Chapter 22 No Mercy, Plan A
Aria got another bouquet of sunflowers. Cash payment again. No doubt another dead end.
As I descend the stairs into the catacombs to meet the rest of The Syndicate, I stare at the video feeds from Aria’s apartment on my phone.
Her face pales, then she darts into the hallway after the delivery person, who shakes his head, clearly confused. After the man leaves, Aria paces the hallway, lips pressed into a determined line, and makes a call.
What is she doing?
When the call ends, she leans against the wall, shoulders slumped, then pulls out her ring and stares at it.
The same ring that woke me up before I did something stupid at the hospital two days ago, like kissing her as Ren in broad daylight.
Did you already forget all the reasons you can’t be with her, Ren?
Whose heart beats inside you?
What you’ve done?
The questions echo louder than my footsteps against the old pathways built during the Spanish Flu pandemic. Saints Hollow has no shortage of ghosts, both figurative and literal. I have a sinking feeling I’m about to become one of them.
Sebastian is glaring at the crucifix inside The Syndicate chamber when I enter for our last meeting before the Benefaction. He stands still, almost looking like one of the saint statues outside.
“You’re on time,” he comments, his cold, assessing gaze roving over me.
“I asked you to meet. I’m more surprised you’re on time,” I sign.
“Time is a commodity. The one variable I can’t control.” The psychopath unbuttons his pinstripe suit jacket and takes a seat at his usual spot. “Everything else, everyone else, utterly predictable. Boring.”
I snort and cross the room to my place by the knight inlay.
“Boring? Then tell me why I asked you to come early.”
“You want an update on the favor, and you don’t want the others to know.”
“That’s obvious to anyone.”
A competitive glint lights up his blue eyes. “But they don’t know it’s because of Aria. And your problem isn’t the key anymore.”
My jaw twitches, but I don’t respond.
“Bullseye,” he murmurs. “You’ve changed, Ren. You were focused before. A pain in the ass with your flashes of conscience, but you were always quick. Efficient. Not like this.” He leans forward, a conspiratorial tone in his voice. “You can tell me what’s wrong. I saved your life, after all.”
I roll my eyes. As much as I hate to admit it, Sebastian is right. When I was dying on the surgery table, Sebastian strong-armed the hospital into giving me Blake’s heart. I wasn’t remotely at the top of the transplant list then.
“Someday I’ll pay you back. But not with this.”
“I’ll hold you to it. You might be sorry later.”
Life before Aria was simple. I was dying. I had marks. Celia. The Antihero Syndicate. Rinse and repeat.
Sebastian smirks, his golden hair glinting under the dim light. He may look like an angel, but the man is definitely of the Lucifer variety.
“About your ask…without Aleksei, I can only do so much. Fucking inconvenient,” he comments.
As if losing one of our own is a hiccup, not a betrayal we still feel every time we notice the empty place at the table by the pawn.
“The IP address came from the Kong residence. Direct. No bouncing around,” he says. “Someone sent the email from the siheyuan.”
The email fragment from last year that I asked him to investigate.
My mind shifts to Aria’s file in Cornelius’s room.
The anomaly.
This doesn’t make sense. How can they not know how Blake died?
I pull out my gun and start taking it apart, needing to do something with my hands.
Sebastian’s stare burns into me as he continues, “I ask myself. What’s so special about a fragment of an email? Something from your people. But then, the date…”
My fingers still. I don’t look up.
“The day you and Elias got shot in the hospital and almost died. Interesting.”
Silence falls.
Sebastian doesn’t make a sound. He wants me to break. To volunteer something to fill the void.
He should know better.
I’m used to silence.
It’s only recently that I’ve started craving sounds.
Craving her.
I don’t look at him as I wipe down my gun and put it back together—piece by piece—wishing for order again. For my heart not to flare with her.
But I can’t bring myself to regret it.
The kisses.
The talks.
The freedom.
Aria understands me more than anyone ever has.
And next week, it’ll all be over.
Pain sears under my scar. I hiss and break the stare with Sebastian.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs cryptically.
“Who won the staring contest?” Sofia breezes in and takes off her lace mask—black today—a faint citrus scent blooming in the room, which means she has something for us.
“My money’s on Sebastian,” Elias says, striding in after her. “He doesn’t have emotions. It’s a tactical advantage.”
“Not so sure about that.” Rafe loosens his clerical collar, appearing seconds later. His dark eyes meet mine. “A desperate man can pull anything off,” he comments.
“Are we seriously analyzing a staring contest?” I narrow my eyes.
“Or we can talk about Sri Lanka.” Rafe winks, a rare grin on his face.
“We never talk about Sri Lanka,” Elias says, his lips twitching. “You were supposed to help me control the circus, Rafe. Not set the animals loose.”
