Threads That Bind Us (Syndicate of Fate Book 1)

12. Charlie

I’m about to do something I definitely should not do.

I have a feeling, if it works, Gwen’s going to be pretty fucking pissed at me. But I’m coming to learn that I like her angry. Getting under her skin is the closest I can be to getting under her without going back on my word. And even if I didn’t enjoy the way fury tinted her skin, I’d push my luck just to get her in my home faster.

Ana’s packing up her bag after treatment, more exhausted than usual, hiding yawns behind her hands, and I seize my opportunity.

“How about I make you two dinner at my place tonight so we can all rest,” I suggest, holding my hand out for the backpack.

“Your place?” Gwen asks, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, my place,” I reply, mirroring her expression. If she wants to make this seem out of place in front of Ana, that’s her choice.

“We can’t go to your place,” she scoffs, holding Ana’s coat out for her.

“Why can’t we go to Charlie’s place?” Ana asks, glancing between the two of us cautiously.

I don’t blame her—this sounds like the beginning of a fight to me, too.

“Because Charlie lives kind of far away. And by the time we cook and eat and clean up, it’ll be late, and you’ll be tired, and then we’ll have to drive all the way back home,” Gwen says, stepping between me and Ana to pull her sister’s hair out of her collar. But Ana’s eyes catch mine and I take my shot.

“You could stay the night,” I say with false nonchalance, watching Gwen’s shoulders stiffen instantly at my words. “I’ve got spare rooms and toothbrushes, and I have the ingredients to make that lemon pasta we had last week in Georgetown.”

Ana’s eyes flash with the first sign of energy since I picked them up, and she was giggling with Kenzie. She turns to Gwen, whose teeth I can hear grinding.

“Can we go?” she asks, bouncing on her toes a bit. “I really like that pasta.”

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Gwen asks, combing the ends of Ana’s hair with her fingers. “Staying the night and everything?”

Ana just rolls her eyes. “I would have said no to him if I thought it was weird.”

A pinprick of guilt needles at me for manipulating Ana like this, but I brush it off. Moving them into my home is safer for her, too.

Gwen lets out a sigh of defeat, and I know I’ve won the first battle of the night. When she turns and leads Ana down the hallway toward the exit, she shoots me a glare over her shoulder that crackles in my chest like a firework.

The drive outto Maryland is pretty quiet, with Ana distracted on her phone and Gwen purposefully icing me out. Despite the tension rolling off Gwen, I’m at ease. I have a plan, a mission. It feels a little over-zealous, applying a lifetime of training to something as low-stakes as getting Gwen to change her move-in timeline. But the pattern is comfortable, familiar, like an equation that you slide the variables into.

The thought keeps me in high spirits as we pull through the manned gate and onto the long drive almost an hour later. Ana perks up in the back seat, slipping her earbuds out and peering through the window at the dusk-covered view. My home isn’t anything grand, just a single-level ranch, but the property is fairly large. Native plants and grasses stretch over the dips and valleys of the yard, stretching around the house for almost three acres. It’s too dim to make them out clearly, but the shadow of a few buildings is barely visible at the edge of the property. From the outside they look like old barns, but they house weapons and motorcycles, and panic rooms, all connected to the house via tunnels.

“Do you have, like, animals?” Ana asks, shoving her shoulders between Gwen and me, lifting off the seat to see further before her sister pushes her backward.

“Seatbelt on until the car is off,” she mumbles, clearly still fighting her anger at me. The more I can get Ana on my side, the more Gwen will want to feed into her enthusiasm.

“No animals,” I say, parking in front of the small garage attached to the house. “My cousin, Emily, loves researching native plants, and she was visiting when I was looking for a house. She said I had to buy this one because it was basically a nature preserve of Western Maryland wildflowers.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Ana agrees, which is about as high of praise as I can expect from a teenager.

“They’re all dormant right now, but in the spring, the whole yard looks like a prism. Colors everywhere.”

Ana hums appreciatively as I get out of the car and open her door for her. I hear Gwen’s door open and close behind me, and a huff from her as she follows us toward the house. A bubble of laughter climbs its way up my throat, but I suppress it. Sure, Gwen’s affection is a lost cause tonight, but I don’t need to test my luck any more than necessary.

I try to be as subtle as possible, unlocking the door with my code and thumbprint, but Ana’s standing right next to me with her eyebrows raised.

“Safety first,” I say lightly.

