Starr Gone Page 11

  I am not ready for this.

  I am not ready for them.

  I’m not prepared to hide all my tells quite yet.

  “Now Jessica, is that any way to treat your new team members? Well, actually they’re more like your personal escorts,” he says, his words biting. His every action, every reaction is a punishment for my real team, for my real friends getting away. “These girls will be following you everywhere at the ranch and at your grandparent’s place. The library, the kitchen, the bathroom, the changing room.... Everywhere.”

  My mouth opens to protest—a natural reaction when someone tells me what to do, but I shut it. I won’t give Sami and Jody or Treadwell the satisfaction.

  “Ladies, this is Jessica,” he says gesturing to me. “Jessica, meet Samantha and Jody Lynn.”

  Jody Lynn lifts her eyes and gives me a small smile. This act of familiarity chips away at all the hate I feel toward her. On the other hand, the loathing in Sami’s eyes, her face, her entire being is unmistakable. This reaction I hold on to. This reaction I savor.

  “Girls,” I say, curling my lip as if even acknowledging their existence is below me, so far below me I can step on them like tiny ants on the sidewalk and never realize it, and that’s what I intend to do to them. Squash them like tiny ants.

  “I’ll give you some time to get reacquainted.” Treadwell laughs and leaves the room. Marching over to the window acting unaffected by past events seems like the perfect way to begin the next chapter of our relationship. Unfortunately, my tied ankles and hands eliminate my opportunity to ignore them properly. In a twist of fate, I prefer Thomas’s presence to anyone else’s in the room. Yes, he’s a bastard, but he’s never pretended otherwise. He’s the only one I can trust not to stab me in the back. He’ll gut me while I watch if ordered to do so.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Di

  “Christian, it’s a bad idea,” I argue.

  Ben slows the car down. We haven’t left the Qualla Boundary yet, but Christian plans to storm the dude ranch. Last night our carefully thought out, flawless plan was vetoed by Christian now that the light of day is upon us.

  “It’s the only way,” he says. “Keep driving Ben. We can be there by seven if we leave right now.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for discussion. Ben however, takes executive powers into his own hands.

  He stops the freshly painted silver van in front of a beige vinyl-sided house. With one sharp intake of breath from Christian, out walks a tall beautiful girl with almost black hair. The shade of it so rich and full, and so similar to Christian’s hair that it must be natural. “Ben,” he growls.

  Ben grips the steering wheel. “We need help. No one knows her.”

  She smiles as she climbs into the side door. “Hi,” she says, reaching out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Rebecca.”

  “Di,” I reply.

  “Hey, Becca,” Coda calls from the front.

  “Hey, Coda, Ben,” she says. She shyly ducks her head as she turns to Christian. “Hi Christian.”

  “Hi Bec. Thanks for offering to help, but we don’t need you. We’ve got the situation under control,” he says in an uncharacteristic, dismissive manner.

  Rebecca narrows her eyes at him. “Ben told me you were not yourself. I am helping you Christian Evergood, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

  Her dark eyes smolder with determination. I immediately soften to her. “She’s right, Christian. You need her.”

  “I don’t need anyone except Starr,” he murmurs.

  Rebecca drops her eyes, but I don’t miss the pinkness in her cheeks. I remember that feeling, that crushing weight when I realized that Christian fell for Starr instead of me. The realization that I left my home with all my cash and only a few belongings, traveled on a train than a subway than a bus for a boy I had a crush on.

  I remember the anger I felt. The desire to break something that swarmed through me. I couldn’t understand why Christian cared more for Starr than he did for me, but he did.

  He does.

  Rebecca can try as she might to make him fall for her, but Christian and Starr orbit on the same axis. Two celestial bodies destined to return to each other.

  Frank squeezes my hand. “You okay?”

  I squeeze his. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Starr

  The shadows of the building disappear as the sun rises. If I stare hard enough, I can watch the dew evaporate from single blades of grass.

  The door swings open. “Everyone getting along in here?” Treadwell asks.

  “We’re all doing well, sir,” says Jude, the brown-nosing bastard.

