Page 39 of The Company

“Well, I find that hard to believe, since you don’t even know who sent you to pick me up.”

“It was Merc,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Sure, if you say so. But the last time I talked to Merc was in March. He’s my emergency contact, you know. You’re no one special. So I called him to tell him my grandparents were dead and since Ford put him in charge of me because he got my dad killed on Christmas Eve, it was his job to help me out. And you wanna know what he said to me?” Her eyes are tearing up so my answer to that question is no. Not really. But she doesn’t wait for an answer. “He said, ‘Suck it up, crybaby. I’m busy. If you can’t manage on your own, there’s a school for Company orphans up in Montana. I’ll let them know you’re coming.’”

She stares at me. Hard. And I get a sick feeling in my stomach. “Who sent me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

We unbuckle our seatbelts at the same time and she’s standing in the aisle before I’m done. She’s a quick little fucker. I get up slowly and take a step towards her. It’s a stalk, complete with narrowed eyes, like she’s my prey and I’m about to take care of business.

She holds her ground. “You wanna know how long I was really out there, Six? Or do you want to keep walking through life pretending you’re a good guy and all the evil you represent is normal?”

I stop a few feet away and clench my jaw. I hate this fucking kid right now and I don’t think I gave her my number, but she sure the fuck knows who I am. “Whatever happened to you, that has nothing to do with me.”

“No?” She swallows down her fear. And I know that’s fear. I specialize in fear. And everything about her body—from her face, to her tense muscles, to her stance—all of it says fear. “And yet here you are. With me. In a plane. Going to the wrong place. Working for the wrong man. You’ve been set up. This is a big joke and everyone but you is laughing.”

I grab her by the throat and push her to the floor.

“Hey!” Harrison calls. “Not here, Tet. No kids get hurt on my ride.”

I let her go, walk back to my seat, and pick up my orange juice. “How long then?” She’ll answer this question. She wants me to ask. It’s a long time, I realize now. That’s why she’s so wild. It was a long time and she’s dying for someone to know how long she’s been out there living like a savage.

Sasha picks herself up from the floor and takes her seat across from me again. “Three months.”

I make no move. I make no sound. I do not acknowledge her in any way. She wants accolades for surviving. And I’m not gonna hand them out for a few months of camping.

She holds my stare and then looks away. I wonder if Harper is wild like this? I’ve been able to control Harper, but she’s mine. I’m using sex to rein her in and make her submit.

This one is not mine. Plus she’s way too young. She doesn’t think I’ll beat her. Kill her, maybe. But beat her, no. Kids who come from loving families are dumb like that. She’s got no fear of my fists because from what I know of her father, she was well-loved before they killed him. I’m not interested in changing that. So I won’t be hitting her. And now I can’t kill her. Because Merc was not the sender of that text. She’s not lying about that. She knows who sent me and she’s not gonna tell me if she’s dead.

“I got a message too, James.”

Did I tell her my name? “What’d it say?”

She stares at me for a few seconds. I hold her stare. “GPS coordinates.”

“Yeah, and?” I wave her on with my hand.

“When I got there, there was a bunch of gear waiting. And a new phone with a text message.”

She stares at me again, waiting. And I swear to God, if this kid was a man, I’d punch his face in right now. I’d break a finger for every second he made me wait. I take a deep breath. “And the message said?”

“It said, I’ll send him soon. That’s it.”

She’s lying. She is fucking lying. I know it. But I nod at her. Because she’s not gonna tell me shit right now. She hates my guts. “Then how’d you know I’m being set up?”

“Because I got another text last night. And that one said, Tell Six she left.”

The blood rushes out of my face. I get up and walk to the cockpit. “Harrison, I’m using my phone.”

“I got a satellite phone right there,” he says, pointing to the bag of gear on the seat next to him.

“Sorry,” I tell him as I go back to the cabin. “I need a secure line.” I punch in Harper’s number.

It rings. And rings.

“Hello?”