She looks at me with teenage incredulousness, but follows me inside anyway.

I close the door behind Gwen and reach for her coat instinctually, helping her slide it off her shoulders. She shoots me another glare that fills me with warmth before I move to help Ana.

“Make yourself at home,” I say, turning to hang everything up, letting Ana slip off her shoes and explore.

I can tell Gwen noticed at least some differences from the last time she was here, because she can’t seem to settle on any part of the room. Decorative pillows and blankets are thrown around the cushions of the conversation pit. A projector screen hangs on the wall over the fireplace. There’s a brand new dining table, just big enough for the three of us to eat at, between the living area and the peninsula where Gwen and I came to our agreement. Art and decor hang on the previously blank walls, all purchased by Bea when I told her I needed my home to look more lived-in.

This thing where Gwen avoids my gaze has become my new favorite game. I like how she simmers, how she lets her anger build, how she tries to control it. Even more, I’m addicted to how she loses that control and just has to aim her fury at me. I pretend gravity is forcing her toward me the same way it makes her the center of my attention.

It feels so different from all the times I’ve gotten victims to submit to me. Because I don’t want her to break. I want her to detonate, for her anger to burn so hot it consumes me, too. I want her to turn all that passion toward me, in whatever form she’ll give it.

“This is the coolest living room ever,” Ana says, walking around the edge of the sunken couch. She seems hesitant, but not scared, almost like she doesn’t want to intrude.

“Who needs a normal couch when you could have a movie theater, right?” I joke.

She smiles at me, her eyes flashing to Gwen, who’s doing her best to seem like she’s in a good mood. Ana can tell something’s up, based on the worried look in her eyes.

“You want to pick out a movie while I cook, or help me?” I ask, moving to the kitchen and turning on a few more lights. The few times we’ve eaten in at Gwen’s apartment instead of trying a new restaurant, Ana’s insisted on leading in the kitchen.

“Can I take a raincheck on the cooking? I really want to learn more, but…” she trails off, and I wave her off.

“No problem, kid,” I reply, gesturing at the coffee table. “The remote is there somewhere. Pick whatever you want.”

She smiles tentatively and walks down the little stairs, sitting on the edge of the sofa. Gwen stands near the dining table, watching her sister with her arms crossed over her chest. I don’t want to seem like I’m hovering, so I get to work, pulling out ingredients and watching them out of the corner of my eye. After a few minutes, Ana settles on an old Star Trek movie—I bought every single sci-fi and fantasy movie and TV show available to download—and Gwen finally gives up and joins her.

Her frown softens as Ana snuggles up next to her, chattering about 1980s cinematography and the evolution of special effects. Gwen still throws glares over her shoulder at me, but they’re more annoyed than flat-out pissed.

I’m sure that’s about to change.

It takes me less than an hour to finish dinner. I’m not much of a chef, but I followed an online tutorial and practiced three times earlier today. Ana’s still tired, but she seems more at ease as they pause the movie and sit at the table, a throw blanket still draped around her shoulders.

Something in my chest warms at the domesticity of this. Ana is still talking about classic movie makeup. Gwen asks her questions, referencing inside jokes that make them both giggle. I grab Ana one of the vitamin juice things a pediatric cancer blog recommended and pour Gwen a glass of Valpolicella.

“Is that what you want to do in college?” I ask as Ana digs into her dinner. Gwen pushes her food around a bit, but seems pleased that Ana’s hungry.

“I really like makeup design, but I think I love costumes more,” she says, hiding a mouthful of pasta behind her hand. “There’s a lot of cool programs in theatre and movie costume design that I want to check out this summer.” Her eyes flash to Gwen quickly and then back to me. “But there are also schools close to here, too.”

Gwen’s eyes meet mine for a moment, and for the first time all night, she’s not mad. She looks almost relieved.

“You have to make a list of the out-of-state ones so we can plan our summer,” she says, finally starting on her dinner. Ana is poorly suppressing her excitement, the gleam in her eyes clear.

“Some of them are kind of far away,” she hedges, but before she can get too dejected, I jump in.

“What’s your dream school? The number one program you have to check out?” I ask, leaning back in my chair. I don’t have personal connections at many universities in the States, but Emily knows everyone in the biomedical research field. There has to be a connection somewhere.

It’s Ana’s turn to push her food around her plate, hesitating to answer.

“It’s a little crazy. I don’t know if I even have the grades to get in, and definitely won’t be able to get a scholarship,” she says, her voice tight.

