Wasted Lust - JA Huss Page 0,4
can’t call my dad. He thinks I’m in Peru for another eight days. And as far as he knows, I’m not flying into Denver at all. I was supposed to fly right back to Kansas.
So now what?
“Where are you going, Sasha?”
I laugh and turn back to him. “You mean, where am I not going, now that you’re here?” God, I hate this guy. He just fucked up something important to me.
“Where are you going?” His tone is harsher now. “If you tell me, maybe I can help you get there.”
I calculate how many plans just got ruined over this asshole’s quest to find Nick and it pisses me off so bad, I just start walking. There is nowhere to walk to, but I walk anyway. I cross the empty street on the fifth level of the parking garage and start weaving through cars. I drag that stupid suitcase up and over curbs, trying to make Agent Jax give me some space so he can’t see my disappointment, but he’s on my heels the entire time. And when I finally make my way to the very edge of the garage and there is nowhere else to go I stop and lean on the concrete wall, my head in my hands.
“Sasha,” Jax says, putting a hand on my shoulder. I turn and swat it off in a single move. My eyes are blazing with the killer I used to be and not the normal person I’d like to believe I am. “What are you doing?” He’s confused now, but the look on my face must tell him my mood has changed. “You were meeting him, weren’t you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not lying about Nick. And to be perfectly honest, I’d like to see him again. But I’m not home early for him. Or anything that requires your attention. And I just want to go.”
“Who were you meeting? Just tell me, we’ll check it out, and then you can go.”
“I can’t tell you that. I will never tell you that. So whatever. You want to take me somewhere? Or get me a car so I can drive back to school? Because my plans have changed.”
“I have a private plane waiting,” I tell her. And then I take the backpack off her drooping shoulder and grab the handle of her roll-away suitcase and turn away.
I walk by myself for a few moments, but then I hear her reluctant footsteps and smile to myself. Sasha Cherlin has a secret. I will get that out of her before we get to Kansas, that’s for sure.
She’s good. I’ve read all about her upbringing in the Company. That insane massacre she helped orchestrate out in Santa Barbara ten years ago. I admit, I had trouble imagining that until I met her today.
When you imagine a thirteen-year-old girl you picture them thinking about boys, parties, school, and friends. You do not picture Sasha Cherlin with a gun, a mastermind plan to take down a network of people who make grown men tremble, and the skills to actually carry it out.
Granted, her partners—all other Company-trained assassins—helped. But without this one girl they wouldn’t have gotten very far.
No. The demise and fall of the Company was a product of Sasha Cherlin’s loss, anger, and heartbreak.
Note to self. Do not cross this girl.
That makes me smile, even though I’m serious. I chance a glance over my shoulder and find her walking, not close, but not far back, either. Five steps. Her back is straight and her chin is up.
That look says, You cannot touch me. Whether she knows it to be true or just knows she can kill me should the need arise, I’m not quite sure.
We weave our way through the level five parking garage until we get to the arrivals lane. The taxis are back. And shuttles. Travelers have already forgotten that things seemed unnatural when they came outside to an empty pick-up lane.
I have a car waiting with my driver, Madrid, who is the same age as Miss Cherlin. Chosen for a reason. Discretion.
Madrid opens the trunk of the government-issue sedan. I plop the luggage in without fanfare, then open the passenger’s side door and wave Cherlin in.
“No, thank you,” she says politely. I guess her composure is back. “I’ll take the back.”
I close the door and walk around to the other side of the car. There’s no way I’m letting that girl sit behind me.
She pulls a pair of sunglasses out of her purse—round ones that cover