Canvas (The Program Book 1)

by N. M. Catalano

  That was until Summer.

  Wanna know the real kick in the balls?

  We love this shit, each of us. I can still see that fucking glimmer from the thrill in each of the guy’s eyes, their mouth’s salivating at the prospect. We’ve been sleeping for a few years, we thought we were done after the last assignment. We’d each sworn we didn’t want this shit anymore, couldn’t do it again. The last one was a fucking fiasco. Somewhere, somehow things got fucked up. We’d been set up. When we got the assignment, we were not given all the details, we thought it was a clear cut mission. How goddamn wrong we were.

  The Program must have known it because they left us alone after that to do what we want the past few years. They allowed us, (that’s right, allowed, because they fucking own us), to set up house and live in a make believe world of white picket fences and jobs we go to and grocery shopping with the local church members, letting us think we don’t have a care in the world. They gave us just enough time to get bored with normal life and society and beg to get back in the game.

  Hasn’t ‘the call’ been coming up in conversation lately?

  We all knew and were all waiting, very much aware that we were biding our time knowing full well that guys like us, machines like us don’t do normal, don’t do white picket fences and Sunday ball games, and bowling leagues, and cable sports packages.

  We do fury, we drink adrenaline, we gorge on danger, and sometimes we have to drink from the cup of violence. And we’re fucked up because we love how it all tastes.

  Because we’d been created to be this way. Every conditioning, every aspect of our programming was a meticulous calculation for the end game. The evolution of the perfect machine, they made us capable of killing without remorse, they gave us a level of intelligence to unravel highly complex problems, and we’d developed the ability to engage in normal situations without question. They created us, made us do shit in the service no human being should ever be witness to. Then sent us out into the world with all this crap and all this programming, we were all fucking messes.

  We’d tried to survive; we did our damndest to be normal.

  But we aren’t normal. And it was killing us.

  That’s when The Program contacted us, pulled us out of the turmoil that we were drowning in. They offered us the best of both worlds. They gave us an opportunity to feed that need in us that our programming demanded while allowing us to exist in society as regular people.

  It had worked for a while. That was until the assignments got darker and bordered on mercenary and hitman.

  Like the last assignment.

  We left the army with so much blood on our fucking hands, we knew we were bound for hell. But we still had to live with ourselves while we’re alive. We didn’t want to be any part of that shit.

  After the last time, we said no fucking more.

  But we can’t fight the goddam need for the fix The Program gives us.

  I don’t know if I’m strong enough.

  I might not have been, until I met Summer.

  Three years. It’s been three peaceful years. Just enough time for us to not fight against an assignment.

  It’s here.

  Bull’s tossing a ball in the air sitting in a chair, feet up on the table. Gringo’s laying the fuck down on the couch with his hands tucked behind his head. Snake’s leaning against the wall cleaning his nails with a knife. On the surface they all look calm and collected. Inside they’re calculating while their inner machine takes over, they’re transforming into the soldier, preparing to be what they need to be: killer, spy, kidnapper, whatever the assignment needs.

  Me, I’m sitting on the desk hating this shit. Hating it because the sick part of me is looking forward to it.

  “We’ve only got the basics, someone’s coming down with the files, they should be here in a couple of days.”

  “Is it out of the country?” Gringo asks from his place on the couch.

  “No,” I shake my head, not that he can see me, he’s staring at whatever he’s seeing in his mind’s eye. “From what I’ve been told, it’s a retrieval.” And everything about this assignment has given me a very bad feeling. I’m going to tell them what I know and see if they feel the same way.

  “What happened, some accountant run away with all the financial information of a crooked politician and they want it back?” Snake says sarcastically.

  I shake my head again. Just fucking tell them, Rock.

  “Apparently the daughter of a very prominent business man has disappeared. He wants her back,” I state flatly.

  “A kidnapping?” Gringo asks quietly.

  “No, she ran away,” I reply.

