by JA Huss
There’s something else…
I kick off the light covers, get out of bed, and pad over to the kitchen where I’m keeping the pills. I’ve avoided them successfully these past two days, but I’ve had enough. It’s not safe to go without sleep. It messes with your brain. Makes you see shadows of beautiful men sitting in your living room while you sleep. It makes you wish for their cock down your throat.
Holy crap, I have problems.
I eat three pills, chase it with water, and then pad back over to my bed and lie down.
My heart and brain slow simultaneously. It’s a trick of my mind, I realize this. The drug takes a good twenty to thirty minutes to kick in. But I slow anyway. And it’s welcome.
My eyelids droop, then close. My shoulders relax as I turn on my side and let out a long breath.
Some peace is all I want. Just some peace.
And my brother.
But he’s gone.
So I’ll have to settle for my fake sedative-induced peace.
The dawn erupts with a burst of orange across the water and the day begins just like any other. My feet are rocking with the waves, a gentle sway of balance I adapted to before I could walk. I was born on this ship. I drank my first milk on this ship. Crawled the deck, slept in a berth, and learned the fine art of getting wet on this ship.
And even though my childhood was perfect—sun, sand, tropical islands, snorkeling and diving, exotic food and people and destinations—it all ends today.
Today we are eighteen. We have never spent a night apart in our lives, but we may never spend another one together again.
Because by the time the sun sets… only one of us will be left.
I jolt awake, the tears still in my eyes. I hate that dream, I hate that dream. Why do I have to relive that day of all days?
Nick and I were entwined in the womb together, so tightly embraced we killed our mother during childbirth because we refused to let go. He was all I ever had that was truly mine. We were all either of us had.
I was always the trophy. Not a princess, no. Trophy. Promised to a Company associate when I was six. I was molded and fashioned into this perfect thing. Something to look at, to admire, but not something that was allowed to have her own opinions about how she wanted to live her life.
Or the man she would be forced to marry once she came of age.
The training was an indulgence. I could not survive those hours Nick went away each day to train, so they indulged me. Every few years some uptight nanny would insist young girls did not learn martial arts and spend their days spear-fishing and I’d have to throw a fit. But the Admiral always gave in. I’d like to think it was because he had a bit of guilt over selling me off to an associate when I was a child. But he’s told me more than once that he never regretted that decision.
My twin brother, Nick, never had things so easy. He was expected to contribute in a big way. Even though we had physical training together I was never allowed to go with him to do the jobs. And those started when we were still very young. You can convince almost anyone that a nine-year-old boy is innocent of just about anything.
Every time he left the ship I’d stand on the deck and look out across the sea. Watching for his return. It felt like… like I was holding my breath until I saw him again. Every time he left I cried out of fear. And every time he returned I cried from relief.
He was not supposed to tell me about the jobs. But we are twins. Not identical, but we see ourselves as one. Not two.
So of course, he told me everything. Not right after the job. The ship was never a safe place to pass secrets. But we were in port or anchored off some remote island almost as much as we were out to sea, so there was plenty of playtime on the reefs and in the tidal pools of random beaches.
Since we were so well-behaved we were left alone. The crew ignored us completely. Nick’s trainers only paid attention when they were around, and since playtime on the beach is not a function of grown men hired for security, they never saw us crawl around on the rocks, or shimmy up a palm tree to gossip about our lives under the long fan-like leaves. The Admiral’s gaze swept past every evening at dinner with a smug smile at our manners. He was never around. Our care was entrusted to others.
We were, for all practical purposes, ignored.
It took them many years to realize their mistake.
And even though I feel a lot of satisfaction from overthrowing the Company yacht crew and making my escape, I’d rather relive those moments out in the hallway when James had his hands between my legs instead of that last day on the yacht.
I turn over in bed, my mind still groggy from the pills, my body still seeking relief from the exhaustion that’s been creeping in since my first real orgasm.
If I could only release again. Maybe I could relax?
My hand slides down my belly and pushes past the elastic waist of my panties. I hesitate for a moment. I want so much more than this life. I’m so tired of being alone. I’m so tired of being lonely. A tear runs down my cheek as I move my fingers the way James did. Pushing them inside myself. Pumping as I picture the way he undid his belt buckle and released his cock. I wish I had looked up at his face. I’d give anything to have seen his face when he came down my throat.
That thought is enough to trigger the release. But it’s small and unsatisfying. Only good enough to amplify my drug-induced drowsiness as I turn over.
I’m back in my dream. Only I’m on the beach, under the pier… under James. He grazes the back of his fingers down my cheek and then leans down and kisses each eyelid. “Sleep, Harper. You need to sleep.”
He’s right. I need sleep so bad. But when he pulls away I grab his arm. The waves are coming in and out, and with each cycle, James slips down the sand a little.
“Please don’t leave me,” I whisper, too late. He disappears into the dark water and I’m alone in bed again.
I wake with the worst headache. And my stomach is protesting the lack of… everything. I roll out of bed and stumble over to the kitchen sink, my eyes still half-closed. I open the tap and stick my mouth under, draw back to wince at the disgusting municipal water, then resume drinking until my stomach bloats.
