Pretty Nightmare (Creeping Beautiful Book 2), page 10
“Whatever. I’m not interested in your cryptic secrets. I’ve got enough of my own.”
“I bet you do.”
“I’m not gonna kill you.”
He sneers at me. “I’m so over it. And besides, Indie will come back around. She always does. And when that happens, she’ll ask about me. She always does. And trust me on this, McKay. Doesn’t matter what she thinks I did to her. Or even what I actually did do to her. She loves me. And if she ever finds out you were the one to end it, she would never forgive you.”
“You don’t need to threaten me to save your life, Nathan. I already told you I wasn’t gonna kill you.”
“They’re not threats. They’re just facts.”
“Believe it or not, I don’t actually have an issue with you.” I narrow my eyes at him. “At least I didn’t. Up until now.”
Nathan says nothing to that.
And it’s a good thing too. Because I hear it in my voice. That growl. The very same one that Indie just used on Donovan when he dragged her into the house.
It’s not unique to her.
We all have it.
“But now,” I say, looking over in the direction of his cottage, “now you’re gonna sell me that land.” I nod my head towards it. “And you’re gonna disappear. For good, Nathan. I don’t care where you go, ya just can’t stay here.”
“Why? Because I might mess up his little plan? I might actually save Indie and Maggie instead of feeding them to the wolves? How fucking dumb are you?”
“How fuckin’ dumb am I?” I point to my chest, then shake my head. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
He looks back at the mansion and spits on the ground one more time. Like he’s trying to get the bad taste of Old Home out of his mouth. Then his one open eye finds mine. “Fuck you, McKay.”
I picture how I might kill Nathan St. James. Right here, standing on the edge of the garden, in full view of Old Home. Where Donovan might see. Or hell, maybe even Indie.
I put all the moves together the way I might on a job. When I’m in a rush and… you know, don’t want to drag the fucking process out. When I want to be efficient instead of psychotic.
But I cut off that imagery and tuck the plan away somewhere safe. Because he’s right.
The risk of Indie ever blaming me for Nathan’s death is low. Very low. Hell, she’s so damn impressionable, one short conversation—phrased just the right way—would be enough to convince her that she did, in fact, finish him off. And that would be the end of it.
But I’m tired. And still drugged. I feel better, but not a hundred percent. Nathan St. James won’t go easy. He will fight. He has a savage side to him. Always has. He will fight until his last fucking breath. And even then, he’ll use whatever residual chemical and neural reactions he has left inside his body to strike a final blow.
I know this because he is me.
He is Adam.
He is us.
“Here’s how this is gonna go down, Nathan. You are gonna leave here today and you are never gonna come back. I’m gonna make sure there’s nothing for you to come back to. Hear me?”
“As if there was ever anything here for me but Indie. And Donovan took her away from me a long time ago.”
I chew on that for a moment, trying to make all the words fit together in some sensible way.
“But I would just like to go on record…” Nathan’s eyes blaze with hate and anger.
Fuckin’ A. All this time I thought it was us who hated him, but this look right here? This says something else. He was the one who hated us.
“I would just like to make it clear that I left, OK? I left her when she told me I had to.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I didn’t leave her behind when I went to school because Adam threatened me. If you guys think I’m afraid of you—“ He laughs. It devolves into a cough pretty quick. But I get the general idea that he feels this to be a joke. “I’m not afraid of you. You know why I’m not afraid of you, Core McKay?”
“I’m not in the mood to guess. Or have this conversation, to be honest. But if this is something you need to get off your chest before you leave and never see my face again, then”—I pan my arms wide—“by all means, tell me more.”
He pauses. Makes a decent attempt at a smile. His one open eye might even be twinkling a little. “Because you taught me everything I know.”
I let out a long breath. He’s not wrong. I did train this fucking kid. And thinking back on it now, it was even my idea. He’s tough. And his martial arts skills are better than mine. Not as sure a shot as Indie. Or me, probably. But he can shoot. Not that it matters. Not that any of this matters. He has no gun now. He would fight, and he’d fight hard, but he wouldn’t win. Not in this condition.
But in another condition, one where he is not bleeding from the head and mouth, one where both of his eyes are open and he doesn’t have several broken ribs…
Then maybe. He’s in his prime. I’m on the other side of mine.
So. Maybe.
Maybe killing him is the better option?
If Adam were here, he’d do it.
“I left because Indie begged me to, McKay. She was waking up. She was remembering things.” He shakes his head. “Every day she would tell me something new while she was living at the cottage with me. Every fucking day it was something else you fuckers did to her.”
Something happens to me when he says these words. It doesn’t happen often. And it’s almost always just before something real bad is about to go down. I feel a rush of adrenaline. Not in my blood, like is typical. My heart doesn’t speed up at all. That’s not what this feels like. It’s in the muscles. In my arms. In my legs. It feels like I just did two hundred bench presses and every bit of stored energy in my body has been used up in an instant. It only takes a second or two. And then my arms and legs get tingly and numb.
And I feel… weak.
