by Lasky, Jesse
He walked down the line, surveying them calmly as if the rain weren’t still soaking them all to the bone. Stopping in front of Ava, he surveyed her with clinical eyes.
She bowed, offering him Cruz’s white flag. “Sensei.”
Takeda nodded, accepting the flag. “You knew Cruz would protect Reena, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sensei,” she answered quietly.
“He cares for her,” Takeda said. “Now you see how that gets in the way.” He turned his attention to the group, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “How it makes you weak. How it makes you vulnerable.”
They were standing in the wake of his silence when a harsh ring cut through the air.
Takeda removed a satellite phone from his belt and walked a few feet away, turning his back on them. His voice was low but not inaudible.
“May first? That’s less than five weeks away.” A pause as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone. “Then we don’t have much time.”
He hung up and returned to the group, but Ava’s mind was reeling. She didn’t know what May first meant to Takeda, but it meant only one thing to her: the Annual Starling Vineyards Gala.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A band marches steadily on the pavement outside the California State Capitol in Sacramento as a crowd of thousands rallies enthusiastically, police stationed around barricades to keep them at bay.
But Reena isn’t paying attention to the crowd. She’s too busy flirting with Cruz Benton, her mother’s chief staff assistant.
“I like your hair up like that,” he says, appraising her.
She’s not buying the smooth-talker routine, but at least he’s cute. “My mom says it makes me look older, but I think she means boring.”
Cruz grins. “Boring is probably the idea.”
She holds up her smartphone, revealing the home page for popular gossip website EyeCandyCorn.com, a photo of a hard-partying Reena guzzling a bottle of Dom Perignon.
“I take it you’re referring to my extracurricular activities?”
He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the roar of applause as Reena’s mother, lean and elegant in a white pant-suit that accentuates her dark hair, takes the podium. Reena and Cruz turn their eyes toward her as she speaks into the microphone.
“Inside this building, inscribed below our State Seal, are the words ‘Senatoris est civitatis libertatem tueri,’ ” Senator Gloria Fuller says to the crowd. “This translates to: ‘It is the duty of a senator to protect the liberty of the people.’ That’s exactly what I’ve been doing since my election to this position. And by the turnout here today, I’d like to think you feel that way, too.”
The crowd erupts into applause. Cruz turns back to Reena.
“Extracurricular implies that you’re going to school,” Cruz says with a smirk. “I thought you dropped out.”
She rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, you’re a Harvard boy?”
Cruz shakes his head. “My brother, Simon, goes to Harvard. He’s around here somewhere, too. But yeah, Yale was all like, ‘Please, Cruz, we’ll give you a full scholarship, we love you, we need you!’ So, you know, how could I let them down?”
Reena laughs, amused by his cockiness. Just her type.
She motions to the neoclassical columns that line the Capitol building. “So, what? One day, you’ll be in there with slicked hair and a suit to match?”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I’m more concerned with where I’m taking you for dinner Saturday night.”
“That might not be good for your squeaky-clean image.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to make sure it’s worth it,” Cruz responds smoothly.
Reena smiles. “Shouldn’t you be helping my mom win or something?”
“Please. She’s doing a fine job of that on her own.”
Reena looks up, making eye contact with her mother. They don’t always get along, but at the end of the day, they only really have each other.
And in that very moment, it’s all ripped away.
A single gunshot rips through the air like a hammer. People scream, the crowd instinctively ducking. Then everything seems to slow down for Reena—her heart, her pulse, her view of things as they become distorted and surreal.
The police are running, scanning the crowd for the gunman, trying to figure out where the shot came from and who—if anyone—is hit. But Reena knows the target, isn’t even surprised when she turns toward the podium to see her mother, a crumpled heap, on the ground. Blood seeps from a wound on her temple, fanning out in a crimson circle around her head.
A bloodcurdling scream echoes through the crowd. It takes Reena a moment to notice with detachment that it’s hers.
Her mother’s bodyguards appear at Reena’s side as Cruz pushes through the crowd. She watches him stop, turn to his left, confusion and disbelief written all over his strong features. Reena follows his gaze to a group of policemen, surrounding a man who must be the shooter. One of the officers steps forward, pulling a wicked-looking shotgun from the man’s body. As the other officers force the suspect to his feet, he begins shouting.
“Wait! This is a mistake! I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” The police cuff his hands behind his back as he continues to assert his innocence.
And then Reena’s eyes find Cruz, frozen in place, staring at the suspect as he’s shoved through the crowd toward a battalion of police cars.
He says only one word, but even through the chaos, Reena hears it.
“Simon?”
Reena was still steaming over Ava’s win when Cruz approached her. He could read her like a book. He knew she was pissed.
At him. At Takeda. At Ava.
But most of all at herself, for allowing Ava to beat her.
Pushing away the comforting hand Cruz tried to place on her shoulder, she turned her body away, Takeda’s words still playing in her mind. But it was too late to show her independence. Takeda was watching, as always. The man missed nothing.
He shook his head, his disapproval evident.
