A Sinner Born

Avril Ashton

Book three in the Brooklyn Sinners series.

Syren Rua is at war. He battles painful childhood demons and his intense need for the first person

who makes him feel. As Faro, Syren makes deals with the worst while taking the steps necessary to
bring his family’s killer to justice. He isn’t one to indulge in selfish needs, but he’ll make the time in
this instance. Syren has been watching Kane Ashby, craving the grieving man for his own. He’s
always stayed away from temptation, but that’s about to change.

Kane isn’t over the death of his longtime partner. He’s certainly not ready for a relationship,

sexual or otherwise, but Syren isn’t a man who takes no for an answer. The unpredictable Syren
offers nothing but secrets and brings with him memories so dark, they could wipe out any chance the
two might ever have. Syren brings Kane’s heart back to life. But it is also Syren who could inflict the
most damage.
Inside Scoop: One of our heroes has a panty fetish. And it’s hot. This book also contains brief
references to rape and child abuse.
A Romantica® gay male/male erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

A SINNER BORN

Avril Ashton

Dedication

A Sinner Born is dedicated to those of you out there whose childhoods, like mine and Syren’s,

were painted with the same particularly dark brush. We can either allow it to control every aspect of
how we live or we can push forward, move through it and take back the controls. Never be afraid to
fall to your knees. The getting back up is so much sweeter.
Author’s Note

Most of A Sinner Born occurs within the same timeframe as Sinner, Savior since the two stories

are told concurrently to each other. While Pablo and Dev/Shane were falling in love, Syren and Kane
were out there doing the same. A Sinner Born includes scenes from Sinner, Savior, retold in Syren’s
point of view.

Chapter One

Summer
Thwack.

As much as Syren expected the blow, the sting of the bull whip across the upper half of his back

still hurt like the devil.
A moan fell unchecked from his lips and he swore inwardly. The last thing he wanted was to give
Ricardo Delatorre more satisfaction than he already got from stringing up and whipping Syren until he
bled or begged for it to stop. He’d never beg, so they always ended when the pain and blood made
him pass out.
Behind him Delatorre cackled, an abrasive sound Syren went to great lengths to avoid hearing. The
whip whistled through the air and came down on him, harder this time. Syren controlled his reaction,
letting the tightening of his fingers on the ropes that held him suspended be the only outward
acknowledgement of where he was and why.
Blood scented the air, a heavy, coppery tang Syren welcomed. With blood the end drew near. Sweat
ran down his body, seeping into the freshly made cuts and the reopened wounds on his back. The
blows didn’t let up, not for an instant. Sure strokes rained down on him mercilessly, not that he
expected anything else.
Pain, fire-hot, grayed his vision. Nothing new to someone like Syren, nothing he hadn’t already felt,
but it didn’t stop him from attempting to shy away. Hide from it.
He arched from the blows and they moved with him, catching him above his right shoulder. His legs
collapsed and Syren hissed as the ropes jerked him upright, preventing him from folding to the floor.
Tears blurred his vision, not that he could’ve seen anything before then. He squeezed his eyes shut,
trapping the sign of his weakness. Thick fog crept up, spreading over his mind and body, numbing the
pain.
Syren let it happen. He watched as if outside his body as he let go. His head lolled to the side and his
muscles went lax.
The dark came.
He came back to himself to find his face buried in whatever softness he lay on. Syren held himself

still and listened. Nothing moved, no one breathed or spoke, so he lifted his head.
And groaned.
Christ. It hurt to blink. To think.
His back flamed. Thank God he’d been positioned on his stomach. Gritting his teeth to smother a cry,
he looked around.
He was in his apartment. How he came to be there when he’d been at Delatorre’s Hollywood Hills
hideout was the million-dollar question. Thinking of his boss brought the memories of the recent
whipping rushing back. Syren’s heartbeat picked up speed, climbing higher and higher until the organ
threatened to leap out of his chest. He dropped back onto the pillow face-first and worked to control
his gasping breaths.
In and out. In and out. Steady. Cold sweat gathered at his hairline and turned his palms slippery.
Out then in. Out then in. He breathed in the familiar scent of fabric softener his cleaning service used
on his bedding.
Out then in.
He lifted his head again, taking more care this time and gulped air through his mouth. The dizzy spell
receded and he moved to get off the bed.
He had to clean his wounds.
With anguished grunts, Syren crawled to the edge of the mattress, each move of his limbs stretching
the raw cuts on his back. A shot of pain to his scraped-up right knee captured his attention and he
glanced down his body, only then realizing his nakedness.
Jesus.
Syren froze, frantically trying to remember what he wore to Ricardo’s. A suit, of course, he always
wore a suit, but—
“God.” The relieved word dropped like a bomb in the stillness of his bedroom. He was safe. There’d
been no slip and his secret—well, that particular one—remained intact. Still only his. Syren didn’t
know which secret he dreaded Delatorre finding out more; his true identity or the other one.
The other one he refused to name. Maybe if he did put a name to his obsession, his compulsion, he’d
make it real. One more thing to cloud his focus, to take his concentration from where it needed to be.
Ricardo Delatorre warranted all his attentions and the less time Syren spent worrying about hiding
that other part of himself, the better.
He eased off the bed headfirst, shivering when his torso made contact with the cold floor. Pulling
himself into a crouching position, Syren crawled across his bedroom floor to the bathroom with a
slightly hysterical laugh. Delatorre would love this, him crawling, helpless. Syren had set himself up
for a fall with the dangerous game he played and he knew it. He also knew he’d endure the whippings
and more—hell, he’d already been through worse—to secure the future he’d bargained for and to
avenge the death of his family. Four deaths—his parents, older brother and Syren.
His childhood and his innocence. Stolen. His future. Taken. The beatings were nothing, he’d take
them any day of the week.
In the bathroom, Syren used the sink as leverage and struggled upright. Bracing a hip against the cold
porcelain, he pulled sterile gauze and hydrogen peroxide from the medicine cabinet. The whippings
were frequent enough now for him to keep supplies on hand. As much as he brought in money for
Delatorre and maintained most of the business, Syren didn’t fool himself into thinking he was
indispensable. The time rapidly approached when Delatorre would tire of playing with him and he’d
overstay his welcome.
He gathered the supplies on the edge of the sink and hesitated for a second before yanking away the

black plastic he’d taped over the bathroom mirror and all the other mirrors in the place.
Quickly turning his back, he gazed at the wounds over his shoulder. They weren’t as bad as they felt
when compared to those from before. He quickly cleaned the ones he could reach by dabbing at them
with gauze soaked with the peroxide, and tipped the bottle over so the liquid could reach those he
couldn’t. He shivered when the cool antiseptic danced along his skin.
When he finished he promptly covered the mirror.
His legs wobbled only a little, but he managed to remain upright and with measured footsteps made
his way back to his bedroom. He yanked open drawers, selecting clothes to wear as his phone
vibrated across his nightstand. Syren ignored it, holding up the purple robe in his hand instead. He
smiled and gathered the material close to his chest, inhaling it before he pulled it on.
Then he removed the blade taped to the underside of his sock drawer.
Syren dropped the slender knife on the bed and walked out the room. He looked the place over
thoroughly, making sure nothing was amiss. He double-checked the locks and closed all the blinds,
and then he turned on the music player. He’d left the tape in from the last time and immediately, soft,
mournful instruments filled the room. In the bedroom he spread two thick black towels in the middle
of the bed then climbed on and sat on them cross-legged.
With a twist of his finger he unsheathed the weapon and swiped the sharp, gleaming blade with
alcohol swabs before tipping his head to the heavens. As the music in his living room swelled, so did
the tears, because that music never failed to bring the memories. And those were the only times Syren
felt anything. The only time he felt human. The only time he felt alive.
Wait for it. He swallowed and braced himself. The music climbed higher, reaching for that particular
note and when it achieved its goal, Syren struck.
He sank the blade into his right hip. Deep enough to draw blood, but not enough to do serious damage
—he’d leave that to Delatorre. The pain wasn’t immediate, but when it finally hit the sensation
yanked away all his air. For a moment he thought he’d finally die like that, with the pain scraping
along his nerve endings. He tried taking deep breaths but his heavy lungs wouldn’t allow it. Shards of
light pinged behind his eyelids, moving to the music. The palpitations in his chest actually burned, but
Syren didn’t shy away this time.
Unlike before, he welcomed this pain, meeting it head-on because he knew what lay beyond it. The
payoff wasn’t long in coming. Warmth surrounded him. Time and place fell away. Laughter filled his
ears and sunshine kissed his skin.
Tears rolled down his face and Syren smiled.
This euphoria made any pain worth it, made his sufferings appear bearable, and worth it too, in that
instant. The only time he got to really remember who he’d been before it all crashed down on him.
If nothing else the innocent little boy laughing in his head needed to be fought for. Needed to be
avenged. There was nobody else left to remember him, to fight for him.
Syren promised. He’d made a promise and he fully intended to deliver.
Warm liquid coated his fingers and slid along his skin. Syren opened his eyes and glanced down at
the glistening red as it disappeared into the blackness of the towels he sat on. Perfect choice in color.
His phone went off again, startling a gasp as it vibrated on the nightstand. Syren twisted around,
wincing at the pain, and picked it up, scowling when he saw the caller’s identity.
“Thiago.” He answered the phone with the expected purr in his voice. Within his four walls he was
Syren Rua, but out there in the world and especially with the Delatorres he was Faro, and as Faro he
had a role to play.
“Are you well?” The concern in Ricardo Delatorre’s only son’s voice always surprised Syren when

he thought of exactly how callous the father was.
He nodded then spoke. “I’m fine.”
“He was rough this time. Too much so.” Thiago grunted in Syren’s ear. “Why do you do it?” he asked
in perfect English.
Syren moved the phone from his ear and frowned. Had Thiago met his father? Did he think if Syren
had a choice he’d volunteer for that prick to do what he did? He released the knife and held up his
bloody hand. It didn’t waver.
“Did you bring me home?” He hated those moments when he wasn’t alert. Hated that he needed
someone else’s assistance to do anything.
“Along with my driver,” Thiago answered. “He helped me get you presentable and into the car.”
“Ah.” Then Thiago would have brought him up to the apartment himself. They’d done that particular
dance many times before, after all. “Thank you.”
Thiago ignored his words of gratitude. “Why do you do it, Faro?” His voice dropped an octave and
Syren braced for the familiar words. Thiago didn’t disappoint. “Be with me. I’ll protect you from
him.”
The same old refrain never failed to bring a genuine smile to Syren’s face. Protect him. Thiago
thought he needed protecting and was willingly signing up for the job. Too bad he was years too late.
Back then Syren had needed protecting from Ricardo Delatorre. Now, not so much.
He used the towels on the bed to wipe the blood off his fingers as he gave Thiago his token response.
“I can’t ask you to choose your father over me. I got myself into this mess and I’ll get myself out.”
“It is a mistake, Faro,” Thiago said forcefully. “You underestimate him. He will not be so easily
stopped next time.”
Honestly, how had Ricardo ended up with a bleeding heart like Thiago for a son? No wonder the two
men never got along.
“It is my mistake to make, Thiago.” Syren kept his voice firm. “Remember that and let’s finish this
conversation.”
The length of the ensuing silence made Syren think Thiago had fallen asleep on him until the other man
cleared his throat.
“Very well. If that is your wish.”
“It is.” Syren rolled his eyes heavenward. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Thiago spoke grudgingly. “He wanted you to take me with you on your trip to New Orleans
tomorrow.”
“Not a problem.”

* * * * *

LeBeau’s establishment was smack dab in the middle of Bourbon Street. No fancy lights, no

bright awnings, just a nondescript door snuggled between a karaoke bar and a burger joint, all
belonging to the man Syren came from LA to see. Otis LeBeau.

Flanked between Thiago and some guy Thiago brought along as bodyguard, Syren climbed the

narrow staircase stiffly and entered the dark room. Within those thick walls, services were bartered
and sold, services of the sexual kind. Anything that could be dreamed up happened in LeBeau’s.

Male and female plied their trade in the hidden spot accessed only by referral. Syren didn’t need

a referral since he didn’t do sex. With anyone. Even if he did, he sure as hell wouldn’t pay for his
fucks. Delatorre owned Otis and his businesses.

Syren didn’t shit where he ate.

In the dim space serving as both lounge area and bar, Syren made a beeline for the back of the room
and sank into a cushioned seat with a smothered sigh. His back and head ached. He’d foregone any
use of pain pills but maybe he should rethink that.
“Faro.”
Syren looked up as Otis stopped at his table. Syren nodded in acknowledgement and Otis held out a
hand.
“I had no idea you’d be coming by.” Otis’ eyes pierced him.
“Surprise visits are called that for a reason.” Syren shook the other man’s hand then Otis shook
Thiago’s while nodding to the bodyguard.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Otis waved at the half-naked men and women milling about,
staring at Syren’s table with open interest. “Pick your flavor and I’ll set you up right.”
Thiago and bodyguard’s tongues were practically dragging on the dirty floor as they surveyed the
room, taking in the bounty laid out for their taking. Syren grunted. “None for me,” he told Otis. “Get
me my usual drink so we can get this meeting started.”
Otis disappeared with a nod and Syren coughed to get Thiago’s attention. The younger Delatorre
turned to him with a sheepish smile.
“You can play if you want to,” Syren told him. “I’m used to dealing with Otis by myself. Your
presence isn’t required.” Why his father thought to send him along Syren didn’t know.
Thiago’s face lit up at Syren’s words. “Are you certain?”
“I am.”
Thiago grinned then stood and motioned to a skinny blond male. The dark-skinned female next to the
male pouted and Thiago laughed. He walked over to the man and woman and put his arms around
them both. Together, they disappeared up the stairs.
Nice.
Bodyguard soon paired off with a busty brunette.
Syren shook his head with a grin. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been that carefree. Hell, he
didn’t know a time when he willingly went anywhere near a bedroom with anyone. He’d smothered
that part of his life into nonexistence.
“Water with a slice.” Otis appeared out of thin air with Syren’s drink. He motioned to a door behind
the bar. “You ready?”

Together they made their way across the room and into Otis’ pretty cozy office. Syren took a seat

and Otis did the same across his desk crowded with a computer and a thick stack of binders. Security
monitors were positioned over Syren’s left shoulder and an air conditioner hummed nearby.
“The old man doesn’t trust me?”

Otis’ words brought a twist to Syren’s mouth. “The old man doesn’t trust anyone, you know that.”

Otis tugged on his ponytail. “I make good money here, Faro. Got a couple cops in my back pocket and
a silent understanding with a few big-money players.” The diamond stud in his left ear winked when
he smiled. “We’re doing good and we always will.”
“I want to see your books,” Syren said. He didn’t doubt Otis made money, the question was did he
make enough to keep the place viable. “I’ll look them over tonight and let you know what’s what
tomorrow.”
Otis pointed to the binders on the desk. “All yours.”
Syren stood and gathered them. As he turned to the door, his attention drifted to the security monitors
and he stopped.

