team of people up to scour the wilderness area. Though the mob and the police may be doing that soon enough.
“This is going to be a good story, and it’s going to leave him with dignity and money. Do you want it? Because I’ll get you your meth story instead—”
“Of course I want Savage Adonis. I’ll send a contract—”
“I’ll save you some time and send you language to insert about me approving final edit,” I say. He grumbles as I tell him what I want to see in terms of money. “And don’t even think about lowballing me.” I tell him to hurry—I might not have reception for long. Once I have the protections in place, I’ll send him high-res images for the promo. We spend a little time going back and forth until I have the best deal for Kiro that I can negotiate.
I shove the phone into the recharger.
Kiro’s still out there, toiling with a massive tree trunk now, his huge, sweaty bulk illuminated by the headlights. He’s trying to push it off the road. When he turns and puts his back to it, I catch sight of blood blooming red on the white of his shoulder bandage. Fuck!
I open the door and scramble out. “Hey! You’re bleeding!”
He stops, back pressed against the huge thing, but he’s just leaning on it now. He pants, face framed in sweat-drenched curls.
“It’s nothing,” he says. A droplet of sweat hovers on the tip of his nose. I really want to touch it, swipe it off of there.
“Can I just check it?”
“After this is clear.”
“I’ll help clear, then.”
He snorts.
“Concept of two people better than one? Women’s lib? Ever hear of it?”
He glowers, radiating a kind of angry, wild brutality that no camera could ever capture. I want to tell him he’s beautiful. I want to stroke his beard the way he likes.
Instead I put my shoulder against the thing and heave. “Uh.” I look up and find him watching me. “What?”
“You think you can move it,” he observes.
“I think I can try.”