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four.
LIKE A BOND MOVIE
OR SOME SHIT
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TATE SMOOTHS THE front of her vest for the fiftieth time with a frown pulling down her lips. The maroon material is flat yet sturdy, stiff against her body since it's brand-new, and her black bowtie feels like it's choking her. She adjusts it again only to find it can't come any further away from her throat. Giving up, she sighs and lets her hands fall to her sides.
A knock raps on the door. "You done in there?"
"Yeah," Tate calls in reply to Sully. She gives herself a final glance in the mirror before exiting the small bathroom in the dressing area of his apartment.
Out in the main room, both men are dressed in elegant black suits pressed to perfection, with not a single wrinkle in sight. Sully's salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed while Nathan's is in its usual gelled style. They look handsome, surely able to fit in with the other guests who will be dressed to the nines. She, on the other hand...
"I look like a movie theater usher," she deadpans.
Tate stands with her arms flat at her sides, her expression blank. With her ironed black slacks, white, long-sleeved blouse, vest, and bowtie, she really does look ready to serve popcorn. Not even her hairdo helps. She'd relaxed her curls and slicked the locks into a tight knot at the back of her head. Her edges are neatly tamed against her temples to avoid frizz. She'd figured that her makeup should be simple yet nice, but not too elegant, so she'd kept the colors neutral while adding a wing of eyeliner and berry-tinted lipstick.
"You look like you'll blend right in," Sully assures her, handing over a name tag that reads Emily.
Tate gives him a look. "Really? You had to pick the most basic white bitch name ever?"
"Do you have to voice your opinion about everything?" he retorts. Then, he passes something to Nathan. "You asked for that."
"Thank you." Nathan slides what Tate recognizes to be metal cutters into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. Because men's pockets may as well fit the entire continent of Asia into them, there's no sign of the tool from the outside.
"And what's with the cat?"
He looks toward a nearby sofa, where Tate notices a beautiful ragdoll cat for the first time, laying in a bread loaf position on the velvet material. Its pale blue eyes observe the trio with a judgmental expression.
"Oh, the cat?" Nathan questions. "She's just for you."
"What?"
"Yeah. Your life seemed super sad."
Sully jabs a finger at the cat as Nathan walks away. "No, I'm not gonna keep this thing!" To the cat, he hisses, "You're gonna shit all over my floor."
"There are things called litter boxes," Tate reminds him. When Sully angrily storms after the boy, she leans toward the feline and whispers, "Make sure you shit right on that sofa."
The cat blinks at her as if in understanding.
The back of the shiny black SUV is cramped, with Tate squeezed between Nathan and Sully. She tries not to lean too far back so her hair doesn't touch the headrest. The result is her sitting in an awkward position that causes her back to ache after five minutes.
Though the glass exterior of The Aurora had been clear during the day, it's completely lit up at night, shining neon blue and purple onto the rain-slicked streets. Tate tries to make note of entrances and exits as they roll past along with the traffic. Seeing a blueprint on paper is much different than experiencing it in person, and her brain is already trying to translate the diagrams into what she's seeing in front of her.
"Hey," Sully says to get Nathan's attention. "These people can tell a fake when they see one. You have to believe the lie you're selling: You belong here. You're one of them."
Nathan nods and pops a piece of chewing gum into his mouth.
"Or you can just go with the Bubblicious. Jesus."
"No, this is Bubble Yum," Nathan replies, because of course that is important information.
Tate closes her eyes and shakes her head in exasperation.
"Same thing," Sully dismisses, handing them both small earpieces. "Put these in your ears."
"No way!" Nathan exclaims, pushing the device into his ear and poking it. When Tate does the same, she can hear his voice coming from two places. "Hello?" Tap, tap. "Hello?"
"It's working," Tate assures him, grabbing his arm and pulling it away from his head.
"Yeah, we can hear you," Sully adds. "We're sitting right next to you."