“Otis, can you zoom in on the camera at the bar?” He swung around. “Yeah. Why?”
Syren shrugged and watched closely as Otis used the computer on his desk to zoom in. A man sat
sideways at the bar in jeans and a dark pullover. His gaze jumped from the club’s entrance to the
room at large while he held a glass of something dark and frothy.
Syren knew that man.
“Give me more on his face, Otis,” he murmured as he narrowed his gaze. The color display zeroed in
on light-blue eyes and an angular jaw accompanied by a square chin, but the last time Syren saw a
photo of that particular man, the gray hadn’t been mixed in with his short, dark hair.
Still, Syren knew this man.
“You’ve got a law enforcement problem, Otis.”
Otis looked up from behind his desk. “You know him?”
“Maybe. How did he get in, do you know him?” Syren didn’t take his gaze off the monitor for a
second.
“No,” Otis answered. “But I got a call from the local PD earlier today. They’re hunting a runner from
back East and think he might be coming here.”
“And it’s business as usual while they go about their stakeout?” Syren wouldn’t have thought Otis to
be that stupid, but apparently he’d been wrong.
“They’re looking the other way.” Otis offered him a sheepish grin. “I got the word from the
commander himself. Besides, money needs to be made.”
“I hear you.” That son of a bitch was out of his mind and blind too. As if the NOPD would simply
look the other way. Naturally this shit would end up in the con column. Syren opened the door and
stepped out. “Tell the men I came with I’m back at the hotel.” He’d be damned if he’d wait around for
Thiago and bodyguard to finish whatever they were doing.
He stood outside Otis’ office and watched the guy at the bar, the one who’d held his interest for far
longer than five minutes ago. He wasn’t too obvious, but Syren knew what to look for. The other
man’s mouth moved when he lifted the beer to his lips, close enough that anyone would think he was
drinking. He wasn’t. His gaze swept the room slowly, carefully, before it settled on the entrance.
Way back when, Syren had this man and his brother followed. A favor for one of the very few friends
he’d allowed himself to have.
Under Syren’s scrutiny, the man stiffened and lifted his gaze. He took his time, but finally he stopped
at Syren.
They stared at each other, the other guy’s eyes hard, his expression sullen. A tough nut. Not unlike his
brother.
Syren snapped a salute with two fingers and winked when the man frowned.
Chuckling to himself, Syren walked out of LeBeau’s.

* * * * *

After a night spent going over Otis’ books, Syren’s eyes were heavy and red from staring at the

man’s ledgers. He managed to speak with Ricardo before the other man left the States for his other
home in Brazil, the one keeping his wife and young daughters hidden from enemies looking to exploit
weaknesses.

Ricardo decided and Syren agreed, for once, that they couldn’t allow Otis to continue as he’d

been. All cocksure and without consequence.
Otis would not keep his whorehouse.

Syren combed his hair away from his forehead and gulped down the hotel’s foultasting coffee as the
chauffeured car rolled to a stop in front of Otis’ place. He’d managed to do what he needed to without
Thiago and his mute bodyguard waking up, and hopefully by the time he got back to the hotel they’d
be all packed and ready to head to Vegas.
Syren didn’t like having to wait on people. Waiting worked on the patience he barely held on to. He
exited the car and ordered the driver to wait. He didn’t anticipate a long delay; Otis shouldn’t be
surprised at the outcome and more fool him if he were.
That early in the day the place was a graveyard, but as Syren stepped up to the bar he spotted a
familiar form sitting there.
Shit.
The Feds were still casing the place. How was this acceptable? This was how Otis conducted
business, allowing law enforcement to lay claim to his place with a smile and a complimentary fuck?
He leaned against the bar and waited for the female bartender—a toffee-colored beauty with thick
braids, large hoops in her ears and barely covered tits—to notice him. In his position Syren stood
near enough to the Fed to feel his body heat, but he ignored the other man and allowed a predatory
smile to spread when the bartender met his gaze.
Her big eyes flashed as she sidled closer. “Back again, love? What can I get you?”
Syren leaned closer and she did the same. “You know what I like.” He winked. Her nipples beaded
under the thin material of the white wife-beater torn up to under her breasts. “Give me my usual.” He
dropped his voice an octave. “And when you’re done with that get me your boss.”
Disappointment clouded her face for a hot second then she licked her bottom lip and pulled back.
“Sure.”
He watched as the bartender—Lisa, that was her name—dropped a lemon slice in his water then
handed it over. Syren brushed her fingers with his when he took the glass. Her nostrils flared.
“Where’s your boss?”
Lisa stared at him for a second then blinked. “Back there.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of
Otis’ office.
“Thanks.” Syren smiled at her. She smiled back, quite a looker that Lisa. If only.
A throat cleared and Lisa jumped then swung away with her gaze downcast. Syren turned toward the
sound as he sipped his water. Yep. Fed was staring at him with gruff disapproval.
What was with that?
Syren raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Federal Marshal Kane Ashby had the nerve to scowl at him.
“What?” Syren asked again. “No, go on. Speak your shit. I mean you interfered, right?”
The marshal’s fingers tightened around the bottle in his hand. “You were toying with her.” His words
were halted, voice rough and rusted as if he didn’t use it much.
Syren could see that about him.
“Uh-huh. So what, I should have been toying with who, you?”
The chilly look Ashby leveled at him would have had a softer man quaking in his Italian loafers.
Syren waited, but Ashby didn’t speak to him again, instead he focused his attention on the mirror over
the bar, the one looking out over the people in the room. Guess he still hunted the runner from
yesterday, which reminded Syren. He strolled past the marshal and over to Otis’ office.
The nerves on the back of his neck prickled and he itched to turn, see if Ashby watched his departure,
but he didn’t look back. Instead he yanked open Otis’ door when he found it unlocked and entered.
Otis apparently had no idea Syren stood there, because he was about six inches deep in a chick bent

nearly in half over his desk.
Syren leaned back on the locked door and crossed his ankles as he watched the show. “Sampling the
wares, Otis?”
Otis looked up mid-thrust, sweat glistening on his brow. “Gotta relieve some tension.” Breath huffed
out from him as he worked the squealing female under him.
Caught up as he was in his pleasure, Otis didn’t seem to notice or care about the fake sounds as the
woman rocked under him, legs splayed wide.
“You want some?” Otis motioned to the woman. “Shelley can take us both.” And from the look in his
eyes, Otis clearly hoped Syren joined in.
Yeah. No can do. Syren smothered a shiver of disgust and forced a bored smile. “No thanks, I’m not
the sharing kind.” He waved a hand and turned away. “Finish up, you and I have business to discuss.”
Syren watched Kane Ashby on the security monitors as the sounds behind him grew in volume. An
occasional, “yeah, fuck me harder” from Shelley and Otis’ animalistic grunts brought a reluctant smile
to Syren’s face. He didn’t like the way Otis did business, but he could give the man props for getting
his where and how he could.
Naturally, Syren had to punish him for that, but still.
Finally the two horny kids behind him quit with the yelling and the grunts and Syren turned around as
they straightened and got their appearances to rights.
Shelley patted her dull-red hair and flashed Syren a dazzling smile while her breasts heaved. Her
cheeks and neck were flushed, her black stocking torn. She did look just-fucked.
Syren gave her a thumbs-up while Otis fixed the stuff on his desk. Nice performance, Syren mouthed.
Shelley winked and flounced out the door. Too bad she didn’t take the scent of heavy perfume mixed
with brandy and sex with her.
“Right then.” Syren gave Otis his undivided attention. “The old man has made a decision. I have to
say I don’t agree with him on many things, hell, I don’t agree with him on anything…except this.”
Otis watched him, eyes searching.
Syren slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored suit and shrugged. “The way you conduct business
is just shitty, Otis.” He nodded to the monitors. “The Feds are all up in your business, man. You’ve
given them carte blanche so that when they need to take you down, they can. At any time.”
Otis grew paler the more Syren spoke.
“You should’ve expected this and the fact that you haven’t speaks volumes.”
Otis sank into a chair. “So what?” he asked. “You and the old man cast me to the side after all I’ve
done for you? I pull in more money than the place out in Phoenix.”
Syren nodded. “You do, but unlike you the guys out there know how to keep their shit off the radar.”
He gave Otis his back and put a hand on the doorknob. “Bad form to shit where you eat, Otis. I know
you know that.” He stepped outside and closed the door on Otis’ protest. As Faro, he did his job and
he did it well.
Outside in the main area, the marshal was nowhere in sight. Syren stood for a second, trying to catch
Lisa’s attention as she worked the bar. When she looked up, he gave her a smile and a wave. She
reciprocated and Syren laughed out loud. With one last nod he turned and walked out. Halfway down
the staircase a hand landed on his shoulder. Syren froze in place, his body tense.
“Don’t know who you are,” Syren spoke without looking around, “but you must be braver than the
average to put your hands on me.”
The pressure on his shoulder disappeared. “I wanted to know if you’ve seen this man.”
Oh goodie. The marshal.

Syren swung around. Kane Ashby stood there with an eyebrow raised and a hand holding up a
photograph. Syren squinted.
“Really? Because you couldn’t do this back at the bar where there’s actual light?”
Ashby lifted a shoulder. “You were busy ogling the bartender.”
“Jealous much?” Syren jerked his chin toward the photo of a man in a dark hoodie and sagging jeans,
swastikas tattooed on his shaved head. “Missing boyfriend?” A muscle in the other man’s jaw ticked.
“Have you seen him?”
“First, I don’t know who you are, mister.” Syren actually liked the way Ashby’s eyes grew smaller
the more he frowned. He swallowed a laugh. “Second, I don’t get involved in lovers’ quarrels.”
Ashby huffed out a breath and closed his eyes. “I’m a federal marshal.” He opened his eyes, pinning
Syren to the floor with a hard stare. “His name is Anton Radcliffe and he’s wanted for multiple
murders.” He thrust the picture back in Syren’s face and shook it. “Now, he’s a regular customer here
so I ask again, have you seen him?”
Syren decided Kane Ashby had a decent sort of voice and he’d like to hear it again. He cocked his
head to the side and eyed Ashby up and down. “You got any proof?”
Confusion slid across Ashby’s face. “Huh?”
Oh, speechless. He liked that.
“Proof of what?” Ashby asked.
“Yeah, you know.” Syren smiled. “Proof that you are who you say you are.”
“Christ,” Ashby muttered under his breath and fumbled in his pockets. “Here.” He shoved his badge
at Syren. “My badge.”
Syren chuckled. “Well yeah, I can see that. Got a card or something?”
Ashby rolled his eyes but produced a card with just his name and a phone number. Syren snatched it
and slid it inside his jacket pocket.
“Happy now?”
“Extremely.” Syren turned and continued descending the stairs, talking as he did. “Listen, Marshal,
thanks for the card. I’ll be sure to let you know if I see your guy around here.”
“Prissy fucker.”
Syren chuckled all the way back to the hotel. Once inside his room he dialed a number. The phone
rang twice.
“Yeah?”
“Anton Radcliffe.” He spelled out the name as he shrugged off his jacket. “Find him.”
“Who is he?”
Syren searched out the pack of cigarettes he kept in his pocket for emergencies and brought one to his
lips. “The marshals want him for murder.” He struck a match and watched the tiny flame dance. “I
want him first.”

Chapter Two

“That’s one slippery so-and-so.” Kane Ashby slammed his coffee cup down on the desk without

watching, his gaze on the black-and-white video playing on his computer screen.

The man his team had been hunting for almost a month looked directly into the camera with a

sickly smirk on his face, death in his eyes. He knew he was being taped, he knew, and that didn’t stop
him from putting two into the head of the gas station attendant. If Kane looked hard enough he could
see the blood splatter on Radcliffe’s white t-shirt. Cold.

He didn’t run when the local cops nabbed him in his home in New Jersey, but he did when the

guys transporting him to the courthouse stopped for gas. Radcliffe slipped out of his leg shackles and
ran. Didn’t look as if the escape was planned, but Kane wanted his ass bad. The New Jersey office
was working hand in hand with the NOPD since Radcliffe had been sighted in the area. He had family
and friends in New Orleans so Kane and his team set up shop there too.

“Hey.” A hand came down on the back of his neck and Kane flinched away without thinking.

The hand disappeared.
Shit. He swung around in his chair and looked up at Vince Hardin. “Sorry, I’m a bit on edge.” Story
of his life lately and Vince had every right to call him on it, but he didn’t. Instead he pulled up a chair
and sat close.
“We’ll get him. The place on Bourbon was a bust, but we’ll get him.”
Vince’s brown gaze felt way too piercing so Kane turned back to the computer with a nod. “I know.”
Two days they’d wasted at that shitty whorehouse and they’d achieved nothing, but reminded Kane of
how long he’d gone without physical release. Not a good or safe topic so once again he shifted gears.
“I’ve got one of my CIs asking around. Discretely,” he added when Vince lifted an eyebrow.
“If we get nothing we’ll have to regroup,” Vince said. “Go back and start from scratch.”
Kane grimaced. Start over. He wasn’t a fan. He threw down the pencil he held and rose. “I need a
walk. Maybe some fresh air will help.” Not likely, but he was game to try anything at this point.
Vince stood with him. “Want some company? We can brainstorm, see if we missed anything.” He
tried really hard to keep it neutral, Kane could tell, but didn’t quite make it.
He shook his head, the familiar pressure of walls closing in building in his chest. “No, I’m—I need to
be alone.” He took a step toward the door and Vince grabbed his arm.
“We have to talk about it sometime, Kane.”
The fuck they did. “No.” He shook his head with his eyes closed. Breathe. Remember to breathe.
“Kane—”
“I said no!” He opened his eyes and pinned Vince in place with a glare. “This isn’t the time or the
place, Vince.” His friend opened his mouth and Kane lowered his tone. “Don’t fucking push me. You
took liberties you had no right to and I’m trying to figure out if I can still work with you.” He broke
off and swallowed. Vince looked so lost suddenly and Kane couldn’t bear it, he looked away. “Just—
don’t push me.”
This time Vince didn’t try to stop him as Kane walked out the office. He made his way to the back of
the building and leaned against it, his head tilted toward the cloudy sky.
Vince should’ve known better. He knew Kane wasn’t ready, that he might never be ready. Maybe he
wanted to force Kane into it? Why else would he do it, kiss him like that?
Kane curled his fingers into his palm. He thought about closing his eyes, but that didn’t help things at
all. He just saw wheat-blond hair and twinkling gray eyes.
“Bay.” He groaned out the name of his dead lover as if the wound were still fresh, as if it’d happened
only yesterday. Sometimes the pain was manageable and sometimes, like today, seeing Vince, having
him near, the pain was debilitating.
The fucked-up thing was they’d all been friends, Bailey and Kane, Vince and his partner Tom. Only
Kane had been out and Vince wasn’t. Still wasn’t, but Tom had given up on waiting to be open and
left. Now Vince decided he’d make a play for Kane. A week ago he’d cornered Kane and kissed him.
Full on. On Bailey’s birthday. Kane couldn’t get past the hurt. He had to in order to function. To do
his job. For the moment he worked with Vince and he had to be a professional and do his job, find
Anton Radcliffe and get him back behind bars.

