by JA Huss
“Hmmm. OK. Regardless, you were up to something. And you knew I was on to you, so you curbed whatever it was and walked away from it. I admit, I was surprised you had so much self-control. At first I figured I was wrong about my suspicions. But then I realized you’re very disciplined. So you walking away meant the opposite. It was something very important, wasn’t it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about now, Jax. And by the way, do you have a last name? I’d like to check your credentials with the FBI after I get what I want tomorrow.”
“Barlow. Jackson Barlow. But everyone just calls me Jax. But back to my question. I have a feeling about what it might be. That secret you’re carrying around. That’s why I’m taking you out tonight.”
“There’s no secret. You’re just some overeager agent who wants to play spies with me.” His deep laugh comes out with a soft rush of air that hits the back of my neck. I pull away and look over my shoulder to find him very up close and personal. “Do you mind? I’m not—hey, where are we?”
“The airport, Miss Aston. I’m sure you recall it from when I brought you home.”
“There better be a five-star restaurant at this crappy little airport, and we had better be dining there tonight. Because if you think I’m getting on a plane with you—”
“We’re having dinner somewhere far better than a five-star restaurant. You don’t go with the flow very well for a girl whose most valuable skill is adapting.”
“I’m not getting on a plane with you.” I cross my arms, signaling that this is final. But he puts an arm around my shoulders and gives the silver fox fur of my coat collar a rub between his fingers. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Sorry.” He smiles. “The fur is just… exquisite. But as I was saying, we are getting on that plane. Adam is a top-notch pilot, so you don’t have to worry about crashing—”
“No,” I say, reaching behind me to grab his hand and swing it back into his lap.
“—and you know how I know you’re going to get on that plane, Miss Aston?”
“You don’t know, Jax. Because I won’t.”
“Because I have someone you want to meet very badly waiting for us on the other end of the trip.”
“Who?” I regret it as soon as it comes out, because I am picturing Ford, or Ash, or my little sister and brother on the other end. In the split second of silence I have to wait for his answer I am picturing everyone I love, tied up and near death from torture. My body trembles.
“Your aunt.”
Relief rushes out in a long breath of air. “I never had an aunt, Jax. So try again.”
“I know you think that, Sasha. But your mother had a sister. A half-sister. And you and I both know what that means. She was a Company kid. Owned outright. But she was hidden from them by her father. Your grandfather. Don’t you want to know more about the woman who gave up her life to save you? Your aunt is the only link you have to your mother, Sasha. And she’s been wanting to meet you very badly. I said I’d bring you to her the first chance I had. I promised her that you’d hear her story before I let the FBI in on your decision to help us.”
Why does it always come back to that? Mothers and daughters. This is how the Company keeps its ranks. Every mother who gives birth to a girl is given the same options. Pledge that child to the organization and let them turn her into a slave. Or give up your own life for hers, and she will be promised to a Company man when she turns eighteen.
It’s a very effective policy. It’s enslaved women for many generations.
The car pulls up to a waiting jet, about the size of the one we came on last summer, but it’s all black with gold accents on it. I squint my eyes, wondering if I’ve ever seen a black jet before.
“I’m giving you far, far more than you asked for, Sasha. Two mysteries from your past revealed for the price of one. You can’t say no. I understand enough about you to know that to be a fact. You are an empty girl today because of three events that changed your life in unimaginable ways. Your mother’s death when you were born when she gave her life to give you a chance. Your father’s death when you were twelve when he gave his life trying to set you free. And the promise Nick broke when you were thirteen. I know you got your answers about your father years ago. But the last two pieces of the puzzle that is Sasha Cherlin are within your reach. Right now. You can put aside all the questions and get answers. But you need to trust me.”
I swallow down the feelings that are flooding through my body. Another living relative? Can it really be possible? The sting of tears rock my world. The overflowing pain of grief and loss floods my heart.
“Listen,” Jax says, his hand on my shoulder again. “I said you’re safe with me. I meant it.”
I give him a sidelong look, trying to hide the sudden threat of tears.
“I’m not here to rip your world apart, Sasha. I’m here to put it back together. I can do that for you. I promise. I swear on my little brother’s life. I swear on my honor as a man. My position in this fucked-up government as an agent. And the debt I owe to your aunt.”
“What debt?” My words come out shaky and I suddenly feel like a child again. Not the thirteen-year-old assassin, but the twelve-year-old pigtailed girl who liked to read, and hunt dinosaurs, and who dreamed of a life filled with the love of a family she was denied since her first moment.
“She helped me once. She helped put me back together. I was broken too.” Jax waves to Adam as he pulls open my door and steps aside, asking me to exit the car. “She helped Adam. And many, many more. She is a rock, Sasha. Like you. Only she is sure of her place in the world. She wants to give you that gift. And she gives it freely. My offer and her offer are not related. You can come with me tonight and say no to me tomorrow. But Sasha, don’t refuse her because of me. She’s too important to you.”
