Gorgeous Misery (Creeping Beautiful)

Once a Company man, always a Company man.

I don’t care that Merc doesn’t have Company blood flowing through his veins, you don’t do the things he’s done and keep your distance.

Bringing Sasha here was a cold, calculating move on his part. One that might set me on edge and possibly make me sloppy. That is a fantasy. I am one hundred percent in control here.

But he also brought her here to point him in the right direction. Should he go meet up with Adam Boucher and save Donovan, or shouldn’t he?

And now, thanks to me, he’s got another choice.

Should he kill Carter Couture or save him for a rainy day?

This makes me feel a little better because it means Merc is still in the dark about what’s really going on. If Merc knows anything else about what I’m up to, he hasn’t shown his hand. And right now would be the time to play that card. We’re just about there. We’re so close to getting back inside Harrison’s jet and taking it down to the Old Pearl River in Louisiana, I almost itch from all the mosquito bites in my future.

But I don’t say any of that out loud.

I do, however, look over my shoulder at the house. Because Merc should be outside by now and he’s not. And then, when I look back up at the plane, Harrison isn’t there anymore. He went back inside.

So. Maybe this confrontation wasn’t Merc’s main purpose, but he’s gonna let it play out.

I prepare for what comes next by drawing in a long, deep breath and exhaling very slowly.

Sasha notices my calm-down technique and nods her head. “OK. We’re in assassin mode now? Or what?”

“What?” I barely manage this word.

“Do I scare you or something? Because I’m not that girl anymore. Haven’t been her since that day out in Kansas when I killed you.”

“No.”

“Tell me, Nick. That’s who you are, right? Because that’s who you look like. Tell me which part I got wrong.”

“I’m him, yeah. But no, we’re not assassins. This isn’t… that.”

“Then what is it?”

I look over my shoulder.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Because, Sasha, I didn’t bring you here. Merc did.”

“You don’t want me here?”

“No. I mean…” But I can’t change that reply, so I just sigh.

I haven’t been fantasizing about this moment. I was never going to see them face to face again. Her or Lauren. It was done. It was over. And yeah, I like to look at her life from a distance. I live a little vicariously through Sasha Cherlin’s suburban mom life. So kill me. But I was never going to see her again and I sure as fuck was never going to bring her out here. To this shitty, run-down fucking farmhouse that—

OK. Maybe that sounds bad because I bring Wendy here. But Wendy shows up here. And the only reason that happens is because I own this place and sometimes, I’m actually home. I have never thought of this house in the middle of my massive farm as anything other than a waystation.

But now that it’s been invaded by my past… I am starting to resent the intrusion.

“OK.” Sasha chuckles, but it’s not a fun chuckle. “You had better say every single thought that just ran through your head out loud or I’m getting on that plane and I’m leaving.”

“I don’t want you here. So if you leave—” I stop. Take a breath.

“You don’t want me here? You… you… you go on a fucking killing spree ten years ago, show up at my house—my fucking home, Nick!—to tell me to do my job, and then you make me kill you—”

“No.”

“Kill you. Shoot you in the fucking head. And I find out today it was a lie. And you want me to know you don’t want me here?”

“Fuck. You.” I growl. “I did not lie to you. I never lied to you.”

“Wait.” She holds up a hand. “You never lied to me?” She guffaws. “You left me in a fucking hotel room in Wyoming. Stranded me there, Nick. I was thirteen years old.”

“Funny. I recall you showing up in Santa Barbara just a few weeks later.”

“You left me a couple hundred dollars, a Styrofoam take-out container filled with soggy pancakes, and a note that said—”

“What’s your point?”

“What’s my point?” She guffaws again. “What’s your fucking point?”

“You want to hear my point? Here it is. I love you and I only want what’s best for you.”

This is a dick fucking move and her face crumples. She is thirteen again. She is thirteen and I’m about to break her heart with my fucking practiced speech. I didn’t have to do it then. I could’ve just done the whole thing with her. Hell, she showed up and played her part anyway, didn’t she? What was the point of abandoning her the way I did?