Come Back (Dirty, Dark, and Deadly 2)

“Enough,” I beg. “I can’t breathe!”

He eases up slightly, not enough to let me breathe comfortably, but it takes the crushing pressure off. “Now listen to me. You will calm the f**k down or I swear to God, Harper, I’ll tie you up until you do as you’re told. You are out of control.” He leans into me again to make his point, and I whine in response. “Do you understand?”

“I need to know right now, James. I need to know.”

“I’m gonna check, not you.” He eases up again, to test my response I think, but I give up. What’s the point of fighting over checking a dead body? “You OK?”

I nod. And then he’s off me. I sit up and watch. The sun is starting to come up now, so there’s enough light to see a few details. The color of the bike. Orange. The hair sticking out from the helmet in little tufts. Blond. I have to put a hand over my mouth to stop the wail when I realize that.

James grasps the helmet and twists. But the neck is broken, so it jiggles back and forth in a sickening way that make me lean right over and puke. “I can’t watch, I can’t watch.”

“Don’t watch, Harp,” James says as I cough and gag. And then all I hear is, “Oh, f**k.”

I roll over and press my face in the sandy ground and cry. “It’s him, isn’t it? It’s him!”

And them James is next to me, his calming hands rubbing my back. “It’s not him, Harper. It’s not him.”

I roll back to look James in the face and sit up to see for myself. “It’s not him!”

James pulls me into his chest and kisses me on the head. “It’s not him, but I know that guy.”

“Who?” Tears of relief are running down my face and I have to wipe my face.

“Someone who should be dead.”

“What?” I ask, still a bit slow from trying to process everything. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” James hesitates, like this isn’t something he wants to talk about. “I mean—”

“He means,” Sasha says behind us, “he killed them all. Or so he thought.”

We both turn around to find Sasha sitting up in the back seat. Her face is all bloody, her arms and legs covered in thorn scratches from the kidnapper riding through a wall of ocotillos.

“It was a setup, James,” she elaborates in a voice so devoid of emotion chills climb up my spine and prickle the skin at the nape of my neck. “I told you it was a setup.” And with those words she cracks and my chills evaporate. Her lips tremble and then she’s crying.

James gets up, pulls me to my feet with him, and then he walks over to the girl. “Hey, it’s the drugs, OK? You’re coming off some drugs. Just try and relax.”

“No, it’s not the drugs. It’s…” She trails off as she wipes her nose.

What a f**ked, f**ked, f**ked-up way to start a day.

“It’s what, Sasha?” James prods in that cool assassin voice. “It’s what? If you’ve got something to say, now is a really good f**king time to say it.”

She drags the back of her hand across her face one more time. “I don’t know much, but”—she points to her kidnapper—“I just want you to know I’m not a part of that. I don’t know what I’m a part of, but it’s not that.” She looks over at me now. “I’m not a part of that, James.”

“Do you know why he’d take you, Sasha?” James asks.

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter who I was working for yesterday, because today”—she looks at me again—“I work for no one. I’m not anyone’s pawn, or killer, or Smurf.” She snarls that last word out as she looks over at James. “I’m just a kid. I’m tired. I want to go home. I want Ford.”

I glance over at James to see what he’ll say but he just nods and leads me over to the Hummer. “Get in,” he says. It’s not his assassin voice, it’s worse. Because even though his words are calm and his volume is soft, it’s a do-not-fuck-with-me command.

I push Sasha until she scoots over the table hump and then James closes the door and jumps in the driver’s seat. He puts the Hummer in gear and does a U-ie, then heads back the way we came.

“What about the body?” I ask as it disappears out the back window.

“Who gives a f**k? He was already dead anyway. Like the kid said, I killed him last year.”

I don’t know what that means, but Sasha snorts and mutters, “Well, that was a huge fail,” under her breath.

James doesn’t hear it, or maybe he pretends not to hear it. He says nothing back to her. When we get to the house he parks in the driveway and sits for a few seconds.

We sit with him. In silence. And we wait for our orders. Because life just changed. We’re no longer some ex-Company associates playing house. “Harper.” He does not turn to look at me or even glance in the rear-view to see if I’m listening. But I am. “Harper, I’m gonna be honest with you here, OK? I know you took something with you when you left the yacht last summer. Everyone knows you have it.” And now he does turn to look at me. “I need it. Where is it?”

My mind is racing with suspicion. Why now? After all these months, why now? Why are they coming for me now? Is everything he said to me a lie?

“You need to trust someone besides Nick, Harper. Because Nick’s not here.” He studies my face to gauge my hesitation.