"Oh, shit, I think I pushed it in too far." Nathan begins digging around in his ear with his pinky finger.
Tate and Sully share a look. This mission has sky-high chances of going terribly wrong.
"You're up," Sully says to her when the vehicle rolls to a stop near the back of the building.
"See you on the other side," she sighs as she gets up, awkwardly climbing over him to exit the car and step out onto the sidewalk. She smooths her uniform and releases a breath.
It's go time.
The most anxiety-inducing part is scanning her employee badge to get in through the employee entrance. Her heart hammers so hard against her ribs she's sure it must be audible above the NYC traffic as the red light flashes over the barcode on her fake ID. But it beeps and flashes green, allowing her inside, and Tate exhales a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Inside the auction house is pure calamity. Employees in identical maroon vests — or jackets if they're bartenders and auctioneers — move in every direction, calling out orders and carrying trays filled with hors d'oeuvres or flutes of champagne. Tate narrowly misses knocking into someone holding a platter of tiny sandwiches. All around her are people dressed just like her. Sully was right— in appearance, she fits right in. Now she just has to act the part.
Tate never thought she'd be grateful for her years as a server in college. She slips into her customer service persona as easily as she'd put on a coat, locating the epicenter of the chaos and finding the platters waiting in the window to be taken to the event. The closest one is a tray of shrimp cocktails. Tate cringes — she's allergic to shellfish — but someone swipes the other remaining platter of stuffed mushrooms, so she's forced to deal with it.
Sully's voice crackles through her earpiece. "Tate, you in?"
"Yeah, I've got the shrimp platter," she says over her shoulder like she's answering a question from someone around her. "Heading to the auction room now."
Even though she has the map pictured in her mind, cataloging every turn she needs to make, the stream of employees heading either to or from one location makes her memorization futile. Tate becomes a fish in the stream, allowing the group to lead her.
She has to stifle a gasp in her throat when she finally emerges into the auction room. She'd expected something grand, but the sheer extravagance of the space awes her. The same blue and violet lights that had decorated the exterior of the building illuminate the inside, blending on the wall behind the bar, shining from one of three chandeliers overhead, and twinkling on the sleek tile floor. The other lighting is dim. Good— it'll make her features even less noticeable.
Tate's eyes flicker around for her partners, but she doesn't see them yet. Instead of appearing like she's looking for something, she approaches a couple that looks middle-aged from afar but is obviously older up close. The man's wrinkles are obscured by a thick layer of makeup and the woman's short bob is an unnatural blonde, a gaudy diamond necklace gleaming against her freckled throat.
"Shrimp cocktail?" she offers with a polite smile and in her Customer Service Voice.
As she expected, the people barely give her a second glance before accepting the appetizer. They resume their conversation like she's not even there.
This part of her job is boring. She mingles around disgustingly wealthy guests who notice the tray and not her, dismissing her existence entirely. It allows her to eavesdrop in hopes of learning important information. Instead, all she hears about is some guy's intestinal problems and another woman's affair with some foreign bachelor.
"Hello, milady," a familiar voice greets her a few minutes later. She turns to see Nathan plucking a shrimp tail from the crystalline bowl on her platter. "Don't mind if I do."
He puts it into his mouth and chews for a moment before cringing, coughing, and spitting it out into his hand. Tate raises her eyebrows as he recovers and dumps the half-chewed shrimp into a nearby waste bin. "Ugh, that was disgusting."
"Bubble Yum, shrimp cocktail, and a martini," she says, eyeing the glass in his hand. "A delicious combination." Tate lowers her voice and stares at him through her brows. "First rule of acting like you belong: don't initiate conversation with me."
"Well, Sully's talking to someone named Jo Braddock, so I..."
Nathan's sentence turns to static in her ears as soon as she hears the name. Her blood freezes in her veins, cold dread turning her stomach sour. The electronic music pumping throughout the room becomes muted. Every light is too bright, causing a sharp pain to prickle behind her eyes and her vision to swim.
