“What life? If I’m his property, then what life?”
“Children, Harper. Your job as a Company woman is to have children. And”—the Admiral looks over at Vincent and smiles—“Vincent says he’d like you to take part in his new role as well. See? He already loves and cares for you enough to consider the idea of letting you work.”
“Letting me—” I can’t think straight. “Children?” He has got to be joking. “Slaves, you mean? Like me? Daughters who will be sold off when they turn eighteen? Sons who will be given away to whomever to be turned into killers?”
“Your sons will not be killers, Harper. Don’t overreact. Your sons will be Company royalty.”
“Like Nick?” I scoff. “Who was taught to kill and taught me to kill?”
“Nick,” my father laughs. “Nick is not royalty, sweetie. You are not royalty. But your children, with Vincent’s blood mixed in, will be. You are the start of a new Company line. The two strongest families will be united after tonight and a new era of power will begin. We own everything, Harper. We have people in positions in every world government that matters. We run the US Senate and the next president will be a Company man, regardless of which party gets elected. We hold private utility companies, prisons, water treatment plants, hospitals, and millions of acres of farmland. We control everything but the hearts and minds of the people. And that comes next. You, Harper, along with Vincent, will capture their imaginations. The pretty girl with the handsome politician. The road to power, and your place in history, is my everlasting gift to you.”
Oh my God. It’s like he’s a villain in those comic books Nick and I used to read.
“Ready?” And then Vincent has me by the elbow. Not hard, still gentle. But it’s not even a question. It’s a foregone conclusion.
I let him lead me away, not knowing what else to do.
“Harper,” Vincent says as he leans down in my ear. “Do you want anything from your room?”
I consider this. I consider the phone. But the more I think about it, the less likely it is that the phone in my room is the phone I had from before. I probably fucked things up by trying to text James. “No, thank you,” I say, falling back on my manners to help me get through things.
My promised man wraps an arm around me and guides me over to the ladder that leads below deck. “I thought there was a helicopter?” But before the words are out of my mouth, I know there’s no helicopter waiting on this ship. It’s a fucking sailboat.
“Once we board my yacht we can take the helicopter to my home. Our home,” he amends. It will be wonderful, you’ll see. And soon, Tet will be gone and you’ll never have to think of him again.”
He pulls a hoodie on over his head and then he slips his feet into a pair of gray canvas boat shoes and grabs my hand. We go down three floors and make our way to the garage. There are men there waiting for us. My body feels hot as I realize that they all knew I was coming aboard only so I could be given away. They probably love the fact that I’m being punished. I killed thirteen people, some of them crew. They probably hate me.
“Step carefully,” Vincent says as he holds his hand out to help me into the tender, but not ours. His.
I settle in the seat next to Vincent at his request and he puts his arm around me. “Are you cold, lionfish?”
“What did you just call me?” The nerve of him.
“Lionfish,” he says, nuzzling my ear as we take out into the darkness. “Remember I gave you that name on the beach? After you told me about touching the stingers?”
“I told that story to James, not you.”
“Baby,” he says as his hand slips between my legs and his mouth covers mine for the briefest of moments. “I am James. How do you not recognize me?”
I tilt my head up to say no, but his mouth is right there. It covers mine. His tongue slips in and tangles with me. His hands are busy rubbing my inner thighs and then his fingers slip right up to my panties.
I push him off and scoot away. “You’re not him,” I say, not very convincingly.
“Oh, but I am. And when we get home, we’re gonna have that talk about power all over again.”
Chapter Fourteen
Harper
He is not James. He is not James. He is not James.
I know he’s not James, I don’t need the mantra to convince myself. I say it because I need to keep my mind from spinning out of control while we’re on the boat. It takes a long time to reach his yacht, and once we’re there, he takes me to a stateroom and says good night.
That’s it. Just good night.
The closet has two outfits. One set of modest night clothes. Tank top and shorts. And one set of outdoor wear. Jeans, boots, plain cotton shirt, and a light jacket.
I have a feeling we’re not going to be staying on board the yacht very long.
The bathroom is fitted with a large round tub, and even though all these things have happened to me in such a short time, I soak in the tub. I need something to settle me. To calm me. Hot water and a bottle of pills in an orange bottle on the counter are all I have, and I don’t want to take those pills. I cannot take those pills again.
So I soak for a little while and then change into my night clothes. When I come out of the bathroom, there’s a tray with cocoa and cookies.
Cocoa and cookies. Like I’m six fucking years old.
I drink the cocoa and skip the snack, then climb into bed. The ship is moving fast—full speed from the feel of it. It makes my stomach sick to think about it. It’s been far too long since I’ve been at sea for this to feel normal, but after tossing and turning for a few minutes, I finally drift off.