Page 62 of Speak

I nod and grab his arm again and writeMEMORIESalong his forearm.

“Does anyone know you remember?”

I shake my head, brows knitting together and pull the binder out of his hands, and slowly scoot away from him, a weird feeling settling in the pit of my stomach and I highly doubt it’s the samosas we just scarfed down.

“Hold on, baby. Give me a second to process this. You’re safe with me, I promise. It’s just…. I haven’t seen that ledger in a long fucking time, okay?”

I tilt my head and he stands up and paces the large, spacious room. He pushes his brown hair back from his face, brown-green hazel eyes roam around until they settle on me through my vanity. He turns, slowly, to face me again and my mouth fills with saliva like a Pavlovian response.

In just his boxer briefs, it’s the first time I can really see and appreciate all of the muscles in his back, the muscles along his ribcage, only a scar in the shape of the Syndicate sigil, raised and silverish pink, that tells me he was branded a while ago. Underneath his scar, those muscles also rip along and his abs, that delicious V cut along his Adonis belt that reminds me I just had him in my throat that move with every stride. His quads flex with every step, heavy and godlike and it reminds me how much stronger he is than me, how masculine he is in all his glory that no matter how strong I become, he will always outweigh me, outrun me, and overpower me… Jonas Anderson is a demigod walking amongst mortals and I was made to worship him.

“It’s no secret that I’m adopted. I’m not an Anderson by blood. I’m only two years younger than you. The year after your incident, I was to beinitiated. I couldn’t do it… do you know what initiation includes?”

I give a slight shrug. Because no, not really.

“You have toget awaywith murder. You put a hit on someone, and you have to plan it out, draw it out, and leave absolutely no trail behind.”

I quirk an eyebrow for him to continue.

“Secret societies all across the US… they make people disappear. Usually kids, sex workers or people that probably won’t ever be missed. The Syndicate… the Syndicatedoesn’t. They murder people thatwillbe missed and leave the bodies to be found. It’s a way to prove that you’re not just capable, that you’re…ingenious. That you know how to cover your tracks. That whatever you do, or your brothers do, you can get away with it all. Together or alone.

Some members of the Syndicate are legacies. Literally grandfathered into it. They’re the rich. The elite. Like Axel. Like Tyler. Chase. Riordan. Other members… others like me aren’t. Yes, they make a name for themselves as doctors or lawyers or whatever other high-paying jobs are out there, but you know what they really are? Undercover hit men. Hit men that could more than get away with taking out the legacies if that’s ever needed. We’re talking presidents, politicians, celebrities, athletes, world renowned scientists and more.”

My eyes widen.

“That’s why they can’t be sloppy.Wecan’t be sloppy. It all has to be methodical. Every kill. Every strike. Leave the body behind as proof that it was done if it ever needs to be done. Just leave no witnesses. Theonlytime you have a witness is during your initiation. Your brothers not only have to witness your kill… they have to be able to be quiet about it. Do you understand? The brotherhood isn’t just about slaying together. It’s about the bond you create with your brothers while slaying.”

I open the binder and open it to the page with my name and then point to the first name.

T. Prescott

He looks at it and then those forest-hazel eyes of his close and he tilts his head back as if releasing the tension from his shoulders and scrubs his hand down his face.

“That’s why you went after Chase, isn't it? It’ll bring the Prescott’s all together. You need to get to Tyler.”

I gnaw on my lip.

“So, what, is this your kill list?” he asks in a tone that feels like he’s mocking me.

My cheeks heat and I shrug again. Yeah, I mean, maybe.

He points to a name. “Simon Hoover lives in D.C.” He points to another name. “You won’t have to worry about this one. J. Cartwright.”

I tilt my head at him as he sits beside me, the loveseat groaning under his weight.

“You won’t have to worry about him… because I killed him.I killed Jacob Cartwright. A legacy… and got away with it. Raven, baby, I was initiated into the Syndicate. Not exactly by choice, by accident.”

“Jesus, J, you were only supposed to be the lookout.”

“She’s always been a stuck-up bitch. I needed to get one in.”

The memory rings loud in my mind. The voices echoing, still clear as day.

“Baby? Where’d you go?”

I grab his large hand and put it under my camisole, letting him feel the scar where Jacob stabbed me.

Jonas snarls. “Jacob did that to you?”

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