"Where?" she whispers, breaking her own rule of not conversing with guests.
"Huh?" Nathan asks. "Oh, over by the bar."
Tate follows his pointed finger to see Sully and a young woman standing beside each other, though Sully is turned to add distance between them. She would recognize her sister anywhere. Even though her back faces Tate and her hair is close-cropped to her head and dyed white now, she knows it's her. Jo wears an elegant black gown that brushes the floor, clinging to her lithe frame, and a silver choker necklace hugs the base of her throat.
"Please, Jo."
Bang!
There's a pain in her abdomen, and she has to get out of here because blood is starting to seep through her white shirt, staining it crimson—
"Tate?"
"My name is Emily." Tate isn't in her body. Her flat, robotic words are coming from someone else. "I have to go."
She makes it away without stumbling, which is an impressive feat considering her entire body trembles from head to toe like miniature earthquakes are trapped beneath her skin. Her breath is shallow in her lungs. No, is she even breathing? She can feel her chest rising and falling, but her trachea burns.
Tate always thought she was over her fears and only had resentment left for her sister. Obviously that isn't true. Seeing Jo in the flesh after all these years sent her right back in time, back to a bullet ripping through her skin and making its exit through the other side of her body. Back to tears and a heart that had broken upon realizing that her sister truly didn't love her at all.
Pull yourself together, she commands herself. The mission has barely started and she can't afford to give up already. It would mean kissing this opportunity to gain vengeance goodbye. It would mean all of her personal growth since then has been for nothing. It would mean she's still that terrified sixteen-year-old girl lying in a puddle of her own blood, sobbing over the sister who'd just left her for dead.
Tate releases a few deep breaths before steeling herself and returning to her menial task of serving rich people snacks. At least Nathan had unknowingly warned her of Jo's whereabouts in the room so Tate's chances of accidentally running into her are slim. He doesn't know Tate's surname — she isn't sure if Sully had even told him her full name considering their icebreakers had been cut out of the debriefing — so he has no idea of her connection to the dangerous woman speaking to Sully.
Along with Jo, Tate notices another threat while trying to clear her platter (apparently, shrimp cocktail is unpopular) when she spots Santiago Moncada. He's an older, but fabulously wealthy, man from Spain with a kill list almost as long as his bloodline. He's so rich that his family is called the House of Moncada. The fact that he's here means he must be after the cross as well — it's a famous relic from his home country, and rich men tend to feel entitled to things.
Tate experiences another heart attack when she notices Nathan and Moncada conversing near the glass case that the cross is being held in before the auction starts. She internally begs him to play it cool. Moncada has enough men and influence to murder one of their trio on the spot and pay the entire auction house into keeping silent about it.
Luckily, he walks away without getting his head chopped off, so he must have done alright.
Sully's voice greets her again from across the room when Nathan appears on a small set of stairs alone.
"Hey, Bubble Yum. You done chatting up our archnemesis?"
Nathan puts a hand to his earpiece. "I'm pretty sure he just threatened to kill me."
Tate's stomach drops. Maybe things hadn't gone as well as she thought.
"Don't touch your ear like that," Sully says. "You look like an idiot."
"—Sullivan is after the cross, no doubt about it," Jo's velvety voice sounds from in front of Tate.
She sucks in a sharp breath as her sister walks by with a well-groomed man at her side, coming close enough for Tate to smell her expensive perfume. She could reach out and touch Jo if she wanted to. She could smash the platter into her face. Bash her head into the floor and slam a knee into her nose, shattering it on impact. She could—
Tate breaks out of her murderous fantasy when Jo's head moves around to scan for eavesdroppers. She quickly busies herself, pretending to clean up some used napkins left on a table, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. She's dressed as an employee. Her sister's eyes glide right over her, deeming her as insignificant as a fly.
The rich don't acknowledge the servers as human beings.
"—have to tell Santiago," Jo finishes as she turns back toward her comrade. If there's more of their conversation, Tate can't hear it because they've moved into the chairs set up for the auction.
