The Company

by JA Huss

  “James!” Sasha says, laughing. “You never went there. That’s the movie. Don’t believe him, Harper. He’s making all that up.”

  “Sure I did. Who do you think gave that writer the whole idea for that book? It was me. I’m the original dinosaur hunter. Animal Planet wanted to give me a show—”

  “James!” she squeals again. “You’re lying.”

  “—because I found a stash of living dinosaur eggs—”

  Sasha punches him on the arm and then he winces and rubs it, like she hurt him. “I’m not joking, James. We were dinosaur hunters, only we looked for bones and stuff. We used to spend the summers in Utah looking for fossils.”

  “Did you know this past year was the first year I actually had a winter?” I pipe in, since we are sharing.

  “What?” Sasha says through her laugh.

  “Yeah, whenever winter rolled around we just crossed the equator and sailed towards summer. I’ve never seen snow.”

  “Oh my God,” Sasha says. “What do you do on Christmas if there’s no snow? I can’t even imagine a Christmas without snow.”

  “We never really celebrated Christmas. We never had a tree or anything. We just had dinners. And people would say it’s Christmas, Merry Christmas or whatever… but it never really meant anything to me other than we had lots of guests on board.”

  “Wow,” she says, looking at me with pity. “I think I like my life better than yours.”

  I shrug. “It’s not all that different. I still have a father, but I ran away from him. So really, I’m all alone too.”

  Her somber mood is back and I feel bad for being responsible.

  “Well,” James says. “Both of my parents are still alive but I hate their fucking guts.” He lets out a long, controlled breath of air and then flicks his lighter and starts puffing on another cigarette. “How do you sell your kids?” He blows out a stream of smoke through his nose and shakes his head. “Who the fuck sells their kids?”

  “It’s not like they have a choice, James,” I say, trying to defuse the anger that is bubbling up inside him. “They did the same thing our parents did. They were born into this fucked-up Company too.”

  But James is shaking his head before the last of my words are out. “That’s not true.” He stares at me. I can’t see his eyes because he’s got those damn sunglasses on, but I can feel his stare like it’s the desert heat. “You wanna know how I know that’s not true? You wanna know how I know your fathers”—his fingers make a v-shape and he points to both Sasha and I—“put up a fight and mine didn’t?”

  I’m not sure I want to know, but Sasha says, “How?” before I can stop this conversation.

  “Because your mothers are dead.” He blows out more smoke and then slides his glasses up onto his head so we can see his eyes. “And mine’s not.”

  The entire world goes still for several moments as I take in his words and the only thing that snaps me back is Sasha’s small hand lacing her fingers with mine. “What’s that mean, James?” she asks.

  He gets up off the dinosaur toe and walks away. And when he’s walked the length of the dinosaur’s underbelly, he turns and walks back. He stops right in front of us and looks down as we look up. “It means your mothers are dead because they killed them. That’s just what tends to happen when you have girls. Boys? They just get trained, right? Trained to do what? Jobs, I guess. Most of them aren’t killing people for a living, are they? No, only a few of us get that privilege. But the girls are just handed over.” James stops talking and his stare focuses on me with laser precision. “You know this, Harper. You were given away.”

  “To you, James. I was given—”

  But he’s shaking his head.

  “You were the one who said it was never gonna happen, right? Why would your father give his prized possession to me? A killer. My family is wealthy, but only because the Company sets them up that way. I’m nothing. I’m nobody. You knew it right away. You feel it inside. I’m nothing but a filthy killer. Your father made that promise, but he never expected to have to live up to it. He never expected me to make it this far.”

  My heart is beating so fast I might pass out. My head begins to spin and I know I’m gonna have a panic attack. I want him to stop talking so bad, but Sasha—“But why would they kill them?” she asks.

  All I want to do is cover my ears, but James is already talking.

  “When you have a girl, they take the mothers away because they put up a fight.” And then he stares down at me. “Not even the Admiral is immune to this, I guess.”

  I’m shaking my head. “My mother died in childbirth.”

  “Yeah,” he says in response. “How’d your mother die, Smurf?”

  Sasha squeezes my hand and whispers, “Childbirth.”

  “That means they refused to give you girls up. They come when the babies are born and make deals with the fathers. This is how they keep it going. The Company is dependent on the next generation. They need us to continue their dirty work, or else things would just degenerate until they fell apart. They need that birth promise. And most of the time, the parents give in. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they really have no choice. None. The kids belong to the Company no matter what. And most parents give in and sign them over. But every once in a while”—he points to us with his v-shape again—“every once in a while they fight back. And then the Company kills the mother to make an example of them.”

  “Kills them…” Sasha says in a voice so weak I turn to look at her to make sure she’s OK. Her face is ashen and her grip on my hand is tighter than ever. “They killed her.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  When I look at James he’s nodding. “They kill them if they put up any kind of fight. So while my mother was busy signing over my sister, your mothers gave their lives for you. And your father, Sasha, from what I can tell, almost made it out.”

