And even though my childhood was perfect—sun, sand, tropical islands, snorkeling and diving, exotic food and people and destinations—it all ends today.

Today we are eighteen. We have never spent a night apart in our lives, but we may never spend another one together again.

Because by the time the sun sets… only one of us will be left.

I jolt awake, the tears still in my eyes. I hate that dream, I hate that dream. Why do I have to relive that day of all days?

Nick and I were entwined in the womb together, so tightly embraced we killed our mother during childbirth because we refused to let go. He was all I ever had that was truly mine. We were all either of us had.

I was always the trophy. Not a princess, no. Trophy. Promised to a Company associate when I was six. I was molded and fashioned into this perfect thing. Something to look at, to admire, but not something that was allowed to have her own opinions about how she wanted to live her life.

Or the man she would be forced to marry once she came of age.

The training was an indulgence. I could not survive those hours Nick went away each day to train, so they indulged me. Every few years some uptight nanny would insist young girls did not learn martial arts and spend their days spear-fishing and I’d have to throw a fit. But the Admiral always gave in. I’d like to think it was because he had a bit of guilt over selling me off to an associate when I was a child. But he’s told me more than once that he never regretted that decision.

My twin brother, Nick, never had things so easy. He was expected to contribute in a big way. Even though we had physical training together I was never allowed to go with him to do the jobs. And those started when we were still very young. You can convince almost anyone that a nine-year-old boy is innocent of just about anything.

Every time he left the ship I’d stand on the deck and look out across the sea. Watching for his return. It felt like… like I was holding my breath until I saw him again. Every time he left I cried out of fear. And every time he returned I cried from relief.

He was not supposed to tell me about the jobs. But we are twins. Not identical, but we see ourselves as one. Not two.

So of course, he told me everything. Not right after the job. The ship was never a safe place to pass secrets. But we were in port or anchored off some remote island almost as much as we were out to sea, so there was plenty of playtime on the reefs and in the tidal pools of random beaches.

Since we were so well-behaved we were left alone. The crew ignored us completely. Nick’s trainers only paid attention when they were around, and since playtime on the beach is not a function of grown men hired for security, they never saw us crawl around on the rocks, or shimmy up a palm tree to gossip about our lives under the long fan-like leaves. The Admiral’s gaze swept past every evening at dinner with a smug smile at our manners. He was never around. Our care was entrusted to others.

We were, for all practical purposes, ignored.

It took them many years to realize their mistake.

And even though I feel a lot of satisfaction from overthrowing the Company yacht crew and making my escape, I’d rather relive those moments out in the hallway when James had his hands between my legs instead of that last day on the yacht.

I turn over in bed, my mind still groggy from the pills, my body still seeking relief from the exhaustion that’s been creeping in since my first real orgasm.

If I could only release again. Maybe I could relax?

My hand slides down my belly and pushes past the elastic waist of my panties. I hesitate for a moment. I want so much more than this life. I’m so tired of being alone. I’m so tired of being lonely. A tear runs down my cheek as I move my fingers the way James did. Pushing them inside myself. Pumping as I picture the way he undid his belt buckle and released his cock. I wish I had looked up at his face. I’d give anything to have seen his face when he came down my throat.

That thought is enough to trigger the release. But it’s small and unsatisfying. Only good enough to amplify my drug-induced drowsiness as I turn over.

I’m back in my dream. Only I’m on the beach, under the pier… under James. He grazes the back of his fingers down my cheek and then leans down and kisses each eyelid. “Sleep, Harper. You need to sleep.”

He’s right. I need sleep so bad. But when he pulls away I grab his arm. The waves are coming in and out, and with each cycle, James slips down the sand a little.

“Please don’t leave me,” I whisper, too late. He disappears into the dark water and I’m alone in bed again.

I wake with the worst headache. And my stomach is protesting the lack of… everything. I roll out of bed and stumble over to the kitchen sink, my eyes still half-closed. I open the tap and stick my mouth under, draw back to wince at the disgusting municipal water, then resume drinking until my stomach bloats.

I wipe my mouth and pull the refrigerator open. Empty, save for a few condiment packets left over from a recent trip to Rocky’s Burgers. I need to eat.

I slam the door and go turn on the shower, strip, wash quickly, and then realize I have no clean towels. I drip dry as I search for clothes. I drag the underwear up my wet legs and say f**k the bra. A couple of stacked tank tops—both white so I don’t stick out—and another pair of cut-off jeans finishes the job. I comb through my hair, brush my teeth and slip my flops on as I drag the door closed behind me.

My phone tells me it’s seven PM on Monday. I’ve lost six days of life since I met James on the pier. And really, this whole shut-down thing I’ve been doing is not very smart. What if he did turn me in? I was all drugged up on the Ativan, unable to react. I was barely functioning.

I walk past the Mexican place. I ate there last time so I can’t go there again for a while. I don’t want to become friendly with the food people. I don’t want to be a ‘local’ and have them wave at me as I pass by. So I walk east, the opposite direction of the beach, cross over Fifth and head up Main to find some restaurant I’ve never eaten in before. It takes me a while because I’ve lived here for eleven months, so most of them I’ve entered at least once. But I’m jumpy now. The idea that James could’ve reported me and I wouldn’t have been able to react has me on edge.

It’s dumb to be careless. Especially when I’ve come so far. I’m a success, right? I took something very valuable from a global criminal organization and eleven months later, I’m still alive.