Camden Read online

  Camden

  A Skinners Novel

  Xio Axelrod

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  STRANGER available for download!

  The Skin Agency

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Xio

  Copyright © 2017 by Xio Axelrod LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-0-9989316-0-9

  For Mr. X, who doesn’t laugh when I chat with the voices in my head.

  One

  Breaking News: Pop Singer Missing in Miami

  Pop sensation Yara Bujold has been reported missing by the Miami-Dade Police Department. The singer was all set to finish up her highly anticipated sophomore album when she disappeared. Sources say the "Be Your Baby" recording artist was celebrating on a friend's yacht off the Port of Miami when she allegedly jumped overboard.

  According to reports, Yara and an unnamed companion were lounging on deck when the singer decided to go for a swim, despite her friend's warnings that it was too dangerous. Police say Yara then dove into Biscayne Bay. When a passing boat created large waves, the friend lost sight of the singer.

  After a brief search, the policed were called, and they scanned the area by helicopter. A bay patrol scuba team resumed the search at first light yesterday morning.

  Coastal authorities continue to sweep the area for signs of the twenty-six-year-old, but any hope of finding her alive is quickly fading. Drugs and alcohol were discovered aboard the boat and may have played a factor. The police do not suspect foul play.

  Bujold, best known by her first name, rocketed to the top of the charts four years ago with her debut album "Not a Little Girl," which went platinum in just five days. The pop star's reputation as a party girl had recently come to light, with stories of binge-drinking and excessive drug use surfacing just as Yara was set to sue her long-time manager, Marcus Kaine. The singer sought to be released from her seven-year contract with Kaine, which caused some to question the credibility of the rumors surrounding the young star.

  Ironically, retailers have marked a sharp rise in pre-orders of Yara's sophomore effort since the singer's disappearance.

  Two

  Guilt is like fire. If you let it, it will burn your life down around you.

  Camden Skinner held the printed news clipping with care. Ran a fingertip along the well-worn seams, careful not to smudge the ink. Soon, he'd fold it up and put it back in his wallet. It only took a bit of muscle memory. He'd been performing this particular ritual daily for the past month.

  Nothing like a bit of self-flagellation to start one's day.

  Yara's eyes pulled him in every time. A mixture of innocence and self-awareness that he often found it hard to turn away from.

  Fuck. He was losing it.

  Cam leaned back in his leather, wingback office chair, swiveling it toward the window. It was a hell of a view. Sunrise over downtown Philadelphia from seventy stories high.

  He hadn't even realized the time.

  A sleepless night in the office wasn't much better than a sleepless night at home. He'd been spending too many of them at Skin, the agency he owned with his brother. Had given the business too much of himself. Or rather, Skin had taken too much from him.

  His moral compass, for one. His peace of mind.

  When Cam and Pierce started The Skin Agency, their intentions were good ones. They'd grown up around publicly successful people and had seen how easy it was to ruin a reputation – a career – with nothing more than a whisper. So they'd set out to help those in the public eye who were targeted by blackmailers, kidnappers, and all-around shysters. Very noble, really.

  But they hadn't stuck to that. No. Once the money started rolling in, Pierce started taking on more and more cases that were dubious at best. Instead of defending the innocent, they took on the people with the deepest pockets.

  Cam wasn't a hypocrite, the money was nice. Better than nice, he routinely cleared seven figures on most cases. But the cost had been too high, especially lately.

  The sound of a door closing drew Cam's attention. The only other person in their six-man unit that ever came in at this hour was his brother.

  "Early morning or late night?" Pierce leaned against the door frame, looking every bit the part of the heartless bastard Cam might have become if he didn't have a conscience. "Either way, you look like someone fucked you over good. I hope you found time to get your dick wet."

  Cam often wondered if that was how it worked with twins. One got a soul, and the other didn't. He loved and hated his brother in equal measures.

  "Lost track of time."

  "Ah." Pierce stepped into the room, his gaze immediately zeroing in on the one thing that Cam always, always, kept out of his sight. That damn article.

  Fuck.

  "Are you having a laugh?" Pierce snatched the wrinkled piece of paper from Cam's desk before he could stop him.

  "Give it."

  Pierce snorted, glaring at the page and handling it like it had been dipped in shit.

  "I should burn this."

  "I'll only get another."

  Pierce's gaze narrowed, his hazel eyes hard as granite.

  Cam let him stare. He held his hand out for the paper.

  Pierce ignored him. He sat in the chair on the other side of Cam's desk. It was one of a pair of mid-century, leather armchairs that had cost as much as a small car.

  Everything in their office was egregious in its opulence. Italian glass light fixtures, silk linen wallpaper, burled walnut desks. Cam wondered how he'd been able to stand it for seven long years. His own tastes always ran to simpler things.

  Pierce studied the article. "What is it about this case that's got your head all twisted round, brother? She was nobody to you. Pop stars O.D. all the fucking time, mate."