I wipe my mouth and pull the refrigerator open. Empty, save for a few condiment packets left over from a recent trip to Rocky’s Burgers. I need to eat.
I slam the door and go turn on the shower, strip, wash quickly, and then realize I have no clean towels. I drip dry as I search for clothes. I drag the underwear up my wet legs and say fuck the bra. A couple of stacked tank tops—both white so I don’t stick out—and another pair of cut-off jeans finishes the job. I comb through my hair, brush my teeth and slip my flops on as I drag the door closed behind me.
My phone tells me it’s seven PM on Monday. I’ve lost six days of life since I met James on the pier. And really, this whole shut-down thing I’ve been doing is not very smart. What if he did turn me in? I was all drugged up on the Ativan, unable to react. I was barely functioning.
I walk past the Mexican place. I ate there last time so I can’t go there again for a while. I don’t want to become friendly with the food people. I don’t want to be a ‘local’ and have them wave at me as I pass by. So I walk east, the opposite direction of the beach, cross over Fifth and head up Main to find some restaurant I’ve never eaten in before. It takes me a while because I’ve lived here for eleven months, so most of them I’ve entered at least once. But I’m jumpy now. The idea that James could’ve reported me and I wouldn’t have been able to react has me on edge.
It’s dumb to be careless. Especially when I’ve come so far. I’m a success, right? I took something very valuable from a global criminal organization and eleven months later, I’m still alive.
Is it by design? If it was so easy for James to pick me out, how hard would it be for the Company men to find me? Have they left me alone for a reason? Did they send James to assess my state of mind?
I pick a random eatery and scan the menu. I hate Chinese food, so
I order the most benign things I can think of. Shrimp fried rice and a large Coke. I need the calories because the walk over has almost done me in.
I eat alone and in silence as I gaze out onto Sixth Street. Chewing methodically. Thinking about life. James. His attention and the way it made me feel. His little speech on the division of power during sex.
I have to admit, it makes sense. It put that filthy act in perspective and the longer I think about him, the more intense the throbbing between my legs becomes. I slurp my soda and gather up my trash, tossing it in the can as I leave and head back towards the beach. I’ve got a little while before the sun sets, so I take my time. Looking in the small shops as I wander down Main.
When I get to Pier Plaza I walk right to the terraced steps and hop onto the first pillar, standing up to my full height. I shield my eyes from the sun and look north. Scanning for him. He said, Come find me. But how? He’s the one who found me. I turn slowly, dropping my hand from my face as the sun beats on my back. I scan the other side of PCH. Watching for men standing still, pretending to do things like look at a phone or window-shop. But there is no one who looks like my James.
I hop down just as more people start appearing and then make my way to the bottom terrace and park myself against a short pillar in front of the grass. A few yards off there’s a group of skaters doing tricks off the low wall that separates the bike path from the sand. I lean against the rough stone, my chin resting on my knee, and watch them.
They are my age. All blond, tanned, and shirtless. Handsome even. I don’t normally notice the boys around here. I’ve been too busy being invisible to take notice or worry about stupid teenager things.
But I’ve seen one of them before. In fact, now that I think about it, I’ve seen him a lot. He surfs in the morning and skates at night. Like this beach is his whole life. His smile is easy and appears often, as does his gruff laugh.
I sigh as I watch him on his board. He makes it do all sorts of things that appear to defy gravity. He falls, laughs, gets up, does it again. His friends are all the same. Loud, energetic, beautiful.
He looks my way and I’m too sad to even try and pretend I haven’t been staring.
He waves. I don’t even blink.
He turns and starts talking with his friends and then they bump fists and he flips his board up, grabs it by the front wheels, and walks towards me.
I sit up straight and panic. Shit.
He walks up smiling. “Hey,” he says, dropping his board and sitting down next to me. “What’s up? You here alone tonight?”
“I’m always here alone,” I reply as I study his face, looking for intentions. God, are all boys beautiful? Or is it this beach? I’ve never paid much attention, but two in a week, that’s some good luck.
He puts out his hand. “Scott.”
My hand finds his automatically. “Nice to meet you, Scott.”
He smiles and his blue eyes lift at the corners. “Not gonna tell me your name?”
I pull my hand back and lean into the pillar, trying to make myself small.
He looks away, scanning the crowd to the left and right. Then the pier. When he’s satisfied, he drags his eyes back to me. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
I’m speechless.
“That guy you were with the other night?” he adds. “All curled up on his lap like a pet.”
“I think you have me mixed up with someone else.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding his head and looking straight ahead. “OK. Well, then would you like to go for a walk? See the sunset somewhere else?”
I consider my options. Obviously he’s not interested in the sunset. So I guess I can assume this is an invitation to fool around. And last week I’d have said no thank you automatically. But this week… I realize now why girls chase boys.
And vice versa.
“Where’d you have in mind?” I ask, forcing myself to stare him in the face.
