Final Curtain

Nate's POV

It was Aric's turn to watch Ashley. It wasn't ideal, but we'd made the call to Nolan before I left and he stepped in. Aric would be grilling her on where Drew's body and the gun Mel used to kill her were. I didn't have high hopes that Ashley would tell him—hell, she would be stupid enough to taunt him.

That wasn't my problem. Not now. I was riding the elevator to a penthouse suite my parents owned. Just to show off their hubris: it was in the heart of Upper East Side, New York. The short girl shifting next to me was... I glanced at Melissa. She was jittery, rocking back and forth on her feet. The elevator was steadily taking us higher despite her nervous streak.

She caught me staring. Mel pressed her lips together and came to an abrupt halt.

"I'm sorry. I'm just... nervous." If the parents of a person I'd murdered invited me along for dinner, I would be skittish too.

"It's fine. It's distracting me from..." I jerked my chin to emphasize the small space around us. Her pale lips formed an O. A corner of my lips kicked up. A ping later, we poured into a hall. I led us down the familiar velvet-like carpet. We came to a stop in front of a bullet proof door with a coat of shiny polish. I glanced down at her. Were my parents normal people, I would've laughed, because of how Mel was wringing her fingers together. So adorably nervous. "Ready?"

"No," she breathed honestly. Her eyes were glued on the door. "But this is a good distraction from... you know." From the dreaded memories.

"Alright." Without a second thought, I rang the doorbell. I wasn't armed. My parents wouldn't harm us, that much I knew. They were civilized people to a degree. Not unhinged like my deceased sister. I inhaled once I heard the bolts coming undone. The door cracked open and John, my adoptive father, was the greeting we received.

"Good evening, son." Dad said. Then, he pushed the door further and acknowledged the five-foot tall girl standing next to me. I could read my father's poker face quite well and, in this minute, I saw through the polite—almost welcoming—smile he sent Melissa's way. It was the sort he wore around new recruits. "You must be Elena and George's daughter."

"Yes, I—"

I stepped in front of Mel, easily overshadowing her.

"You don't need to play around, dad. You know who she is, and she knows who you are."

John regarded me with a long-suffering glare.

"You can be so rude, Nathaniel." I learned it from your daughter, I wanted to say. "I just didn't want the girl..."

"Melissa." I corrected pushing past him, entering the apartment.

"Melissa," I heard him say as she followed me in, like a shadow. "I didn't want Melissa to be intimidated. After all, she might think we want her dead."

I shut my eyes in a prayer. This was starting swell and my mother hadn't come into play yet. Fuck the Queen, God save me! In a raw impulse, I grabbed Mel's wrist, startling her, and dragged us into the massive living room. I thought Mel would get a kick out of the view, at least. The windowpane was a beast, stretching as an entire wall. I dropped into a couch—undoubtedly made from Italian leather—and refrained from propping my feet on the black-glass coffee table.

"Where's mom?"

"She'll be arriving in a few. She's in a meeting, it ran late." John was wearing a shirt that cost more than all I was wearing. It was silk, navy and the dark pants and shoes looked uncomfortable. "Make yourself at home, Melissa."

I spied a glance over a shoulder. She was wavering between the couch I was on and the larger than life window. Mel mustered a fading smile. She walked around the black couch. Mel sat and our thighs were inches from touching.

I cleared my throat, turning toward my father.

"Can't we get this show on the road? I know why you guys wanted to see me and it's not going to happen. I don't know how much clearer I can be." My father was busy pouring himself a neat scotch. It reminded me of when I was a kid: I would stand next to him and John would be busy with something else—making a drink, cleaning a gun, cleaning a knife, reading a file, the list was endless.

"Does anyone want a drink?"

I ignored his offer and dug into my front pocket for my Marlboro and lighter.

"I don't drink. Thank you." I pulled a cigarette from the pack, placing it in my mouth. I turned to face Mel. That was a lie. Her bag was tossed beside her. Melissa's posture screamed awkward. Her knees were crammed together; her delicate artist hands were palms-down resting on her legs.

I took pity on her. Holding my cig between my lips, I wrenched myself over to the large drinking table my father had going. John was sipping his drink, giving me a look that boarded on disappointment. He was trying to appeal to my need to please the people who'd given me a life. I grabbed the whiskey and a glass. I poured two fingers of the stuff, then, returned to the couch and grabbed Mel's left hand, pushing the cup into it. She blinked at my faint loopsided grin. Finally, I grabbed the lighter and ignited my vice. I took several drags before catching Melissa's eyes still on me. The aquamarine color glinted in the artificial light around us. Mel took a small gulp—making a face. But after the fourth sip, she knocked it back.

