But do I have to care about it?
I mean… not really. Whatever, right?
If the elites of this world want to fuck up their kids—well, I can’t save them all.
But I get the feeling that Nick is saying something deeper here. So when he continues to talk, I begin to listen.
“We’re part of central casting too, Merc. All of us inside the Company. We play our roles, and that’s about all there is to life. And at first glance you might think—well, Vincent didn’t have it so bad. He grew up in… well, I don’t really know where he grew up, but it was a nice place. Look at me, right? Harper and me, we grew up on that superyacht. Secluded, pampered, safe. So I imagine that’s how Vincent’s life went. So we all think that it was James who made the sacrifices. He was the one they trained to kill as a kid. He’s the one who got captured down in Honduras. He was the one who—”
“You don’t need to tell me this shit, Nick. I was fucking there, OK?”
“I get it. You’re loyal to him. And that’s fine. I love James. I do. I respect the fuck outta that man and he’s been taking care of my sister for almost two decades now. I owe him. But if you’ve never been the one sent into the world of the elites to perform for them, then you can’t even begin to understand what that life is like. I’m not looking for sympathy here—”
“Sure sounds like you are.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying. Everyone plays their part. I played mine and Santos played his. I was destined to lead, he was destined to die. But he didn’t suffer more than me, Merc. Because when they put him on that dark path the first thing they did was take away his humanity. By the end there, Santos just wanted to die. It was his last wish and Sasha granted it, that’s all that happened that day in Kansas. It was one man’s dying wish to sacrifice himself for something bigger.”
I picture that guy with all those scars and tattoos. I only saw the pics in the online news. Never met the guy in person. But I felt sorry for Nick Tate when I thought that was him. I imagined that his life was pretty shitty since he gave it up to save the rest of us that night in Santa Barbara. Up until this moment I had almost imagined Nick as some kind of martyr. Someone willing to go down on principle because he knew in the end it would save the people he loved. Now, all I feel is disgust and betrayal. “Whose idea was it, Nick? To make Sasha deliver the kill shot?”
He goes quiet.
“Aw, no. You’re not shuttin’ down now, partner. I’m just getting started. I want to know right the fuck now, whose idea was it to make Sasha kill you?”
He lets out a breath. “Mine. Santos didn’t know Sasha, remember? It was my idea. And it worked, didn’t it? She got out, she got married, she got kids—my kid, Merc. She got my kid. She got a real life and she got to leave all this dark shit behind. All because she did her job that day. She played her part that day.”
Did her job. Played her part. I let those words roll around in my head for a second or two. I even allow myself to picture ten or twenty different ways I might make Nick Tate pay for his professional expectations of a heartbroken girl who had already lost everything.
“Whatever you’re doing with Wendy, it’s over now.”
“Is it?” I laugh a little. Everything’s so goddamn ironic today.
“If you want to make me pay, don’t take it out on her.”
“Trust me, Nick. I absolutely do want to make you pay. But I won’t need to hurt Wendy Gale because you’re gonna do exactly what I say.”
“And what would that be?”
“You’re gonna stay right where you are. And I’m gonna come to you. Hear me?”
“What about Wendy?”
“What about her?”
“Are you bringing her with you?”
“Nah, she’ll keep. Go back into the hotel office and tell Wendell you want a room. Then text me the room number.”
“Then what?”
“You’ll find out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN - WENDY
FOUR DAYS AGO
Merc.
The word echoes in my mind as I let him wait on the other end of the phone.
“Nothing to say?”
I take a deep breath. “OK. I know who you are. What do you want?”
“Well, can I make a list?”
I can’t tell how serious he is. And I don’t know this guy. I’ve heard a lot about him, but I never bothered getting too close because whenever any of the other Company assassins would bring up Merc’s name, it always came with a warning.
When you’re one of two men on the planet who can run a PSYOP right inside the mind of a target, you’re in demand. And lots of new guys over the years have tossed around the idea of hiring Merc for his services when they had a particularly smart target who had pertinent information. Torture is so… old-school, right? Only a truly sick fuck wants to torture a person for intel before they kill him. Torture takes time. It requires a place where your target can scream loudly for hours on end. It’s not quick and easy and believe it or not, the Company assassins I know are all relatively well-adjusted men who just want to get the job done as efficiently as possible.