Creeping Beautiful, Book 1

by J. A. Huss

  “Why are you calling me?” I finally said.

  “I’m texting you an address. You have two hours and fifteen minutes to get there. Then I just… move on without you.”

  And the call dropped.

  Two hours and seven minutes later I’m parking the truck on the side of the road. There are three people on the Gator Boardwalk in Daphne, Alabama. None of them are Nick Tate. Just a man, a woman pushing a stroller, and a small child.

  I head that direction and find my way to the part of the boardwalk that goes under the northbound lanes of AL-42 traffic and there he is. It’s windy and cool today. High fifties, maybe. Heavily overcast and a little bit of drizzle in the air. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the hood over his head, but I know it’s him.

  He side-eyes me as I approach and I stop for a moment, taken aback.

  “Nick?” I whisper it. And the traffic above us on the bridge is so loud, I can barely hear it myself, so I know he doesn’t hear it. That’s probably why we’re meeting under this bridge. Just in case anyone is listening. Or if I came wired, I guess.

  Nick turns to face me full on and I find myself holding my breath. There is a nasty, thick scar down the side of one cheek and his neck is ringed with tattoos.

  Chains.

  “Nice to see you again, Adam.”

  I can’t talk. I don’t know how to reconcile this guy in front of me with the golden surfer kid I last saw ten years ago. They are not the same person. Not even close. And for a moment I just stare at him, unable to believe my own eyes.

  “What… what happened to you, Nick?”

  He lifts his head up a little in a sort of nod, then says, “Come down here so we can talk.”

  I hesitate. Because I’m suddenly unsure if I even want to get that close to him. The whole drive over here to Alabama I was pretty confident that I could handle Nick Tate. But all that confidence is withering fast as I process just how little I know him these days. A lot has happened in the ten years since he was taken down to Central America.

  But I’m here. There is no way out but forward. So I close the distance between us in fifteen steps. He leans his forearms on the top rail of the fence that overlooks the water and I do the same. There are no gators down there that I can see. But Nick is silent and studies the water anyway.

  I wait as long as I can, but I’m anxious and I need to make sense of whatever the fuck it is he’s doing. For all I know he’s put some kind of team together and he got me down here, two hours away from Indie, so he could send them in and take her out.

  McKay too.

  But I force myself to remain calm. “Well… what can I do for you?”

  He draws in a breath. “I’m taking it down for good.”

  “We tried that already. I don’t even know the exact number of Company upper circle who died that night in Santa Barbara, but it was over two hundred. And we’re still here. And I’m still working. So that’s fine. If you want to do it again, I won’t get in your way. But you leave my girl out of it. You got the other one, the one I didn’t know about. But you can’t have Indie. And if you came here to tell me something different, we’re gonna settle this before you leave.”

  He shoots me a crooked smile. “Big, tough words from you today, Adam.”

  “And why the fuck are you telling people I’m working with you?”

  He frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been hearing my name come up with yours and I don’t like it. I helped you out that one time. And you know damn well we haven’t been in contact since.”

  “Oh. Adam. No. Not you. Some other dude. He’s in the FBI. Doesn’t even know he’s Company. Yet. But he’s part of my plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “Don’t worry about that part. I don’t need your help this time. I have it all covered. But…” He pauses. Stares at me with hard, cold, brown eyes. “I can’t leave these girls behind.”

  I shake my head. Not understanding. “What… I don’t get it. Where are you going? Where are you taking them?”

  But then it hits me.

  He’s not going anywhere except down with this fucking Company ship.

  “You’re killing them.” It’s not even a question. “You’re taking some kind of last stand and you’re making them go down with you.”

  “They’re all fucked anyway, Adam. You and I both know that. The only reason you’re still alive is because your father backed you out of the program when you were twelve.”

  I’m not sure if he’s trying to say I would’ve never cut it as a Company assassin or if he’s hinting that he’d have already killed me by now if my father had put me through the same early training Nick had.

