The Company

by JA Huss

  I shake the book at him and he snatches it out of my hand and flings it carelessly over the porch railing and into the dirt yard.

  But I am not deterred. Either I let him know I’m not some piece of clay he can mold with his dirty talk and smoldering gaze, or I’ll end up powerless to resist him. “Is lying so second nature to you that this means nothing? You don’t even sweat the fact that I have proof, I read your own words. You’re not what you say you are, yet you smooth it over with the word cock? How fucking dare—”

  His mouth crashes into mine. His hand fists my hair as his crushing kiss overtakes all my thoughts. “No!” I push him back, but he’s ready for me.

  “Stop, Harper. Forget this book, it’s nothing. It’s just confusion left over from a different guy.”

  “I bet you’d like that. Just forget all the nasty things you said about me. Sure. I bet all I have to do is forget that you loathed me and then rename myself Amber, right? Then you’d be all over me—”

  “What did you just say?” He shakes me by the shoulders as he stares down into my eyes. He’s angry now. “Answer me!”

  “You wrote her a sweet little letter at the end of my notebook, James. So sorry, a cock and a kiss won’t cut it because whatever you’re doing is all about her!”

  He opens his mouth. Then turns around and goes inside. I follow him in but he’s already down the hallway, gone from sight. A few seconds later a door slams. I look across the room at the girl and she gives me a small shrug.

  “He’s been moody all day. I’m sure it’s not you.”

  I glance back at the hallway. It is me. Or at least it’s the name Amber that set him off.

  “But at least he didn’t threaten to kill you. He threatened me a lot today. But I forgive him. And so should you.”

  I look over at the girl again. “Why?”

  She lies down on the couch and closes her eyes, tucking her hands between her legs like the air-conditioning is giving her a chill. “Because,” she says through a long yawn, “he’s all we’ve got.”

  Chapter Twenty-One - James

  I slam the bathroom door behind me and turn around.

  “Fucking hell.” I’m presented with my face in the mirror. It’s the first time I’ve looked at myself in months. And I’m sorry I chose this moment to make the reacquaintance because I look every inch a killer.

  My eyes are wild, my dark hair is longer than usual, and it’s got an unruly look. Like it’s putting up a resistance to the wind and the dust and the thousand miles I traveled since the last time I thought about it.

  And my mouth—the same mouth that can kiss Harper in that soft and tender way, so foreign to me—looks severe. There’s a crease in my brow and lines around my eyes.

  I punch the mirror and it cracks from the center outward. Blood drips from my hands.

  There has never been a moment in the last twelve years where my hands were not soiled with blood. And no amount of hot desert air will ever dry it off.

  Is this how Sasha saw me all day? Crazy? Am I crazy? The psych eval came back crazy. That’s why they sent me to the beach. “Unwind, James,” the Admiral said. “Relax.” And then his fucking daughter shows up. And that—that was not in the fucking plan.

  At least I don’t think it was in the plan. I had a blackout around that time. I can remember the order to go to the beach, but then… nothing until that day I saw Harper for the first time. I’m pretty sure the blackout time can be counted in hours, not days. But I have no real proof. Life was a blur after Tony…

  Adjust, the Tet voice inside me whispers. Adjust, James.

  Why the fuck did I write that letter to Amber?

  Why the fuck did I write that stupid fucking letter?

  Why’d I write any of that shit?

  “Fuck!” I punch the mirror again and this time pieces of it drop off and clatter into the sink.

  I look at myself between the cracks.

  A guy who’s pushing thirty, traipsing around the American West with a little girl, trying to get back to his child bride—even if she is all grown up now. It’s sick. And now Harper not only realizes she was given to me on her sixth birthday, but she knows I refused to accept the gift. And even if I could convince her that my rejection was for every altruistic reason imaginable—she was practically a baby, she was a bribe, she’s not a piece of property to be traded for favors—none of that matters anymore because I wrote that letter to Amber in the book and Harper read it. A pledge of revenge. A pledge to kill in her name.

