The Legacy: James (The Legacy Series Book 1), page 1
THE LEGACY: JAMES
By
Tricia Wentworth
THE LEGACY: JAMES
By Tricia Wentworth
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Published by Tricia Wentworth
Cover design by Parker Book Design
Editing by Andrea Reimers Editing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission by the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Copyright © 2020 by Tricia Wentworth
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also Available
To my writer nerdies: Liz, Sam, Melissa, and Miranda.
I never knew when embarking on writing a book that I’d find the friends of a lifetime.
We are proof that differences don’t have to divide us.
And that caffeination is life.
Who run the world?
Book nerds.
(Or they should.)
…………..
Prologue
…………..
Five Years Ago
They wouldn’t, would they?
He was their own flesh and blood. Even contemplating it, James felt the invisible dagger—the one lodged into his back since hearing the rumor—cut a little deeper.
They just wouldn’t.
He had not worked his butt off to get this chance wrenched out of his hands by his own parents. No way. The longer he stewed like this, the angrier he got. Had he not proved himself worthy enough? Would he ever be good enough? Granted, he was only sixteen, but was he already this much of a failure to them?
He first took out his frustrations by his usual outlet—boxing. After forcefully wrapping his hands, he pounded into his punching bag. With every hit, he thought of all the hard work, training, drills, and countless hours he put in. He’d started long before military training to prove his last name wasn’t the reason he was good. People doubted him. People constantly compared him to his dad. And yet he’d forged his own way. He’d given it his all to make a name for himself, all the while knowing a Culling would be called when he became a certain age.
His parents never specifically said when they’d call one, but they all just knew it. He and Kennedy knew they’d have their shot in the next Culling. It was just how things were done. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and Cullings were called when the presidential heirs were old enough to compete.
Maybe Cassie was wrong, then.
They would tell us, wouldn’t they?
If it came from anyone but her, he would think it false—yet another act to rile up the presidential family. It wouldn’t be the first time people had tried to tear them apart, pit them against one another. And it wouldn’t be the last either.
He practiced some kick-and-jab combos before giving a frustrated sigh and unwrapping his hands. This was just temporary relief. If he wanted to get to the bottom of this, he knew exactly who he needed to go to. And it was always best to control his temper when talking with his old man.
Lyncoln Reed. A force to be reckoned with. Or as the rest of the world called him—Mr. President.
Before heading upstairs, James made a last-minute decision to drop and crank out some push-ups until his arms burned, and then took some deep breaths to calm himself. Whether he liked it or not, it was time to find out how this rumor had started. Letting it marinate was doing nothing but pissing him the hell off.
He knocked on the door to his dad’s office, restraining himself from pounding.
“Yeah?” a deep voice asked.
James opened the door. “Got a minute?” He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts and tank top. He hadn’t even bothered to change clothes.
His dad was deep in a report of some kind, reading glasses on. He glanced up, looked him over, and said, “Sure, son. Why do you look like you’re ready to destroy someone?”
His dad knew him too well. James sent him a look that told him as much.
His father gave a barely discernible shrug. “Your mother has the same look. And it’s usually directed at me. I’ve learned to look for it. So tell me, what’s on your mind?”
James took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Or in the realm of calm. “Tell me you aren’t calling the Culling now. Tell me this is a rumor.” He tried to say it without sounding bitter, but the anger in his voice was nothing short of obvious.
His dad let out a huff of air. He didn’t immediately deny it, which told James everything he needed to know. The rumor was true. One thing James had always admired about his parents was their honesty. They always tried to give it to them straight.
“Where’d you hear that?” his dad asked, parent face on.
He was sometimes amazed at how his father could flip the switch from being the President of the State to being just his dad. He kind of loved it. Kind of hated it too.
“Where do you think?” James tried his best not to roll his eyes, knowing his dad hated that. Knowing it would be the typical teenager move.
“Cassie?” his dad asked.
James gave a slight nod.
His dad clenched his jaw. “Figures. Henry never could keep his mouth shut.”
“So it’s true?!” James snapped. “You’re going to call for a Culling now? Two years before we would qualify at eighteen and at least have half a chance?”
His dad took down his glasses, rested them atop the report, and stood from his seat at the desk. Now he was back to Mr. President. “We are considering it, and we have our reasons, yes.”
