Page 43 of Threads That Bind Us
“Charlie puked on a ski lift two years ago because my method of gutting someone didn’t settle well with him,” Emily calls from the living room, and I take the opportunity to slip away from Charlie, walking toward her voice.
“I thought this wasn’t your thing?” I ask, my voice rough and scratchy. “Research and development, right?”
Emily’s got her feet kicked up on the couch’s armrest, her laptop resting against her thighs. She’s watching some sort of surveillance video with her arms crossed behind her head.
“I said I didn’t have the patience for Charlie’s line of work,” she replies, sending a cruel wink my way. “I tend to be a little trigger-happy. More of ashoot first, talk neverkind of girl.”
“Speaking of patience, you’re going to have to stay here a little longer,” Charlie says from behind me. “We think our friend has more to say.”
I take a seat as Charlie relays the information we have so far to Emily. Her expression becomes more and more serious, and she shuts off her video and sits up straight on the couch as he finishes.
“I was really fucking hoping it was bad luck and a coincidence,” she groans, rubbing the back of her neck in small circles.
“I don’t understand why this is so significant,” I say, crossing my legs and resting my elbows on my knees. “So Kayden was recruited to Konstantin’s team from someone else inside The Syndicate. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out who, right?”
Charlie glances at me and then turns back to his cousin.
“The problem is, The Syndicate is structured so that thisshouldn’thappen.” She blows out a breath and meets Charlie’seyes, who nods for her to continue. “We have lots of low-level people doing small things for us—translating, passing information, surveillance. For the most part, they don’t even know they’re working for us. They’re hired as contract workers by shell security or data processing companies. A few who show promise, like Kayden, are given a little more information so they can look into specialized targets. But above that level, every single member of The Syndicate is hand-picked and monitored by voting members—basically just us and our parents. It’s why our teams are so small.”
“So if Kayden was introduced to Konstantin’s team by someone within The Syndicate who had information about my mother’s whereabouts, then we have a much bigger problem,” Charlie interjects, looking down at his hands. “Do we tell Bea? Or Gia?”
Emily hesitates, her fingers pressing harder into the back of her neck.
“I think we need to have more information first. Kayden may not know the names of The Syndicate members who are working for Konstantin, but if he could see the fucking sigil, he’s got to know more than he’s letting on.”
“The sigil?” I ask, glancing between the two of them. Charlie doesn’t look up, and after a beat, Emily answers.
“The dove tattoo. We’ve all got one.” She lifts her hip off the couch and inches down her shorts so I can see the ink covering her hip bone. It’s smaller than Charlie’s, but the design is nearly identical. “It’s unique to the upper echelons of The Syndicate—a dove with tears of blood. Something about the blindness of fate, the sacrifice of upholding it. Fucking dramatic, in my opinion, but we’ve gotten them for generations. If the woman he talked to showed him one, she has to be important to us.”
I watch Charlie rub the wings tattooed onto his hand absentmindedly, nodding along with Emily’s words. I convince myself that the urge in my chest to soothe him is completely platonic. After a few beats of silence, Charlie looks up at me.
“You up for another round?”
Chapter 15
Gwen
Ana’s hair is soft under my touch as I comb it with my fingers. We’ve been on Charlie’s couch—well,our couch,now—for the entire morning and early afternoon, watching the animated Star Wars show she loves. She’s got a pillow propped under her side so the sensitive skin on her chest doesn’t rub against anything.
I hear the door click open and shut again, gruff voices carrying in boxes of our clothes and the limited mementos we wanted to keep from the apartment. My stomach clenches.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask, scratching the crown of Ana’s hair. Her eyes are barely open, but she manages to roll them anyway.
“You promised not to ask that again,” she quips, giggling at something happening on the screen.
I swallow hard.
“I know, but this is really fast. We can wait longer.” My throat is tight as she shifts to look directly at me. Glare, actually.
“You spend all your time doing everything for me. Putting your life on the back burner to take care of me. We’re doing thisbecause you love him, and he loves you, and this is what it takes to prove that you’re not turning into a weird hermit because of me.”
She turns back to the TV, and I nearly choke on the instinct to correct her. I know it’s logical for her to assume that we love each other, but it’s the first time I’ve heard that word in the context of our relationship, and I nearly break out in a cold sweat.
I don’t love Charlie. Lust after him, maybe, after the events of this weekend. Trust him, albeit a little blindly.
But if Ana believing I love him makes this move easier for her, I’ll let her think that. My stomach turns at the thought that eventually, Charlie and I will have to start saying it to each other, if only to keep up appearances. It shouldn’t matter that it’s a lie, but it does.
I turn over my shoulder as the door opens again. This time, the guys moving our stuff in are carrying a large box, grunting under the weight of it, which is strange. We left the vast majority of our furniture to be picked up for donation, and most of our things were cheap and flimsy, anyway.