Wasted Lust - JA Huss Page 0,22
back into the dangerous and insane men they used to be.
They’d take care of things and I’d probably never know about it.
So why is Nick looking for me?
I’ve tried to put it out of my mind since Agent Jax corralled me into that interrogation room at the airport last summer. I came home and went back to my studies. Went through the motions of work and pretended that this was the life I chose for myself.
But it was all a lie.
Nick. Nick. Nick. The name reverberates in my head every moment of every day. Hidden. Secret. But still there, no matter how many times I try to deny it.
“You’re mad, Sasha.”
I am mad. In every sense of the word. I’m furious and insane.
“Call home.”
My words startle me for a moment. Enough that I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone and dial the number.
“Aston residence,” Five says on the second ring.
“It’s me, Five.” I can almost feel him smile. “Is Mom there?”
“Sasha,” he breathes in that all-knowing way, unnatural for a ten-year-old. “Did you know that we are leaving for New Zealand tomorrow?”
“What? Since when? I thought you were all going to look at colleges?”
“Since Ford—”
“You mean Dad.” Ford hates it when Five calls him by his name.
“Whatever. He got a call to shoot a new pilot show.”
“Oh, well, that’s great, I guess.”
“Great? Great? No, it’s not great. Sparrow Flynn’s birthday is tomorrow and Princess Shrike tells me they are having a party. I was not invited to this party, Sasha. And now my plans to crash it are ruined.”
“Why the hell would you want to go to an eight-year-old girl’s birthday party?”
“The Princess will be dressed up like a biker, Sasha. It’s a biker theme and I have purchased her a leather jacket for the occasion. I wanted to be there to see the joy on her face when…”
I tune him out as I think about what the fuck is going on at home. Princess Shrike’s father—her real name is Rory, only Five calls her Princess—is world-famous custom bike builder Spencer Shrike. So this only makes sense in that context. And I don’t even bother asking how he got his hands on a leather jacket fit for a nine-year-old. This is Five we’re talking about. “I got nothing for that, Five. Can you get Mom?”
“How would you like to hear my proposal for my newest invention? I’m seeking early investors for my new technology app. I project that if a prototype can be developed in the next twelve months, we can go public in two years.”
“Five,” I say patiently. He’s had a dozen of these ventures over the past few years. “You’re ten years old. I’m not investing in your gaming apps.”
“It’s not a game this time, Sasha. It’s an app that will change death as we know it.”
“Morbid,” I reply. “Get Mom.”
“Morbidity has nothing to do with it. People will pay for years to have what I’m developing right now. A subscription that will last until infinity.”
“Five, I need to talk to Mom now.” I sigh into the phone and he stops his protest.
“You’re upset,” he says in that unaffected way he has. A tone he’s perfected to make people believe he’s never emotional, only objective. My little brother is a freak of a genius, just like Ford. He speaks six languages and he’s well on his way to a seventh—Icelandic, of all things—and could probably have passed my orals today without a glance at the topic beforehand. They’ve been trying to get him into summer college programs for two years, but he’s afflicted with the most overpowering of emotions, and has been since he was four.
Love.
I almost snort into the phone thinking about it.
He loves Princess Rory Shrike. The name alone makes me smile, makes me happy that I called home to talk to my mom about this new development in my long career of developments.
“I can tell you are crinkling your nose at this very moment.”
“I’m gonna hang up and call Dad and tell him you’re looking for investors again if you don’t call for Mom right now.”
“Fine.” he huffs. “Mom!” he screams. “Your eldest is on the phone with disappointing news.”
Neither him, nor Kate, my little sister, are my real siblings, obviously. But Kate was one and Five was newborn when I came to live with Ford and Ashleigh. So it was just easier to become one of the kids. Of course, they know who I really am. We are not a family