Once that was taken care of he’d deal with Vince.
He took a deep breath then pulled out his phone and dialed his confidential informant. C.J. answered
on the fifth ring.
“Yo, who this?”
“It’s Kane.” Kane pinched the bridge of his nose. “You got something for me?”
“Your boy’s ghost ’round these parts,” C.J. whispered. “Word is, he’s got a piece of ass over in
Bayou St. John.”
“Shit.” Kane hurried back into the building. “I’ll look into it. Keep your ears to the ground for me.”
C.J. snickered. “Don’t I always?”
Kane ended the call and rushed back into the office. Vince sat there, fiddling with the computer.
“Radcliffe has a woman in Bayou St. John.” He punched some numbers into his phone and Vince
pulled out his cell and did the same. “Let’s get the local guys in here, see if we can’t get a name and
address.
A new hunt. Perfect distraction.
En route to the house of one Jessie Fletcher—Radcliffe’s girlfriend—Kane’s phone rang. Lucky for
him Vince was driving. He pulled out the phone and frowned at the unfamiliar area code shown on the
caller ID.
301?
“This is Kane.”
“Ah, Marshal,” a silky voice purred. “That voice of yours does wonders. It really does.”
“Who is this?” He moved the phone from his ear and stared at it again, as if by some miracle the
caller’s identity would show up.
“How quickly they forget.” The man sighed. “The whorehouse, we had a rather intimate moment on
the stairs?” He paused. “Ring any bells?”
“Wha— What?”
His caller chuckled. “Yeah, I do tend to have that effect. Anyhow,” his tone turned brusque, “this isn’t
a social call. Sadly.”
Kane normally didn’t find himself speechless, but somehow, right then, he couldn’t find his tongue.
The blond, delicate man from the whorehouse he’d staked out the other day. The tiny man with
feminine features and snarky attitude was calling him.
Why?
“Why are you calling me?” He didn’t look over at Vince, but Kane felt the other man’s curious stare.
He ignored it, keeping his gaze on the passing scenery.
“You gave me your card, Marshal. Had your name and number and everything.” Kane heard the grin.
“Tell me you didn’t expect me to ring you up and shoot the shit.”
What the hell was happening? Kane coughed. “Listen, Mister, uh—”
A bark of laughter cut him off. “Oh I like what you did there. Sly dog, but listen, Marshal, I’ve got a
little present for you.”
Enough already. “Listen, whoever you are, I don’t have time for this. I have to go.”
“Yes. Yes. I know.” The man switched from playful to all business in a heartbeat. “Get yourself a pen
and paper.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I said so?” Kane damn near heard the eye roll. The mystery caller rattled off an address.
“The man you’re looking for is there, now, waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Kane’s voice went up about three octaves. “What the fuck is this? Is this some

kind of game, you sick—”
“Jeez, hand a man his fugitive all tied up in a pretty bow and he resorts to calling you names,” the
caller grumbled. “Some people.”
“I don’t know who you are, but let me tell you something—”
“Go to that address.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the authority rang out nonetheless. “I’ll call you
back, Marshal, and you can tell me all the somethings you like.”
Kane stared down at the phone in his hand. What the hell just happened?
“What was that?” Vince asked.
Kane snorted. “I’m not sure.” He used the GPS in the SUV and found the address the caller gave. Two
miles from Anton’s girlfriend’s place. “We’re going here first. I’ll call ahead to the local PD.” He
dialed while keeping his fingers crossed that he didn’t just fuck up irrevocably.
Somehow the sight of Anton Radcliffe, naked and tied to a chair with a red silk bow outside a
rundown farmhouse wasn’t the surprise it should’ve been.
They got Anton in county lockup, awaiting transportation back to Connecticut the next day and as
Kane let himself into the motel for a shower and shave, dead on his feet, his phone rang.
He toed off his boots and answered. “Who are you?”
“Who do you wish I was, Marshal? Did you tell your people how you came by the useful piece of
info I handed you?”
Don’t remind him. “Told them my CI came through.”
His caller snickered.
Kane dropped onto the bed and rolled onto his back. “Do you always go around doing what you did
today?” Who was this guy?
“Are we doing twenty questions? Because I’m not sure you want my answers.”
Kane’s eyes dropped and he stifled a yawn. “Just, don’t—don’t do it again. Okay? Whoever you are,
do not make this a habit.”
A soft chuckled teased him. “Uh-huh. Get some rest, Marshal. You looked tired today.”
Kane sat up. “You’ve been watching me?” Jesus Christ!
“Oops, gotta go.” He paused. “Safe trip back to Connecticut.”
Dial tone buzzed in Kane’s ear. What the fuck?

* * * * *

Kane sank into the old beat-up leather chair he’d been avoiding since he stepped into his house in

Connecticut. The time had come—and gone—to get rid of the piece of furniture. The damn thing
didn’t blend in with anything else in the living room, but it had been Bailey’s favorite. Kane kept it
when he’d gone through Bailey’s things, giving some mementos to his parents and donating the
majority of it to Goodwill.

Bailey would’ve loved that, giving shit away. Always willing to help the needy, the less

fortunate. Kane used to love that about him. He used to admire the trait in the man he’d planned to
spend the rest of his life with and now? Now he found himself hating that side of Bailey. Because it
was the do-gooder side that got him killed.

It’d been years and he couldn’t get past it. No escape from the guilt, the anger and the grief. They

all sat on his chest in a nice, thick knot, refusing to budge. Bailey’s parents and his siblings had long
since moved on. They would never forget him, but they had to live.

Kane didn’t know how to do the same.

Bailey wouldn’t like that. His dead lover had been all about life and living it to the fullest. Kane
would love nothing more than to be able to move on, live again, love again, maybe, but he remained
stuck down a well so deep and so dark, daylight seemed nonexistent.
He’d been doing well these past months, concentrating on work and sleeping in Jersey instead of
coming home to the silence and the memories. Vince and his unwelcome kiss dredged everything back
up.
Vince had no right to kiss him, but what upset Kane more was the fact that for a brief moment, he’d
allowed himself to respond to another human touch, to relax, kiss back.
He gripped the arms of the chair and rocked back and forth, eyes unseeing. Fear was right there, the
most intense fear, telling him he couldn’t hold on to Bailey forever. A time would come when Bailey
would be only a distant memory and Kane wasn’t ready to leave it behind, all the memories. All the
laughter. The joy. The plans they’d made, the future they’d assumed would always be theirs.
“Bay.” He whispered his lover’s name, voice hoarse as his vision swam. He didn’t have to look over
to the fireplace to see Bailey’s face smiling back at him from the photographs there. His smile, so big
and bright, one of his front teeth chipped from a bar fight in college, his hair catching the light as it
fell into his eyes. Kane loved brushing away the hair that perpetually fell into Bailey’s eyes. His
favorite thing to do, brush away Bailey’s hair and kiss him there, above his left brow.
All the little things, gone as if they’d never been. Kane wanted them back. He wanted back the
weekends they spent upstairs in their bed making love and sleeping, ignoring the phone. He wanted
back the fights like when Bailey broke all the dishes by throwing them at Kane the night they moved in
together.
Kane smiled, tasting the salt of his tears. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what that fight was
about, but the next morning they woke up with no dishes and Bailey suffering from an acute case of
rug burn.
His brother might say Kane was punishing himself, hanging on to the past, but Gabe hadn’t been in
Kane’s shoes. Gabe had never experienced loss like Kane had. Yes, on some level Kane knew Bailey
wouldn’t want him to hide away in a dark, empty house. Bailey wanted him to live, but what kind of
life would Kane have without Bailey? He wasn’t one of those men who messed around in bars or
went for casual sex. He’d never been that guy and he had no plans to start. He liked the security of
being in a relationship, of coming home to someone at the end of the day. He liked the commitment.
A bell dinged, echoing through the house and it took Kane a while to realize he’d heard the doorbell.
He got to his feet with a heavy sigh and used the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face as he made his
way to the front door. He didn’t normally get visitors so it must be the church folk come to tout the
gospel.
He just might let them go through their entire spiel before he informed them he was a gay man who
loved sucking a good cock. That should help to put his address on some “do not visit” list
somewhere.
He yanked the door open and thought seriously of slamming it shut when he saw Vince standing there.
“What are you doing here?” He peered over Vince’s shoulder and out into the deserted street in the
gathering dusk.
“You weren’t answering your phone.” Vince shrugged, as if that should explain everything.
“I didn’t answer my phone and you drive from Jersey to Connecticut to tell me to answer my phone?”
Kane raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe, barring Vince from getting in. “Did it even
occur to you I wanted to be alone? That I didn’t answer my phone for a reason?”
Clad in a black t-shirt sporting the marshal’s logo and faded jeans, Vince nodded, but didn’t flinch

away from the glare Kane directed at him. “It did occur to me and that’s why I came.” He pushed past
Kane and into the house.
Kane shook his head before he closed the door and followed Vince into the living room.
“I don’t know what you do when you’re here, but I can guess,” Vince said. Kane wasn’t prepared to
see understanding in his eyes. “You loved him and he’s gone. You miss him and you’re sentencing
yourself to death right alongside Bailey.”
Kane took an involuntary step back and crossed his arms. “Don’t come into my home and lecture me,
Vince. What I do is none of your business unless it affects my work.”
Vince’s gaze flicked to Bailey’s armchair then back to Kane. “I miss him too, did you ever think about
that? He was your partner but he was my friend.”
“Get out.” Kane walked back to the door. No way in hell would he turn this into some kind of
mourning session. He didn’t share his pain with anyone if he could help it. He put a hand on the
doorknob and turned around. Vince stood a few feet away, his expression somber.
“I’m sorry about the kiss,” Vince spoke softly. “I should have done it a different day, or rethought my
strategy, but I am not sorry for kissing you.”
He walked closer and Kane really wanted to barrel past him and into the safety of his bedroom, but
he was a big boy so he remained in the same spot and waited.
“How can you not know I’ve wanted you for so long? I’ve watched you and I’ve waited for the right
time, but there’s no right time, Kane.” Vince shook his head. “There’ll never be a right time.”
Kane stared at him. What the hell was going on? Since when did Vince have feelings for him? “What
are you—”
“One night,” Vince interrupted. “Give me one night.”
Kane shook his head to clear the cobwebs. “What?”
“Have dinner with me.” Vince smiled, but it seemed shaky at best. “One date, that’s all I ask. If it
doesn’t work out we go back to being colleagues, no harm, no foul.”
He’d say no, of course the answer was no, but as Kane opened his mouth, his brother’s words echoed
in his head. When will you give yourself permission to live again?
It’d been too long and he used to like Vince. He knew the other man well after working together for
seven years. He could at least bring himself to bend enough to go out for drinks with Vince.
Kane jerked his head. “Okay.” He opened the door and stepped to the side. “Now leave.”
Vince clearly had more to say but he simply stepped outside with a slight smile. “We’ll talk soon,” he
said over his shoulder. “Try answering the phone next time I call.”
Kane kicked the door closed and leaned against it. He’d agreed to a date with someone not Bailey.
Panic gripped his chest and he fumbled in his pocket for his cell to call Gabe, but before he could
dial the phone rang in his palm.
“Ashby.”
“It’s Darcy.”
“Darce!” Kane pushed away from the door with a grin. “How the hell are you, guy? Did you put a
name to the face I sent your way?” He’d sent a photo of the well-dressed man from the whorehouse to
a friend in New York. If the mystery guy was anyone worth knowing, Darcy would know.
“I’m good,” Darcy grumbled. “Could be better and yes, I’ve got a name.”
“Well, lay it on me.” Kane walked into the kitchen and picked up a pen and notepad from the counter.
“He goes by Faro. Word is he’s the face and the brains behind the Delatorre cartel’s business here in
the States.”
Kane frowned down at the name he’d scribbled. “Faro? The Delatorres are Brazilians, right? Deals

in sex, drugs and guns?”
“That’s the one.”
Why was this Faro going out of his way to help Kane? Why was he calling him, maybe even flirting
with him? What did he want?
“All right, Darce. Thanks for the info. I owe you one.”
Darcy grunted. “By my tally you owe me quite a few, but really, who’s counting?” He hung up.
Kane placed his phone down on the counter and stared off into space. Faro. What did the face of the
Delatorre cartel want with him, a federal marshal? He needed some more in-depth info on this Faro
guy and he knew just the person to ask.
He made himself a sandwich and a glass of ginger ale and carried them upstairs to the bedroom
where he sat on the edge of the bed and ate, all the while ignoring the picture of Bailey on the
nightstand. When he finished eating, Kane took a shower and pulled on a pair of pajamas.
The only person who might know anything about the mysterious Faro and the Delatorres would be his
brother’s husband Rafe Soto, formerly Angelo Pagan, notorious gunrunner. Kane sat at the desk over
in the corner of the bedroom that once belonged to Bailey and dialed his brother’s cell phone.
“Hey, bro.”
“Gabe.” Kane smiled. “What’s up?” His younger brother had given up his life as a straight NYPD
detective to be with the man he loved. He’d sacrificed and bled for a known criminal and even
married the man and taken his name. Sometimes Kane admired and respected his little brother beyond
measure and sometimes he feared for him, he feared him ever knowing the heartache Kane went
though.
“Nothing happening except dinner.” Dishes clattered in the background. “What’s the matter?”
Kane narrowed his eyes even though his brother couldn’t see. “What makes you think something’s the
matter?”
“Dunno. You sound weird.”
“Weird, really?” Kane forced a laugh. “I’ll have you know I’m fine, thank you very much. I need to
speak to your husband.”
“You and me both,” Gabe grumbled. “He’s in his office, on a deadline for a job. I’ve barely seen the
man all day.”
“Can you have him call me back when he comes up for air? I need some information about some
known gun dealers.”
“Yeah, sure. What else?”
“What, what else?”
“Is there anything else you want to share with your loving baby brother?” Gabe asked. “I’m all ears.”
“Jesus, you’re like an old nosy woman.” Kane leaned back with a sigh. “Fine. Remember I told you
about Vince kissing me?”
“I do, I also recall you slipping him that tongue right back.” His brother chuckled.
“I don’t even know why I bother talking to your ass,” Kane griped. “You’re like a freaking teenager
sometimes.”
“Uh-huh, don’t try to fucking blame me. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is I have a date.” He paused and waited.
Silence greeted his words.
“Gabe? You there?”
“I had to make sure my ears weren’t messing with me. You’re serious. You have a date?”
“I do.”

“With who?”
“Christ, who do you think? Vince!”
“Huh. You have a date. Wow.” Gabe sounded stunned. “Okay, that’s great, but I didn’t know you saw
Vince that way.”
Kane grimaced. “Well, I don’t. Not really, but he asked and you’re always harping on me to live so I
said yes.”
“Well, at least you listen to me. Sometimes. That’s nice.”
“Yeah, whatever. I gotta go, just remind your man to call me when he gets the chance. It’s important.”
“I will and enjoy your date.”
Gabe made kissing sounds through the phone and Kane hung up on his crazy ass. Hopefully he’d have
some info on Faro before the night was through, but right now he needed to get some rest, his recent
travel itinerary was catching up with him. Fast.
His phone woke him hours later and he groped for it in the dark through barely opened eyelids.
“Ashby.”
“Heard you’ve been looking for me, Marshal.”
Shit! “Faro?” Kane sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. “That is your name, right? Or should I
call you something else?”
“Oh someone did his homework all right.” Faro chuckled. “You, Marshal, can call me whatever you
like. I won’t mind.”
“I know who you are, Faro.” Kane wiped the sleep from his eyes. “I know who you work for. What I
don’t know is why you’re doing what you’re doing. Calling me up. Helping me. What’s in it for you?”
he asked.
“Maybe I like helping the less fortunate and the needy, did you ever think about that?” The laughter in
his voice was almost musical, but something lurked under the surface. Something darker.
Kane shook his head. “Not for a second do I think or believe that.”
Faro laughed softly. “Good. Then you think I have an ulterior motive in giving you your fugitive all
wrapped so neatly in a bow?”
“Of course. You know nothing about me and yet you single me out? Why?”
“Ah, Marshal.” Faro sighed. “This is why, right now. You intrigue me and for a man like me, that is…
unheard of.”
Kane rolled his eyes. “Cut the bullshit and tell me what you want. I won’t be blackmailed by a sleazy
drug- and gun-dealing lowlife.”
“Ooh blackmail? There you go intriguing me, Marshal.” Faro’s voice dropped lower. “Have you
done anything for which you can be blackmailed? Do tell.”
“Is this a fucking joke to you? Am I a joke, someone to amuse you in between the buying and selling
of human life?” Kane tried tamping down the rage in his chest. “Do not play with me, you won’t like
how it all turns out.”
“I like your voice, how it rumbles,” Faro spoke as if Kane hadn’t. “I like how much of a good guy you
are and I like that you—of all fucking people, Marshal, you—make me want.”
Kane flung the covers off his sweating lower half and swallowed. “Don’t even think about—”
“Trust me, you can’t control that.” Faro blew out a breath. “I like talking to you, even with your
hostile attitude, so I will. I’ll call and maybe we can graduate to emails, wouldn’t that be swell?”
“Goddamn it.”
“Does he exist, do you think? Does he answer when you call on him?”
“Faro.”