  “Isn’t this just fucking great,” Bull snorts. “Daddy’s little rich girl disappears because of a temper tantrum and Big Daddy calls in the dogs.”

  “It’s not quite that simple,” I begin.

  “Thank God for small fucking favors. I was not about to play babysitter to some spoiled brat who took off because her American Express black Centurion card was cut off,” Bull grumbles still tossing the ball.

  I can’t fucking sit still so I get up and start to slowly pace. Snake watches me as he continues to rake the tip of the switch blade under his meticulous fingernails.

  “Not that either,” I say. “It seems the father in question is sort of like a cult leader.”

  Gringo laughs. “You’re shitting me, bro, like Jim Jones?”

  “Nope. Think more Scientology and more damn millionaires than the Beverly Hills 90210 zip code.”

  “Well holy shit, this is different. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks she took off to Paris for a shopping spree on the church’s dime,” Bull grins.

  I stop pacing, Snake’s eyes haven’t left me and we lock gazes.

  He can read me. He knows something’s bothering me about this.

  “It seems daddy’s little girl had a very special position in The Club, as it’s called,” I address them all. “Her purpose, the only thing she was raised for, was to strengthen the power of The Club. She’s the prize in a business deal.” It makes my skin crawl and my stomach lurch to even say the words out loud.

  Gringo sits up, his face contorted in disgust. “Hold up, you mean to tell me this scumbag father raised his daughter only to pimp her out for a business deal?”

  I cross my arms over my chest and plant my feet firmly where I’m at. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  Snake clicks the blade closed and slips it into his back pocket. Bull snatches the ball out of the air. Gringo lowers his head, sits quietly for a moment, then kicks the coffee table and sends it flying across the room. It lands against the opposite wall and shatters.

  I don’t fucking move. I’ve had a few hours to let this stew inside me and turn into a thick burning hate for this man. This piece of shit. If there is a God, and if there is such a thing as justice, he’d spend the rest of his life getting raped and beaten in the most horrific ways.

  None of us say anything for a long moment, each of us coming to terms with what I’ve told them so far.

  “There’s more, isn’t there, Rock?” Snake asks quietly.

  I inhale deeply.

  “Yes.”

  “Spit it the fuck out already,” Bull growls.

  I hope I’m wrong, if there is any mercy in this world, please let me be wrong about what I think.

  “It seems his daughter is in the nearby area.”

  Nothing.

  Not a goddamn thing is heard, not a fucking thing moves.

  Nothing.

  “No, it can’t be,” Snake states slowly.

  I have never wanted to kill anybody the way I want to torture that father, then let him die slowly.

  “We’ll know for sure when the messenger comes with the files. It’ll have photos and any other relevant information. Apparently, The Club has someone planted in the area who’s been watching her since shortly after she arrived and reporting back to them.”

  “You think it’s Summer, do
n’t you?” Gringo asks hesitantly.

  Everyone was thinking it, he’s just verbalized it, wanted to ascertain as they say in the military.

  “As much as I fucking hate it, yes I do,” I grit out.

  “Why?” Bull asks. “Why her?”

  “Come on,” I say disbelievingly. “She appeared here out of nowhere not even a year ago. No one in town knows where she came from, nobody knew her before she arrived. She just kind of appeared out of thin air. Kind of like us.”

  “Yes, but Summer? She’s so nice, so sweet, so pure,” Gringo says.

  “Don’t you think I don’t want to believe it? I want so fucking bad for it to be some strung out junkie who is so stoned none of those memories can haunt her. Do you honestly believe I want it to be her? To even entertain the possibility it’s her, that she’s the one guys like us have been hired to find and bring back to that fucking hell?”

  The weight of the entire situation falls so heavy on all of us, it fucking hurts.

  The fact that a young girl was born and bred to prostitute for an old fucking rich bastard by her own father.

  That it might be the one woman I’ve allowed myself to feel for.