I kick her leg gently under the table, and she glances up at me.

“Come on, dream a little,” I say.

I can feel Gwen’s gaze on the side of my face, but I don’t look away from Ana. She blinks a few times before swallowing hard.

“Carnegie Mellon,” she whispers almost reverently. A little sparkle lights up behind her eyes. “It’s one of the best programs you can get into, and everything they do is amazing. I’ve watched, like, a billion videos online.”

“I guess we’ve got a trip to Pittsburgh to plan, then,” I reply, nodding my head at Gwen. “If you guys don’t mind me tagging along, of course.”

Ana seems surprised by the offer, but turns to Gwen, her expression hopeful.

“Can we just go see it? I promise I’ll apply to community college too,” she begs, nearly bouncing in her seat.

Gwen looks back at me, and maybe I don’t just enjoy seeing her angry. Maybe I just crave any moment where she puts her emotions so clearly on display, like she’s doing now. It’s gratitude, and it makes me feel alive.

“Yeah, of course,” Gwen replies, reaching across to tousle her sister’s hair a bit. “Charlie’s going to have to help you with applications, though. That’s not my area of expertise.”

She’s extending an olive branch, forgiving me for forcing her into dinner here tonight. The look on her face, the feeling thrumming through my veins, is almost enough for me to give up my earlier plan. To sink into this little peace.

But I don’t know how to turn that part of my mind off. Even though part of me no longer wants this and wishes I could deviate, the plan is set, and there are too many decades of habit forcing me down the path I’ve laid.

“I’m sure your sister will be much more help when you’re writing your statement of purpose, though,” I say, picking up my fork. “But we can pick nights after school to do ACT and SAT prep, too. I think you’ll probably take them for the first time in a few months, right?”

“I was going to wait until May, just so I had more energy to study. But I can take it any time during junior year if I need to,” she says, her treatment so normal to her now that she doesn’t so much as cringe at the mention of its effect on her life. I don’t know if it’s forced or just Ana’s natural state of rolling with the punches. “But you don’t have to come all the way into the District to help me study.”

Gwen’s going to fucking kill me.

“I don’t mind, but you’re also welcome here whenever you’d like,” I say cooly, gesturing toward the hall. “I think I have old test prep books in my office, but they may be from the LSAT. We’ll pick up some new ones. But my home is your home.”

I can feel Gwen’s demeanor change without even looking at her.

“That’s very kind of you, but obviously Ana needs to be close to school,” Gwen says tightly, her glare cutting.

Ana’s eyes flash between us, worried again.

“Of course, it’s only an offer. You know I only want to spend as much time with you as possible,” I say, putting on an affectionate expression that isn’t difficult to find.

“Do we not spend more time here because of me? School and appointments and stuff?” Ana asks, her brow furrowed. She looks a little wounded, and I wonder how much she worries that her needs affect her sister.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Gwen huffs, plastering on a patient smile for Ana while still trying to shoot daggers at me. “Charlie’s house is far away from my work, too.”

“Yeah, but you don’t work there anymore,” Ana points out, and Gwen grits her teeth a bit.

I didn’t ask how she explained her sudden abundance of free time to Ana, but it’s clearly a sore spot for Gwen.

“We have a life in the city, Ana,” she says, her tone suddenly much more maternal than sisterly. But Ana’s not following suit.

“I have a life in the city. But you don’t. You have Kenzie, but I know she’s not the reason we don’t spend time here. It’s me.” There’s a defiance I’ve never heard from Ana. A little bit of her sister’s temper shows itself in the flush of her ears.

“Hey, attitude,” Gwen chides, putting down her fork and crossing her arms over her chest. “If I decide to not spend time up here so I can get you to school on time like a grown up, that’s my decision. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault,” Gwen says with determination.

“Yeah, but first you hide me from Charlie because you don’t want to change my life or whatever.” Gwen starts to interrupt, but Ana talks over her, almost yelling. “And then you avoid seeing someone you like because it’s far from my stupid cancer appointments? Tell me how that’s not my fault.”

I’m frozen in my seat, not knowing how to react. I wanted some sort of conversation like this, sure, but the pain in both of their eyes makes my chest ache. Because this moment is my fault.

For the first time in my life, I regret my training. I wish I knew any other way to get to the solution I needed. I suddenly understand Clara and her incessant need to strategize.

