Page 11 of Gorgeous Misery

“I got a call about a week ago,” Sasha finally says.

“Yeah?” I ask. “From who?”

“Do you know Adam Boucher?”

“Adam. Boucher.” I say it like that. Two words. “No. Never heard of him. Who is he?”

“He runs the Company now.”

My eyebrows go up. “No fucking shit?”

“No fucking shit.”

“So… what’s up with that? He wants to kill me or something?”

Sasha chuckles. “No. He’s not like that. I mean”—she pauses—“he is like that, but he doesn’t care about us.”

“So what’s he care about? And why is he calling you?”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. Apparently, what he cares about right now is a man called Donovan Couture. You ever heard of him?”

I shake my head.

“How about Carter Couture?”

“No. I don’t know either of them.”

“Well, this is the problem, I think. They are the same person. And Adam is looking for a favor.”

“Same person? What the hell does that mean?”

Sasha lets out a long breath and averts her eyes to the pool where Jacob is coming down the slide. The kids are squealing and laughing. Then she looks over to the outdoor kitchen where Jax is cooking hamburgers and hotdogs and chatting with Sydney. “He’s Company too. Very… what’s the word I’m looking for here?” She taps her chin with a finger. “Um. He’s… royalty, I guess.”

“Royalty?” I can’t stop the scoff.

“The Coutures are one of the original families. God, I haven’t thought about this shit in so long, I can’t even remember what we called them.” She pauses to think. “Founders. Untouchables. Remember?”

“No,” I say again. “I’m not Company, Sash. I’m not really up on the family jargon.”

“Well, that’s who he is. Like… major fucking rank.”

“OK. What’s that got to do with me and this dude Adam?”

“Adam is rank too.” Her face darkens, like she just remembered something important. “He’s like Nick. He’s the same rank Nick was. The Tates, the Coutures, and the Bouchers, they are all Untouchables.”

“Oh,” I say. A chill runs through my body.

“Anyway,” Sasha continues. “Donovan is… well. Fucked. He’s fucked. He’s a dual personality. He was trained as PSYOPS—”

“Fuck that,” I interrupt. “Fuck, no. Hell the fuck no.”

“I haven’t even asked you the question yet.”

“I don’t need to hear the rest. My answer is no. I’m not getting involved with any of that shit. Never. Ever. I won’t do it.”

“Merc.”

“Sasha.”