“Never mind that.” A car honked. “Paris is beautiful at sunrise, Marshal. You should see it some
time. Au revoir for now.”

Chapter Three

“Isa.” Syren walked into the arms of the only woman he ever allowed to touch him as soon as the

heavy door closed behind him. Isabella Tatzi smelled of roses and the most tentative dabs of Chanel
No. 5, yet that didn’t hide the stench of sick underneath.

“ Vous êtes ici,” Isa whispered against his cheek. “You’re here.” She squeezed him tight, quite

unladylike of her, but very few people knew the composed woman before him had been born on the
streets and made her living picking pockets until they were both rescued by the same man. Now Isa
got to be who she’d always wanted to be, a woman of power.

“Of course I’m here.” Syren pulled back and smiled up at her. Her blue eyes, contacts to cover the

ordinary brown she’d been born with, flashed when he said, “Where else would I be?’”

“I’m sure you’d rather I not answer that question, yes?” She stepped away from him and tugged on

her turquoise-colored blouse. The silk material pulled tight around her generous breasts, one of the
first things she’d bought with their rescuer’s money. Syren didn’t begrudge her any of her spending
since he’d used his portion to finance his revenge on Delatorre.

“Come.” Isa turned toward the spiral staircase, her body swaying as she walked across the

marble floor on red stilettos. He did question how she moved so effortlessly in the white skirt that
gave the illusion of cutting off any circulation to her lower half.

“How is he?” Syren cursed his short stature as he raced to catch Isa as she climbed the stairs. The

man who’d plucked them from the streets way back when was nearing the end of his life and Syren
wished selfishly he didn’t have to be witness to it.

Isa didn’t look back when she spoke. “The same. Nothing changed since you saw him last.” On

the second floor she stopped in front of a door and motioned. “Go on, he knows when you’re here,
you know.” Her eyes were bright and the faint smile shaky when she met Syren’s gaze. “He always
knows when you’re near.”

That had been a sore subject between them, their rescuer’s obvious affection for Syren. One they

all knew went beyond what a caretaker should feel for his charge. Had Syren given him the slightest
hint, they’d have been more than they were now, but he’d been too damaged, too dead inside to
encourage the things he’d known his benefactor wanted.

The older man had settled for Isa and they all three knew it.

Syren hoped his eyes conveyed his apology because he couldn’t make his lips form the words. Isa
must have gotten the message because she nodded briefly and he granted her a smile before opening
the door and stepping inside the well-lit room.
Memories hit him full on. The early days when he couldn’t make himself believe his fortune had
indeed turned, when he didn’t trust the tall man with steel in his eyes and in his hair whispering to him
in the dead of night, promising him no one would hurt him ever again. That he’d make it all better.
The nights he hid under the bed when footsteps sounded outside his bedroom even though he’d dead-
bolted it. And those nights, the nights when summer storms drove a shaking eighteen-year-old Syren
out of his bedroom and into this one, to crawl into bed with the one man he knew would always make
the pain go away, even if it was for a little while.
That man was leaving him soon. Syren saw it in the once powerful and vibrant form now reduced to a
frail slip of a man, hidden under piles and piles of blankets, his body hooked up to a million and one

machines that beeped incessantly.
He’d been sick for a few months, hanging on. Maybe he was finally tired of fighting.
“Well, boy.” The gruff words, spoken in flawless French from the middle of the bed made Syren
smile. “Are you going to stand there all day? Better not, I’ve got things to do and people to see.”
“Henri.” Syren covered his nose and mouth with a blue surgical mask and walked over to stare down
into what used to be gray eyes, now dulled with pain. A yellowish
tint colored the whites. “How are you, old man?” He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed,
slipping under the covers carefully.

“How the hell do you think I am?” Henri Lefèvre snorted then covered his mouth with a white

handkerchief as he coughed and coughed. Syren reached over to the nightstand and handed him the
glass of water there. Henri sipped the water through the straw for a few minutes then spoke when he
finished. “I’m not happy. Isa and that bastard nurse took away all my smokes.” He turned a laughably
hopeful gaze to Syren. “What about you? Got any?”

Syren shook his head with a grin. “Enough, old man. Those smokes are the ones that put you

where you are, remember?”
“For shit’s sake, boy. I’m already dying, what’s the big deal?”
“Language, Henri.” Syren sobered. “And I’d like to keep you around for a while yet, so no smoking. I
won’t help to speed up your demise.”
“Bah.” Henri waved a pale, blotchy hand. “You’re no fun, boy.” He turned his head away with a pout
and Syren stared at his gaunt profile.
He’d been fifteen when Henri barged into his life and turned it upside down. He’d been sold to a man
with money to burn, someone from somewhere in Saudi Arabia, and been locked in a tiny room with
no windows and exposed concrete floors. His punishment for not being willing enough was a
flogging, starvation and nakedness. Syren had been certain he’d freeze to death in that room, but lucky
for him, Henri broke in that same night, intent on stealing the owner of the house’s legendary weapon
collection.
That night Syren got his freedom and he’d dared to hope he’d have a life again. But he’d had to
exorcise his demons, put them to bed, beginning with Ricardo Delatorre. When he finally told Henri
who he was—six months after his rescue—Henri didn’t believe him. Eventually he did. He’d been
adamant Syren not go after Ricardo, that he let the world Delatorre dealt in be its own vengeance, but
Syren couldn’t sit idly by and Henri had no way of stopping him when Syren finally left.
He’d broken Henri’s heart the day he walked out. Syren broke it all over again every time he came to
Paris then went back to the Delatorres and their world.
He must have made a sound because Henri turned to him with questioning eyes. “What is it?”
Syren grabbed Henri’s hand nearest to him and linked their fingers. He squeezed lightly. “I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t remember if he’d said it, ever, to Henri. Or even to Isa. They knew where their lives
where headed, they had no loose ends to tie up, unlike him. He’d walked away from the family Henri
wanted so badly to keep intact, hurting them deeply.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated the apology and Henri frowned.
“Why are you sorry?”
Syren kissed the back of his hand. “I’m sorry you wasted all those years loving me.” He blinked away
sudden moisture. “I’m sorry I couldn’t love you the way you wished.”
Henri shook his head, his expression fierce and protective. “No, never say that.” He pulled away
from Syren and sat up. Syren moved with him and Henri grabbed his chin with surprisingly strong
fingers, forcing him to look into the other man’s extra wide eyes. “What I feel—” Henri broke eye

contact for a split second then returned to Syren. “What I felt was my failing, not yours. You can’t feel
something that isn’t there.”
Syren’s throat burned. He forced himself to continue to hold Henri’s gaze instead of hiding his inner
turmoil. “I wish I could have given you that,” he whispered brokenly. “It would have been easier,
simpler.”
Henri’s eyes glittered, a muscle flexed in his jaw. His cold fingers curved around Syren’s cheek. “A
life with you wouldn’t have been simple, chéri. Not at all.” He smiled crookedly. “You’re rather
fucked up, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Syren barked a laugh. “I have noticed.”
“More than anything, I wanted you happy all those years go.” Henri turned serious. “I’d hoped, fool
that I am, that I would be your happiness.” He shook his head. “You need someone, chéri, someone to
chase the bad stuff and I wished I could be that for you.”
“You were.” Syren leaned into him. He pulled down the mask and pressed his lips to Henri’s leathery
cheek. “You were the light that guided me back from the edge every time I got too close.”
“I was there. I was reliable and I was your savior, but I wanted your heart.” Henri paused and heaved
a sigh. “I promised I wouldn’t talk about this with you. It’s my failing, not yours. Some thief I am, eh?
A dirty old man, eyeing a younger man.”
“You’re only twenty years older, Henri, not ancient.” Syren had an image of Henri as the robust man
he’d been all those years ago, tall and lean and gorgeous with the dimple in his chin and twinkle in
his eyes. Probably the reason no one ever suspected him of being le Falcon, notorious thief.
“I knew you would be a challenge the night I rescued you. Naked, chained to the wall, all skin and
bones and yet, your eyes.” Henri choked up. “You eyes, chéri, they tell your secrets. One only has to
look deeper. I wanted to be the one to remove the tale of sadness in your eyes.”
Syren didn’t have words so he buried his face in Henri’s neck, breathing in his skin. Bony arms
circled him, held him close, an embrace so familiar Syren couldn’t hide the sob.
“Once I knew there would be no you and me, I hoped you’d find someone out there to make you want
to stay,” Henri said softly. “Someone to make you want those things you didn’t want with me.” He
tugged on Syren’s neck until he drew back and their eyes met. Syren swallowed when he saw the
tears trek down Henri’s cheek.
He’d never seen the older man cry. Never.
“Henri.”
“Shh.” Henri kissed his nose. “I’d hoped to be alive to watch you fall in love, even prepared myself
for the hurt that would bring me, but,” he whispered at the corner of Syren’s mouth, “I’m ashamed to
confess I’m glad I don’t get to see it.” He cried openly then, his wet face pressed to Syren’s, his lips
quivering.
Syren hugged him close.
“I’m glad I don’t have to watch you love someone else, because I think it would be beautiful, chéri.
When you finally find him, when you love him, it will be beautiful.” He kissed Syren then, on the lips,
and Syren kissed him back, tasting the salt, impossible to tell whose tears he licked off. He parted his
lips. Henri hesitated and Syren made the move for both of them, giving Henri his tongue.
Henri shivered in his arms, a choked sound rising to his lips as he kissed Syren tentatively. They
clung to each other until Henri separated them with a shift of his head. He brought their foreheads
together.
“Chéri.”
“I know.” Syren wiped the moisture off Henri’s bottom lip. “I know.”

“Isa isn’t as strong as you.” Henri moved backward until he sat against the propped-up pillows.
“She’ll need to be taken care of.”
Syren didn’t scoff at Henri’s talk of his strength. He wasn’t strong, but he tabled the negative
response. “I think Isa is strong when she needs to be,” Syren countered. “You underestimate her.”
A wistful smile crossed Henri’s face, there one minute, gone the next. “Maybe I do.” He patted the
spot next to him. “Come, tell me about your plans. How are they coming along?”
Henri was the only person who knew the full details on how Syren planned on dealing with the
Delatorres and while he didn’t approve of any of it, he respected Syren’s decisions.
“Everything is coming along smoothly.” Syren kept his answer deliberately vague. “The players are
all in place, just waiting on my move. I don’t want to talk about it now.” Henri was most important at
the moment.
“Very well, but one last question.”
Syren raised an eyebrow and waited.
“How is she? How is Càtia?”
Syren had no way to hide the huge smile Henri’s reverent question evoked. “She’s healthy and she’s
safe.”
A matching smile broke out on Henri’s face. “He can’t get to her?”
Syren shook his head with sharp conviction. “Never.”
“But the price you pay, chéri—”
He silenced Henri’s words with a look. “Worth it. Every time. No matter what he dishes out, she’s
worth it.”
Henri simply regarded him with a knowing look in his fading eyes. “I’m proud of you, no matter your
decision. I’m proud.”
Syren inclined his head as a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Seconds later, Isa stepped in with a
tray loaded with medication. “It’s time.”
Syren moved off the bed, allowing Isa to take his place. He stood for a moment, watching as she
patiently handled Henri, giving his medication and granting a soft smile and encouraging word every
time he swallowed. With their attention focused on each other, Syren crept out the room and down the
hall to the bedroom with the red door.
His bedroom.
He went in on silent feet and got into the bed, messing up the perfect sheets. On his back he stared up
at the ceiling and remembered as the tears fell. At fifteen he’d thought the tears a definite sign of
weakness and he’d berated himself each time he lost the battle, each time the tears won.
Now the tears reminded him he was still human. The tears proved that despite it all he still felt.
He picked up the cell phone he’d dropped next to him and scrolled to the one number he had no
business having. The phone number to the man he had no business wanting, but Kane Ashby was the
first man, the only man Syren wanted to touch, the only man he wanted to touch him.
In every way.
He had no business doing what he was about to do, no right, but he would. He sent the text, the
number to his private phone, and waited.
A hand on his shoulder yanked him back to awareness and Syren jumped upright, blinking up at a
solemn Isa.
“How is he?”
“Asleep.” She jerked her chin. “Will you stay the night?” Her tone was noncommittal, but her eyes not
so much. She wanted him stay, but they both knew he couldn’t.

Syren shook his head and swung a leg over the edge of the bed. “I can’t. Got some business to attend.”
Isa pursed her lips and smoothed his hair with one hand. “He loves you so much.” Her voice cracked.
“I wish things were different.”
“So do I.” In order for things to be different he had to change them. Despite the obvious pain.
“Here.” Isa bent and picked a discreet black shopping bag off the floor. She handed it to him when
she straightened. “I got this for you.”
Presents. He never could turn down presents, especially if they were what he thought they were.
Peering into the bag, Syren moved the white tissue paper aside and smiled. “No way!”
Isa giggled at his expression. “I saw them and immediately thought of you.”
“Thank you.” Syren kissed her forehead. “I appreciate this so much.”
“I know,” she whispered then stepped back. “Let’s get you out of here and back to your business.”
Syren walked with her down the hallway past Henri’s suite and into the foyer. At the door he hugged
her tight, leaving only after she promised to keep him up-to-date on Henri. He had the driver bring
him directly to the airport where he boarded the private plane that would take him to Brazil and a
face-to-face meeting with the last man he wanted to see.
Syren lit a cigarette and sat back in his seat, alternating between staring out the window and staring at
his phone, willing it to ring. Willing something, anything, to happen. By the time the plane landed on
the private airstrip Ricardo Delatorre used, Syren had a stiff neck, a cramped right leg and no contact
with Kane Ashby.

* * * * *

He didn’t look like a man capable of massacring an entire family. He didn’t look like a man

who’d be capable of selling a ten-year-old boy into modern-day slavery. He didn’t look like a bad
guy should look, the way a villain is usually portrayed in Hollywood movies.

Ricardo Delatorre was frighteningly average. He was tall and lean, his short hair peppered with

gray, as was his full beard and the hairs on his arms and the backs of his fingers. He was in no way
imposing, in no way threatening. Even his gaze was warm and twinkling. Laugh lines bracketed his
brown eyes and thin lips.

The first time Syren met him up close and personal he’d had to remind himself of the bad things he

knew the man before him had done. Now, years too many to count later, he needed no reminders.
Ricardo reinforced his heartless disregard for humanity each and every day.

In the quiet of Ricardo’s library, the oddly comforting smell of leather and books in the air, Syren

sank into a chair with a glass of brandy in hand. He didn’t drink and Delatorre knew this, but that
never stopped him from offering. Ricardo sat opposite him with the familiar smile in place, all warm
and inviting, as if days before he wasn’t whipping Syren to a bloody pulp.

Mere feet away, on the second floor of the estate with security rivaling the States’ Fort Knox,

Monica Delatorre and the couple’s teenaged twins were located. Out of range of any business, but no
doubt aware of who their father and husband really was.

No one could be that stupid as to not guess.

In the early years, Syren had toyed with the idea of hitting Ricardo in his black heart, strike at his
family, but he refused to go the same route as Ricardo. Instead he’d focused on what Ricardo loved
most.
Money.
Syren would make him a whole lot of it and then he would take it away.

“Tell me some good news,” Ricardo spoke in halting English. “How are we doing with the new
shipment?”
Syren pretended to sip his drink then looked down at the notes in his lap. “We’ve had some bad news,
I’m afraid.” He met Ricardo’s eyes. “Our guy has been shut down, got the news while on the plane.”
All air around Ricardo stilled. “What do you mean shut down?”
The hair on Syren’s nape rustled in response to that tone. It was a familiar one, signaling the calm
before the storm. Syren braced himself as he explained.

“He got caught with some things he shouldn’t have been traveling with.” Namely child

pornography. Ahmed had been on Syren’s radar for a while and that bastard was now one less name
on his shit list.