  “They killed him too?” she squeaks out. “The Company?”

  “James, stop,” I say. “Just stop. She doesn’t need to hear this.”

  “She does, Harper. She really needs to hear this.” He looks back at Sasha and even though his words are harsh, his voice is soft. “They killed him, Smurf. But hey.” He bends down and tips her lowered chin up with a fingertip. “I told you, Merc is busy doing something important, right?”

  “He’s killing that senator?”

  “I’m not sure he’s doing that right now, but believe me, he’s gonna get them back.” And then James looks at me. “And while he takes care of that end in his way, the three of us will take care of this end in our way. But I need your trust, girls. I need your trust. I can’t do any of this unless you trust me because I can’t do any of this alone.”

  I swallow hard and look him in the eye. “Why should we trust you? You’ve done their dirty work for them your whole life.”

  James doesn’t even blink. Like he’s used to the insult. He’s been called a killer so much, that label has no meaning to him anymore. “Because they took my baby sister. My mother sold out my baby sister and they took her away. And someone needs to pay for this shit, Harper. Someone needs to stand the fuck up and say enough. And maybe we’re not much. One man, one woman, and one kid. But I’m tired of waiting for that someone to come along and make things right. We might as well put a bullet in our own heads right the fuck now because we are already dead.” He stops to make sure this is sinking in. Both Sasha and I are shaking now, so yes, his shock tactic is working.

  “We’re already dead except for you, Lionfish. Sasha and I have hits on our heads. There’s no way we’re gonna be allowed to live. But even if we did make it, even if I did make it out and I was allowed to keep what was already mine”—he takes the hand Sasha is not holding and gives me a comforting squeeze—“what kind of future will we have if our daughter is sold? What kind of future will I have if they make an example of you? Because there’s no fucking way on this earth that I would let them take my child, girl or boy. That’s never gonna happen. What kind of life is that
? What kind of man lets this happen? What kind of coward lets his own family be sold off or killed?”

  “That’s not any kind of life I want, James,” Sasha says. All her tears are gone now. Her expression is the opposite of the one she was wearing a few minutes ago. That sad and lost child has disappeared.

  And I suddenly feel like I’m looking in the mirror. Because the expression on her face is the same as mine.

  Cold killer.

  The desert wind is whipping my hair around and the temperature outside the shade of the gigantic dinosaur is at least one hundred ten. But my skin shivers from the cold within.

  Like the reptile sheltering us, our blood runs cold.

  We’re all cold here.

  Chapter Forty-Four - James

  We walk back to the Hummer in silence and my mind, opened up from sharing these details with the girls, is buzzing like it’s got something to say. Memories flicker in and out, and I press my fingertips to my temples.

  “You OK?” Harper asks me as she entwines her arm in mine. “You don’t look good.”

  “Fine,” I say. But I’m not sure I’m fine. I’m not convinced any of us are fine.

  Sasha glances over her shoulder at the dinosaur one last time before she opens the back door on the driver’s side and hops up into the truck.

  “Put your belt on, kid.”

  She does as she’s told without comment. Her earlier sadness, despite her bravado back under the reptile, has turned to hopelessness.

  I prefer her sad if the alternative is hopeless.

  So I smack her leg, trying to change her mood. But she just shakes her head. “This is worse.”

  “What’s worse?” my dry throat croaks out.

  “Knowing,” she says, her eyes still avoiding mine. “At least I had something to believe in before.” She directs her gaze up to mine as Harper gets in the front and closes her door.

  “You can believe in me, kid. I told you, I’m working on it. I’m gonna keep you safe.” I look over at Harper as she silently watches us. “I’m gonna keep both of you safe.”

  Sasha turns her whole body away from me and I close her door and open mine, get in, and just as I’m pulling my door closed I hear her whisper an answer.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I let out a long breath and start the truck, the air-conditioning blasting away her words as the warm air shoots out. I don’t answer, just get back on the freeway and head towards LA, waiting for the chill to take over.

  Actions always speak louder than words and all I’ve given her so far are words.

  When the Admiral called me to the twins’ sixth birthday party I knew why I was there. To be given a number. An assassin had just been killed off. How? That’s an excellent question. One I never cared much about until recently. But it doesn’t matter now. It’s too late to make a difference. The twelve years between then and now have wiped that advantage away. Besides, if I had known then what I know now… I’d definitely be dead.

  I was never lied to. At least by my parents. They were upfront from the time I was small. You are a Company child, James. You will always be a Company child. But being honest and being forthcoming are two very different things.

  I should know, I use that to my advantage all the time. I try to be honest when I can, but I’m almost never forthcoming. And there is a big difference.

  For instance, telling me that I am owned by the Company is honest. But leaving out the fact that my children will be traded for favors like secrets and my wife will be killed if she objects is far from being forthcoming. And call me what you will—sell-out, naive, shill—whatever. I admit I’ve been all those things at one point or another. But that’s only because people who said they were being honest were very far from forthcoming.

