Page 44 of The Associate
He skidded to a halt, chest heaving, and immediately ducked behind the broad trunk of a pine tree. Peering around it, his blood ran cold.
There was a figure. Sitting on the ground near the water’s edge, a dark shape against the silver gleam of the lake.
Counselor.
The thought was instant, paralyzing. He’d walked straight into a trap. He was dead. He prepared to bolt back into the woods.
But then the figure moved, just a slight tilt of the head. A shaft of moonlight caught a shock of hair. The hair was wild, a mess of blond spikes sticking out at odd angles, looking like it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks.
Samuel’s breath caught. Not a counselor.
Elias.
The voice, low and roughened by smoke, cut through the quiet. “Wanna a smoke?”
Samuel flinched, his heart slamming against his ribs. He hadn’t made a sound. He’d barely breathed.
How had Elias known he was there?
The older boy hadn’t even turned around. Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat, Samuel crept out from behind the pine and slowly lowered himself to the ground a few feet away, leaving a careful buffer of space between them.
“How did you get those?” Samuel whispered, his eyes fixed on the slightly crumpled red-and-white box of Marlboros in Elias’s hand.
Contraband. A serious offense. The thought of the punishment for being caught with those made his palm throb in sympathy.
Elias smirked, a quick, shadowed flash of teeth in the moonlight. He didn’t answer. Instead, he nudged the open box toward Samuel with a casual flick of his wrist.
Samuel stared at it. A silent debate raged. Taking it was another rule broken, another layer of sin. But the rebellious pull, the need to grasp at any shred of autonomy was stronger. He shot a furtive, paranoid glance around the clearing, seeing nothing but trees and water. His trembling fingers reached out and plucked a cigarette from the box.
Elias produced a cheap plastic lighter. Theflick-hisswas obscenely loud. He lit Samuel’s cigarette, then his own. Sam inhaled tentatively, and the smoke hit his lungs like ground glass. He doubled over, a harsh, racking cough tearing from his throat. Elias watched, his smirk lingering, and shook his head slowly, a silent‘rookie.’
“I have my sources,” Elias finally answered Sam’s question, his voice a gravelly murmur. He took a long, practiced drag, the tip of his cigarette glowing like a malevolent orange eye.
Samuel frowned, the smoke still burning his throat. “You mean… someone from here? The Hills?” The idea was inconceivable. The idea of one of the staff trafficking in cigarettes was like imagining the pope dealing black-market goods.
Elias stayed quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching as he stared out at the black water. When he finally spoke, his voice dropped even lower, a rumble that seemed to merge with the rustle of the pines. “I mean everything has a price. You just have to be willing to pay it.”
Samuel frowned. He stared at Elias’s profile, stark in the moonlight. The sharp line of his nose, the curve of his lip around the cigarette, the defiant jut of his chin. The wild, spikes of blond hair looked almost silver.
Pretty,Sam thought.
The thought arrived fully formed, a quiet, devastating truth. It was followed instantly by a wave of scorching shame so intense it stole his breath.
He knew he shouldn’t think it. He knew it was the sickness they were here to cure, the very poison in his blood. But the thought was there, undeniable, and beautiful, and it terrified him more than any counselor’s wrath.
Suddenly, Elias turned. His green eyes, usually hooded and lazy, were sharp, catching Samuel in the act of staring. They gleamed in the darkness, knowing. Samuel felt a hot blush explode across his face and neck. He was grateful for the dark.
“We are not, you know,” Elias said, his voice so quiet it was almost lost under the lap of water against the shore.
“What?” Samuel breathed out, matching the hushed tone, afraid to shatter this fragile, illicit bubble.
“Sinners.”
The word hung between them. Simple.Blasphemous.
Samuel’s stomach flipped.
“But…” he started, the programmed responses rising automatically.
