Page 150 of The Company

And then I sigh and look back at my dad’s booth. It feels like he could just come walking right out of the back room. That instead of Merc running this place for the last several months, it would be him.

“It’s not, Sasha. So just get used to it. The only thing that matters now is revenge.”

I can’t believe I said that out loud.

I walk into the booth and start looking for clothes. I rummage around the vintage section until I find a pair of green army fatigues in a small enough size, and then I undress and pull them on real fast.

I find a white t-shirt and some old boots and put those on too.

And now… I feel like the real Sasha. It should make me smile, but instead it makes me nostalgic for the life I used to have. It might not have been anything special to people on the outside, but to me it definitely was.

I don’t care about hunting or fishing. I could take or leave camping and survival training. But the thing is, I did all that stuff with my dad. He made all that stuff special.

And now that he’s gone… well…I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to ever set foot in the forest again. I don’t want to shoot guns or bows. I don’t want to camp or survive.

I just want to get even and then I want them all to leave me alone.

I turn my back on the store and walk back to my own booth. On the far table there’s shards of wrapping paper and ribbon from the last day I was here. Christmas Eve. The day Merc came to buy guns and Ford came to buy presents. I allow a miniscule smile for Ford and then a small chuckle startles me as strong hands clasp over my eyes.

I react with an elbow to my attacker’s ribs.

“Ow,” he bellows. “I give! I give!”

His hands come down from my eyes and I whirl around with surprise and excitement. “Nick!”

He holds me by the shoulders and then pulls me in tight for a hug. “God, I was fucking worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” I say into his shirt as he holds me close. “Really,” I say, pushing him back. I like Nick. And I think he likes me too, but not the way I like him. The fact that he’s touching me makes me jittery in a way that freaks me out.

“Sasha.” He holds my face in his hands and I have a moment of panic that he will kiss me and then that changes to regret when he doesn’t. “You look good, kid. A lot better than I imagined all these months.”

I duck under his arm and scoot out of his grasp, making him turn. “You look good too. Far too good for a guy who’s been on the run for a year.”

He smirks at me and for a moment I think he’s flirting. But then he pats his front pocket and pulls out a handful of suckers. Those little tiny ones they give away free in the old-lady booths here in the mall.

“You have got to be kidding me. You brought me candy? What am I, six?”

“Look,” he says, fanning them out a little. “They’re all butterscotch. Your favorite.”

Aww. I might melt a little. He knows my favorite flavor. I take them, but he grabs one for himself and then bites off the wrapper and spits it out on the floor.

I just stare at his lips as he puts the sucker in his mouth and starts talking about how he stopped off at a truck stop on his way into town and picked through the canister until he found… oh, fuck. I have no idea what he’s saying. I’m still looking at his mouth.

He’s looking at me expectantly. “What?” I ask.

He pops that sucker out of his mouth and holds it out for me. “Here, I don’t want it.”

“Then why did you take it?” I ask, laughing. I take the sucker, not really sure what I’ll do with it.

And then he leans into my space and slides his hands up into my hair. “I just wanted to lick it before you did.”

A shotgun cocks off to the side of us and we both turn our heads slowly.

“You’re gonna take your hands off my Smurf and back the fuck away.”

Nick laughs but James does not look like he’s joking. In fact, James looks like Tet right now. “Smurf?” Nick laughs again, only louder this time. “First of all, Six, if this Smurf belongs to anyone, it’s me.” He looks over at me. “Right, Sash?”

God, I’m so bad at choosing sides. So I hesitate. But that’s OK, because James steps forward into Nick’s space and looks down at him. James is an inch or so taller, so he can do that. “She’s thirteen years old, Tate. If you touch her a minute before she’s eighteen, I’ll cut your fucking balls off.”