The Company
Page 1
Contents
The Company
DESCRIPTION
Come
Chapter One - James
Chapter Two - Harper
Chapter Three - Harper
Chapter Four - James
Chapter Five - Harper
Chapter Six - James
Chapter Seven - Harper
Chapter Eight - James
Chapter Nine - Harper
Chapter Ten - Harper
Chapter Eleven - Harper
Chapter Twelve - Harper
Chapter Thirteen - Harper
Chapter Fourteen - Harper
Come Back
Chapter Fifteen - James
Chapter Sixteen - James
Chapter Seventeen - Harper
Chapter Eighteen - Harper
Chapter Nineteen - James
Chapter Twenty - Harper
Chapter Twenty-One - James
Chapter Twenty-Two - James
Chapter Twenty-Three - Harper
Chapter Twenty-Four - Harper
Chapter Twenty-Five - James
Chapter Twenty-Six - Harper
Chapter Twenty-Seven - James
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Harper
Chapter Twenty-Nine - James
Chapter Thirty - James
Chapter Thirty-One - Harper
Chapter Thirty-Two - James
Chapter Thirty-Three - Harper
Chapter Thirty-Four - James
Chapter Thirty-Five - James
ChapterThhirty-Six - Harper
Chapter Thirty-Seven - James
Chapter Thirty-Eight - James
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Harper
Chapter Forty - James
Chapter Forty-One - James
Chapter Forty-Two - James
Chapter Forty-Three - Harper
Chapter Forty-Four - James
Chapter Forty-Five - James
ChapterForty-Six - Harper
ChapterForty-Seven - Harper
Chapter Forty-Eight - Harper
Chapter Forty-Nine - James
Chapter Fifty - Harper
Chapter Fifty-One - James
Chapter Fifty-Two - James
Chapter Fifty-Three - Harper
Chapter Fifty-Four - Sasha
Coming For You - Part One
Chapter Fifty-Five - Sasha
Chapter Fifty-Six - Sasha
Chapter Fifty-Seven - James
Chapter Fifty-Eight - James
Chapter Fifty-Nine - Sasha
Chapter Sixty - James
Chapter Sixty-One - Sasha
Chapter Sixty-Two - Sasha
Chapter Sixty-Three - Sasha
Chapter Sixty-Four - Sasha
Chapter Sixty-Five - Sasha
Coming For You - Part Two
Chapter Sixty-Six - Harper
Chapter Sixty-Seven - Harper
Chapter Sixty-Eight - Harper
Chapter Sixty-Nine - Harper
Chapter Seventy - Harper
Chapter Seventy-One - Harper
Chapter Seventy-Two - Harper
Chapter Seventy-Three - Harper
Chapter Seventy-Four - Harper
Chapter Seventy-Five - Harper
Chapter Seventy-Six - Harper
Chapter Seventy-Seven - Harper
Chapter Seventy-Eight - Harper
Chapter Seventy-Nine - Harper
Coming For You - Part Three
Chapter Eighty - Sasha
Chapter Eighty-One - Harper
Chapter Eighty-Two - James
Chapter Eighty-Three - James
Chapter Eighty-Four - Harper
Chapter Eighty-Five - Sasha
Chapter Eighty-Six - Harper
Chapter Eighty-Seven - Sasha
Chapter Eighty-Eight - James
Chapter Eighty-Nine - Harper
Chapter Ninety - Sasha
Chapter Ninety-One - James
Chapter Ninety-Two - Ford
Epilogue - Harper
END OF BOOK SHIT
About the Author
Edited by RJ Locksley
Copyright © 2017 by J. A. Huss
All rights reserved.
ISBN- 978-1-944475-31-4
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
DESCRIPTION
Some people are above the law. Those people are called COMPANY.
Twenty-eight-year-old James Fenici has been an assassin since he was sixteen. He’s amassed debts and favors from countless Company brothers and participated in hundreds of Company jobs. But there are not enough favors in the world to clear his debt and make him worthy of the only girl he’s ever wanted.
Eighteen-year-old Harper Tate is the girl who doesn’t exist. Born and raised on a megayacht in a tropical paradise, she was destined to be a secret until now. Now she must choose between two Company men; The one she loves or the one chosen to give her the world.
Thirteen-year-old Sasha Cherlin is the girl who knows everything and understands nothing at all. Her future is filled with vengeance and death, but her dreams are filled with hope and a promise of love.
A high-stakes global game played with sex, secrets, and a savage thirst for power by the New York Times bestselling author, JA Huss.
Come
Chapter One - James
Even if I wasn’t looking…
Even if I wasn’t watching…
Even if I wasn’t obsessed…
There’s no way in hell I could miss her.
The beach is packed. It’s Saturday afternoon. And even though it’s a hot June, today is Orange County perfect. Seventy-eight degrees at eight PM and just enough wind to make her golden tresses dance around her heart-shaped face. The waves are just big enough to keep the surfers entertained as she eats her fast-food dinner from the steps at Pier Plaza. The sunset, a red mixed with orange that lines the horizon far off in the distance, sets a scene with warm light that falls across her bronze body.
