“Adam.” Donovan stands back up. “We’re not gonna have this conversation in front of Maggie.”
Adam is still looking at me. “Maggie already knows. I told her everything on the way over here.”
He told her everything. A six-year-old girl. I want to grab him by the neck and shake some sense into this man. Because I see what he’s doing. I know what he’s done.
Indie made a choice last night and she chose me. And Adam has been keeping Maggie secret all this time. Secret from me, not Indie.
Me.
Because he knew if Indie came back and blamed him, he has this little surprise in his pocket to get back in her good graces.
Never mind that I already talked sense into her. Never mind that I already smoothed it over. Never mind that I had his back from day one.
And maybe that makes me sound callous. I am happy she’s alive. I’m… fucking thrilled that she’s alive. But this feels a whole like we just started a new game of Let’s-Pretend-That-Didn’t-Happen.
“Maggie?” Indie finally speaks and pulls me out of my heated thoughts. “Is that really you?”
Maggie looks up at Adam and he nods. “Go ahead. You know who she is.”
Maggie leaps. Like a fuckin’ gazelle. And two seconds later she is huggin’ her mama. Indie is crying. Hard. Like… I have never seen Indie cry like this before. And pretty soon my eyes are tearing up too.
Even Donovan is crying. Hell, even Adam is crying.
When we lock eyes again my anger subsides a little.
He is not a bad man. He can’t help who he is any more than the rest of us.
We are just… liars.
“I just needed to keep her safe, McKay. We all stretch the truth for the same reason, don’t we?”
His Southern accent, which is almost always mostly hidden—like it’s a secret that confirms who he really is underneath—comes pouring out of his mouth with his words.
“We lie to keep each other safe, right? Even you do it, McKay. Even you had to make choices that day, remember? That’s all this was about. Nothing else. Just that.” Adam swipes a tear off his cheek. And then he narrows his eyes at me. “You understand, right?”
And then I get it.
Because I do understand.
And he knows why I understand.
We are playing a brand-new game.
And that game isn’t called Let’s-Pretend-That-Didn’t-Happen.
It’s called I-Know-What-You-Did-To-Nathan-St.-James.
CHAPTER THIRTY - TWO - INDIE
You have this image of people.
They are strong, and loyal, and truthful, and protective. They say things like… Write it down, and Eat your vegetables, and Do it just like I tell you.
They are tall, and handsome, and smart.
They give you a home, and your own bedroom, and a swamp filled with fireflies, and a duck lake with a boy on the other side whose mere presence convinces you that this is all gonna be OK.
And you believe it.
Because you are small, and young, and scared, and lonely.
You write it down, you eat those vegetables, and you do it just like they say.
But then one day you realize you’re not so small, or young, or scared, or lonely. You realize you’re bigger, and older, and braver, and surrounded. And you see them for what they really are.
Just people.
Just men.
Just humans who make it up as they go, like the rest of us.
They are liars, and cheaters, and killers.
They are sick, and twisted, and ruthless.
They are afraid, lonely, and scared, just like the rest of us.
But they are yours.
They are mine now.
They are all mine.
I did drug them. And that was all me. I wanted what I wanted and I wanted them. I will not apologize for that.
But they are mine now.
They are all mine.
So I keep that secret to myself.
But picking those berries with my daughter. Telling her they were delicious. Mixing them up in the frosting.
None of that was my idea.
It was his.
I failed. None of the people he wanted to kill that day died.
I don’t feel bad about that because it wasn’t my failure.
It was his.
EPILOGUE - ADAM
THREE MONTHS LATER
I’ve been lucky. I’m not too proud to admit that. The fucking stars aligned for me many times over the years.
I was born into the Company.
Into a family of Untouchables.
I was given Core McKay as a gift.
I was withdrawn from the Zero Program and the Negative Program and given a second and third chance.
I have a trust fund, ten mansions, fifteen warehouses, and eight-hundred leftovers doing my bidding.
I have three partners and a little girl.
I have everything.
And he knows I have everything. So of course, he’s gonna try and take it from me.
But I’m only gonna say this once, Carter Couture.
It’s mine. And you can’t have it. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.
The day Indie drugged us and we all had sex was just one more fortuitous event in a long line of good fortune as far as I can tell.
Yeah. Shit went wrong that day. Pretty much everything went wrong that day. But Maggie and me? Everything about that went right as far as I’m concerned.
I didn’t mean to make McKay and Donovan think she was dead. It’s just… Indie tried to kill us. What was I supposed to do? What choice did I have?
I knew all about Carter Couture. I knew all about their little Negative Program they ran on that island. I knew Indie was fucked from the first moment I saw her and I knew Donovan was in on it.
I knew he was looking for Carter.
I knew McKay was my double. Oh, I know what people think about that. How could McKay be your Negative, Adam? He’s not your twin. But come on, people. Keep up, OK? Why do you think Donovan wanted to go into plastic surgery? I mean… fake tits? Plump lips? Face lifts? Really? Is that the line of work Untouchable Company Boy Geniuses go into?
Please. Give the boy some credit. He never fooled me. Not for one second. When you go into PSYOPS and then you transfer into plastic surgery, there is only one reason for that.
To make double negatives for Company kids. To take their minds and twist them all up and then change their faces to match what’s inside.
I knew that if the Company fell, McKay’s family would be among the dead. They were keeping one of our secrets. My father told them why he needed McKay.
I knew my father was heading for an early grave. Hell, I helped Sasha Cherlin set it up. Who the fuck do you think got those drug lords to crash that wedding in Santa Barbara and shoot the place all to hell?
Her? Really? Twelve-year-old Sasha Cherlin? She’s good, but… no. She’s not that good.
OK. I will give Nick Tate some credit for that, I suppose.
The real Nick Tate, that is.
Not the Double Negative I met with down in Daphne, Alabama.
I cannot, for life of me, understand how anyone fell for that shit-show double. Didn’t they see those tattoos for what they were? A way to hide the Double Negative scars? I mean, come on. Oldest trick in the fuckin’ book, right?