“Sensei—” Reena began, wanting to redeem herself.
Takeda cut her short. “Revenge is a living organism. It thrives on focus, on discipline. While attempting to right your wrongs, many others will occur if you choose to lose that focus. You can only find and exploit your enemy’s weaknesses if you shed your own.” He pointed to her heart. “Start here.”
He turned away, leaving her with Cruz.
“There will be other contests,” he said gently, looking into her eyes. “Other opportunities to win.”
“That doesn’t change what happened with this one, does it?” she snapped, still bristling.
Cruz didn’t flinch. He’d seen her at her worst. And this was far from her worst. If she could have pushed him away, he would have been gone a long time ago. Romantic feelings aside, he was the only truly loyal person she had left. No matter what Takeda said, she was with Cruz for the long haul.
And they all had their baggage.
Ava stood with Takeda. Her eyes traveled to the mysterious young woman who rarely spoke, now practicing jujitsu in the rain. Whatever had happened to her, it must have been bad. And that was saying something in present company.
“What’s her name?” Ava asked, eyes on the woman as she moved flawlessly from position to position.
“We call her Jane,” Takeda said simply.
“What do you mean?” Ava asked. “That’s not her real name?”
Takeda shot Ava a sharp look. “That is not for you to know, deshi.”
Reena stifled a laugh at Takeda’s use of the word for apprentice. Even Ava, it seemed, had to be put in her place from time to time.
Ava bowed her head, her cheeks pink. “I’m sorry, Sensei.” She hesitated. “It’s just…”
“Yes?” Takeda prompted.
“I was just wondering why she never participates in our drills.”
Takeda seemed to consider the question. “I would not like anyone to become injured,�
�� he said as the winds picked up again.
“But she’s been training for a while here, right?” Ava asked. “I’m sure she’d be okay.”
Reena rolled her eyes. She really was clueless.
Takeda paused, as Jane’s kicks turned lethal. She twisted her body around, slamming her fist into a thin Japanese pine tree, snapping it in two.
Takeda glanced meaningfully at Ava. “I was talking about the rest of you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Morning sun streamed in through the atrium at Starling Vineyards, Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp drifting like smoke through the halls of the house.
William Reinhardt’s eyes were closed, his fingers moving expertly over the keys of the baby grand piano. He had just reached the crescendo when a ringing erupted from his pocket. He played a moment more, wanting to hold on to the music for just a few more seconds, before stopping with a sigh. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the phone, glancing at the display before accepting the call.
“Senator Wells, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Reinhardt asked.
“She found him,” Jacob Wells said, a cacophony of echoing voices and footsteps on marble telling Reinhardt that he was probably in the California State Capitol building.
“Excellent.” Reinhardt walked to the window, looking out over the rows of swollen Malbec and Nebbiolo grapes still glistening with dew. “Once again, she’s proven herself an asset.”
Wells’s voice dropped a notch. “I still don’t trust her.”
Annoyance flared through Reinhardt’s veins. He focused on the grapes, forcing himself to speak evenly. “Just think of all she’s done. And without asking anything in return.”
“That’s precisely what troubles me,” the senator said.
“Everything is under control,” Reinhardt said to pacify him. “This is the final piece of the puzzle. You’ll be here for the Starling Gala on the first?”
“Of course.” The senator didn’t sound enthused.
“Good,” Reinhardt said. “We’ll exchange the information then.”
He hung up the phone and walked back to the piano. Settling himself on the bench, he resumed Chopin’s classic. He closed his eyes, letting the music move through him, return him to a time he’d tried without success to forget. It was always this way. First, the music: the only thing other than the vineyard that soothed his fury. But it never lasted long, because on the heels of the music came memories he did not want to face.
Rage built inside him, coating the inside of his mind with red paint until it was all he could see. Opening his eyes, he slammed his fist down onto the keys. The notes clanged eerily through the glass-enclosed room, sending the robins that made their home in the trees outside scurrying.
He stood, moving back to the open window. Taking a deep breath, he looked over the rows of vines, his gaze coming to rest on the other vineyards in the distance.
Reinhardt wanted it all. And he would stop at nothing to get it.
The ringing of his phone shook him out of his reverie. Probably that whiner Wells again. But when he looked at the display, he saw that it wasn’t Wells but the woman Wells had phoned him about.
“I hear you found the missing link to my otherwise unbreakable chain,” he said, approaching the minibar next to the baby grand for a morning cocktail. “I’d like to assume there’s nothing you want, but I know human nature doesn’t work that way.”
“We’ll get to that later.” The voice on the other end of the phone was smooth, slightly husky. He always felt an oddly erotic thrill listening to her speak. “For now, I just want one thing.”
Reinhardt poured himself a healthy glass of Cabernet, swirling it in the glass and holding it up to the light. “And what would that be?”
“For Starling Vineyards to remain in your possession.”
CHAPTER NINE
“And as we lay her body to rest, we remember her gentle touch, her wistful laugh, her devoted heart. But most importantly we remember the one thing that won’t be returned to the earth today We remember the way Sylvie Anne Monroe made us feel. The way she still makes us feel. And unlike our physical bodies and even our mortal minds, that feeling is eternal. That feeling is forever.”