  "Are you even listening to yourself?" Cam met his brother's glare with one of his own. Growing up, looking at Pierce had been like looking in a mirror. But that hadn't been true for nearly a decade.

  Pierce sighed. "Look, I know this case hit you hard. I can't pretend to understand why except that the girl-"

  "Yara. Her name was Yara Bujold."

  Pierce's jaw clenched. He offered a curt nod. "Yara Bujold wasn't anyone to lose sleep over, brother mine."

  "Something tells me you don't lose much sleep over anything."

  "Not true! I worry where our next case is going to come from. I'm wary of those fuckers in New York trying to sneak in on our trade."

  "Mimic Inc?"

  "Fitting name, don't you think?" Pierce snorted. "Even their bloody logo looks a hell of a lot like ours."

  "Are they poaching?"

  "Trying to. Luckily for us, our reputation is solid. After seven years, it bloody well better be."

  Cam nodded. The business, such as it was, still meant a lot to him. He wanted it to succeed. Not for him, but for Pierce. But this wasn't the life Cam wanted.

  He grabbed the corner of th
e article and slid it back in front of him, peering down into the face he'd come to know almost as well as his own.

  "Why is this one under your skin?"

  Cam shook his head. "It's more than that, Per. I...I can't do this anymore."

  Pierce sat forward, his brow knitting. "Do what anymore?

  Cam met his gaze. "This. Skin. I'm getting out."

  Pierce narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean you're getting out?"

  "Buy me out. I'll sell my share to you."

  Pierce snorted. "Now I know you're having a laugh."

  "I'm not laughing."

  "Well, you can't be serious. This is our business. Ours! We built it together."

  "I know."

  "Do ya? Cause it sounds like you're ready to chuck it all in because some dead girl planted a seed in your conscience. She was a party girl. A druggie, at that."

  "How do we know that?" Cam tried hard to control the volume of his voice. "All you saw was a check with a hell of a lot of zeroes on it and a nice thick file of background that saved you a lot of legwork and cost you nothing."

  Pierce laughed, and the sound of it set Cam's blood on fire. They were twins, and yet Pierce had a way of making him feel like the baby brother. He looked at Cam like he'd lost a bit of brain matter.

  "You think Kaine faked the file, Cam? Come on, this isn't some shitty Hollywood movie. We've been through this before."

  "Kaine's a slimy son of a whore. Did you even bother to look at the intel on his business practices? And I said before that I had doubts. You ignored me." Cam jammed his finger into the top of the desk. "People were crawling out of the woodwork to slander that girl, and there were too many holes in the plot. Too much hearsay."

  He pulled up his own research on Yara Bujold before she'd hit the limelight.

  There were photos of her from high school and college before she'd dropped out to chase stardom. Her smile had been sweet then, and her eyes - those unusual violet eyes that haunted him at night - they'd been bright.

  He spun the monitor to face Pierce who rolled his eyes in response.

  "You're convinced this sweet, suburban girl went from A-student to club-hopper overnight? From Corinne Bailey Rae to Amy Winehouse, just like that? It didn't add up. Still doesn't."

  "And yet it happens all the fucking time, Cam!" Pierce ran both hands through his hair. "Money, fame, they corrupt even the purest. And, let's face it, no one is pure. Not in this world. She got a taste of it and wanted more. Got greedy."

  "When did you become such a cynic?"

  "Around the time our father fucked off with the barmaid."

  Cam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was an old argument, one he was too tired to have again.

  "Per...look I'm done. I'm just...I can't be here anymore."

  Pierce slumped back in his chair. "Fuck me, Cam. What am I supposed to do without ye?"

  Cam smiled. "I'm not moving back to Glasgow, I'll be here if you need me."

  "If?"

  "When."

  Pierce studied him for a long, silent minute before exhaling win resignation. Cam knew his brother well. Despite their differences, he hoped they'd always support one another.

  "What will ye do, though? And how will I keep this place afloat without you? I don't have the kind of money it would take to buy you out."

  Oh. Right.

  "Would you be alright with a new partner?" Cam had already thought this through. A new partner might be able to steer Pierce off this dangerous path. "If I found one?"

  "You'd have to. I'll be pulling double the work, without you here."

  "Rory can take on more."

  "Rory's got his head up his arse."

  Cam chuckled. Their cousin was an enigma. "He's lost, just like we were when we arrived in Philly ten years ago. Took us a minute to figure things out. Give him time."

  He took Pierce's grunt as agreement.

  "Well, I still won't have time to look for someone to replace you."

  "As if you could ever replace me."

  Pierce's smile brought with it a wave of relief. Cam needed his brother to support him in this.

  "Yeah, as if." Pierce exhaled, defeated. "What will you do? You hate not working."

  "I'll busy myself with the pub for a while."

  Pierce scoffed. "You can't be serious. Was that your plan all along? Walk away from Skin and run a pub, just like dear old dad?"

