by J. A. Huss
And even though my family life was pretty messed up, I really don’t think this is what a family is. I really don’t.
At least I was free of the Company’s expectations. I lost all my support. And I got Garrett full-time instead of the Company handlers. But even a drugged-up, stupid sixteen-year-old knew that being cut out of that shit was good.
My father wasn’t such a popular guy in my circles. Of course, the crash was ruled an accident. Pilot error. That’s not how people die in my world. It’s never an accident. And for a little while I thought Garrett was the killer. Or at least I wanted to believe that, because the alternative was that He was the killer.
Two months later Garrett disappeared. He left the bar one night with some buddies and just never came home. None of them did. And if you’re me, attached to him, you don’t look luck in the eye and start asking questions. But this was when I knew for sure it was Case.
He owned me, he said. His eyes are burned into my memory. Cold eyes. Dark eyes. The eyes of a killer who takes no prisoners and never forgets a debt.
But it’s been six years since Garrett disappeared and I’ve been on my own. Six long years of waiting for Him to come for me. Except he never did. In fact, I never saw or heard from him again after the cabin incident.
So I ran the bar. It’s a big country bar in Old Town Cheyenne. We have specials every night. Ladies free on Wednesdays and ninety-nine cent microbrew Mondays. Things like that. I was only eighteen when I took it over, not even old enough for a liquor license, but since Garrett wasn’t officially dead—only missing—it all stayed in his name. I moved on.
No one stopped me.
No one.
And this, more than anything that has happened to me in my short, fucked-up life, is what bothers me most.
Because he said he’d be back. And Merric Case doesn’t look like a guy who goes back on his word.
So where the fuck is he?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I roll over on the bed to check the screen. I smile and pick it up, tabbing the accept button as I bring it to my ear. “Hey,” I say in a low whisper that is appropriate when you’re laying down in the dark in the middle of the night.
“Hey,” Brett says back. “I miss you.”
He makes me smile. He really does. “Miss you too,” I say back. Brett Setton is a good guy. He’s tall, blond, blue-eyed and has a body an eighteen-year-old football player would die for. He’s mature, smart, and runs the bar like he’s running Wall Street. He’s perfect. And tomorrow we are getting married.
How did I ever get so lucky?
“I can’t wait to see you in your dress.”
I look over at the dress hanging from a hook. It’s sparkling with the glint of pearls in the moonlight. The train is long, the bodice tight, and the shoulders strapless. It’s almost shimmering silver instead of white.
“I can’t wait to see you out of your tux,” I say back playfully.
He laughs at that and I smile. “OK, well, I’ll let you get some rest. See you in the morning, Mrs. Setton.”
“Love you,” I whisper back.
We hang up and I place the phone on my belly. His sisters gave me a whole bunch of lingerie as a present. I know Brett likes the sexy look, but I’m a country bar girl at heart and I mostly wear shorts and tank tops to bed. So this little nightie I’m in right now is not me at all. But it is Brett.
That makes me smile again.
His sisters bought me a nightie for each night of our honeymoon in Fiji, plus the night before the wedding. Sarah, his oldest sister, said it’s bad luck not to look pretty when you go to bed on the night before your wedding. I’ve never heard of that, but my experience in weddings starts and stops with my own, which hasn’t even happened yet.
And wedding nights. I’m nervous about that too. My nights with Garrett were filled with confusion and shame. I dreaded being next to him in his bed. Brett will have something planned. He’ll have expectations. And since I’ve never slept with him even though we’ve been dating for over a year, it scares me. I have this very irrational fear of sleeping with people. I can’t explain it, it just… overwhelms me.
I sigh as I look up at the ceiling. The dimmer light in the chandelier must not be turned completely off, because two bulbs are glimmering a faint yellow.
I don’t see two bulbs though.
I see two eyes.
The rich amber of those dark, evil eyes as they peered down at me out on the side of the hill.
My hand comes up to touch my throat as I remember what it felt like to be under him. His hard body pressed against mine. His breath teasing me with his threats. It was soft but filled with violence at the same time.
I know his name now. Merric. But it took me a while to get that information. It took a lot of innocent conversations with close enemies to tease that out of them. Merric Case.
I called him the soft killer those years in between. Not that he’d kill me softly, if he ever decided to come back. But he whispered his threats that night. I close my eyes and feel his breath, sliding into the shell of my ear—tickling me with fear.
Merric.
Brett.
Merric.
Brett.
My hand slips down into my expensive lace panties and finds the sweet spot. But I pull back and swallow down my sick desire.
Why? Why do I think about him? He punched me in the face. He left me with Garrett that night. He had to know what he was doing to me. But he left me there.
I close my eyes and think of the man I have, not the man who says he owns me.
Brett is nothing like the men I grew up with. My father had some interesting friends and none of that was in a good way.
I’m his illegitimate daughter from a woman he had on the side after his wife died. He and his wife never had any children, so he took an interest in me. He tried to save me, too, I guess. He sent the soft killer to come get me. At least I think he did. It’s hard to tell who was setting up whom that night. Was Garrett setting up Merric Case and his friend? Was the little girl the target the whole time, and my father used Merric to get her father away from her so they could take her out?