  “Jessica, Naomi is here to get you ready for your grandparents.”

  I don’t react. I’m not Jessica. I don’t need to get ready to go anywhere.

  Some silent order must have been given because suddenly Jude and Thomas lift me up. I hear a chair scrape, followed by Jody Lynn returning from the bathroom. She nods at Jude and Thomas. They carry me into the bathroom and plop me in a chair. I struggle to break free.

  “Should we tie her?” Thomas asks.

  “No, she’ll be fine,” Jude says. He crouches beside me and whispers, “Starr, you need to stop fighting.” I jerk away from him. He settles a hand on my shoulder and holds me in place. “Stop fighting or Treadwell will make this situation much worse for you.” The genuine concern in his voice steadies me. I remember the scissors and razors that could be involved.

  I nod once, and he removes his hand. Thomas isn’t so sure. He keeps ahold of me for one, two, three, four, five seconds before letting go, but he doesn’t go far. I can feel his massive figure hovering behind me.

  Naomi walks in with her bags of torture—curling irons, straightening irons, hair dryers, hair dye, make up. She probably has tweezers and hair wax too.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Treadwell says to her. “Jessica will be a most cooperative client. Won’t you Jessica?”

  “Do they need to be here?” Naomi asks.

  “Thomas, Jude, out.”

  His obedient men follow Treadwell’s commands.

  Yes, sir.

  Thank you, sir.

  Anything you say, sir.

  “This will have to go,” she says, pointing to the necklace Christian gave me at the cabin.

  The warm stone rests against the hollow of my throat. It grounds me even after his ultimate betrayal, and I realize I’m not ready to face the cold from its absence.

  “It stays.”

  Naomi tsks. “I need a blank canvas. It won’t go with any of the clothing or makeup I’ve selected for you.”

  “The necklace is not up for debate.”

  She tsks again as she starts picking through my hair. “What shade of blonde were you before?”

  I don’t answer. I might not fight her but I will not make this easy for her.

  “Wow, you were light. Let me mix up a batch of dye. I might need to bleach you first, and then darken it.”

  None of this makes a difference to me.

  Naomi separates and sprays sections of my hair. She squeezes and brushes nasty smelling goop onto my part. My nose crinkles from the smell and my discomfort with this entire situation. She combs, and applies, and papers, combs, and applies, and papers until there’s no hair left to comb, apply, and paper. I pray that’s she’s done, but she’ s not, not by a ninety-six-ounce bottle of lotion. She plucks. She trims. She plucks some more. Waterboarding would be less painful.

  After an excessively long time, she pulls out the papers from my hair. She washes and rinses. Adds more product. Washes and rinses. More product. Washes and rinses. This routine becomes familiar to me.

  She blow-dries. She straightens. She curls. These efforts seem counterproductive.

  Once satisfied with my hair, she returns to my face. I assume the swelling from her tweezers and hot wax have subsided. She applies. She brushes. She applies. She curls. She lines. She brushes. The levels of application
far more difficult than any test I’ve ever taken including the leadership exam. Assassin training pales in comparison to this beauty regimen. No wonder Jody left beautician training for the Organization. Learning to kill someone would be a relief.

  My eyes almost tear thinking about the person I once thought was my best friend, who’s now Jody Lynn, my personal guard, heart destroyer, and accomplice to a would-be murderess.

  “No crying,” Naomi warns. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”

  Hate to have that happen.

  She sweeps something across both my cheekbones. “There.”

  She steps back to admire her work. I am her canvas. “Would you like to take a look?”

  “No.”

  “You must,” she says, lifting me up. “You must see what I have done.” She spins me to face the mirror. “Voila!”

  There, staring back at me is the old, long-blonde-haired Starr. Only someone’s played makeup artist with her and turned her into a Southern Cinderella on the night of her ball, but there’s no Prince Charming to run away from. No Prince Charming to run after her because he’s already found adequate replacements. His love as fragile as a glass slipper.

  “Here’s your outfit for today. I’ll leave you to get changed.”

