Vincent actually picks me up and carries me over to the ladder, then places my feet on the third rung and orders me to climb.
I climb. But my heart is beating fast. And I realize, as I’m ushered into the helicopter like we’re in a war zone, it’s not from fear.
It’s from hate.
This is what it feels like to hate.
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.”
I climb. But my heart is beating fast. And I realize, as I’m ushered into the helicopter like we’re in a war zone, it’s not from fear.
It’s from hate.
This is what it feels like to hate.
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.”