His mom walked in at that point with her usual knack for knowing when crap was about to hit the fan. “Who peed on your pillow?” She looked from him to his dad and back again.
Normally it would have made him smile. Not this time. Not today. Not when this was seriously happening. “You did, apparently. You’re going to call the Culling now. NOW? Are you kidding me?!”
“Watch your tone with your mother,” his dad warned.
“Let me guess—Cassie said something?” his mom asked, pressing her lips together and tucking a piece of brown hair back into place.
People always told him he got his father’s size but his mother’s looks. They had the same exact shade of brunette hair and the same green eyes. The temper he was barely reigning in belonged to her too.
James again gave a slight nod, tired of talking in circles. He wanted answers. “I just finished basics. Why wouldn’t you wait a few years? Why wouldn’t you let us at least have a shot?”
“It’s not at all like that, James,” his mom said softly. Unlike his dad, she was always both the current madam president and his mom, never one or the other. It didn’t matter if she was in the middle of passing a bill that would shake the country; she would still make sure he toed the line. It was like she couldn’t be Madam President without that “mom” sort of awareness ingrained in her. She was just both. Always had been, always would be.
He turned toward his father, clenching his fists, focusing on the sting of his nails in his palms. It was a wanted distraction from getting exponentially angrier by the second. “I know I will never be like you. My temper gets me in trouble, and I will never be as stoic as you are. I just didn’t realize I was such a disappointment that you didn’t think I would be capable of leading our country.”
His parents exchanged a confused look.
“You assume I don’t think you are capable?” His dad shook his head. “That’s not at all it, James. Couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
James apparently hadn’t blown off enough steam downstairs, because the urge to deck something was real. “Then why would you call a Culling before I’m old enough to qualify? Why would you wipe out my chances like that? I always thought you’d call it when Kens and I turned twenty or twenty-one. I guess I thought you’d want us to have a shot.”
His dad was still shaking his head. “Look. Your mother and I are tired, and this recent issue in Kansas City with the Rebels is proving that our job is not an easy one. We worry about you kids. We’ve
His mom added gently, “Nothing has been decided. We just thought if we called one before you were of age, then as a family we could get out of the spotlight and find a new normal. One where I don’t get daily reports and complaints on my kids because everyone thinks they’ll be the next president. The expectations you three have to live up to are nothing short of brutal.”
His dad looked at him, eyebrows drawing in together. “It’s hard enough to be your age as a normal kid—I can’t imagine what it’s like going through it with everyone loving or hating you because you’re an heir. Everything you do is watched under a magnifying glass. Your mom and I watch you guys being forced into being adults because of who we are, what we do. We wanted to give you the chance to be teens without the weight of all these responsibilities. To be whoever you wanted to be, presidential family aside. I spoke with your uncle Henry about this because he was in your shoes. He lived what you guys are going through.”
As his dad finished, his mom turned toward the doorway and snapped, “Kennedy Grace, if you are going to eavesdrop, you could make it less obvious.”
“That’s total crap,” Kennedy said as she joined them in the office, arms crossed. Her long dark braid was tossed over her shoulder.
“Excuse me?” His dad raised his eyebrows. Only Kennedy or his mom could take that tone with him and even somewhat get away with it.
Kennedy kept going. “In giving us a chance to be teenagers, you are going to potentially take opportunities from our future, our adulthood. You’ll be burning the bridges we’ve been working to build. ‘To whom much is given, much will be required.’ That’s what you always tell us. Who gives a crap about being teenagers? We want a shot in the next Culling. We grew up knowing we’d have one, and now all of a sudden, just a few years out, you think otherwise?”
Her reasoning was sound. James looked to her and she looked at him. He knew what they were both thinking: We are going to win this argument.
Kennedy nodded and gestured with both hands. “Of course we’re pissed. Whether we win or even qualify is irrelevant—we deserve that shot. The scrutiny, the whispers, the comments here and there—we take it all in stride because being the presidential family is who we are. And we deserve a chance to carry on the family business. Or all that scrutiny over the years was a freaking waste.”
James added, “If you want us to be whoever we want to be, why would you limit the field of options?”
Their parents exchanged a look at that.
We’ve got them right where we want them now. He brought a hand up to itch his nose to hide his victory smile. Hands on her hips, Kennedy smirked, confidence radiating out of her power stance.