“She wanted me to take Magnolia with me. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”
“What—”
“You’re so fucking stupid, McKay. You’re his little fucking… what? What are you to him? Do you even know?”
I don’t answer. I figure the question was rhetorical. But there is a part of me that wants to answer. I just don’t know how.
“He used you, McKay. Just like he used Indie. She told me things. Maybe not everything, but she told me things. I know who you are.” He whispers this. “I know what you guys do.”
I laugh it off. “What do you want? A fuckin’ medal?”
He huffs, nods his head. “It’s all a joke to you guys, isn’t it? That little girl you stole. Those jobs you made her do. All that killing. The way Donovan warped her mind.”
“What the fuck do you know about it?”
“I know who I am, at least. Can you say the same? Can Indie? Adam?”
This little fucking prick really does want to die today. Maybe I should just give him his wish?
“Do you even know who my grandfather was, McKay?”
I shrug. “No one special. Just like you.”
“You sure about that?” He eyes me with what might be a grin. I wish his face wasn’t so fucked up. I’d be able to read it better. But it’s all contorted and swollen and my mind is still spinning.
Shit just went down. Indie is psycho. Donovan is doing… whatever the fuck he does to her mind, right this very moment. And Adam is driving drugged to… where? A hospital? I don’t know how serious eating daphne berries is. Maggie was screaming for sure. But I can’t fit all the consequences together. Can’t predict what might happen next without all the information. And now Nathan St. James is here telling me—
“My grandfather was second in command to Admiral Tate up until that shit went down in Santa Barbara. You ever hear of a man called Tate, McKay?”
This, I decide, is a loaded fucking question. Because of course I have heard of a man named Tate. Two of them, to be exact. “So what? Admiral Tate wasn’t ever in charge. That psycho bitch Francesca Fenici was.”
“Mm-hmm. She had an affair. Who do you think she had that affair with?”
I chew on this for a minute.
“Ding, ding, ding.” He says this weak and slow. And I wonder if he’s been playing this conversation out in his head his whole life. Dreaming of the day when he could spill his secrets. And how he might surprise the person he’s spilling them to.
But should I care if Nathan St. James is part Fenici?
Maybe.
“You have no idea what’s been happening in this world while Adam’s had you here.”
“And you do?”
“I know as much as Adam does. I know way more than you do. And your friend, Donovan?” He shakes his head. “Do you have any idea what kind of monster that man is?”
“Donovan?” I have to laugh.
“You ever hear of cognitive dissonance, McKay?”
“What?”
“It’s when the truth is right in front of your fucking face and your mind is so blown, you can’t see it. But the truth always comes out. No matter how hard you fight it, it always comes out. And I’m gonna give you a little friendly warning here, OK? Because you were always good to me.” He straightens up. Lifts up his chin, even. And his one good eye bores into mine. “There’s a reckoning coming, McKay. I hope you’re ready for it.”
“Listen,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I don’t have time for this shit. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a little head start before I set you loose in the big wide world, OK? But I don’t actually hate you, Nathan. And all I really want to do is go back inside, figure what the fuck just happened—”
“She happened, McKay. He triggered her.”
The next obvious question is—who? But I can’t even go there. I’m not playing this boy’s game. “Nathan, if you really are Company—”
“If?”
“Shut the fuck up now! You hear me?” I lean forward and scream it at him and he takes a step back. So I continue. “If you really are Company, then you know there’s only one path for you in life. And it just so happens that I got a little side hustle going.”
He nearly guffaws even though that laugh has to hurt like hell. “You?”
“What is this surprise I hear in your voice? Never mind who you are, do have any idea who I am, Nathan?”
“Yeah.” He spits blood again. “Mr. Rule-Follower. Mr. Up-and-Up. Mr. I-Have-Ethics. You’re not gonna offer me anything good. But whatever. Let’s hear your deal. Not like I have much choice now. Fuckers. My grandfather warned me over and over again that my love for Indie would be my downfall.”
I can’t even take this bullshit, so I just ignore that last part. “You know that saying? The one that goes, ‘We’re all in this together?’”
He stares at me.
“Well, we’re not. In this together, I mean. It’s one hundred percent every man for himself. And maybe I don’t know where you come from, Nathan, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say it’s probably closer to where I come from than you may think. So what if that psycho Fenici bitch had an affair with some high-ranking Tate man? That makes you special? That don’t make you special. That makes you a bastard. The way I see it, that lands you a few rungs down the ladder from me.”
“Says the boy who was sold to the Bouchers at age nine. Did you even question it?”
“Do you want to hear the fuckin’ offer or don’t you?” And that growl is back.
It disturbs me. Possibly more than it disturbs Nathan. Because it doesn’t come out often and this is twice now. Twice in the span of minutes.
He takes a breath, probably considers saying something smart-assy back to me, then thinks better of it. Because he hasn’t ever seen this side of me. He hasn’t seen any side of me, actually. Few people have. I keep the real me hidden well away from anyone’s prying eyes.
But Nathan senses it. And when he speaks next, he whispers. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”
“You’re still gonna sell me that land. We’re done with you. It’s over.”
