by J. A. Huss
“So why has he been around so long? Why not kill him off ages ago?”
“Because he’s efficient, Harper. You don’t just train up a guy like Tet. All twenty-eight years of his life made him what he is. A killing machine. The perfect fucking assassin.” Vincent leans over again, cupping my cheeks in his hands. “I need you to understand this, Harp. He’s not the person you think he is. He’s manipulative, calculating, and deadly. I can’t blame you for falling for it. World leaders have fallen for it—”
My mind stops listening as I remember back when James was tallying up his kills back in the desert. Destabilized entire governments, he’d said. Too many to count, he admitted. What he did in Mexico counts as genocide.
He said it all right there. He told me everything Vincent is telling me now, only I never saw it clearly.
“—so don’t think that you ever had a chance, Harper. Because you didn’t. He’s been planning this since that first year he went looking for you on your birthday.”
“Planning what?” I ask, desperate to know what’s really going on.
“To use you, Harper. He’s going to kill your entire family, and he’s gonna use you to do it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Harper
I think about this for a second. My first instinct is to defend James. He’s not using me to get revenge. He’s not using me to kill my family. He loves me.
But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud and when I look Vincent in the eyes, he knows this. He knows I’m having doubts about James.
“Eat,” Vincent finally says. “You’re not eating.”
“How can I eat when you just told me he’s going to kill my brother and father?”
Vincent reaches over to stroke my cheek. “Harper, just let us take care of it, OK? We know Tet’s plan. We know how he works. We know what he’s after. So if you just trust us to take care of it, you will never have to think about him again.”
“But every time I see you, I think about him. How can I not think about him when you’re twins?”
“I’m sorry about that. I really am. We can talk about that later, when the timing is more appropriate. But for now, it’s time to eat. You need nourishment.”
Nourishment? Who talks like that? He sounds like my father—if my father ever cared that I wasn’t eating. James would just say, Eat your fucking dinner, and after we fuck, we can discuss.
“Eat,” Vincent repeats.
I pick at my lobster. I’m just not in the mood to put so much effort into a meal.
After watching me push my food around for a few minutes, Vincent sets down his fork. “You like lobster, Harper. I know you do. So what’s the problem?”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“You’re going to eat. If you don’t want this, then tell me what you do want.”
I want James to be sane. I want James to love me. I want James to show up here and blow the place up and take me away. I don’t even care where. Anywhere that’s not here. Anywhere that’s not filled with all this pretentious shit.
Lobster dinners? I think back to the many times I’ve had lobster. Lots and lots of times. It was something we ate regularly. Every couple weeks at least. But in Huntington I ate crap. For a whole year I got to choose my own food and I ate crap. And I ate it waiting for my brother to show up and save me from my dull life that scared me so bad I wanted to take pills to make the stress go away.
And then… James Fenici blew into my life and swept me off my feet. He demanded things of me. He had expectations. He had plans. And I loved that part about him. I loved that he drove a crappy Hummer. I love the fact that his go-to place was a shithole in the desert. I love the fact that no matter where we were, life was real. And exciting. I love that life with James is moment by moment. Nothing is dull or diluted. Life with James is a full-color, full-speed-ahead kind of life.
I fell in love with that man. I did. I fell in love with the James everyone else hates. And no amount of lobster dinners and Southern California mansions can compare.
I’ve had lobster dinners my whole life. I don’t want lobster dinners. I want junk food. I want crap. I want all the things that make life feel good. I want all the stuff that’s bad for me.
“Harper?” Vincent asks.
I look at him. Why does he have to look like my James?
“Harper, I’m not talking to myself. I asked you a question. Please respond with an answer. What do you want to eat, if not this?”
“I want… umm…” I don’t even know how to explain. I don’t even know if I want to explain it. Why bother? He’s just going to get mad at me for wanting James.
“Want what, Harper?”
I shrug. “I want my life back. And my life isn’t about lobster dinners anymore. It’s about junk food.”
Vincent just stares at me because I make no sense.
I tug on my lobster bib until it breaks and I drop it onto my plate. I look Vincent in the eyes as I push back in my chair and set my napkin on my lap. “I’m not hungry. I’m not eating. I’d like to go to bed if that’s OK.”
I expect him to get angry, but he surprises me with an understanding smile.
God, I can’t take this confusion. I can’t take it.
He takes off his bib and gets up and walks over to me, grabbing my hand in his. “OK.”
And that’s it. We start the walk back up the path to the house. Since we’re facing it now, I can see it all lit up in the distance. It’s massive, for sure. And overwhelming in its opulence.
Growing up on a yacht is a very luxurious experience, because let’s face it, megayachts are pretty special. But no matter how big your ship is, it’s never big. It’s still a boat when you get down to it. It’s still got a finite amount of space that everything has to fit inside.
So this mansion, to me, signifies wealth.