It’s the perfect evening. But this girl is the only thing I see.
I’ve watched her for three months. She comes to the beach twice a day. Once in the early morning, just before Huntington Beach Pier opens. She does some crazy routine that probably does zero for her conditioning, that’s how easy it looks. Not easy for most. Easy for her. This routine—it’s probably something she’s been doing since she was a kid.
She comes out again each evening. More fast food, eats on the Pier Plaza steps. More sea-watching. Even if there aren’t surfers out there to entertain her, the Pacific Ocean is what occupies her mind.
She pays attention to everything. Everyone who walks by. She never talks to anyone. If the skaters on the bike path hanging out in front of the steps get too close, she leaves. If they engage her, she turns her head. They call her names sometimes, but she’s either deaf or very well-trained.
She’s not deaf.
I know she’s not deaf.
I know where she lives.
I know she’s hiding.
I know I’m the last person she wants to see.
I know she sleeps in boy short underwear and a tank top.
I know she has anxiety issues because she keeps a bottle of pills in her bathroom.
I know she never takes those pills. I count them. But every time I check, the bottle has been moved. So I know she thinks about them often enough to want to hold the bottle.
I know she has a phone. But I also know she never uses it. I’ve checked the minutes. It never changes. I know how much money she has, what’s inside her fridge. I know she touches herself at nig
ht sometimes. And she moans as she comes, her back arching for a second.
I know she’s sad and she fights it off. I’ve read her journal pages. It’s not really a diary. She writes the pages each night, then goes to bed, wakes, reads them. Then burns them in the kitchen sink before she starts her AM routine.
They always say the same thing. Please hurry. Please come to me. Please find me. Please don’t forget me. Please, please, please, do not leave me here all alone.
I know a lot about her but I don’t know her name. Or who she’s waiting for. I have an idea, but that might be wishful thinking. I don’t know why she’s here. Or why I’m here, for that matter. I’m as unsure about all those things as she is that this absent prince will come save her.
But I’m certain of one thing.
This girl?
She is mine.
I’m the one who came to her. I’m the one who found her. I’ll be the one to keep her.
Chapter Two - Harper
“What’s your name?”
The voice startles me because I had no idea anyone else was at the end of the pier with me. The waves are large this morning and they crash hard enough against the pillars below to envelop me in a mist of seawater. I don’t turn to face him. He has a smooth rumbling voice that tingles my insides and for a moment, I sense I’ve heard it before. I picture the kind of man attached to it. Someone big. Someone young, but not as young as me. I continue to scan the horizon, staring out at the Pacific Ocean, waiting for the sunrise. It’s mere moments away and I hate that he’s interrupting my sunrise.
“Hello? Name?” he asks again.
He’s someone used to getting an answer when he asks a question. He’s someone with authority, but not a cop or a sanctioned soldier. Cops have that it’s-nothing-personal-and-you’re-boring-the-shit-out-of-me-so-just-give-me-answers tone. Soldiers who get paid by legitimate governments would not give a shit about me. So he’s not in the military. I grew up listening to voices of authority, taking note on the ones who inspire, the ones who cower, and the ones you need to fear. This guy’s voice says he never cowers.
He’s one of us. I know this immediately, with only those few words, I know. This is it.
I give none of this away, simply continue with my quest to see the blue line where the sea meets the sky when the first light of day hits it. Why can’t people just leave me alone?
“Woman,” he growls at me as he takes a few steps closer. He’s barefoot, I can tell by the way his feet scrape across the concrete pier as he walks. My heart flutters for a few seconds and I wonder if he’ll hurt me. Would he be allowed to hurt me? I’ve imagined my capture happening a million ways, but not this way.
Am I ready?
A hand rests on my right shoulder, gripping slightly as if to turn me around. This is a trigger for me. I don’t want him to see my face.
I grab his wrist with both hands, bend over, and reach back with my foot and wind my ankle around his. I heave and do a very sloppy toss because he’s far heavier than anyone I’ve practiced this move on. He sorta tumbles off to the side instead of actually being flung over my shoulder, but that extra moment is all I need.
I climb the railing of Huntington Beach Pier and dive into the mist.
I hit the dark sea with a small splash and then the muted underwater sound of crashing waves fills my head. I continue the arc of my entrance through a powerful swell, and then somersault and circle back, kicking off my shoes as I go. I resurface underneath the pier, get rag-dolled by an incoming wave, and crash headfirst into a concrete pillar.
The pain shoots through my head and my body shuts down to take a moment to deal.
My instincts are slow, my hesitation a mistake I might not live to regret, and then I open my mouth and take a breath before I can stop the reflex. I choke underwater, taking in more liquid, and then shoot upwards to the small glint of light in the approaching dawn.
A hand grabs my ankle and I swallow water this time instead of taking it in my lungs. I kick, but my body is overwhelmed and confused trying to deal with multiple life-threatening situations. I give in and allow myself to be pulled back towards him.
If this guy came off the pier after me, there’s no way he’s letting me go, and there’s no way I’m able to fight him underwater. I’ll drown myself.
