Chapter 28 A NẸW PLAYER
The fed takes me to a small café overlooking Lake Michigan on the north side, far enough from Ashbourne Heights and Saints Hollow where no one we know will “happen” to drop by.
The place is empty, but the heater is thankfully on.
With its dated furnishings—peeling floral wallpaper, faded leather seats—it feels like a ghost town.
“Well, I didn’t expect this, Special Agent Clarke. This is unusual,” I comment as he hands me a cup of tea. “Do you treat all your interviewees this way? Take them out for tea in the middle of nowhere? I was expecting four white walls, fluorescent lights, and really bad coffee.”
He laughs, removes his gloves, and settles into the seat in front of me. “Tristan. Call me Tristan.”
His lips curve into a small smile, which normally should make me feel better, but there’s a hardness in him that gets my hackles up.
“I figured you’re used to more refined tastes, being an Anderson and all.” He stirs his drink but doesn’t take a sip.
“So was it you following me in New York City?”
“No. But you know my younger brother.” He stops stirring.
My mind whirs, going through my directory of names, when shock registers. The last name Clarke. “Emerson? My PI is your brother?”
“Small world. Almost meant to be, don’t you think?” Another smirk. This is someone who rations his emotions. Much like another man you know. I push the thought away. “And I had colleagues keep tabs on your family. The Bureau does that for high-profile people who have frequent brushes with the law.”
“That’s not fair! We were victims. It was—” I stop myself, not knowing how much I should share about The Association.
He stills, his brown eyes steady on mine. “Go on. You want to say it. The Association, right?”
“If you already have all the answers, then why am I here?”
“Well, to be frank with you, Miss Anderson—” He pauses, then cocks his brow. “Or should I call you Mrs. Kent?”
“Lana will be fine.”
“Lana, then.” He leans back. “You’re an intelligent woman, so I won’t beat around the bush. I’ve had my eye on The Association’s activities for a while, but things are delicate given their connections. Unless we have definitive proof, my hands are tied.”
His jaw tics. Then, he flashes an icy smile again. Fake. I do it when I face the press.
“You aren’t telling me everything.” I lean forward, hands clasped on the table.
“You see, Tristan. I spent years in PR, hearing bullshit and spinning bullshit. You’re hiding something.
And this? As much as I like to think I get special treatment, I don’t think that’s it. This is all off the books, isn’t it?”
Silence falls as Tristan holds my gaze, the earlier softness vanishing into the ether.
Yes. This is personal. A vendetta.
“Smart woman. Why would you marry Elias Kent?” he muses.
Heat creeps up my neck. I hate how my emotions are haywire when it comes to my husband.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I admit. “I don’t know anything about The Association. I was hoping you’d tell me something I could use.”
“To do what? You’re married to the dealer of secrets himself.
The man’s as slippery as a snake, and we haven’t been able to find anything on him.
All we know is whenever he’s involved, things get questionable and evidence disappears.
What were you going to do with this,” he air quotes with his fingers, “‘information’ you think I’ll provide you? ”
Blackmail the bastard back. Figure out what The Association wants with me when I turn thirty-five and escape.
Alive.
Tristan’s eyes sharpen at what he sees on my face. “You know something, Lana. Tell me. I can get you out of this.”
I bite my cheek, thinking about the man who threatened to blow my brains out at the vault, who comforted me amid the bloodshed, like he knew I was terrified.
Even to this day, I can’t reconcile that cold-blooded man with the arrogant mobster who helped my siblings repeatedly and showed up with Christmas gifts for the little ones.
The bastard even got Levi a toy train with real steam coming out. The little guy looked at him like he were a hero. And I hate to admit—Elias is a pro with guns. How could he miss all of Maxwell’s vital organs with both shots?
“You’re going to help me alone? Or do you mean the Feds?” What can one man do that my brothers can’t?
Tristan doesn’t answer me, his expression shuttering again.
“I promise you, you’re safe with me. Let me help you.”
Indecision wavers inside me, and snapshots of the last few months play in my mind.
How Elias held me on his lap in the office and inhaled my scent like it was something he’d been chasing all his life.
Then there’s the gentleness in his voice and eyes that whispered secrets on Thanksgiving and in front of Hollow Gardens.
Like he too was carrying invisible pain, and he wanted to show me his scars but couldn’t.
He had never hurt me, had he?
Good God, Lana. This has to be Stockholm Syndrome. There’s no way I’m feeling any compassion for that man.
But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Tristan’s watching me too closely, and instead of pushing, he takes out his phone and swipes to a video.
“Let me show you something. This might change your mind.”
A feed with a time stamp from three days ago shows up. Elias was on his “trip.” Decked out in another three-piece suit, he stands tall in the middle of a fancy room, a lone spotlight shining on him. Men sit in the corners, but I can’t see their faces.
“Do you swear to uphold your oath and loyalty to The Association?” someone murmurs from off-camera, the voice muffled.
“I do,” he replies.
“Do you swear that The Association will come above all other priorities?”
“I do.”
“Do you know the repercussions if you betray The Association?”
Silence. A faint clicking. The glint of silver in his clenched hand—his lighter.