But the girl lived. I know that for sure. I saw her on the TV once. Garrett and I never met up with those militia friends again, and for that I can be grateful. If they had been around when he disappeared, they’d have stepped in to fill his role. I shudder at the thought of them touching me.
But now I have Brett. Perfect Brett.
I turn over in my soft bed and close my eyes. I need to try to sleep. Put these old memories behind me. Slip into my brand-new life as wife, and sister, and maybe even mother.
That makes me smile. I picture perfect little Brett babies. Tow-headed kids with blue eyes and cherub cheeks. His sisters all have kids, so I can easily slip one of their faces onto the child that might be ours.
But the dark hair and amber eyes come back to me again.
Stop, Sydney.
Why didn’t he come? Why did he let me live?
My phone rings a tune I’ve never heard before. I’m in a daze as I stare down at it.
It stopped ringing. Did I answer it?
And then I sit straight up in bed as the answer to why Case lets me live comes to me.
He’s going to come after Brett, not me. I can’t marry Brett. I can’t marry Brett. Case will make him disappear, just like he did Garrett. Only this time Case won’t be saving me, he’ll be killing me.
My feet are on the cold wooden floor in an instant and I walk over to the window. He can’t get us here, Sydney. He can’t.
The wind is blowing so hard it whistles through tiny cracks in the window sill. I can feel the draft. It’s the dead of winter at the lodge Brett’s family have owned since it was built in the 1920’s.
And it’s closed. It’s not a ski resort, like most places around Jackson Hole. It’s a mountain retreat. More of a dude ranch than anything else. They tell me that they close for the winter. The horses are sent to a stable
near Denver to spend the winter pulling sleighs in the park and carriages on the streets of downtown.
I breathe a small sigh of relief when I see no one outside. But the wind makes a sound like a helicopter and that night at the cabin comes back to me. I thought the helicopter was there to save me. But it wasn’t. It was there to pick him up.
I’ve learned a few things about Merric Case over the years. He’s got money. He’s got resources. And he’s got a network.
The few people who wander into my bar whom I met through Garrett in times past speak his name in hushed tones, if they mention him at all. Not out of respect, either. Out of fear.
I need to tell Brett.
I walk to the door of my room and actually have my palm on the antique glass doorknob, ready to pull it open and walk down the hall to Brett’s room, when I come to my senses. What will I tell him? He can’t marry me because I’m obsessed with a killer? I laugh a little. Will I tell him I was born into a secret organization called the Company? That they have been filling my head with propaganda my entire life? That I’m a danger to him, myself and others and he should run as far away from me as he can get?
What the fuck am I supposed to tell him?
I can’t marry Brett.
No, Sydney. You can’t tell him any of that. He’d never believe you. The best you could hope for is making him think you’re crazy.
Maybe I am crazy.
Maybe I should just admit it.
No. I shake my head. I’m not crazy. That shit happened. I can still feel the tear gas in my eyes. Smell the splintering pine needles when that shot blasted through the trees. Hear the roar of the helicopter in the air above me.
It was real.
That life was real. Those secrets were real. Those people were real.
I walk to my suitcase and grab the pair of jeans I came up here in and pull them on over my pretty lace panties. My hoodie is still draped across the chair and I pull that on over the nightie. And then my boots are on and I’m at the window, the wind still seeping through the cracks as I open it. The snow blows in, bathing my face in a sweet shower of ice crystals.
I need to leave. I need to get the hell out of here before Merric Case comes back to finish what he promised me eight years ago. I throw my leg over the sill and jump down into the snow that has drifted up against the side of the lodge and tug the window back down. I turn into the weather and run across the grounds towards my truck.
With any luck the snow will blow over my footprints and they will not know what happened.
And maybe this is fitting? That I disappear, just like Garrett did.
Maybe he loved me after all? Maybe he left to give me a chance? Maybe he gave himself up to his fate in order to change mine?
It’s a lie I tell myself often. I’m not proud of it, but it eases the hurt of being left behind. Twice. Both times by monsters. Maybe Garrett was a violent asshole, but he was all I had. And what does that say about me that a monster can’t love me? I’m so unlovable even evil men can’t stand to be with me.
I can’t marry Brett.
But I want to. I really, really want to. He’s so nice. And treats me so good. But I can’t marry him if that means Case will include him in his little revenge scheme. I have to protect Brett and his family. They are a good family. Old money. Educated. Upstanding people who contribute to charities and try to make the world a better place.
I hit the truck and realize I left my purse and phone behind. But my keys are still in my hoodie pocket, so I get in and start her up, looking up at the lodge windows for any sign of life.
It’s dark. Like me. Like my past.
Like Him.
I put her in gear and ease forward into the snow. I know this mountain. It’s dangerous in the winter under the best of conditions, and this storm will make getting down into the valley treacherous. But I know this mountain. I know it very well. We’ve been up here dozens of times since Brett and I met. His sisters live here full-time so we come visit every chance we get. So if anyone can get away in this storm, it’s me.
