CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SYLVIE
Conversations with this family are what I’d categorize as nonlinear. They jump around from one topic to the next, and yet they always circle back to anything important that was abandoned. It’s impressive and fascinating to watch. I wish my mother were here to see it.
The entertainment factor of mandatory family dinner is the only reason I’m not fretting about the upcoming meeting to discuss my final heist. Well, that and Cash’s arm resting on the back of my chair and his entire body crowding my frame with an obvious claim.
He has a way of assuaging all my fears. And stirring them up, I suppose.
There’s still a part of me anticipating the earth opening up to swallow any contentedness I’m basking in.
“Why do you have a flamethrower?” Axel asks Jax, not for the first time.
The last several attempts were interrupted because Jax’s pause took so long that someone else said or did something. This time, everyone remains quiet.
Relatively.
We’ve graduated to dessert, and for some reason, that was the cue for all the men to assume their customized fidgets. Axel and his roulette watch. Ryker and his dice. Maddox and his butterfly knife. Cash and his cards. And Jax and his fire.
I’m sure there’s some psychological revelation to be made here, but for me, it’s simply amusing.
Tessa rolls her turquoise eyes, but mirth paints her face too. Same with Zara and Mercy. And for that fleeting moment when the girls and I share a silent exchange, I let myself welcome the notion of belonging here, like Cash insisted I did.
Jax plays with a lighter shaped like a guitar, stroking the strings to produce a flame. “Tatum Riesling.”
That piques my interest. He was a longtime star in my mother’s favorite soap opera.
“The British actor,” I try.
“Yeah. I mean …” He peters off, not sharing what he means until he helps himself to a hefty swill of his drink, and while everyone seems to view this as a normal process for him to gather his thoughts, it seems to me that he’s screwing with us.
“He’s actually a producer, but he … acts sometimes.
He’s kind of sensitive about his soap-star days. ”
“What about him?” Ryker snaps, not nearly as intrigued by the peek into this actor slash producer’s life as I am.
“He was stoned—”
“What’s stoned?” Remy interrupts from his seat between his mother and Jax, evidently catching on to the communication style and willing to do his part to derail this explanation.
“Sleepy,” Jax replies, tossing a ladyfinger onto Remy’s plate.
“Thanks, Blue,” the little guy sings. Blue is his nickname for Jax.
Mercy huffs and shakes her head. “You know every time he smells”—she mouths the word pot—“he thinks someone has BO?”
Maddox chuckles. “A lot of them probably do.”
“Better for him to ask people to take a shower than for him to ask for a hit,” Cash quips.
Mercy shudders and rubs her belly. And Ryker chuckles and kisses her temple.
“Having the whole family participate in homeschooling him really was the right move, Merce,” Tessa deadpans.
Zara laughs and leans into Axel, the light bouncing off her diamond choker—which, now that I take a closer look, I believe is a collar. She swirls her wine and prompts Jax. “So, Tatum was sleepy.”
He bobs his head. “I did a tat for him a while back.” He takes another break, possibly because the tattoo information doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the flamethrower. “He called, asked if I was doing anything, and said … we should get a drink.”
“Is that where you were the other day,” Axel asks, “hanging out with him?”
“No. I flew to his house—”
“To LA?” Cash cuts him off, leaning in to get a better angle on his evasive brother while shuffling his deck with one hand.
“Yeah.” Jax flicks his lighter, grinning when Remy is captivated by it. “He wasn’t there.”
Ryker ceases jostling his dice, tamping down his frustration with this lengthy story. “Why not?”
“He was here. In town for the day.”
Tessa pins her lips, probing with the bafflement of the rest of the table. “Did he forget to mention that?”
Jax shrugs. “I was sleepy too.” He dips his chin to Remy. “Everything’s a mess when I miss my nap.”
Remy giggles. “I don’t take naps anymore.”
“That is dangerous business,” Cash chides, winking at his nephew and cleverly aiming the joker at Jax. “You keep staying up until eight without a nap, you’ll end up like that guy.”
Remy tracks the card and bursts out with more giggles.
Maddox battles a smirk, summing up Jax’s story. “Classic miscommunication.”
“Exactly.” Jax gestures to him, as if this is the answer we’ve all been waiting for.