  A light knock comes from the door. “James?”

  It’s Sasha. “What?” I seethe.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Go away,” I growl.

  She leaves after that so I strip down, take a shower to try and wash this day off me.

  Amber.

  I don’t want to go there. I never want to go back there. The blur of the moment. The confusion. Tony.

  Fucking Tony.

  And Ford. How is that asshole still weaseling his way into my life? How do I talk about Amber without talking about Tony? And I can’t do any of that without fucking Ford.

  I finish up with my shower and grow some balls. Two girls have me locked away in a bathroom. But as pathetic as that is, it makes me grin and eases my temper a little. Gives me some much-needed perspective. Shit, James, Tet says in my head, just put on your business suit, you pussy. Put on the suit and go to work. I can tell Harper anything she wants to know—it’s called a debrief.

  I was debriefed after Tony and Amber and I held it together then.

  No, asshole, Tet interjects, you got sent to the beach to unwind because you failed the fucking psych eval and then you blacked out.

  Well, technically. Yes. But I turned off the emotions. Like always. I recalled every detail of the days leading up to that job. I told it just the way it happened.

  And I can do it again.

  I wrap a towel around me, grab my gun, and head across the hall to the bedroom. All my safe houses have certain things. Basic clothes. Some rations to hold me over for a few days. A 4x4 vehicle packed with survival gear and weapons. So I put on a pair of jeans, tuck the gun back in my pants, and swipe a hand through my hair.

  I can do this. Debrief. No emotions. I don’t have a suit, but—I slide my sunglasses down onto my face—this will have to do.

  No eye contact, James.

  Right. No extra details. Stick to the story.

  I go out to the living room but the girls are gone. I check out front. Nothing. I go through the kitchen and check out back. And there they are. The garage door is open and they are sitting on the hood of the Hummer. Harper is holding my goddamn pink notebook in her hands, fondling it like it belongs to her.

  And I guess it does, doesn’t it? I gave it to her when we became six. And then I stole it back.

  She’ll want to know why you took it back, James.

  Right. I need to face that truth if I go out there. Twelve years of waiting has come to an end. This is it.

  I walk over to the fridge, pull it open and grab a beer from the door. If you have to hit the safe house a beer is mandatory. I twist the cap, take a swig, and look out the window over the sink. I can see them from here. Harper glances at the house every now and then, like she’s waiting for me.

  You can do this, James, the inner Tet says. The voice that talks to me during all my jobs. Keeps me calm. Rational. On high alert.

  I set the beer down, open the door—and hesitate.

  But Tet is there. Tet is always there. I got this, James, he tells me. And then I push through the screen door and walk onto the back porch and take a seat on the bottom step. They both stare at me. Anger comes off Harper like heat.

  She swallows and turns away, looks into the evening sun that is beating down on her body, making it a rich gold that matches her hair and eyes.

  Lionfish. Hunter. Lover. Just like me.

  Killer.

  Tet decides to start there. I clear my throat and Sasha looks over at me, her
eyebrows raised as she waits to see what I’ll do.

  I kick my bare feet out in front of me and lean back on my elbows. “I know what you’re thinking.” Sasha continues to stare. Harper shakes her head but does not look my way. “You’re thinking he’s crazy. He’s a liar. He can’t be trusted. He’ll kill me if the right deal comes along.”

  Harper does look over for that remark. I smile at her and she squirms.

  Sasha squints at me. She knows more than Harper about what’s going on, that’s for damn sure. No kid is that calm and sure of herself unless she knows something.

  So I start with her first. I get up and walk towards them, stop in the center of the driveway so I’m blocking the sun from Sasha’s body. And then I point to her. “But you and I, Smurfette, we’re exactly the same.” I smile because her cool expression drops a little. Just enough to let me know this is the right way forward. “I am a killer. I kill people. That’s my job. But before we talk about why I haven’t ditched you yet, let’s get it all out in the open. OK?”

