Page 205 of The Company

And I know what Merc’s response will be.

You can have James. The kid who shot your leader twelve years ago. You can have his rescuer. The assassin who broke him out and mowed down the deformed man’s entire family—mostly women and children—to do it.

I know this part. And no one else does besides Merc, because I told him. Probably not even James knows this part. Because this was how One got in to the compound to find James. James only knows what happened after.

I know this because One is my mother’s brother. My uncle. The uncle who used to come to our house every New Year’s Eve until I was ten and get drunk with my father so they could talk about my mother. Share her memory.

He used to ruffle my hair and whisper, “You have a number, Sasha. Not a name, a number. You’re Zero. The one no one sees. The one no one expects. The one who will set it all right.”

Of course, back then I had no idea what he was talking about. I had no idea what he was really talking about until James told me the Company had my parents killed. He told me this right here, in this parking lot. As I was sitting on the toe of a giant brontosaurus.

She needs to hear this, he told Harper.

He wanted me to know what I was up against.

Suddenly the little group of men breaks up and Merc is walking back to the truck.

My stomach flips again as I try to read his expression, but I can’t, it’s no use. So I hold my breath until he gets back in the truck and says, “It’s done.”

I exhale.

“They took the bait.” He looks over at me. “Now what?”

This is the last part of the plan. The really dangerous part. The part that might get all of us killed. Because this gang might be notorious for their ruthless revenge killings, but the person I need to bring in next isn’t called Number One for nothing. “Next I call my uncle.”

Merc clenches his jaw, his eyes darting back and forth as he thinks this through. “You wanna know why they were laughing back there?” he asks.

No. “Yes.”

“They were laughing because they said if they see James, they’re not gonna kill him.”

“No?” I ask, hopeful.

Merc starts the truck and backs out of the space, then heads towards the exit. “Nope.” And then he looks me in the eye as he waits to turn left to get back on the Interstate. “They’re gonna douse him in gasoline, set him on fire, and then put it out.”

“What?”

“They’re gonna make sure he lives to feel the pain.”