"You don't drink, huh?" I teased her. I released a cloud of smoke and leaned forward, grabbing the ashtray across the coffee table. I placed it on the couch's flat arm and flicked the ash piling at the end of my cigarette. "At least tell me why you wanted me to bring Mel." My father's handwriting had read to come over for dinner and to bring my plus one, AKA: the weary college dropout sitting beside me.

John took a seat on the identical couch across the coffee table.

"Isn't this how it goes? Parents meeting their son's girlfriends?"

I pulled the cig from my mouth, staring dead ahead. Into John's blue eyes.

"Don't be cynical." My father slowly turned his glass, watching liquid slosh in a quiet motion. "Why did you ask me to bring Melissa? Don't just pretend like you're not listening..."

John exhaled loudly.

"Patience was never your strength." He claimed before downing the last of his drink. Unlike Mel, my father's face didn't morph from the heat and bite of it. John set the empty glass on the shiny table. "Reed told us what's going on, what you've gotten yourself into..."

"Myself?" I gritted. "You and mom are part of why I'm in this mess! I told you I wouldn't go back. I quit. You let me go. And what did you do? You kept my information and contracts on the Hive's database. Nolan got someone to hack into your network. They downloaded everything on me, because of you."

"Your mother thought the lack of money would draw you in." He shrugged. "I told her it wasn't a good idea." I rubbed a temple while snuffing out the last of my cig. "Why haven't you recovered the evidence this Nolan has on you?"

"Like it's that easy." Melissa muttered. She pressed into the pillows at my father's arrowing glare.

"Do you know about Drew's body?" John's eyes merely shifted from Mel to me. Mentioning Drew got little reaction.

"What about Drew?"

"Nolan has her body stashed somewhere, preserved in ice." I sneered. "He has the gun with Mel's prints on it."

"You mean the gun she killed Drew with." he stated dispassionately.

"Yes," I whispered, slightly fazed by how coldly he analyzed the matter. Why was I still surprised? My parents were cold and calculating. If it had been me dead, the reaction would've been the same. "Those are evidence against Melissa. Nolan's using it as leverage. He knows the only way to explain Drew's death as self-defense, would be to share Drew's past as an assassin. That would expose me—the Hive."

"Would it?" my father chuckled, stunning me. "Do you think we don't have contingency plans, Nathaniel? If anyone investigates Drew, they won't find anything out of the ordinary. They'll find Drew Armstrong lived in San Diego and that she was a nurse working in a county hospital. Everything about her was erased the minute Reed notified us of her death."

"But... that's..." That was worse for Mel. How could she ever explain killing Drew in self-defense now? The seat sunk next to me. I cocked my head, Mel read it on my face.

The silence was suffocating. I still didn't know what my parents wanted us for. It was agonizing to wait for Susan to prance in. But stroll in she did, about ten minutes later. My mother was wearing a red business suit with a black blouse underneath; draped over her right arm was a fur jacket. Susan's hair was dark blond, while John's was light. Her cornflower-blue gaze swept the room in a finger snap. Mel squirmed in her seat and I couldn't help but feel snared in a bear trap the moment my mother's eyes settled on me.

Her face was playing at amicable, but I knew better. Whatever was going down tonight I wouldn't like it. John shifted to look over the couch, looking at mom. I knew he was unsmiling, probably conveying the situation to Susan. Without a word, my father twisted around and got up, walking towards the dining room. Mom placed the furry thing on the couch dad vacated, along with her bag.

"Nathaniel, it's good to see you're doing well." Bite me, my inner monologue raged. "And Melissa," Susan smiled at the brunette. And mom's smile was charmingly cold, like a robot's. "You look just like Elena. Has John been accommodating of you?"

Mel licked her lips quickly.

"Yes."

"Good." I watched her walk off, following dad's steps—my adoptive mother stopped. "Why don't you choose the wine, Nathaniel?"

"Sure." I answered in another monosyllable. Then mom's shoe's clicked on the marble floor until she disappeared. The leather squeaked as I moved to get up. I turned to Mel, extending my hand as if inviting her to dance. "Come with me."

She gripped my hand without a second thought. I took us into another room, parallel to the one leading to the kitchen. The movement detectors registered us entering and light filled the small lounge room. Melissa took the lead, presumably admiring several art pieces my mother bought over the years, while I shut the door. As I walked up behind her, my arms worked on their own, wrapping around her midsection—pulling her against me. I bent my head to press my nose into her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. Is this too much? I asked myself suddenly, but no. Melissa's hands were placed over mine, welcoming my embrace.

"They're... cold."