Jo is working for Santiago Moncada. Wow. Tate knows her sister would stop at nothing to get what she wants, but this is extreme. Loyalty means even less to him than it does to her. Unless she's still got a thing for older men, Tate can't imagine how her sister was able to gain his trust.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice says over the loudspeaker, "please take your seats. The auction is about to begin. Most of you may be well aware of the fact..."
"Gonna make my way upstairs," Nathan informs them, cutting through the audience area and heading toward a spiral staircase.
"...are made from some of the most exciting items, many of which are exceedingly rare, from our Spanish Renaissance collection," the auctioneer continues.
Tate makes a face. "These things belong in museums to be protected, not sold off to a bunch of sickly rich people."
"Yeah, well," Sully says in her ear, "try to remember that it's because of this auction with sickly rich people that we even have a chance of finding that gold."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it."
She turns and notices a woman staring peculiarly at her. Tate realizes that it looks like she's talking to herself and plays it off with an exaggerated smile.
"Oh, sorry," she says to the woman, pointing vaguely at her temple and circling her finger. "The voices."
The lady's expression becomes alarmed before she quickly walks away. Tate blows out a breath from puffed-out cheeks and continues her mission of blending in while simultaneously making sure nobody is suspicious of Nathan.
And... just as expected, he's not smooth. He almost runs directly into Jo, only to awkwardly step back and head in another direction. Her sister's watchful eyes follow him as he moves across the room.
Panicked, Tate finds a forgotten tray of champagne and quickly picks it up. She forces her hand not to shake and rattle the glasses when she walks closer to Jo and Moncada's henchman. In her high-pitched Customer Service Voice, she breezes in front of them and asks, "Last-minute champagne?"
Both of them select a flute, distracted not by Tate, but by the bubbly, golden drink offered to them. She survives a face-to-face encounter with her sister without being recognized all because her disguise is a server's uniform. If Jo bothered to register the faces of the workers around her, she would look at Tate and realize the sister she thought she'd killed was still living.
As soon as their flutes leave the tray, Tate moves on to offer more glasses to other attendees. She steals a quick glance around the room to ensure Jo's eyes are no longer on Nathan. It takes her a moment to find him among all of the other white men in black suits, but she eventually spots him making his way several steps behind an employee on the second floor.
The person scans their badge on a locked door. Nathan deftly jumps over the banister and lands on the lower section of the level. Just before she loses sight of him because of the angle, she notices him place the wad of gum between the lock, preventing the door from fully closing.
A burst of surprise flares inside of her. Originally, he had planned to steal a badge, but he must've scrapped it. Had it been because she'd teased him about being a thief?
Or maybe it's self-absorbed for Tate to think she had anything to do with him changing his mind. She said it herself— acting in the moment is sometimes very different from what you plan.
"Nice," she mumbles. "Bubble Yum for the win."
"Gotta use what you have," Nathan replies. Then, he disappears behind the door, and everything he does from henceforth is out of Tate's hands.
"Okay, let's get started, then, with lot number one: a magnificent oil on copper, Our Lady of Good Counsel, by Bartolomé Pérez," the auctioneer says, motioning to a painting so gorgeous it makes Tate suck in a breath. She shakes her head in disbelief at the first person to accept the starting bid of seventy thousand dollars.
Sometimes, when she remembers that there are people in the world who can afford to blow so much money in a single night on a piece of artwork that will likely collect dust on their walls, she loses her mind a bit.
Now that the majority of the attendees are in the audience for the auction, it's the employees' job to clean up the perimeter of the room. Tate grabs wads of napkins to safely pick up shrimp tails left on tables without triggering her allergy and chucks them in the bin. She loads her tray with glasses to be taken to the kitchen.
As she heads back to the door she'd entered through with a full tray, she scans the room again, her gaze flickering to where Nathan had disappeared. Two ginormous men — one of whom Tate recognizes as the henchman who'd been with Jo — utilize Nathan's discarded chewing gum to let themselves through the door.
