Page 18 of Threads That Bind Us
Charlie’s standing in the kitchen, his back turned toward me, and I can see a complex design of butterfly wings tattooed on the back of his neck.
I force my eyes to the ceiling, trying to will away the desire to trace my fingers over the ink.
Last night at the bar, before I was scared half to fucking death, it was fun, feeling this little attraction to him. But now? He already has the upper hand between us, and I hate the idea of giving him even more leverage, even if he never knows about it. I shake myself, trying to fortify my resolve. I can compartmentalize.
I clear my throat and move toward the kitchen slowly, trying not to startle him. But he only throws a slightly reserved grin over his shoulder, turning back to the stove.
“Good morning,” he says quietly, placing what looks like omelets on two plates. “I hope you slept okay, and weren’t too unsettled when you woke up.”
“I mean, I’m as settled as I can be, all things considered,” I mutter, the last remnants of annoyance about last night seeping into my words. Charlie turns fully now, sliding the plates onto the peninsula, and something in his gaze flashes as he assesses me.
“I made breakfast,” he says, and I know how flushed my cheeks and neck are. Being a redheadis a curse.
“Um, okay?” I say in place of a thank you, because I really don’t know how to react.
I perch myself on one of the stools tucked under the counter and pull a plate toward me, eyeing Charlie hesitantly. He seems to fight a sly smile, and I’m pretty pissed at my body for somehow losing its fear instinct overnight, because all I feel is a low simmering in my belly.
“Ana doing okay this morning?” He’s leaning his hip against the counter, eating his eggs, like this is the most normal thing on the planet.
I tell him she’s got plans with friends, that she seems to be feeling okay, as I beg my brain to find the fear, the panic. To have some sort of logical response to whatever’s happening here.
When I finally bite into my food, I try not to show my shock. I’m not a picky eater by any means, but this is my favorite breakfast. Fluffy eggs, sauteed mushrooms, sharp cheese, onions, but no green peppers. Judging from the way Charlie’s eyes shine with something bordering on glee, it’s not a coincidence.
I shrug my shoulders and dig back in, and Charlie lets out a laugh under his breath.
“So, I agreed to hear a proposition,” I say, gesturing between us with my fork. “So, you know. Proposition me.”
A full smile blooms across his face. I pretend it doesn’t make my heart skip.
“Straight to business,” he mutters under his breath. He turns around and reaches on top of his refrigerator, pulling out a paperback.
Notapaperback.Mypaperback.
He slides it in front of me, and a tense silence settles over the room. Not because of the wildly not-safe-for-work cover,but because we know what’s written in both of our handwriting inside.
“You have a problem that needs resolving,” he starts quietly, flipping open the back cover and folding the pages down, creasing the spine. “And right now, you have two options. First, Ben.”
My jaw twitches, but I stare at my little pro-con list. It’s not pretty, but it’s known.
But my eyes are drawn automatically to Charlie’s list, a mirror to mine. It looks like he’s added a few more items to each side, and I lean forward to see them more clearly.
“I know I didn’t make myself clear last night,” he says, circling the peninsula and sliding into the stool next to mine. He keeps a safe distance, giving me room to breathe. “But I think we can offer each other something that we both desperately need. Support. Financial, logistical, familial, and emotional. I’d like to explain more fully, but you have to know that hearing this, even if you don’t agree to my proposition, will change your life. Even if you decline my offer, The Syndicate will monitor you for the rest of your life, ensuring that you never reveal any of the information I’m about to tell you. And if you do, I won’t be able to control the consequences.”
The intensity radiating off him raises the hairs on the back of my neck. In any other circumstances, a name likeThe Syndicatewould seem ridiculous, cartoonish even, but it’s clear how serious he is. I swallow thickly, considering the risk. It’s unsettling, sure, but I know how to keep a secret.
“I’m listening,” I say finally, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest.
He assesses me for a few beats, his eyes coasting over my face, my hands, my shoulders. There’s something weighty behind his gaze, like he’s searching for a sign that I’m ready to cross this line.
But I’m not afraid of what he’s about to say. Despite the way I reacted last night, today I feel like I did last summer, where fear wasn’t even a consideration. Maybe it’s delusional, or my mind trying to protect me, but I know there’s nothing he could say that would make me more afraid than I am of Ana’s diagnosis. And he must realize it, because he matches my posture before he begins.
“There’s a long and drawn out history. My family and our work go back centuries, to Isabella of Aragon and the Black Plague. We’ve survived the rise and fall of empires, and it’s a story I’m happy to tell you one day. But what matters for tonight is that The Syndicate of Fate is the Costa family’s—myfamily’s—legacy. The full network spans thousands of people, in their own silos, employed to do what we need to find justice. And my family sits at the center, directing our priorities and determining what sins we address.”
He pauses for a minute, and I take a moment to process. In any other circumstance, my automatic assumption would be that he’s making this up. It’s too outlandish, like a plot from one of Ana’s comics. But I can’t seem to doubt the way he’s looking at me.
“And exactly what kind of justice do you find?” My voice is a little hesitant, and his mouth ticks up into a soft smile.
“One I’m sure you can appreciate.” He passes his thumb over his bottom lip and huffs a little laugh. “We’ve developed our own moral code of sorts. The focus shifts depending on who is in charge. My mother, for instance, has been intent on breaking up human trafficking rings. Stories of drug runners lacing their product with cheap and deadly additives particularly affected her father, so The Syndicate spent a significant amount of time hunting down those who were intentionally causing harm.” He drums his fingers against the table, shoulders tight. “There is a lot of evil in the world, and almost everydefinition is based on perspective. We’re powerful, sure, but we are small relative to the sea of potential targets.”