“What happened in Sri Lanka?” a familiar, deep voice joins the chaos.
Groaning, I swivel my attention to the door, finding Special Agent Tristan Clarke at the threshold, shoulders tight, gun in his hand, sharp eyes scanning the room.
“What’s he doing here?” I motion.
“Need his help for the plan,” Elias signs back.
“I haven’t agreed to any plans yet.” My jaw locks, a pulse jumping in my temple. “Bringing a fed in will only complicate things.”
“Not if we use him before he uses us. Trust me.”
“You fucking idiots,” Tristan mutters, holstering his gun, clearly realizing there isn’t an active threat. “I know sign language.”
I freeze mid-gesture.
“Special ops. We used ASL in the field.” He smirks and sits next to a bored-looking Sebastian, but his gaze cuts through the chamber once more, like he’s cataloging exits, vantage points, anything he can use if this goes south.
I should’ve seen the special ops in him. Damn.
Elias clears his throat. “For the vow,” he says.
“No mercy,” the others answer, save for Tristan, who looks baffled.
“Welcome to The Antihero Syndicate.” I twirl my gun for good measure. “You do shady shit, and you’ll find yourself with a new lead accessory in your head.”
“Is that supposed to terrify me?” Tristan leans back, but nothing’s relaxed about him. “From where I’m sitting, this looks like a church basement housing a cult of criminals with a branding issue. ‘The Antihero Syndicate,’ good God.” His gaze snaps to Rafe. “No offense, Father.”
Rafe bites back a smile. “None taken.”
Tristan mutters, “And calm the fuck down. I was dragged here. I don’t even know what you guys do.”
“We took a vow to take down The Association. All of us have our reasons, which are none of your business.”
“We’re here because we can do what the law can’t,” Elias says. “The Association buys judges, buries cases, keeps powerful men untouchable. Their initiation rite? Trafficking. Murder. Assault. Money laundering.”
“It’s high time someone stops them,” Sofia says, a sheen of moisture in her eyes. “Fucking damn time.”
Tristan doesn’t blink. Brows furrowing, his gaze pins on Sofia, who glances at the crucifix to the side, lashes fluttering like she’s blinking away tears, which makes no sense because I’ve never seen her so rattled before.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am,” Tristan comments.
“What?” Sofia scoffs. “Only the feds get a monopoly on sanctioned violence? You guys are crooks. Covering for each other. Looking the other way and calling it procedure.”
“Shut up,” Tristan says, low and lethal. Something dark cuts across his face and is gone just as fast. “You don’t know anything, Sofia.”
“Try. Me.” She slams her hands on the table. “Tell me how many young girls got to go home because you guys followed your chain of command.”
Her words click. A long time ago, The Association held her captive until Elias rescued her. Who knows what she had to endure.
A dark flush creeps up Tristan’s neck. “Sofia Kent, you have no fucking idea—”
“This is boring,” Sebastian mutters. “Skip the therapy session. I’m busy.”
Finally. Back to the main purpose of this meeting—to focus on Aria and Celia.
“Why is the fed here? There better be a damn good reason.” I direct my question to Elias, who’s frowning at his sister’s volatile exchange with Tristan.
“We came up with a plan for your situation. Unfortunately, we need law enforcement to make this work.”
“And he’s the best you can come up with?” Sofia scowls. Tristan mutters something under his breath.
“Still here, hellcat.” Tristan’s lips flatten.
“And you’re still regrettably breathing, Tristan,” Sofia retorts.
“Special Agent Clarke to you.”
Elias takes out his lighter and flicks it open. A flame blooms.
“A life for a life,” he says.
The room quiets.
“Tristan saved me last year at the hospital.” He looks up, gaze sharp. “I never forget. And something tells me the fed has secrets of his own and reasons for wanting The Association destroyed.”
He snaps shut his lighter and turns to the man in question. “Right, Tristan?”
Tristan’s nostrils flare. The same odd flashes of emotion cross his eyes again. “You have my word on assistance relating to The Association.”
Chairs squeak, and a faint howl of the wind reverberates through the walls.
Rafe leaves the chamber and comes back with a bottle of whiskey and glasses.
“In moderation for the nerves,” he says. “What happens in here stays in here.” Rafe arches his brow at Tristan, who nods.
Good enough for me. Rafe’s rarely wrong about people.
“The Kongs have nothing. I checked Cornelius’s office, the library.” And every room I can think of where the bastard might hide things. “And Cornelius wants Aria at the Benefaction. But it’s too dangerous.”
“No shit,” Sebastian says, cocking his head as he levels that unsettling stare on me. “He has something over you, though.”
My teeth grind together.