Chapter 20
I stare around me at the villa that Kent has brought me to under the cover of night. It's beautiful: an airy, spacious house nestled in the countryside outside the city. The furnishings are modern, clean, and bright, and the large windows will surely light up the entire place during the day.
It's gorgeous, and I don't want any of it.
Kent takes me on the tour anyway, leading me through the expansive kitchen and dining room toward the staircase that leads to the upstairs bedrooms.
There are four bedrooms, the largest of which has been turned into a sort of detective office. Photos of Charles and his associates, the Alpha family, and various copies of documents are pinned to all the walls.
"Sorry to take over the master bedroom," Kent says. "But we need all the space we can get if we're going to bring these assholes down. The other bedrooms are just as nice, I promise."
"It's fine," I say dismissively. "I don't need a fancy bedroom. I'm going to sleep in that little servant's room."
"What?" Kent asks, clearly baffled. "Are you joking, Nicole? That place is the size of a closet. It doesn't even have windows! I wouldn't even let an actual staff member sleep in there, for god's sake."
"I'm not joking," I say. "I don't need fancy surroundings or comfort or luxury. I don't want to feel like some – some kept woman. What I want – what Ineed– is to remember how and why I'm here."
Kent patiently watches me as I talk, my voice getting louder and more heated as I vent to him.
"Charles put me in prison, and I'm going tobein a prison until I can get revenge on him and my family. Until I clear my name, I'm never going to be free. And I don't want to get lost in the comforts here, swanning around like I own the place.
"I need to be small, contained. I need to wait until I've fought back and earned my freedom again, before I start luxuriating in fine bedrooms and deep bathtubs and – champagne cocktails or whatever."
Kent laughs at that, but it's a sad sound. "Don't worry, Nick; we aren't going to have time for champagne cocktails for quite a while. We've got work to do." He puts a solid, comforting hand on my shoulder.
"Look, Nick, I really do mean it: I'm on your side. We're gonna work this out together, I promise. I'm your friend."
"I know you are," I sigh. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Kent pats my back. "Now, let's get to work. Come on, Andrea should be here soon."
Twenty minutes later, the sound of a car comes tearing up the long drive and screeches to a sudden stop right outside the kitchen window. Moments later, the kitchen door swings open all on its own, and Andrea wipes her leather boots before coming in.
"Yo," she greets us both, tossing a set of car keys toward me. I'm surprised and fumble them, almost dropping them into my cup of tea before I can get a good grip on them. "These are yours."
"Mine?" I ask blankly.
"Yep!" Andrea says cheerfully. "Kenty had me take a cut of the drug money and buy you that sweet little bug he promised you. Go take a peek out the window."
I get up from the table to go look out the window. Sure enough, a sleek and brand-new Volkswagen Beetle is gleaming in the outdoor lighting, its red paint glistening. It's adorable, I love it, and I can't accept it.
"Before you say you can't accept it," Kent says, two steps ahead of me and sounding exasperated, "can I make a point?"
I turn around, crossing my arms and glaring at him.
"That car was bought with money that I got from selling the fascinatingly enormous amount of cocaine that your weasel of an ex-fiancé planted in the trunk of yourlastcar – which you bought yourself, I might add – in order to stitch you up and get you falsely imprisoned for good so that he could further his political career.
"I didn't buy you this car;hedid. And god knows it's the least you deserve, after all this."
"Well, when you put it that way." I let my arms drop. "Thank you, Kent. I love it."
"I know, hon," he smiles. "I'm the best. Now, since that's out of the way, let's get to work." He motions toward Andrea, who I now notice is carrying a heavy backpack over her shoulder. She lowers it carefully onto the kitchen table, running her hands over it like it holds priceless treasure inside.
"We need to get you close to Charles and the Alpha family if you're going to get anywhere," Kent starts, zipping open the backpack and drawing out a multitude of brown packages. "You're going to be the Alpha's doctor by day, and you're going to be the doctor for my underground gang at night."
"What?" I ask in disbelief. "How the hell are you going to get me into the Alpha's house as their doctor? And how will that even work? Charles will recognize me in a heartbeat."
"Patience, Nick! I've already thought of all this; I'm not a moron. You need a new identity."
"What does that mean?" I ask, suddenly apprehensive. "You're not – you're not going to, like, give me a new face, are you? Some kind of high-tech plastic surgery?"
Kent bursts out laughing. "Nick, you watch too many movies. My god, no. First of all, that would be really freaking weird. Second of all, it would be expensive as hell. Third of all, it would take forever for you to heal, and we don't have that kind of time. Fourth of all, it's completely unnecessary."
He gestures to all the packages lying on the table. “Andrea is a mistress of disguises. When she’s done changing your look, nobody will be able to recognize you. Trust me. But we’ll get to that in a minute.
"Here's the situation," Kent says. "The Alpha is retiring. He's been sick for a long time, and he's not getting better. He's decided to turn to witch doctoring. And no,” he holds up a hand, “you are not allowed to ask me if witch doctoring is real. The less you know about the behind-the-scenes shit, the better you can confidently sell it to the Alpha.
"The Alpha is looking for a new doctor, one who can practice your regular scientific medicine – you know, the stuff you can already do and arereally damn good at," Kent continues. "But he also wants a doctor who can practice witch medicine, too."
He holds up a hand as I open my mouth to protest. "I knowyou're not a witch doctor, Nick. Real, fake, or anything in-between. But you don't have to be. Witch doctoring is all about mixing up potions and tinctures and handing out little trinkets and amulets. You don’t need to fake it; you just need someone else to hand you the stuff and tell you what to do and say.
"Andrea here is going to be your behind-the-scenes witch doctor expert. She’ll give you stuff and tell you how to present it to the Alpha, you’ll offer it to him, and it’ll be fine. None of it will actually hurt him, and he might even believe it helps him."
"All right," I say, finally getting a word in edgewise. "I'll take your word for it, for now anyway. But I’m still not sure about this hair and makeup business. Charles has known me my whole life, Kent."
Kent's face lights up in a brilliant smile. “Like I said, trust in Andrea. Let’s get started.”
Two hours later, I’m staring in the bathroom mirror in shock. My hair is now a cherry red, chin-length bob, fat with thick curls. Contacts have turned my eyes into sparkling chips of emerald green. And my makeup…
I don’t know if Andrea is magical or not, but she’s definitely a wizard when it comes to makeup. Whatever she’s done to my face, I hardly even recognize myself. If I saw a photo of myself like this, even I probably wouldn’t realize it was me.
I turn to stare at Kent and Andrea in shock. Andrea gives me a thumbs up, clearly delighting in my astonishment.
"You're gonna rock this, babe," she says.