“What are you saying?” Ricardo shoved to his feet and moved to stand over Syren, his face a

mask of absolute fury. “How will you fix this?”
Right, because Syren was the one who fucked up? Yes, he’d planted those things on Ahmed’s laptop
and home computer, but still, he didn’t do magic.
“I’ve already contacted one of the backup suppliers.” He shrugged. “He’ll get us what we need but
wants three times the usual price.”
Ricardo swore and spun away.
“We can’t turn them down. We’ve got clients waiting on us. We already have their money.”
“You don’t think I know this?” Ricardo shot him a look no doubt aimed at cutting him to the quick.
Syren made sure he remembered to lower his gaze in deference.
Took him a while to master that.
He kept silent and watched as Ricardo paced while muttering to himself. He was stingy with his
money, hated to spend, but even he could be lured by the bigger picture and a promise to earn even
more money.
“Do it.”
“Already done.”
The blow across his face was a definite surprise. The glass in his hand fell to the floor. Blood filled
his mouth and for a moment Syren had to blink to clear his vision.
“Don’t presume to think you know how to run my business.” Ricardo’s tone belied the balled fists and
fury spitting from his eyes. “I alone run this business, do you understand?”
Syren nodded, ignoring the shooting pain through his scalp when he did. ”Yes sir.”
Ricardo’s gaze went to the closed door then came back to him. “If I had more time I’d beat the
stubborn streak out of you.” He bent and clasped Syren’s jaw, squeezing the sides of his face as he
spoke. “I’ll make a bitch out of you yet, boy.”
Well, how rude. Anyone could see Syren was no boy. Not anymore. He could take Ricardo if he
wanted, but there was time enough for that later. Right now, he lowered his gaze to the floor and
mumbled a quick, “Yes sir.”
He played the part of a demure submissive well enough, but that shit wouldn’t hold forever. He didn’t
do submission well.
Ricardo’s gaze burned into his skin like acid. Syren remained still.
“When I get back to the States we’ll have some fun, you and I.”
Yeah, that’s what you think. “Yes sir.” Oh look at him with the yes sirs, a record no doubt.
“Get that shipment of guns and head back to keep an eye on my son.” Ricardo dropped his hand and
stepped away. “I’m told he’s partying hard. I want it stopped.”
Really? Babysitter? Syren got to his feet. “Yes sir.” Definitely a record. He stepped toward the door

and Ricardo grabbed him by the neck. Syren breathed and tamped down the urge to fight back.
Damn it. He was totally over this manhandling shit.
“Making sure you know who you belong to.” Ricardo’s breath bathed Syren’s ear and neck in warmth
and he couldn’t help the shiver of disgust. Naturally the way Ricardo crowded him he thought that
was an excited shiver.
He twisted away and made for the door before the bastard took more liberties and Syren washed
years of planning down the drain by stabbing him in the fucking eye with a pen.
Oh yeah. He’d fantasized about it too. Times like now he tasted the bloodlust. He walked through the
door and out the house at warp speed. He had to make a phone call, see if that plan couldn’t be sped
the hell up.
He wasn’t heading back to Los Angeles until the following morning so he booked a hotel and crashed
hard, until the phone woke him in the wee hours.
“How did the meeting go?”
Syren rolled his eyes in the dark room. “How do you think it went, Dutch? That son of a bitch is
coming unhinged and I want his ass done before he does.”
His caller sighed. “The timetable isn’t right.”
“Fuck the timetable.” Normally he’d go for a smoother approach befitting his Faro alter ego, but he
couldn’t be bothered. “I put the timetable in place. Me, not you. So when I say it’s time to get things
rolling I mean it’s time to get things rolling.”
“Very well.”
Dutch had the long-suffering tone down and Syren couldn’t blame him, he was a handful to deal with
on a good day.
“How will you proceed?”
Syren grinned. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that one.” He hung up and dialed
another number. The phone rang three times, two more than was necessary.
“Hello.”
“Are we screening our calls now?”
“What, can’t I get some sleep around here without you fucking with my slumber?”
“Uh-huh. It’s three in the afternoon where you’re at, Billy. I know my time zones,” he said smugly.
“What do you want?”
“The account I sent you, make the money disappear.”
Billy coughed. “Disappear how?”
“How should I know?” Syren frowned. “You’re the one with the skills. Give it away to charities or
something like that.”
“What?” Billy screeched. “Do you know how much money is in that account? It’s— it’s a lot, man.
Like, a lot.”
“Just do it. Give it to charities for kids and women.”
“Yeah, all right.” Billy sounded as if he were in mourning. “I don’t get you, man, I really don’t.”
Syren gave him a brittle laugh. “That’s quite all right, I don’t get me either.”

* * * * *

He landed in Los Angeles around early evening the next day and immediately Thiago and his

silent bodyguard encroached on his personal space. He checked in on the heir not-so-apparent at the
Hollywood Hills house and was stopped when he tried to make a quick exit.

“Stay for a while, party with us.”

Thiago had that cajoling tone down to a freaking science. Too bad it didn’t work on Syren. He

raised an eyebrow at the two men seated way too close to each other on the
sofa. Bottles littered the floor and any flat surface. Their eyelids hung way too low for them to be
anything other than drugged out.

“I’m not interested in partying with you, Thiago.” He turned to the door. “And I’m fairly sure your

father wouldn’t like to know just how you’re behaving in his absence.”
A force slammed him into the door.
“Are you gonna tell him?”
Goddamn it, what was with these Delatorre men lately? Syren bucked Thiago off him and spun
around. He grabbed the fool by the neck. “Let me tell you something, you entitled little fuck, try that
again and I will end you. In the worst possible way. Got it?”
He didn’t think Thiago’s eyes could get any wider, but they focused on him in a hurry. As Faro he
didn’t usually assert himself. Scratch that, he never did, but no way was Syren allowing Thiago to
think he could do what he did and get away with it.
Bodyguard staggered to his feet and Syren rolled his eyes. “You two kids should think about sleeping
off whatever it is you’ve got running through your system.” He released Thiago. “It’s not working for
you.”
In the car on his way to his apartment he got an email from Pablo Castillo, one of the Delatorre’s
more profitable buyers out of New York. Syren and Pablo had an unspoken thing between them—they
indulged in the occasional sexually charged banter but took it no further. In his email Pablo asked for
Syren’s help in locating someone from his past, a very deadly someone.
Once inside the privacy of his place, Syren sent off a text to Billy with the relevant information for
Pablo then took a shower. He didn’t linger, his stomach was in knots. He couldn’t wait to fully
inspect the gift Isa had bought for him. She knew his tastes and his preferences, so he didn’t doubt
she’d do right by him. Still, he wanted to see them.
In his bedroom he pulled everything from the bag and held his presents up against his chest with a
purr. Reds, pinks and the occasional black. Isa had outdone herself. He collapsed onto the bed,
burying his face in his new playthings with a soft sigh.
Damn if he wasn’t as close to happy as he could be right then.

* * * * *

“Heard you were looking for me.”
Kane scowled at the man on his computer screen. “Really, it’s been days since I told

Gabe to tell you to call me.”

The man now known as Rafe Soto-Ashby lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug. “I
was busy.”
“Uh-huh.” Rafe did freelance architectural work out of the couple’s home in North
Carolina, nothing major to bring attention to himself and Gabe, just enough to keep him
out of Gabe’s hair and to keep Rafe busy and engaged in something he liked doing.
“What are you working on?”
“Community center for at-risk teens.” Rafe’s face broke out in a grin. “Good stuff.” With a spark in
his eyes like that, Kane could understand how his brother fell in
love with the former gunrunner. Now Kane only felt slightly guilty for wanting to shoot

Rafe when he found the man in his brother’s kitchen naked except for a pair of tight
black briefs. He was Angelo Pagan then and his body was nuts. Kane may have peeked
a little.
Okay a lot, but he was entitled.
“What’s up?” Rafe asked.
Kane leaned forward on his elbow as he stared into the laptop he’d placed on the
island in his kitchen. “In your former life you had dealings with a guy named Faro,
right?”
For his part, Rafe didn’t so much as blink. “Is this an official question, Marshal?” Kane glowered.
“Of course not. This is me, your brother-in-law, asking you
something I really hope you answer.”
Rafe crossed his arms. “Personal then?”
“Which response gets me an honest answer from you?” He took a sip from his
coffee cup, watching over the top as Rafe leaned forward.
“You tell me what’s got you asking about Faro and I’ll tell you what I can.” Kane sighed. “I know
who he is because he told me. What I want to know is why he
knows who I am. He helped me find a runner in New Orleans and he’s been, uh, calling
me.” He looked away from the computer when he spoke the last part.
“Calling you, how? Threatening?”
He shook his head at Rafe’s sharp words. “No, nothing like that. The opposite
really.” His face heated and he really didn’t want to talk about Faro anymore. “He says
I intrigue him.” God, he embarrassed himself saying those words.
Rafe cocked his head to the side, his mouth open. “Intriguing, huh?” He barked a
laugh. “Good one.”
Kane waved his words away. “I need to know how to make him go away. I don’t
need a criminal calling me and compromising my job. I’m sure you have something I
can use.”
Rafe’s eyebrow shot up. “Blackmail, Marshal?”
“He’s a smug little brat with too much time on his hands,” Kane said fiercely. “I
want him gone.”
“Uh-huh. I hear you.” Rafe didn’t sound convinced. Not at all.
“Do you have anything I can use?” Pretty please.
“I have a lot of information on Faro. He trusts me and I trust him.” Rafe came in
real close on the screen. “He was the one who helped me get out of Brooklyn. He was
the one who watched out for your brother when I was locked up. He knows my secrets
and I know…some of his.”
Kane stared at him. “What?”
“I’m not telling you shit to use against him, Kane. You can forget that.” Rafe got the
saddest smile on his face. “I can tell you this. Faro is a man with many faces who wears
a lot of hats. He’s a great number of things to a great number of people, none of them
real. None of them true.”
“Talking riddles now, are we?” Kane gripped his coffee cup tighter. “Can’t you just
tell me if I should stay away from him or not?”
“Do you want to stay away from him?” Rafe didn’t wait for a reply. “Faro is a lot
like many men I know, he’s not all good nor is he all bad.”

“God, you’re no help at all.”
Rafe barked a laugh. “I think you like him, Marshal. Despite thinking you know who he is. Eerily
familiar.”
“Yeah, whatever. Do you keep in contact with him?”

Rafe’s face morphed into a blank slate. “We speak. Do you want me to give him a message, warn

him off?”
Hell no. “No, I’ll do it.”
“Oh?”
God. Kane felt the blush wash over his face. “He, uh, I have his number.”
“I just bet you do.” Rafe’s lips twitched. Kane wished he was in the room so he could punch him,
rearrange that smirk.
“Don’t you have a drawing to finish?”
“For your information, it’s my day off.” Rafe grimaced. “Gabe decreed it when I went up to bed at
sunrise the other morning.”
“Where is my brother?”
Rafe’s gaze lifted off the computer screen and drifted off. “Getting dressed, we’re going out for
breakfast.” He did not look happy.
“Another one of Gabe’s decrees?”
“Yeah, something about making friends and meeting our neighbors.” He looked about ready to throw
up.
Kane chuckled. “Poor sucker, you’re so whipped.”
“Shut it, Marshal. Don’t you have someone to call?” Rafe waved. “Later.” He logged off before Kane
could tell him to go fuck himself.
Rafe was right though. He did have a call to make and for some reason his palms had gone all sweaty.
He dialed the number and remained hunched over the counter, eyes squeezed shut.
“Marshal, you’re a great way to wake up.”
Damn it. The pulse in Kane’s throat actually leapt then sped up. “Where are you?”
“LA, Why?”
“When can you get to the East Coast?”
Faro paused for a beat. “Why would I be coming to the East Coast?”
“You and I need to talk, get some things straight.” Kane swallowed a gulp of coffee. “The sooner the
better.”
“Ah-hah.” Faro stretched the word out. “Is there no way to do this over the phone?”
“I think you’ve hidden behind phones long enough, don’t you?”
A sharp intake of breath. “Wow. You hit hard, dude.”
Kane gave him the address of The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum in Ridgefield. “Meet me there
tomorrow at around noon.”
“I’ll be there.”

Chapter Four

Kane stood with his hands jammed into his pockets, staring at his favorite painting in the museum.

Simply titled Sunset, the painting was awash in gorgeous colors, a purple sky streaked with pink and
fiery orange where it sank into a lake of vivid blue. A man stood at the edge of the lake in jeans and a
plaid shirt, his back to the audience as he wiped his brow. A beat-up Ford F-150 sat off to the side of
the frame, a collie hanging out the driver’s side door.

Bailey had introduced him to the museum, insisting Kane needed culture. He’d groaned but gone

along and fallen in love with the painting. Bailey had teased him about it mercilessly.

Now, as he stared at that same painting, Kane couldn’t help remember those times. The reason he

was back at the museum at all came rushing back. Not that it ever left; the tension in his shoulders and
the knot in his stomach could attest to that.

Why was this the first place that came to mind when he spoke to Faro? This was his place, his and

Bailey’s, and suddenly a stranger was intruding. A stranger he’d invited in.

Maybe he wouldn’t show. Kane glanced at his watch. Faro was fifteen minutes late, maybe he

wasn’t coming. Maybe a face-to-face was too much and he decided to leave Kane alone.

Good. That would be good. It meant he could breathe again because he didn’t think he’d done so

since the phone call yesterday.
The two women next to him, quiet since he came in, started a frenzied whispering. Kane glanced over
at them, then to the direction both were trying hard not to look.
Faro stood at the entrance with a phone to his ear, dressed in a dark tailored suit with a shirt almost
matching his hair color, one hand in his pocket.
Jesus. Kane stared at him as their gazes met and locked. The left corner of Faro’s mouth tipped up and
he ended the call, shoving the phone into his pocket as he strode across the floor and up to Kane.
Trouble. He’d been trained to recognize and stop it, so Kane knew in his gut trouble headed his way.
Problem was, he wasn’t sure if he should duck for cover or embrace it with open arms.
“Marshal.”
The women’s whispers grew louder and Kane shot them a death glare. They moved away, but not
before the taller of the two, a skinny dark-haired thirty-something, flashed him a knowing wink.
Damn it. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured under his breath.
“Not just yet.” Faro sidled up next to him and turned his gaze to the painting on the wall. “Why this
place?” His voice was low, intimate in the quiet of the museum.
Kane didn’t like it, the way Faro’s tone made him want to shift closer, lean into him to catch his
words.
“This is neutral territory,” he answered.
Faro grunted. “Familiar.”
He acknowledged the truth with a nod Faro couldn’t see. “That too.”
They stood in silence, Faro’s gaze intently taking in Sunset and Kane doing his damndest not to be
aware of the man next to him. He was stunning, his features delicate to the point of feminine, his
stature and slender build belying a strength Kane had long recognized in his stance, in his eyes, in his
voice.
“Why am I here again?”
“Answers.” Kane cleared his throat and looked around. “I’ve asked before and I’m asking again, who
are you and what do you want?”
A throaty laugh drifted to his ears as Faro shifted closer, his warmth right there for the basking in.