The priest signals for the mahogany casket to begin its descent as tears stream down Ava’s cheeks. The twenty-two-year-old mourner tries to keep her composure, to be as strong as Sylvie taught her, but it’s hard.
A hand squeezes Ava’s. It’s firm and commanding, supportive and compassionate.
“You’ll get through this, love,” Charlie whispers in her ear, his breath breaking Ava from her grief-stricken trance.
“How?” she asks him.
He smiles. “Together.”
They haven’t known one another very long, barely a year, but Charlie and Ava’s chemistry has fast-tracked their romance. Even at a time when there’s a hole in Ava’s heart, Charlie fills it, mending it with his utter devotion.
A small bird flies past, causing both of them to jump. Ava laughs, looking at the bird wistfully.
“When the drunk driver killed my parents, Sylvie was with me every step of the way.” She looked up at him. “Just like you are now.”
“What does that have to do with the bird?” Charlie asks, puzzled.
Ava bends down, picks up a handful of sought-after Napa dirt, and lets it slide through her fingers.
“After my great-grandfather died, Sylvie decided to take the land she inherited from him and start a winery. He had purchased the land in the mid-1960s, before Napa became known for its wine. It wasn’t long before it became a big deal. But the winery needed a name. Something compelling, something that felt right for my mother and grandmother, both overcoming the passing of a patriarch by doing something audacious and daunting.” She smiled. “It turned out my mother’s favorite bird was the starling, a winged warrior that can survive almost anywhere, from the glaciers of the Arctic to the tropical forests surrounding the equator. And everywhere in between.”
Charlie reaches into his pocket and removes the small, novelty cork key chain Ava gave him the first time they met.
Ava stands, wiping the treasured dirt off her hands. She catches Charlie looking at her with a gentle smile.
“Starlings,” she finishes, “have the ability to endure. To persist. And most importantly, to adapt.”
The moon was just a sliver, shining faint light on the sea below. Ava and Jon sat side by side on the rocky ledge, gazing out over the water in companionable silence. She didn’t know when their midnight meetings had become part of her routine, but at some point, she’d come to expect him there, waiting on the edge of the cliff when she couldn’t sleep.
There was chemistry, although she could never be sure Jon felt it, too. But this wasn’t the time or the place for a romantic entanglement. She was beginning to see that the path ahead would be almost as difficult as the one she’d already traveled. A relationship would only make things more complicated. Plus, Jon was turning into a friend. Maybe even a good one.
And those were in very short supply at the moment.
Besides, she didn’t even know if Jon was attracted to her. Sometimes she thought she saw it. She would glance up to see him turn away, like he’d been caught looking at her. Or he would hold her hand just a little longer than necessary as he helped her up from getting her ass kicked by Reena or Cruz. But a moment later, it would be gone, Jon’s face as guarded as ever.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you?” he asked.
The question surprised her. They had never spoken about their pasts. Had never even asked the question. She’d assumed that was how he wanted it.
“Are you?” she asked, hedging.
He chuckled.
“What?”
“Just… you,” he said smiling, his brown eyes warm. “You keep me on my toes.”
She laughed. “Only because Reena keeps me on mine.”
Their rivalry had become legendary. Ava sometimes wondered if Reena would
throw her over the cliff into the channel if given the opportunity.
“Whatever the reason, I like it,” he said.
“Yeah?”
He nodded, a slow smile emerging on his full lips. “Yeah.” They sat a minute more before he spoke again. “So are you?”
She punched him playfully in the arm. “You’re relentless.”
“You’re one to talk.”
For a minute, all she could do was watch the water, listen to the ebb and flow of the waves, bringing her memories home. She’d worked to keep them at bay. Calling them forward took effort.
“His name was Charlie,” she began. After that, it was easier than she expected. She told Jon everything. The death of her parents and her subsequent life with her grandmother. The vineyard, learning every row of fruit, every field of flowers, every oak barrel until the wine they bottled was as much a part of her as the blood flowing through her veins.
A reminder of her parents and the legacy that was Ava’s.
And then, her grandmother’s death. Charlie. William Reinhardt. The loss of everything.
By the time she was finished, she felt like her heart was in a vise. There were no tears. She’d used those up a long time ago. But the despair was still there, the desolation lurking in the corners of her heart, seeping forward like sludge.
Jon surprised her by taking her hand. His skin was warm and dry.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Bastards.”
She took a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah.”
“You’ll make them pay. Put things back in balance.”
She looked over at him, their eyes meeting. Her thigh, bare under her robe, brushed against his sweatpant-clad leg, sending a ripple of electricity all the way into her chest.
“Yes.”
He squeezed her hand.
“What about you?” she asked carefully.
They were all wounded, broken, angry. Ava, Reena, Cruz, even the young woman they called Jane. Ava was known for her determination. Reena for her rage. Cruz for his desire to protect Reena. And Jane for her deadly force.
