Coming for You

by J. A. Huss

  Even though the Spanish tile roof and warm stucco exterior might look welcoming in bright sunshine, the dusk makes it look ominous. “Where are we?” I finally ask as we slow our pace and he straightens out his shirt collar.

  “North of Santa Barbara.”

  “How the hell did we get to Santa Barbara from Newport Beach in a sailboat?” More importantly, how will James find me here? I’m not all that up on my American West Coast geography, but I think that’s a fair distance.

  “We motored up the coast,” he answers back. “It’s difficult to navigate up the California coast in a sailboat.”

  “We must’ve been hauling ass.”

  “Language, Harper,” he says, only half paying attention as he reaches for my hand.

  I shake it off. “Don’t,” I growl at him. “I might be your prisoner for now, but I’m not your fucking child to admonish.”

  He snatches my hand and yanks me into his chest. “Manners, Harper Tate.” His steely gaze transfixes me. His green eyes flash. “I was told you have them. Was I lied to?”

  I match his gaze and refuse to bend. “I have manners. But I’m not sure you deserve them.”

  He loosens his grip on my hand and exhales. “Please,” he says, pressing his fingertips to the space between his eyes like he has a headache. “I don’t like the language and I don’t like the attitude. We’re both tired. We’ve been through a lot. And we’re going to freshen up and have a nice dinner so we can chat.”

  “If you’re still insisting you’re James, then I’m going to refuse that chat.”

  He grits his teeth. “If James is the one you think you want, then I am James.”

  “How did you know about that conversation we had about power?”

  He laughs a little under his breath and then leans into my ear. “I was there, Harper. That was me.”

  “That was not you!”

  “How do you know?”

  I just stare at him. “I know.”

  He moves my hand to the bulge between his legs and presses it. “Tell me how you know.”

  I yank my hand away and step back. “You were watching us. You had cameras. Something. But that was not you. And I’ll tell you how I know. Because even though James made it very clear I belong to him, he does not treat me like property. He respects me.”

  “Ha,” Vincent laughs. “That’s a good one. Well, you got me. I’m Vincent. I’m not sorry for being Vincent instead of James. I am sorry I didn’t get to you before he did. I am sorry you sucked his cock before you’ll suck mine. But we have all the time in the world to make up for that.”

  I can’t even move, that’s how off-guard I feel. Should I fight him? But where would I go? I don’t even know where I’m at. Santa Barbara. I’m just not sure where I could go from there.

  His hand wraps around my waist, squeezing as he pulls me close to his chest. “Forget about James, Harper. James is a dead man. He’s crazy, OK? He’s lost touch with reality. He kills people for no reason anymore. He’s hunted down all his friends in the Company and tried to kill them, one by one. We’ve known this for almost a year now. And the only good thing he’s done since then is kill our brother, Tony. Because Tony was just as certifiable as James.”

  “It’s not his fault he was forced to kill people for a living. It’s not his fault the Company turned him into that.”

  “Harper,” Vincent whispers. “Listen to me. It is his fault. He was the favorite, Harp. Our parents loved James above everyone. I didn’t grow up in the same house, but I knew who he was. Our father pinned all his Company hopes on James. All he had to do was go to that beach when you turned six and say, Yes, Admiral. I’ll take her. And his life would be mine. And my life would be his. You’d be in love with me right now if he said yes, because I would be the one who went crazy and found you on the beach.”

  “But he didn’t say yes. You did.”

  Vincent pushes me away and takes a step back. “You’re wrong. I never got asked. I told you, I was the control. I didn’t participate in anything. I was secluded from the Company. I was raised like any other rich American boy. I never killed anyone. I never went on missions. I just existed. I have an impeccable record. A paper trail that can be followed from the time I turned sixteen until now. So when the vetting begins for the multiple political offices I will hold, I appear untouched. Perfect. The perfect man. Raised in the perfect home. Wedded to the perfect woman who has no record at all. Who was raised on a fucking boat in the middle of the ocean. Who never went to school. Who never had her picture taken and plastered all over the society pages. You,” he whispers, “are the perfect blank canvas.”