I grew up wealthy, but I didn’t have a frame of reference to compare my life to except the local indigenous populations of the islands we frequented. They were poor, but think about it, we all lived in the same place. Paradise. We sat on the same beaches. We swam in the same turquoise blue ocean. My cabin was probably the same amount of square footage as the small bedrooms the other girls on the beach lived in.
We were not so different in my eyes. I’m sure their perspectives are different. But my perspective counts too. And that’s what it was. So moving to the beach—into that small, cramped studio apartment—well, that was not so difficult for me. James’ house in the desert, same thing. It was actually rather spacious. Not that we spent much time there. But it was comforting to have a small space with the open desert around. It mirrors the experience of our boat surrounded by the sea.
Merc’s house? That was perfection. It was plain on the outside, but inside it was cozy and inviting. I’ve never met Merc, but he must be a pretty cool guy to have a home like that. It was like… a refuge.
I look up at the looming house before me and try to put the feeling it evokes into words. It’s like… a citadel… a fortress. A—
“Harper?”
“Yes?” I answer to break up my thoughts.
“If you’re not hungry for dinner, do you mind stopping in the kitchen to have a snack with me?”
When I look up, his eyes are soft and his mouth is turned up in a slight smile. “What kind of snack do you normally eat?”
“Hmmm.” He thinks. “I’m not much of a snacker. I like meals. But I can bend, Harper. I’m not rigid. And maybe all you want is an apple? Or some crackers and cheese? There might even be some pastries.”
I have to smile at that. I bet this guy never eats cookies from the looks of him. Sure, his body is pretty much the same as James’. But I’m sure James keeps trim from work. I bet Vincent keeps fit with diet and exercise like most people.
“OK. I am hungry, it’s just—” My words fail me and I look around the massive living room as we walk through the French doors.
“It’s just too much,” Vincent says, leading me down a dark hallw
ay.
“Yeah, it really is. I’m overwhelmed.” We stop in an entrance and Vincent must find the light switch, because the blackness is suddenly illuminated. The kitchen is… industrial. Not warm and homey like the one at Merc’s house. I’m disappointed.
“Look,” Vincent says, looking down into an open bin built into the side of the wall. “Croissants?”
I make a face.
“Danish?”
A shrug this time.
He reaches down and pulls out a bag of rolls. “Bread and butter?” That makes me laugh because I know I’m being ridiculous and bratty. “I can throw in tap water if you want the real prisoner experience.”
I frown. Because that’s the word I was looking for outside as we walked towards the house. Not prisoner.
Prison. This place reminds me of a prison.
“Harper, just tell me what you want. I’ll get it.”
“James,” I say before I can stop my mouth.
“Oh.” He drops the rolls back into the drawer and closes it up. “OK. Well, I guess I’ll just show you back to the bedroom and then I’m going to turn in. Maybe we can try again in the morning.”
“Try what again, Vincent? What exactly do you expect of me? I’m in love with your brother. How can you possibly expect me to turn that off? Just because you look like him doesn’t make you him. People aren’t interchangeable. And I’m sorry you were the one promised to me. He was the one who found me. He was the one who came to me. He was the one who claimed me. And I let him. So no amount of wining and dining can make up for the fact that you came into my life too late.”
He waves me back out into the hallway and turns the light off as we exit. The walk back to the bedroom is silent and heavy with regrets. I’m sorry I talked harshly to him and I’m sure he’s sorry his brother beat him to the beach. But what can I do about this? I’m not going to give up on James before he even has a chance to talk to me about what these people are saying. That’s stupid.
When we get to Vincent’s bedroom, he walks in with me. But before I can protest about him spending the night in here, he puts his hand up. “Don’t worry. I’m just grabbing clothes and then I’ll leave you alone.” And then he turns and walks into his closet.
A few minutes later he emerges with a handful of clothes and gives me a smile. “Good night, Harper. I hope you have a restful sleep.” He pulls the door closed behind him and I’m alone.
I breathe a huge sigh of relief and strip out of my dress. I hang it up, admiring it as I put it back. It’s very pretty. I should’ve looked at myself in the mirror more so I could remember it. I doubt I’ll have a lot of dressing-up opportunities with James once he comes to take me back.
I shake away my melancholy thoughts and choose a tank top and a pair of soft shorts to sleep in. Once I wash my face and brush my teeth with a toothbrush fresh out of a package, I climb into the big bed. I expect it to smell like Vincent. His cologne. But it doesn’t. It smells like laundry soap. He put fresh sheets on for me.
What a day, I think as I lay my head back into the soft pillow. My stomach is empty and rumbling, but my eyes are heavy and they win the war in the end. Because as soon as they close I’m dreaming of seeing Nick again. Of our birthdays coming up. Of Sasha and cozy homes in the desert like Merc’s.
And of a life filled with James Fenici.
Because a life without him is not worth living.
There’s no replacement for my James.
Chapter Nineteen
Harper
When I wake up in the morning I have no idea what to do with myself. I realize, after lying in bed running all the past days’ events through my mind, that I’m waiting for Vincent to appear and tell me what to do.
Just as this thought crosses my mind, the phone on the bedside table rings.
