Bend

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 been 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 night 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?”

He stares back at me and the moments of silence make things uncomfortable. He’s on top of me.

And then, as if he’s reading my mind, figuring out that his touch is making me nervous, his leg changes position, his one knee drawing up against my hip. Then the other. I close my eyes and begin to cry again, because now I figure he’s gonna rape me and I just had random lustful thoughts about my rapist.

“Why are you crying?” He sits up, so he’s straddling my body, holding me down by the shoulders. But he’s not resting the full weight of himself on me anymore and that’s a welcome relief.

I open my eyes at the question because it throws me for a moment. Why is he asking me these things? “What are you going to do to me?” I sound like a stupid child.

He studies my face for a moment. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

“Kill me, rape me, torture me, take me back. Or all of the above, in reverse order.” I try to avoid his stare but I can’t help myself. His face is so beautiful. His features so perfect. His hair is short and dark, no beard, but the stubble on his chin and jaw is the kind that says I’m too busy attacking young girls on piers, so I have no time to shave daily. As stunning as his eyes are, they might not be his best feature, because those full lips are calling to me right now. God, what is my problem?

I change tactics. “Please, get off me, or just do what you came for.”

“OK,” he says with a smile. And that’s it, the smile, that’s the best part of him. It’s wide and genuine. And he has perfect teeth. Perfect white teeth that don’t look like the teeth of a killer. “Let’s get down to business. I asked you your name, I’d like an answer.”

What? “My name? You jumped off the pier and attacked me because I didn’t share my name?”

“I saved you, woman.”

My entire body goes flush with that word. Woman. Why is he calling me that? Surely he can see how young I am. I’m not a woman. Barely legal, as they say. And I feel like a very small child at the moment.

“The one your parents gave you. Don’t lie to me, I’ll know.”

I bet he will. Should I tell him? I turn away and sigh. It hardly matters now. He’s caught me. If he didn’t already know who I was, then why is he so interested? “Harper.”

“Mmmm.” He laughs a little. “Harper,” he repeats, like my name was a secret he was desperate for. “I like it.” He pulls me up to a sitting position and then stands, bringing me up with him. Before I can turn away or try any of my other killer moves out on him, he’s pushing me back against the concrete pillar. He presses his body against mine, his hands resting on either side of my head. “I figured you’d be an easy target, but I was wrong. You got a little lion in ya, don’t you. Some poison to go with it, right? Lionfish?” He smiles big now and dimples appear. One in each cheek. He’s quite adorable for being a killer. “I’ve got a bit of blue-ringed octopus in me, as well.”

What?

“I’m not typically surprised, especially by women. But I have to tell ya, Harper, the thought that you’d rather jump off a pier than be asked out on a date by me… well, it’s an ego bruiser, to say the least.”

A laugh busts out of me before I can stop it. “A date?”

“Most women,” he says, ignoring my question, “do not assume a guy is gonna rape her or kill her when he asks for her name.” He leans down into my face, and my eyes can only concentrate on his lips.

Is he going to kiss me?

Just as he gets close, he changes direction and his breath pours into the shell of my ear. “I was really only looking to get laid tonight if you said yes”—the wetness gathers between my legs—“and that was going to be the end of it. A few Coronas and some rolled tacos on the beach. Or if you’re the fancy type, a seaside restaurant with an expensive bottle of wine to complement the surf and turf. The night ending with a nice hard and dirty fuck at your place so I can disappear in the middle of the night while you sleep peacefully, content with the multitude of orgasms I gifted you.”

I swallow hard again and his palm comes up to my throat, his thumb caressing small circles against my skin. It stops on the thumping artery and it’s like he’s assessing my reaction by the flow of my blood. I hold my breath and he moves his hand, sliding it down to rest on my shoulder. “But that’s not how this is gonna go now, Harper.”

“No?” I whisper, my mind totally blown by what’s happening. What’s happening?

“No,” he says, his intent gaze pouring into mine. “I watched you all morning as you did your circuit. Pull-ups hanging off the railing of the pier. Running the steps that lead to the beach exactly fifty times. Sit-ups lying on the sand. And then the final cooldown walk out to the end of the pier just before dawn. And the entire time, your eyes were sweeping the area. Looking for people.”

“I never saw you,” I say, the panic back again.

“No, I’m not someone who likes to be seen, Harper. I’m someone who likes to do the seeing. But I figured,” he continues, changing the subject back to me, “you were just being careful. Maybe a bit paranoid. Afraid of getting mugged by a crazy homeless person looking for drugs. Typical shit, Harper.”

The way he says my name, God. Why is this man making me feel like this?

“So I was curious. Just an ordinary kind of curious. The kind of curious I feel when I see an unusual bug. But diving off a pier—great form by the way, did you take diving in school?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. “Diving off a pier, to avoid telling me your name? Now that… Harper, that shit is downright intriguing.”

“It is?”

“Yes.” His lips touch my ear this time. His tongue slides in and flicks against my skin. I hunch my shoulders and let out a moan. “I still want the dirty fuck. But not right now.”

“Oh God,” I whimper. “Just say it already, what do you want with me?”

He pulls away. His hand comes back to my throat, but it doesn’t rest there. No. His fingertips are prodding me to lift my head up and meet his gaze head on.

I obey. It’s I’m like stuck in a trance. He’s entranced me.

“I want to know you.”

And then his mouth is on mine, his tongue probing, pushing for entrance. His hand goes to that spot between my legs where it throbs wildly as he creates friction, calling forth more wetness. His other hand goes to my breast, the nipple hard and bunched from the cold water, my skin tingling with anticipation, fear, and want.

He tastes like salt and he kisses like the sea. Like a dangerous, killing, unforgiving sea that can do whatever it wants with my body. Toss me, twirl me, take me under and steal the breath right out of me. Make me powerless.

And that’s exactly how I feel.

His kiss becomes rough as he squeezes my breast and stimulates my clit at the same time. My legs are trembling so bad, I think I might fall. And even though no man has ever made me feel this way, and even though I want this more than anything—I make myself wriggle and pull away. “Stop!”

And that’s all it takes.

His support is gone. His body is no longer pressed against mine, holding me up. I slump down to the shallow water and draw my knees up to my chest, hiding my face with my hands.

And when I look up a few minutes later—he’s gone.

Like he was never here.

Chapter Three HARPER

It takes me several minutes to gather myself together under the Huntington Beach Pier. The city is coming to life now. Dawn has come and gone while I was having a personal crisis and the streets are alive with foot and car traffic. Horns honk, people are laughing, bikes whiz by on the path. Even some early-morning beachgoers are present now. A game of volleyball is just starting up near the steps that lead to Pier Plaza.

I stand and start making my way up the beach, sand scratching my skin inside my wet clothes. I drag the tank over my head so I’m just in my sports bra.

That was not sexual. That was… an attack. That’s it.

It felt sexual though. He said some very sexual things, even if all he did was steal a kiss.

I take a deep breath and deal with my bare feet as I reach the cement. Having to walk the streets barefoot grosses me out to no end. I don’t mind no shoes on the sand, or the deck of a boat, or inside my own home. But anywhere else—gross. I climb the steps that bring me to street-level Pier Plaza, looking down Main Street.

I cross Pacific Coast Highway and head north one block, dodging bikers and early-morning joggers, and then turn right on Fifth Street, towards the police station. I live across the street. Well, not exactly across. The Mexican restaurant in front of my building is kitty-corner to the HBPD, but it’s close enough. And if my brother ever knew…

I allow myself a smile and a laugh. Even though my morning sucked and some guy sexually assaulted me—but you liked it, Harp. You know you did—my brother would die laughing if he knew I was living right across the street from the cops.

Cops in HB drive cars, sure. This city is more than the beach. But they have their share of shorts-clad hot men riding beach cruisers, too.

And there are several of them standing outside the station drinking coffee when I walk past. I make a point of ignoring them completely. I’m definitely not in the market for a cop and the last thing I need is for one of them to take notice of me.

Not that they would. I’m the invisible girl—except in the case of one very beautiful green-eyed man.

I try my best to be as unattractive as possible. My hair is never styled, pony-tails only. I never wear makeup. I’m tanned and my hair has bleached strands that make it look like I spend a fortune dying it in fancy salons. But I can’t help any of that. That’s just the natural me.

Mr. Beautiful is the kind of man everyone notices. Tall—my chin only came up to his shoulders. Dark, yes. But with those brilliant green eyes, it made his brand of dark more exotic than most. And he was hard.

I mentally shake myself for that Freudian slip. His muscles were hard. And thick.

But he was hard in that other way, too.

He was solid. And strong. And for those few moments when he was holding me there underneath him, gently cupping the back of my head to keep the rushing water from overtaking me as we regained our breath… he was everything I’m looking for. And everything I should run from.

I cross the street at the Mexican place, then walk to the side yard where a six-foot wooden gate stands guard for the building behind. I work the latch, which is some stupid rope contraption that pulls a lever on the other side, and then enter the walkway that leads to the hidden apartment building.

Only four people live back here. Two people live in the small studio apartments that divide up the ground floor. One older man lives in the second-floor penthouse—which is a relative term, since it’s only two stories tall, but whatever. And me. I live in the garden-level apartment. Better known as the basement.

Even though I’m the only one on this level, I share the space with the building laundry, so my place is small. Only a half-galley kitchenette, a bathroom, and the living room that does double duty as a bedroom.

If Beautiful had his way, he’d be fucking me here tonight.

God. Where did that come from?

He did get his way, Harper. He got your name.

I shake my head and enter the building, walk past the laundry and into the mechanical room where I keep my key. I carry nothing on my person when I leave here. No phone, no key, no ID. When I leave this building, I am nobody. I cease to exist.

It’s like that thought experiment—if a tree falls in the woods… If a girl is not noticed, does she still exist?

I grab my stashed key behind the hot water heater and make my way to my door. Zero is my number. For mail and stuff, my address. Zero is my spot in this world. And it’s so appropriate to be nothing, and not all in a negative way, either. I like being nothing.

I don’t mind being zero, because when I come home to this place, my little space of nothingness, I feel safe.

Being invisible. Being nothing—a zero. It’s good.

I’m not safe, of course. No one is ever safe. But I need the illusion, now more than ever. Because someone, after living here for eleven months—eleven long and lonely months of no friends, no family, and no hope of ever having a normal life again—someone wants to know me.

Not fuck me, although he did say that too. He ended the conversation with know me.

The apartment is nothing special, but it’s not infested with cockroaches so I count myself lucky. I looked for that before I moved in and paid my rent up front for one year. Cockroaches. No. That’s worse than bare feet on the street.

I have one more paid month and then decisions have to be made, because I’m out of money. This place might be small, have no ocean view, and be about the farthest thing from where I grew up. But it’s one block off PCH, one block from HB Main Street. It’s a five-minute walk to the sand. And it’s eighteen hundred dollars a month. The only way I’d be able to stay here after my pre-paid year is up is if I robbed a bank.

I’m not that desperate. Yet.

My phone vibrates on the counter and jolts me from my pity-party introspection. In a second my heart is racing again. Who the fuck? I walk over and pick it up just as the vibrating stops. ‘I know where you live.’

What? My heart is beating so fast, for a moment I think I might fall over and collapse. I stagger to a chair and sit down, gasping for air in short little bursts as the fear takes over. I lean over and put my head between my knees just as the phone vibrates again.

No. No. No. What’s happening?

But I can’t think straight. The only thing I hear are the staccato beats of my adrenaline-induced heartbeat.

The phone vibrates again and again, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with fear. I’m dead. I’m a dead girl. The phone vibrates again. I thought Beautiful was my killer, but he let me go. And now… this?

I rock. Back and forth.

I cry huge silent tears.

If they’ve found me, then my life is over.

I force myself to get up and stumble into the bathroom where I keep the pills. I haven’t used them in months. But that little white pill is calling my name. That little white pill is the only thing that will keep me from losing my mind right now.

The bottle shakes, making the pills clatter around inside, but I manage to get a few to fall into my open palm. I gulp a handful and then stick my mouth under the tap and slurp water to wash them down.

My phone is still ringing out on the counter, and even though I know the drug is not in my bloodstream yet, just the fact that I took the pills calms me. I breathe for stretches of minutes, and after some time, I am calm.

Thoughts of sleep jolt me from my slumped position on the bathroom floor, so I get up and walk into the living area where my bed is pushed up against the far wall to leave space for the chair and small coffee table. I grab the phone as I walk by and then fall on top of the messy bed, rolling around a little to get under the covers, and then close my eyes.

The phone rings and now that I’m relaxed, I can deal.

“I’m ready, motherfuckers,” I bark into the speaker. “Come get me if you know so much.”

“What?”

I sit upright as the voice of the beautiful man registers. “How did you get this number?”

“I’m the only one who’s coming, Harper.”

I press end on the phone and page through my missed calls. All him! That stupid asshole! They were all him! I go to the messages and begin reading.

‘Dinner’s at eight.’

‘Beach tacos or fancy view?’

‘Harper, I do not like to be ignored.’

‘I’ll just come over, I’m just down the street.’

That message was five minute ago. Before the call.

