SNAPPED (The Slate Brothers 1)

“What?” I ask, blinking. Is he being serious? Farrow felt we were too “compromised” to actually do our jobs, all because we’re not agreeing with him?

“Mr. Matthews,” Farrow says, motioning to a guy on his left, “Can you show the team the photographic evidence of student conduct violations you found?”

“Sure thing,” the guy says, smiling in an incredibly obnoxious way— he knows just how much street cred he’s getting with Farrow for this. He opens up his laptop and spins it around. On it are a serious of dark, but not entirely useless photos of the new recruits at the party gathered around one of the coolers, drinking.

“This is them by the cooler— which was provided by the players who own the house and the team as a whole. Providing alcohol to a minor is, obviously, illegal. I’ve also got shots of some of the juniors smoking pot on the back patio. You can’t see for sure that it’s pot, but given the context, I think anyone who sees the photo will make the assumption we want.” He sits back like he just presented slam dunk evidence in a federal case.

“Excellent work— I appreciate that you were willing to get photos we could actually use,” Farrow says with a slight glower at Sarah. “Now, obviously, to really nail New Recruits Week to the wall, we need a trifecta— sex, drugs, and drinking as a means of bribery.”

“I thought of that!” Sarah says, looking desperate to regain Farrow’s favor. “But isn’t taking photos of anyone in a state of undress without consent going to be a legal risk on its own? Even if it is part of a larger case? I couldn’t find any instance were nude photos taken without consent weren’t thrown—“

Farrow holds up a hand, looking wry. “Mr. Matthews has something there, too,” he says. The student nods, then pulls up another photo.

I gasp— and so does Sarah. It’s a picture of her.

She’s in Conor’s arms, lifted up against a wall, his mouth fast on hers. His hand is up her shirt, clearly, and her legs are wrapped around his waist. There’s no nudity— they’re both fully dressed— but it’s also clear what’s likely to happen next. Sarah begins to breathe fast, shakes her head, looks at me panicked—

“This is totally inappropriate,” I say, shocked, appalled—

Farrow holds up his hands. “Now, I admit, I wish the photo weren’t of someone from the advocacy group— but in some ways, this is better. We can show how even someone with strong moral conviction, like you, Miss Phillips, is swayed by the presence of football players. How do women stand a chance, when we allow the lions to draw them into their den?”

“Their den?” I ask, shocked. I rise. “Mr. Farrow, Sarah had a consensual encounter with a football player. It’s nothing other than a photograph.”

“It’s all in how you frame it,” Farrow says coolly.

“My parents are going to kill me,” Sarah is saying over and over. “People are— I don’t want this photo out—“

“We’ll keep it under our hats until we release the New Recruits Week information as a whole,” Farrow says, like this is supposed to be a comfort.

Sarah’s eyes widen, then spill over with tears. “But I won’t sign a photo release! I won’t—“

“Well, that’s your choice,” Farrow says, but there’s something dark and broody in his eyes, something that tells me these photos are going out one way or another. He goes on, “Ladies, I appreciate what you tried to do. But there is profound biological evidence to show it is difficult for the fairer sex to resist when it comes to people that exhibit physical superiority—“

“Oh, fuck off,” I snarl, and reach down to grab my purse. I sling it over my shoulder than grab Sarah’s arm. She’s weak on her feet, but allows me to pull her out of the room. I want the door to slam behind me, but it’s on one of those things that makes it drift gently shut, frustratingly enough. I haul Sarah, sniffling and weepy, down the hall and to the main staircase.

“Sarah, it’ll be okay,” I say, turning to face her. “This is bullshit. It’s every bit as exploitative as he’s accusing New Recruits Week of being.”

“I just— I like Conor. He was so nice to me. I don’t want him in trouble, and I don’t want to be in trouble, and I don’t want Farrow to hate me, and I—“

“Farrow is a dick, no matter how good a lawyer he is— I don’t want a job with his firm even if he offers me one someday. And you? You’re getting a lawyer to send him a cease and desist before he makes another move with those pictures.”

“I can’t afford a lawyer without telling my parents where I was,” Sarah says, shaking her head. Mascara is streaming down her cheeks.