Page 37 of Tied

Chapter 18

Cain

Riley is a headstrong girl. I have known that since the first time I met her.

But as much as she tries to be strong right now, I saw the look on her face when I first walked in. I saw the way her eyes flickered when she saw the basket in my hand, and I saw the despair creeping into her expression when she realized she couldn’t let herself give in this fast.

She’s not immune to hunger and the way it weakens the spirit, but she’s not ready to give in yet.

From the way she scrutinizes me now, I’d say she’s ready to bargain, but for what? She can’t possibly think that there’s anything she could hold over my head as a bargaining chip?

“What do you want to talk about?” I am determined not to let her notice even the slightest bit of insecurity in my demeanor.

As much as I hate to admit it, her current stance does unsettle me, if only to the slightest degree.

She takes in a deep breath and straightens her posture so that she sits slightly taller next to me.

“If I agree to do what you’re asking, don’t you think I need more details about all of this?” She pauses. “And about you?”

The expression on her face turns neutral, hiding whatever thoughts are going through her mind.

“Agreed,” I respond with a solemn nod. “And I’m here to tell you more, provided you’re ready to cooperate.”

I pause then for effect, locking her down with a strategically raised brow. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

Riley presses her lips together and swallows dryly, then she tilts her head, suggesting a subtle nod. That’s the only acknowledgement she’s willing to give.

“Tell me more,” she demands. “Who is this guy and why is he so important to you?”

I’m not sure how to feel about her boldness right now. I don’t trust her, even with the threat of harming her sister hanging over her head. It fucking sucks, too, because I have to trust her if this operation is going to succeed.

“The guy’s name is Charlie, as far as we know. He could be using an alias,” I begin.

“Like you,” Riley interjects. “Mr. Hewett. Or should I say Mr. Stanford, or maybe Cain? Is that one at least real?”

She juts her chin forward defiantly, and I notice a faint hint of disgust in her eyes.

I choose to ignore it.

“We don’t know where he lives,” I go on. “That’s the hard part. We know what Charlie does for the Covey, and we know how important his work is for them. That’s why they always have eyes on him. He’s constantly guarded and being watched, and there’s a good chance he even lives and operates directly out of their headquarters.”

“Do you at least know where their headquarters are?”

I don’t like the condescending tone in her voice right now. She talks to me like I’m a stupid kid who jumps into something without thinking about the consequences.

“Yes, of course we know where their headquarters are.” I adopt an equally pissy tone. “But as you can imagine, that house is under constant heavy surveillance. It’s not like we can just ambush him there. Anyway, that’s not what this is all about. I don’t want to kill the guy, I want to use him.”

Riley leans forward, her attention piqued. “Use him for what, Cain? You have been really vague about that part so far.”

She’s right about that, I give her that much. And even though I am not anxious about disclosing the cold, unsettling facts about a secret underground world that an innocent girl like Riley was never meant to know about, I have no choice if I want this to work.

“The Covey is an organized crime syndicate. They have been around for almost as long as the mafia in these parts. They often work in collaboration with them, but sometimes they work against them. Either way, they always operate in the shadows, whether their business and operations are legal or not,” I elaborate. “For a syndicate working on such a large scale as that, it’s of utmost importance to protect their members and remain anonymous and outside the bureaucratic system as much as possible. No one knows who their leading figure really is—they call him Big George—and no one knows who works for or with them. So even when there is a big blow-up against them—one happened just a few months ago when someone betrayed one of their mafia-linked operations with an ambush on the day of the execution—it rarely leaves a big mark on them. Their members are blood-loyal and never speak to the police, and there are never any clues or traces to be followed, no names that can be tracked, nothing. It’s all obscured under an immaculate network of false identities, fake documents and backgrounds, even false police reports.”

I pause for effect.

“And there’s only one person in charge of that, one guy who possesses the knowledge and skills to keep their system running.”

“Charlie,” Riley concludes correctly.

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