My phone rings again and I answer. “What do you want?”

“I asked you a question, I expect an answer,” he growls into the phone. I absently log the sound of people, cars, a siren that I can hear both inside my apartment as it leaks in from outside, and through the phone. He’s close by. Just outside my building, probably.

Is he one of them? I’m not sure. “I’m confused,” I confess, the anti-anxiety drug kicking into full force now, making me slur my words. My body falls back into the covers. My head is spinning and my eyes are heavy. “I’m so confused…”

“Harper?” Beautiful demands from my phone on the blankets. I reach down, fingertips feeling for it. My vision blurs as I bring it to my face and stare at the fuzzy keypad.

“Go away, Beautiful,” I whisper to the fading light. “You can’t see me. I’m invisible. You don’t want to know me. Because I’m no one. I’m zero.”

Chapter Four JAMES

Her words stop me. I’m walking into her building, and her words stop me. Beautiful? And then the call ends with three quick beeps and I pull my phone away from my ear and stare at it. She took those pills. Her words were slurring. I scared the fuck out of her and she took those pills.

I grab the key I had made and open her door. The place is quiet except for the mechanical hum of the air conditioning. I close the door and walk over to her bed. She’s curled up in a ball, clutching her pillow. Most nights this is how she sleeps. But it’s not night and she’s not asleep. She’s passed out.

I grab the bottle from the bathroom and count the pills. Seven missing. Fourteen milligrams. Not great, but could be worse. These pills are not easy to overdose on. I know this shit. Pharmacology is my specialty. My calling card when I need to take care of business. The poison I use tells my superiors what kind of job it was. Anti-anxiety drugs are worthless for killing people, so she’s not gonna die, but she’s gonna be out of it for a while.

I pull the covers back and she moans. Her clothes are soaking wet, she smells like salt, and her head is still seeping blood. “Harper?” I pull her to a sitting position and grab her face. “Harper?”

Her eyes roll a little as she slurs out an incomprehensible word.

I let her lie back and then reach down to unbutton her shorts. They are stuck to her skin, so I have to tug them to get them over her curvy hips. Her underwear drags down with them. They’re black, like her sports bra, and for a moment I imagine her in lingerie.

My dick is hard immediately.

Her pussy is covered in fine blonde hair. Trimmed and neat. It stops my heart for a second. God. I’ve wanted this girl for months. I’ve imagined her spread out on this bed naked so many times, this is like reliving a dream. I pull her shorts and panties over her ankles and then lift her to sitting again. “Hold still,” I whisper as she moans. I tug the bra over her head and toss it down on the floor next to the shorts. And then I lift her up in my arms and hold her close. Her breasts press against me and then her arms encircle my neck and she leans in, pushing her face into my shoulder like she’s snuggling.

Fuck. I want her so bad.

She is mine. She feels like mine. I have an overwhelming desire to touch every part of her toned and tanned body. I want to push her up against the wall and take her from behind. I want to fuck her mouth with my cock and her pussy and ass with my fingers.

I’ve dreamed of this for months.

Chapter Five HARPER

Oh, God. The headache. I turn over in bed and smell… what’s that smell?

My sheets smell delicious. Like a summer meadow. Fresh.

I inhale and then remember why I passed out in the first place and sit upright, my heart once again beating wildly. I don’t smell like the ocean and my clothes do not stink of salt, even though I jumped off a pier. And my bed is not littered with sand. I look around, trying to assess what’s happening.

Or what happened. When I fell asleep.

My head is so foggy from the Ativan. I look over at my bedside table and spy the bottle. How many did I take? Three? Four? More?

Too many after so many months clean. Enough to mess with my memory. But I only took them because I was freaked out. I thought…

What did I think?

I try to remember back. The pier. I jumped off a pier. Hit my head… my fingertips go to my left temple where the throbbing is. There’s no blood, just a scab and… stitches? I flick my finger back and forth across the tiny knots and there’s a jolt of pain as this pulls the tender skin.

Someone stitched my head.

I withdraw the hand.

Beautiful saved me. He stitched me back up.

No, no, no! Oh my God! That’s not what’s happening here, Harper! He’s working for them! He has to be, how else would he get my phone number? And why was he following me in the first place?

I silence the inner voice. I can’t stand it right now. It needs to just go away and let me react. Things need to be simple. If ever there was a time to rely on instincts, this is it.

And the simple truth is, that guy attacked me, kissed me, and insinuated he was going to have sex with me. He works for them. I know this. I’m certain of this. I’m not sure what kind of game he’s playing, but I’ve met a few of the hunters growing up. He’s definitely one of them. All cocky, charismatic, and calm. He seemed very sure of himself.

Didn’t he?

But why didn’t he kill me? Or take me back?

I look around for my phone and spy it on the table next to the pills. I scoot across the bed and grab it so I can search my messages. But when I open the log, there’s nothing there. Empty. Just as it should be. No one ever messages me. No one has this number.

But… he did message me. He asked me… damn. I can’t recall what, but I jumped off the pier when he asked me something and then I walked home, panicked when I got the message—the one that’s not here—and I took the pills and went to bed to ride it out.

But… I look down at my clothes. I’m wearing a pink tank top and white boy short underwear. I smell my skin. Nope, no trace of the ocean. I smell like soap. I must’ve taken a shower.

And changed the sheets?

Because there’s no sand in the bed. None between my toes. The shorts and sports bra I was wearing should be on the floor where I usually throw them when I undress, but they’re nowhere to be found.

I laugh as I get up and pad over to the kitchen to start some coffee. “I should get high on Ativan more often. Apparently stoned Harper is a neat freak.”

Or…

Beautiful came in, cleaned me up and stitched my wound, clothed me, changed my sheets, and did the laundry. I laugh at the thought.

Or…

God, I hate the incessant sub-vocalization of my mind. Why can’t it shut up?

Maybe I imagined the whole thing? Maybe there was no man on the pier? Maybe I took the pills and all that stuff was nothing more than an over-sedation fugue.

I really need to get out of this house. How long can one person talk to themselves before it’s considered a pathology? I have no idea, but I’m not into finding out. Maybe that guy was a dream, who cares. If he was here to take me back, I’d be back. I sure as hell wouldn’t be standing half naked in my kitchen making coffee.

Screw the coffee. I need to go somewhere. Anywhere. I check the time to see how long I was out and it’s seven thirty. On cue, a rumble erupts from my stomach. I haven’t eaten all day.

I grab a pair of cut-off shorts from my dresser, slip into a fresh bra, and shimmy into a white tank top. Hair is never more than a pony-tail, so I just smooth it over and pull it up.

My feet find my flops by the door, I grab my key and head out.

I stop by the mechanical room to drop off the key and pick up some cash. Just ten bucks. I have about eight hundred left to my name, but it’s hard to care when all I want is ten dollars and my stomach is beginning to hurt.

Since there are only four people who live in this building, the chances of me bumping into them at any particular time are low. I love that, because right now everyone is the enemy. I appreciate people when I need something. Like the guy at the Mexican place where I’m headed now. He gives me food in exchange for money. So I appreciate him for his taco-making skills.

But I don’t want to know his name and I don’t want him to know mine.

I want nothing to do with anyone. I just want to hang out in my strange state of limbo and chill. I’ve never talked to my neighbors. I know what they look like, I keep an eye out for weirdness, things that go against the grain. Different is bad. I like same. Same is good.

Except for the beautiful man.

There was no man. I dreamed that whole thing. Jumped off a pier! Ha. What a stupid move. But dreams are like that. You jump off piers all the time in dreams. And seriously, I will have really fucked up if he is real, because I gave him my name.

I walk down the sidewalk that leads out to Fifth Street, open the gate, and steady myself to join the world.

The restaurant is busy so I just get right in line, pretending to look up at the menu as I wait. I don’t eat here often, it’s too close to home to be a regular. But when I do, I get the same thing every time. Asada tacos, a side of rice, and a tea. Fifteen minutes later I have my greasy bag of food, some napkins and a plastic fork. The tables outside are full, so I head down to the beach to eat on the steps that line Pier Plaza. I pick a space against the wall and get settled. I come here every night for the sunset. The city put in these stadium-like concrete steps for sunset and volleyball-watchers.

Sitting here at sunset and waking up with the sun on the pier, those are the two constants in my life at the moment. The two things I can count on to keep me sane. It’s only eight right now, so I have a little wait for the sun to set.

I scarf the food. Once I start, I can’t stop. It’s like I haven’t eaten in days.

I’m just about to shovel the last forkful of rice in my mouth when my phone vibrates.

My heart thumps. Once. It’s a giant thump that almost sends me into another panic attack, but I calm myself and reach for the phone, a small stream of light leaking out from the screen on the concrete seat next to me.

‘Tacos on the beach. Check.’

I stand up and whirl around, just as the phone vibrates in my hand again. I ignore it, still searching. He’s not here on the steps. I hop up on the concrete barrier that partitions off the various seating sections and scan again.

How would I even know him? I don’t know his build, or his gait, or his height. I know his eyes. And the touch of his lips, the dance of his tongue. And none of that is helpful from a distance.

My phone vibrates again so I jump down and check the screen.

‘You only see me if I want you to.’

‘But you can see me any time you want?’ I text back.

‘I want to know you, and I always get what I want. BTW, I love the shorts, Harp.’

My hand flies to my chest, as if to protect my heart from the immediate hurt that floods me when I read the name. Harp. How dare this man insert himself into my life and pretend like he’s got a right to know me. How dare he interrupt my routine, take me out of the bubble of comfort that I’ve wrapped myself in.

I grab the remains of my dinner, jog back up the steps, and dump it in the trash. Then I jaywalk across PCH, feeling a little like Frogger in the rush-hour traffic, and turn the corner at Fifth to walk home.

See? See, Harper? This is why you stay the fuck inside.

I half walk, half jog all the way back to my gate and then let myself in the back. God, that thing is not very secure. Anyone can come up and pull that stupid piece of rope. I find my key and let myself into the apartment, closing the door behind me, locking it up tight, and then lean back against it so I can slump to the floor.

This guy is a creep. He’s stalking me. Watching me, taking note of what I’m wearing, what I’m eating. My phone vibrates behind me and I jump.

I’m going to have to go to the police. There’s no way this can be anything but bad. No way. I will have to go to the police. What if he’s not one of them? What if he’s just some crazy rapist?

Another vibration.

I pick up the phone and turn it over to read the messages.

‘What day is it?’

What?

‘Do you even know?’

I huff out some air. ‘Wednesday,’ I text back.

‘Better check that calendar again, Harper.’

No nickname this time. Why? He saw my reaction out there on the beach? How? How could he know the name was what made me react?

‘Day, Harper. I hate having to ask you to do everything twice.’

I check the date on my phone, but that’s no help. I never keep track of the date. So I go into my calendar app and my eyes almost bug out of my head.

Friday.

Well, that explains the line at the Mexican place. And my hunger. I was asleep for three days.

‘I’m waiting.’

He can wait all he wants. He’s playing a game with me and I just quit.

‘Do you remember the bath I gave you after you took the pills?’

I can’t remember shit, a common side-effect with Ativan when you take too much. And someone had to stitch my head, change me out of my clothes, clean me up, wash my saltwater-soaked garments, and put me to bed.

That someone really was him.

‘I enjoyed it. Every second.’

The tears fall down my cheeks as I consider the implications of what he’s telling me. I message back. ‘I’m reporting you to the police for rape, asshole!’

Chapter Six JAMES

Rape.

She has got to be fucking with me. It makes me laugh, but seriously, this girl, after everything that’s happened, thinks I’m a rapist?

I’m two yards away from her building door, but I take a little detour out to the alley to think this through.

Rapist. I roll the possibilities over and over in my mind and only come up with one explanation.

She has no idea who I am.

I run my hands through my hair, pulling a little. She’s driving me crazy and all these months of watching her, all that pent-up want and desire, is clouding my thinking.

If she has no idea who I am, then…

Chapter Seven HARPER

A pounding on the door makes me jump up from the floor.

“Harper?” the beautiful voice says softly through the door. “Open up, Harp.”

“Don’t call me that,” I say back. “You have no right to call me that.”

“Open the door, or I swear to fucking God, I will kick it in and break the locks.”

“I’m dialing the police.”

“No, you’re not. You’re on the run. It doesn't take a guy like me to see that. Open. The. Door. I need to set you straight. Right now.”

I pause, thinking.

He kicks the door and the wood around the lock begins to splinter.

“Stop!”

“Open,” he commands.

I reach over and flip the deadbolt. As soon as it clicks, the door flies open and he’s in front of me, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like it was that day under the pier. Only now, he looks furious.

And it scares the fuck out of me. I back up, my hands out to ward him off. But he continues forward, kicking the door closed with his foot, forcing me against the wall.

“You think I raped you?” His eyes are blazing with anger as he stares down at me. They dart back and forth, looking me straight on, but not able to settle on one eye or the other. “Answer me!” he bellows.

I jump a little and immediately I lose control and the tears start to well up. I cover my face. “Go away! Just leave me alone!”