I go slow. I wind my way down, slipping close to the edge more times than I can count. But when I get to the part where the cliff side disappears and the forest takes over, I let out a sigh of relief and turn the music on. I played this song the whole way up here and I’ll play it the whole way down too. That eases my nerves a little more.
It’s the little things that get you through, Syd.
I know that. I live for little things. That way you’re never too disappointed.
The snow gets deeper and deeper as I go and my wheels slide around, creating a sea of slush. I see a huge drift up ahead on the road. At least six feet high. I look in my rear view, anxious about who might come after me if they notice I’m gone, and then gun it.
I’m not getting stuck on this mountain. I’m not. Once I’m in, I’m all in. I’ve never been someone who changes their mind once I hatch a plan. And quite frankly, I’m not up to witnessing the disappointment on Brett’s face if he finds out I tried to run and failed.
The tires slip to the right, making me correct the steering, and then they find purchase on some stones or twigs and the truck lurches forward. The snow mound acts like a ramp and then I’m flying through the air. A moment later the front end crashes into the ground and I am thrown forward, my head hitting the airbags so hard I see stars.
“Limits are for finding strength. Push yourself until you can’t move… and see what happens.”
– Case
There comes a time in every soldier’s life when they realize—all this bullshit is bigger than them. You are small. They are big. You are weak. They are strong. You are dead. They live on.
I picture myself standing out in a vast desert surrounded by nothing but sand on all sides. There’s a crashed plane nearby, smoking.
I’m in uniform, desert fatigues. But they are ripped from the crash. My body is burning from the sun and the pain. My lips are cracked and dry. Water is the only thing on my mind because that’s how you get through as a soldier. You only think of survival.
The problem with survival for most people is that it’s overwhelming.
I’m not most people.
When others see nothing but sand, I squint and see the outline of a mountain range hidden in the mirage of the desert heat.
When others feel their throats closing up as the dry wind whips past their face and threatens to choke them, I picture kissing a woman’s lips, still wet and cool after taking a refreshing drink of water.
When others realize this bullshit is bigger than they ever imagined and all they want is to go back home and fuck their girlfriends and drink beer, I remind myself there is no girlfriend. There is no back home. There is only me.
Other people walk away.
Other people give up.
Other people forgive and forget.
I am not other people. I am Merc and there are three things you should know about me.
Number one. You might be bigger, but I will last longer.
Number two. If you fuck me, I fuck everything you ever loved.
And number three. I never lose. My victory is only delayed.
The tracking app dings in my hand and then a light appears. A smile cracks before I can stop it. Because how fucking perfect am I? I know her so well. And after almost eight years of careful observation and planning, I should.
I tab a graphic on my phone app and pull up a satellite view. It’s real-time. Because while this bitch has been running her little country western bar in Cheyenne, planning cute little theme nights and trying to forget that she was once under the control of a ruthless man, I’ve been accumulating wealth, gathering technology, and feeding my desire for vengeance. I have all the tools. If revenge is a journey, then I’m well-supplied for it. I have anything and everything I want or need to pull off one last job before I disappear for good.
And it all starts now.
I check the laptop in the passenger seat, also showing the drone feed in
real-time, and watch as it changes direction when she leaves the parking lot of the lodge that is heavily covered by ancient conifers. A few keystrokes later and I’ve got a pretty good bird’s-eye view of her truck as it turns onto the only road leading in and out of the almost deserted resort.
I knew back in June she’d run. I knew because she changed the wedding date four times. This was her last chance to settle down. And if she had, I might’ve called that a victory in and of itself and found another way to finish this job.
But—I let a smile crack—I’m so glad she didn’t. Her black truck winding down the mountain road is the only reminder I need of who and what she really is.
Sydney Helena Channing. Company kid. Use her, abuse her, and she always comes back for more. If the girl has a motto, that’s it. That’s the girl I’ve come to know and hate as I watched and waited patiently for all the many pieces to fall into place. Tonight is the first move of the endgame. And I’m about to put her motto to the test.
Sydney is the one who started this for me. Yeah, maybe the senator was the one who set me up—but there’s no way I’d have taken the job on Christmas Eve if a teenage girl wasn’t involved.
Channing knew that. He fucking knew that.
I grit my teeth and force myself to push the past away. What’s done is done. The present is coming up on me in a black truck showered in white flakes.
Almost eight years. That’s how long it took for this moment to arrive.
I light up a cigarette and roll the window down, letting in the frigid mountain air. The snow is picking up, and good God, could this night be any more perfect to pull this off?
I glance down at my phone tracker again and my heart rate jacks up a little with anticipation.
Today I get full access. For the first time in years, full, unobstructed access to her. But that’s not all I’m going to get. No, not by a long shot.
Her headlights wind down the mountain and a few minutes later there she is. She guns her truck to get through a heaping pile of snow. It’s hiding a tree that spans the whole width of the road.