He points his finger at me. “Do not yell at her. I’m telling you, she’ll be fine as long as you keep your cool. But if you yell at her, she’ll shut down and stop listening. So no matter what happens, you tell her it’s all fine.”
“What if it’s not fine?”
“You lie to her, Adam. Jesus Christ. You’re the best liar I know. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
“I can hear you, ya know.”
McKay and I look up and find Indie at the top of the stairs.
“I’m not a kid, for fuck’s sake.”
“You are a damn kid,” I growl at her. “And don’t you cuss in front of me. Now get your ass down here and put your shit in the truck.”
Indie opens her mouth to talk back, but McKay beats her to it. “Do as you’re told, Indie. We’re not playing. It’s time to work.”
She walks down the stairs dragging her pink roller-case behind her so that it bumps with a loud thud on each and every step. She simultaneously glares at me and pouts at McKay. Which is a hard thing to pull off, but Indie never was afraid of doing something hard.
I roll my eyes at McKay, then walk to the door and give them a minute for any last words.
Just as I’m pushing through the screen I hear McKay whisper to her. “Be good. And do as you’re told. And if Adam yells at you, you have to ignore it. He’s just…”
But that’s all I hear because I’m outside now, hopping down the porch steps.
I get in the truck and start the engine. It takes Indie a couple more minutes before she joins me. McKay puts her small suitcase in the back cab, then buckles her in to her seatbelt in the front next me.
He gives me a little two-finger salute. “See ya on the other side.”
Then he closes Indie’s door, taps the side of the truck with his hand two times, and we pull away.
Indie and I don’t do much alone. I mean, without McKay. I’m the one who takes her to church. McKay doesn’t really care for church. So we drive into town for that alone. But other than that we’re not usually alone and at first the silence is uncomfortable.
I don’t know how to talk to her. I didn’t have sisters growing up. Just McKay. And I don’t really talk to the girls I’m with. Not even Misha. We just screw around and she cooks for me sometimes, but the whole reason I like Misha is because she keeps to herself. The sex is the only thing between us and she’s happy with that.
“You wanna play a game?”
I look over at Indie when she says this. We’re on a road trip because we’re only going to Pensacola for this job. It’s an easy one because it’s Indie’s first time out. All she has to do is what she’s been told. If everything goes well, we’ll be home tomorrow before lunch. Donovan is flying in tomorrow afternoon for her debrief, and by tomorrow evening she’ll be back playing in the woods with Nate.
“What kind of game?” I ask her.
“Driving games. Nate told me all about them.”
“Did you tell him what we’re doing?”
“No. I told him you were taking me to see our aunt.”
I chuckle. This girl can lie like nobody’s business.
“I wouldn’t tell him secrets like that, Adam. Do you wanna play a game or not?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“OK. This is how you do it…”
And she takes her time to explain the rules of the Slug Bug game. Which I have played before with McKay, of course. But there aren’t enough Bugs on the road these days to have any fun at it. So we change the rules to include motorcycles when thirty minutes into the trip not a single punch has been slugged.
She laughs a lot and punches me hard when she spots a Bug or a motorcycle before me and I realize… I like her.
I would not call her a bad kid and I have always respected her, but like her?
Indie Anna Accorsi is not an easy girl to like.
But her smile is nice. She doesn’t smile for me the way she smiles for Donovan, or even McKay when he hands out praise. But that’s OK too. Because this smile is all mine.
PRESENT DAY
But by the time that job was over I realized something else too.
I loved her.
I guess that’s what happens when you get used to something and then someone tries to take it away from you.
Because our trip home from Pensacola was two days later than planned and Indie Anna didn’t smile a single second of that ride.
She didn’t cry, either. But I could tell she wanted to.
And I did exactly what McKay told me to do if things went sideways. I did not yell. Not once. I just said, “It’s fine, Indie. It’s gonna be fine,” in the most soothing voice I could manage as I watched the Company doctor restrain her to the bed and fix her up.
And the game we played on the drive home was a new one called Let’s Pretend That Didn’t Happen.
Knowing what I do now, I probably wouldn’t have played that game with her.
I probably would’ve done a lot of things differently if I had known how good she’d get at pretending shit didn’t happen.
But hindsight can kiss my ass. You can’t change the past.
Indie Anna Accorsi is a beautiful little mess. She is a lovely little bundle of blonde hair and blue-eyed darkness. And even though I should have all kinds of regrets about how she came to be mine and how we came to be hers, I would absolutely do it all again.
Knowing her now, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Because if all those terrible things hadn’t happened, she would belong to him right now. She would be living in that little brick house with Nathan St. James.
She would be whole, and normal, and maybe even happier.
And my heart would be shattered into tiny shards. Millions of bitty pieces.
So yeah.
I’m a selfish piece of shit.
But I want what I want.
That’s the only way I can explain it.
Maybe she didn’t become mine the day of the auction, but the day that asshole triggered her without my permission, she did.
She is.
CHAPTER EIGHT - DONOVAN
MIND CONTROL IN CHILDREN: A CASE STUDY OF COMPANY ASSASSINS
INTERVIEW WITH INDIE, AGE 11.10
SESSION #19
INDIE: Well?
DONOVAN: Well, what?
Aren’t you going to talk?
This is your chance to talk, Indie.
I know that, but you’re in charge and you’ve been sitting there for seventy-six seconds saying nothing.
Seventy-six?
I counted.
I’m waiting for you. Adam said you stopped talking again. I didn’t want to rush you. But… first. Are you OK? Do they… hurt?
I guess I’m OK. I’m still alive. And I’m not sure if they hurt. I guess when I move, they do. It stings. And I can feel the stitches pulling. But I know why we’re here.
This time is no different than all the other times.
It is. Because I did the job. And it wasn’t a job, Donovan. Did he tell you that?