  And that men like us, mercenaries, killers, soldiers, have been hired to find and return to the hell she escaped from.

  What’s even scarier is that there are more men like us. Because if we don’t do it, someone else will. Someone who is much worse than we are.

  “Let’s just take this one thing at a time,” Snake finally speaks up. “We’ve been presented with an assignment, an assignment we can choose to take,” he’s so damn methodical. He looks to each of us before continuing. “When the file arrives, we’ll all review the information and determine the best course of action we’re going to take, depending on the specifics.”

  “Rock,” Bull starts slowly, “what if it is Summer? We gonna take her back? To that?”

  “No.”

  I don’t fucking hesitate.

  “What if she wants to go, Rock? She needs to know what’s happening, so she can protect herself and do what she feels she needs to. Her future is not our decision to make.” Fucking Snake and his devil’s advocate bullshit.

  “Goddamn it!” I slam my fist into the wall. It goes through the drywall and I have to pull it out of the hole.

  “That’s not going to solve anything,” Snake says dryly.

  “You’re such a woman sometimes, you know that?” I growl.

  “You’re a fucking baby sometimes, you know that?” he snaps back.

  “Okay, let’s get a fucking plan,” Gringo cuts in.

  “First thing I think we need to do is keep an eye on Summer at all times. You said someone is here watching her for The Club?” Bull might be a damn ox, but he’s smart as hell.

  “Yes, but they didn’t say who. Probably not to have the person’s cover blown,” I reply.

  “Give us a day and we’ll figure out who it is,” Bull responds, “in the meantime, get Summer to go to your place. Get her keys and Gringo and me will load her shop and apartment up with surveillance cameras.”

  “And where do you guys plan on getting the equipment at this time of night?” I ask them. I’m already moving to get my gear together to get out of here. First thing, I get the gun I keep in the safe. “It’s late. I’ll message her. I don’t want to just show up and scare the shit out of her. I’ll drive by to make sure she’s home and look to see if there are any other cars there.”

  Bull’s on his feet with his phone in his hand. “Don’t you worry about what we’ve got to do. Let us know if we can come and get her keys. We need to make a copy.”

  As we all move into action, me to assess the assignment, the boys to put the plan in motion, we all have one goal: complete assignment successfully.

  Although, the assignment has changed.

  SUMMER

  CHAPTER 19

  I’ve tried to concentrate on the work I need to get done, but it’s been virtually impossible. The sales reports that need completing, there all a half finished mess. Without that, I can’t get my taxes filed, and they’re due in two days.

  My life had been a nice, neat, color inside the lines picture since I arrived here.

  Up until two nights ago and my whole world was changed by one man.

  By one offer.

  It was simple enough, he wanted me to sit for his portrait.

  Naked.

  That wasn’t a problem.

  Hell, most of my life I’d been naked doing all kinds of things. Things I didn’t want to do. Things I hated doing.

  But this, this was something for me, because of me, and only for me, just Summer, not Summer Hollingsworth, daughter to one of the richest men in the country. This was something that made me feel beautiful and special, not filthy, vile, and degraded. This was my choice, not my dad’s, not for The Club, not for the rich, important members, not for the money they piped into our life, into my dad’s pockets, it wasn’t for the fuel that fed the massive monster that my father had built.

  That offer was pivotal, a turning point in how I felt about myself, and how I felt about being with a man. How I wanted to be with a man.

  How it could be with a man.

  A man I chose to be with.

  I had been raised as a promise. All my life I had been a tool, a means to an end. My body was part of the package to a business deal. So had my life. I was a gift that came with a very high price. I’m not sure, but the fine print on the contract might even have read, ‘For a one hundred thousand dollars’ members fee, you receive full access to all the golf courses, the fitness club, all social events, and unlimited blow jobs and fucking of my daughter.’

  I was a sex slave, always have been, and was always supposed to be.

  So I ran away.