"I appreciate the honesty." She wriggled to face me. Mel's hands ended up on my chest. "It'll be over before you know it. You don't have to talk if you don't..."

"I don't need you to be my spokesperson. I just... I killed their daughter. I don't feel guilty about it—not now." She assured when I gave her a doubtful scowl. "I don't know what to say." I knew from experience Melissa could be a verbal detonator.

I let out a long breath wondering how we'd gotten here? There were so many variables, so much shit and darkness to deal with in our lives. I tucked a straight lock of hair behind Mel's ear, then I cupped her cheek, eying her for a handful of seconds. The heavily polluted, convoluted mess that was my heart sped up and despite everything going on, I smiled happily.

Melissa sobered. Her aquamarine eyes rounded out, looking like swollen soccer balls that would pop if you stabbed a pin in them. Her hand came up to touch mine—the one still on her cheek—her expression was awed. Her smooth lips parted, almost trembling.

"Is everything..."

"I remembered..." she whispered, blinking. Her fingers tightened on mine. "We were in a—an alleyway!" I felt her facial muscles shake as Melissa struggled to keep her expression straight. She shook her head minutely, her eyes gazing into something I couldn't grasp. "And you... I ran there—after you." She saw me stiffen. "You were angry and... sad." her voice dropped. "You told me you were going to disappoint me."

That moment—when she followed me, even though I was angry, even knowing my temper was so unstable… Mel followed me. That moment made me think something could happen between us, because she was crazy enough to try and save me from myself. In that alleyway in Philadelphia, she confessed she was falling in love with me.

"I was right."

"What?" she asked breathless—shocked.

"I did so many things to hurt you. You deserved better—you'll always deserve better."

Melissa stepped away quickly, letting go of my hand. Said hand slipped from her olive cheek. My eyes churned.

"You did hurt me, Nate. I... remember some of it—but I moved past that. I saw goodness in you. Two months ago, you were ready to walk out on me if that's what I wanted. You were ready to respect my decision. How could I want more from you?"

"If I'd done a better job as keeping you safe, Nolan wouldn't have gotten you—he could've..." Fuck, I gripped my hair. I needed to get a lid on my emotions. Now wasn't a great time to deal.

"I didn't think being my boyfriend was a job to you." She sounded pissed. She looked it too, with her hands clenched at her sides and those ocean colored irises sparkling dangerously.

I ran a hand along the short waves that were my hair. This was supposed to be a happy moment. Melissa remembered something about us—it was important. Yet, here we were, bickering like an old married couple. I smirked, should we be so lucky.

"What the hell are you smirking at?"

The smirk went full-bloom.

"At the prospect of a long life at your side."

Caught off guard, Melissa's fight drained. I took advantage, closing the space between us. I reached down quickly, not wanting to give her time to dodge. I circled her waist and hoisted her to my height. I guided Mel's legs around my waist. She was just about to start blabbering, but my lips greeted hers on queue. Melissa's hands closed on my shoulders; little nails dug through the material of my shirt, stabbing my breakable skin. She didn't resist me. Instead, she met my advances fiercely, maybe a little too rough. I enjoyed every second. Between butterfly kisses, Melissa panted against my chin. I walked us against a wall—pushing her into it. Melissa made the softest sound as her chest pushed on mine.

I kissed my way along her jawline with the sole purpose to reach her earlobe and nibble it. Melissa leant her head back—into the wall—eyes open, biting her lower lip. She made another little noise when I pushed our centers together. She worked her lip harder. Mel grabbed a handful of my blond hair, forcing me where she wanted me to go—our mouths met. In the back of my mind, I knew there was a reason why this was a bad idea... Melissa's tongue stroked mine. I became harder once she closed her lips around my tongue and gave it a suck.

She panted my name, practically shivering in my arms, "Nathan..."

I would take her against this wall. No problem. Only... She whined, clinging to the fabric covering my chest as I reluctantly lowered her on her feet. I bent, planting a lasting kiss on her delicious deviant mouth. She leaned in for another one, but I straightened. Mel being a shorty, couldn't reach my mouth—not without going on her tiptoes. I headed for the wine collection before that could happen.

"I knew you were an ass." I heard her heave. I flashed her a brief grin over a shoulder. She was looking awfully red-cheeked.

"It's my trademark, princess. By the way," I started coursing through the wine selection in my parent's lounge. "Your hair's a mess."

Two arms wrapped around my midsection and a slim body pressed against my back. She held on for a full minute, before speaking.

"I'm not disappointed." I snorted. "I'm only sad you stopped us from doing... what we were doing."

"We came in here for a reason. It's not my fault you're so distracting."