  Doesn’t really matter though. I only have one thing left to say to him and then I’m leaving. “It’s not Indie’s fault, Nick. It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. She didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have a choice. You didn’t have a choice. This is just the life we got stuck with. So if you think killing little girls is the only way you can find the absolution you are so obviously looking for? Well, fuck you. Just… fuck you, Nick. There is no absolution for you. Your father made sure of that.”

  “And your father made sure you got out.”

  “I didn’t ask him to do that. And Indie didn’t ask me to save her, either. But he did. And I did. And I’m not gonna let you come in and rip her world apart just so you can feel better about yourself when you land in hell.”

  “Is that where you think I’m headed?”

  I almost laugh. “Are we done here?”

  “I don’t know, Adam. Are we?”

  “Stay the fuck away from my kid. You hear me? She’s not like us. She’s definitely not like you.”

  He flips his hood down to reveal an almost completely shaved head. It makes him look even more dangerous and diabolical than he did with it up. And I can’t lie. My fuckin’ heart skips a beat. Adrenaline shoots through my body and my muscles are tense and ready if he decides this is where we part ways on bad terms.

  This cannot be the boy I knew. It simply can’t be him.

  But it is. I can see him underneath the tattoos and scars. He’s… in there. Somewhere.

  “She’s not different. They all say that, Adam. Every one of them says it. And they might even all believe it. But it’s not true. She’s not different. Not from me. Not from you. Not from McKay. Not from any of us. And if you keep her—”

  “If I keep her?” I scoff. “Motherfucker, she’s mine. Forever.”

  “If you keep her, there will be a price to pay. And when that day comes…” He shakes his head. “I’m gonna be down in hell, laughing at you.”

  I stare at him, defiant now. My heart isn’t skipping because he scares me. It’s thumping hard because if he comes at me, I will kill him right here. Hand-to-hand combat style—in full view of that little family on the other part of the Gator Boardwalk bridge—and not give a single fuck about it.

  Nick assesses me. Probably asking himself how even of a fight it is these days. Wondering how low I’ve been lying these past ten years. Wondering if I got lazy and decided to let McKay do all my fighting for me.

  But it hasn’t been McKay taking Indie on those jobs. And he probably knows that.

  Still. His father made sure he was the most dangerous kid to ever come out of the Zero program and the past ten years down in Central America certainly haven’t softened him up any.

  Finally, he grins and puts up both hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture. “Hey. You do you, bro. If you say you’ve got her under control?” He shrugs. “Who am I to say different?”

  I work my jaw, still tense. Say nothing.

  “We good then?”

  “We’re good,” I whisper. “As long as you stay the fuck out of Louisiana.”

  He grins at me. A crooked, messy grin that says more than words ever will. “Don’t worry about that. I’m on my way to Colorado right after I leave here. Got people to see, places to go, shit to do.” Then he ex
tends his hand towards me.

  I look at it for a second. Then let out a long breath and take it.

  He quickly turns it into some drug lord secret handshake that I’m clueless about. But we end it with a bump. And then he flips his hood back over his head, turns away, and walks off.

  “Hey,” I call after him. “Did you kill her?”

  He turns around, hands in his hoodie pockets, and walks backwards. “Who?”

  “That girl you got this morning?”

  “Not yet,” he says, still walking backwards.

  “It’s not her fault, Nick. Indie has me, and McKay, and Donovan. We’re gonna take care of her. I promise. We won’t let this happen to her. And you don’t have to kill that girl either. It’s not her fault.”

  I don’t know why I say that. But Indie has changed me. I don’t see her as the psycho kid inside that snake cage back on the auction island anymore.

  I see her the way she is now. Happy. Pretty well-adjusted. Just another teenage girl.

  He stops walking and shakes his head at me. “What do you think I should do? Just… find a couple of cool-headed ex-Company assassins and drop her off for foster care?”

