Page 12 of Creeping Beautiful

Such bullshit. He knows it, I know it, but neither of us says it.

“Well, I’m not there yet. If I live to see thirty, maybe I’ll take another look at my choices.”

Gerald forces a smile. “OK.” Then he looks around and back at me. “But let me help you choose tonight. I know all of the girls very well. This is an exceptional crop. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you around in my private truck. Your father would want you to have the best one. I’ll make sure you get the best one.”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

“Great.” Gerald beams. “Let me go talk to some of the others and then we’ll take off early so we’re not rushed.”

I nod and he walks off to talk up all the other buyers here tonight. I grab a champagne flute off a tray going past at eye height and down it in one gulp.

I said I’d never do this. I told my father over and over again, hundreds of times, that I’d never do this. And he would yell. God, he would yell at me. “Don’t you realize,” he would say. “Don’t you understand how hard I worked to get you out of that program?”

I did. I mean, I think I did. Can one ever really understand the sacrifices a parent makes for a child? But I know I turned out different than the others who were training with me. I knew that much, at least. Just stand me up next to Nick Tate and compare us side by side. Even if you have no idea who we are and what we were meant to do, you can tell the difference between us. Immediately.

I’m no Nick Tate.

And I do appreciate all the ways my father worked hard, and made deals, and manipulated people to make sure that distinction was recognizable.

But here I am anyway. Going right back in.

My life might not end up the way he planned, but it all evens out in the wash. What’s the difference, really? Between a man who takes a child home for breeding and one who takes her home for killing?

A sick feeling in my stomach makes me regret the alcohol, and I set the flute down on another passing tray, then wander across the pavilion to the far edge that overlooks the water.

The Company superyacht is docked offshore. Lit up brightly for the party that comes later, after all the sales are final.

I will have to go over there to sign all the paperwork. But I won’t stay long. My own yacht is just a little further out. Dark now. No crew, just me. But I like it like that. I like being alone.

So why am I buying a girl? Why am I putting together this team?

I don’t really know.

The only thing I do know is that I have a lot of fuckin’ money. I have no family to speak of. And I’m bored.

I would kill myself and get it over with, but it feels… wasteful. I should at least make an attempt at living. I have all the makings of a perfect life. I should try.

There’s no way I’ll make it to thirty. There’s no way I’ll settle down into the life my father wanted for me and raise good Company kids.

But that’s not entirely true, is it?

That is still very much a possibility, so I need to do everything in my power to make sure it never happens. I need to live fast, and hard, and die young. I need to spend as much money as I can, complete as many missions as possible, and then… go out with a bang.

That’s my plan.

Go out with a bang.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get hit right in the chest.

Thirty minutes later Gerald and I are passing through the first gate in his personal safari truck, a vintage Land Cruiser with thick, steel bars surrounding us just in case any of the big cats get hungry. The driver is an older man wearing the standard black and white uniform suit. His tie is so snug up against his neck it makes me want to suck in all the air he must surely be lacking from such a cinch.

Gerald and I sit in the back seat, which has been elevated so we can get a good look around. There’s a bucket of ice between us, two bottles of champagne sticking out, and a special drink holder for champagne flutes.

While Gerald did start out just like I am now, he gave up the dangerous life for this cushy job running Les Fleurs a long time ago. So I imagine that he’s taken hundreds of people around in this truck on nights like this over the years.

Does he enjoy this job? I can’t imagine getting any kind of joy out of his job. But he’s smiling. Not complaining. I guess there are worse jobs. Wild animals aside, this island is one of the safer work stations within the Company.

But I know what they really do here. I know who Gerald’s family is. My father left a lot of documents behind for me. Or, maybe not for me. Just… to me. If there’s any kind of meaningful distinction between those two objectives, I’m fairly certain it was the latter.