I step out of the car, not because I want to take his offer and get in that plane, but because if I don’t move quick the tears will fall. And if I cry in front of him, I might never stop. I might reach for his hand and find my cheek against his chest. And if that happens, I’m done. I’m gone. Because if I tell my story to someone, if I let out all the horrors that are hiding inside me… I might never stop crying. It might be a deluge of tears that refuse to end. I will spend the rest of my life wallowing in a pool of self-pity.
I cannot let him in. Not even for a moment. Because one moment leads to the next. They stack up on top of each other like a tower. And that tower will climb into eternity if I’m not careful. I will create an ever-growing tower of eternal sadness if I let one drop of what haunts me out.
So I walk to the plane in silence. My breathing hitches. One inhale with each foot forward, my mind swirling with fear, hate, and longing. One exhale with each emotion as I leave them all behind.
And by the time I’m being guided up the steps of the jet by Jax’s hand on the small of my back, I have it all under control again.
The tears recede. The fear becomes courage. The hate turns to anger. And the longing—well, I keep the longing. I need the longing. I need the emptiness in my heart to remind me of what’s possible.
A life.
Not a half-dead girl who lives in the past.
But a life. A real life filled with the promise of a future. All I need is Nick Tate to fill up the emptiness he left behind and I can be whole again.
Chapter Fourteen - Sasha
The jet-black exterior of the plane is a stark contrast to the warm interior. The sand-colored floors gleam, and the reflection of my shoes makes me feel like I’m standing in a clear pool of water. I step forward into the cabin and take it all in.
The entrance leads to a sitting area complete with two sets of padded leather flight chairs on each side of a small meeting table. But off to my right, down the slim corridor, there is another room separated by pocket doors. All the walls are a warm ochre color, and the trim is a highly polished yellow-toned burl wood. My fingertips reach out to touch it as I take another step forward. So smooth.
>
Jax gives me slight encouragement at the small of my back again, turning me to the right, towards the partitioned part of the cabin. “We’re going to skip the meeting room and have drinks in the lounge, Essie,” he says to the nearest flight attendant. She’s dressed like a waiter, with black wool pants, a crisp white shirt, and a black apron that falls below her waist.
“Of course, sir,” she says as she helps me out of my coat and folds it across her arm. Jax takes his coat off and places it over mine. “Do you know what you want? Or would you like a drink menu?”
I tune out his response and start walking, eager to see what awaits me. I feel like I’m stepping into a new world. I’ve been on my share of private planes and I book first-class tickets when I need to fly commercial. But Ford never had access to a plane like this.
This is luxury, pure and simple.
“Here, Sasha,” Jax says with a gentle prod that tells me to walk faster. “We’re dining on board in the back.”
The second room is much more informal, but still elegant. The butter-colored sofa stretches along one side of the fuselage, coming to a slight curve at the far end of the cabin, just enough to form a semi-circular dining area. There is a small table with enough room for two people to eat comfortably, set with china and silverware that sparkles under the subdued light.
I take a seat on the long side of the couch while Jax settles on to the curved portion. The leather is so smooth, I want to pet it.
“Pretty nice, huh?” Jax says, watching me take in the decor. There’s art on the wall. I’ve never seen art on the wall of a private plane before.
“Wow. I feel like there’s a world of hidden rich people and I’ve just been invited into the club.”
“Like a secret, huh?”
I look at Jax and he gives me a wink. It unsettles me, even though it came with a smile. “Something like that,” I reply back, looking down at my hands.
What the hell am I doing? Getting involved with something better left alone, is the reply in my head.
“Doesn’t your father have a private jet?”
“We don’t own one,” I say with an edge to my voice, “if that’s what you’re asking. We use them. The studio he works for has them and they fly us places. But we don’t get movie-star treatment.”
“That surprises me,” Jax says. And then Essie is there, placing drinks in front of us. “Thank you, Essie,” he tells her, all charm and at ease. Like this is his world and he’s comfortable in it. “I mean,” he continues, his gaze redirected to me, “Ford Aston is very wealthy. Was born that way. He looks like the kind of man who likes the finer things in life.”
“He does,” I say back, the hair on the back of my neck rising. “Finer things being trained protection dogs worth as much as a well-bred racehorse, old comfortable houses in neighborhoods that have easy access to art museums and parks, private schools, and the finest food. But he’s not pretentious. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth. And he has never lived off his inheritance. He’s a working man.”
“Hmmm,” Jax says, taking a sip of his whiskey.
I look at my drink, a pink concoction in a martini glass with a cherry on the bottom. It’s pretentious. “I like beer.”
“Oh, it’s not a beer night, Sasha. Beer is for light conversation with friends while chatting at a local bar or in someone’s living room. This is a celebration. And that’s a Cosmo. Essie makes them a little on the weak side, so I’m not trying to get you drunk.”
“Only I can get me drunk, Agent Jax. You have no hope of using such a simple trick to catch me off guard.”
“You’re right.” His voice rumbles out of his chest, a hum that makes my stomach flip. “And besides, I’m not trying to catch you off guard. I’m trying to get you to lower it willingly.”
“I’m not impressed by money, so you could give me the taxi cab version of this night and it would still turn out the same.”