His hand leaves my ankle and grabs my upper arm instead, tugging me up to the surface. I break through gasping for air and choking on seawater. Adrenaline races through my blood, a primal reaction to the situation, a true fight-or-flight response. Every muscle tingles as energy is shunted through my body. And as strange as it sounds, my only thought in this moment is how exhausted I’ll be if I live.
Then I snap back to reality. I won’t live if I don’t deal with the hunter.
I scream. His hand cups my mouth, hard, tight, like I just pushed him over the edge.
“Quiet,” he commands into my ear as he flips me over on my back, his other hand reaching under my flailing arm, grasping my chest. “Relax, woman.”
Woman? I’m just a girl. Can’t he see that? Can’t he see I’m just a girl?
He swims towards the shore, dragging me along with him. Every few seconds the Pacific swells, saltwater pours into my mouth and nose. I swallow, choke, and then the man lifts me up out of the choppy sea so I can gulp some air before it all starts again. After several minutes of struggle his feet find purchase in the shifting sand and he stands, lifting me up and cradling me in his arms.
This is my only chance, so I kick my legs up, flip and twist out of his grip, and make us both fall backwards into the crashing waves once more.
I wriggle and he loses his grip on me, but just when I think I can throw him by swimming back out to sea, his hand clamps down on my ankle again. He yanks me back and a pain shoots through my knee as it overextends from the jerk. My shirt rides up along the sandy bottom of the ocean, billowing around my face. Can my luck be any worse today?
I cough and claw at the fabric that threatens to smother me, and this time, there’s no gentle attempt to ease my fears. He flips me over and drags me up the beach until we’re just out of the water, and then he collapses on top of me, his hot breath in my ear. His heaving chest on top of mine. Our heartbeats synchronized with fear or adrenaline or pain, I’m not sure which.
“Please!” I moan as his full weight rests over my small body. “You’re crushing me!”
He doesn’t move, just continues to breathe, his chest drawing in air, making his body move against mine in a way that suddenly feels more intimate than it should. I claw at his back, pushing against the thick muscles of his shoulders.
“Stop,” he says after a few seconds. “You’re bleeding and this struggle will just make it worse.”
“Get off me or I’ll scream,” I growl back at him.
“Scream, then,” he says calmly, his breath not as labored now. “You’ll be arrested for jumping off the pier. I’ll say I saved you. That you were trying to kill yourself. If you scream, life gets complicated very fast. So go ahead. Tell the fucking world you’re down here with me, lionfish. I could care less.”
His rational words, coupled with the pet name he just gave me, are a complete contradiction. I’m suddenly very unsure of myself.
“What do you want?” This time I’m not growling, because he’s right. He must know I can’t afford the attention a scream will bring. “And you didn’t save me, I was not trying to kill myself.”
He laughs, causing his hips to grind against me for a second. My breath hitches and a small whimper comes out. This moment of weakness makes him prop his upper body up on his elbows and the seawater rushes in around my face. I panic and squirm, closing my eyes and my mouth, desperate to keep the water out.
Strong hands slip under my head and lift it out of the danger zone, but it’s too late, the adrenaline is too much. The fear takes over and I begin to shake and cry.
“Open your eyes.”
I do not open my eyes. “Just get off me!”
�
�Open your eyes and look at me.”
“No, just do it. If that’s why you came, then just fucking get it over with!” And now I really do cry, because I just started a fight with a very big guy, jumped off the Huntington Beach Pier, got crashed into a support pillar, swallowed water, almost suffocated, and I’ve been caught. By this man who… who… who is making me feel things I have no business feeling.
He does nothing. His breath is completely back to normal now and I wish I could say the same thing about mine, but I can’t. So he just waits me out as I come to terms with my situation.
I stop crying and laugh instead.
Did I ever think it would end this way? Not in a fight but in total surrender? I am the weakest person alive. I am the weakest person who will—
“It’s funny now?”
His question stops the laughing. Because it’s not funny. “No,” I squeak out. “It’s not funny, but I’m scared.” My teeth are chattering from the cold water that relentlessly ebbs and flows. Covers me and then recedes, leaving nothing but the chilled air rushing in.
He waits.
I wait.
The waves come in, the waves go out.
His body is still and calm as it rests on top of mine and then his face dips down to my neck and he takes a breath as a wave recedes. “You’re bleeding. Does your head hurt?”
I answer with a slight shake and I continue to struggle with my panic, trying to hold my breath so the sobs can’t escape, but failing miserably.
His hands still cup my head, keeping the rushing water from invading my airway. After about a minute, my heart stops the wild rhythm and I settle into his hold.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod.
“Now open your eyes.”
I draw in a steadying breath and obey, blinking back the water for a few seconds as his features come into view.
“You don’t look like a killer.”
He’s repulsed by my words, or maybe shocked. For a moment, at least. Then his expression is impassive again.
I study it while he’s silent. His eyes are a brilliant green. And he’s so close I can even see all the little flecks of yellow and brown in them. I swallow hard and stare into his expectant gaze. “Now what?”