Page 19 of Threads That Bind Us
I shouldn’t believe him. I shouldn’t even engage with this. But instead of following that logic, I open my mouth and ask another question.
“I imagine you also have to stay relatively under the radar, right?” I ask. “Can’t disrupt governments, give anyone a reason to look too closely?”
He shrugs, his casual demeanor about this doing nothing to cool the simmering in my blood.
“Sometimes, yes. Although we would be naïve to think that we’re not on the organized crime watch list of most countries’ investigative agencies. We’re careful and selective about our targets.”
“I can only imagine. Even Capone got caught.”
It will one day be evidence against me in a court of law that I’m bantering in this situation.
“I pay my taxes.” The deadpan rebuttal earns him a little laugh, but I’m already spinning my next question.
“So what exactly is your role, then?”
“Technically, I am Clara’s spare, in case anything happens to her or her future children. But I’m also her sword. If I was bitter about it, I’d call myself her attack dog.” He seems to find that funny. “She tells me to kill, I kill. I go on whatever missions she assigns me, or follow her on ones she wants to attend to personally. Theoretically, she could assign me to any position, but I’m good at…” he trails off, glancing up and then back at me, resolution settling in his stare. “Well, to be blunt, I’m skilled at torture. At information extraction. My mother taught me, and I use it sparingly, only when necessary, but it’s my speciality.”
Anticipation and a little worry flash across his expression. He can’t seriously be concerned that this is the admission that will get me to bolt, right? The irony would be astounding.
I try to sort through the emotions swimming through me, but the overwhelming one is understanding. He and his family have obviously professionalized the concept, but I’ve proven to both of us that cruel retribution is a response I can sympathize with.
There’s also something less professional heating my blood beneath the surface. But I shove it down, refusing to name it. This is essentially a business agreement, nothing more. I keep my face as smooth as possible as I respond.
“And the reason you need a wife?” I ask, and I can’t help glance at his mouth, his tattooed fingers lightly stroking his bottom lip.
He’s made it clear multiple times. This is a job offer. A partnership. Any tension I feel is one sided. Plus, I nearly ripped his head off when I thought he was suggesting something more. I can’t have it both ways.
“It’s tradition for those taking generational positions in the organization—really, just Clara and I—to be married before we take our permanent roles. My parents had an arranged marriage. They were confident in the match and found love and respect over time, but they wanted to give Clara and I more autonomy over the decision. But my mother’s been hurt. Severely.” He stares over my shoulder, his gaze distant and pained. “She will live, but she won’t be able to lead us anymore. So Clara and I need to fulfill our duties, and part of that is finding spouses.”
I move without conscious decision, and suddenly I have his hand tucked in mine, my fingers slipping under his palm and my thumb rubbing calming circles against his skin. His eyes snap to where we’re connected, crawling up my arm until they settle on my face. Empathy rolls through me like a wave.
“I understand,” I say, squeezing his hand lightly. “You’rethe kind of person who would do anything for your family. I get it.”
The recall of his own words to me last night loosens his tense shoulders, smooths his furrowed brow. He doesn’t pull his hand from mine, and I try to ignore the way his touch radiates throughout my body.
“And between you and me.” I let go of his hand and wave mine between us, avoiding his eyes. “Are there expectations…”
“No,” he cuts me off, his voice harsh and final. “As I promised last night, there are no expectations like that between us.” The heat continues to spread until I’m fully flushed, though embarrassment is driving it now. Why the fuck did I ask that? “There will be a contract.” He declares, looking a little flustered himself. Probably appalled that I even implied anything different. “You can suggest changes, and it can be amended over time. But it’ll include the expectations of both of us, okay?”
I collect myself as much as possible, breathing through my nose and trying to will the blush from my face. It would actually really help to see this all written out, to lay expectations on the table, to be sure I know what I’m getting into.
“Yeah, a contract would be good,” I nod, and as both of us relax back into our seats.
Maybe I’m certifiable for considering this. Maybe the safe, predictable route is to accept Ben’s offer, pay for Ana’s treatment, and close my eyes and pretend I’m anywhere else while he fucks me. Maybe the person I was before last summer would have made that choice.
But I haven’t been her for a long time. Charlie is witnessing whoever this version of me is, and he’s not balking. He’s giving me a chance to embrace it, to find my footing, to immerse myself in it. All while caring for me and Ana for far longer than we could have ever hoped.
The vision of her happy, healthy, without a worry in the world, is what makes me close my eyes and nod.
“Okay.”
My eyes are still closed, but I can almost hear him cock his head to the side.
“Okay?” He asks, and I nod again.
“Okay, I’m in.”
Chapter 9