“Something being because of you doesn’t mean it’s your fault,” Gwen responds, her harsh tone laced with empathy. “That’s just life, Ana. Charlie and I have it figured out, don’t worry.”

Both sets of eyes turn to look at me, Gwen’s a warning and Ana’s a demand.

“Did you want her…or us…to spend more time here?” Ana asks, swallowing the nervous tilt to her voice. “Did she say no because of me?”

I meet Gwen’s eyes. This is it. I have the opportunity to be on Gwen’s team. To tell Ana no, that I’m also busy with work, that Gwen never limited our relationship because of her. Gwen’s eyes beg me to make that choice. Some quiet part of my heart does, too.

But it’s no use. I’ve found my opening, and I free fall into it.

“I…” I stutter, and I wish it was manufactured for effect. “I offered to have you move in here.”

Gwen’s expression turns to ice, betrayal the only emotion I can sense. Ana’s jaw drops a fraction in shock before she turns back to her sister.

They go back and forth, angry and hurt. Ana demanding to know why Gwen refuses to live her life, using her as an excuse. Gwen repeating that it’s her decision, that her sister isn’t a burden, that she doesn’t regret her decisions. By the time dinner has gone cold, they’re both huffing, arms crossed, refusing to look at each other.

“I want to go to bed,” Ana announces, pushing away from the table. Gwen and I both stand, but she cuts me a look that locks me in place.

“I’ll show you the spare rooms, okay?” Gwen says quietly, walking down the hallway, Ana following a few steps behind.

“Ana,” I say before she can leave. Both sisters turn toward me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start all of this. Your sister loves you so much. All she wants is for you to have everything you want.”

Fury is rolling off of Gwen, and I can’t blame her. All I’ve done in this moment is position myself as the good guy.

“It’s okay. I just want the same thing for her, too.”

Ana walks past Gwen down the hall, disappearing from my sightline, but Gwen’s rooted to the spot. She stares after her sister, and I wish I could live inside her mind again.

It takes a few moments, but eventually Gwen follows her down the hall without a second glance at me. Their muted voices travel through the walls, soft and a little apologetic, and I clean the kitchen. They’ll repair this little rift in their relationship soon, maybe even tonight, and now I’ve planted the seeds to make Ana comfortable with the idea of living here. And Gwen might agree to it, if only to prove that Ana’s needs don’t limit them.

The familiar thrill of winning, of executing a plan, of getting the outcome I wanted, pulses through my veins, but it’s not as sweet as it normally is.

I’m nearly done loading the dishwasher when I hear the door to Ana’s room shut. There are no footsteps, no sign that Gwen’s returning to the living room, but I’m not fooled. She’s probably standing in the hallway, doing her best to contain the anger boiling in her chest.

Finally, I hear her approach. Muffled steps, steady breaths, so much control.

“Ana get settled okay?” I ask, even though I know it will set her off. Usually, I enjoy taunting my prey, especially after I’ve already won.

Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t want Gwen to be prey.

“What the ever loving fuck was all of that?” she demands, each word clipped and laced with venom.

“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I don’t want to. I’m pushing further than I need to, and a little voice in the back of my mind that sounds suspiciously like Bea tells me to stop.

But this is what I do, it’s who I am. I find someone’s weakness—be it physical or psychological or emotional—and exploit it. I use what I know and get them to break, to submit, to give me what I want. And Gwen’s weakness, ironically enough, is the fortress of fury she’s built around herself. So tall and wide she doesn’t see the cracks in its foundation.

It’s second nature to keep searching for faults I can take advantage of, to push for one more slip up, one last break. To show her I can slither into those cracks. Bea’s voice taps at the back of my mind again, screaming at me that Gwen is not a target, not a victim. That there are other ways to get what I want, to work with her, to have her on my team.

Partners, maybe friends.

But the sensation is so familiar it’s like muscle memory, my body and mind slipping seamlessly into this version of myself. When she finally walks up and stands next to me in front of the sink, I smile at her, and it feels wrong, too cruel. This isn’t the smile I gave my redhead in the bar. It’s the one I give to my victims.

“Inviting us over here without clearing it with me first? Using Ana to get me to move up my timeline? Manipulating every fucking second to get what you want?” Her voice shakes with fury, and my smile falters. She’s angry, sure, but she’s also teetering on the edge of some break, pain and sadness thrashing through her eyes.

“Gwen, I…” I don’t even know what I’m about to say, but she doesn’t let me find out.

