Sick. That’s sick.

James was the one who said no. James was the one with integrity. James was not insane when we turned six that year. He was untouched by all the killing that came afterward. And he was taken prisoner that first year. Left somewhere horrific for a long time, the notebook said. That’s bound to change anyone. And that’s not his fault.

The helicopter finally starts to descend just as the sun begins to set and even though I must’ve slept all day, I’m so tired.

“We’re about to land.” Vincent’s voice crackles though my headpiece.

I look over at him and before I can stop myself, I smile. His face catches me off guard a little. I mean, they are identical. The eyes. The haircut. The broad shoulders that taper down to the perfectly proportioned waist.

“I hope you like it.”

I cut the smile and add a nod. What does he want me to say? I’m not staying here. I’m not gonna be his wife. I do not give a shit what promise was made. I belong to someone else.

A few minutes later and we are on the ground and everything becomes all rush, rush. I have never understood the hustle involved with boarding and disembarking a helicopter. Why must they pull me along like we’re in some kind of war zone?

I go with it. Vincent’s grip on my arm is tight. Tighter than is normal. And I wonder how worried he is about me running off into some unfamiliar woods as he drags me away from the rotating blades and ushers me up a series of steps that lead to the back patio of an imposing Mediterranean-style mansion.

Even though the Spanish tile roof and warm stucco exterior might look welcoming in bright sunshine, the dusk makes it look ominous. “Where are we?” I finally ask as we slow our pace and he straightens out his shirt collar.

“North of Santa Barbara.”

“How the hell did we get to Santa Barbara from Newport Beach in a sailboat?” More importantly, how will James find me here? I’m not all that up on my American West Coast geography, but I think that’s a fair distance.

“We motored up the coast,” he answers back. “It’s difficult to navigate up the California coast in a sailboat.”

“We must’ve been hauling ass.”

“Language, Harper,” he says, only half paying attention as he reaches for my hand.

I shake it off. “Don’t,” I growl at him. “I might be your prisoner for now, but I’m not your fucking child to admonish.”

He snatches my hand and yanks me into his chest. “Manners, Harper Tate.” His steely gaze transfixes me. His green eyes flash. “I was told you have them. Was I lied to?”

I match his gaze and refuse to bend. “I have manners. But I’m not sure you deserve them.”

He loosens his grip on my hand and exhales. “Please,” he says, pressing his fingertips to the space between his eyes like he has a headache. “I don’t like the language and I don’t like the attitude. We’re both tired. We’ve been through a lot. And we’re going to freshen up and have a nice dinner so we can chat.”

“If you’re still insisting you’re James, then I’m going to refuse that chat.”

He grits his teeth. “If James is the one you think you want, then I am James.”

“How did you know about that conversation we had about power?”

He laughs a little under his breath and then leans into my ear. “I was there, Harper. That was me.”

“That was not you!”

“How do you know?”

I just stare at him. “I know.”

He moves my hand to the bulge between his legs and presses it. “Tell me how you know.”

I yank my hand away and step back. “You were watching us. You had cameras. Something. But that was not you. And I’ll tell you how I know. Because even though James made it very clear I belong to him, he does not treat me like property. He respects me.”

“Ha,” Vincent laughs. “That’s a good one. Well, you got me. I’m Vincent. I’m not sorry for being Vincent instead of James. I am sorry I didn’t get to you before he did. I am sorry you sucked his cock before you’ll suck mine. But we have all the time in the world to make up for that.”

I can’t even move, that’s how off-guard I feel. Should I fight him? But where would I go? I don’t even know where I’m at. Santa Barbara. I’m just not sure where I could go from there.

His hand wraps around my waist, squeezing as he pulls me close to his chest. “Forget about James, Harper. James is a dead man. He’s crazy, OK? He’s lost touch with reality. He kills people for no reason anymore. He’s hunted down all his friends in the Company and tried to kill them, one by one. We’ve known this for almost a year now. And the only good thing he’s done since then is kill our brother, Tony. Because Tony was just as certifiable as James.”

“It’s not his fault he was forced to kill people for a living. It’s not his fault the Company turned him into that.”

“Harper,” Vincent whispers. “Listen to me. It is his fault. He was the favorite, Harp. Our parents loved James above everyone. I didn’t grow up in the same house, but I knew who he was. Our father pinned all his Company hopes on James. All he had to do was go to that beach when you turned six and say, Yes, Admiral. I’ll take her. And his life would be mine. And my life would be his. You’d be in love with me right now if he said yes, because I would be the one who went crazy and found you on the beach.”

“But he didn’t say yes. You did.”

Vincent pushes me away and takes a step back. “You’re wrong. I never got asked. I told you, I was the control. I didn’t participate in anything. I was secluded from the Company. I was raised like any other rich American boy. I never killed anyone. I never went on missions. I just existed. I have an impeccable record. A paper trail that can be followed from the time I turned sixteen until now. So when the vetting begins for the multiple political offices I will hold, I appear untouched. Perfect. The perfect man. Raised in the perfect home. Wedded to the perfect woman who has no record at all. Who was raised on a fucking boat in the middle of the ocean. Who never went to school. Who never had her picture taken and plastered all over the society pages. You,” he whispers, “are the perfect blank canvas.”

He gives me that hard stare again and this time it doesn’t make me defiant, it makes me curious. “What do you want from me?”