He yanks on both wrists, flinging my hands down, and then he cups my face and leans in closer. As close as he was the other day under the pier. My whole body begins to tremble. “You think,” he says, softer now, “that I raped you, Harp?”

“Please don’t call me that. Please, please, please don’t call me that.”

He lets out a long breath of air and removes his hands, turns, and walks away. I cover my face again and peek through my fingers like a child, watching him struggle with me, running his hands back and forth through his thick, wavy hair. He’s wearing a light blue t-shirt that hugs all the thick muscles of his back. The faded jeans look very old and there’s a hole in the ass that lets his checkered boxers peek through. On his feet are a pair of classic Vans that look like they were born sometime in the eighties.

He’s clearly dangerous, so this fashion contradiction makes me laugh at his implied harmlessness.

He whirls around, puzzled. “Funny?” he asks me, his eyebrows up into his forehead with suspicion. “This is funny?” It’s his turn to laugh, but it’s clear he does not think it’s funny. “You have a strange sense of humor, Har… per.” He adds in the last syllable and tilts his head a little to see if I’ll react to the name again.

I lower my hands and press myself back against the wall as he makes another approach. This time he does not touch me, simply presses his palms against the wall on either side of my head.

I take a breath and look around, trying to avoid his stare.

“Now, answer. Do you think I came in. Found you drugged and unconscious. Bleeding from your head.” He flicks his fingertips along my stitched wound, and I wince. “Cared for you.” His voice lowers at this. It’s barely a whisper. “Cleaned you up. Sewed you back together. Dressed you in the sweetest things I could find in your meager assortment of clothing.”

I swallow hard as I picture this in my head. His hands on my body. His eyes on my body. Choosing my clothing and dressing me.

“And then wrapped you up in a blanket and slept next to you for forty-eight hours as you came out of your pathetic overdose of benzodiazapams—”

“I didn’t overdose, I’m just not used to taking them anymore!”

He places a hand over my mouth. “Shush! That was the second crazy thing you did that day,” he stresses. “So you think I came and did all that, and then raped you?”

I look away, embarrassed.

“Is your cunt sore?”

I snap my attention back at the vulgar language.

“Is it?”

I shake my head no.

“Well, then you can be sure, Harper. I did not fuck you. Because I don’t do anything half-ass. And if I was gonna fuck you, believe me, you’d feel the effect of my cock in your pussy for a week and the only thing on your mind would be when I’d come back and do it again.”

Oh God! I’m throbbing from his words. I turn my head to hide the blush but his fingers slip under my chin and force my attention back to him.

“Look at me.”

I raise my eyelids and take a hitched breath from the crying. He stares back at me for a moment and then he leans down. Slow this time, not the crushing madness of heat we had under the pier the other day. His lips graze against mine, just a soft flutter of a kiss, and then he pulls back before I can react. “Did you think about our kiss under the pier afterward?” I blush and try to look away, but his fingertips are back on my chin, urging me to look him in the eyes. “Answer me, Harper.”

“Yes.”

“Was it good?”

I can’t help myself, I laugh. This makes him smile and those dimples appear.

“Was it everything you dreamed? Because I can do better. I can do so much better if I disappointed you, Harper.”

I blush again. “No, it was fine.”

“Fine? Kissing you should be so much more than fine.”

I look him in the eyes this time and tell the truth. “It was… spectacular.” I get more dimples at that admission. When I look up at his eyes, I’m entranced. He’s… hypnotic. “I’d like another,” I whisper, not even sure where that just came from. It’s true though, so I don’t take it back. I just stare at him.

He leans down into my neck and nips my earlobe. “Would you?” he breathes into me.

I can only nod this time. My capacity for speech has left. My whole body erupts in chills, and not the creepy kind. The kind I’ve never experienced before.

“Right now?” he whispers.

“Yes,” I answer back, just as soft.

“Well,” he says in his regular voice as he pulls away, “I think you have an appointment at the beach, maybe we can reconvene this”—he laughs—“whatever this is, afterward?”

“What?”

He takes my hand and leads me towards the door. I grab my key off the floor where I dropped it when I came in, and stuff it in my pocket. I’ve never left the apartment with another person before. It throws me off my safety routine.

He holds my hand all the way to the wooden gate and then guides me through with a pat on my ass. I close my eyes and gasp at that move, but I don’t say anything because his unauthorized touch is gone a moment later. He resumes holding my hand. Like we are boyfriend and girlfriend just out for a Friday night walk.

“This is weird,” I say under my breath.

“What’s weird?” he asks back.

I look up at him as we walk and he absently grabs the dark shades hanging off the collar of his t-shirt and slips them over his eyes. I miss his eyes immediately, but it’s almost sunset and we’re heading west, so the orange glare of the sun blasts down on his face, illuminating his skin like some bronzed god in a muscle-hugging t-shirt and holey jeans.

He raises our clasped hands. “Holding hands is weird?”

“Yes, but…” I trail off and he lets it go because we’re at the light at PCH and Main now. We wait with a crowd of people heading to the steps for the sunset and it dawns on me. “My appointment is with the sun?”

He looks down at me and smiles. “Is it? I always figured it was with the dusk. And the one in the morning is with the dawn. But it’s the sun, huh?”

“You’ve been watching me.”

He nods as the light changes and the crowd of people shuffle forward together, taking us up in a wave of momentum.

When we reach the steps in Pier Plaza, there’s almost nowhere to sit. Friday night sunset-watching is very popular in the summer. I usually get here at least a half hour early on the weekends.

“We’re late,” my new partner says as we approach. He bolts off to the right, tugging me behind him as he goes. And then he finds a seat for us, squished up against a pillar. He sits down first and I look dubiously at the small space left for me. He pats his knee. “Sit, Harper.”

He draws me towards him until I plop down in his lap.

As if I had a choice?

When he wraps his arms around me and leans against the concrete pillar, I tense up immediately. I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to act right now.

He leans into my neck. “Relax,” he says softly.

“I can’t help it,” I say back. “I don’t even know your name and you’re hugging me in public like we’re engaged or something.”

“Later, Harper. Just enjoy the show. It’s about to start.”

I give in. He makes me want to give in. And the inner independent and strong-willed girl inside me wants to object.

But I don’t. Because I like it. He feels so familiar. He feels like an old friend instead of a stranger. For the first time in over a year, I feel safe. And since the one lesson I learned early was that safety was a gift, I decide to accept it.

I lean back against his chest and I feel our heartbeats. Mine, then his. Then mine, then his. And after a while of this, they beat together. Everyone around us is talking and joking. Babies cry. Skaters do tricks off the wall on the other side of the bike path. But we remain quiet. Our world is slow and satisfying.

The fiery orange ball of flames dips to the horizon and everything darkens. And then, like the sun was taking its time crossing the sky the entire day but is suddenly in the biggest hurry, it disappears.

People clap and kids cheer. They do this every night. Some of them I even recognize, that’s how regular they are at the sunsets.

I spy an older woman I see all the time, looking at me. She shoots me an approving wink and I blush. She thinks this stranger and I are together. And why wouldn’t she? I’m sitting in his lap, his arms are hugging my waist, my head is resting against his chest. Our hearts beating in synchronicity.

We remain like this until everyone around us drifts away. “Now?” I ask.

“Do you want my real name? My associate name? Or my fake name?”

“All of them,” I say through a long yawn.

“Just one tonight. Pick.”

I have a very bad feeling about this. “And the associate name is…?”

“A code.”

Oh. This is great. “What kind of code?” I already know, but I ask anyway because I need to be absolutely sure.

“For what I do. A calling card, so they know it’s me.”

“I have one of those too.”

His chest rumbles with a laugh. “I bet you do.”

“Do you want to know what it is?”

“First mine, then yours. Pick.”

“Real name.”

“James Fenici.”

“James,” I repeat in a whisper. “I like James.”

“I like Harper.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“I’m only eighteen.”

“I know.”

He knows. Hmmm. But the look on his face as my age hangs between us captures my full attention. “Does it bother you?” He waits a few heartbeats before answering and this is my clue that yes, it does bother him. “It doesn’t bother me,” I add.

Fingertips guide my chin so my head turns towards him and then his mouth is on mine, his tongue probing, asking me to open, I do open. And this time I touch my tongue to his. He flicks against it and it feels… so good.

He ends the kiss and stands up, holding me in his arms for a moment before setting me down. “It doesn’t bother me either, but you’re tired. So I’ll walk you home.”

He holds my hand again, changing sides when we get to the highway, putting himself between me and the traffic like a gentleman. But we finish our walk to my building in silence. When we get to the wooden gate we stop so he can pull the rope and open the latch. “What’s your code name, Harper?” He looks over his shoulder at me, like he feels guilty for asking.

I stare at him, suddenly uneasy. Is this a trap? “You want to know this because you have a target?” It’s a bold question, but justified. If he’s here to kill me, I’d like to know. Even if he is wavering on whether or not to fulfill his contract.

“You’re not my target, OK?” But he doesn’t look me in the face when he says it.

“You first then.”

He smiles and holds the gate open for me and we walk down the path to the building, then head downstairs. I get my key out and I’m about to push it inside the lock when his hand rests on mine.

“Tet,” he says. “My code name is Tet.”

I look up at his face to try and figure out what he’s thinking. “Why did you tell me that?”

“What’s yours?” he asks, ignoring my question.

“You’re here for me, aren’t you?”

He shakes his head. “No, I swear it. I’m not here for you. But I need to know where you fit in. Code name?”

“I’m no one. Someone’s daughter, that’s all.”

“Code name, Harper.” His eyes are still soft, like he hates to ask, but he has no choice.

I swallow hard and bow my head. “Come. My code is Come.”

He lets out a long audible breath of relief. A small chuckle follows. “That’s a dirty little name for such a sweet little girl.”

I ignore his innuendo. “I could’ve been your target.” It unnerves me. The reality of what that means.

“You’re not,” he says sternly. “You’re not and that’s all that matters.”

“But I’m someone’s target.” He takes the key from my hand, but this time I put my hand on his and it’s me who stops it from entering the lock. “Where do you fit in?” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. It’s so taboo. We could both be killed for these few words. But just like he needs to know where I fit in, I need to know his place too. Come is a verb. A verb code name means I’m a nobody. But Tet, I’m not sure what that stands for. I know all the ranks, but I’ve never heard of a Tet.

He lets out a long breath and looks down at his feet, like he doesn’t want to tell me. “Number Six.” I shake my head and turn away, but he catches me by the waist and pulls me back. “Please don’t turn away.”

“Six?” I cannot even comprehend it. “Six,” I say again.

The organization my father is married to, indebted to for life—the same one he sold his children into when he joined, the same one that will take my children as well, should I live long enough to have any—is deeply compartmentalized. Everyone has a place. Everyone has a code. There are thousands of members all over the world. Most are innocuous. Verbs like mine. Come. Dance. Ride. Skip. They’re endless.

The higher-ups have nouns. There are hundreds of them. Bear. Desk. Claw. Grass. The names are meaningless, just a label to put you in perspective.

My father has a rank. The Admiral. There are twelve members with ranks.

But only ten people have a number.

The assassins.

Chapter Eight JAMES

“Why do you look so familiar?” she asks. “No, wait, that’s not the right question. Why do you feel so familiar? Is it because you’ve been watching me?” Her eyes scan mine, searching for the truth, but at the same time second-guessing whether or not she actually wants to know it.

“What’s your brother’s code?”

The slap cracks across my face before I even have a chance to react, but once I do I take her out like any other threat. I grab her arms, twist them behind her back, push her forward with a knee to the ass, and take her down to the hard concrete floor.

She struggles beneath me, slips out of my hold and does a half turn, just enough to thrust her foot into my abdomen.

I grab her ankle, but she twists again, elbowing me in the neck. “Fuck!” I grab her foot, twist her body until she’s forced to roll and then hold her with an arm across her thigh and a hand on her calf.

“You better snap my knee, James,” she seethes, her breath coming out in long gasps, matching my own from the sudden effort of the fight. “Because if you let me up, you’ll regret it.”

I lean into her a little harder, making sure she’s pinned good and tight to the concrete floor. I’m not quite sure if she’s serious. I know she’s capable. I’ve heard all about the mistakes they made with her upbringing. It was drilled into us in the debrief. She’s dangerous. Do not underestimate her. Never turn your back.

Watching her all these months, the severity of the little warnings diminished as the days grew longer. She never got angry. She never raised her voice to anyone. She was no more intimidating than any of the other young girls on the beach.

But the venom in her voice right now jars my memory and the warnings are back in full force.

“Harper—”

“No,” she snaps. “You’re here to kill me? Take me back? Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Give it your best shot.” She wiggles again and I lose my grip. Her knee comes up and almost connects with my jaw. But I’m the one who twists this time and she slides out from under me and bounces to her feet.

She’s fast. And young. And angry. And cornered.

I’m up a fraction of a moment later, but I back up and throw her the surrender hands to ease her down off the ledge. “Whoa, OK? I’m not here to do any of that.”

“Why did you ask about him?” she snarls. “You—”

“Harper, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead, honey. I’m a dirty killer, I get the job done and get the fuck out of Dodge. I’m not here to hurt you.”