  He gives me that hard stare again and this time it doesn’t make me defiant, it makes me curious. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want what I was promised.”

  “I never made a promise to you.”

  “You think you love him, but you don’t know him. You know me.”

  “You’re not the guy I spent time with, Vincent.”

  “I’m the guy from your birthday party, Harper. I’m the guy you fell in love with.” He slowly moves his hands up towards my face and cups them around my cheeks. “I deserve the same chance you gave James. That’s all I’m asking for. Be fair, Harper. You don’t know me yet. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want my chance.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harper

  He won’t let go of my face and I can’t stop looking into his beautiful green eyes.

  Why? Why does he have to look like the man I love?

  “Just a chance, Harper. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll make a deal with you, OK? I won’t push you. I’ll give you some space and some privacy. I’ll give you freedom in the house. I will even give you a phone to call the man you think you love.”

  I take in a deep breath at that offer.

  “I know you want to talk to James. I understand. If you give me a few days with no fighting and no rebellion, then I will let you call him.”

  “Why not now?” I know I’m pushing it, but what kind of killer would I be if I didn’t?

  Vincent sighs, but he doesn’t immediately say no and that gives me hope. “If I let you call James now, you’ll be good for me? You’ll give me a chance?” He stares down into me. His hands soften against my cheeks.

  “Right now?”

  “A real chance.”

  “OK,” I say warily. Is Vincent for real? Or is this some kind of trick? “If you let me call him, I’ll give you a chance.”

  “One call. Twenty seconds. You can’t tell James you’re with me, where you are, or what we’re doing. You can’t be upset. It’s one call just to hear his voice. And if he doesn’t answer, he might be dead. If he doesn’t answer, you will assume he is dead. You will drop it and focus on your life here with me. I’ll give you one act of trust on my part if you make this promise to me. Because I’m certain of one thing, Miss Tate. He’s not the man you are meant to be with. That’s me. So go ahead. Call him.”

  Vincent reaches into his jacket and pulls out a phone. He swipes his fingers across the screen to wake it up and then presses an app on the home screen. “This reroutes the call so it looks like it’s coming from another number.”

  I press in the numbers and listen to it ring.

  “Harper…”

  I take a deep breath to stop myself from crying so Vincent isn’t tempted to end the call if James thinks I’m upset.

  “Harper? You there?”

  I swallow hard and nod. “They said you were dead!”

  He laughs. “Fuck. I’m fine. They’re amateurs. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Why did you drop me off, James? I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

  He hesitates. “You have to trust me, baby. Do you trust me?”

  A tear slips down my cheek but Vincent reaches out to swipe it away. “Yeah.” I breathe through my pent-up sobs. “I do. I can’t talk. I just wanted you to know I love—”

  I get the three beeps that tel
l me the call has been dropped and I look down at the screen as the app flashes a no-signal icon at me. “We got cut off.”

  “I’m sorry,” Vincent says. “I’m sorry it was short. But do you feel better now?”

  I give his phone back and turn away. When he reaches for my hand I let my fingers slip into his because I’m lost all of a sudden.

  James.

  Just hearing his voice shakes me up. He does that to me. He shakes my foundation and rocks me to the core. He can calm me down and light me up in the same breath. He’s the only person on this planet I need right now. He’s the only person on this planet who makes sense.

  And when I look up into the green eyes of the man who says I belong to him, I get lost in them. My world spins. My reality is shattered. The muscles in my legs get weak and then my knees buckle and I’m falling. Falling into the arms of the man who wants me to be his.

  Why does he have to look just like him?

  “I’ve got you, Harper.”

  But the wrong man scoops me up and cradles me in his arms. The wrong man whispers comforting reassurances in my ear. The wrong man sits down on an outdoor couch and holds me tight until I stop shaking.