He gives me a crooked grin that is actually quite inviting, and then reaches for my knee and squeezes. “Girl’s choice.”
“I live down the street.”
He stands and extends his hand to me. “Let’s go, babe.”
He holds my hand as we cross Pier Plaza, chatting at me like we’ve been friends forever. “My bro Danny…”
I could give a shit about his bro Danny and how he cracked his skull doing some skater trick that sounds too ridiculous to be true, but what do I know about skater tricks?
I only feel his hand in mine. Just like James. Is this all they have to do? The beautiful ones? All they have to do is hold your hand to turn you stupid with lust? I’m certainly well on my way to idiocy, that’s for sure. I can only imagine how I’ll melt into a puddle of goo when I get what I came for.
And after that… I have no idea.
When I turn up Fifth Street, there’s flashing lights at the police station, so I turn left on Walnut and take the back way through the alley. I stop us outside the back gate, suddenly nervous about going inside.
“This you?” he says, nodding his head to my building. He pushes me against the garage and then his hands are on my hips, dipping behind me to caress my ass. His lips are descending on mine before I can even answer.
And then…
He’s ripped away and flung to the ground, his head bouncing off the concrete. James is staring down at him, clenching his fists, looking like he’s in professional mode.
“Stop!” I say, standing between the new guy and the assassin. “You have no right.”
James looks at me and narrows his eyes. My insides drop, like I just jumped off a cliff, that’s how terrifying he looks. He points to my new friend. “Really? This asshole? He picks up a different girl every night. And if you were fucking paying any attention at all, you’d have seen that!”
Skater dude is back on his feet, picking up his board, and already walking away. “I’m outta here.” He turns, walking backwards for a few paces. “And for the record, asshole, I asked her if she was yours. She said no. So you got some work to do.”
And then he drops the board, hops on, and a few seconds later he’s turned the corner, out of sight.
James turns back to me, grinding his teeth, clenching the muscles in his jaw. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
I raise my chin in defiance. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back against the garage. “You wanted to fuck him?” His eyes are darting back and forth, searching me, waiting on the answer.
“Maybe.”
His hand comes up and palms my throat, his thumb making little circles under my chin. “I give you a taste, then back off to give you room, and you take home the first asshole who asks for your name?” His erection presses against my belly and he dips his forehead until it rests against mine.
My heart is racing, but for once in my life, it’s for all the right reasons. I reach for his face, threading my fingers through his dark hair.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “I told you to come find me when you were ready.”
“I looked, but no luck. So I played the only card I had. And look at that.” I smile with satisfaction. “Here you are.” I tilt my head up and meet his gaze. The sun is gone now, only the light of the stars illuminates him. And still, I see everything so clearly. “I didn’t have to find you, James. All I had to do was make sure you found me.”
Chapter Twelve
HARPER
He turns away, but not before I catch the grin. His back expands as he takes a breath. Probably to tuck down his amusement so he can keep playing the pissed-off asshole routine.
All my life people have assumed I’m stupid because I’m quiet, I never interrupt, and I follow directions. But I’m quiet because saying less is always more.
I never interrupt because you always miss the parts better left unsaid when you don’t let people finish.
And I follow directions because it keeps things on an even keel, sailing pun intended.
&nb
sp; I haven’t always felt this way about things. But back when we were little I once asked my brother why he was always so accommodating with the demands of the Admiral. We were about eight and I was spending my days that summer learning how to sail the ship to windward, while he was working in the galley, learning how to cook potatoes or something. But his answer that day has always stuck with me. ‘Pick and choose your battles, Harp.’
I thought about that piece of advice endlessly since that day. Pick and choose your battles. Accept that you cannot win every time, until you’ve got a sure thing. Battles are always a win and lose. Give and take. And ever since then I’ve been saving up my losses for the only battle that counts. The one that wins the war. So when the strong wind comes and wants to take me off course, I lower my sails and go with the current. I save that loss up for another day. But all these things are conscious decisions. I am attentive, but silent. I have come to terms with my life, but—hopefully—only for the moment.
“So you were trying to make me jealous.” He turns back to me, his expression a flat line again. But I already know he likes the devious side to Harper.
“I was,” I reply.
“Do you know what happens when I get jealous?” He steps towards me and puts both hands around my neck, his thumbs caressing my jaw in those little circles that will have me dreaming about them later. My body responds with the now familiar tingling between my legs and I am suddenly hot with want.
“No,” I say softly.
He stares at me for a few moments and then dips his mouth down to mine, resting his lips against my lips. “Who’s in charge, Harper?”
“You are,” I reply obediently.
He gently knocks his forehead against mine and huffs out a laugh. “What are you doing?”
“Being good. You want to be in charge, then be in charge. I’m not a control freak.”
He takes my hand and pulls me towards the building. I dutifully follow him in. We descend the steps to the basement side by side, and then he leads me into the mechanical room and gathers my key from behind the loose cinder block where I hide it. He shoots me a glance to see if I’ll carry on about him knowing where it is. But I don’t, so he leads me back out, opens my apartment door, and waves me through.
