Chapter Twenty-Two
Harper
The ride back to the house only takes a few minutes. We don’t even bother to put our headsets. And from the look on Vincent’s face, he’s not in the mood to talk.
I’m not either.
When the helicopter lands Vincent pushes me to scoot out, and then he follows me. He puts his arms around my shoulders and walks me out from under the rotating blades.
We don’t talk. We just walk all the way to the house and I wait for him to open the door and allow me to pass through.
“Would you like to tell me what that was all about?” he asks, once we’re both inside the house.
I don’t want to think about it. “I’m tired.”
“Too bad.”
I look up at him with a sneer. “Yeah, too bad for you if you want to know. Because I’m not interested in talking.”
His jaw clenches but instead of continuing the fight, he takes my hand and leads me down the hallway towards the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating dinner.” We stop at the entrance to the kitchen and he feels around for the light switch. After the darkness of the house, it’s blinding. I bow my head and close my eyes, too worn out from that confrontation to care about food.
“Sit, Harper. I’ll make us something.”
I walk over to the stainless-steel island and sit on a stainless-steel stool as Vincent rummages around the kitchen looking for things. My legs are so cold from the metal chair I begin to shiver. “I’m not hungry, Vincent. I just want to go to bed.”
“You’ll be in bed soon enough. But first we’re going to eat.” He stares at the assortment of things he’s collected on the counter and then goes looking for something else. “Tell me something, Harper.”
“What?” I scowl at his back. “I don’t feel like talking about it, OK? You’re not going to like the answer anyway.”
“Forget about my bitch of a mother,” he says, dragging a waffle iron out of a cupboard. “Tell me why I’m not good enough for you.” He starts measuring flour and pouring it into a bowl. And as he does that I study him from behind. His back is well-defined. I can see his muscles working through his white dress shirt. He stops what he’s doing and rolls up his sleeves, then proceeds with his preparation. “I look like him. I sound like him.” His voice lowers for that. A deep rumble that makes me swallow. Because he does look and sound an awful lot like James. “I’m sure the fuck nicer than him.” And then he stops what he’s doing and looks over his shoulder. “You’d have to agree on that.”
I shrug. “James is very nice too.”
“He’s insane. They all say he’s insane. He went off that first year to do his killing and he came back damaged behind repair.”
“Do you know what happened?” I bite my lip, not really sure if I want to know or not.
“Everyone knows what happened.”
“Everyone but me.”
He’s silent as he mixes up the batter, his motions unhurried and deliberate. Like he’s made a lot of waffles in his life and he knows just what to do. There’s no recipe either. He just threw some things in a bowl.
“Will you tell me?”
“Do you really want to know?” He looks over his shoulder again. “I should tell you. Then maybe you’ll change your mind about him and settle for this life instead.”
“Do you want me if I have to settle?”
“I want you any way I can get you.” He finishes his mixing and sets the bowl aside before turning around to face me. “But it’s not fair to take you. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to our future children.”
God. He’s handsome. I can’t deny it. He’s so much like James. “I don’t think it would change my mind if I knew what happened to him. I think it would make me love him more.”
“Huh,” Vincent says as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I doubt that.”
“Tell me, then. Maybe this is your chance to win me over.”
He stares hard at me. His gaze is like steel. Cold and hard. He doesn’t look like the man who’s been trying to win me these past few days. He looks like I’ve pushed him past his breaking point. Like this confrontation with his mother was the last straw. “Twelve years ago James Fenici went on a mission to Central America and never came back.”
“He came back. He just came back later than expected.”
But Vincent shakes his head. “No. James never came back. Tet came back.”
“He’s not two people, Vincent. He’s just James.”
“He’s not two people, you’re right. He’s just Tet. James died in that Honduran prison. They starved him. Deprived him of water. Of basic facilities. They locked him in a cell that was not long enough to stretch out and not tall enough to stand up. And when it became clear that the Company wasn’t going to negotiate to get him back, even though he was the son of one of the most powerful elite members, they made him a slave and tortured him.”
I’m stuck on the word slave.
“But we all get mentors when we come of age. And James got One as his mentor. One. The same man who tried to kill you last week is the man who saved James that first year. It was a large debt to owe. Do you understand that?”
I never stop looking at Vincent. I can’t take my eyes off him. His arm muscles are contracting even as he tries to keep them steady across his chest. His jaw is clenching again. His hands are squeezed together into fists. “I don’t understand it, Vincent. I don’t know what that means to have a large debt.”
“Neither did James.”
Vincent turns around and starts pouring batter into the waffle iron. I watch him work and then when he’s done, he closes the lid and pushes a button before turning back to me. He looks slightly calmer than he did, but he’s still very tense.
“It means he owed One his life. He owed One his loyalty. He owed One everything. So every time One came to him with a request, James had to say yes.”
My heart is beating faster now. “What did he say yes to?”
“Vengeance murders. Drug dealing. Torture. And…” The waffle iron beeps and he turns to flip it over.
“And what else?”
“And… he kept secrets. Secrets One had. Secrets that need to be told.”