She just stares at me, shaking her head. “You’re trained to say that. You’re trained to make me believe you, to lie about anything and everything to get what you need. You’re trained to make me vulnerable and needy and weak—”

“And so are you, Harper,” I bark, cutting off her rant and snapping her back to attention. “So. Are. You. You’re just as ruthless. More maybe. Because you plotted this for years, didn’t you? Maybe you’re playing me?”

“Maybe I am,” she retorts.

“You say they call you Come? And maybe they do. But that’s not your code, so don’t feed me that bullshit. At least I was honest. Do you really think I’d give you my number if I was here to kill you?”

She swallows and I know I’ve won.

Chapter Nine HARPER

I turn away quickly so I don’t have to look at him.

“Harper?” he asks softly.

I have no words. I just have no words.

“Harper?” He touches my shoulder this time and I shrug him off.

“Don’t.”

“I swear to God, I’m not here for you.”

“Where were you last?”

“I can’t say.”

I already knew that. So I change the question slightly. “Where were you last year?” He pauses and I turn so I can see his face as he makes his decision. He looks like he’s thinking hard, counting back the months, maybe. But they are trained to do that, aren’t they? “I’m waiting.” I tap my foot like a petulant child and his eyes drop down to my flip flop and then he looks up at me and smiles.

How could this man be one of them? I don’t understand how anyone with those dimples could be a killer.

“I was fucking up a friend’s job over in a small, nondescript European country. Which is where all my trouble really started.”

“Not in the South Pacific?” I ask warily. Like he would tell me.

“No. I don’t work that side of the world. Haven’t been back in there since I was assigned when I was sixteen.” He watches me as I process his words. Since he was sixteen. He’s been killing people since he was sixteen. “OK?” he asks, breaking the silence. “We good?”

I shake my head and lean against the wall. He comes towards me and puts his hands on my hips and plays with my belt loops. “Harper,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m not walking away from you. You need to understand that. Accept it. I’m here now and I feel like I’m doing the right thing for the first time in my life. I want you. I want to be inside of you. I’ve waited patiently for so fucking long. And this was a stroke of luck. Being sent here and finding you.”

I shake my head at this. “No, it’s a trap.”

“Maybe,” he says, continuing his soft whisper. It disarms me and I want to give in, I really want to give in to him. But deep down I know what he’s capable of. I know because I was taught all the same tricks. “Maybe it was a setup. But I swear to you, I’m not in on it. I won’t ask about your brother again.”

When confronted by the mark, placate them with any and all possible concessions. It’s a textbook example and yet… I’m so falling for it. I want him to stay with me and never leave. I’m so lonely and needy and he has to know this.

His hand cups my face and then his lips brush against mine. “Harper,” he pleads as he takes his mouth back to my ear. “Trust me, I’ll take care of you, Soldier.”

I force myself not to react but it takes every ounce of training not to.

“I know that’s what they really call you, Harper. The Little Soldier. A baby name, right? Since childhood. I know you and you know me, don’t you?”

I pull back, forcing him back at the same time. I need to look at him. He is so familiar. I had to have noticed him on the beach or something.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just leans in and nips my lip until I squeal.

And that’s all it takes. I melt. He senses my surrender and crashes his mouth against mine, hungrily, like he’s been waiting for this moment for years. “I want to fuck you right here in the hallway. Bend your ass over and take you from behind.”

Jesus, I’m throbbing almost instantly. He pushes his thigh between my legs and presses. This time the throbbing turns into wetness.

“I never—” I dip my head down, embarrassed.

“I know.”

“What do you want?” I look up at him now. His green eyes do that searching thing again, where they dart back and forth, trying to read me.

“I want you,” he says.

“But why?” I fling my hand in the direction of the beach. “There’s a ton of women out there on the beach you can have. Why do you want me? I’m a kid.”

“You sure look all grown up to me.”

His rough characterization of me on the beach comes back. He called me woman. “I don’t feel like a woman. I feel like a child.”

He rubs the back of his fingers down my cheek and I frown and twist my head away. But my body responds to his touch. I can feel myself flush with heat.

“You’ve been here alone for months. I’ve watched you. I’ve been in your apartment. I found your key and your money in the little mechanical room over there.”

My eyes dart up with these admissions. “You’re creepy, then. You’re a creepy stalker. And if that was the end of it, then OK, whatever. I’d just move on and forget about you. But you’re not just a creepy stalker, you’re my creepy stalker. A girl who’s got a target on her chest. And you’re a guy whose only purpose in life is to eliminate the target. So what am I supposed to think? That this is just some coincidence?”

“We’ve got history, Harper.”

“Not the kind of history that counts for much, James,” I shoot back. “This is the kind of history that makes you want to change your name, move away, and start over.”

“Is that what you did? Is that how you ended up here?”

I let out a long breath and purse my lips together. “I’m not telling you anything. You’re trying to confuse me. Make me trust you. Then you’re gonna use me to do whatever it is you’re really here for. If they didn’t send you to kill me, then they want what they think I have. Or they want me to help you do something bad. Or…” He waits a few seconds. A longish pause, to see if I’ll continue. But it’s too real. I can’t say the last part.

“Or what?” he prods. “Or turn you into something else.” I look up and he smiles. “That’s it, right? They might turn you into me. You have skills, little lionfish? Is diving off piers and fighting assassins just another day to you? Your code name might be Come, but you wanted to be Soldier, and look… now you are. All grown up. Dangerous. Lethal, they called you. They told me you were a lethal little soldier and I should stay far, far away. Call for reinforcements.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I snap.

“Because you are not my target. I’m not here for you.”

“Then tell me why you’re here.” I challenge. “I want to know now.”

He smirks at me and shakes his head.

I snatch the key from his hand and unlock the door. When he doesn’t stop me, I twist the handle and open it. Then I look over my shoulder. And that hesitation is my turning point. Because his mouth finds mine. Not hard and rough like an assassin, or soft and sweet like he’s caring for a child.

But something in between.

A man kissing a woman.

I turn into him and his arms go around mine, his hands inside my clothes before I even know what’s happening. One hand slides down the crack of my ass and pushes between my cheeks, while the other heads north to grab the back of my neck.

“I’m here for you, Harper. I want you.”

That spot between my legs wants him too. But my brain is scared out of my mind. I push him back. “No.” He sighs and removes his hand so he can step back a few paces. “I’m not ready.” His chuckle irritates me, like he already knew that. Like I’m just a girl who teases men and then gives them nothing. “I’m not like that,” I say aloud, building my case for his silent accusation. “I’m not a tease. I just…” I have nothing. So I demand the one thing I know I can’t have to cover for my insecurities. “I need to know you better first.”

I get a crooked smile in response. “You want to know if I like it rough? That answer is yes. If I take you, I’ll take you my way.”

“What? No!” I let out an uncomfortable laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You really want to know why I’m here?” He crosses his arms and leans back on his heels a bit.

I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I need that info or I can’t be with you.”

He laughs at my childish demand. “Of course, little lionfish. You are the pretty girl with the poison daggers poking through her skin. You ask for the one thing you know you can’t have to send me away. Right?”

My lips are sealed.

He grabs hold of my waist again and pulls me into his chest. My arms go around his neck automatically, like I already belong to him. And then he leans into my ear and whispers, “I killed my brother, Harper. I killed Number Five. I shot him in the head and then I poisoned a man to settle a debt for fucking up that job I mentioned in Europe. I’m allowed to kill people if I need to. And I needed to kill both these people. But my bosses were not happy about it. They said I failed the psych evaluation when I came in for the debrief. They said I’m a danger to them, myself, and the world. But since they’ve spent the past twenty years training me to kill, they can hardly blame me for a one-time indiscretion. As long as it was just a single incident. They said I could unwind at the beach. They wanted to see if some downtime would help—take the edge off.”

I turn my head and look him in the face. His expression is hard even though his words stayed soft. His eyes are squinting, the frown lines on his forehead more pronounced, his jaw tensed as he waits for my reaction.

“Is that what you wanted to hear, Harper?”

I nod up at him. “Yes. Thank you.” He pushes me away and starts walking down the hallway. “Wait!”

He doesn’t wait, just turns the corner at the little mechanical room. My feet are in motion as I chase after him.

“Wait!” I pull on his arm and he stops outside the open door to the laundry room. The dryer beeps, signaling that someone’s load is complete. “Where are you going?” My heart is suddenly beating fast at the thought of him walking away.

I get a sideways glance this time. Not his full attention. The glance that says I’m leaving. “I shouldn’t have told you that, I’m sorry.”

He pulls away but I grab him again. “Just stop, please.”

He sighs and does a few little headshakes, like he’s having some kind of internal debate. “That night you took those Ativan, I was on the phone with you?”

He waits, so I answer with, “Yeah?”

“You said, ‘You don’t want to know me… I’m no one.’” He turns to face me head-on now, his expression blank, his mouth a flat line. His eyes impassive and empty. I can see it now. This is a killer’s face. The dimples are hiding underneath the frown. The emotionless facade of a hardened assassin. A man who sees death as nothing personal, just a job to be completed.

“But you’re wrong, Harp. I’m the invisible one. You’re a beacon in the dark as far as I’m concerned. I’m the unknowable one. And if you were my contract, I would kill you.” He stares down at me with those impassive, cold, businesslike green eyes. “Just as sure as I did my brother. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am. You might have all the moves, but you have none of the venom, angelfish.”

He turns to walk away but I grab him again. “You wouldn’t kill me—”

His hands grab me by the waist and yank me to his chest. “You think you want me? You think you want to know more?” He leans down and breathes into my neck for a moment. “Would you like me to take you, Harper?”

Tingles erupt throughout my whole body and the throbbing between my legs is begging for more contact. More skin on skin. More conversation, more soft, whispered words. More of everything. I want more of everything.

“Because I will. I’m that kind of guy. The kind who’ll seduce a little girl and fuck her wild just because he can make her think she wants him so bad, she’ll spread her legs and do as she’s told.”

“I’m almost nineteen. I can handle more than you think.”

He laughs. “A baby who has no idea what to do with a cock in her mouth.”

I’m ashamed to admit it, but instead of embarrassing me, his words hurt.

“I’m not interested in the babies, Harper. I just take what I want. And you were right to demand to know me before you let me fuck you. Because you reminded me of what I am. Why I’m here.” He yanks his arm from my grip and turns again.

My leg reaches forward and tangles with his, making him stumble, and then I grab his arm and twist. He reacts faster than I can plan the next move, and two seconds later he’s got me pinned to the concrete. Straddling my waist, hands holding me down, hunched over and leaning into my face. “You want me to stay?”

I can’t answer because I’m not sure.

He rises up on his knees a little bit, and then his hands release mine and begin to unbuckle his belt.

I lie absolutely still.

Once the buckle is out of the way, he makes quick work of the button, then the zipper on his pants.

I swallow hard.

“You will take my cock in your mouth.”

I lick my lips and the killer dimples appear in both cheeks.

“I’m gonna take your throat first, Harper. Then your pussy, then your ass.”

I’m not even sure what all that means, other than I’m gonna have sex.

He takes out his dick and pumps it a few times, pulling it up towards his stomach, exposing the long vein, pulsing with blood as it fills and becomes hard and thick. “Put your hand around it, Harper.”

I reach up and gently place my hand around his thickness. Immediately the wetness between my legs is back. I look up at his face for more directions, unsure of what I’m supposed to do. “Stroke me,” he says in a softer voice. “Harder,” he demands when I am timid. I squeeze harder and stroke up and down. Finding a rhythm like our heartbeats out on the beach.

Is this the same man?

I pump faster, and that makes his eyes close to half-mast. “Your little hands on my big cock, Harper. I love it. Now open your mouth.”

I freeze. Staring at him. Deciding.

“Open,” he says again.

I obey.

“Wider,” he whispers as he places his hands on either side of my head and crawls up my body. The tip of his dick touches my lips. “Should I tell you how I like it, Harp?”

I swallow and then force out a small laugh. “If you want it to feel good, you probably should.”

He smiles and I relax a little. I’m not sure if I like him. James or Tet, whatever he wants to be called. He’s unstable. He’s a killer. He killed his own brother. But he and I are not that different. That’s the nature of this life we’ve been born into. I’m not even sure I want to do this, but I’m craving that intimacy he showed me earlier. I need the touch. So, so bad. And maybe he’s a sick fuck… but so am I. Really… we’re perfect for each other.

Being force-fed his dick on the floor in front of the laundry room is not my dream first blowjob. But being left in this hallway, alone again—I can’t take it. I need a connection, even if it’s based on control and psychological manipulation.

He eases forward. “Open wider.” I do, and he flicks his dick against my lips. I instinctively close my eyes and my mouth. “Open, Harper. And don’t close again until we’re done.”

I nod and open my mouth but not my eyes. His tip is warm and smooth.

“Lick it,” he commands.

I twirl my tongue around a little, and then he pulls back and thrusts forward, hitting the back of my throat. I gag and he withdraws again. “Get on your knees for me.” His voice has changed now. Lower, rougher. And for a moment I’m scared, but then his hand finds mine, and he pulls me up to a sitting position as he himself stands. “Knees, Harper.”