Shit. Maybe Jo hadn't been as distracted by the champagne as she'd hoped.
"Bubble Yum, you've got two guys at your six o'clock," she says.
"I've almost got it."
Tate becomes dimly aware of the painting being sold for six hundred thousand dollars.
"The cross is up next, kid," Sully adds.
"Sully, don't worry, I got it— Ow!"
Tate rolls her eyes at his exclamation of pain and the muffled clanging sound of something metal dropping to the floor. She drops her loaded tray off for the dishes to be cleaned, then quickly heads back to the auction room, moving briskly but not fast enough to warrant suspicion. She just looks like an overworked server.
"Not much I can do to interact with people during the auction," she informs Sully. "You want me to go after those guys on Nathan's tail?"
"No," the reply comes in fast and in a harsh tone, causing Tate to blink in surprise. "Stay on the floor. That's your job."
In Tate's opinion, she could improve his chances of escaping Moncada's henchman alive by helping him out, but Sully seems hell-bent on her following the original plan for some reason.
"Whatever," she scoffs as she pushes the door open and returns to the dazzling auction room. "Just remember that I asked."
"La Cruz de la Hermandad," the auctioneer introduces as a shining silver case is carried up to the stage. "Most of you will know this was made in Barcelona circa 16th century. It is truly a gorgeous piece and representative of Spanish Renaissance goldwork."
So much emphasis on its beauty and not the rich history behind it. Tate casts a longing glance at the glimmering cross as the gloved employees set it carefully on display, its rubies sparkling in the light.
She notices several servers standing at the perimeter of the room, waiting for the auction to close and for dinner to begin. Tate joins them in a place where she can see both the cross and the door Nathan had disappeared behind on the second level.
She rotates her neck so it pops and relaxes her shoulders, clasping her hands in front of her. Then she blends into the background and becomes just another insignificant face among the masses.
"So, we're gonna start tonight's bidding at 200,000. Do I have 200,000 in the room?"
Unsurprisingly, Moncada raises his hand first.
"Thank you very much. I have an opening bid of 200,000 from Mr. Moncada. Do I hear four?"
"How we doing?" Sully questions.
"We're doing great."
Mr. Moncada keeps the bid for the cross going, making the amount climb higher and higher, eliminating more attendees from the list of prospective bidders from the list as it grows.
"500,000 it is," the auctioneer says. "Do I have six? I have six, thank you very much, madam."
"I don't have all night, kid," Sully reminds him.
"Do I have seven? 700,000 from Mr. Moncada."
"Jesus Christ," Tate whispers under her breath.
"Yeah, he probably thinks he is," Sully agrees ruefully.
"Do we have eight?"
A pause.
"No takers?"
Tate holds her breath.
"So, fair warning on 700,000."
Unable to restrain herself, she hisses, "Sully!"
She did not just spend time working an unpaid shift just to lose the game right now.
"That is 700,000 going once..."
"Don't make me do this," Sully mutters to Nathan.
"Seven hundred, going twice..."
Tate slips her hand into the inside pocket sewn into her vest, locating the three knives held in place there. She glances up at the lights above, calculating how much force she would need to stick a landing at this angle. Not to mention moving out of the way in time before sparks can rain down on her.
Her hand closes around a silver handle.
"And..." Sully raises his bidding paddle, interrupting the auctioneer. "There we are at the back of the room. Thank you very much. So, we have 800,000."
Jo and Mr. Moncada turn around to stare at their new competitor who had just yanked the rug out from under them. Sully gives them a casual wave by wiggling his fingers.
Tate isn't sure if Sully has $800,000 to spare, but she is certain that he's just made an enemy of one of the most dangerous men in the world. And, now by extension, she has, too.
"800,000 is the bid currently. Do I have nine?"
"Do you have eight hundred thousand dollars?" Tate questions, relaxing her grip on her knife.