I wait for Vincent to elaborate, but he keeps his back to me. “That’s not enough,” I tell his back. “That’s not enough to change my mind about him.”
“That’s because you have no details, Miss Tate.” He turns his attention back to me. “The details are what change the hearts and minds.”
“He told me he killed hundreds of people. He told me all this. But I’m a killer too. You know that. I’m not innocent. I keep secrets. I have lots of secrets. Secrets about very bad men.”
“James Fenici is the worst of all those very bad men, Harper. The worst.”
“What secrets then? If the devil’s in the details, then give me details.”
Vincent lifts the waffles out of the waffle iron with a fork and plops them down on a plate. The delicious smell is in stark contrast to the conversation we’re having. It feels surreal. He spreads some butter over the little checkered pattern in the pastry, then dribbles maple syrup on top. His fingertips reach into a bag of powdered sugar and he flicks that over the syrup until it’s coated in white specks.
He walks the plate over to me and sets it down on the metal counter with a ting that rings through the room. “Fork?” he asks, holding one out for me.
“Thank you.” I take the fork and cut a little piece of waffle off as he leans over the counter and watches. I bring it to my mouth and for some reason, eating in front of him stirs me. My sex throbs for a moment as I take in the food and realize his gaze is trained on me. Only me. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
The smile wipes away the tense conversation and his eyes light up a bit. “Feed me.” And then he sends me a wicked grin that makes the throbbing grow.
I cut off another piece of waffle and bring it to his lips. “Tell me what secrets James kept.”
He opens his mouth and I place the food on his tongue, unable to stop watching his lips as they close around the fork. I pull it away and have to remind myself to breathe.
He points to the plate. “How about I feed you? You eat, and I’ll talk.”
I’m surprised it’s so easy to get the answers I’m looking for, but I’m in no position to argue, so I nod and hand him the fork.
He cuts off a piece of waffle and brings it to my mouth. I open for him, but at the last second he leans in and kisses me. He tastes like syrup and pastry. He tastes like breakfast with someone you love. He tastes like the life I wish I had. A normal life with no secrets. I’ve never wanted secrets. I’ve never wanted to know them. All my life I’ve been running from the facts, and now here I am, begging for them.
“You have to kiss me after every secret,” he whispers into my mouth. “You have to kiss me when I tell you these things or I won’t be able to do it.” And then he pulls back and brings the fork forward. I open my mouth for the food and he places it on my tongue until I grab it with my teeth and begin to chew.
“Say yes to that, Harper Tate, and I’ll tell you everything you think you want to know for the price of a kiss.”
I nod. I know the kiss is wrong, but it doesn’t feel wrong right now. It feels right in every way imaginable. “OK,” I whisper back.
“Nicola was given away when she was six. And James was the one who gave her away.” Vincent watches me for a reaction, but all I can do is stare into his eyes. “One knew he was never going to get a promise, so he asked James to give him his sister.”
“But… he told me that his mother and father gave her away. He told me—”
“He lied.” It cuts me off, that’s how forceful the declaration is. “He lies a lot, Harper. Even to you. Especially to you. He lies to himself too. The notebook was a lie, Harper. A delusional, fake world he talked himself into believing... because he couldn’t cope with the truth.”
The last few words come out soft. Almost a whisper. “What’s the truth, Vincent.”
He stares at me. Perhaps considering if this is a time to tell the truth or lie. But then he lets out a breath and I know what’s coming is the truth. “The truth that he got what he asked for. He chose that life and he got everything that came with it.”
“And his sister? What’s the truth about her?”
“James gave his sister away to One to pay his debt. That’s secret number one and now I get a kiss.” Vincent leans in and brushes his lips against mine. Softly. Like his words. Tenderly. Like his touch. It’s not demanding and harsh. It’s almost begging for forgiveness. “You don’t want James. You want Vincent.”
I push him back and shake my head. “He must’ve known she’d be taken care of, though. That One would take care of her.”
Vincent tries to smile and fails, so he cuts off another piece of waffle and feeds it to me instead. I chew slowly, trying to figure out what it is we’re doing here.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes,” I say. “If there’s more, I should know.”
He tips his chin up a little like that stung him. I’m sure he was counting on that driving a wedge between me and my love for James, but it can’t be the whole story. There has to be more.
“I need to hear it all,” I say. “If it’s all been a lie, then I need the truth. I can’t make decisions based on lies.”
“I know that,” he says, looking back down at the food. “That’s why I’m here.”
“So tell me the rest.”
“One trained her to fight. He trained her to kill. He trained her to lie, and steal, and cheat. He turned her into one of us. But before any of that could happen, the little girl needed to be comforted. She was ripped from her home. She was ripped from her family. She did nothing but cry for weeks. For months. And James was the one who settled her down.”
“How?” I picture this lost little girl, crying for her family. Locked away somewhere dark and scary.
“He told her lies, Harper. He lied to her for years and years. He told her how she would go home one day and see her family. He told her she’d live like a princess if she obeyed. He told her everything her little girl heart wanted to hear.”
