Page 64 of The Puppetmaster

Am I going to make this call or not? I know I’ll have to decide soon, because I’m running out of time. And I’ve been sitting here like an idiot every single morning for the past week, doing the exact same thing, grinding the exact same questions, pondering without getting anywhere.

Once again I torment myself with the question if there really is no other option, no other person to ask, because I really hate to involve him in this.

Then again, it’s my fucking brother, and if anyone is familiar with the kind of dilemma I’m facing, it would be him. Nate is the only person who would understand, the only person who wouldn’t ask any questions—and despite everything, the only person I trust.

When I agreed to trade sedatives with the local mafia years ago, Nate was the one who took the fall for me. It was a stupid thing to do—for both of us—but in the end, he was right when he said that it would be best for everyone involved if my name was kept clean, because his was already soiled.

Keeping a name clean thatisn’tclean is a questionable thing to do, but I’m doing it with the best intentions. He knows that. In fact, he’s the only person on the planet who knows that.

“Fuck it,” I hiss to myself, dialing the number before I can stop myself with another rush of dumb pondering.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he greets me in a condescending voice.

I roll my eyes. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

“What’s up, brother?” he inquires. “Please don’t tell me you killed someone and I need to cover for it or some shit like that, because, you know, I have a wedding to plan.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t disturb your little lovebird heaven,” I growl. “But I have a problem, and I need your advice.”

Even saying the words hits me in the chest like a punch.

Nate seems to sense my distress, because his voice changes in an instant.

“What’s up?” he asks again, sounding honestly concerned this time.

“I need someone to do something for me, something that will scare her or seem like the wrong thing to do. Ideally, I’d need her to do it without knowing what she’s doing, and—”

“She, huh?” my brother cuts me off. “Is this one of your playthings?”

Disgust laces his words, and I can’t blame him for it. I feel the same way when he refers to Alena as one of my playthings, even though that’s what she is. Technically.

“It doesn’t matter,” I manage. “I don’t want to go into detail.”

He clears his throat. “Because you want to spare me?”

“That’s correct.”

Tense silence is all I get in response to that.

“You need her to do something illegal for you, and you don’t want her to know that she’s doing it?” he repeats. “And you’re calling me, because…”

“Because you know what that’s like.”

He scoffs. “Well, you know how that ended.”

“Yes, it will end at the goddamn altar,” I say.

“Is that what this is about?” Nate asks, chuckling. “You’re in love with this girl or something—and you feel bad for what you’ll have to do to her?”

Fuck this guy, seriously. His words hit me like a damn train, and I’m too baffled to jump aside on time.

“No, that’s your story,” I insist.

“Sounds to me like it’s yours too, bro.”

I let out a furious sigh. What was I expecting with this call? I wanted advice, not a lecture from a little boy who lost sight of his former life because he fell for a girl he was merely supposed to kidnap and train to become someone else’s fake fiancée.

“It’s not… like that,” I utter, not even convincing myself. “You know I have no trouble with making someone do what I want them to do. You know I can train them to blindly follow any order I give them—”

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