I know exactly what he’s telling me and a chill runs up my spine just as the word forms in my head.
PSYOPS.
Whoever this guy is, he is Company PSYOPS.
And there are only two living Company men who can do what this guy claims he can do.
One is Donovan Couture’s second personality. And he’s in a coma in Adam’s mansion back in Louisiana.
The other guy… is Merc.
CHAPTER TEN - MERC
TODAY
“You better start talking, motherfucker.”
Nick Tate sounds the same. It almost creeps me out how much he sounds the same. And it occurs to me that I would’ve recognized his voice anywhere. Even if I didn’t suspect he was alive.
“Where’s Wendy?”
I picture him the way he was the last time we were together. I didn’t kill anyone that night. I wasn’t an active shooter in the Santa Barbara massacre. I was the getaway driver. Well, captain, since our getaway car was a boat.
But even though I wasn’t part of the attack, that whole thing—the mansion on fire up on the cliff, the way everyone’s faces were lit up orange from the flames, the moon that night, Sasha crying and screaming when she realized Nick was staying behind with that worthless drug lord so that James could escape with the files we needed—all of it is burned into my brain. It was branded on me.
It is one of those defining moments. That’s what it was. Maybe even… the defining moment. The first moment in my life that truly mattered. The first time I started thinking about being part of something bigger than myself. Part of something good instead of evil.
It’s a night I will never forget. Even if someone out there was capable of fucking with a person’s mind the way I am, they wouldn’t be able to erase that moment. It is inerasable. And, if I’m being honest, it’s probably the only reason I didn’t end up killing Sydney instead of saving her several years later.
Just thinking about that possible outcome hits me in the gut. What kind of life would I be living right now if Nick Tate hadn’t shown me what a sacrifice looks like? If I hadn’t stopped what I was doing with Sydney and used my powers to help her instead of steal memories from her mind so I could get my revenge?
Well. It wouldn’t look anything like this one, that’s for sure.
But my loyalties were to Sasha that night in Santa Barbara. She was the one I was protecting. I was on her team, not Nick’s. And she was insane with anger and grief in the weeks and months after Nick’s abandonment. Even after she was sent to live with Ford, she was sad.
She was never the same girl after Nick.
He changed her and I will never forgive him for that.
Then flash-forward ten years and he did it again. Only this time, he nearly destroyed her when he forced Sasha to shoot him in the head.
Only it wasn’t him, was it?
It was someone else.
Someone who looked exactly like Nick Tate—if Nick Tate hadn’t grown up the spoiled brat of a Company Untouchable living a life of pure luxury on a superyacht and instead grew up running drugs with the locals in the slums down in San Pedro Sula.
I always knew there was something wrong with how that whole thing ended.
I felt it.
And now I have the proof.
“Never mind Wendy,” I finally answer. “What’s happening right now has nothing to do with Wendy.”
“If you hurt her—”
“You’ll what?”
Nick Tate takes a moment to gather himself. But I can feel his anger and rage through the distance. I pause with him, wondering who he is these days. No one I recognize, that’s for sure.
The Nick Tate I knew would never have done what he did to Sasha.
He used her. And for what?
“She’s got nothing to do with this, Merc. This is between you and me.”
“That’s what I just said.”
“Yeah, but you said it in a way that implies she has everything to do with me.”
“Well, doesn’t she?” These words come out low and threatening. I cannot even remember the last time I’ve been so angry. All I know is that it’s been a very long time. Maybe… maybe since that day Sydney killed Garrett and saved Sasha and me up in the Montana woods.
My life since then has been pretty fucking good. Pretty fucking calm. It’s been filled with my girls, pool parties, trips to Colorado for barbeque weekends, tropical vacations on the beach—and even though I’ve kept up a healthy dose of paranoia, that’s just old habit.
No one came to attack us—no one even came looking.
I’ve been living as normal a life as a guy like me could possibly imagine and now this asshole shows back up and he is going to make my entire world implode.
The hate I have for Nicholas Tate right now would rival any of my old adversaries. This hate is at Defcon One. I am ready to take this motherfucker out by any means necessary and this attack is imminent.
“She has nothing to do with us, Merc.”
“You’re wrong there, Nick.” My words almost come out like a sigh. Because I’m tired of this whole thing already and I’ve just barely gotten started. There is so much more to do.
“Let’s just keep it between you and me.”
“You and me? Sure. This sure is between you and me.”
“So you’re gonna let her go?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Don’t you worry about that. She’s safe.”
“I want to talk to her. Now.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. She’s… indisposed at the moment.”
He pauses. I am a precise person. An intentional person. If Nick remembers anything about me, he remembers that much. And that word, indisposed? Yeah, that’s gonna trigger him bad.
“You’d better explain that.”
“Let me tell you how this is gonna go, Nick. So we don’t waste any more of Wendy Gale’s precious moments. You’re gonna stay right the fuck where you are and I’m gonna come to you. OK?”
“No. Either I talk to Wendy or this negotiation is over and what happens next is I hunt you down and take you out.”
I laugh again. “We both know you’re not up for that.”
“Here’s what we both know, Merc. I dropped three little girls off with you ten years ago and you’ve spent that entire time building pools, and fake beaches, and investing in things like strollers, and pony lessons, and family vacations. That’s not how my life went. So I’ll take my fucking chances.”
“This isn’t hardball. Not even close. I’m not quaking in my boots, boy. In fact, I find you rather amusing.”
“You’ve got ten seconds. One.”
“She cannot come to the phone.”
“Take the phone to her.”
“I do not stutter, Nick. When I said she was indisposed, I meant it.”
“If she has one fucking scratch—”
“You think I’m torturing her? Well…” I laugh for a third time. It’s bad form and it’s a wholly inappropriate moment, but I can’t seem to stop it. “She’s pretty fucked right now. But not the way you think. So this little I’m-OK-you’re-OK chat you wanna have won’t be possible. And if you argue with me, I’ll just hang up and proceed without your input, how’s that?”