The Syndicate Read online

  “I will,” I say.

  “Okay. And don’t do anything stupid.”

  I actually laugh out loud at the irony in that. “Okay.”

  Next, I make a pit stop at a local drug store to buy some first-aid supplies and toiletries. Since I left the house on the fly, I’m empty handed. That means I’ll have to make a quick shopping trip for some clothes. But for now, I take the opportunity to stock up on toothpaste, deodorant, and shaving items. I’ve never shacked up with a girl, and it’s making me a little paranoid.

  At eleven o’clock, I begin driving in circles through the city to make sure Henri didn’t have me followed. When sure, I make my way to Riley’s hotel. I end up parking down the street, because my big dually won’t fit in the parking garage of her hotel—which is fine with me. My truck, coupled with a big yellow four-wheeler sitting in the back, sticks out like a sore thumb, but hopefully no one will be looking for it yet.

  I’m doing my best to make it through the lobby and up the elevator casually. But once she opens the door, the pain in my side returns, the weakness from fighting overtakes me, and the strength I mustered to get from there to here disappears. All I want to do is fall into her.

  She either picks up on what I’m thinking or her instincts kick in, because she pulls me inside and lifts my arm around her shoulders.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she whispers, walking me over to the bed. I sit, feeling like I don’t know which way to lean. Forward, to the left, right, back? I don’t know. “What happened to you?” she finally asks, steadying me.

  I tilt my head back, meeting her gaze.

  “I almost didn’t get him.”

  “Oh geez, Rosie said you shouldn’t have gone. Here. Take this off.” She pulls my coat off and gasps. “Vasi. Oh gosh, wha…why didn’t you say something?”

  By now, the whole right side of my shirt is a red mess and half sticking to me.

  “I’m all right,” I whisper, still staring at her.

  Her gaze is fixed on my torso, and I watch every line in her face twitch as she runs her fingers over my shirt, testing where she can pull it away from my skin.

  “I think you should go to the hospital,” she says, resigning.

  I shake my head. “I don’t do hospitals.”

  She counters quickly. “Vasi, this is more blood than when you cut it the first time, and you went then.”

  I smile in amusement at my lingering stupidity. “I only went before to meet a certain registration clerk, remember?”

  Her gaze meets mine again. “Must’ve been some coincidence then.”

  “Not really.”

  She stands upright. “Not really?”

  “No, not if I sent myself there on purpose.”

  She rolls her pretty greens. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m serious.”

  She sighs deeply and crosses her arms. “Well then, what now?”

  She seems a little miffed, but I appreciate a little temper.

  “Well, you can register me if you want, and then hand me that bag over there so I can fix myself up.”

  She puts her hand on her hip and shakes her head. In a long stare-down with me, a smile finally prevails. “Fine. What’s your name?” she asks, deciding to play along.

  “Vasi Petrescu.”

  “And how did you hurt yourself?”

  “I got attacked by Hybrids.”

  Her smile disappears. “Hybrids?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How many Hybrids?” she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Oh….like…fourteen.”

  “Fourteen?!”

  To keep her concern in check, I hurry it along. “Yeah, but Dani came and it’s all good. Fourteen less Hybrids. So um, if you don’t mind, miss, I need medical attention, please.” I point to my blood-soaked shirt.

  She bites her bottom lip and looks down at my side. “All right. We can get you fixed, but I have to check…you’re not planning on attacking any registration clerks tonight, are you?”

  I laugh. “No.”

  “Fine, then I’ll help you.”

  She pulls on my bicep, scoops up the bag, and guides me toward the bathroom. Once we reach the threshold, she stops. I look at her, confused.

  “Do you want me to come in?” she asks.

  I think about doing it myself and, although I could, I decide not to. “Yes,” I say, finding myself mesmerized again by all the shades of green in her eyes.

  Without a pause, she pushes me in and enters behind me, closing the door. In hard concentration, she leans me against the counter and slowly pulls my shirt away from my skin. Once separated completely, she lifts up my shirt and pulls it over my head.

  Looking down, I see the blood caked on my abs and immediately know this is not going to feel too good. She’s examining me closely, and the only comfort I feel is the touch of her fingers against my side.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says. Then, in a professional manner, she takes one of the folded white washcloths off the shelf and runs it under warm water. While that’s soaking, she unwraps the butterfly bandages and antibacterial ointment. Her fingers are shaking, and I hold back a smile, confident my wound is not the cause of her nervousness.

  “This may hurt,” she says, squaring her feet in front of mine.

  I don’t reply, because, for the first time, I’m noticing her fitted white tank and how tone her arms are and how soft the skin looks. I do believe this is the first time we’ve seen each other in such a well-lit space.

  It’s odd to think that I’ve already been with her and don’t even know the details of her body. The lack of knowledge makes me want to find out, to do it the right way. With my mind wandering, I barely feel her clean me up. And she was right—my gash wasn’t torn all the way open, and, even though my stitches are nearly dissolved, the butterflies are sufficient.