  I shrug with my hands. “It’s not a bad idea, dude. She didn’t ask for this. Don’t take her down with you.”

  He smiles. Shoots me with his finger. And then turns back around and continues walking.

  I watch him until he’s up over the ridge and out of sight. Then I take out my phone and call Indie.

  “What’s up?” she says.

  And I can breathe normally again.

  “Hello? Adam? What the fuck?”

  My heart stops skipping.

  “Are you OK? Do you need help? What’s going on?”

  The fear ebbs back.

  “No. I’m here. Just checking on you. What are you doing?”

  “What? I’m over at Nate’s house. We’re watching a movie.”

  “Watching a movie, huh? That better be all you’re doing with Nate.”

  “Shut up. Where are you?”

  “I’ll be home in a couple hours. But I just want to say that… your friend isn’t dead. He took her, but…”

  “Oh, thank God. I like her. She was cool. And I felt so bad.”

  So bad, you’re watching a movie right now like it was nothing?

  I want to say that. But don’t. Because then I might have to admit that Nick was right. She’s not OK. She will never be OK. She was bred to be a sociopath just like me. Just like Donovan.

  And yeah… just like Nick.

  “Well, have some… good, clean teen fun. And don’t be late for dinner. You know McKay hates that.”

  “Oh, my God. Whatever. See you then.”

  And she drops me.

  I’m smiling, pretty satisfied with how this meeting turned out, when I realize something.

  Nick. He said… McKay. He said, She’s not different. Not from me. Not from you. Not from McKay. Not from any of us.

  But that’s not true. We aren’t all the same. McKay isn’t like us. He will never be like us.

  There’s a two-hour drive home. And I should be thinking about Nick Tate and what the fuck he’s up to with the Company.

  But that’s not what I’m thinking about.

  Nick can do whatever he wants and he can think whatever he wants. I don’t really give a fuck. We barely work for the Company these days anyway. The odd clean-up job here and there is like a vacation compared to what the other teams do. And they can’t touch me. They know that. The whole fucking arrangement since I bought Indie has been one long win-win as far as I’m concerned. If that Shadow of Secrets calling himself Nick Tate wants to take some people out with him, go for it, dude.

  Just leave me out of it.

  I’m done with that shit.

  No. What I’m thinking about is Nathan St. James. Because he and Indie are getting pretty fucking tight. And I get it. He’s the boy next door. Indie has this tattered-up romance novel about some teenager falling for the boy next door. I don’t even know where she got that thing. Maybe on one of her clandestine trips upriver for supplies? Which reminds me—I maybe need to put some kind of tracker on her. We didn’t even know she was going upriver and apparently she’s been doing that for years.

  But she’s got boyfriends on her mind. And while it could be worse—she could’ve fallen for the local high-school football jock in the nearest town—I’m not ready for her to start dating.

  But then I wonder… maybe she’s been dating that kid this whole time and I didn’t know it? Because I’m dumb. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old dumbass man who has no clue what teenage girls think about and I let McKay handle all that shit. And she’s been hanging out with Nathan St. James since she was ten. So… like… have they been kissing and shit?

  I get this weird, sick feeling in my stomach when I think about that. I don’t wanna think about it. But she is fifteen. And back when I was fifteen, I was fucking around with all kinds of girls. Who were also fifteen.

  No. I don’t like where this Nate thing is headed. Not one bit.

  Indie has a job to do. And I probably got a little too comfortable with Nate because he’s just been a fixture around Old Home for so long, I started assuming he was one of us.

  Which he sort of is. His father was, at least. He was a lot older than me growing up so I didn’t pay much attention to him. And I was busy being me. In fact, I don’t even know what happened to that guy. I don’t even know where Nate came from. Just… one day he was there.

  He wasn’t a baby. And there was never a mother over there. Just the grandfather and then the kid. He was about four, maybe, when he showed up. Five at the oldest.