  “It’s the drugs. Just relax and let it wear off.”

  I push off him until he lets me go and then I get to my feet. “I’m fine,” I say, refusing to meet his gaze. “I just need to settle in.”

  “You’re not fine, Miss Tate. But I agree. The sooner you can settle in, the better off you’ll be.” Vincent gets up and leads me into the home through a massive set of French doors. We end up in a living room. Or maybe it’s a ballroom. It’s so big it makes me dizzy when I look up at the ceiling. We’re entering through the back of the house, so we’re facing the back of the stairs. Up above is a long balcony that spans the entire length of the room. There are two hallways on either side of the stairs, both on the upper and lower floors. Like this house has wings to it.

  “Come, I’ll take you to your room. Do you need me to carry you? Or can you manage the stairs?”

  What a ridiculous question, I think as I follow him to the stairs. But I’m only halfway up before my pace slows from exhaustion.

  “You need to take it slow, Harper. You’ve been drugged too many times in the last several days.” And then he scoops me up in his arms and takes the remaining steps with ease.

  He sets me on my feet again when we get to the top and retakes my hand to lead me off to the left. We walk to the very end of the wing and stop in front of a set of double doors. “This is my room,” he says as he opens the door and waves me in. “You can stay in here and I’ll sleep in my office.”

  I look back down the hallway. “Why can’t I have my own room?”

  “Because this is your room, lionfish.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I growl. “And I don’t want to stay in your room. It’s uncomfortable.”

  “We can change it tomorrow. But all your things are in here. So for tonight, this is your room.”

  “I don’t have any things,” I snap. I can’t help it. I’m tired and I’m starting to feel sick. Probably from all the drugs, as he so thoughtfully reminded me.

  “This whole place is filled with your things, Harper. It’s a Company house built for us. Let me show you your closet so you can choose a dress for dinner.”

  Dinner? Fuck. I cannot do dinner. Please, no. “Can’t I eat in my room?”

  “No,” he says kindly but sternly. “It’s better for you not to have too much time alone to think. Especially when you haven’t taken your pills.”

  I scrunch up my eyes. “I don’t take those anymore. James doesn’t want me to take them.”

  “I don’t want you to take them either, Harper. I want you to be in control at all times. I don’t even want to offer you a drink at dinner, but my mother insisted we have a drink to celebrate.”

  “Your mother?”

  My repulsion must be evident in my voice, because he chuckles. “Don’t worry, she’s not here. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another before I unleash that horror on you.”

  I can’t stop the huff of relief and then a smile follows before I can stop it.

  “See,” Vincent says. “See, it’s not so bad here. Now look,” he says, leading me into the massive room. The decorations are as traditional as the ones downstairs. The wood is dark and thick. The fabrics are rich colors—blood-red maroons, deep mustard yellows, and emerald greens. The drapes are closed tight so there’s no view outside. But the windows must be spectacular, since the curtains flow down the entire length of the wall and spill out into a puddle of fabric on the floor. There’s a sitting area on the far side of the room. It’s bigger than the size of my living space in Huntington Beach. “Here are the closets,” Vincent says, leading me over to another side of the room. “Mine is on this side and yours is over there.”

  He opens the double doors that lead to my closet and reaches around the corner to flip on the light. It’s filled with clothes and shoes. Handbags. I’ve never carried a handbag. Boots. Not the kind you wear on a boat. The tall kind. The short kind. The fancy kind. There are so many cabinets and drawers, I have no idea what to think.

  “Six,” I say.

  “What?” Vincent laughs.

  “Six outfits. I’ve never owned more than six outfits in my life.”

  “Oh, yes. I guess there’s not a lot of room for so many things on a boat.”

  “Why do I need so many clothes? I’m not trying to be difficult, I just don’t understand it.”

