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

“I want to see myself in that dress,” I whisper. “I’ve never worn something so… grown up.”

“Then put it on. And come downstairs. We’ll eat outside since it’s nice. I’ll wait for you there.”

And then he backs out of my closet and I stand stock still as I hear the door close to the bedroom.

I look at the clothes.

I replay his words.

I see his intentions.

And none of it scares me.

But that… scares me.

Chapter Sixteen

Harper

I don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror and it takes me several minutes of self-reflection to decide I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. Of course, that’s hardly self-reflection. Usually when one self-reflects, they come to a conclusion. I don’t seem to be able to come to any conclusions.

I sigh at my image. I’m happy with the way I look. I am a bit on the athletic side. My legs are muscular, but the dress falls all the way to the floor, so they can’t be seen. My arms are a little too defined for a girl. But they are bronzed from the summer sun and the hairs on them are all that bleached shade of yellow that reminds me of Nick. His facial hair is like that.

God, I miss him. Does he know where I am? How will he find me now? My one-year anniversary is pretty much up. In fact, it might even be the same day James promised to come back for me. But I’m here in Santa Barbara and the two most important people in my life will be looking for me in the wrong place.

I shake off the worries. I can’t worry right now. I just need a breath. I just need a break.

I just need to figure out who this girl in the mirror is.

My attention goes to my hair. It’s a little long since I don’t do anything beyond combing it these days.

What am I talking about? I’ve never done anything beyond combing it.

My face has that just-washed pink hue to it from scrubbing. I don’t wear makeup, so I’m not sure if the way I look is acceptable or not.

And then the shoes. I have no idea what to put on my feet, so I put on some soft yellow ballet flats.

Will Vincent like my choice? Do I care if he likes it? Why the fuck am I wondering?

I turn away from the mirror and walk out of the closet. I’m done. It’s a dress. It’s a dinner. I’ve worn hundreds of dresses and attended just as many dinners.

I walk out of the room and make my way to the stairs. He said he’d be outside, so when I reach the bottom I walk around to the back of the house and squint my eyes as I try to find him through the glass doors. It’s no use. The lights are on inside and out there it’s dark. So I can’t see through them.

I walk calmly to the French doors I entered in a little while ago and open them. There is no one on the terrace, but I see a flickering fire a little way past where the helicopter landed.

“Vincent?” I call.

No answer. But I can see a shadow in front of the flames. I could yell and make him acknowledge that it’s him. Or I could just walk down there myself and stop being such a baby.

I have killed fourteen people, so I opt for being a grownup. But every step makes my heart beat erratically.

I’m more than halfway to the fire when he turns and yes, it is Vincent. My heart calms. Why? I’m not sure. This man took me away from everything I know and forced me into a life I neither asked for nor want.

Why am I such a nervous person? How can this stranger make me feel better so easily?

Am I drugged? I don’t feel drugged right now. But pretty much everyone has admitted to drugging me recently. So hey, it’s not an outlandish question. I should stop accepting drinks from these people.

“I love it,” Vincent says as soon as I’m close enough for him to reach out and grab my hand. His eyes slowly track down my slim body and then come to rest on my breasts before he looks back up at my face. “You’re stunning.”

I want to smile with satisfaction for putting myself together properly, or maybe even from the praise and desire I hear in his voice. But I hold it in.

It’s wrong. God, this is all so fucked up. “I think James would’ve liked this dress too.” I say it to be spiteful.

But Vincent doesn’t even blink. “I’m sure he would. As would any man, insane or not.”

A dig. But a small one. Not one worth an argument. I don’t care what Vincent thinks of James. I know James isn’t insane when we’re together, and that’s all that counts.

“Ready to eat?” Vincent asks, after letting me pause to think about his remark.

“Where? I don’t see a table.”

He places his other hand over the small of my back to lead me towards a paved path. “There’s a nice view of the ocean through these trees. I have an area set up down there that overlooks the marina and I thought it would be the perfect place for our first dinner.”

We walk for a little ways in silence and then there’s a break in the trees and sure enough, the moon is shining bright in the night sky, its reflection mirrored on the water below. The marina is small and so are the boats.

“It’s a Company neighborhood, Harper. And the Company owns that marina too.”

I’m not sure if he says it to just FYI me about how things are run around here. Or if he’s cautioning me about trying to run away and ask for help. So I don’t react.

“Here,” Vincent says, pulling out a chair for me at a table set for two. “The servers should be here soon. But we can have a drink while we wait.”