Coming for You (Dirty, Dark, and Deadly 3)

“You promised me to someone.”

“I had to. It’s required. Which is why I’m not upset that didn’t happen.”

“James said you promised me to him.”

“Tet is mistaken.”

“I remember him, though. From the beach party when we turned Six.”

“He said no, Harper. I gave him the opportunity and he said no. That was the end of it for me.”

“But you sent for him every year.”

This makes him hesitate. “Tet told you that?”

“James told me that.”

My father sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “It would be a very big mistake to mix them up, Harper. James is not Tet, and Tet is not James.”

I get a really sick feeling in my stomach at that comment. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s insane. He’s been this way for a very long time. Years.”

“Then why is he still working?”

My father smiles like he feels sorry for me. “Let’s catch up over dinner. OK? Can you sit up?”

“I’m sure I can.”

“I’d like you to sit up so I can make sure you’re not dizzy.”

I huff out a long sigh and then wiggle around until I prop myself up. I am dizzy, so I close my eyes and his steadying hand is on my shoulder. “I’m OK,” I say. But there’s something poking me in the butt, so I reach around and pull out my cell phone.

I look up at my father and wait for him to take it away.

He shrugs. “You’re a grown woman, you’re not a prisoner here, Harper. If that’s your phone, you are welcome to use it.” He lets that sink in for a few seconds, and then he nods and walks towards the cabin door. “One hour, Harp. Clean up and dress nicely, please.”

And then he and the doctor walk out, closing the door behind them.

I sigh again and look around. It’s my same room. This is my favorite yacht. The sailing ship.

Why is he being so nice? Not that my father was ever abusive towards me, but I poisoned thirteen people when I left. I ran away with no explanation.

It’s true he never paid much attention. He was certainly never this doting. But this whole act right now seems to be one of… concern.

Is it real? Is it possible that Nick led me to believe we were in danger from him for reasons that were unfounded?

Do I need to start questioning my trust in my twin?

I don’t have the energy for it. The drugs might be wearing off, but my head isn’t working right. I feel a little sick. And the slight rolling motion of the yacht is not helping.

I look down at the phone and press the little button to wake it up. There’s a message from James.

I look around nervously. I can’t believe my father would just let me receive messages like this. I mean, I don’t get it. He said I’m not a prisoner, but you don’t drug someone and force them to come aboard your ship if they’re not being kidnapped.

But then again he’s my father and this is… was… might still be… my home. Is it really kidnapping?

I open the message and read it.

I’m sorry.

I bet he is. Asshole. I want to talk to him, but not yet. I need to have dinner to clear my head and think straight. I need to get a grip on what’s happening.

I swing my legs over the side of the bunk and stand up, stumbling my way to the head attached to my cabin. I’m not used to being on a ship anymore and it both frightens and thrills me that I’ve lost my sea legs. Frightens me because that was my whole life before I left. The sea. The ship. The sailing. I don’t want to lose that part of me. It’s who I am.

But I’m excited about having been away for so long. Living at the beach. Seeing the world from the opposite perspective. Living on my own.

That makes me smile. And yes, I was quite the mess for most of that. But I did it.

I’m excited that I met James and had sex. Jesus. If my dad found out about that, I’m not sure what he’d do. I don’t think James was sent to fuck me.

I really want to talk to him and it’s killing me to wait. But I need to play this right. I feel like I’m part of a game. I’m a chess piece. I’m a card that’s being held or played. I’m not quite sure.

But I do know one thing. Actions have consequences. I can’t afford to mess this up.

So dinner it is. It’s late, I know that. Because when I look out my porthole, I see nothing but black. The ship is rocking some, but it doesn’t feel like we’re moving, so we must still be in port.

OK. So I need to dress and go above deck for dinner.

I walk to my locker and open it. I recognize a few things. A bathing suit. Some flipflops. A beach bag. But other than that, the dresses are all new. I have six. One for each night of the week. This is how it’s always been. One dress for each day I’m expected for dinner. We never had dinner on Sundays so I never needed seven dresses. And that kinda set the standard for how many sets of clothing I required. I have six pairs of shorts folded neatly on a shelf. And six tank tops on the shelf above. I have two pairs of shoes besides the flip flops. One fancy, one casual.

James asked me if I was spoiled and I said yes. But that’s only because of how I was brought up. Not what I was given. I’ve never had an abundance of things. There’s just not enough room on a ship, even one this size, for collections.

We went shopping six times a year. Every two months. And on each trip a new wardrobe was purchased for me. Six of this, six of that. Six, six, six. My life has always been about sixes.