"No," Sully replies.
"Okay, here goes nothing," Nathan says.
Tate glances up at the ceiling, but the lights remain lit. That can only mean one thing: the henchmen got to him. And, of course, it happened right as he was about to cut the power.
She sighs. "You sure you don't want me to help him?"
"Absolutely not," Sully answers through gritted teeth. "Stay here or you're out of this mission, you understand?"
Tate did not expect such a patronizing tone from him, nor does she understand why she can't have the same agency to switch roles that Nathan does. She grinds her molars together and sets her jaw.
"Jeez, Sully, what crawled up your ass and died?"
Through her earpiece, Tate hears a jumbled shout of what sounds like muffled Scottish, followed by Nathan asking, "I'm sorry?" and a yelp, a crash that makes her wince when it almost breaks her eardrum, and a thud.
He's doing great.
Meanwhile, the bid is climbing, already surpassing one million dollars and heading steadily toward two. Sully clearly isn't happy about having to keep up with Mr. Moncada, who can probably bid forever, but since he won't let Tate rescue Nathan, she thinks he deserves it. Why make her stand here uselessly?
"Mr. Moncada makes it an even two million dollars, ladies and gentlemen."
The guests murmur in surprise. Compared to this, the painting had practically cost pennies.
After the bid rises to 2.2 back to Moncada, Jo rises and begins to leave the audience.
"Oh God, here she comes," Sully groans. "Tate, don't even think about it."
"But—!"
"I said, don't move."
Tate is forced to watch, her feet glued to her spot, as Jo picks her way through the chairs and toward a location where she can observe the second level. She doesn't have a tray or refreshments to offer her as a distraction. Besides, even if she did, with Jo this alert that something is wrong, there's a bigger chance she'll start scrutinizing everyone she comes across.
"Sully, I think you're just gonna have to buy that cross," Nathan says.
As the announcer raises his gavel at three million even, Sully replies, "You better do something now, kid. Kill the power, fake a heart attack, I don't give a shit."
"Going once, going twice, and..."
"Ah, this is gonna suck!"
Tate doesn't believe her eyes. Nathan vaults himself over the second-floor balcony and seizes the chandelier, causing cords to rip and sparks to fly out from the point of impact. Each tube-shaped bulb sways dangerously from his added weight.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Tate deadpans.
"Well, that was something," Sully says.
"What's your plan now?" the Scottish henchman demands so loudly Tate can hear him, watching Nathan dangle from the structure, his legs flailing.
"Well, at least you fat-asses can't come out here and get me," he replies tauntingly, his voice coming through her earpiece.
Tate groans. "Nathan, no."
She launches into action, blending in with the other employees who are trying to keep the peace, assuring each startled person she passes that everything will be fine.
"You're doing great," Sully tells Nathan. "Hang in there."
The cord begins to rip from the ceiling. Nathan slides down a foot, cursing, as his weight causes the bulb to swing through the other lights, shattering each of them as his body slams into the glass. When he reaches the end, the momentum causes his grip to slip. Tate winces when Nathan comes crashing to the ground in a firework of broken glass.
Sully has reversed his suit jacket to reveal its maroon interior and slipped on a pair of white gloves. Tate sighs in relief upon noticing that he has the silver case in hand.
"Hey, Sully, where are you going?" Nathan asks. "You can't leave me here!"
"There's only one rule in the game, kid: don't get caught."
Tate decides to fuck formalities and breaks into a sprint toward the kitchens. She runs through fluorescent-lit back hallways until she locates the exit, then bursts into the open night air with a gasp of fresh oxygen.
Indistinct voices shout from down the block. Tate flattens herself against the side of the building, peering onto the street without being seen, and notices a Nathan-shaped blur heading towards her, tailed by auction house guards. She reaches out just as he's within reach and seizes his suit jacket, slams him against the wall, and presses a hand over his mouth.
"Mmph—?" Nathan tries to ask.
Tate's eyes flash with warning as she presses her palm further against him. "Shh!"