“You know who I am.”
“I don’t.” Frustration sharpened Kane’s words. “My brother-in-law says I can trust you. He says he
does.”
He caught Faro’s nod in his periphery.
“He and I go way back. I watched him change for your brother.”
A muscle ticked in Kane’s temple. “You know my brother?”
Faro glanced at him, the brief interaction enough to make Kane want to be someplace else, anywhere
but where he was.
“Gabe and I, we have our moments. I had dinner with him and Rafe a few weeks ago.” Syren grinned
with his gaze straight ahead. “Gabe likes to pretend he doesn’t like me, but I know he does.”
“What do you want?” Faro didn’t answer for a long while and Kane gave in to the need to move. He
took a step back. Then another. He exited the gallery and made a left in the corridor. The woman
behind the desk met his gaze then flashed a forced smile to the two women from earlier. He needed to
leave, get away. Balling his hands into fists, Kane spun away and strode to the door leading to the
front courtyard.
He didn’t hear Faro approach but he blinked and the other man was there, in stride with him as he ran
down the museum steps. He didn’t know why and he didn’t care, but his head, his instincts were
yelling at him to get far, far away from Faro.
A hand closed over his as he grasped his car door. Kane froze and stared down at the only place they
were joined, his skin tanned and Faro’s pale, unblemished. Soft, but hot, branding him right there, in
broad daylight.
“You asked me a question.” Faro spoke from his right side and Kane swung his attention to the left, he
didn’t want to look into the smaller man’s eyes.
“Forget it,” he rasped. “Forget this, it was a bad idea.” He tugged his hand but Faro held firm. Kane
dropped his gaze again, fascination getting the better of him. He was bigger, stronger, if he chose to
he could free himself, but that touch was like a warm blanket he wasn’t even aware he needed until he
found himself all wrapped up in it.
“I don’t want to forget it, I want to answer.” Faro squeezed him where he held on to Kane then moved
away, giving him space to move, to run.
Escape.
But his limbs had long given up on working right. Kane shifted slowly, leaning his weight on his car
as he looked to his right. Faro stood there, watching him with those fucked-up eyes. Kane opened his
mouth to yell at him, tell him not to look at him like that. In that way that made him…feel.
In the middle of his chest something gripped him tight, held him immobile, cutting off his words.
Jesus. Kane shook his head to clear the fog. “Who are you?” Because surely there had to be another
explanation for this, another answer.
“You know who I am.” A curtain fell over Faro’s eyes and his mouth twisted. “Can’t escape that.” He
patted his left side, muttering under his breath in a foreign language.
“Then why are you here?” Kane asked. What was he missing? “Why are you here with me?”
A tragic smile crossed Faro’s face. “Tempting fate. Being selfish.” He fished a cigarette from his
pocket and held it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “Been trying to quit.” The
expensive suit moved with him when he shrugged, a fluid motion.
“It’s bad for you,” Kane croaked.
Faro’s gaze snapped to his. “A lot of things are bad for you.” He dragged the cigarette under his nose
and inhaled deeply. “Deadlier than this.”

A warning Kane took to heart. He jerked open his car door and slid into the passenger seat then the
driver’s. His plan for a clean break and getaway went straight down the crapper when Faro dived
after him. Kane gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead, ignoring the man now filling up the
inside of his car with his presence, his heat and his musk.
“I will leave you alone if that’s your wish,” Faro said slowly, clearly. “But first we’re gonna have us
a nice chitchat.”
Kane gritted his teeth and counted to ten in his head “Get out.”
“I can’t attest to who I was in any past life, if such a thing even exists,” Faro whispered. He lifted his
hand, hovering it above Kane’s before letting it fall back in his lap. “Most days I’m not even sure
who I am in the present, but I know I’ve never been the kind of person to think I need someone else to
make my life complete. Until I saw you. Now all I think is that I need this man. All I know is I need
you.”
Kane’s heart leapt, the violent motion yanking a gasp from his frozen lips. He couldn’t make himself
look anywhere but at the man seated next to him. Faro wasn’t looking at him, his gaze was trained on
whatever was happening beyond Kane’s windshield, but his eyes were unfocused.
“There’s this thing called reality,” Faro continued. “I’m not too fond of it, but it has its uses.” He
chuckled dryly. “Like now, reality says I should go, leave you alone. It’s a bitch like that, depriving
me of what I want. But I know there are a lot of very good reasons to listen.”
“I’m—I don’t date criminals.”
Faro laughed, a sharp burst of mirth that crinkled the area around his eyes and sent the too-serious
orbs to twinkling when he faced Kane. “Sim, eu sei.” He shook his head. “Yes, I know.”
“And yet, here you are.” Stood to reason Kane would point out the obvious.
“Here I am.” Faro produced the cigarette again and twirled it around his fingers, gaze glued to it.
“Reality, eh?”
“If things were different.” Kane swallowed. “If you weren’t—”
“If only I wasn’t who I am.” Faro met his gaze. “If only.”
“I could’ve—we could’ve tried.” His lips moved, he heard the words, but damn if Kane believed that
was him speaking. Yet, they didn’t sound wrong. Only weird.
“Would we?” Faro lifted a brow. “Are you over him then, your dead lover?”
Kane recoiled as if bitch-slapped. “No,” he forced the word out before his throat closed in on him.
“Do not. He’s off-limits.” Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. He knew about Bailey.
“Right, so that’s a no.” Faro nodded sadly.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” Kane lunged at him, grabbing Faro by the lapels. “You have no right to
him. Don’t ever bring him up.” His chest hurt, the pressure too much. He felt himself slipping into it,
the panic, the despair. Breath rattled from his throat while words fell from his lips. “He was better
than you could ever hope to be. He was good and kind and decent and he was mine.”
Faro held still beneath him, his eyes like lasers focused on Kane’s face. Alert. No trace of fear on
him, nothing to give away his emotions.
“He’s mine and you don’t ever get to bring him up. I earned the memories, not you.”
“I can respect that.” The faint scent of mint accompanied Faro’s words and Kane dropped his gaze to
his mouth, watching his lips move. “My tailor will be very pissed if you mess up the suit.” He leaned
closer, warm breath washing over Kane’s face and neck.
Kane closed his eyes on a shudder.
“Breathe, Marshal,” Faro spoke against his ear. “You’re no good to me if you expire from lack of
oxygen.”

But Kane refused to inhale, he refused to take the scent of Faro—hot and earthy— into his lungs.
Gentle fingers traced his jawline then cupped his cheek. “Look at me.”
Kane did. He opened his eyes to find Faro now leaned back against the car door. Kane shifted,
realizing then he lay across the center console, his lower body draped over Faro’s legs. He moved to
get off, but Faro grabbed his upper arms.
“Breathe with me,” Faro coaxed. “Stay right there and breathe with me.” His body moved when he
took a deep breath then let it out. Kane stared deep into his eyes. “Do it.”
He took a breath in and let it out, matching Faro in his breathing. They were quiet except for the deep
breath in and the whoosh as it rushed out.
“That’s it. Breathe for me, deeply.” Faro’s hand crept up Kane’s arm and over the back of his head,
resting on his nape in a gesture that was more than a little possessive. That touch gave him the impetus
he needed to move away and mean it. To drag his ass back into the driver’s seat and away from Faro.
“I need you to leave.” There was no anger in his words, no rage or censure. All he felt was drained.
“I recognize that retreat for what it is, Marshal.”
“Stop calling me that,” Kane barked at him. “You know my name.”
“I do. Are you giving me permission to use it?”
“You can do whatever you want.”
“Then I’ll call you Marshal.”
Disappointment chilled Kane’s insides. Why did he want Faro to call him by name? That would make
things more personal and it was the last thing he wanted.
“You were telling me how good we could’ve been together, if I wasn’t who I was,” Faro goaded.
“I said no such thing.” Kane started his car. “Get out, I have to go.”
“Hot date?” Faro flicked a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Are you dating someone, Fed?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Faro leaned over. “Not an answer.”
“For you it is.” Why was he so close? Why the hell couldn’t Kane get away from the smell of him?
“I’ve seen you with your partner,” Faro continued as if Kane hadn’t spoken. “He wants you.”
Kane shook his head. “I’m not going there with you.” He didn’t even bother asking how and why Faro
knew about Vince. Some things he was starting to figure he didn’t need to know.
“But are you going there with him?”
“He kissed me.” Shit. He blurted out those three words and immediately wanted to recall them.
“Ah.” Faro glanced out the window. “I’d do the same if I wasn’t halfway sure you’d punch me out.”
Since he wasn’t entirely sure of his reaction should Faro kiss him, Kane chose to ignore that too.
“We’re going on a date. Tomorrow night.”
Faro began with the nodding before Kane finished speaking. “Of course you are.”
“I’m sorry.” Christ. His voice cracked. “I can’t give you what you want.”
“Don’t say that.” Faro swung around to face him. “You don’t know what I want.” His gaze softened
and caressed Kane’s face. “Ask me what I want.”
Kane licked his lips in a self-conscious gesture. “What do you want?”
“You.” Faro smiled.
Kane smiled back before he caught himself and sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you want.”
“Fair enough.” Faro dipped his head then looked back up, the sorrow in his gaze disappearing as if it
had never been. “Tell me about the painting you were looking at in there.” He jerked a thumb in the
direction of the museum.
“Sunset. It’s a favorite of mine.”

“Why?”
Kane shrugged. “It just calls to me, I guess.” He felt stupid saying that. “I don’t know, man, I just like
it. Okay?”
Faro held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. No need to get pissy, I was simply asking a
question.”
Kane grunted at that. There was nothing simple where Faro was concerned.
“I have to go.” Faro spoke to him, but was staring down at his watch. “Business to do in Manhattan.”
“Okay.”
“Just for the record, you’re saying nothing can happen between us—even though you really want it to
—because of who I am, right?”
“That’s not quite how I’d put it, but the gist is the same, yes.”
Faro nodded slowly. “All right.” He smoothed his hands down his chest.
Kane stared. “Are you ever not wearing a suit?”
“Sure, when I’m naked.” Faro grinned.
Kane cocked his head to the side and Faro’s grin widened, eyes gleaming when he said, “Ooh
picturing me naked, are you?”
Wha— Kane snorted. “Get over yourself.”
“And what, get under you?” He winked and opened the car door while Kane sputtered. “Later,
Marshal.”
Faro disappeared as if he’d never been there and it took Kane another five minutes before he could
gather himself and steady his breathing enough to drive away.

* * * * *

The next day he went into work to get some paperwork done, then drove all the way back from

Jersey to Connecticut later that evening to get ready for his date with Vince.

More than once during the course of the day Kane thought about canceling. Vince was right there

with him at work. Though they were both too busy to talk, they were in the same building. He
could’ve canceled, but Kane found he wanted this. He wanted to go out with Vince and get Faro and
the day before out of his head. He wanted to be able to say he tried the dating thing, but it wasn’t for
him. He wasn’t ready to move on.

He wasn’t wishing for the evening to be a disaster, he just wanted to get it over with and put it

behind him.
An hour before Vince was supposed to show, Kane stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped
around his hips and stared at the clothes in his closet. Jeans and darkcolored t-shirts. Bailey had
bitched about his wardrobe but was never fully able to convert him into anything more formal than the
one suit he owned for important stuff.
He was more comfortable in jeans and that was what counted.
He chose dark jeans and a dark t-shirt then selected a black sport coat to liven it up, as Bailey was so
fond of saying. They were only going to dinner and drinks anyway. Not to the freaking Met.
His doorbell rang as he stepped into the jeans and Kane cursed. What the hell? Why was Vince damn
near half an hour early? He ran downstairs with his upper half bare, water from his still-wet hair
dripping down his back, and yanked open the door with a curse.
“What the hell—” He blinked at the delivery man standing there. “Who are you?”
The guy looked from the piece of paper he held to Kane. “Kane Ashby?”

“Yes.” Kane frowned at him. “What is it?”
“We have a delivery for you, sir.” The guy waved behind him to the other two young men idling near
a delivery truck.
“What kind of delivery?” Kane crossed his arms. He sure as hell hadn’t ordered anything. “Who sent
it?”
“I don’t know that, sir.” He thrust a portable signing device at Kane. “Sign here, please, to
acknowledge receipt.”
Kane took it, moving out of the doorway as the two men trudged up his walkway carrying a large flat
box. Was it a TV? What the hell? There were no markings on the outside to determine what was
inside and the men weren’t talking. With a sigh, Kane signed the device and handed it over to the first
guy.
“Where do you want it, sir?”
Kane waved a hand behind him. “Just put it down anywhere. I have no idea what it is.”
They did then exited the house. He patted his pockets for his wallet, but the first guy shook his head as
all three headed back to the truck. “That’s all right. We were already taken care of.”
Kane stood in his doorway, eyes narrowed as he stared after the truck as it disappeared down the
street. Then, cursing a blue streak, he went into the house and shut the door behind him. He walked
past the package where the men had rested it leaning against the couch and into the kitchen where he
grabbed a box cutter.
Back in the living room he made quick work of the box and its wrappings then stood back with his
jaw hitting the floor.
Sunset.
The painting was in his house. If he believed the delivery men, he was now the proud owner of
Sunset and only one man was behind this. Christ. Why had he done it? Why? Was this some way to
buy Kane’s affection? Faro had to know he wasn’t for sale. Not ever.
He took the painting with him up the stairs and into his bedroom. He leaned it against the bed and
picked up his phone from the mattress.
Faro answered on the fourth ring. “How’s it going, Marshal?”
“Don’t you fucking ‘marshal’ me,” Kane yelled. “What did you do?”
“I take it my gift has arrived?”
“Gift? Is that what this is?” Kane sank onto the bed, a finger pressed to his temple. “Why? Why did
you do this?”
“Why not?” Faro asked. “You’re obviously in love with that painting and I wanted to bring a smile to
your face.”
“Do you think I’m for sale, that you can have me if you spend enough money?”
Faro chuckled. “It’s a nice thought, but no, never crossed my mind.” He paused. “The fact is, I knew
the opposite would happen. That you’d yell and be angry.”
“And you did it anyway?”
“Because you deserve it. I can imagine you in that empty house, moping. You need some happiness
and since you vetoed us, I thought Sunset was the next best thing.”
“God.” Kane wiped a hand over his face. “Could you be more of a cocky son of a bitch?”
“I could.”
Kane smiled. “I thought we agreed this was done. That you’d leave me alone?”
“Ah well, you talked and I nodded in the appropriate places.”
Kane smiled wider.

”How did the date with your partner go?” Faro didn’t quite pull off the innocence he strove for but
Kane ignored it.
“I’m actually getting ready right now, he should be here any minute.”
“Hmm. Good,” Faro purred.
Kane narrowed his eyes. “Why good?”
“Now you’ll be thinking about me all evening.” He hung up.

* * * * *

“You’re going to make me wait all weekend, aren’t you?”
Lost inside his thoughts, it took Kane a minute before his brother’s words penetrated. “What?”

They sat on Gabe’s back balcony overlooking the private beach as the sun set over the waters.

Kane sat in one of the chairs while Gabe stood against the rails, his arms folded and a scowl on his
face.

“You’ve been here for all of five hours,” Gabe stated. “When will you tell me about the date?”

Right. The date. Kane cut eye contact and stared off into the horizon. “There’s nothing to tell. Nothing
happened.”
“You decided to immediately visit your loving baby brother for a weekend getaway because nothing
happened on the date?” Gabe’s scoff made his disbelief loud and clear.
“I don’t care what you think.”
“Come on,” Gabe needled. “I tell you about me and Angel all the time.”
“That is not a good thing, bro.” Kane shook his head. “We are not chicks. I don’t have to talk about
this with you.”
“Just tell me already.”
Kane scrubbed a palm over his face. “It was great, okay?” He lifted his shoulder in a helpless
gesture. “We had fun, we talked. It was comfortable. It was easy. It was effortless.” And yet, he’d
never been as happy as when he’d pulled up in front of his house that night. He’d never been so glad
to escape into his big, empty house.
“Why do you look so sad then?”
“Because he’s not who I want!”
Gabe blinked at him, confusion on his face.
“Shit,” Kane cursed. “I-I told you I didn’t want to talk about this. Just forget it.”
Gabe crossed the small space and sat in the chair beside him. “What does that mean? I thought you
were getting better with this. Bailey is gone and you—”
“Gabe. Please.” Kane held up a hand. “Let’s—I don’t want to discuss this.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t
have come.”
“Of course you should have come.” Sadness shadowed his brother’s eyes. “I’m your brother and I
love you. I just wish you didn’t waste your life like this. I wish you believed me when I say you can
still grieve and live your life.”
“Gabe.” If only this were about Bailey. If only the excuse was really Bailey this time, but it wasn’t
and Kane didn’t know how to voice it. He wished he felt what he felt for Vince, for anyone else.
“Vince took me to dinner then we walked and talked for a while,” Kane said. “He held my hand in
public. It was dark, but I knew it was a huge step for him. H-he kissed me again.”
Gabe grinned. “Did you enjoy it?”
“It was a nice kiss.”