I stare at it. Do I answer it? I even look around, hoping Vincent will come rushing into the room, but he doesn’t. I count the rings and when it gets to seven, I gather that it’s not connected to a machine and pick it up just to make the noise stop. “Hello?”
There’s a bunch of noise on the other end. “Harp?” Nick asks, sounding very distant.
“Nick? Oh my God, is that you?”
“It’s me,” he says over the roar of traffic. “It’s me!”
“Where are you? How did you know I was here?”
“Vincent called me last night. He said you’re having some trouble adjusting…”
I stop listening. Vincent called him? Called him? Like, just pressed a few numbers and presto, he’s in contact with my brother who’s been missing for a year?
“Harper?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”
“I said, he’s worried about you. And how your time with Tet has affected you.”
“My time with Tet.” Nick’s talking again, but I’ve tuned him out. He knew. He knew I was with James. And Sasha knew where he was too. He went to see Sasha. And my father knew James was with me, they were in contact and that’s why James dropped me off at the ship.
“Harper? Are you still there?”
Somehow all these threads are connected. It’s ragged, but somehow, everything is related. I just can’t seem to figure out how.
“Harper!” He yells it this time.
“Sorry,” I say back quickly. “I think I lost you for a second. The line went silent. Say it again.”
“I said you have to stay away from Tet.”
“Why?” My heart is beating so fast I have trouble breathing.
“Listen, Harp. Tet is on a mission, only he’s not aware he’s on a mission. They brainwashed him years ago, Harper. You need to stay far, far away from him, do you understand?”
“What mission?” I think I might get hysterical.
“I know you’re not going to believe me, but he’s been programmed. They’re all programmed. Do you understand? All the assassins are programmed. They brainwash them when they’re young. All growing up. They tell them things to make them loyal and then when they turn sixteen, the programming is activated and they become assassins.”
“But you—”
“I was never programmed, you know that, sister. I was with you. We’re different. We’re the Admiral’s children. We both have a role to play, but I don’t have time to talk about that now. I got to get back on the road and I just needed to tell you that Tet is dangerous. I know you’re probably wondering who to trust right now, but sister—” His formal use of sister makes me stop my panic and listen. It’s how he always got my attention when we were young because he was not allowed to say my name in front of others. Sister, he’d call me. It meant people were listening. “You have to trust me. Listen to Vincent. Please. He’s telling you the truth. I’m on my way to see you.”
“When?” I interrupt him. “When will you be here?”
“Two days, OK? Just hang in there for two more days and I’ll explain. But for now, Harp, please—listen to Vincent. Give him a chance and let him take care of things. Just relax. You’re safer now than ever before. You’re safer with him than with your own father. OK?”
“OK,” I say just to answer him. But he takes that as the end of our conversation and hangs up. The traffic noise cuts off and is replaced by silence.
I just stare at the phone.
My brother just called me. Remember it all, Harper. Remember it all. Tet is brainwashed. Tet is dangerous. Tet is on a mission. Vincent is good. Nick will be here in two days.
Sister.
That’s the only word that counts.
I hang the phone up and practically collapse back into the pillows. Which parts are true? Which of the things he just told me are true and which are a cover for whatever it is he’s planning?
I look over at the phone and sit up in bed with an idea. I can call James myself. I have his number. I reach for the receiver when there’s a knock on the door.
Fuck. “Yes?”
It opens tentatively and Vincent peeks his head through. “I heard the phone. Wh
o was that?”
“Nick,” I say, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Vincent eyes them for a moment before meeting my gaze. “He said you called him last night.”
Vincent opens the door all the way and comes inside, closing it behind him. He smiles at me as he walks over to the bed and takes a seat. He sits close enough that our legs touch. “I did. I’m worried about you. I’m worried about Tet’s influence on you. I’m worried about what he told you.”
“Told me about what?”
“Anything. Everything. Everything he says is a lie, Harper. Everything. He can’t help it. His life is all about lies. Lies keep him alive. He’s nothing but the product of a dozen years of lies and secrets. He’s killed hundreds of people. He’s overthrown governments. He killed his own brother, for fuck’s sake, Harper. That’s got to bother you. Even if you think he had a good reason.”
I start to say something, but I stop with my mouth hanging open. It makes me appear stunned instead of on the verge of defending him.
“I know,” Vincent says, “it’s horrific. It’s horrible what they had him do. But Harper, he chose that life. You have to understand this.”
“And you chose this one,” I say flatly.
“I didn’t choose. He did. He chose for me by choosing to be Six. I was always the control—”
“Wait. Control. Is that your code?”
“Code?” He looks at me funny.
“Your code. You know, from the Company.”
“I don’t know why you’re talking about. I don’t have any code.”
Right. Secrets. But control. It’s both a noun and a verb. And the way Vincent used it, it sort of means—
“Harper?” he growls. “Are you listening to me?”
Come can be a noun and a verb too, but—I have a private chuckle—the only noun it can be is semen. “I’m listening.”