  Once I’m cleaned up, she finally looks up at me, her body still squared with mine. My hands find themselves resting on her hips, and I want to kiss her. Instinctively, my gaze settles on her lips, and I’m leaning in, absorbing their proximity, when her soft smile disappears.

  “You have two knots on your head,” she whispers.

  Too quickly, I lean toward the mirror. A small shooting pain sears my side, but I ignore it, because I’m staring at twin bumps, already turning purple above each one of my brows. Nice.

  I turn back to her, not sure what to say, but suddenly feeling not all that seductive. “I head-butted two Hybrids at the same time,” I explain.

  She’s quiet for a minute, and I think my battle wounds have ruined the mood until she reaches behind my neck and pulls me to her in a kiss that sends a warm vibration from the two knots at the top of my head to the boots I can’t wait to take off.

  She presses her body against me, and my fingers thread through her hair, forming a fist. I feel like I’m in heaven. Maybe one of those Hybrids did kill me. Then again, maybe not, because I don’t even know if I have a place in heaven.

  Still kissing her, I turn us around and lift her onto the counter. Now she’s eye level and the position of her legs is sending me into overdrive. I’m only thinking about one thing.

  “Wait.”

  I think I hear something, but the word doesn’t ring clearly. “Huh?” I say, still kissing her.

  “Wait a second,” she says, nudging my chest.

  I pull my head back to see that her eyes possess a new look. Sort of on the verge of uncertainty. No, not on the verge—definitely uncertain.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning back in, not wanting to spoil the moment.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, making a move to get down.

  “No.” I step in closer so our faces are only inches apart. “Don’t. Tell me what I did.”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s completely me. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you, but you’re here and you look so good, and I want to, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I promised myself
I wouldn’t.”

  Now I’m confused. “Why?”

  She lowers her head and our gaze breaks. “Because it’s wrong, and when I prayed about it at church, the answer I got was I shouldn’t have done that before marriage.”

  Okay. Um… Can’t really compete with God on that, but now I’m feeling like I’ve tossed this girl onto the sin wagon and compromised her ticket to heaven too.

  Wait.

  “Hang on. Was I your first?”

  “No,” she says. I try not to look disappointed, but my shoulders hang slightly. “There was one time when I was sixteen,” she clarifies. “I thought I loved him, but I just wanted someone to protect me and make me feel sane. I thought he’d make my nightmares go away. So I did it, and the next week I shared my dreams with him, and he laughed and told me I was nuts. I just stared at him and realized I didn’t even like him.

  “After that, I promised myself I’d never do that again. Not until I was married and knew for sure that the person loved me and I loved him. And then you came along, and I don’t know…there was this need again to be protected, and you understood about my nightmares, and I felt this urge like I needed to be with you. I wanted it so badly. More than anything I’ve ever felt.

  “And then the next day I felt so stupid, because I knew you couldn’t love me and I certainly couldn’t have loved you, and then I went to church and felt good. Like it was okay, and that I was forgiven as long as I promised not to do it again. And here I am again. Like I need to, and I can’t, even if I think I might…”

  She stops, and I’m looking at her like a deer in headlights, but manage to speak. “Think you might what?”

  “Forget it.”

  I want to keep her attention, so I pull her hips closer. “Think you might what?”

  She’s completely uncomfortable and squirmy, but I don’t let her off the hook. I want to hear her say it.

  “I think I might…” She looks away and then back. “More than like you…maybe even love.”

  I take her face in my palms and pull her lips to mine before either one of us can say anything else.

  I know what she’s said and what I should say back, but nothing comes out. My feelings for her might very well be the same, but even if I could wrap my brain around exactly what it is I feel, I wouldn’t be able to put it into words right now. Instead, I just kiss her, wanting her to know how much I want her too.

  It doesn’t take long for my manhood to rise again, so I force it back down. No matter how much I want all of her right now, I understand her promise and why she made it. We kiss a few more long seconds before I pull away. Our gazes meet again, and even looking at her eyes I can see her chest rising and falling, out of breath. I smile, hoping to cut through all the intense hormones filling the air.

  Smiling too, she collapses into my chest, giving me the opportunity to kiss the top of her head and rub her shoulders. “Come on,” I murmur.

  She gives me a hug before sliding off the counter. Our hands meet naturally, and feeling her fingers between mine makes me feel like the protector she needs. The protector I want to be. Walking with her makes me feel good, and maybe…I more than like her too.

  Chapter 18

  THE TIE THAT BINDS

  She sleeps in my arms that night, and the closeness of her against me gives me one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time. We couldn’t have fit together any better, and by morning I know she’s someone I don’t want to be without.

  After finishing a big spread of room service, we gather her bags and pack up the truck. I decide to go clothes shopping once we get to Tulsa, feeling it’s safest for us to get out of town as soon as possible. By now, I’m sure Alexandru has figured out something is off with Riley’s whereabouts. He’ll have his Scout find her car and be on twenty-four-hour surveillance at the apartment complex where Rosie parked it.