I scramble to my knees and before I even have a chance to settle he’s back in my mouth. Both of his hands go behind my head and he pushes himself inside me again. I gag and my hands grab his dick and push him away.

“Hands on your thighs, Harper,” he commands.

I obey and he stuffs himself in farther, his dick pleading with my throat to go deeper. I cough a little and this makes the killer moan with pleasure. I swallow and get the same reaction, only it’s too much all of a sudden and I begin to choke.

“Breathe through your nose,” James says, petting my hair.

I take deep inhaling breaths through my nose.

“Now, flatten out your tongue in the back of your mouth.”

I gag again, but his tip is still seeking out my throat. It pushes forward, then withdraws slightly. Saliva is pooling in my mouth to the point of overflowing, and the next thrust sends it dripping down my chin.

The next time I gag his hands grab my hair and pull my head back so he can go deeper.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he groans, and then I feel the warm rush of release slide down my throat.

“Swallow,” he whispers.

I gulp until the warm salty liquid is gone and the pulsations in his cock subside.

He withdraws and my head falls forward. I sit back on my butt, wiping the spit off my face. I’ve never felt more humiliated in my life.

His zipper goes back up and then there is nothing but silence.

Chapter Ten HARPER

The drier buzzes again. A signal that someone should be coming for the clothes very soon. James taps me on the shoulder but I don’t look up or acknowledge him. All I see is a long, sticky strand of saliva that is dripping down the front of my tank top. He taps again. “You can go away now,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry for keeping you.”

He bends down and grabs my hand, then urges me to stand.

I do. But I keep my head bowed in shame. I can’t believe I just gave my first blowjob to a stranger in a hallway. I’ve never had any illusions about my life. I’ve never bought into that whole knight thing you read about in girl magazines. I’m not the wannabe princess. But this?

I snatch my hand from his and turn away. I stare at my feet the whole way back to my door. His hands grip my shoulders before I can actually enter the apartment, and then he twirls me around. “Just go,” I say, ready to cry. “I’m over it. Thanks for the good time.”

His fingers dip under my chin and try to force me to look at him. But I’m done. I’m in shut-down mode. That pliable girl who opened for his dick is gone. I’m pissed.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

I nod, but keep my eyes on his shoes.

“I hope you have a nice life, Harper. I won’t tell them I found you.”

My head shoots up at that admission. “You are here to kill me!”

“No,” he says back, his green eyes betraying a lost and desperate person inside. That person who hides behind this beautiful face and god-like body. Behind the man who walked hand in hand with me to the beach and pretended to like me so he could get oral sex from an amateur or whatever the hell it was he wanted.

I stare up at him and he moves a little so that the light from the hallway above his head turns him into nothing more than a dark hovering shape. The symbolism is so appropriate. “Is that what we are?” I ask him. “Just dark shapes with no features? Is that all I’ll ever be?”

He says nothing and I have my answer.

“When you were little did you have a dream?”

“No,” he says, turning his head so the light comes and goes. He’s human one moment, the dark amorphous killer the next. Then human again as he steps back and shifts his body, no longer facing me.

“Well, I had one. We had one.” He turns back when I say we and it hurts me so bad that he knows what that means. “We were gonna escape in the tender boat and say fuck them all. And we were going to live a new life.” I wait for some kind of acknowledgment. Or maybe an apology. For what? I’m not sure. He’s not responsible for what happened to us.

“And now I have no we, James. There is no us. And I guess if I had been the one to pull the trigger, if I had been the one to make that decision to pull the trigger… like you did to your brother”—this gets his attention, but by the way his lip curls, I know immediately that’s not the kind of attention I want from James Fenici—“then I’d have nothing to be so pissed about. But that’s not what happened. I had a dream, James. And they took it away. So I dreamed a new one all alone. And if you get in my way…” I straighten my back and tip up my chin—accepting who and what I really am in this defining moment. I wait for him to look me in the eye. “I’ll kill you.”

He gives me a little nod. A professional courtesy, perhaps. Or maybe it’s a ploy to keep me calm as he considers his options. “I know who you are,” he says. “All ten of us were briefed last summer. I know what you did. I know what happened to make you run. And I know what you have, even if I didn’t find it in that little room with your money and your key.”

He pauses to see if I’ll react, but we come from the same place. We were poured into the mold as children and then popped out as adults. We’re the same, maybe not equals, but still the same. So I know when to hold the cards tight. He’s gonna wait a long time for that reaction.

When I don’t give him what he expects, he continues. “I’m supposed to turn you in, but I won’t.”

“Why?” I laugh. “Because you’re an assassin with a heart? You fancy yourself a good person deep down inside?”

He shakes his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not a good person, deep or otherwise.” And then he turns and walks away.

“And that’s why you just did that to me?” I call after him. I don’t want him to leave. This small taste of human interaction is like a drug and it’s been so long since I had a companion. “Is that why you humiliated me like some worthless whore?”

He stops, shakes his head, and I can hear a small chuckle before he turns back. He’s smiling as he walks the few paces back towards me. “You think I humiliated you back there?” His head jerks to the end of the hallway where it turns the corner to the laundry room. “You have no idea, do you?”

I force a shrug. “No idea about what?”

He reaches for me. Slowly. Like a hungry person trying to steal a bone from a starving dog. I allow him to pull me close one more time. I’d probably let him do anything to me right now, that’s how badly I want his touch. Even after he stuffed his dick in my mouth and came down my throat… I still want to be near him.

“Harper,” he says quietly as he leans down into my ear. He takes my hand and places it on the front of his zipper. He’s hard again. His dick is long and thick, even through his jeans. “When my cock was in your throat. That moment”—he breathes into the shell of my ear, the warm air does a little dance with the sensitive touch receptors and I almost go wild—“right before I came in your mouth…”

The throbbing and wetness between my legs is threatening to overtake my senses at the moment. I’m not sure how much longer I can last before I combust from the fire building inside me.

“… when I was groaning with the pleasure of your tongue and the warm, wet muscles in your throat as you desperately tried to give me what I craved… that, Harper, is humiliation. Because in that moment, you owned me. All I saw was you taking my cock. Letting me do whatever I wanted to find my release. And you owned me. You had all the power, lionfish. Not me.”

His hand is suddenly between my legs, pushing against my shorts. He pulls them aside and slips his fingers into the crease. “Has anyone ever touched you here?” The softness is gone and in its place is a demand. A low rumbling, and almost angry demand. “Answer me,” he says, pushing his fingers further into my folds.

“No,” I whisper. My body is out of my control right now. My head is spinning as his fingers dip deeper, and then withdraw, only to flick against my most sensitive spot.

I lose my mind. My head falls backward against the wall and I moan. And then his mouth is on mine, his tongue dancing back and forth inside. I respond out of instinct, my tongue trying to mimic the dips and pushes of his fingers in my throbbing sex. He pumps hard and I gasp, but his mouth is back at my ear, whispering soothing things, soft things, comforting things. So I relax and let him do anything he wants. This is a pleasure I have never known. And I’d do anything to make it continue.

“Now I have the power, don’t I?”

I can only nod.

“And if you were ready, Harper, I’d fuck you hard. I’d do things you can’t even imagine. I’d lick your pussy and make you come on my face. I’d fuck you in the ass and tie you up and spank your cheeks until you screamed my name.”

I explode all over his fingers. Panting and heaving for more breath, my mind spinning and my legs buckling until I fall against his chest.

“Now I’m in charge again. You see that, Harp? When you’re on your knees, my cock in your mouth, you’ve got me, baby. You own me. Because the only thing on my mind is coming down your throat. When I’m rolling your clit between my fingers, I own you.”

I moan.

“Right?” he demands, twisting the folds between my legs and grabbing a fistful of hair. Yanking my neck back so I have to look him in the face.

I nod. “Yes.”

He withdraws his fingers and brings them to my mouth. “Suck, Harper.”

I turn my head.

“Look at me,” the killer in him demands.

I look up. He holds up two fingers, slick with my own wetness, and puts them in his mouth. He withdraws, then touches them to my lips. I open without being told. “Lick,” he says in his soothing voice.

I lick the tip of his fingers, tasting my own sweetness. He sticks them in farther, grinding his erection against my hips, and the pulsing between my legs is back. Just like that, I am ready again.

The laundry room light flicks on around the corner and he backs away, taking his hard dick and his fingers with him. My body feels cold and empty now that it’s alone again. My arms wrap around myself instinctively and hug.

A palm reaches across the space and cups my cheek. “You’re so pretty.”

I blush. After all that kinky stuff I just did, I blush at the word pretty.

“You don’t believe me?”

I shrug. “I don’t know,” I mumble truthfully. “I haven’t had a lot of feedback in that area.”

“But you have a mirror?” He laughs as he says it.

“Blonde hair, brown eyes, brown skin.”

He shoots me the dimples and my insides tumble around like I’m being tossed in a wave. “Your eyes aren’t brown, they’re amber. It’s striking to see them in the light of the setting sun. And your hair is streaked blonde from years on the sea. That gorgeous brown body is golden, like you own the definition of tanned. And you’re the perfect combination of hard and soft. Killer and lover. Sweet and deadly.” He reaches around and grabs my ass. “I’m gonna take that ass,” he whispers, making the wetness pool between my legs. “Next time, I’m gonna take your ass and your pussy.”

I swallow hard and stare at him, trying not to picture this right now. Because I’m so out of control, it scares me.

“When you’re ready, Harper. Come find me.”

And then he walks away and rounds the corner, calling out a, “What’s up, dude?” to the person grabbing their dry clothes in the laundry room.

Chapter Eleven HARPER

The shadow catches my eye as I roll and I sit upright instantly, staring at the empty chair across the room.

Nothing.

I look over at the clock. It’s 3AM and I haven’t slept in two days. I haven’t left the apartment since my last encounter with James in the hallway. I haven’t eaten, or showered, or met the sun. I’ve simply… existed.

This guy. Never has anyone affected me like this. He’s all I think about. He seems so… familiar. And maybe it’s just because I’ve seen him out of the corner of my eye once or twice. He’s admitted to watching me. But that just doesn’t seem right.

There’s something else…

I kick off the light covers, get out of bed, and pad over to the kitchen where I’m keeping the pills. I’ve avoided them successfully these past two days, but I’ve had enough. It’s not safe to go without sleep. It messes with your brain. Makes you see shadows of beautiful men sitting in your living room while you sleep. It makes you wish for their cock down your throat.

Holy crap, I have problems.

I eat three pills, chase it with water, and then pad back over to my bed and lie down.

My heart and brain slow simultaneously. It’s a trick of my mind, I realize this. The drug takes a good twenty to thirty minutes to kick in. But I slow anyway. And it’s welcome.

My eyelids droop, then close. My shoulders relax as I turn on my side and let out a long breath.

Some peace is all I want. Just some peace.

And my brother.

But he’s gone.

So I’ll have to settle for my fake sedative-induced peace.

The dawn erupts with a burst of orange across the water and the day begins just like any other. My feet are rocking with the waves, a gentle sway of balance I adapted to before I could walk. I was born on this ship. I drank my first milk on this ship. Crawled the deck, slept in a berth, and learned the fine art of getting wet on this ship.

And even though my childhood was perfect—sun, sand, tropical islands, snorkeling and diving, exotic food and people and destinations—it all ends today.

Today we are eighteen. We have never spent a night apart in our lives, but we may never spend another one together again.

Because by the time the sun sets… only one of us will be left.

I jolt awake, the tears still in my eyes. I hate that dream, I hate that dream. Why do I have to relive that day of all days?

Nick and I were entwined in the womb together, so tightly embraced we killed our mother during childbirth because we refused to let go. He was all I ever had that was truly mine. We were all either of us had.

I was always the trophy. Not a princess, no. Trophy. Promised to a Company associate when I was six. I was molded and fashioned into this perfect thing. Something to look at, to admire, but not something that was allowed to have her own opinions about how she wanted to live her life.

Or the man she would be forced to marry once she came of age.

The training was an indulgence. I could not survive those hours Nick went away each day to train, so they indulged me. Every few years some uptight nanny would insist young girls did not learn martial arts and spend their days spear-fishing and I’d have to throw a fit. But the Admiral always gave in. I’d like to think it was because he had a bit of guilt over selling me off to an associate when I was a child. But he’s told me more than once that he never regretted that decision.

My twin brother, Nick, never had things so easy. He was expected to contribute in a big way. Even though we had physical training together I was never allowed to go with him to do the jobs. And those started when we were still very young. You can convince almost anyone that a nine-year-old boy is innocent of just about anything.

Every time he left the ship I’d stand on the deck and look out across the sea. Watching for his return. It felt like… like I was holding my breath until I saw him again. Every time he left I cried out of fear. And every time he returned I cried from relief.

He was not supposed to tell me about the jobs. But we are twins. Not identical, but we see ourselves as one. Not two.

So of course, he told me everything. Not right after the job. The ship was never a safe place to pass secrets. But we were in port or anchored off some remote island almost as much as we were out to sea, so there was plenty of playtime on the reefs and in the tidal pools of random beaches.