“I didn’t imagine you would be,” he says with a light-hearted chuckle. “You have so much of it yourself. Hidden away in all those secret accounts. You keep banks in the Caymans afloat with your checking account balance alone.”
I’m not surprised that he knows I have money. But the fact that he knows where it’s located makes my stomach churn. So I say nothing.
“We know what you did when you and your friends ended the Company a decade ago.”
“Is that so?” I play along. “You’re very good then. Because I’m not even sure what we did. Maybe you should enlighten me?”
He takes another sip of his Scotch and sets his glass down. The ice clinks as the door to the plane is closed and we are sealed up inside. For better or worse, I’m playing his game. I’m just not sure what the game is yet.
My family. My Nick. My past. He wants access to all of it. But he knows a lot already, so where is this going?
“Tell me, Sasha Cherlin—”
“Aston,” I correct him, and then self-consciously pick up my martini and take a sip. He’s right. It’s not very strong. So I take a longer sip because I could use a little courage right now.
“Sorry, Miss Aston. Tell me something about you that’s real.”
“What do you mean? I’m real. Everything about me is real. I live in Kansas, I go to school, I love dinosaurs. You know more real things about me than most. So what more do you possibly want?”
He’s shaking his head. “Mmmm, no. Those aren’t the real parts I’m interested in. I’ll be blunt then. We only have an hour on this trip. One hour to get a little insight into who you really are. Because once we get to the manor, I might not get a moment alone with you for a while. This might be the only date I get. So forget about Nick, and Ford, and your dinosaurs, and all the tragic things that happened to you as a child. And tell me something real about you now.”
I fold my hands in my lap and lift up my chin. “I’m not a sharing kind of girl, Agent Jax. I’m a—”
“Very tightly buttoned-up kind of girl. I know. See, that’s the part I hate about you.”
“Excuse me?”
“The part I hate, Miss Aston, is the way you partition your life into neat little packages. Did Ford Aston teach you that? Did his personality overpower yours back when you were a teenager? Did he—”
“How fucking dare you?” The words blurt out before I can stop them. “Do not,” I seethe, “talk about my father like you know him.”
“Why not? I do know him.”
“You do not know him. I have been his daughter for ten years and I have barely scratched the surface of what makes that man tick. We are very close, we have very close friends, and no one—”
“Ever gets inside that little team you grew up with. Is that it? They circled the wagons around you back when you were a teenager and pulled you into that life.”
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
“Everyone needs friends, Sasha. But they are his friends. Where are your friends?”
“I have friends. James and Harper are my friends. Merc is my friend.”
“Assassins?” Jax laughs heartily now. “Are you telling me your closest friends are all assassins? James Fenici and Harper Tate are your friends? That psycho Merc, he’s your friend? I sincerely hope not. Because that means you chose them. And all this time I gave you the benefit of the doubt because I thought they were family. Family is family. You can’t change that. But friends you choose. So tell me, what fantasy life do you live in where you choose murderers as friends?”
“I’m a murderer too,” I growl. “And you better keep that in mind tonight.”
“As am I, killer. As am I.”
The plane accelerates on the runway and I brace myself for takeoff, grabbing my drink to prevent it from spilling as Jax does the same. The engine roar is too loud to talk, so I bow my head and try to check my anger. What is he playing at? Is he trying to make me react? Does he want to force me into a demonstration of how dangerous I am? Is he looking for a fight?
“I’ll start then,” Jax says
once the plane evens out a few minutes later. He takes another sip of the Scotch in his glass and then sets it down. I mimic him, for lack of something better to occupy my time and hands. “I’ll give you something real about me first. An example.”
I roll my eyes and sigh, placing my hands back into my lap. I’m tired of him already. If I had a watch, I’d check it to let him know how much he’s boring me right now.
“I grew up in Brooklyn. Well, not exactly.” The initial half-truth grabs my attention even though I want to tune him out. “I bounced. You know that term, I think. Living here and there. Never having a real home. I was a foster kid. But one day, when I was twelve years old, I bounced into the home of Special Agent Max Barlow.” Jax pauses for a moment. His eyes glaze over a little as he looks up towards the ceiling, like he’s lost in a memory. “His house was big, but old. Not fancy,” he says with a small smile. “The kind of house that says it’s been lived in for a while. But not neglected. You know that kind of house, Sasha?”
I nod before I even realize I’m doing it.
“The furniture was nice, but worn. The leather couches all had butt indents in them. Like people had been sitting there comfortably for generations. He was the seventh generation to live in that house. Ever since his forefathers immigrated to America in the mid-eighteen hundreds. They built it over and over again, adding to it as the family grew and thrived in their new country. More generations were born, and with each one they grew a little more prosperous or a little less. But they always had that home. A place to gather and be with one another. But Max was the only child of his generation. And when his wife died after only two years of marriage and no children, he started to take in foster kids to fill the house back up.”
I’m struck silent by this honest recollection of his history. I don’t spend much time on the East Coast, but forming a picture of this house—standing and expanding as life comes and goes, a monument to the temporary nature of the human lifespan—I can see it in my head. I picture brown brick, a solid concrete front porch filled with children and neighbors. Holidays and dinners.