  “Um...,” I say and point my bound ankles.

  “Oh right,” she says as if it’s perfectly normal, routine in fact, to remove bindings from a client’s feet. “There you go. I’ll leave you to it.” She pats me on the shoulder, smiling once more in the mirror, before she disappears out the door.

  Once she’s gone, I get to work.

  ***

  Di

  I watch Christian and Coda’s retreating backs before they disappear into the woods. “I can’t believe we just dropped him off and left him there. No good will come of this.”

  “We didn’t have a choice. Christian was going to storm the ranch. This way, he’s a couple miles away. By the time he runs through the woods, most of his pent-up anger should be gone,” Frank says.

  I raise eyebrow.

  “I said ‘should,’ and Coda ‘should’ be able to keep him out of trouble.”

  “I hope so,” Rebecca and I murmur together.

  Ben puts his right turn signal on at the large wood sign advertising the Lazy L Ranch. “Is Christian right about this place? Is it really the front for the Organization?”

  “The fact that we’re doubting him is your answer. Who would expect horseback riding as a front for a killing machine training facility?” I reply.

  “Is that...,” Rebecca swallows, “is that what’s going on here?”

  Ben glances at me in the rearview mirror. I blink once in confirmation. “Yes,” he says, “it is, but you’re only going to ask if any of the horses are available for a seasonal rental.”

  “Very well,” she says. “Do you really think they brought Starr here? Do they want to make her,” she pauses, “a killing machine?”

  I swallow the bile. Starr and killing don’t go in the same sentence. “They did, but now, the general knows she’s the granddaughter of Chamberlain Chocolates.”

  She turns to me. “Bee Buzz sticks?”

  I nod.

  “Killer candy makers?” She shakes her head back and forth. “What will they think of next?”

  “We’ve got a problem,” Ben says. Frank and I lean between the seats to look out the windshield. A guard booth with large metal gates with barbed wire strung through the top blocks the entrance to the ranch.

  “Di, get in the back,” Frank hisses.

  I sneak between the seats to the back row. Frank follows behind me. “Get down.”

  “What should we do? What should we do?” murmurs Ben.

  Rebecca sits up tall. “Let me handle this.”

  Frank and I share a look. He shrugs his shoulders. We just put our lives in the hands of a complete stranger. I hope we made the right decision.

  “They’ve got guns,” Ben whispers.

  “We have words,” Rebecca replies.

  “What if they recognize me?”

  Rebecca laughs. “To them, we all look the same. We are not Eastern Band of Cherokee or Crow Creek Sioux or Nambe Pueblo Indian. We are American Indians. That is all. Now, roll down your window.”

  The gravel crunches as the guard approaches. I peek under the seat.

  She leans over the center console. “Can y’all help us?” she drawls.

  “Looking for the reservation?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I am.”

  Frank gives me a thumbs up.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Starr

  “What do you think?” I ask, gliding into the room.

  Jude, Thomas, Samantha, and Jody Lynn’s mouths drop.

  Naomi screams, “What have you done?”

  I smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She misses the sarcasm as she points at my head. “Your hair. What have you done to your hair? Didn’t you like your haircut?”

  Yes, this is what Naomi says to me. This is Naomi’s most pressing concern.

  I pat my shaved head. “You did a great job, but it got caught in this lovely pink dress you picked out for me. I decided to get rid of it.” I pat it again for good measure. “Blow drying and hair curling no longer needed.”

  “I need to get General Treadwell,” Thomas stutters.

  “Sure,” I say and sit down on the edge of the bed. I pull down my dress as I cross my legs. “Go get him.”

  While we wait for them to return, a shocked silence swirls around the room. I enjoy their reaction.

  It makes me strong.

  It makes me powerful.

  “General Treadwell will not be happy with you,” Thomas says, breaking the silence.

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  Jude hurries over. “What have you done?” he hisses. “Do you know what...?” He stops glancing around. Everyone is listening to him. Of course, they’re listening. “Do you know what he’ll do to you?”

  I smile. “I look forward to it.”