  His hands wrap around my waist and he pulls me into his chest. “Miss Tate, your life is about to change. One day—not today, or tomorrow, or even next week when we have our first party as a power couple—but one day you will have so many people to see, and so many things to do, that you will look at this closet and realize it’s not enough. You have dresses for balls. For fundraisers. For stepping out on the town with your husband for drinks. You have shorts and bathing suits for the pool or the beach, or traveling to see your father on his yacht. You’ll have coats and boots for braving the weather when you have to visit New York or Chicago because some aspect of the many, many boards of directors you will participate in require your personal attention.

  “Your life will be filled with interesting people, and special dinners, and parties. You will see injustices in this world and want to rage against them. You will command people to help you do that, and you will change the future. You will shape the future, Harper. You will talk and people will listen. You will admonish bad behavior and practices will change. You will be a force, Miss Tate. You will be a force and all those acts require clothes.”

  I try to picture myself as this person he describes but I can’t. I try to picture myself in the future and find that I can’t do that either. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about my future.

  “Clothes make you feel things, Harper. And right now I need you to choose a dress for me. Something that will make you feel something tonight. I don’t want you drugged, or silent, or stupid. I want you to be you. So I filled your closet with every outfit I could get my hands on to give you a way to find yourself. So choose, Miss Tate. Who do you want to be tonight?”

  I can’t stop looking at his face the whole time he’s talking. I swear to God, I can’t stop. And it’s not because he looks like James anymore. It’s not his green eyes and dark hair or the perfect body I know he’s hiding under that suit.

  It’s because he paints a picture I’ve never considered before. Up until this very moment, my future was all about seeing Nick again. Or lying next to James in some small apartment as we fled from one danger after another. Or maybe, if I was really dreaming big, a home. Like the one Merc had in the desert. A place with comfortable couches and air-conditioning to take the edge off the heat. With soft sheets and picture frames filled with moments we wanted to cherish together.

  Simple.

  My life has always been simple.

  And I’m not saying one is better than
the other. I’m not really saying anything with my hesitation. I’m just… considering my options.

  “I don’t know,” I finally say. “I really have no idea who I am, let alone who I want to be.”

  Vincent’s face changes in my moment of realization. “I see. Would you like to hear my opinion on what’s in your closet?”

  I nod. Because I could really use some guidance right now and he’s all I have at them moment.

  “This,” he says with a smile as his fingertips gather a piece of light green fabric, “is a beautiful dress. My favorite, in fact.” He lifts the hanger off the rack so I can see the dress displayed.

  It’s very pretty. Not sexy. But sophisticated. The pale green reminds me of a honeydew melon. And it’s more of a gown than a dress. A soft chiffon gown with a shirred empire bodice, and skirts that flow all the way to the floor, like a column.

  “It’s pretty.”

  “Yes,” Vincent says. “But maybe tonight you just want to be comfortable?” He pulls out a t-shirt with some writing on it. Grunge-style. Little rips in the sleeve to make it looked well-loved and well-worn. And then he opens a drawer in one of the many cabinets and finds a pair of denim shorts. “This is what you usually wear, right?”

  I smile a huff out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m not very fancy.”

  “So wear this to our first dinner.”

  I look up at him and smile. “What are you going to wear?”

  “I look pretty good like this,” he says, gesturing to his suit. “I like to be fancy. But if you choose comfortable, I’ll change.”

  I sigh and turn back to the green dress. He’s good, I realize. He’s very, very good at this. Here I am wondering what he wants me to wear to dinner with him, when ten minutes ago I was angry about being forced to come stay at his house.

  I don’t know what to make of it.

  “Harper,” he says softly behind me. “It’s not a big decision. Just match the clothes to your mood and purpose.”

  “What if I don’t know what I feel? Or what I want?”

  “Well, that’s understandable. It takes time. I’m sorry I was harsh with you earlier. I’ve set things up wrong. I’ve set you up to be combative, and I apologize. I don’t want to fight. I just want to get to know you. So decide how you want to feel tonight, right now. And then let the rest go. Just enjoy it for what it is. A dinner. With me.”