“Don’t you fucking dare. I agreed to your fucking terms. I wanted to ease Ana into this because I don’t want her feeling like a prop in my relationships. Like she’s going to meet some new guy who wants her sister to upend their lives and make her leave her home every six fucking months.” She’s whispering, maybe because it’s the only way she knows not to scream.

Possessive rage crashes over me at her words.

“She will not meet anyone else,” I say, resisting the urge to touch her. “I’m yours.”

Her eyes flare for a moment before she starts washing the dishes in the sink, movements jerky.

“That’s not the point,” she seethes, scrubbing a plate with such vigor that I worry she’ll break it and slice her hand open. I think about taking it from her, telling her she doesn’t need to clean, but I’m a little afraid to interrupt. “I’m not putting her through the shit Isabelle did, changing her whole life, her school, her friends, just for some fucking guy. Especially not in the middle of treatment.”

The comparison hits me like a brick. It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d feel like her mother, but I also failed to consider how it would frame me in Ana’s mind. Does she remember enough about Ben and the men like him to worry I’ll be the next version of them?

Shame nips at me, but I try to brush it off. Gwen is safer, more cared for, more supported, under my roof. So is Ana. I grip the edge of the counter and look at the ceiling with a hard breath.

“You being here is for the best.”

For a second there’s silence, before a splitting pain radiates through my hand. I’m so shocked I choke out a gasp, and grip the counter harder as my gaze catches on a fork standing upright from the back of my hand.

“You have no idea what’s best for us,” she says, voice quivering, and I don’t know if she’s going to cry or scream.

I meet her eyes, and her emotions are so painfully obvious, written across her face like she’s screaming them at me. Betrayal, pain, fury.

The pain brings a sense of clarity I haven’t felt since the night began. That tangled knot suddenly unravels, and I’m faced with the reality that I did this to Gwen, to Ana. That I took the woman in the alley who I couldn’t forget and turned her into another target, a mission.

Her brain seems to catch up to her actions, because her eyes fall to the utensil in my hand. One prong sticks almost directly out of the eye of the snake inked there. She breathes out a heavy sigh.

“That may have been an overreaction,” she says reluctantly, releasing her grip on the fork.

A smile pulls at the edge of my lips, humor crowded out by remorse.

“I don’t know, I’ve done worse for far less important reasons,” I whisper, watching blood pool in little bubbles on my skin. It’s not too deep, and she miraculously didn’t hit any bone, though I don’t think that was purposeful. I hold my breath as I pull the fork out with my opposite hand.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” she asks sheepishly.

I look sideways at her and catch her gaze before rolling my eyes with a smile. She grimaces, and I reach into the cabinet over the refrigerator to grab the kit, tossing it on the peninsula.

“You were right,” I admit, unzipping the case and finding the antiseptic. “Everything I did tonight was out of line. It’s not an excuse, but this is what I’m used to. Manipulating everyone around me to fit my plan. It’s something that I don’t want to do with you,” I say, glancing up at her as she leans against the counter. “But you’re allowed to keep stabbing me until I learn to handle myself better.”

A smile kicks up at the corner of her lips, but she rolls them between her teeth to squash it. There isn’t too much bleeding, but I rifle through the kit again, looking for bandages.

“Let me,” she says, suddenly in front of me. She takes my hand, skin so soft and smooth against mine.

There’s an electric current where we touch, igniting my whole body. I swallow down the feeling, hoping if I don’t react, she won’t let go.

She finds a larger bandage and unwraps it, carefully placing antiseptic on the pad and smoothing the sticky ends around the contours of my knuckles.

“You will not treat either of us like that again,” she says quietly, the threat seductive and lethal as she runs her fingertip over the edge of the bandage. “You will figure out a way to appropriately negotiate our contract, to communicate with me, or you will find out what happens when someone wrongs me twice. Do you understand?”

Our gazes lock, and despite the malice in her question, her expression is almost sweet. I want to taste it. I want to taste all of her.

But I just nod, and she smiles before dropping my hand and heading toward the hallway. The part of me that lacks self preservation begs me to ask her to stay in my bed. For appearances, of course. But I somehow keep the words from pouring out of me as she makes her way toward what I can only assume is the guest room Ana’s not sleeping in.

Right before she disappears around the corner, she looks over her shoulder.

“Oh, and now that timelines are up for negotiation, I’m making some requests,” she says, her tone light and airy. “I’m looking forward to learning the family business, Charlie.”