Page 29 of Closer Than You Think
“And you’re sure she’s not involved? I mean, personally?” Cain asks.
I shake my head. “Not at all. She may be in danger, but doesn’t know why. She’s a teacher. She does yoga and stays up late grading papers. She’s not part of the Syndicate or Drago’s bullshit. Whatever they want with her, it’s put her in danger and that’s not her fault. I just want to keep her safe.”
But even as I speak, I know the truth is more complex, and the question lingers unspoken: Can I truly separate the darkness of my world from the light of hers?
The tension in the room hangs thick like a shroud, stifling any comfort that might have been gleaned from our high-rise sanctuary. Alan's words still echo in my mind, but it's Jet who breaks the silence first.
“Man,” he starts, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, “I get where you're coming from, Silas. But this fixation on Hallie . . . it's messing with our flow. Our op tempo is off.” He flicks a glance at the array of screens displaying lines of code and security feeds—his digital dominion. “We can't afford distractions when we're this deep.”
I feel a coil tighten within me, frustration mingled with the sharp edge of truth. Jet's easygoing nature does little to softenthe blow of his words. He's not wrong; I know it, even if it grates against every fiber of my being to admit it.
“Jet, I'm aware,” I reply tersely, my eyes sweeping across the room. They land on Blake, noting his silence.
Blake sits apart from the rest, a solitary figure with an air of detachment. His blue eyes are fixed on us, taking in every word, every shift in posture. There's a calculated stillness about him; always watching, always waiting. It's unnerving, knowing that beneath the charismatic veneer lies a mind as sharp and dangerous as any weapon in our arsenal.
“Something to add, Blake?” My voice cuts through the quiet, challenging him to reveal his thoughts.
He merely tilts his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Observing,” he says, and nothing more. His gaze doesn't waver, and the enigmatic response only heightens the wariness that prickles at the back of my neck.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath. Blake's silence does nothing to assuage the doubts already festering among us. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's uncertainty within my own ranks.
“Look,” I say, addressing them all, “I get it. We've got a job to do, and we'll do it. Hallie isn't part of this operation. She's separate from all this.” The assurance in my voice belies the knot of concern lodged firmly in my gut.
“We just want to make sure we continue our work at the level we’re known for,” Alan says, and that pisses me the fuck off.
“Alright everyone, let me get one thing straight. I’ve never wavered when it comes to what we do. I’ve never once put anything above a mission. I’m still the leader here. And if any of you don’t like it, you’re free to leave. But if any of you bring up Hallie again in a derogatory way, or question her motives . . . I will fuck you up.”
They’re quiet again, until Blake snorts. “Dude’s really down bad for this chick.”
I feel rage boiling my blood, and I’m about to plant a right hook on his jaw when he continues.
“About fuckin’ time, boss. You needed a woman in your life.”
Cain laughs, but has the good sense to look regrettable when I side-eye him.
“Let's just focus on the mission,” I add, hoping to steer us back on track. But the others are already laughing and Alan even pats me on the back.
“Fuckers.”
Fourteen
Silas
An hour later, I’m in the building’s gym, hitting the speed bag, releasing as much of this pent-up energy as I can. Between lying to Hallie’s face about the night I fucked her while she was drunk and half-asleep, and my team’s concerns, I’m feeling more stressed than usual.
I’d wanted to tell Hallie the truth, but the danger she’s in makes this complicated. I need her to trust me right now. Part of me thrills at the memory, at having claimed her so completely. But another part aches at the hurt and confusion marring her beautiful face.
I hear my phone chime with a text message. Cain. He says he found something, and it’s not good. I rush out of the gym and ride the elevator up to the private floor with our offices.
The air in the room is electrified with a silent fury, the kind that crackles beneath the surface of my skin, begging for release. My fingers clench the edge of the polished mahogany table, an anchor in the storm of my thoughts. I barely register the coolness of the wood against my palms, all my attention riveted on Cain, who stands across from me like a pillar of calm in the chaos.
“Report,” I growl, the word slicing through the tension. My voice doesn't betray the tumultuous mix of fear and rage brewing inside me. Fear for Hallie's safety. Rage at the Syndicate daring to target her.
Cain meets my gaze head-on, his blue eyes sharp as ice shards. There's no flinching, no hesitation—it's what makes him my right hand, why I trust him when trust doesn't come easy.
“Silas,” he begins, his tone even, every syllable measured. “I've been tracking their comms. They're cautious, but patterns emerge. They want Hallie, we knew that much. The 'why' remains unclear.”
His words hit me, a series of precise strikes. I lean back slightly, my grip loosening but my focus sharpening. It's a dance we know well—the push and pull of obtaining knowledge, the essential steps of staying ahead. We move to the same rhythm, two shadows intertwined in purpose.