  I don’t need to look over at Harper to know that she’s paying very close attention.

  “Let’s do a tally. Would that make you feel better? You want to know my tally, girls?” They both stare at me. I wait for the little shake that says, No, Tet. We do not. But everyone wants to know. I hold up my hand and pretend to count bodies as I tick off a finger. But there are not enough fingers and toes in this driveway to count up all the people I’ve killed.

  I’m not counting kills. I’m counting years.

  “Let’s see, year one, that was eight. Year two, seventeen. Year three they had me cleaning up a drug cartel on the Mexico Arizona boarder to stop the Juárez beheadings. So I’m pretty sure that qualifies as genocide. Sixty-four Mexican government employees got the shaft from me that year.” I keep going, never missing a beat. “Year four I was on vacation. Winding down at the beach is what they’re calling it these days. Year five—twenty years old—I only had one job that year but it ended up destabilizing six African nations. Just enough to allow Company-run corporations to slip in and take over some critical industries.”

  “Diamonds?” Sasha asks.

  She knows a lot of shit she should not know. Her father did her no favors. “No, not diamonds,” I lie to her.

  “And year six?” Harper asks, like she’s unaffected.

  But I know better, I haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet. I look away and pick it back up. “Year six I was off again so I did jobs with a guy I’d met a few months earlier.”

  “Merc?” Sasha interrupts again.

  I smile at this. “Yeah. Fucking Merc.” She scowls at his name. There is no love lost between Merc and the Smurf. “He’s not that bad when you get to know him.”

  “Whatever,” Sasha grunts. “I hate him.”

  “Year seven,” Harper prods.

  She’s digging, I realize. Looking for something. About Nick, maybe.

  “That year I spent with my brother, Tony. He was twenty, I was twenty-two. We were in for almost the same amount of time, they started him early. Had him doing local jobs in Southern California all through high school, put him in the US military at eighteen. He was just finishing up his two-year contract with the Marines that year. But he was in love with this girl.” I look over at both of them now. “Not a Company girl. And he wanted out, so he applied to the SEALs, thinking if he could just hang on to the military affiliation, the Company might let him have a life.”

  “Did it work?” Harper asks.

  “I fucking blew his head off three months ago. What do you think?”

  “Why did you kill him?” Sasha asks.

  “It was a job.” Tet’s answer comes out so fast it surprises even me. “Years eight and nine were spent running a shadow government in San Pedro Sula, down in Honduras.”

  “So,” Sasha interrupts. “You weren’t just killing people. You were helping too, right?”

  I want to lie to her so bad. Harper’s watching me, a little bit of hope in her eyes. “No,” I say, choosing to tell the truth. “I wasn’t in San Pedro Sula to fix things, Sasha. The government down in Honduras is as corrupt as the cartels.”

  “And year ten. When I was turning sixteen, what were you doing then?” Harper redirects to the more recent years. The years that changed everything. The only years that matter right now.

  I stare at her as I recall that day. It was confusing for me. It’s confusing for me now, but I’m trying to be honest, so I tell her the truth. “Looking for you, Lionfish.” She sighs at the name. It’s been tainted by the words in the journal, so I soften her hurt with more truth. “I did show up that year. No plane ticket that time, but I showed up anyway. You guys stayed pretty close to Anguilla, so I knew where to look.”

  “We went to Tahiti that year, and the next two after.”

  I shrug. “I know that now, but I did my best.”

  “Did you want me that year?” she asks, a little bit of hope spilling out with her words.

  Again, I want to lie. But I don’t have it in me to put up the pretenses. Besides, she’s gonna find out the truth sooner or later. “Not enough to admit it.”

  “But you do now, right?” Sasha chimes in. “You want her now, even I can tell that.”