“Well, that’s not good.”
Kane nodded. “I know. I kissed him back and the entire time I was wishing he were someone else.”
“I don’t think Bailey would mind you being with Vince,” Gabe pointed out and Kane had to burst his
bubble.
“I wasn’t thinking about Bailey.”
“Well who the hell—” Gabe’s eyes rounded. “You met someone?”
“I met someone.” The worst kind of someone. The entirely wrong someone. The same someone he
couldn’t stop thinking about. “I need your advice,” he confessed softly. “I’m out of my fucking
league.”
“Who is he?” Kane could practically see the wheels spinning in Gabe’s head. “Someone you work
with? Younger? Older?”
Kane frowned. “Older, really?”
Gabe shrugged and grinned. “Just throwing shit out there, tell me when something sticks.”
“None of the above.” Kane got to his feet and leaned over the railing, staring into the dark sand
below. “It’s someone you know, actually.”
“Who?” Gabe stood next to him, damn near radiating excitement.
Admitting this to him was big. Gabe had been getting on his case for a long time to get out there, to
live again. Kane didn’t know how his brother would react to hearing Faro was who’d piqued his
interest after all this time.
“He’s a friend of Rafe’s.”
Gabe laughed. “Impossible, Rafe doesn’t have friends.”
“Faro.” He didn’t look at Gabe, instead Kane took a lungful of air then let it out as he spoke. Rapidly.
“But nothing happened. Nothing will happen because we’re too different. He’s not my type.”
Beside him his brother had gone tense and quiet.
“Gabe?” He looked at his brother, but Gabe wasn’t returning his gaze. In fact his brother was doing
his damndest not to look at him. “Gabe?” Kane touched his shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”
Gabe turned slowly and lifted solemn eyes to Kane. His face had gone pale.
“What’s wrong?”
“When did this thing with Faro begin? How did it begin?”
Kane recounted the tale to Gabe, beginning with the runner in New Orleans and ending with the gift of
Sunset Faro had given him. All through his dialogue Kane watched as his brother’s expression grew
darker and darker. Guess Faro was right, Gabe didn’t really care for him.
“Sunset.” Gabe nodded when Kane finished. “I know how much you liked that painting.”
“Yeah.”
“He had no right to do that,” Gabe spat. “He should know that you’re off-limits.”
“I— He’s the first person I—”
“No!” Gabe grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t go there, please. You don’t know who he is.”
Kane shook off his hold. “I’m not going anywhere, I already told him that.” He frowned at the fear in
Gabe’s eyes. “What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”
“Stay away from him,” Gabe said firmly. “You don’t know who he is.”
“Of course I know who he is.” What was he missing? “I know he works for Ricardo Delatorre. I
know that.”
“No, you don’t know anything.” Gabe swore and turned away. “This is crazy.”
“What’s going on?” Kane asked again. “Just tell me already.”
Gabe shook his head. “I don’t— I can’t. Shit.” He picked his phone from his pocket and dialed a

number.
Kane had never seen his brother so angry and flustered. He watched through narrowed eyes as Gabe
spoke into the phone.
“You son of a bitch! You selfish son of a bitch!” Gabe yelled at the person on the other end. “Don’t
you dare, you hear me? He’s off-limits. My brother is off-limits.”
Whoa! That was Faro on the phone? Kane took a step forward. “Gabe.”
“No.” Gabe shook his head at Kane while speaking to Faro. “He doesn’t know who you are, but I do
and will tell him.”
“Gabe, what are you doing?”
“He’s here,” Gabe told Faro. “He’s right next to me. You will tell him who you are or I will. Do I
make myself clear?”
What the hell was going on? “Tell me what?”
“I don’t care about that.” Gabe waved away whatever Faro said. “That’s your problem, your bed, lie
in it. You pursued him, you sought him out and you have to tell him the truth.” He paused. “The
sooner, the better.”
Kane gave up on trying to get answers and waited for his brother to explain himself. What did Gabe
want Faro to tell him so badly?
“He’s been through too much.” Gabe pitched his words lower, but Kane caught them anyway and
bristled. His baby brother was making him out to be something Kane sure as hell didn’t like. “Then
fix it,” Gabe barked. “Tell him or stay away, because I’m promising you now, if you don’t tell him, I
will.” He listened for a bit then said, “Fine” and held out the phone to Kane who took it suspiciously.
“Hello?”
“I don’t think your brother likes me very much.”
Faro’s voice made his skin tingle, but Kane ignored the reaction. “What’s going on? What does my
brother want you to tell me?”
“I’d hoped to have more time before this came up.” Faro sighed. “He’s blackmailing me, that Gabe,
but he’s right. You need to know.”
Foreboding slowed Kane’s heartbeat. “What? What do I need to know?” Was everyone in on this
secret, whatever it was, except him?
“I’m out of the country right now,” Faro said softly, all traces of the flirty tease long gone. His tone
was somber. “I need you to give me a few days to get back there, to see you and explain.” He cleared
his throat. “Please.”
“I—you have two days.” Kane had no idea what he agreed to, but if it was important to Gabe and
Faro, it was important to him.
Faro inhaled slowly. “Thank you.”
“Two days.” Kane ended the call and turned to his brother. “Care to explain what all that was
about?”
“You really like him.” Gabe squinted at him. “It’s all over your face. You like him.” The last part
sounded too close to an accusation and Kane bristled.
“I already told you, nothing is going to happen between us.”
Gabe leaned forward and clasped Kane’s face in his hands. “I don’t believe that for a minute.” He
stared into Kane’s eyes and sighed. “He’s going to hurt you.”
Kane opened his mouth.
“It’s not an if or a maybe,” Gabe pushed ahead. “I’m telling you, because I know enough. He’s going
to fucking lay you flat and I wish I could stop it.” He dropped his hand and pulled Kane into a tight

hug. “I’m so sorry.”
Kane hugged his brother back, wondering why in hell he felt like sobbing so badly.

Chapter Five

“Everything okay?”

Syren stared at the phone in his hand, his heart in his throat. He swallowed and lifted his gaze to

the two naked men staring back at him from the wide bed, their gazes concerned and more than a little
bit curious.

He nodded and answered Casper’s question with the requisite lie. “Yeah. Everything’s good.”

But it wasn’t and maybe after he spoke to Kane, it would never be again.

Derek, the darker of the two men pushed his dreadlocks from his forehead and moved out of his

lover’s arms with a frown. “You sure? We can do this another time.”
“Yes.” Syren dropped into the chair at the foot of the bed and smiled at the men. “Just business, it can
wait. This can’t.” He tugged on his tie, loosening it with one hand as Casper and Derek resumed their
kissing.
This was their arrangement, his one attempt at physical pleasure. Watching the two lovers engage in
their very energetic and sensual lovemaking. The only place he let down his guard long enough to take
pleasure, here in Costa Rica where the single most important person in his life was carefully hidden.
“Oh yeah.” Derek threw his head back, banging it against the headboard as Casper climbed atop him
and licked his chest.
Syren unbuckled his pants, loving how the sounds of the belt buckle punctuated Derek’s groans and
Casper’s sighs. They were a beautiful interracial couple, Casper’s Dutch and Caucasian skin
contrasting beautifully with Jamaican Derek’s dark-chocolate skin. They lived together on the beach
in Costa Rica, co-owners of a bar and surf shop.
Syren envied them their happiness. He envied them their lives and he envied them their sex.
Casper’s dark-brown hair dragged along Derek’s sculpted torso as he dipped his head lower, kissing
the tip of Derek’s purple-headed cock glistening with pre-ejaculate as his fingers cupped Derek’s
balls.
Syren pulled his own shaft free from his pants and stroked himself. This was the only way he got off,
the only way he allowed himself pleasure. For so long he’d been content with the status quo, but
things were changing. He didn’t know yet if they were for the better.
“Fuck yeah. Suck me.” Derek growled and bucked up into Casper’s mouth. Casper groaned and
sucked harder, the sounds so obscene Syren’s balls tightened.
“Fuck his mouth,” Syren ordered Derek.
The Jamaican grabbed a fistful of Casper’s hair, holding him still as he thrust up, sinking in then
pulling free.
Syren swiped his thumb over his wet crown and licked his lips. He stared at the men through half-
lidded eyes as Casper held himself still, his mouth a willing receptacle for Derek’s thick cock. While
Derek fucked his mouth, Casper circled his hole with the pad of an index finger.
Derek grunted. The digits in Casper’s hair flexed then relaxed and Casper took advantage, dipping his
head to rim his stiffened tongue over his lover’s entrance.
“Shit!” Derek widened his legs and bent his knees. “More, give me more, baby.” His accent grew
thicker with his arousal.
Syren liked that. He squeezed his shaft at the base. “Give him some fingers,” he told Casper. “Let me

see you stretch his tight hole.”
Derek whimpered. Syren knew from the many times they’d all three been together like this that
although he was the bigger of the couple, taller, stronger and brawnier, Derek was the bottom. He
loved being taken and Casper loved to give him whatever he wanted.
Syren circled his cock and jacked himself as Casper lubed up two fingers and fed them to Derek,
slowly.
“Aww, yeah.” Derek dragged the words out as he reached below and pulled apart his ass cheeks.
“Yeah. Fuck me. Ugh. Deeper.”
Casper gave him what he asked for so nicely, sawing into him.
Syren tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and imagined Kane doing that to him, fingering him until
he begged for more. “Shit.” His balls ached deliciously, an ache he wasn’t familiar with. Kane’s eyes
danced in front of his eyes and Syren sped up the pulls. He jammed his hips up, fucking into the tight
fist he’d made.
On the bed, Derek crawled onto his knees and Casper lined up behind him, drizzling lube down his
crack.
Syren shuddered and closed his eyes. That position wasn’t one he liked and usually when the two men
went at it like that his arousal lagged, but he tuned out the room and the sounds Derek made as Casper
thrust into him and drifted. Kane was in his head and with him, touching him where no other person
had touched him in years, licking him, sucking him.
Even in his fantasy he felt the wet heat as Kane sucked him deep, took him to the back of his throat
and hummed. Syren gasped and twitched. He lifted his hips and thrust up, trusting Kane to take care of
him.
Rough fingers cupped his balls and tugged while even more fingers tested his hole, circled, pushed in.
“Fuck!” Syren jerked and came in his fist, releasing hard, the orgasm pulling all he had from him. His
head spun and breath rattled around in his chest as his hips worked furiously. He opened his eyes and
stared down at himself, at his hand covered in his seed, then at the couple watching him with half-
smiles from the bed.
“That was a good one, man.” Derek winked. “Seemed like you went somewhere else there for a bit.”
He slid a palm down Casper’s chest. “Something’s different with you, I can feel it.”
Casper nodded. “Definitely.”
Syren wiped his hands with a nearby towel then shook his head and pulled a cigarette and lighter
from his pocket. “No. Nothing’s different.” He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. His limbs felt
like wet noodles and his heart clamored inside his chest. “All’s good.”
“Uh-huh.” Casper jerked his chin. “Thought you quit?”
Syren blew out a smoke ring. “Tomorrow.”
Derek snickered and Casper pulled him close for a kiss. Syren watched them, the way they touched
each other, so familiar and organic, as if it came so naturally. He’d seen them do that more than a
dozen times and yet, today felt different, because now he wondered at it. He wondered what it would
feel like to have that always.
He wanted their closeness. Their bond. Their love and their sex. For him those things went hand in
hand. Getting naked with someone would take all of him, for so many different reasons. All of them
too fucking heavy to be thinking about at a time like this.
“How long you here for?” Derek asked.
Syren shrugged. “Just got in, so likely the weekend.” That was usually the length of his trips to Costa
Rica.

“Was she happy to see you?” Casper asked.
“Not at first.” Syren grinned. “There was a whole lot of pouting.”
Casper laughed. “She’s rather good at that.”
“Too good.” But she loved him and he loved her so nothing else mattered. He rose to his feet, tucked
himself back in then zipped up. “Thank you for the festivities, gentlemen.” He waggled his fingers at
them and Casper chuckled when the cigarette’s ashes floated to the floor. “I’ll see you both tomorrow
when I take the madam out on the water.”
The men waved as he walked to the door. “Bright and early.”
That wouldn’t be a problem since he never slept anyway.

* * * * *

The rest and relaxation of his weekend in Costa Rica was done and now Syren sat in the living

room of a mansion on steroids in the hills of Culiacán, Mexico, with his boss, waiting on Antonio
Nieto to put in an appearance. The man was notoriously late, always making people wait.

Syren tugged the coral-colored shirt he wore from his skin. The heat had him melting and his

clothes sticking to his skin. He wasn’t a fan of all that heat, too stifling. A pitcher of what looked like
lemonade sat atop a small table in the far corner of the room and damn if Syren was going to walk all
the way over there.

The Nietos were getting on his nerves and Syren decided this was the last nail in their coffin.

He’d had enough. Those young bucks were going down along with Delatorre.

This was a courtesy visit, set up last minute when Delatorre’s weapons shipment disappeared en

route to buyers. They had no proof, at least none concrete, that the Nietos were responsible, but
Delatorre had no doubts they were behind it. And Syren didn’t feel like voicing objections when
Ricardo insisted on stopping in Mexico before continuing on to Los Angeles.

Since moving their base of operations from Juarez to Culiacán, the Nietos were in fact

responsible for hijacking Delatorre’s weapons and the past two shipments of drugs that went missing.
The ones Syren didn’t tell Ricardo about. Both sides fit into to a larger picture and had roles to play.

“Delatorre.” Antonio Nieto appeared at the top of a sweeping staircase, flanked by two huge men

in bulletproof vests carrying Bushmasters. Nice.
The corners of Syren’s mouth curved as Antonio took his time descending the stairs. For a straight
man, that fucker was all about the dramatics. Antonio was dressed in cool colors, in deference to
Culiacán’s heat, a lightweight shirt the color of ripe mangoes and a pair of white pants with sandals.
Syren frowned at that. He wasn’t a fan of sandals on a grown man.
Antonio didn’t walk over to them. No. He headed to the opposite side of the room and leaned against
the wall, a thumb tracing the slim moustache framing his thin lips. “What can I do for you, Delatorre?”
Ricardo didn’t speak, instead jerking his gaze to Syren with a raised eyebrow.
In his mind, Syren rolled his eyes. “Mr. Delatorre wants to discuss a truce with the Nietos.”
Antonio’s eyes widened. Again with the drama. “A truce?” He looked from Syren to Ricardo. “I
wasn’t aware we were at war?”
My ass.
Ricardo tensed but didn’t speak. Nope. Apparently that too was Syren’s job.
“We have it on good authority you were responsible for our recent merchandise mishaps.” Syren rose
to his feet, slowly, but guns cocked all the same, the sound echoing in the large room. “We know you
took what belongs to us. We’re not asking for it back, even though we have that right.”