  Treadwell bursts into the room, followed by poor Naomi, who’s ringing her hands like she can’t believe someone would be so disappointed in her work. The door slams against the wall so hard I’m sure it left a mark.

  “What have you done?” he thunders at me.

  I tilt my head as I smile. “You wanted me to get a haircut.”

  “This... this is a mockery. Can you fix it?” he roars, his face the color of a beet.

  Naomi teeters behind him. “There’s nothing to fix.”

  With a cupped hand, he smacks me across the face. All the air whooshes against my cheek in his mighty slap. I have two options—clutch my face, acknowledging the pain, thereby letting him win or become the assassin he wanted me to be and not reveal any weakness. A smart-ass remark is a must too.

  “Is that all you got?”

  He lifts his hand again. I should be scared or at least concerned but, I’m me, and he’s the general, and pain is his middle name.

  “I could fit her for a wig?”

  Treadwell pauses, hand hovering in midair. “When?”

  “Well...,” she wrings her fingers, “probably by tomorrow?”

  I smile at him. “Guess I ruined your meeting plans.”

  “Now. Today,” he says.

  “I could fit her with a temporary one this afternoon, and then have a final one by tomorrow.”

  Tension swarms around Treadwell so thick you could slice it with Sami’s whip.

  “Fine. You leave for Asheville now. We’ll meet you at your shop in one hour.”

  “But sir, the cost will be—”

  He holds up his hand. “The cost is no object. Go!”

  She glances at me with regret. “At least you didn’t wash off your makeup.”

  This woman possesses priorities I’ll give her that. No worries about a girl kept hostage. Only concerns of the mascara variety.

  “Samantha, Jody Lynn,” he say
s.

  “Yes, General,” Sami answers for both of them.

  “Do not allow Jessica to go anywhere by herself,” he pauses and looks at me, waiting for my reaction, “even the bathroom.”

  But I won’t give him what he wants. “Do they have to wipe my ass too or can I do that by myself?”

  Sami glares. Jody shifts her feet.

  “You think you pulled a fast one, don’t you?” Before I can reply, he continues, “It will be the last trick you pull while you’re in my possession, and if your grandparents don’t pay up, I will break you. You will find the true meaning of pain and torture just as your poor boyfriend did. No one, I mean, no one disobeys me!” he shouts.

  I try not to grin. I know I’ll only piss him off, but the truth of the matter is, he isn’t a real general in a real army, and I am not a soldier.

  He smacks me in the same spot he smacked before only this time he uses a flat hand. My cheek feels as if hot pennies have been seared against it, but I will not show weakness.

  “What will Grandfather do if you leave a mark on his precious granddaughter’s face?”

  “I’m in charge. Not your grandfather.”

  “Don’t you know that money buys everything?” I say, swallowing the distaste for using the line my grandmother fed me all those weeks ago.

  The vein in his forehead bucks against the skin, ready to break free at any moment. His body tenses. He growls. Yes, growls. His hands tighten into fists.

  I prepare myself for battle.

  But my preparation is wasted. He turns on his heel and marches out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Stunned eyes stare after him. Those same stunned eyes turn to me.

  I straighten my back. I raise my chin. I sit down. Calm. Cool. Together. These four guards will only witness this new Starr, the defiant Starr, a spoiled, entitled Southern heir who, for the time being, will be known as Jessica Chamberlain. They will never know the real me. They will never see the emotions exploding beneath the surface.

  Ten minutes pass without a word, without a movement. How do I know this? I’ve counted every second of every minute. This act, the Jessica Chamberlain act, exhausts me. It sucks the life right out of my cheekbones. I thought my “To Do” lists and afterschool activities were tiresome. I didn’t know how easy my life was when my biggest problem was convincing hotel managers that cocktail hotdogs and shrimp toast should only cost six dollars a person instead of ten and whether I should run before swim practice or after. The way I’m really feeling right now is not all proud and shiny. The way I really feel right now involves crawling under the blankets, curling into the fetal position, and crying my eyes out over cheap, broken promises.