“Okay, okay.” His dad nodded in that way James had seen him nod a thousand times. The most powerful man in the world had made a decision.
“So you’ll wait to call the Culling?” James asked, just to be sure.
His dad nodded again. “We’ll wait.”
James let out a sigh of relief. They’d almost lost an opportunity they thought had been a given, and that was a weird feeling.
His mom walked over to stand next to his dad, who immediately moved to rest a hand on her lower back. A simple and automatic reaction. He’d seen his dad do stuff like that a million times before.
His mom’s tone went all business, borderline scolding, like the time he and Kens got caught sneaking out last year. “But no Culling until you turn twenty-one. I was eighteen when ours started, and I can honestly say I wish I would’ve been a bit older. The Culling is a process that will bend and break you. I hope you realize this is not an easy road. It’s an opportunity that comes with a cost. You are not ready. Yes, you have five years, but don’t kid yourselves into thinking you’ll be ready . . . because you never will be.”
…………..
Chapter 1
…………..
Five Years Later
“Jah, if we are late for dinner again, Mom will kill us,” James warned his younger brother.
Elijah’s eyes met his for just one second; the look he sent told James to shut up. Then Elijah took one long blink and kept working on the lock he was picking.
“No really, we have an hour or less,” Kennedy whisper-whined.
Cassie piped in, “Would both of you just shut it and give the man time to work?”
James couldn’t help but smile. Cassie could be so damn bossy sometimes. He was about to tell her as much, but at that point, Eli finished picking the lock. He swung open the door and looked at the other three with raised eyebrows, like he was surprised they’d doubt him.
They wouldn’t. They just liked to give him crap. He was three years younger than Kennedy and James, but he more than pulled his own weight.
They snuck up some stairs to a huge room where the cabinet meetings took place at DIA. It was crazy to think that DIA had once seen the hustle and bustle of airport life pre-Trident—that anyone could have come and gone into an area that now was under lock and key by the government. It had taken many years, but DIA had been transformed into the military command center of Denver. Even more so in the last twenty years since Mile High went up in dust.
The room and part of the building they were in were relatively new, created for the very purpose of looking like the old congressional rooms. Fortunately for them, the upper deck, only used when senators joined the cabinet for the more important meetings, was currently empty. It provided them with the perfect opportunity to sneak in and listen—like they were a bunch of teenagers again.
Well, Cassie and Eli technically were still teenagers. But both of them acted more adultlike than some adults James knew.
They sat in the back two rows, out of view if someone were to look up. Still, James’s training couldn’t keep him from scanning the room. First, he found the exits and noted there were three, and a fourth hidden one. Then he counted the guards standing inside the room. There were four. Probably three more stationed outside each of the main doors. Weapons. There were weapons on each of the guards, plus he was sure his dad and the head of defense were packing. Maybe more. Maybe even his mom. That thought made him smile and took his brain off work mode. It was rare these days he could walk into a room and take it at face value. The meeting seemed to be wrapping up, so their eavesdropping was going to be short-lived anyway.
“But Mr. President, it’s only been five years since the Rebel uprising in Kansas City. How do we know the Rebels aren’t planning something for the upcoming Culling? How do we prevent them from infiltrating the candidates? Again.”
His father’s words were sharp and direct. “We don’t.”
Another person spoke up. “Maybe we should consider preventing any KC candidates.”
“Absolutely not.” This time it was his mother to answer with a sharp tone.
His dad began speaking again—Mr. President in full force. “Look, I’m not asking anyone to do something I’m not willing to do myself. My own kids could very well be in this Culling, but we cannot interfere in the process like that. For every hostile citizen in Kansas City, there are ten or twenty good people.” He paused, probably to stare down the members of his cabinet. “Look, we need this to maintain the peace. To prove to them that we want to keep their township aligned with the rest of the country. They are our smallest township—therefore, there should theoretically only be a handful of candidates that even qualify anyway. Be rest assured, we will vet them properly before they get here.” Another pause. “This is not going to be a repeat of our own Culling.”
His explanation was met with silence so he continued: “And even if a Rebel does somehow manage to get here, their motive will be to win—not harm the rest of the candidates. All they’ve ever wanted was to stop being treated like an enemy. Preventing any of their kids from qualifying will cause more harm than good. It will just fan the flames.”
