Page 146 of Pretty Nightmare

It’s not an ideal situation, but I’m trying to fix that.

I press the green tab on my phone and listen to it ring on speaker.

“Helloooooo!” a teenage girl answers.

And for a moment I forget where I am in time and say, “Sasha?”

“No. It’s Lauren. Who’s this? Your number didn’t come up.”

“Adam.”

Silence for a moment. Then, “Hmm.” And, “Mom! It’s Uncle Adam!”

Uncle?

There’s some shuffling on the other end, then a breathless Sasha says, “Hey. Are you bringing the steaks today? Because if so, don’t get none of those shit vegan ones, OK? You hear me? If you show up with vegan T-bones, I will—”

I cut her off. “It’s the other Adam, Sasha.” All I hear is breathing and the sound of some busy place in the background. “You still there?”

“I’m here.” She whispers it. “What do you want?” Her tone is no longer light and happy. It’s very, very dark.

“I’m looking for a guy—”

“Never heard of him.”

“Don’t be a bitch. This is a true fucking emergency, OK? Did you hear about Donovan?”

“I heard. Sorry for your loss.”

“That’s why I’m calling. I didn’t lose anything. Yet. But I need some help here. He’s not dead, but he’s in a bad way and I need a certain type of guy to help him past this.”

She pauses. “What kind of guy?”

“PSYOPS. He’s been fucked with. Badly. And by someone who really knew what he was doing. He’s in a coma right now, but he could wake up at any moment and then I’m gonna need this guy, Sasha. If I’m gonna save him.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t save him. I know what’s going on. I know all about Carter. So maybe you should just let him die?”

Part of me hates her right now. And to be clear, I have never felt any kind of fondness for Sasha Cherlin. She was a weapon to be used and nothing more. But if she knew. If she knew that Donovan was Carter, she could’ve fucking spoke up and said something ten years ago.

Fighting with her now defeats the purpose of my call so I sigh and rub my temple with two fingers. “I can’t. It’s not fair. He helped me. I don’t think anyone understands how much he helped me. I owe him this one last chance.”

“You owe Carter Couture?”

“No. Donovan. I don’t give a fuck about Carter. In fact, if this man you know can get rid of him when Donovan wakes up, all the better. But if not, then we need a way to control it, Sasha. Please. How do I contact Merc?”

She lets out a long breath. “He’s retired. Has been for…hell, a decade almost. And so am I. I don’t appreciate this phone call. My life is sorted. I have a family—a husband, two kids, and fucking dog. I don’t need this.”

“If I had anyone else to call, you know I would.”

She snorts. “How could you possibly not have anyone else to call? You run the fucking Company.”

“PSYOPS died out. Donovan was the last one.”

“You mean Carter was the last one.”

“Whatever. I would not ask you if I didn’t have to. I swear. Please. One last favor. If you do this I’ll tell you something I know. Something very secret.”

“What secret?”