  "I never had a problem with what dad did for a living, Per. I hated what he did with his life. And to ours and mum's. I love the pub. Skinners is the only place where I don't have to think. Don't have to worry about anything other than keeping the kegs full and the chips fresh."

  "Listen to you," Pierce snorted. "Fuck, Cam. Don't live out your days behind that bar."

  "We'll see. Anyway, I'll handle the vetting process for the new partner. I'll bring you the final candidates."

  Pierce sat back. "Fair enough. I hope he has a better sense of humor than you do."

  "Fuck off. I have a great sense of humor!"

  His brother smirked, the wicked glint in his eye all too familiar. "You still angry about the shaving incident?"

  Cam ran a fingertip over his right eyebrow. Though it had grown back more than two years ago, he could still remember the odd sensation of running his pad along bare skin.

  "That was different."

  "Like I said. Find someone who can take a joke."

  "Try learning how to make one first."

  "Damn, brother." Pierce reared back as if mortally wounded. He watched Cam for a moment, perhaps choosing his next words carefully. "You're burnt out, I get that. But rather than chuck the babe out with the bathwater, why don't you take a hiatus?"

  Cam shook his head. "Per, that's...it wouldn't be enough."

  Pierce seemed to accept this. "Okay." He nodded. "Okay."

  The brothers locked gazes. For a moment, Cam could see a lot of himself in his twin.

  The hair was different, Pierce's more sleek and business-like where his kinda did its own thing. The clothes were certainly different. Cam leaned more toward leather and denim, though he could clean up when the occasion called for it. Pierce preferred tailor-made Armani and Hugo Boss. Nothing in his wardrobe cost under a hundred dollars, and that included the socks and briefs. Pierce thought nothing of dropping a grand on a plain, white Oxford. While Cam could never tell the difference between those and what he could pick up in any department store.

  Sometimes Cam wondered if his brother felt the need to make up for their modest childhood. They may have been exposed to the wealthy and famous, thanks to their mother's work with various charities, but none of that wealth or privilege had ever touched them.

  But at that moment, Cam did see himself reflected in Pierce's hazel eyes, and it brought him up short.

  "What?" Pierce squinted.

  "Nothin', just... Nothin'."

  "What are you gonna tell Mum?"

  Cam shrugged. "Hadn't thought about it."

  "She'll think we're having a row." Pierce cocked his head. "We're not, are we?"

  "No, brother mine. I just need to do my own thing now."

  Pierce nodded.

  "Still love you, ye git."

  "Fuck off." Pierce stood with a groan. "Christ, I'm gettin' old. Used to be I could hang with the best of them, all night long, and still be fresh as a daisy come morning."

  Cam chuckled. "A daisy is not what I'd call you right now."

  "Whatever. Find me a partner."

  "On it."

  "And you break the news to Rory. I'll not have him chewing me out thinking it was my idea. The boy's like a surrogate father 'round here."

  Three

  Being dead was a bitch.

  Yara awoke to the harsh light of day, or the shards of it that penetrated the moth-eaten, blackout curtains in her room. The pillow beneath her cheek could have been made of concrete, it was so hard. And the pillowcase may as well have been sandpaper. Still, it was better than sleeping outside. Again.<
br />
  For six weeks, she'd been running from her own life. Difficult to do when you're a worldwide, pop culture sensation, and yet easier than it should have been. People didn't make eye contact anymore, didn't ask questions. Not even when she'd showed up dripping wet in the middle of a busy convenience store. Not even when she rode the bus wearing a garbage bag for a dress. Not even when she'd broken into her own apartment to grab a few things before she got the hell out of town.

  Most people don't want to know about the bad things happening around them, and that had suited Yara just fine.

  She sat up on the cardboard box that pretended to be a bed, groaning at the fresh aches and pains on her weary body. Maybe she should have slept in the chair, except there were stains of an unknown origin. She didn't even want to venture a guess.

  This no-name motel was only slightly better than the last, in that she didn't see the floor move in the dark after she turned off the lights. The bathroom towels also hadn't abraded her skin too much when she'd taken her first hot shower in days. So far, Pennsauken had been relatively kind. And it was very close to where she needed to be, Philadelphia, and close to where she longed to be, home just outside the city.

  Her ninety-nine cent burner phone sat on the nightstand, and Yara checked to make sure it had gotten a full charge before unplugging it. It was her only connection to the world she'd left behind. The world where she'd been elevated to stardom and reduced to a single name. Yara.

  Yara, the pop idol.

  Yara, the overnight sensation. Never mind that she'd been plugging away in coffee shops and open mic nights for years.

  Yara, the druggy whore.

  That was her favorite.

  She checked the phone for messages and found one.

  Hey, it's me. Just making sure you got there okay. Call or text me when you can. I still can't believe it's really you.

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes and Yara clutched the phone to her chest.

  She grabbed the TV remote and powered on the ancient box, tuning it to MTV. Harry Styles had a new video. The song was lovely, and Yara found herself humming along almost immediately.