Since we were so well-behaved we were left alone. The crew ignored us completely. Nick’s trainers only paid attention when they were around, and since playtime on the beach is not a function of grown men hired for security, they never saw us crawl around on the rocks, or shimmy up a palm tree to gossip about our lives under the long fan-like leaves. The Admiral’s gaze swept past every evening at dinner with a smug smile at our manners. He was never around. Our care was entrusted to others.

We were, for all practical purposes, ignored.

It took them many years to realize their mistake.

And even though I feel a lot of satisfaction from overthrowing the Company yacht crew and making my escape, I’d rather relive those moments out in the hallway when James had his hands between my legs instead of that last day on the yacht.

I turn over in bed, my mind still groggy from the pills, my body still seeking relief from the exhaustion that’s been creeping in since my first real orgasm.

If I could only release again. Maybe I could relax?

My hand slides down my belly and pushes past the elastic waist of my panties. I hesitate for a moment. I want so much more than this life. I’m so tired of being alone. I’m so tired of being lonely. A tear runs down my cheek as I move my fingers the way James did. Pushing them inside myself. Pumping as I picture the way he undid his belt buckle and released his cock. I wish I had looked up at his face. I’d give anything to have seen his face when he came down my throat.

That thought is enough to trigger the release. But it’s small and unsatisfying. Only good enough to amplify my drug-induced drowsiness as I turn over.

I’m back in my dream. Only I’m on the beach, under the pier… under James. He grazes the back of his fingers down my cheek and then leans down and kisses each eyelid. “Sleep, Harper. You need to sleep.”

He’s right. I need sleep so bad. But when he pulls away I grab his arm. The waves are coming in and out, and with each cycle, James slips down the sand a little.

“Please don’t leave me,” I whisper, too late. He disappears into the dark water and I’m alone in bed again.

I wake with the worst headache. And my stomach is protesting the lack of… everything. I roll out of bed and stumble over to the kitchen sink, my eyes still half-closed. I open the tap and stick my mouth under, draw back to wince at the disgusting municipal water, then resume drinking until my stomach bloats.

I wipe my mouth and pull the refrigerator open. Empty, save for a few condiment packets left over from a recent trip to Rocky’s Burgers. I need to eat.

I slam the door and go turn on the shower, strip, wash quickly, and then realize I have no clean towels. I drip dry as I search for clothes. I drag the underwear up my wet legs and say fuck the bra. A couple of stacked tank tops—both white so I don’t stick out—and another pair of cut-off jeans finishes the job. I comb through my hair, brush my teeth and slip my flops on as I drag the door closed behind me.

My phone tells me it’s seven PM on Monday. I’ve lost six days of life since I met James on the pier. And really, this whole shut-down thing I’ve been doing is not very smart. What if he did turn me in? I was all drugged up on the Ativan, unable to react. I was barely functioning.

I walk past the Mexican place. I ate there last time so I can’t go there again for a while. I don’t want to become friendly with the food people. I don’t want to be a ‘local’ and have them wave at me as I pass by. So I walk east, the opposite direction of the beach, cross over Fifth and head up Main to find some restaurant I’ve never eaten in before. It takes me a while because I’ve lived here for eleven months, so most of them I’ve entered at least once. But I’m jumpy now. The idea that James could’ve reported me and I wouldn’t have been able to react has me on edge.

It’s dumb to be careless. Especially when I’ve come so far. I’m a success, right? I took something very valuable from a global criminal organization and eleven months later, I’m still alive.

Is it by design? If it was so easy for James to pick me out, how hard would it be for the Company men to find me? Have they left me alone for a reason? Did they send James to assess my state of mind?

I pick a random eatery and scan the menu. I hate Chinese food, so I order the most benign things I can think of. Shrimp fried rice and a large Coke. I need the calories because the walk over has almost done me in.

I eat alone and in silence as I gaze out onto Sixth Street. Chewing methodically. Thinking about life. James. His attention and the way it made me feel. His little speech on the division of power during sex.

I have to admit, it makes sense. It put that filthy act in perspective and the longer I think about him, the more intense the throbbing between my legs becomes. I slurp my soda and gather up my trash, tossing it in the can as I leave and head back towards the beach. I’ve got a little while before the sun sets, so I take my time. Looking in the small shops as I wander down Main.

When I get to Pier Plaza I walk right to the terraced steps and hop onto the first pillar, standing up to my full height. I shield my eyes from the sun and look north. Scanning for him. He said, Come find me. But how? He’s the one who found me. I turn slowly, dropping my hand from my face as the sun beats on my back. I scan the other side of PCH. Watching for men standing still, pretending to do things like look at a phone or window-shop. But there is no one who looks like my James.

I hop down just as more people start appearing and then make my way to the bottom terrace and park myself against a short pillar in front of the grass. A few yards off there’s a group of skaters doing tricks off the low wall that separates the bike path from the sand. I lean against the rough stone, my chin resting on my knee, and watch them.

They are my age. All blond, tanned, and shirtless. Handsome even. I don’t normally notice the boys around here. I’ve been too busy being invisible to take notice or worry about stupid teenager things.

But I’ve seen one of them before. In fact, now that I think about it, I’ve seen him a lot. He surfs in the morning and skates at night. Like this beach is his whole life. His smile is easy and appears often, as does his gruff laugh.

I sigh as I watch him on his board. He makes it do all sorts of things that appear to defy gravity. He falls, laughs, gets up, does it again. His friends are all the same. Loud, energetic, beautiful.

He looks my way and I’m too sad to even try and pretend I haven’t been staring.

He waves. I don’t even blink.

He turns and starts talking with his friends and then they bump fists and he flips his board up, grabs it by the front wheels, and walks towards me.

I sit up straight and panic. Shit.

He walks up smiling. “Hey,” he says, dropping his board and sitting down next to me. “What’s up? You here alone tonight?”

“I’m always here alone,” I reply as I study his face, looking for intentions. God, are all boys beautiful? Or is it this beach? I’ve never paid much attention, but two in a week, that’s some good luck.

He puts out his hand. “Scott.”

My hand finds his automatically. “Nice to meet you, Scott.”

He smiles and his blue eyes lift at the corners. “Not gonna tell me your name?”

I pull my hand back and lean into the pillar, trying to make myself small.

He looks away, scanning the crowd to the left and right. Then the pier. When he’s satisfied, he drags his eyes back to me. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

I’m speechless.

“That guy you were with the other night?” he adds. “All curled up on his lap like a pet.”

“I think you have me mixed up with someone else.”

“Oh,” he says, nodding his head and looking straight ahead. “OK. Well, then would you like to go for a walk? See the sunset somewhere else?”

I consider my options. Obviously he’s not interested in the sunset. So I guess I can assume this is an invitation to fool around. And last week I’d have said no thank you automatically. But this week… I realize now why girls chase boys.

And vice versa.

“Where’d you have in mind?” I ask, forcing myself to stare him in the face.

He gives me a crooked grin that is actually quite inviting, and then reaches for my knee and squeezes. “Girl’s choice.”

“I live down the street.”

He stands and extends his hand to me. “Let’s go, babe.”

He holds my hand as we cross Pier Plaza, chatting at me like we’ve been friends forever. “My bro Danny…”

I could give a shit about his bro Danny and how he cracked his skull doing some skater trick that sounds too ridiculous to be true, but what do I know about skater tricks?

I only feel his hand in mine. Just like James. Is this all they have to do? The beautiful ones? All they have to do is hold your hand to turn you stupid with lust? I’m certainly well on my way to idiocy, that’s for sure. I can only imagine how I’ll melt into a puddle of goo when I get what I came for.

And after that… I have no idea.

When I turn up Fifth Street, there’s flashing lights at the police station, so I turn left on Walnut and take the back way through the alley. I stop us outside the back gate, suddenly nervous about going inside.

“This you?” he says, nodding his head to my building. He pushes me against the garage and then his hands are on my hips, dipping behind me to caress my ass. His lips are descending on mine before I can even answer.

And then…

He’s ripped away and flung to the ground, his head bouncing off the concrete. James is staring down at him, clenching his fists, looking like he’s in professional mode.

“Stop!” I say, standing between the new guy and the assassin. “You have no right.”

James looks at me and narrows his eyes. My insides drop, like I just jumped off a cliff, that’s how terrifying he looks. He points to my new friend. “Really? This asshole? He picks up a different girl every night. And if you were fucking paying any attention at all, you’d have seen that!”

Skater dude is back on his feet, picking up his board, and already walking away. “I’m outta here.” He turns, walking backwards for a few paces. “And for the record, asshole, I asked her if she was yours. She said no. So you got some work to do.”

And then he drops the board, hops on, and a few seconds later he’s turned the corner, out of sight.

James turns back to me, grinding his teeth, clenching the muscles in his jaw. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

I raise my chin in defiance. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back against the garage. “You wanted to fuck him?” His eyes are darting back and forth, searching me, waiting on the answer.

“Maybe.”

His hand comes up and palms my throat, his thumb making little circles under my chin. “I give you a taste, then back off to give you room, and you take home the first asshole who asks for your name?” His erection presses against my belly and he dips his forehead until it rests against mine.

My heart is racing, but for once in my life, it’s for all the right reasons. I reach for his face, threading my fingers through his dark hair.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “I told you to come find me when you were ready.”

“I looked, but no luck. So I played the only card I had. And look at that.” I smile with satisfaction. “Here you are.” I tilt my head up and meet his gaze. The sun is gone now, only the light of the stars illuminates him. And still, I see everything so clearly. “I didn’t have to find you, James. All I had to do was make sure you found me.”

Chapter Twelve HARPER

He turns away, but not before I catch the grin. His back expands as he takes a breath. Probably to tuck down his amusement so he can keep playing the pissed-off asshole routine.

All my life people have assumed I’m stupid because I’m quiet, I never interrupt, and I follow directions. But I’m quiet because saying less is always more.

I never interrupt because you always miss the parts better left unsaid when you don’t let people finish.

And I follow directions because it keeps things on an even keel, sailing pun intended.

I haven’t always felt this way about things. But back when we were little I once asked my brother why he was always so accommodating with the demands of the Admiral. We were about eight and I was spending my days that summer learning how to sail the ship to windward, while he was working in the galley, learning how to cook potatoes or something. But his answer that day has always stuck with me. ‘Pick and choose your battles, Harp.’

I thought about that piece of advice endlessly since that day. Pick and choose your battles. Accept that you cannot win every time, until you’ve got a sure thing. Battles are always a win and lose. Give and take. And ever since then I’ve been saving up my losses for the only battle that counts. The one that wins the war. So when the strong wind comes and wants to take me off course, I lower my sails and go with the current. I save that loss up for another day. But all these things are conscious decisions. I am attentive, but silent. I have come to terms with my life, but—hopefully—only for the moment.

“So you were trying to make me jealous.” He turns back to me, his expression a flat line again. But I already know he likes the devious side to Harper.

“I was,” I reply.

“Do you know what happens when I get jealous?” He steps towards me and puts both hands around my neck, his thumbs caressing my jaw in those little circles that will have me dreaming about them later. My body responds with the now familiar tingling between my legs and I am suddenly hot with want.

“No,” I say softly.

He stares at me for a few moments and then dips his mouth down to mine, resting his lips against my lips. “Who’s in charge, Harper?”

“You are,” I reply obediently.

He gently knocks his forehead against mine and huffs out a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Being good. You want to be in charge, then be in charge. I’m not a control freak.”

He takes my hand and pulls me towards the building. I dutifully follow him in. We descend the steps to the basement side by side, and then he leads me into the mechanical room and gathers my key from behind the loose cinder block where I hide it. He shoots me a glance to see if I’ll carry on about him knowing where it is. But I don’t, so he leads me back out, opens my apartment door, and waves me through.

I stand there in the little entrance, waiting for his directions like this is his place and not mine. He stops and stares at the closed door before turning. Like he needs a moment to make a decision. When he turns his eyes are aflame with passion. He puts his hands on my arms and pushes me back against the wall. His thigh wedges between my legs, rubbing against that spot where I know all my carnal desires can be fulfilled, and I moan. He takes that as a yes to his unspoken question and his mouth finds mine.

He bites my lip and takes me by surprise. I whine at the pain and then taste the blood but before I can react to that, his tongue is licking it away, tangling with my own tongue inside my mouth for a few seconds, then he latches onto my top lip.

“Mmmmm,” is all I get out before he nips that one too. I raise my hand to push him off but he grabs my wrist and hoists it up above my head.

“Do that again and I’ll tie you up.”

I take a deep breath and look away. So very unsure of what I’m doing.

“Limits, Harper? You better say so now. This won’t be some romantic fairytale fuck you’ve read about in books.”

Shit. There have to be limits. Right?

“Do you trust me?” When I look back, his gaze is serious. So very, very serious.

I shake my head because this question is easy. “No, not really, James. I mean, I want this. I do. But what we have is like a… a… tenuous respect and nothing more. Like the way you respect a large dog you’ve never met before.”