“How old was James when he did this?”
Vincent shrugs as he presumably counts back the years. “It started at sixteen and went on until he was eighteen or nineteen, at least.”
“And that Nicola I met the other day? She’s the one?”
Vincent stares at me but says nothing.
“Because she looked fine to me. She sounded like a snooty rich girl, in fact. You said she’s an assassin. Good for her, I guess. So is Nick. So is James. It’s just a job, Vincent. Isn’t that what they always tell us? Everyone in the Company has a job. I have a job. I have to marry you and have babies. Did you ever ask me if I wanted to have babies? What if I don’t want to run board meetings? What if I’d rather be a marine biologist? Or a dog trainer? Maybe I’d rather be anything but this fucking girl sitting in this stupid industrial kitchen. Maybe Nicola has a better life as an assassin. Did you ever ask her? Maybe James did the right thing, getting her away from that wicked mother. Did that ever occur to you?”
I stare at him and he smiles as he leans in for a kiss. “You really are a lionfish, you know that?” And then his tongue slips in and his hand slides around my neck to keep me from pulling back. I open my mouth to him, responding to his request, and he moans and wraps his arms all the way around me. He scoots the stool closer to him, one hand sliding under to grab my ass, the other clasping me firmly by the neck. “I want you so fucking bad. I want to flip you over and fuck you right now.”
I squirm away and place a hand on his chest, but he grabs my wrists and yanks them behind my back. “That was a secret, so I get a kiss.” I turn my head when he tries and then he lets go and steps back. “You’re cheating.”
“You’re cheating,” I say back. “That wasn’t a secret. I want another one. Maybe I’m just a cold-hearted bitch, but boo fucking hoo for your sister. She doesn’t look so bad. I mean, I was trained by my brother too. What’s the difference? I was given to you. What’s the difference? So she got different parents? From what I can tell, that bitch of a mother of yours does not deserve children.”
He’s shaking his head the whole time I’m talking and so when I stop, I expect a protest. But he gives me silence instead. He looks away, then back, then away again. “One beat her,” he finally admits.
I swallow down that bitter truth. “Well, I’m sorry for that, of course. I’m sorry for that. No one deserves to get beaten. But One strangled me unconscious last week. I was drugged. Overdosed, in fact. So it looks like One does not discriminate when it comes to who he wants to abuse. And if the guy is one of the oldest, more seasoned assassins, then that means if he wanted your sister, he would have her. With or without help from James.” I stop talking and just stare at him. “Next.”
Vincent breaks a smile at that response. “You want more kisses, don’t you?”
I laugh under my breath. “No, I just want to know more about James. I want to know everything about James.”
“It’s all bad stuff, Harper. Why would you want to know? Why him? When I’m right here? Why bother with damaged when you can have perfect?”
“No one’s perfect, Vincent. You can’t tell me you grew up in this fucked-up family and came out perfect. It doesn’t matter how nice things look on the outside, it’s a lie. And we both know it.”
“He drowned our father. He tried to kill our father, but he failed.”
Now that has my attention.
Vincent nods. “He is the one who drowned him, Harper. James held him under the water for so long he came back to life brain-damaged—”
“I don’t care.”
Vincent looks at me and shakes his head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I don’t care.”
“He stalked you, Harper. He lied to you about being your promise. He knew the Admiral took that offer back. He stalked you all growing up. He’s dangerous and one day he’s gonna get you killed.”
“I don’t care.”
“He’s evil, Harper. He’s got no soul. He’s got no conscience—”
“I don’t care.”
Vincent reaches out and snatches my hand. I gasp from the sudden movement, and then again when I realize he’s placed it over his hard cock. “James used you to get this party. He’s using you to get revenge. You know what Come means? Come get me. Come here. Come find me. It’s a calling card to bring people together so they can be killed. You’re the fucking bait! Just like James was born to kill, you were born to be bait. So your father can kill. So my mother can kill. And he knows that. He set you up.”
“I don’t care, I said. I don’t fucking care.”
His hand squeezes mine, making me grip him. Or maybe I just want to grip him. His cock is just as big as James’. And when I look up, his eyes, his hair, his body—all of it says James to me.
He’s lifting my shirt off over my head before I even realize he’s not forcing me to cup his dick anymore. Yet I still hold it firm in my grasp. He flicks a nipple and then his mouth covers it, biting and twisting.
“Fuck,” he says as he brings his mouth to my neck. “I’m gonna fuck you unless you put up a fight. You understand? I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t wait any longer.”
I fully intend to pull back and put a stop to this, but then he slaps my tit, making it sting and bounce against my flesh. I’m shocked. Too shocked to even react, and then he does it again. He grabs my chin and holds it just a little bit too tight. Just enough to make the wetness that’s been building between my legs explode. “Oh, God,” I moan.
“James likes it rough, Harper. Do you want it rough? Vincent will fuck you nicely.”
“I want it rough. I like it rough,” I call out. “I want it hard. I want it so fucking hard.”
He scoops me up in his arms and carries me out of the kitchen.