  In another day, they’ll figure out that she’s missing. Then, I’m sure Henri will assume I’m to blame, which doesn’t bother me in the least. It does, however, put me on a time crunch. I need to get to Dorina before Henri has a chance to plant seeds in people’s minds.

  The first place we go is the bank. Another thing my father told me about was a safety deposit box, where he kept an emergency supply of cash and identities for us. At the time, he said it was to protect us from the government in case they turned on us. He said that though they treat us like royalty, when they want to erase any trace of Hybrid existence, we shouldn’t expect to be protected. Eliminating all record of Hybrid existence could include deleting the records related to the Syndicate—including its members.

  I still believe that’s a possibility, but the more I remember the conversation, the more I’m starting to believe my dad was protecting us from something else as well. For one, he made me promise not to mention the existence of the box to anyone. “No one,” he said, with such conviction that I flinched. He saw my surprise and explained that all members of the Syndicate had one, and, to ensure the safety of the contents, no one else was supposed to know. At fourteen years old, it was a good enough explanation for me, so I remembered everything he told me about the box and haven’t thought of it until now.

  His instructions were clear. One, only access the box in an absolute emergency. And two, once you access it, remove all of the contents and follow the instructions inside the box.

  I have no idea where opening the box will lead or if I’m even ready to go down the path my father hoped I’d never have to, but in my gut I do feel this is an emergency. Simply put, I don’t trust Henri, and remembering his apathy for my well-being last night makes me certain he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate me too. That means that, whatever I do from now on, it has to be well thought out and precise—and invisible to Alexandru. In other words, a new identity to travel with. I hope my father has it in there.

  When we arrive, I offer to let Riley come in the room with me, but she opts to wait in the lobby. I’m glad, because emotions overtake me as I open the box and stare at the contents my father left for me and Rosie. On top is an envelope with my name on it. Inside is a letter:

  Vasile,

  If you are reading this, it means that your mother and I are no longer there for you, and for that I am truly sorry. If we can do anything for you now, it is to make sure you have everything you need in our absence. The mere fact that you have sought out this box means that you have no choice. Whatever your reason, know that you will prevail and find peace.

  You’ve always been able to handle anything pushed your way, and now is no exception.

  Here is what you need to do. Inside you will find birth certificates for you and Rosie. These are temporary identities with which you can obtain a driver’s license, credit cards, and whatever you need to travel unnoticed. I’ve included two for each age range. Choose which one you want, and keep the second in case the first identity is compromised. Next, use the cash whenever possible, but make sure it doesn’t draw attention.

  Next, remember this. Never return to this box. When you need something more, there is another box at the National Bank in D.C. The box number is A6491 and the key code is your mother’s day of birth followed by your sister’s. This box has more cash and identities. It also has the account number for an off-shore bank account with more money in it. I trust that, if you use it, it will be for good purposes only, which includes the safety of you, your sister, and any families you two may have.

  Finally, always remember to follow your instincts, watch your back, and know that we love you. We could not have asked for a better son to lead our future.

  Forever with you,

  Dad

  P.S. Destroy this letter immediately.

  I’ve never seen this side of my father, and doing so now makes me miss him even more. Despite the emotions coursing through me, I pull myself together. His encouragement renews my determination.

  Riley stands to greet me as I come out. Without saying anything, she puts her arm through mine and walks with me to my truck.
Once inside, I show her the contents. Right away I think one of the birth certificates can be used by her, but I don’t want to make that decision without consulting Rosie.

  While still in the parking lot, I reach Rosie on her cell, letting her know I accessed a safety deposit box Dad kept for us. I leave out the details about the existence of another box, mainly to keep her from worrying. She takes it very well. Then, she says Riley is more than welcome to use one of the birth certificates. Her only demand is that she get to decide which name we save for her in case she needs to use one of her identities. The choices for a twenty-five year-old are Michelle Reed and Jennifer Conner. She reserves Michelle.

  The male choices are Thomas Scott and John Roberts. I couldn’t have cared less, but Riley picks John. Apparently she thinks the sound of “Jenn and John” is “cute.” I roll my eyes and laugh, putting the unused certificates in an envelope. She places her hand on my thigh and gives me a comforting squeeze, instantly relaxing my nerves as we gear up for the trip to the DMV.

  An hour and a half later, we have driver’s licenses that peg us as John and Jenn. I have to admit, I feel lighter by the time we get to the airport, go through security, and board the plane—pretending to be someone else. Someone without the Petrescu responsibility.

  We find our seats, and it’s then that I notice Riley not looking so good.

  “You all right?”

  She swallows hard and looks at me. “Yeah, I’m just a little nervous.” She breathes deeply and sweeps her curls up with both hands, twisting her hair into that knot-bun-looking up-do. Then she starts fanning her neck. “And hot,” she moans.

  “You’re not afraid to fly, are you?” Rosie is, and she drives me crazy every time I have to go somewhere with her.