  At sixteen, looking at my promise playing on the beach, yeah. That was all very much OK with me. I refused her, so I know I have some honor. But I wanted her, even if I refused to admit it. I wanted her enough to listen to the Admiral’s plan for me. I wanted her enough to kill on command for more than a decade. I wanted her enough to follow every order sent to me, without fail. I wanted her enough to kill my associates and my own brother.

  Even after my little sister was taken that first year I was working professionally, I wanted to be what the Admiral thought I was. His personal assassin. Because I wanted Harper. I might not’ve admitted it back then, but I wanted to please him, I wanted to show him I was worthy.

  And fuck it, I still want what’s mine. I do. I’ve lived my life the past dozen years based on the fact that there’s a reward for me when it’s all said and done.

  My mind flickers again and I suck in some air as the stabbing pain shoots across my forehead.

  But that was before I got the message.

  It’s funny how one text can change your life. How a few simple words can tip all your plans upside down, redirect your life’s work, and make you do things you never thought yourself capable of.

  I’m capable of anything, though. I know that now. I’ve killed enough people in cold blood to understand what it means to be capable of something.

  People who assume I will blink when things get too hot typically end up dead.

  I never blink.

  I never stumble. I never fall. I never pull punches.

  When I’m in, I’m all in.

  And even though everything I’ve done since that day on the beach when Harper and I turned Six was building towards a future, I know now I can never follow through with it.

  The message that changed my life was about a girl.

  And this almost makes me laugh. Because now that I’m here looking back, every major turning point in my life has been about a girl.

  This girl was one I had forgotten about and yet she was always there, in the back of my mind. Nagging at me. A girl the very same age as Harper. A girl I loved long before I even knew Harper existed.

  It came in the first day I was at the beach taking the edge off. Just before I recognized Harp as the missing twin, as if I was being reminded where my loyalties lie. The text said… Meet me.

  That’s it.

  I get these messages all the time. I get phones dropped off at various places for me all the time. The one in the green house in Sandy Valley was not for Harper, it was for me. The one in Merc’s house was not for Sasha, it was for me. And the one I found sitting on the railing of an apartment balcony last March—the day I went to see if it would suit me as a rental as I endured my mandatory take-the-edge-off punishment at the beach—also for me.

  Meet me is a code we assassins use when we need help. It means find the nearest gas station, go there, and wait.

  So that’s what I did. I waited, expecting to see one of two men show up. The only two left who know how to find me. The dead man who walked through the doors of the Stop-N-Go on Beach Boulevard was so off my radar it took me almost a whole minute of open-mouth staring to come to terms with what I was witnessing.

  He was beach-bumming, like me. His jeans were old and torn. His t-shirt a little too big, sporting a faded image of a mushroom on it. Vans on his feet. He was holding his hands up, like he was surrendering, but he was not surrendering. He just didn’t want me to shoot him straight away. He needed a minute.

  He got it, because I was stunned.

  “You look good,” he said.

  “You look better than you should,” I replied.

  He nodded and shook a hand in the air so I’d notice it. “I have something for you here.” He was holding a phone. “A message.”

  Whatever message he had, it was not one I wanted to hear, but I said, “What message?” involuntarily.

  “Take a look.” He held out the phone and I reached for it, thinking he’d use that as an opportunity to attack. But he didn’t. He handed me the phone and I took it, never taking my eyes off him. “Press play, Tet.”

  I looked down at the phone and squinted at the girl on the still shot of the YouTube video. The still shot was a close-up of her face, her
eyes wide with fright.

  Green.

  Her eyes were as green as mine. Her hair was as dark as mine. Her features reminded me of pictures of my mother when she was young. But there were bruises on her face. Not recent ones, which made them all the more ugly.

  “Nicola?” It was a question in my head. A desperate, desperate question as I hoped against hope that what I was seeing was real. I pressed the play icon on the screen and her voice carried though the noise in the busy gas station. “James,” she said to the camera, her eyes filled with fear. “Help me. Please,” she begged that day on video. “Please, help me.”

  How do you deny your sister when she returns from the dead and asks you to save her?

  You don’t. You say, Whatever it takes.

  Because blood runs thick.

  That fucking blood sticks to your hands no matter how much time you spend in the desert.

  That fucking blood makes you do things. Things that you never thought you’d do. Things like kill your brother to save your niece. Things like give up your future to save your sister.

  I’ve been looking for someone to save my whole life.

  Since the day I shook death’s hand and walked away from a dirty promise.

  Since the day I decided I am damned and I’ll take them all to hell with me.

  Since the day I realized blood might run thick, but revenge runs deep.

  I did make a choice that day. But that was just hours before I met Harper. How could I have known?

  I remember now. I remember what was hiding behind that black curtain of denial. I remember those missing hours I forced myself to forget to avoid the consequences.

  I remember the dirty deal I made with death.

  And death is coming back to collect.

  Chapter Forty-Five - James

  “Are we there yet?” Sasha asks from the backseat as I shake Nicola out of my thoughts.

  “Almost,” I say absently.