Page 49 of Jonas

“It might be,” Jonas said conversationally. “But that doesn’t mean we still don’t try.”

I looked back at the woods, avoiding the question I really needed to ask.

Where did that leave me? What was my part in all of this now? What was Anson’s part in it?

“Why did the Treasury Department really reach out to Anson?” I asked. “And for that matter, was it really the OFAC who has interest in Simpco, Davis Foods, and Bolin Chen, or is it the CIA? And since they can’t operate in the US they’re using the OFAC as a front?”

“Two birds,” Jonas replied. “The Agency gets the intel they need, the OFAC gets their sanctions. But, make no mistake—the Agency is involved in this.”

I remembered something from last night. Zane was sending someone to speak to John Wu’s parents. I had no doubt, ‘speaking to’ really meant they’d be in an interrogation site like their son. But then there was Austin Wentworth.

“What or who is Black Team?”

I gave it a few beats before I lifted my gaze back to a silent Jonas.

“I don’t know⁠—”

“Right. I get it,” I interrupted him.

“No, Dee Dee, you don’t. I’m not being a dick. Black Team doesn’t exist. Not for you, not for me, not for Z Corps as a whole. They do what they do, and I’m not privy to how they do it. None of us are. I know they’re handling Wentworth, but you heard Zane last night—how that’s being done is not being shared. None of us have been briefed. None of us will be. That’s the nature of the Black Team—they’re ghosts.”

“Like Patheon,” I volleyed, remembering he and his team spent a decade as phantoms.

There had been rumors of a mysterious group of men who had infiltrated the darkest parts of civilization—if you could call the places they’d been civilized. The tales about them had been so farfetched I hadn’t truly believed. That was, until the group had surfaced. Now I wasn’t so sure those stories were farfetched—more like downplayed.

“Like Patheon,” he agreed, but his features were no longer gentle and he looked uncomfortable.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” I mumbled.

“Why shouldn’t you have?”

“Because it might not be something you want to talk about.”

“And telling me about your sperm donor’s teachings was something you wanted to talk about?”

Sperm donor was a good descriptor for the man whose seed made me. I wanted to ignore the way Jonas’ sneer on the word ‘teachings’ made me feel but I couldn’t, not when I was already feeling too much. Too much for a man I didn’t know. But I did know he was the kind of man whose loss I would mourn when he was gone. The kind of man who I wanted at my side and at my back so I could return the favor and show him he was someone worth protecting—worth loving.

I still hadn’t figured out why I’d shared my past with Jonas, just that after I did, the heavy chokehold it had on me seemed to lessen. For a moment I could breathe—the prison of shame I lived in didn’t feel quite so claustrophobic, like maybe there was life outside of the bars that kept me hostage.

I wondered if Jonas felt the same—if his past held him captive. If he had anyone to help him carry the weight.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He lifted a brow, but otherwise remained quiet. I wasn’t sure if that was an invitation to continue or if it was a precursor to him making a snarking quip like ‘I don’t know, can you?.’

I took it as the former and told him, “It’s personal. Actually, it’s invasive, and if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand.”

“Just ask,” he prompted.

“You mentioned you had a brother…Adam. Are you close with him?”

Jonas went so still he redefined the word. His jaw clenched so tightly I feared he’d break it. Seeing that, I attempted to recant my question.

“I shouldn’t’ve⁠—”

“You keep saying that,” he noted. “Something to know about me, you can ask me anything. If I don’t want to answer, I’ll tell you. But you don’t need to keep apologizing for asking and you don’t need to worry about offending me. There’s nothing about my childhood I’m proud of, but I stopped being ashamed of it when I came to the realization my mother’s husband was fucked. The uncomfortable truth is, my mother was too weak to protect Adam and I. That’s not me blaming the victim of spousal abuse, it’s just the plain truth and it started before she married Ed. My dad took care of her, and by that I mean he took care of everything. He loved her so he didn’t mind, or if he did, he never showed it. She didn’t work, but it was my dad who went to the grocery store, it was him who cooked most of the dinners, it was him who cleaned the house and did the laundry. Honest to God, thinking back, I don’t know what my mother did with her day. She put me and Adam on the bus and was out front waiting when we got home from school. How ever she spent her time, it wasn’t picking up after her boys or going out and getting stuff for our lunches or dinner. It wasn’t making sure we had clean clothes to wear. She was just there. I noticed all the ways my dad took care of all of us, but I didn’t, not really. Not until I was older did it occur to me that while my mom was kind and sweet and loving she was lazy. She couldn’t be bothered to take care of a family, and if she didn’t want to be a stay-at-home mom, go out and get a job. My dad wasn’t the type of man who thought a woman’s place was at home. He would’ve supported whatever she wanted to do. It was her who didn’t want to work. It was also her who didn’t do a damn thing to help her kids get over the loss of their father. She went through the motions, but the most she did was hug us when we cried. She didn’t step up and take control of the family, she left me and Adam to figure it out.”

I didn’t know what I hated more—Jonas losing his father or his mother’s inability to be a mother. I knew a thing or two about weak women, the only difference was none of the women I grew up around were lazy. Most of them worked harder than the men. My mother included. Her weakness came in the form of selfishness. She chose to save herself and left her children to the wolves, knowing we’d be eaten—especially me. She left me knowing that one day my father would choose a man to give me to and that man would be nothing less than a monster.