"Please," she scoffed. Her embrace dropped and immediately a cold shiver shot up my spine, from missing her warmth. "You're the one with the attention span of a panda cub."

"A panda cub?"

"Yes." I sputtered a laugh. What the hell did that even mean? "Whatever. Let's get back to the dinner from hell, before your parents decide to kill us for taking so long to choose wine."

My hand shot out for her arm, stopping her. Melissa glanced at me, eyes soft and full of desire.

"What triggered it?" we both knew I was talking about her memory of us.

She tilted her head giving me an adoring look. I wasn't sure if she was aware of it.

"Your face. When we were standing there..." she paused. "Something about your face... that smile... You looked really happy and I remembered the first time I saw that smile on your face. That's what did it."

Mel's POV

Sitting down to have dinners with professional assassins wasn't on my bucket list. Not that I had one—that I knew of. Considering my many brushes with death, perhaps I should consider making a list? Why was I thinking about that now? Because these people weren't random assassins, nope. They were Nathaniel's adoptive parents. Plus, you know, Drew's. The person I'd shot.

Pardon me if my appetite for ravioli was spoiled. Nate gave me a look across the table. He was sitting across from me. Brandy irises shifted between my face and the near empty wine cup. Were my cheeks totally red? Oh my God, was I getting tipsy? That didn't sound like a good plan. Considering what Nate and I almost did in their lounge room... We were full of bad ideas. But hey, at least Nolan's "scare tactic" was the furthest thing from my mind. Hurray for awkward dinners!

"I think this has dragged on long enough. Why did you ask us here?" Nathaniel broke the earsplitting silence of silverware scraping on ceramic plates.

It was Nate's mother who acknowledged him. His father kept eating, as if no one had spoken. Like everything about Nathaniel was invisible. I cast a tenderhearted look Nate's way, but he was busy holding his mother's gaze. The woman's eyes reminded me of a hawk's, cold and deprived of any humanity. She looked ready to plunge and bury her sharp talons into a poor scurrying mouse. On cue, that stare shifted to me. I did my best to keep from shrinking in my chair. I wasn't hopeless prey. I wouldn't facilitate her bullying of me.

"You have cost us two of our best assassins, Melissa." This time around, Susan didn't bother smiling while addressing me.

Under the table, I pressed my legs together, fighting for courage and waving away the cold sweats. I resisted the urge to reach under my sweatshirt to wipe the accumulating sweat between my shoulder blades.

"Maybe if your daughter hadn't killed my parents and tried to kill me, she would still be alive." I loathed the thought of Drew alive. "It was her fault. She stuck her nose in matters that didn't concern her. Plus, Nate told me members of the Hive aren't supposed to kill each other. My parents were in your sordid line of business, right?" my breathing was... surprisingly even. Brownie points for me! "Which means Drew cost you two assassins as well and she killed them for her own personal gain—for money."

From the corner of my eye, I saw John set his knife and fork down. He reached for his cup, sipping a taste; he eyed me over the rim. Great, now it felt like I was being stalked by a pair of jackals.

"You're right. Drew betrayed the Hive first." Yes, exactly, I was right—wait. Why was she agreeing? I thought I'd have to scream until my voice turned to raspy hisses to get my point across… Every inch of my being screamed TRAP in big capital letters. "We learned about your situation from Reed." she spared a look at her adopted son. Nate mirrored his mother's cold façade, tit for tat. "We made a mistake. We should have wiped your information off our database, but we were confident you would return after your money was transferred to one of our offshore accounts."

"I know you're not used to hearing no, mother, but I've never gone back on my word. You should've known this time wouldn't be any different."

Susan cocked her head.

"We didn't think our security would be breached." John added. "Our cover as a land development company isn't something people take an interest to hack or suspect of. Even if they did, there are people who would help our cover." Powerful people. What Nathaniel said about his parents killing someone from a monarchy came to mind. While the Order had a branch of assassins, it had also operated in other things: drugs, arms dealings and human trafficking. The Hive was different; their assassins could be hired to kill or to protect people. "Still, it wouldn't bode well to have someone get those contracts."

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed, shifting between his parents. I twisted my lips feeling queasy; mutated kittens wanted to claw their way out of my stomach.

"Are you trying to offer us help?" Please don't let my hand shake, please don't let it shake… I chanted, reaching for my glass.

"Yes." John retorted.

"You never help anyone without getting something in return." Nate's aggressive tone cut through the tension cloud hovering the quadrangular table.