Elias clears his throat. “Extirpation. If I betray The Association, my bloodline will be exterminated. All relatives, blood or not. The entire family line.”
My veins turn to ice. The words echo in my mind: Extirpated. All relatives, blood or not. Entire family line.
I’m married to him. I’m his family now. My siblings, nieces, and nephews are all related to him by marriage.
If Elias betrays The Association, they all die.
No. I collapse back into my chair. My stomach heaves. I grip the edge of the table for support.
“Good. Now kneel for your final oath,” the man says.
Elias freezes, just slightly. If he hadn’t been around my family for the past decade, I wouldn’t have noticed it.
“No.” He straightens. His fingers tighten around the lighter. “I never kneel for anything or anyone.”
My pulse shoots up. I can’t see much in the frame, but I feel the hostility in the air like I were physically there.
“What do you mean, no?”
“No, is no. Take it or leave it.”
Another beat of silence. Muffled voices murmur offscreen. A low argument. Cold dread gathers in my chest, and I clutch the tablecloth in front of me. I tell myself it’s because I’m terrified of The Association and not because I’m scared about what they’ll do to him.
“This can be classified as a betrayal of The Association,” the man muses, voice sinister. “Of which you just told us the consequences.”
Elias stills, so much I don’t even see his chest move. Then, a low, rough chuckle raises the hairs on my forearms. “You’re smarter than that. You need me.”
“You’re calm about this,” the same voice murmurs. “A sick motherfucker. You’re lucky we want you on our side.”
Elias curves his lips, the smile terrifying.
“Your Rite is complete, Mr. Kent. Welcome to The Association, where all the power you can imagine will be yours.”
I don’t see his response because Tristan clicks the phone shut. Air rushes out of me, and I force myself to let go of the tablecloth.
“A camera in a floral arrangement. A rare oversight for them.” Tristan looks at me, clearly sympathetic. “Do you understand what you’re up against, Miss Anderson?”
He’s using my maiden name again.
“You can’t do this alone,” he continues. “Your life is at stake. Your family’s lives are at stake. You’re married to the enemy—a very dangerous man who would risk everything, even the lives of everyone he cares about, for power. Don’t you find that terrifying?”
A breath rattles out of me. I grip my cup and bring it to my lips, needing to do something with my hands. The liquid is cold. Bitter. The china clatters when I set it down.
“Wh-What do you want me to do?” I whisper.
“Spy for me. Take pictures. Notes. I’ll walk you through it.”
My mind is a mess. If I help Tristan, I’m betraying Elias, and the king of the underworld shows no mercy. But if I don’t, I’m leaving my family at the mercy of The Association. Either way, we might all die.
I’m in way over my head.
“Lana,” he rasps.
The concerned tone in Tristan’s voice snags my attention.
A muscle tics in his jaw, and for a moment, the emotion swimming in his eyes is clear.
It’s pain.
“I know it’s overwhelming,” he says. “I know you don’t trust me. But I really don’t want to see you hurt. Think about your family, the people who care about and love you. If anything happens to you, how will they go on?”
A lump thickens in my throat. Images of my family flash in my mind and my heart constricts.
“Let me help you.” Tristan slips me a card with his contact information. “That’s my private line. Encrypted. Call me anytime.”
Before I can respond, he stiffens. Slowly he rises, his hand reaching for his holster as he looks at something behind me.
I smell it before I turn—the familiar scent of vetiver and smoke. My skin prickles. My spine locks.
Elias.
“Well, well, well. Tristan Clarke.” His tone is calm but dangerous. “It’s rude of you to invite my wife out for tea without letting me know. And a gun,” Elias tsks, “really?”
“It’s Special Agent Clarke to you. Your wife has a mind of her own. She can make her own decisions.”
The two men stare each other down.
My mind riots, excuses tangling on my tongue.
Elias steps to my right, the sound of his shoes hitting the floor—thump, thump, thump—matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. He looks down at me, his gaze suddenly soft as he lifts a gloved finger and traces my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine.
“My princess,” he murmurs. “Did you miss me?”
“Elias—”
“It’s okay. I don’t blame you.” His voice is smooth, almost gentle. He sounds like he’s soothing a spooked animal instead of catching his wife with the FBI.
Elias murmurs, “You’re just looking out for me, Lana. I’m not mad. What does the fed want with our newlywed bliss?”
“I didn’t tell him anything, Elias. I—”
“I know you didn’t, princess.”
He leans down and presses a soft kiss on the tender spot where my ear meets my neck. It’s like a reward for passing a test I wasn’t aware I was taking.
Heat blooms low and dangerous, warming me from within. I tremble.
“It’s time for us to go,” he says, his voice steady. “Leave Special Agent Clarke to enjoy his wild goose chase by himself.”
He laces his fingers through mine, firm—an unspoken command.
I get up quickly, heart pounding, and glance back at the federal agent. His eyes narrow at the sight of our joined hands.
“Think about what I said, Mrs. Kent,” Tristan says, his tone tight. His card weighs heavily in my pocket.
Then, with a thin smile, he addresses Elias, “Always a pleasure, Mr. Kent. May our paths cross again soon.”
Elias smirks, his eyes remaining dark. “Count on it. Unless I find you first.”