  Sex is first nature to me, that’s what I’d been schooled in.

  When I first heard the whispers and insinuations of the gang bang with the men of Inked, with Rock, I wasn’t shocked or put-off. I was intrigued, you could say I was curious. What had held me back was the fear of letting someone get close to me, fear that my location would get back to my father, that he would kidnap me and rip me from the life I had created for myself, a life I chose for myself with people I want in it doing things I want to do.

  I never want to go back there.

  I never want to see my father again.

  If I do, I might kill him.

  I’d driven for weeks searching for a tiny little town in the corner of nowhere, a place people only came to if they wanted to, not a place where people vacation or attracts attention. I’d wanted nothing more than to blend into the background and just exist for once without attention, free to come and go as I please, when I please, whenever I pleased. I’d found it in Riverbend. Apparently Rock and his friends had done the same thing, according to Mrs. Merriweather, them on their motorcycles, loud and arrogant, giving life the finger and daring it to stop them.

  God, he’d been so right about me, and it scared me to death.

  I envied them their abandon and recklessness, although hadn’t I done the same thing, albeit more sedately and quietly?

  Finally, right now sitting in my small top floor apartment in this old Victorian mansion, I finally, FINALLY feel like I’m free.

  Up until I’d indulged in carnal fantasies with Rock, indulged because I chose to, not because it was my job, my duty, not because it was my only reason for living, I’d still been lurking in the shadows afraid to experience my newfound freedom. Yes, I was out of The Club, yes, I had my own business, relying on no one but myself, yes, I had my own roof over my head. All the pieces were in place for my new life, but I’d yet to actually live.

  And live I did. Again and again. I can’t wait to do it again.

  As I sit at my computer in my tiny bedroom, a knock at the door startles me. My heart pounds and I jump a mile in my seat.

  “It’s just Mrs. Jones, my landlord, relax,” I tell myself on the way to answer the door. Every once in a
while she’ll bring some soup she’s made, or pot roast. She tells me I work too much and I need some home cooked food.

  Still, when I get there, I hesitate before sliding the chain off its latch.

  “Summer dear, I have a package for you,” she calls from the other side of the closed door.

  I breathe a small sigh of relief but the news does nothing to quell my nervousness.

  It’s Rock, he must have sent something, he’s the only one who knows where I live.

  As metal slowly scratches against metal, my heart thuds harder and harder.

  I have a bad feeling about this.

  By the time I’ve got the chain off, the swishing sound of it as it swings back and forth thunders in my head, and the click of the dead bolt sounds like a gunshot exploding in my chest, I’m almost in full-blown panic mode.

  “Hello, Summer, so good to see you,” Mrs. Jones smiles warmly at me, alleviating my simmering hysteria a very little bit.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’m so sorry to bother you with this,” I’m gripping the edge of the door so tightly, my fingers are starting to cramp.

  “Nonsense, dear, it’s no bother at all. Honestly, it’s good to see you finally making some friends here. I was beginning to worry about you.”

  Mrs. Jones has never asked me any questions about my personal life, has never pressed me for too much information. She accepted that I needed a fresh start and handed me the keys to do it.

  “You don’t have to worry about me. Privacy is exactly what I came here for, and your home gives me so much peace.” I mean it, I’ve never felt so comfortable anywhere else.

  “Oh, Summer, it warms my heart to hear you say that. After the children grew up and moved to the city to start their lives, the house felt so empty. It’s so good knowing you’re here. And I noticed that boy from the tattoo shop came by with you last night. Those boys,” she smiles shyly, “they sure are something else.”

  I can feel the blush creeping up my neck and face, even with my trepidation of what’s in the package she’s still holding in her hands. I won’t even look at it. It’s silly, thinking it’s not real until I see it. I notice it’s plain enough, wrapped in brown paper and no markings indicating where it came from or what’s inside it, just my name printed on a plain white label stuck to the top.