Susan had her fingers laced in front of her. Her food was all but forgotten. She was a business woman capable of making any boardroom shit their pants. Nate didn't bat a lash. It was as dazzling as it was eerie. These people raised him—the man I most definitely had feelings for. But sitting here, with them, I could see Nathaniel was nothing like them. He could leave everything they taught him, everything they made him into, behind. Nate was warm, caring and passionate when he desired to be. John and Susan weren't capable of those emotions.

"We have a proposition for you." Susan led on, proving Nate right. "We are prepared to help you dismantle the new Order Nolan's putting together. We have resources and people for you to use, stationed here, in New York." That was obvious, I thought dryly. The "cleaning job" Nate ordered for the warehouse where Pacey died told me there were branches of the Hive in the Big Apple.

"What's the catch?"

"There is no catch. There's a deal, son." John pointed out, sounding thoroughly amused.

Nate grumbled something under his breath that I couldn't catch.

"Melissa," Susan said with a leveled voice. "Your mother wasn't much older when she joined us. From what Reed told us you're quite the prodigy at hand-to-hand combat..."

Nathaniel slammed his hands on the table. His plate wobbled, and the knife toppled to the floor. Nate pushed back his chair, standing and glaring openly at his mother.

"Don't even finish that offer, mother."

Susan calmly regarded him; she watched her son with little interest, making me think of porcelain dolls. They sat on shelves with their round vacant gazes, watching life play out, their expressions always unemotional and unchanging.

"Why are you making a spectacle? You don't want to return to the fold, we understand. But you can't blame us for recognizing talent. You can't forbid us for recruiting new assets."

"She's not a thing." Nate spat. "She's a person! A decent person who won't kill for a paycheck, you're wasting your breath and our time." Nathaniel stood to full height, squaring his shoulders. "Mel, get your stuff, we're leaving."

My eyes flickered to him. He radiated disgust. The plausible thing would be to leave. Follow Nate's order and go. That would be what I would've done in the past. I turned to face Susan, suddenly emboldened by an injection of confidence and adrenaline. If what John said was true—about Drew—than I was in deeper waters than before. Funnily enough, my heart hammered with concern for Nate. Not to mention I wanted to put a bullet in Nolan's head.

"I'm not an assassin." But I am a killer. Two different things. "Nate's right, I could never kill for money. I can make you a counter offer, though."

"Oh?" my blood bristled at the mocking in John's crooning. I bit my tongue. Keep. It. Together.

"Mel—"

Calming breaths. Calming breaths. Don't yell at the seasoned assassins. Bad idea… The muscles in my neck relaxed as I exhaled for the hundredth time and finally got a grip on what I meant to say.

"I know who bypassed your security." Susan's blue eyes seemed to spark with keen intent on obtaining the juicy piece of info. "If you help us against Nolan, I'll gladly divulge who the person is. I think it would be in your best interest to know how they did it—or kill them, right?" throwing Logan under the bus felt justified.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

I offered a phony smile to match her earlier one.

"Because I wasn't raised to be a liar. Also, I have a tell. Just ask him." I waved Nathaniel's way, not bothering to stay seated any longer. I have no idea how my legs weren't putty, how they didn't fold under me. I took confident strides for the living room, leaving Nate to deal with the downfall of my checkmate.

Nate wasn't far behind me, though. I grabbed my bag off the leather couch and hung it from my shoulder. Strong fingers gripped my elbow when I tripped on the coffee table. I looked up and saw the beautiful face with European traces stare down, amazed. I smiled only for him and Nate's hands traveled down my clothed arm, reaching my hand, our fingers threaded together.

"They're mulling it over." He husked, causing his voice to sound even deeper than normal. A pleasant chill ran me through. "They'll send an answer whenever they want. Let's go."

Walking hand in hand, we left the condo. It was only when we entered the elevator that I saw my reflection and noticed the beaming smile on my face.

"You just pulled a powerplay on my mother."

"I know."

"That was hot."

I side glanced him but didn't miss how close he was, pressing his side completely into mine. I could read the anxiety on his face and body language. Small spaces... Damn you, Drew. I humored him by playing into the flirty wave. When we made it outside the building, Nate came back down to Earth.

"Ashley didn't hack them—not alone. Nolan bragged about Logan..."

"The douchebag who scarred you?" I gave a sharp nod.

"Nolan said Logan did it. Maybe he was lying, maybe Ashley did it all on her own. Nolan could've been trying to pin it on Logan so that we wouldn't suspect of anyone else? But I don't know... I don't think he would care about us knowing who cracked the Hive's security." I shrugged. "Either way, one of them or both did it. I wasn't lying." Nate was awfully quiet as he drove Aric's Suzuki. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said after a bout of silence. "Nothing at all.