His eyes dart back and forth. It’s his tell, I realize now. His darting eyes are weighing in on me, letting me know he’s formulating an opinion. Which is good, I guess. Either he’s reevaluating me or he never really solidified one in the first place.

He brings the hand above my head down to my side and kisses me on the nose. “OK.”

“OK?” God, please don’t let him change his mind! “James, I—”

He places his fingertips over my lips, then leans in and licks the one he bit and sucks on it for a second. “I need to know how you want it, Harp. Or I might go too far. And…” He cups my face in his hand and pulls me close, right up next to his hard thickness inside his jeans. “And I don’t want to do it wrong. It’s a big deal for you. Even I understand that. I might hurt you so I need to know what you want.”

What do I want? I want to have sex. And feel the pulsations of an incredible orgasm.

“I need to know if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” I say quickly. “I am, I swear. I want to and if you stop this now, I’ll go find that skater guy!”

He smacks my ass. Hard. I yelp and try to scoot away from his hand as it comes back for more, but he holds me tight and this time the smack hits my bare thigh.

I squeal loudly at that one.

“Say you’re sorry,” he says, staring me in the eyes.

“Sorry, I was just—”

“You were just trying to bait me, and I don’t like it.” He stares down at me, his eyes narrow and his jaw set.

He’s totally not kidding about that so I chew on my lip, taste blood, and then nod. “OK, I’m really sorry. It was a bad joke. I’m not interested in Golden Boy back there.” He eyes me suspiciously, but I can tell he’s more interested in being playful than angry. Even so, I nod and reassure him. “I swear.”

“So you’re ready?” His fingertips slip under my tank top and then his whole palm presses against the bare skin of my waist. His hands are a little cold and this temperature difference sends chills up my whole body. My nipples perk to attention immediately.

I put my hand around his neck and lean up on my tiptoes and peck him on the cheek. “I’m ready.”

“No limits?”

“Just… be nice.” I smile sweetly because I don’t know what else to do. I have no clue about any of this shit. Some of the things he’s said I don’t even understand. He thinks I’ve been dreaming about my first sexual experience growing up? Well, he’s wrong. I never read any books about how other girls experience a first time. I had one very clinical discussion about sex with a retired Company medic when I was sixteen. And it was not very enlightening beyond don’t do it until you’re married, because I was promised to someone back when I was six, and that promise dictated that I be a virgin when I was given away.

He growls into my neck. “Fuck, Harper. You’re driving me crazy. You gotta tell me what not to do, or I swear, I’ll do it all. I’ll just do it all.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I just want it to feel good. I just want you to touch me and make me feel good. Make this loneliness go away for a little bit. Make me…” I stop and look up at him. His attention is rapt. Like he’s hanging on my every word. “Make me feel wanted.”

He lifts my top over my head in one move. My nipples bunch up as the cool air touches them, and then his fingertips roll one back and forth. My heart begins to race inside my chest, my breath becomes ragged and uncontrolled. He palms my breast and his lips find my mouth, his tongue thrusting in this time. Not waiting for a response, just taking me the way he wants. He unbuttons my shorts and drags the zipper down. His other hand slips down my panties and finds my completely soaked folds.

“What do you call this?” he says, thrusting his fingers inside me.

I laugh. “What?”

“Pussy,” he whispers. “You call it your pussy next time I ask. When you want me to lick it”—oh God, I almost orgasm at the thought—“you say, ‘Please lick my pussy, James.’”

I can’t breathe. And I don’t think I can say that without exploding. His fingers begin a slow thrust and my knees go weak.

“Would you like me to lick your pussy, Harper?”

The way he says my name. The way he touches me. The way he does pretty much everything right now. I’m at his mercy. “Please lick my pussy, James.” I’m surprised he heard my words, that’s how low I speak them.

He picks me up in his arms and carries me over to my bed. He sets me down so I’m sitting on the edge and then pushes on my shoulders until I lie back. “Lift your hips.” I lift and he drags my shorts down my legs, stopping to kiss my inner thigh and then nip the sensitive skin there. My back arches and I feel slick between my legs. His mouth pulls back and his hands resume their task, pulling my shorts and panties past my knees, letting them slide down to my ankles. He removes them and tosses them on the floor. “Open your legs.”

I blush a bright red, I know it. Because my face is suddenly very hot.

“Open, Harper.”

Oh, God. I open my legs and close my eyes. The wetness practically gushes. He passes a few fingertips right down the crease of my slit. “Holy fuck. You are so ready. I like my women shaved, Harp. Since you’re so new at this, I’ll let it go. But later, once we get the basics out of the way, I’m gonna shave you.”

“What? No!”

He crawls up my body, stopping to suck on my nipple, then takes it between his teeth. I buckle my back and whine until he lets go and continues to kiss his way up my neck. I about die. “That’s not a limit you can negotiate. When we figure out what the fuck we’re doing you can get waxed regularly. But for now, this will have to do.”

I’m stuck on the word we for like five whole seconds as he crawls his way back down, placing his face between my legs.

We?

But my thoughts evaporate into nothing but bliss when his tongue touches my pussy. It flicks back and forth right on my spot and then he grabs me behind the knees and pushes my legs up and open, licking the entire length. “Ohhhhhmmmm,” I hum out as his tongue begins to do these little swirl patterns. I arch my back, making him lose his rhythm. His palm pushes down on my belly, hard enough to keep me in place.

A fingertip plays with that sensitive spot and I am about to lose myself in the ecstasy when everything suddenly stops. “No, Soldier. You may not come yet. Not until I give the command.”

“What—ohhhh.” His tongue is back, but then withdraws again. “What are you doing?” I’m flushed with excitement and my legs are beginning to tremble with the buildup.

“I said, not yet.”

“But why? That’s the whole reason—” His fingers withdraw and then dart up to my nipple to pinch. I squirm, but his palm is still firmly pushing down on my stomach. “Ahhh!”

“We can talk later, Harper, but for now be a good little soldier and do as you’re told. When I want you to come, I’ll let you know. Until then you fight it. Understand?”

I stare at his eyes. They burn bright with his desire. His mouth has traces of my wetness and I lick my lips. “OK.”

The squeeze on my nipple abates and then he reaches up to my mouth and traces my lips. His fingers smell like me. Like my desire. I open my mouth and suck on them, tasting my sweetness like I did the other night in the hallway.

James groans at this move and I feel a moment of power. He’s right. Sex is power. I have some power over him. This man who kills people for a living can be at my mercy if I listen to what he likes and learn how to please him.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?”

He smiles when my answer is more sucking, more licking. I trace my tongue alongside his finger and then his other hand is at my entrance again. Rolling the little bundle of nerves between my legs in his fingers. I suck harder and he moans, letting me know I’m doing it right.

“I want your mouth on my cock again, Harper.”

“Me too,” I answer. And I do. I want to watch his face when he comes down my throat this time. I want to witness that power he says I have. I want to experience his release with him.

“Later, little soldier. I’m gonna fuck you hard first. Then we’ll shower and explore a little more.”

His fingers begin to pump inside me and my hands fly down to his head, pushing his face back to the v between my legs. “More, please,” I beg. “I want more of your tongue. I want you to lick me, James.”

When I say his name he growls and grabs my wrists in one hand. “Put them above your head, Harper. And don’t move them until I tell you.”

I obey immediately and I’m rewarded with his tongue against my clit. He flicks it back and forth a few times and then his whole mouth covers my pussy, sucking until I am close to the explosion. His hand returns to my belly, reminding me to control it and I throw my head back and pant as I look up at the ceiling. “Good girl,” he praises. “You’re such a good girl, Harper.”

“Hmmmmm,” is all I can manage to that. I’m so fucking close.

“I’m going to count. When I get to three you may release. Not two, not one, not four. Three, Harper.”

I nod enthusiastically. “Yes, three.” I push against his fingers, trying to push him farther inside me.

He pumps me hard several times, hitting a spot inside that makes me call out his name and grab the pillow above my head. “Ohhh. God.”

“One,” he says just before he lowers his face to my clit again. He sucks hard this time, making the orgasm slow with the sensation. I relax just as his fingers increase their rhythm and he removes his mouth to say, “Two.” This time his tongue swirls gently against my clit and the explosion builds again. Little by little, with each passing second, I begin to lose control. He doesn’t stop this time, but his palm on my stomach reaches up and twists my nipple to bring my focus back. I bite my lip and the tiny bite he made in my skin opens up again and I taste blood. I’m just about to be calm when he grabs my whole breast and squeezes. He thrusts his fingers inside me, his thumb brushes up against my clit and he takes it in his mouth to suck. I almost lose my mind with the build-up, and only his firm grasp of my breast keeps me focused. I wince and clamp my pussy around his fingers.

The sensations between my legs stop and before I understand what’s happening, his mouth is on mine. His tongue is both sweet and sour with the taste of myself. He pulls back a fraction, his fingers still pumping wildly as I writhe underneath him. “Three,” he whispers.

My orgasm comes with a long moan and then his whole hand is working my pussy as I ride out the wave, bucking myself against his palm, looking for more friction, more everything. I see stars and my world goes dark. My heart races and his lips kiss me over and over again.

“You did good,” he whispers. “You did so good. You’re perfect, Harper. You’re so perfect.” He continues to kiss me, his motions inside me slow now, but not completely stopped. When I finally relax he withdraws his fingers and I open my mouth as I wait for him to slide them inside and place them on my tongue. I lick and suck as he watches, his eyes filled with desire, his expression content with my performance.

He removes his fingers and then leans down and kisses me deeply. Slowly. He explores me. His hands on my body, rubbing up and down my thigh, then dipping into my folds again to flick my clit.

I moan. It’s still so sensitive.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

I open my eyes and look at him as I nod. “Yes.”

“Are you willing to give yourself to me now?”

I nod again. “Yes.”

“Are you sure you want me to be the only one you ever fuck for the rest of your life?”

My brow furrows in confusion.

“Because you’re mine. If I’m your first I’m going to be your last. So I need you to be sure.” He watches me as I process his words. “Are you sure?”

He’s so beautiful. My characterization of him that first day was dead on. His eyebrows raise at my silence, but I reach up and brush a stray piece of dark hair from his eyes. “I’m yours, James. I swear it, I’m yours.” And I mean every word.

“I know you are. You’re mine, you were meant to be mine.” He gets up from the bed and stands before me. “Undress me, Harper.”

The way he uses my name in his soft commands gives me a thrill. My whole body tingles as he waits. I stand in front of him for a moment, taking in his body. And then I grab the hem of his tight black t-shirt and lift, slowly dragging my hands over the rock-hard surface of his abdomen. His muscles ripple underneath. His body is tanned a golden brown like mine. I pull the shirt up to his arms and then he takes over, whipping it over his head and throwing it down on the ground.

“Have you ever—?”

I know what he’s asking, so I just shake my head no.

“God.” He stops and just stares down at me. Stares into me. “How did this happen?” My whole body is overcome with heat and I actually hold my breath. Because I agree… something about this is so… improbable.

But then he reaches for me, pulls me into a gentle embrace, and all my doubts evaporate.

My hands instinctively fall down his chest. His skin is taut and firm. Every muscle well-defined. He has no markings at all. No tattoos, no scars. “You’re absolutely perfect,” I whisper.

“It’s all yours. If we do this, I’ll be all yours.”

I smile at that. “You promise?”

He suddenly cups my face and leans in to kiss me. “Forever. If we do this, you’re mine, forever.”

That’s so confusing, but I’m not in the mood to think. I only want to react now. I kneel on the floor and look up. I want to remember him like this. Looking down on me with pure adoration. My fingers unbuckle his belt slowly and I catch the sudden intake of breath when my hand passes innocently over his hard cock beneath the soft fabric of his pants. I watch carefully to see if he likes my touch and his eyes are at half-mast. His hands go to mine and remind me what I’m doing.

I unbutton his jeans and drag the zipper until the length of him is visible beneath his boxers. I swallow, a little nervous. But then I pull his clothing down in one movement and his dick springs forward. I look up as I take it in my mouth, licking the tip.

His head falls backwards and his mouth opens when I seal my lips around him and suck. He palms my head, pushing me forward to meet his cock. I try to mimic the way he sucked on my clit—swirling my tongue and sucking on his smooth head. He growls, “Yes, Harper. Just like that.”

I open my mouth wider and try to take his full length, but he stops me with firm pressure on my head. “No, baby. I just want a little tease. I’m gonna come inside you, but not down your throat.”

Thoughts of birth control flit through my mind briefly, but he reaches down and picks me straight up into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist, his cock pressing against my belly. He turns us around and sits on the bed, keeping me in his lap, then kicks off his shoes and jeans so we are both naked.

His hand reaches between my legs and finds me as slick as I was when I orgasmed. “You’re ready for me. Lift up, put my cock in your entrance, and then ease down.” I swallow and look him in the eyes as he smiles. “Go as slow as you want. I’m not in a rush.”

I take a deep breath and nod. Then lift up a little, grab his cock, and rub it back and forth against my pussy until it’s very wet. The tip slides inside me easily, and for a moment I think that’s all there is to it.