  I look over at Harper, but she’s shaking her head and putting up her hand, shutting down the talk of her. She may or may not want to know more about that, but right now she’s on a mission for other information. “And the years between then and now? You said you were in some European country last year. But it sounds to me like that’s not your territory.”

  “It’s not. But I’ve been on special assignments since then.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Harper says, pissed off. “So your tally, James? What’s your final tally?”

  “Too many to count.”

  She throws the notebook at me and jumps down off the Hummer hood, but I grab her wrist before she can escape, pulling her close until I can secure her by her shoulders. And then I lean into her ear and go in for the kill. “What’s your tally, Harper? How many have you killed? Do you even know?”

  Sasha blows out a long breath like she can’t believe I just went there.

  Harper shakes her head. “I’m not a killer. I don’t know why they tell you those things. I’m not a killer.”

  “I am,” Sasha says, trying to break the tension. “I got four, James. When they came to blow up my grandparents’ ranch. I got four.”

  I have to smile and appreciate that. “I know, Smurf. I heard. How many, Harper?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tries again, clearly nervous about the new direction this conversation is taking.

  “You probably don’t. You probably have no idea. Because you left the ship. You left them all there to die and never looked back. So how could you know?”

  She turns her back, head still shaking.

  “You can judge me if you want, but the truth is, Harper, we’re all killers here. Even you, baby. And your tally puts my first year to shame. Because you got thirteen souls, right out of the gate.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two - James

  Thirteen. I can almost hear the echo in her head.

  She leans over to swallow down the bile before it comes up.

  She knew. She knew she had to have killed some of them… but… thirteen. Yeah, that surprised everyone.

  “What’d you use?” I ask as I put a hand on her shoulder and instead of shrugging me off, she lets it stay. Her body is hot and it feels like touching fire. “Because it certainly did the job.”

  “Visine,” she says calmly. “Several bottles of Visine in the water pitchers at dinner. There were a lot of guests on the ship that night. Too many for me to pick out my new husband. So I poisoned them all.”

  Clever. “Well, then you and I are more alike than you know. Because the poison you used is actually one of my calling cards.” I look over at Sasha. I think she’ll appreciate this little factoid. “The active ingredient in Visine is tetrahydr
ozoline.” I look back over to Harper. “I told you under the pier last week I had a little blue octopus in me. And the active poison in the blue-ringed octopus is tetrodotoxin.”

  “Tet,” Sasha says with a smile. “That’s why you’re called Tet?”

  I nod, but my eyes are still on Harper. “You used my calling card, Harper. Because when I want to kill someone for personal reasons and not get in trouble, that’s the way I have to do it. My assigned poison is tetrodotoxin, not Visine, but it’s got tet in the name and that’s too close.”

  This changes everything. Everything I’ve been told over the past year is tainted with the view that they might think I killed all those people for Harper. How the fuck am I still alive?

  The blackout, James, Tet whispers in my head. They know you’re confused. They know you’re missing time.

  And that—that makes me laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Harper snaps at me. “I killed thirteen people and you’re laughing? Is my father even alive?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Of course I care!”

  “As far as I know he is. I have not spoken with him for a very long time.” I’m the one who turns away now. Because this will require a lot of thinking on my part. The problem is suddenly a puzzle. Who is who? How does it all fit together? Who is calling the shots? Why was I really sent to the beach? What the fuck happened in those hours I lost?

  “Is there a way to find out?” Sasha asks. “If the Admiral is dead?”

  “I’m pretty sure there’d be some sort of global alert if the Admiral was dead.” I should push Sasha for her answers too. I really should. But she’s being very good, almost on my side, so now is not the time to shake things up.

  “So now what, James?” Harper looks down at her feet. She’s facing the sun still, and it’s about to set, so the bright glow from earlier is gone. I wanted us to be together tonight so we could watch the sun go down again, get her back in her routine. But the rippling orange and yellow colors across the Pacific Ocean were magical. Beautiful and filled with promise of a new tomorrow.