Page 40 of Threads That Bind Us

“Konstantin’s people run weapons to some of the most vile people on this planet. Is that the glory your father wanted for you?” I say, striking him again, this time across the right side of his jaw. He spits blood at my feet.

“You think your family is any fucking better?” he yells, and the way his anger ratchets fuels me. Every inch less controlled he becomes, the more I sink into my skin, the steady familiarity of this work.

More than fists and blades, reading people is the most important part of what I do. What will get someone talking—silence or responses, threats or blows, anticipation or onslaught? Kayden’s pride makes him more likely to argue, to prove he’s right, and I’ll use that to my advantage.

“I think we have a set of morals that we adhere to, and you sell your loyalty to the highest bidder.” I’m not even through the sentence before he’s laughing.

“Morals? Fuck you, man. You’re not any different from the rest of us,” he chokes on the words as I strike him again. This time, he takes longer to recover. “You don’t fucking know anything,” he repeats.

I step back and let him recover a bit, biding my time. He’ll give me Konstantine’s contact. They always break.

There’s a few beats of silence, cut only by Kayden’s heavy breathing, before I hear Gwen’s hesitant steps.

“Charlie,” she nearly whispers. The window in my mind brightens a little more, illuminated by the sound of her voice. “Do you mind if I ask him something?”

It takes a shocking amount of effort to turn and meet her gaze. She’s still guarded, her wall still high. I have the same impulse I did at Catalina’s—to crawl into her mind, under her skin, to be so close to her she can’t help but reveal her every thought to me.

I had expected her to just observe, but she doesn’t look afraid. Her eyes still map my face, but she seems resolved, so I nod.

Her movements are careful and calculated as she steps around me and squats in front of Kayden. I have to remind myself that he’s restrained, that if he could have gotten free he already would have, that she’s safe. That even if he did somehow release himself, I wouldn’t let him fucking touch her.

Her knees rest on the ground, droplets of Kayden’s blood soaking into her jeans. She tilts her head up, locking eyes with him.

“Why do you think our family is no different from anyone else?” she asks, her voice kind and empathetic.

The wordsour familyecho through my head like a prayer, like a hymn. I’m so captivated by them I almost miss the way Kayden’s eyes flash with fear before icing over again.

Gwen stares at him a moment longer, contemplative, before turning over her shoulder to me.

“Teach me.”

There’s something alive inside of me, attempting to crawl its way out through my throat to consume her, tobeconsumed by her. It’s a lust I’ve never experienced before, so natural and dominating that it might be in my blood.

The little window is the only thing that reminds me to rein in this sensation, that she doesn’t feel this, that Ipromised. I control my expression the best I can, more difficult than any training or torture I’ve experienced, and turn toward the steel table.

It’s easy, choosing a blade. It’s the same one I learned with, nearly two decades ago. Warm and familiar in my palm, I turn it over, making my way back to her.

I don’t look at Kayden, even though I hear him struggling again. I’m captivated entirely by her gentle determination, the empathy that I now think was not for our victim, but for me.

I kneel beside her and slide the handle into her palm, adjusting her fingers on the hilt and encompassing her hand with my own. Together, we tilt the edge of the blade against Kayden’s thigh.

“Press here, mia filettatura.”

Chapter 14

Gwen

The blade is so sharp it slips through Kayden’s pants and skin with ease. I register his screaming, but my senses are overwhelmed with the feeling of Charlie’s hand on top of mine, his breath at my ear.

“Gently,” he murmurs, pulling our hands back and removing the knife. There’s a thin slice like a filet in Kayden’s leg, blood seeping from it in a steady, uneven stream. “This area here,” he drags his finger over the center of Kayden’s thigh up toward his groin, smearing the blood like paint, “is where the femoral artery is. Good for a quick death, but not if you’re looking for information. Puncturing larger veins can lead to bloodletting too, but they’re harder to avoid. You’ll learn with time.”

He maneuvers our hands, his fingers now laced through mine, so the tip of the knife is pressing into Kayden’s knee, who whimpers above us.

“The kneecap tends to be particularly effective, and painful,” Charlie says, and when I start to push forward, I feel pressure on my fingers.

“Give him a chance to answer, mia filettatura,” he chides softly, and I can hear a smile in his voice.

It’s the second time he’s called me that, but I’m afraid I’ll break the moment if I ask him what it means. Instead, I turn to the man writhing in the chair above me. His pale face is nearly gray, blond hair sweat-stuck to his forehead.