Page 38 of Threads That Bind Us
“Holy shit, you actually brought her,” Emily says, closing the screen and standing. She’s barefoot and in men’s workout clothes—her standard attire for when she’s holed upresearching—and she stretches before making her way across the room.
“Gwen, this is Emily, my least favorite and smartest cousin,” I introduce as Emily sizes her up. I don’t know why I expected Gwen to cower at all, but her spine is steel and her expression is unreadable as she assesses Emily.
“And you’re Gwen, the magical murderer,” Emily says, her dry humor landing only for her. There was no getting around telling her about Gwen’s escapade with Kenzie’s ex, and now she’s taken to some creative nicknames. “Talk about coincidence, huh?”
“Still not convinced he didn’t stalk me for six months,” Gwen barbs back, and Emily’s eyes crinkle at the corner as she smiles.
“Not his style,” she turns back to the couch and plops down unceremoniously, opening her laptop back up. “He likes to believe the universe speaks to him,” she taunts, wiggling her fingers in the air with her eyes locked on the screen.
“I do not believe the universespeaksto me,” I argue, gesturing for Gwen to sit on the loveseat across from Emily as I take the armchair. “I just think everything happens for a reason.”
“Sure, whatever,” Emily waves me off, uninterested in a conversation in which she knows she can’t change my mind. “Do we want to talk about our friend downstairs?”
Gwen shifts forward, her posture tense but not fearful. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as I motion for Emily to continue.
“Kayden Thorne, which is a fucking crime of a name, by the way,” she recites, lazily scrolling her trackpad. “Twenty-six, American born, living in Mogilev, Belarus, and doing low-level intelligence gathering under Zia Gia’s team. He was recruited twoyears ago after his dad helped Gia with some issue with imports in southern California. Suspect that he got swayed by Konstantin’s team of arms runners about four months before Lucia’s attack. I don’t think he’s high enough up in Konstantin’s organization to know anything useful, but it would be nice to know who approached him, if you can get that out of him.” She flicks her eyes up to Gwen, who doesn’t look like she’s breathing, and back down at her computer. “I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t be able to.”
I crack my neck, the familiar feeling of calm concentration creeping into my veins. I glance at Gwen, who's already got her head tilted in my direction. Her brows are slightly furrowed, but she just looks a little confused.
“Gia is my other cousin, Beatrice’s, mother, and Lucia is mine. We’re fairly certain that Konstantin’s team is responsible for her attack, but we have no idea how he knew she would be in Ankara. Clara, my sister, is working on a top down approach with the Russians back in Trani, but we’re trying to catch small fish and see what they can give us.”
It’s so natural, this feeling. Like slipping into your most worn jacket. Without conscious direction, I’m already positioning slices and blows in my mind. Maybe Emily’s right, and we’ll only confirm his involvement with the Russian arms dealers who’ve been trying to eradicate The Syndicate since we cut off their North American arm nearly a decade ago. But the most seemingly insignificant information could have outstated impact. I need to know what he told them, so I can find our weaknesses and seal them like a tomb.
Emily clears her throat, and I realize I’ve been staring at Gwen. I still can’t sense fear from her, but her eyes are mapping my face like she doesn’t fully recognize it.
“How did you find out he had flipped to the Russians?” Gwen asks, shifting her gaze to Emily.
For what it’s worth, Emily doesn’t take Gwen’s question asan insult to her intelligence gathering. She likes people who probe, becauseshelikes to probe.
“He missed a few check-ins, and his reporting became more and more vague,” Emily replies, clicking through something at a rapid rate. “He was supposed to be working some leads we had on fake advertisements for models and actresses in eastern Europe that end up being trafficking hooks. We were initially concerned that he got turned into a customer by a ring, but then we started tracking him leaving the country, and pieces started to fall into place. We got confirmation from our team in St. Petersburg last week.”
Gwen rests her elbows on her knees and asks more questions, and I observe her. The resolve that feels manufactured in her eyes. The way her fingertips whiten from how tightly she clasps her hands.
I remember wishing I could see her eyes in that alley, but now I’m not sure it would have made a difference. Because even after weeks of watching her emotions written plainly on her face, I still can’t read her right now.
“How long until his sedation wears off?” I ask when their conversation lulls, rolling my fingers against the arm of the chair.
Gwen’s watching me again, and it puts me on edge. I know this is who I am, and I want to see if she can handle it, but something in my chest rages against her seeing me like this. It will only reinforce the idea that this is the core of who I am—controlled and manipulative.
But I’ve backed myself into this corner.
“He should be up any minute now,” she replies, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “He’s a big dude, but I don’t think Zane gave him the full dose when he got him off the plane.”
I stand up, cracking my neck again, a habit I should quit.Gwen glances between me and Emily, a little more hesitant as she rises.
“You’re not coming down too?” she asks my cousin, who snorts.
“Research and development is more my lane. Plus, I’m not patient enough for Charlie’s line of work. I prefer a more direct approach.” She glances up and meets my gaze, a challenge there. “He’s got this handled.”
Since we were kids, Emily’s never questioned my abilities. She’s pushed me to my limits, made me better. But the way she’s looking at me right now, it’s like she doesn’t believe for a moment Ihave this handled.
But she’s wrong.
“Stay behind me as we go down the stairs. There’s a table in the far corner of the room that you can observe from. If you’d like a closer look, let me know before you approach.” My instructions to Gwen are harsh and tactical, but this is the reality of the job.
Gwen nods, even though her eyebrows have shot into her hairline again. I turn toward the cellar door, and I hear Emily whisper behind me.
“Do what feels natural. That’s how he learned, even if he’s forgotten.”