Page 30 of Bonds of Obsession

“Your father?” His voice takes on a different tone. Sharper and more focused.

“Jonah Kent.”

Malcolm’s eyebrows rise, and his hand drops away from my arm. He takes a half step back, dark eyes sweeping over me again—but this time it’s different. There’s a new intensity to his gaze, like he’s reassessing everything about me. Something shifts behind his eyes, a calculation I can’t quite read.

My muscles tense instinctively. Everything inside me is screaming danger, warns me that I’m standing naked in front of a predator who just caught an interesting scent. But I keep my chin up and meet his stare directly. I’ll be damned if I’m going to flinch now.

“And where is Jonah now?” His eyes flick to the tattoo on my shoulder and back again.

“Dead.” The word comes out flat, practiced. I’ve said it enough times that it doesn’t hurt anymore. Much. “He never got the chance to use the marker.”

Malcolm’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture shifts. “And now you want to claim it?”

“Yes.”

“To join the Syndicate?” His hand moves to straighten his already perfect tie. A tell, maybe—or just another calculated gesture.

“No.” I meet his gaze. “I want to use it for someone else.”

His eyes narrow, and for the first time since he walked in, genuine surprise flickers across his features. The mask slips just enough to show confusion before sliding back into place. His head tilts slightly as he studies me with renewed interest, like I’m a puzzle piece that suddenly doesn’t fit where he thought it would.

The silence stretches between us, and Malcolm’s expression remains unreadable. But the slight tightening around his eyes tells me he’s not pleased. I have to assume that the marker system exists to bring people into the Syndicate—not to be passed around as favors to outsiders.

Still, I lift my chin and meet his gaze with a challenging look of my own. “My father transferred it to me before he died. That makes it mine to use as I please.”

He takes a measured breath as his eyes bore into mine. The predatory stillness returns, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve pushed too far. But I hold my ground. Back down now, and everything I’ve worked for falls apart.

A muscle twitches in his jaw. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods. “Show me the marker.”

“I need a blacklight.” I gesture to my shoulder. “The marker only shows under UV.”

Without a word, he moves to a panel on the wall and presses his palm against it. A section of tile slides away, revealing a hidden door.

“After you.”

I step through into a small room, where purple-tinted lights flicker on, washing everything in a weird glow. The walls arelined with mirrors, multiplying the effect until it feels like standing in the heart of a crystal.

“Clever.” Malcolm’s voice comes from right behind me. “Hidden in plain sight.”

His fingers trace the outline of my tattoo, and I fight the urge to pull away. The touch isn’t aggressive or even especially threatening, but there’s something possessive in it that makes a chill run through me. Still, I force myself to remain still as he examines the glowing pattern beneath my ink.

“Are you certain about this?” His breath brushes my ear. “A marker is not something to be used lightly. Once given, it must be honored—but it can never be used again.”

“I understand.” I meet his reflected gaze in one of the mirrors. “I want to use it for someone else.” The words hang in the UV-lit air between us. “Someone who needs it more than I do. A man named Ambrose Pearce.”

His reflection studies mine in the mirrored walls, his expression shifting into something that might be disappointment.

“I see. Such a shame.” His fingers trail down my spine, each touch sending ice through my veins. “You would have made an… interesting addition to our organization.”

I step forward, breaking the unwanted contact. My skin prickles where he touched me, and I fight the urge to scrub at it. Instead, I wrap my arms across my chest, trying to maintain an air of authority while giving myself at least some illusion of coverage. His eyes follow the movement, and that almost-smile plays at his lips again.

“When can we make this happen?” I keep my voice steady, professional. Like I’m not standing here naked while he looks at me like I’m some fascinating new toy.

“Soon.” He smooths his tie again, that same measured gesture. “Very soon. Several of our members maintain businessinterests abroad. I’ll need to make sure they’re all in Detroit for this. Redeeming a marker requires every member to be present.”

“Fine. Whatever you need to do.”

Malcolm’s fingers drum against the mirrored wall. “And then we’ll have to burn the marker off, of course.”

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