Their similar heights leave them face-to-face as they wait for the guards to hurry past. Agonizing, heart-pounding seconds tick by. Once the sound of feet storming by the alleyway begins to fade, she releases her grip on him.
Nathan's hair, which had previously been meticulously gelled, is now in complete disarray on his head. He still takes a moment to fix his jacket before he says, "Thanks."
"The chandelier?" Tate asks. "Really?"
"Hey, Sully said to do something to cause a distraction."
She rolls her eyes and nods toward the street. "Our car's right there."
They climb inside the black SUV, panting, hearts hammering in their chests. Sully's spot is still empty. All they can do is hope that he'd succeeded in grabbing the cross and Jo hasn't already killed him.
Tate looks over at Nathan and begins to fix his flattened locks. "Your hair's a mess."
"Oh." He copies her motions of attempting to pat some strands into place. "Yeah. Thanks." He reaches into his pocket and holds out the pack of gum. "Bubble Yum?"
Tate shrugs and holds out a hand to accept a piece. They each pop one into their mouths and try to combat the adrenaline still coursing through their veins, leaving them jittery.
Finally, the engine starts as Sully approaches, sliding into the backseat along with them. "Thanks again, Tony."
The driver merges them into traffic. Sully sets the shiny case on the floor at his feet, making Tate's mouth drop open a bit.
"Hey," Nathan greets him pointedly. "You surprised to see me?"
"Well, you proved yourself again, kid," Sully replies, unfazed. "That was some swan dive you took."
"You were just gonna leave me back there!"
"Well, it wouldn't do any good having us both locked up."
"He's right," Tate says. "I don't have that kind of bail money."
"Someone had to get the cross." Sully removes it from the case and holds it up for them to see, allowing the shining gold and rubies to catch the lights they pass.
Nathan's jaw drops open just as Tate's had. "Holy shit. You got it. Hey, maybe I should hold onto it instead."
Sully looks taken aback. "What, you don't trust me?"
"Is that supposed to be funny?" Nathan retorts.
"Speaking of trust," Tate says as Sully passes the cross over her so Nathan can slide it into his pocket, "why wouldn't you let me help Nathan out? I could've cut the power and saved us a whole lot of trouble."
"I wanted my eyes on you," Sully answers. "And to make sure you weren't gonna help those guys."
Tate's eyes nearly bug out of her head. "Help them—?! You thought I was... what, some sort of double agent?"
Sully shrugs, clearly just as sorry as he is for abandoning Nathan— that is to say, not at all. "Like I said, had to ensure it didn't run in the family."
Tate's hand curls into a fist. She longs to swing it up into his face, to hear the crack of his nose breaking and feel the burning satisfaction of him yelping in pain. But she manages to control herself even as her blood roars in her ears.
"So you recruited me under false pretenses."
"I couldn't be certain that you didn't run off and tell Jo everything as soon as I left your apartment."
Tate shakes her head, setting her jaw tight to keep her mounting rage at bay. Sully had to make sure she actually hated her sister and they weren't on the same side? He had to see that she wouldn't try to help Jo, even risking their mission to do so? Either he had more faith in Nathan than Tate had thought, or he really hates Jo.
Nathan, utterly lost in their argument, asks her, "Wait, what? You know that girl?"
Sully motions toward Tate. "Nathan Drake, meet Tatum Braddock, Jo's younger sister." He quirks a lip when the boy's mouth drops open in shock. "Seems like you don't know each other as well as I thought."
________
a/n:
sully better catch these hands🤺🤺🤺
i had so much fun writing this chapter and i hope you guys had just as much fun reading it! :)
what were your thoughts on this scene? how do you think tate will process her interaction with jo? how do you feel about sully's real reason for recruiting her?
also it's so funny to think that jo went through the trouble of shooting tate to get rid of her when she honestly could've just thrown shrimp at her and it would've been more effective
— kristyn
( word count: 5.6k )