“Like I fucking care. Selling it is the whole reason I’m even in town.”
“Good. That’s the easy part then. And then you will disappear. For good this time. Indie isn’t gonna come looking for you again. And you’re not gonna go looking for her.”
“You better make a damn good offer on that cottage, Core McKay. Because that’s the only way I’ll sell out.”
“Oh, the offer will be generous, don’t you worry. I’ll set you up just fine. But let’s be clear here, OK? Let’s be honest. A sellout is a sellout. Doesn’t matter how high the offer is.”
“What. Is. The job?”
“It’s not a job, per se. It’s a life.”
I expect a quick quip back from Nathan St. James. But he’s cautious now. Or maybe he’s just wounded and he suddenly realizes all this talking has cost him, because he looks like shit. At any rate, he takes his time to consider his words. Finally, he says, “Do I have to answer to you?”
Of course that’s his first question. God forbid this boy have to take orders from me. “No. I’m a silent partner in this particular endeavor.”
I expect a comeback to that. Something along the lines of, Haven’t you always been the silent partner? Wasn’t that why you were bred in the first place? Just a replacement. Not even the replacement, either. Because I had those older brothers. I was the backup’s backup’s backup. Not sure that makes sense. But it encompasses the general idea.
Nathan chews on this last bit of information. “Will I answer to Adam?”
“No.”
“Donovan?”
“Listen to me. Because my head is pounding like a motherfucker right now. I’ve got a team working on a project, and I’m down a grunt at the moment. You can have the job if the boys can trust you. How that shakes out is not up to me. Like I said, I run them, but I don’t get involved. So if they kill you because you piss them off with your wild mouth, Nathan, that’s on you.”
He sighs as he rolls this around in his mind so he can see it from all angles.
But he can’t see it from all angles. Even if he had all the pertinent information, which he doesn’t.
He can’t see it because he blew out his knee. No more football for this boy. He could go back to college with the money I pay him for the cottage and the land, but he’s in way too deep now. He’s seen way too much. And I don’t mean that in a threatening way.
He’s absolutely right about one thing. I can’t kill him. Somehow, some way, Indie would find out. And then I’d lose her. And why the fuck would I put up with ten years of all the shit we’ve been through if I were just gonna let her slip through my fingers after I lost my cool in a critical moment?
That’s not gonna happen.
Nathan is Company. He might not be an integral part of it, but his grandfather raised him up knowing where he came from. And once you understand that there is a group of super-elite assholes running this world and then you find out you’re one of them—no matter how low your rung on that ladder—that shit consumes you.
He wants in.
I can take a good guess and figure his grandfather tried to shelter him from the Company life. Hell, I’m pretty sure my father, and Adam’s father, and every Company son’s fucking father had that same idea at one point right after their baby boys were born.
But it never works, does it?
I was sold to the Boucher family.
Adam was trained. Only half finished, but it doesn’t matter.
Donovan took the bait whole. Hook, line, and sinker.
I could list every single Company man I know of as an example. Nick Tate wanted out too. Look where that got him. James Fenici turned down his little-girl promise, Harper Tate. But he came after her more than a decade later and took her back.
Power is a sickness and we’re all infected.
Nathan sighs. It’s a resigned sigh. And his words are low and filled with resignation when they come out. “Will I have to kill people, McKay?”
“Only if they get in the way, Nathan.”
It’s not the answer he wanted. But it’s the same one my father gave me when I asked him that very question. And it’s the truth. That’s the only thing that matters now.
“Does Adam know about this?”
I look over my shoulder at the mansion. No real reason. Adam’s not there. But he’ll be back. And if he ever figures out what I’ve been doing in the years since his head injury, he won’t be happy. “No,” I tell Nathan, and then I look him in the eyes. “He doesn’t know. And it needs to stay that way.”
Nathan leans up against a tree, exhausted, the adrenaline of the fight and flight gone now. He’s hurt. Probably badly hurt. And he’s got to be wondering, at least on some level, what Indie’s intentions were when she did this to him.
Did she really want him dead?
I wish I had an answer. If I did, I’d tell him yes or no definitively. Just so he could deal with it and move on.
We all know Indie is insane. That she is gone, and probably has been for several years, at least. That she isn’t going to make it much further.
I’m on her side. Even Adam is on her side. Donovan…I can’t tell. But I don’t think he matters. She never relied on him for much. He’s just not reliable.
But Nathan St. James has been the one thing she had going for her that other girls in her situation would not have had. He has been her constant for ten years and now that is about to be over.
Even if he stayed, even if she comes back from this… breakdown, it’s over now. There is no way Nathan will ever trust her again. Not after this beating.
I see the look in Adam’s eyes when he watches Indie. There’s still love there, but it’s tempered with a healthy dose of caution, not to mention a Plan B, should he ever need it.
If Nathan ever sees her again—and I’m gonna do my best to avoid that—he will have that very same look in his eyes.
It’s one thing to suspect someone you love is insane and this cannot be changed, no matter how you try, and hope, and pray. But it’s something else altogether to be kicked in the face with the truth.