“The flamethrower?” Axel growls, spinning for better luck on his watch.
“Right.” Jax cuts a piece of cherry pie, scooping it onto his plate as he finally dishes out what happened.
“When I let him know where I was, he told me to go inside and get it so I had something to show for my trip.” He takes a bite of his pie, casually tacking on, “It was from a movie set,” when he finishes chewing.
I think about what movies Tatum has produced. “He gave you the flamethrower from his apocalypse movie because you accidentally flew to his house?”
“Yep.”
Cash raises his drink. “Well, now we have to try it out.”
“It’s honoring the arts, Papa Axe.” Maddox points the blade of his balisong toward the eldest Noire. “We’ll reenact the movie scene. Everything went fine there.”
“Not for the aliens,” Jax concedes, and the rest of the table dissolves into laughter.
“We could call some stunt guys in for their roles,” Cash suggests. “We’ll make it into a homeschool class.”
Mercy appears both enthralled and exhausted.
“Don’t be morons. If I get a phone call about this …” Axel pinches the bridge of his nose, stands, and gathers Zara in his arms with a kiss in her hair before they wander to the conference room.
I think that’s the summons for the rest of us.
We clear our plates—doing at least the initial cleanup for their staff that will take away the catered meal—and grab some drinks. It’s late, but I go with coffee.
Cash comes up behind me as I’m leaving the kitchen, one arm hooking over my waist while the other swipes my hair off my shoulder. He kisses the exposed skin there and rasps in my ear, “You good?”
My heart batters my sternum. This man’s hands on me and his lips tickling my ear always have me weak-kneed, and his caretaking has been an unexpected gift. But tonight was a reminder that the more I have, the more there is to lose.
When I took this contract with E, I’d lost everything. It was easier then. The prospect of failing didn’t feel that different from waking up. Now my nervous system is overwhelmed with the fear of returning to that dark place. A much greater fall from here.
I don’t say any of that though. I spin in his embrace, careful not to spill my coffee as I press my lips to his with a confidence that transcends his family shuffling around us or the reality of our worlds colliding, and whisper, “Sly and Noire.”
Everyone, except Mercy and Remy, gathers around the conference room table. I’m surprised to see Tessa here this time, but I’m not bothered about it.
Axel waits patiently for everyone to settle, with his phone and some files stacked before him.
“Let me start by being forthcoming about something, Sylvie. My sister, Rena, who I raised like a daughter, and her family have been in trouble. There was a media conglomerate started years ago. It gradually took off, selling spots for unverified stories across multiple networks to people who needed a widespread message.”
I’m not surprised that something like that exists, but I still seek clarity. “People, like politicians?”
“Not a lot of blatant politics because the FCC and FEC are all over that. But it appeals to clients with deep pockets and take-no-prisoners ambition. False news stories. Fake crimes. Slander. Subtle plugs for products.”
“I’ll be watching the news with a different lens from now on,” I say. “That’s dangerous.”
“It is,” he agrees, and the weight of whatever this information means to him clearly rests on his shoulders.
“For this conglomerate, there are three cards capable of accessing the portal to approve these stories for the networks. Two cards ended up in the hands of a cabal called KORT, which my sister’s family and I have a strong affiliation with.
The third ended up with someone we haven’t yet identified, but we do know some things about them. They are part of another cabal—Kratos.”
I sip my coffee, studying the drawn faces of the entire family, which are obviously due to Rena’s connection to this mess. And mine. “You think I’m stealing the media cards?”
“No.” He rubs his jaw, glancing at Zara to his right for a beat before returning to me. “I will get to that shortly, but my full transparency is imperative first. I have a very personal stake in this. The outcome means everything to me.”
“I appreciate that.” I swallow some blistering empathy because Axel always appears stoic and controlled, and in this moment, he wears the face of a grieving father—an expression I saw too often on my own.
And when I peer at Cash, worry floods him.
For me. While I’m warmed by it, I don’t love that either, so I meet his eyes with a promise. “I’m okay.”
He dips his chin and takes my hand beneath the table.
Axel watches us for a beat before issuing a warning. “It’s important to note that our connection to KORT is not something we share openly.”
“Of course,” I assure him.