But then I ease down and he fills me up beyond capacity, stretching me. I gasp as the pain threatens to overtake me, but James cups my face again and tilts my chin so I have to look at him. “Slow, baby. No hurry. Go slow. Enjoy me. Enjoy how I feel inside you.”

I swallow hard and lift up a little. Feeling his slick cock slide against my skin. I lower just a little bit, stop when it hurts, and rise up again. I do this over and over again, and with each time, James groans. “You feel so good,” he assures me. “You’re so tight,” he whispers in my ear. “Try to go a little farther now, baby. I’m dying to be inside you. All the way inside you.”

My body responds to his requests like they’re an order. I want this too. I want him inside me more than anything I’ve ever wanted before. I let him sink deeper into me, biting back the shock of pain and the gasp that wants to escape. I bury my head in his neck and pant hard. His hands go to my ass, urging me to move the way he wants me to. I give in to him.

I am his.

He lifts me up, almost to the point that his dick is threatening to escape my pussy. But then he slams me down on his lap and the pain shoots straight up my spine. It threatens to overtake me when I feel his fingers playing with my ass. They press against the tight muscles and I gasp, the pain from my disintegrating hymen forgotten as he explores me in a new way.

I moan into his neck, the new sensations almost too much. “Can I come, James? I want to come so bad. I want to come on your dick.”

“This is all about you, baby. If my cock inside your pussy feels good to you, then come all over me, Harper.”

My name on his lips sends me over the edge. My body arches as I throw my head back and moan out his name. “James…”

As soon as the contractions begin to slow, James wraps his arms around me and lies back on the bed, pulling me tightly to his chest. His hips begin a punishing rhythm underneath me, thrusting himself deeper and deeper inside me, his balls smacking against my ass so hard, reminding me of his fingers a few minutes ago.

We come together this time. We explode into an orgasm that makes me blind and helpless to think of anything but this perfect man beneath me.

Chapter Thirteen HARPER

He scoots up towards the head of the bed, keeping himself inside me as we move together. He collapses back on the pillow and hugs me close. “Harper, God, I can’t believe we’re here.”

I scrunch my face up as I ponder that question. “What do you mean?”

He rolls, removing his cock from me, and then flips me around and pulls my ass up to his hips. “Sleep,” he says. “We’ll finish this in the morning.”

I frown as I lie here. Running all this back in my mind. His sudden appearance on the pier. The way he dove in after me. I guess it makes sense that he fingered me for the missing girl. But then… if he’s really Number Six, he would’ve called this in immediately. If he knew who I was, then he’s asking for a death sentence by not calling it in.

“Sleep, Harper,” he says with a little more authority. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” I wiggle out of his grip and get up. “Where—”

“The bathroom,” I say back defensively. I suppose it’s a bad time to actually start using my head. I mean, I just gave him my virginity. The Admiral will go ballistic. And if James is Number Six, then he knows this. Maybe he’s on the run too? Maybe he’s my father’s enemy?

I close the bathroom door and start the shower. I feel dirty all of a sudden. It felt good, hell yes, it felt good. But now that my need has been satiated and my mind is clearing—I have questions. I have a lot of questions.

Like… how long has he been watching me? He hinted at months. Months? That makes very little sense, really. He said he killed his brother, Number Five, and they needed him to take some downtime. Evaluate him. I can see that. You don’t kill another Company assassin with no consequences. And you certainly don’t kill your brother.

I would kill to have my brother right now. I’d do just about anything to have my brother.

I start the hot water and watch my naked self in the mirror as I wait for it to warm up.

Why am I still here? In this apartment? In this town? On land? Is it really possible that the Admiral has no idea where I’m at? I mean, I was careful when I left. I poisoned the entire ship. They were sick as dogs, even the captain, so we were dead in the water about sixty miles south of Tahiti. I might even have killed some of them. I have no idea, because our ship has a very nice tender boat. One of the nicest in the world, just like the super yacht that carries it. And since my entire life, from birth to that moment when I opened the garage door and lowered the tender out onto the sea, was spent sailing the oceans of the world on these massive yachts, driving it straight to the port all by myself was not at all difficult.

We’ve been to Tahiti lots of times. So many times I was recognized. And welcomed. Of course, I’ve never showed up alone before, but this was the day after my birthday, I told them with genuine excitement. The adrenaline coursing through my blood was making me jittery, but the local customs agent took it as nerves from being on my own for the first time.

I got everything in order at the dock, paid the fee. And took a cab straight to Faa'a International where I boarded a plane to Hawaii. I stepped off that plane Harper Tate and boarded the next one as Jillian Stewart. And when I landed in Los Angeles I was free.

I had one backpack, but it contained a key. A key my brother gave me the day before our eighteenth birthday. I have no idea how he got a hold of it, but I didn’t ask. Because that was our last day together and I was still in denial that he would leave without me.

It’s not like he had a choice. They took him. But he left behind the key.

There was an address and a number engraved on it. I took a cab to the UCLA Library, rode the elevator up to the fifth-floor quarter lockers. And found my future.

Thirty thousand dollars. A phone number. A phone. A flash drive in the shape of a fish. And a bottle of Ativan, with a warning on the outside from Nick not to take them unless it was absolutely necessary. It took us six months to wean me off them. It was a long process and even now, after being mostly clean for almost a year, I still run to the pills when things get overwhelming.

And then I took my money, called the number, took a cab to the address, paid the rent in full for one year, and sat down in that solitary chair in the living room and waited.

It took me weeks to settle in. I looked over my shoulder everywhere I went. I imagined my life if I had stayed one more day. Married off to some old man.

That’s what my father was planning. It was no secret that Nick and I would be separated on our eighteenth birthday, but they kept this little marriage deal quiet until I was sixteen. Then ever so slowly, hints would be dropped. Oh, Harper, you will make some lucky man very happy when you turn eighteen. Hints like that was how it started. But by the time I was seventeen they were overt. Which dress do you like for your wedding, Harper? the shoppers in port would ask me.

But I am quiet. I don’t interrupt. And I pick and choose my battles. There is no point in fighting until I can win the war.

Have I won? I have a beautiful assassin in my bed. I’m still free. He didn’t kill me—he fucked me. I’m falling for him. He makes me feel safe. I want to be next to him. Even now, I want him.

But maybe he’s just as good at picking battles as I am?

There’s a small knock at the door. “Harper,” James says quietly. “Everything OK?” he doesn’t wait for my answer, just turns the handle and opens the door. I smile at him. I can’t help it, he’s so damn beautiful. “Shower?” he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the steaming hot water spraying down in the tub.

I nod and smile. He walks over to the shower knobs and adjusts the temperature, then pulls out the top drawer of my vanity and finds a new shaver. I raise my eyebrows at him. Not about the shaving. I believed him when he said he’d do it. But the fact that he knows where I keep the shavers means he’s checked out my entire apartment when he was in here stalking me.

“Does that creep you out?” he asks, like he’s reading my mind.

“Yeah,” I answer back, nodding. “Why were you watching me?” I try not to be accusatory, but that’s how it comes out.

He takes my hand and leads me over to the shower. He steps into the tub and I follow. He stands under the spray of water and closes his eyes as he drags his hands down his face and then he shakes his head, sending drops flying in my direction and messing up his hair in a way that makes me crave his touch.

He steps out of the water and gently maneuvers me in his place. I tip my head back and enjoy the pulsations and the stream flowing down the back of my head. I step away and drag my fingers over my eyes so I can watch his soapy hands massage my arm.

“Once I made you, I had to figure out who you were. I had a good idea. I’d seen the pictures they circulated a few months earlier. They knew you were here in the LA area, that passport fooled no one once they accessed the security footage. So I suppose that’s why they wanted me to take my time off down here in the OC.”

“Do they know where I am exactly?”

“I haven’t reported you,” he says simply. But that’s not really an answer.

“Won’t you get in a lot of trouble? For keeping me a secret? Won’t the Admiral be pissed when he finds out?”

“Maybe he doesn’t find out?” His hands move onto my thighs. Lathering them up with soap. Dragging his palms all the way down to my calves, then sliding back up and dipping between my legs to tease me. He gets my pubic hair filled with bubbles and then taps my inner thigh lightly. “Open your legs, Harper.”

He reaches for the razor while I spread my legs. I trim myself down there. It’s not wild and uncontrollable, so he places the razor at the apex and gently removes the hair from the front. His fingers probe between my folds as he continues, making me wet and wanting as my skin becomes smooth. He takes my hand and places it over the shaved area. “Feel it, Harper.”

I pass my fingertips across the area and enjoy the feeling. He places his hand on mine and we both move up and down my crease. He pushes my fingers inside me, then he kneels down, picks up my leg, and places it over his shoulder. His face dips between my legs and he licks. God, I just want to die. Just fall into a heap of nothing as I relish the pleasure he’s bestowing on me.

All thoughts of his secrets and devious ways evaporate. I’m at his mercy once again. I come almost instantly, this orgasm just as powerful as the rest. I slump against him as he washes my hair, then turns the water off and gently pats me down with a towel.

“We’re not done yet, Harper.”

I gaze up at him, in awe of his beauty. His ability to be gentle and soft with me, even though he counts as one of the most dangerous men in the entire world.

I might be falling in love with a killer.

He leads me naked back into the living area, stopping in front of the chair. “Bend over,” he says in that calm voice. I look over my shoulder at these words. He smiles and my fear begins to melt. “Trust,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” And then he pushes on my back until I bend over the chair, exposing my ass to him.

He begins a slow rub of each cheek, kneading my supple muscles and occasionally passing over the backside of my pussy. He kneels down and begins to lick again, his fingers joining in until I’m primed and ready once more. I’m sore from all the attention, but then he removes his fingers and probes at the little bud of my ass.

He slips a finger inside and I gasp. “Oh, that’s painful,” I say as he removes it.

“Relax,” he whispers into my neck. “I’m too tired to go slow right now. I’d like it hard and fast this time. So we’ll try new things next time.” And then he bites my shoulder and thrusts inside my pussy. I struggle under him, the pain ripping through me this time. He was not lying, it’s not gentle and it’s not slow. But his hands caress up and down my thigh as he whispers sweet things. “You’re so beautiful,” he says. “You drive me wild,” he moans as he pulls back and then thrusts again. This time the pain is less, and each time after, the pleasure overtakes it.

When he’s confident I’m OK, he stands back up, his hands on my hips.

And then he fucks me. Hard. Like a man fucks a woman and not the way a man fucks a girl. He makes me a woman. And even though it hurts, it feels so good. It feels so fucking good I can’t imagine not wanting him to take me like this over and over again.

He pulls out and turns me around, thrusting me to my knees in front of him, and then he comes all over my chest. I watch his face this time. He throws back his head and opens his mouth in a groan of pleasure.

And I see it.

I feel it.

The power I have over him is as real as the power he has over me.

He leads me over to the bed and lays me down. “Be right back. Stay still and I’ll clean you up.” And then he strides into the bathroom and closes the door. At the same time his phone vibrates on the floor and I look down. It must’ve fallen out of his pants earlier.

I don’t mean to spy, but it’s lit up on the floor, staring at me. I squint to see the words. It’s an address. I read it to myself and then commit it to memory. Another text comes in, making the phone vibrate again. All set, this one says.

The bathroom doorknob jiggles and I turn over quickly, grabbing the pillow and covering my face to feign sleep. If he’s bothered by the lit-up message on the floor, it’s not apparent to me. Because his step never falters as he makes his way over to the bed. “Harper,” he says as he pulls on my shoulder to turn me back over. I open my eyes slightly, smile, and then close them again as he wipes the warm washcloth up and down my breasts.

A few minutes later he climbs into bed with me and pulls me into his chest again. He kisses me on the head and leans in. “You’re mine now, Harp. You’re mine now. No matter what happens, you’re mine.”

Chapter Fourteen HARPER

When I wake he’s gone.

There’s a note on the counter and a shitload of cash. I count out the bills as I stand there naked. Seven hundred and forty-two dollars. He carries a lot of money on him. The note says—Go grocery shopping. You’re too skinny. Be back soon.

That’s it.

Be back soon.

But tomorrow comes and goes. And more and more tomorrows come and go. And still James does not come back. I stare at my phone, willing him to call me. Why didn’t I get his stupid phone number when I was spying on his useless text messages?

I stand in the little mechanical room looking down at my stash of cash. I have fifteen hundred dollars now. And an address committed to memory. My backpack is stuffed with clothes and necessities as I leave my key and take my money.

Maybe I’m coming back, maybe I’m not. But I’m leaving nothing behind. I’m tired of waiting around for the people I care about to come collect me. I’m tired of wondering if Nick is dead or alive. And even though it’s only been a few days, I’m tired of wondering about James as well.

I’m tired of being invisible.

I’m tired of being quiet, and patient, and following directions.

But most of all, I’m tired of the endless pause my life has become. I’m going to find the men who took the one person in this world I can trust.

I’m gonna get back the brother I lost or I’m gonna die trying.

This novella is the prequel to the new Dirty, Dark, and Dangerous romantic suspense duet that I’m writing. The next full-length book is due to be released the end of June and the second and final book is due in late September.

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