  And it occurs to me that I should look into this shit. It occurs to me that I should’ve looked into this shit a long-ass time ago.

  When I get home McKay’s truck is gone. I was gonna talk to him first since he’s the one who pays the most attention to Indie on the day to day. But I look across the lake and then the next thing I know I’m heading down the path that leads to the little brick carriage house.

  I even sneak a little. Like I’m spying. And when I started down the path I didn’t intend on spying. I just figured it was time I had a little chat with Grandpa St. James. Make sure we’re all on the same page here as far as my… Indie… goes.

  Which then has me wondering what I should call her when I talk to the old fart.

  She’s not my little sister. And she’s not my daughter.

  So yeah. This is probably why I let McKay do this shit. There is no word for what Indie is to me.

  Except the actual description of what Indie is to me. Which is my little bought-and-paid-for psycho assassin kid.

  But I can’t really say that.

  So I stop just off to the left side of the house to think about this for a moment.

  Hello, Mr. Grandpa St. James. I’m here to have a talk with you about your grandson’s intentions with my…? My what?

  Friend? Not really.

  Ward? That sounds very Charles Dickens.

  Minor dependent?

  I go with that and continue towards the house. It’s as good as anything. But I’m just coming up to the front when I hear giggling.

  And you know what? It’s not the kind of giggling you do when you’re watching a funny movie.

  It’s soft giggling. And then a word. “Stop.” Just one giggly word. “Stop it.” And again.

  And that rational voice inside me is screaming, Go home. Talk to her later. You do not want to know what’s happening in there.

  Which is very good advice. And I should listen to myself.

  But I don’t. I walk to the window and peek in.

  Indie and Nate on the couch. Heads together. Lips, if not touching, just about to. His hand squirming its way up her shirt.

  She giggles again. “Stop it! I told you. Not until later!”

  “Not until later?” I echo.

  And then I realize the window is open and they just heard me.
r />   “Adam!” Indie squeals and she’s up on her feet so fast, I almost think I was seeing things.

  But no. Her shirt is pulled crooked, one bare shoulder exposed.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” My voice is low and growly and threatening.

  “Oh, fuck,” Nate says. “I’m sorry. We were just messing around.”

  I stare at him. No. Glare at him through the window. And then the next thing I know I’m inside, grabbing him by the fucking shirt. Pushing him up against the wall. Knocking shit over as he struggles to get away. Indie is tugging on my arm, and then a picture falls off the wall, and somehow Indie is on the floor. Looking up at me. Screaming. “He was teasing me! That’s all! It was a tease!”

  I hear it. I get it. I do. But I can’t bring myself to take my fucking fingers off this kid’s throat.

  He’s choking now, his hands gripping mine. But he’s a fifteen-year-old kid and I’m a twenty-eight-year-old asshole. So there’s no hope for him at all.

  And then there’s a blinding flash of light in front of my eyes and ringing in my ears as something very hard and solid hits the side of my head.

  I wake up with a piercing headache and McKay bent over me, shaking me by the shoulders.

  “He’s coming around.”

  That’s McKay.

  “Oh, thank God. Adam? Oh, my God. Adam? Are you OK?”

  That’s Indie.

  I blink a few times, trying to focus my eyes, and then McKay is pulling me up to a sitting position.

  My head throbs. I reach for it and find a hard crust of blood matted into my hair.

  My head swivels to the side and I barely make out… Nathan. Little coward. Standing in the far corner. Arms crossed over his chest. A red ring of fingerprints still bright around his neck. And he has the fucking nerve to scowl at me.

  “You,” I croak.

  “Easy, killer.” McKay pulls me to my feet. “You took a hard hit. And it wasn’t him.”

  “I’m so sorry, Adam.” Indie is all up in my face. Eyes darting back and forth, searching mine. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard. But you were gonna choke him out! And I told you, he was teasing me! That’s it! That’s all it was!”