Page 26 of The Puppetmaster

I can still feel the blood running through her veins beneath my touch, agitated by tension and the subtle threat lacing my gesture. I can still see the way her eyes widened and the resolve blossoming on her expression, unwilling to let the fear win.

She’s a strong one, I always knew that—and her letter is just another reassurance of that. One could say that based on first impressions, Alena presented me with the most sloppy work of all three girls. All she left for me was a folded piece of paper, the copy appearing on both front and back in fast handwriting. The second girl, who also opted to submit a written response, made more of an effort to present her writing in an adequate form. Her letter is sealed in a decorative envelope with a lipstick kiss planted on the back, while the third girl left me a USB stick adorned with a red ribbon tied in an intricate bow. I haven’t checked the content of the USB stick yet, nor have I opened the sealed envelope.

But Ihaveread Alena’s letter.

And if I’m being honest, that’s all I need to do.

There’s honesty even in the way she presented her assignment. I don’t want to believe it was negligence that caused her to forgo adorning it with a personal touch in the way she presented it to me. I never cared for outward appearances when it comes to these tasks, because that’s not what counts. What counts is what the girl is ready to reveal to me, how open she can be with me, and how stable her character and mind is. Dancing for me is a challenge that not many can handle.

Lifting my gaze to stare out the window, I’m still holding Alena’s letter in a firm grasp between the tips of my fingers. The last sunbeams of the day still caress the farthest corners of my garden with their warm touch, ready to make way for the moon soon.

Summer is about to end, and like most other people, I don’t welcome this change of seasons. I didn’t grow up in the desert like my mother did, but the heat that kissed her skin is ingrained in mine just as much. I’m most alive when it’s bright and hot outside, in my element when others can barely stand the intensity with which the sun is striking us.

If possible, I try to spend the long winter months in a more welcoming climate somewhere across the globe, preferably in my mother’s home country, though I barely speak the language. My mother died too early to nurture my Arabic roots.

I wonder if I’ll feel the Egyptian sand beneath my feet this winter. And if so, when.

How long will it take? How long until I’m done with Alena Prey? How long will it be until I’ve done what needs to be done?

I hate the darkness that shrouds any predictions in regard to her. No matter what, she will be my last dance, despite the rocky circumstances under which we had to start.

And I have to make it count with her.

I study the form she filled out for me, only scanning it for now to see whether she filled out every single column. From the looks of it, she did, just like every other girl before her. It’s fascinating how these women are so gullible, so ready to give up sensitive information regarding their bank accounts, social security numbers and the like.

There were some—and I’m sure Alena will be one of them—who asked me about it when I brought them to my home to sign the contract, but it was easy to silence any doubts they may have had with excuses that are shallow at best. They never fear, they never question, and they never understand. The nondisclosure agreement is signed just as quickly, putting them at my mercy in a way that they never fully grasp. I’ve always been irritated at how easy it was with some of them.

And they say men think with their dicks? It seems to me that women may be just as stupid in some cases. Though stupidity is not something I yearn to see in my puppets, even when it works in my favor.

I consider at least looking at the other two girls’ submissions, if only to keep up appearances. Weighing the beautifully sealed envelope in my hand, my eyes travel across the table, latching onto something that makes me roll my eyes.

It’s another decorated envelope, unopened just like the one in my hand. However, I don’t have to open that one to know what’s inside. It’s the official wedding invitation from my brother and his betrothed little thing. I know there are people in this world who would be proud in my place, considering how my younger brother managed to turn his life around after all the shit he’s done. He was a criminal, a truly bad guy, his only redemption earned by the way he took the fall for me and later managed to clear his name all by himself in the chaos surrounding the kidnapping of his now soon-to-be wife.

Even after all of that, he never asked to be involved in the family business, which was left entirely in my responsibility. As the firstborn son, I was predestined to become my father’s successor from birth, no matter where life would take us—and whether I was up for the task or not. Nothing ever challenged his conviction, not the terrible loss of my mother, not the emergence of a new wife, and a second son. I can’t blame Nate for choosing the path he chose, because no matter how hard my father was on me, he was ten times worse on him.

But if Nate intends to stay honest and clean, it’s probably best that he stays as far away from the family’s empire as possible.

Because our business is anything but clean.

Chapter 17

Alena

“You what?!”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I spenthourstrying to come up with something to tell my sister and explain why I’ll be unreachable for weeks, maybe months. I tormented myself, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, and I among all the excited flutter that his decision left me with, I was so utterly ashamed and worried what she might think of me.

There’s no excuse good enough, no lie smart enough to hide the truth. Despite living far away from each other right now, we’re as close as two sisters can be, and it’s not due to a sense of responsibility or anything like that. That dependency no longer exists between us.

Riley is an adult, just like me, and a quite successful one at that. Career-wise, she’s gotten farther than I ever have because she’s the smart one between the two of us. People used to joke that together we were invincible, referring to her as the brain and to me as the fists of an unbeatable girl-power operation. She always objected, saying that it was an insult, but I’m inclined to agree. It always felt weird that I was the one taking care of her, just because I’m older—just as it feels weird to share the explicit details about my life with her.

And now she steamrolls me with some rather spectacular news herself.

“I left Chris,” she repeats. “And they fired me for sexual misconduct in the workplace.”

For a few moments, neither one of us speaks. My jaw literally dropped at her revelation, my eyes equally wide, and the tension that’s taken hold of me for the past few days evaporates in a sort bewilderment that I’ve never experienced before.

“I’m sorry,” Riley adds. She doesn’t really sound sorry. She doesn’t sound apologetic at all. The way in which she speaks is so confident and nonchalant, as if she’d just told me about a new car she’s thinking of buying, or what color she wants to paint her bedroom.

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