Antonio’s nostrils flared.
“What we want is to come to an understanding, one that’s beneficial to both parties.”
Antonio shook his head. “My brother and I have no interest in anything Delatorre has.”
“Because you already took what you wanted?” Ricardo accused in rapid-fire Portuguese.
“Huh?” Antonio turned to him. “Speak so I can understand you, pendejo.”
Ricardo surged to his feet. The gunmen surrounding them eased closer and Syren held up his hand.
“Gentlemen, there’s no cause for hostilities.” At least not yet.
“What, this?” Antonio looked around at his men. “That isn’t hostile. We haven’t reached hostile
territory yet, but we’re rapidly approaching.” He winked at Ricardo. “I almost admire your nerve, to
transport your shit through Nieto territory and think we wouldn’t find out. Wouldn’t act.”
The storm clouds banked in Ricardo’s eyes, turning them from brown to black. Ricardo opened his
mouth but Syren beat him to the punch.
“Delatorre has been using this mode for years.” He allowed the cool smile playing at the edges of his
mouth to spread. “We will continue to use it and you never know, the next time the Nietos decide to
intervene, the outcome could be different.”
Antonio stared him down, understanding in his eyes and on his face. “I would definitely advise
against such a move.” He pushed off the wall and took a few steps forward. “This is ours.” He held
his arms wide and spun in a circle. “This place, this is ours. Culiacán. Sinaloa. We run it. We own it,
and the loyalty of our people can’t be measured.” He paused and looked Ricardo dead in the eye.
“You should think about that before you get yourself into waters too deep for you to ever swim free,
old man.”
Oh low blow. Old man. Ha.
Ricardo stepped forward then stopped. Probably thinking about the dozen or so assault rifles trained
on him. Death scared him. Ricardo wasn’t a fan of the unknown.
“You’re lucky you found me,” Antonio said, “and not my brother.” He grinned, a quick flash of
straight, white teeth and dimples. “My older brother has no sense of etiquette, he likely would have
had you taken out the instant you hit the airport. Without ever hearing what you had to say.” He shook
his head in feigned sadness. “I take time out of my busy schedule to meet with you and you turn around
and insult me.”
“No one is insulting anyone,” Syren objected. “We are simply here to—”
“Threaten then?” Antonio raised an eyebrow. “I did say I had no idea what happened to your drugs,
didn’t I?”
Syren chuckled. “You did, but we never said what merchandise went missing.”
“You fuck with me again and I will hit back.” Ricardo turned toward the door. “Maybe then you’ll
see how old men deal with children like you.”
Oh. Nice one.
Syren grinned until his cheeks hurt. “So…good talk.” He walked out the mansion side by side with
Ricardo, the itch between his shoulder blades never letting up until they were back inside the plane
and in the air.
Ricardo’s anger was a living thing in the small confines of the plane and Syren’s skin crawled. He
knew what was to come and bile rose, bitter. Burning his throat. This was how Delatorre dealt with
his anger, and how Syren paid off the debt he’d incurred, but now he wished there was another way.
Lucky for him when Ricardo unbuckled his belt and motioned for him to take off his shirt, they were
the only ones around. He was thankful for that once the first blow landed and he bit down on the
leather seat to stifle his cries. He quickly transported himself to another place, thinking of Kane and if

he’d ever give him a chance. Of the explanations he had to give, explanations he didn’t know if he’d
ever find the words for.
He wasn’t aware when Ricardo let up on the whipping, but he came back to himself as the planed
jerked to a stop. Place and time drifted in and out. They walked to the car with Ricardo’s hand on his
shoulder, a shoulder that hurt, but he had his shirt back on.
Was he bleeding?
Ricardo pushed him into the limo and Thiago was there. One look in his eyes and Syren saw the anger
on his behalf. Wasn’t that special?
“Papa, what did you do to him?” Thiago didn’t contain his fury.
Syren rolled to his side on the limo seat and sighed as the pain eased only a little. He closed his eyes
and thought again of the bargain he’d made. He’d given his word and he had to keep it. The
alternative wasn’t acceptable.
“Take him to his place, Thiago.” Ricardo spoke to his son in Portuguese, but Thiago stubbornly stuck
to English.
“I told you not to hit him again.” The tremble in his soft tone cracked one of Syren’s eyelids.
Thiago sat next to him, a possessive hand on Syren’s knee while he glared at his father seated
opposite them. Ricardo ignored his son as he punched numbers into his phone.
Thiago knocked the phone out of his father’s hand.
Syren’s mouth opened in an “Oh”.
“Do not hit him again.” The younger Delatorre spoke as though through gritted teeth. “He is mine and I
will not allow it.”
What the hell?
Ricardo met his son’s gaze without a flinch. “I own him and I will do whatever I want with him.” He
patted Thiago’s cheek in a fatherly gesture. “The sooner you get that, the sooner you’ll get over this
silly crush and give your mother grandbabies.” He waved a hand. “Now go, take him home.”
Thiago didn’t speak again, but something told Syren the young man wasn’t finished defending his
honor. He’d have to put a stop to that, let Thiago know he wasn’t going to get lucky. Ever.
Whether or not Kane decided to give him a chance after Syren came clean didn’t matter. There would
be no one else. Now all he had to do was heal up long enough to take that first step.

* * * * *

He didn’t get to leave LA for three more days, the latest swelling on his back refusing to abate for

two days and when he called Kane the marshal was on assignment. Thiago listened to him when
Syren explained they could never be together, but he didn’t think the young man fully got it. Still, he
breathed a sigh when Ricardo took Thiago back to Brazil with him to celebrate his mother’s birthday.

That gave Syren more than enough breathing room. He took care of some business and placed his

regular morning call to Costa Rica. As soon as he hung up, his phone rang again, this time it was Billy
with the information Syren had requested from Pablo Castillo. Syren took one look at the information
and placed a call to North Carolina.

Syren worried about Castillo. His head was in another zone after his best friend up and left him

with a gang to lead and a business to run. He’d seen cold in his line of work, but Pablo Castillo was a
cold bastard. Syren liked him, he liked bantering with Castillo, but there was a “fuck off” attitude
Castillo cultivated that Syren didn’t think anyone could breach.

He muted his TV, barely registering the crawl underneath that lamented another cop’s death in

Brooklyn, this one blown up by a car bomb. What? The bad guys were ignoring guns now? He dialed
Pablo’s number as he sat naked on the floor of his living room, a lit cigarette in the ashtray at his
elbow.
“What?”

Syren grinned. Yep, that was Pablo Castillo. “Tsk. Tsk. Is that the way you normally answer the

phone, Mr. Castillo, or is it just for me?”
“Make your fucking self known next time and I won’t have to bark on your ass.”
That must be in reference to his “unknown number” status. Syren picked up his cigarette. “Hmm.
Maybe I like your bark, although,” he took a drag and blew out the smoke, “I think the bites have it.”
Pablo’s grin reverberated in his voice when he asked, “Did you call just to get my dick hard or do
you have news for me?”
“Both.” Syren chuckled. This was why he liked Pablo. He was an honest guy, considering, and he
was great on Syren’s ego. “I emailed you a file, should be in your inbox by now.”
He listened as Pablo moved about and computer keys clicked.
“All right. I have it.”
“I’ve been ordered to tell you to watch your fucking back.” Syren quit with the jovial bullshit quickly.
From what he’d read, Pablo needed to be extra careful. “And I second that, watch your fucking back.”
Pablo’s laugh sounded forced. Probably not used to people caring about his wellbeing. After the
conversation he had with Rafe Soto, Syren could see why.
“Come on now, I’m a big boy. I’m an old veteran at this.”
“Yeah?” Syren let his voice dip, an attempt to dispel the seriousness of their conversation. “That
means you’ve learned a few moves, right?”
This time the bark of laughter in Syren’s ear was genuine and he couldn’t help the answering smile.
“Trust me,” Pablo said, “you don’t want none of this.”
Syren fired a parting shot. “Don’t I though?” He hung up before Pablo could call his bluff. He could
flirt and laugh and smile with the best of them, but he’d been lucky so far. No one called him on it.
The conversation with Pablo was a familiar one, they’d somehow fallen into a pattern of barely
concealed sexual banter, but Pablo had never pushed for more and Syren didn’t think he ever would.
He’d been hurt badly, that Pablo, and he seemed hell-bent on wallowing in it indefinitely. Not that
Syren was in the position to throw stones. He’d walked into a prison of his own making too, intent on
revenge, the two graves already dug.
Now he had to get up, get dressed and go to Connecticut to explain his actions to the one man he
hoped would understand. Maybe on his way there, Syren could come to grips with why all the things
that appeared to make so much sense at the beginning no longer did.
He took the private plane to an airfield outside of Fairfield, Connecticut, and had a rental car with
driver waiting when he disembarked. The summer sun was still a ways from setting, but he felt
chilled to the bone. He hugged himself tight and rocked back and forth in the back of the car. So long
since he’d revisited those memories and now they were right there, hitting him hard. He took a deep
breath and did what he always did. He distracted himself.
He thought about Costa Rica, his favorite place and who waited for him there. He thought of the
bargains he’d made, the deals he’d cut to keep her safe and untouched and he thought about Kane and
how he’d react if he knew about her. If he’d understand why Syren made the choices he’d made for
her. Would Kane want to be with him knowing she was in the picture? Would Syren have to choose?
Before he could reject that thought, he’d arrived in front of Kane’s house, a twostory Colonial
Revival painted white and a dusky blue-gray. A home clearly meant for a family. Not for the lone man

who resided within. He’d lived there with his dead lover, they’d likely planned for a future with kids
and pets when they bought the house and now, Kane lived in it all alone.
Syren’s heart ached for him. For that kind of pain. He’d been through his share, but it was mostly
physical. He couldn’t imagine loving someone the way Kane obviously loved Bailey Shannan then
living without that person, knowing they’d never come home again, yet waiting nevertheless.
But Syren couldn’t help the jealousy as he stared at the house. Kane had loved someone completely.
Bailey had him, Bailey got to sleep beside him and feel his kisses, his touch, his heat. Bailey earned
Kane’s remembrance, his memory.
Syren wanted that same place in Kane’s heart. In his memories. Surely there was room enough for
two?
He forced his legs to move and got out the car. The tremors were coming fast, intent on taking him
under. He wanted to run but he couldn’t, he owed the man waiting for him. He owed Kane. And the
selfish part of himself that he readily owned wanted to erase the picture Kane had of him.
Paint something new. Something real.
He walked up to the door and knocked. A simple rap of his knuckles before he noticed the doorbell to
his right. He reached out to press that, but the door jerked open and Kane was there, framed by light, a
drink clutched tightly in hand, his gaze too intense to dodge.
“Faro.”
Syren shook his head and held out a hand. “My name—” He cleared his throat. “My name is Marcos
Inácio de Melo.” He didn’t see the glass slip from Kane’s fingers, he didn’t hear it shatter, but he felt
the liquor as it splashed against his pant leg and soaked through.
Kane grasped his hand and yanked him close as he brushed fingers across Syren’s cheek and that was
how he realized the tears had begun. Syren circled Kane’s waist and held on tight, burying his face in
the other man’s chest as he fought for composure. They stood in Kane’s doorway where anyone could
see. They had to move.
He’d only started to allow the hurt back in. The fear. The pain. The cold and the darkness. They’d
only just crept up and he needed to speak before they swamped him and took over.
Kane must’ve read his mind. “Come inside.”
Syren lifted his head, but Kane’s gaze was on the door. He moved away, leaving the comfort of
Kane’s heat and walked into the house.
The front door slammed behind him. Syren flinched.
“To your left.”
He followed Kane’s direction and ended up at a locked door. He went to open it but Kane was there,
behind him, warming him again, as he unlocked the door and waved Syren in.
Syren entered the dimly lit room first and dropped onto the first thing he saw, an Lshaped sky-blue
banquette next to a large window overlooking Kane’s backyard and pool. Tree branches brushed the
windowpane as the wind rustled and shook the leaves. Syren sighed and sat back, eyes closed, throat
already raw.
“Here.”
He opened his eyes. Kane loomed over him, his large frame appearing menacing, cloaked in a dark t-
shirt and jeans, even though he’d turned on the overhead light. “Take it.” He indicated the glass of
liquor he held, bourbon if Syren’s nose was any indication.
Syren shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“Then you’re a better man than me.” Kane downed the drink in one swallow with his head thrown
back. The smooth movement of his throat was the sexiest thing Syren had ever seen.

Drink consumed, Kane sat next to him on the banquette, legs stretched out, feet bare as he regarded
Syren with eyelids riding dangerously low. “Care to tell me why speaking your own name brings you
to tears?”
Syren shrugged. “‘Probably because I haven’t spoken that name out loud in twenty years.”
Lines appeared on Kane’s forehead. “Why now?”
“Because of you.” Syren barked a laugh, a rough sound that illustrated his selfishness and false
bravado. “Because for years I was fine being someone else, dealing in secrets, lies and barely
keeping myself from giving in to the darkness, then the one man I considered a friend fell in love with
your brother.”
Kane shifted. “I don’t understand. What do Rafe and Gabe have to do with this?” He waved a hand,
confusion stark on his face. “With you and me?”
You and me. “I watched out for Gabe while Rafe was locked up. Made sure none of his enemies
knew about Gabe and I watched him with you. You took care of him and comforted him and were
just…there for him.”
“That’s what siblings do.”
“Yes.” Syren nodded. “I had to know who you were and I dug. I knew about your loss, your job, your
everything.”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“It wasn’t a chance I could ever take, approaching you. I knew that. So I kept my distance. Went about
my business. I tucked you away in that place where no one but me could reach whenever I needed to.”
Kane leaned closer and grasped Syren’s chin, eyes peering into his soul when he asked, “And have
you ever needed to?”
Syren lowered his lashes and swallowed. “Yes,” he whispered. “Many times. Too many to count.”
His voice broke and Kane caressed him, fingers idly stroking Syren’s jawline.
“Tell me about him,” Kane said softly. “Tell me about Marcos.”
A gap eased open in Syren’s chest. He choked back a sob. Still too early in the game to fall apart.
Outwardly at least. “Marcos watched his family die. He watched the gunmen kill first his older
brother Fabio, then his mama and then his papa. And even though they let him live, Marcos died with
them that day.” His eyes burned and even though Syren didn’t open them, Kane was there, wiping the
tears as they fell.
“How old was Marcos?” Kane asked. “Why was his life spared?”
Now Syren laughed. He opened his eyes and watched Kane’s irises contract. “Because Marcos was
pretty.” He spat the word out between them. “And what do we do with pretty boys?” He asked the
last part in a singsong voice. The very same question many had taunted him with in the early years.
“No.” Kane dropped his hand and shrank back onto the banquette, away from Syren. That retreat sent
him back to trembling.
“Yes.” Syren pulled his legs under him and wrapped his arms around his middle. “I was sold. At ten
years old, I had to learn how to be what they wanted me to be. I had to learn to take all they dished
out and survive.”
Kane dropped to his knees on the floor in front of Syren. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes were red and wet,
filled with horror and pain for who, Syren or Marcos?
“Why are you sorry?” Syren cupped Kane’s cheek. “You weren’t there. You had no part to play. You
didn’t order my family killed. No.” He shook his head. “That was all Ricardo Delatorre’s doing, not
yours.”
Kane froze. “Delatorre? Your boss, Delatorre?”

“Sick right?” Syren released Kane and flung off his jacket then unbuttoned his shirt. “Sick that I’d
allow myself to work for him, to be near him, to let him do this.” He stood and yanked the shirt down.
He literally felt Kane stop breathing.
“Son of a bitch!” Kane grabbed him and turned him around. Syren blinked at the furor on the other
man’s face. “Why? Why would you allow him to do this to you? Why work for him? What is this?”
“This is who I am now.” Syren tapped his chest. “Marcos no longer exists, he’s gone. And now I’m
Syren Rua. It’s my real name. Now. And I’m with the FBI.”
Kane obviously didn’t believe him. He stared at Syren with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. “Wha-
what?”
“You won’t find me on the books, you won’t find anyone willing to acknowledge this.” Syren took
Kane’s limp hand in his and brushed his thumb across his palm. “Very few people, five at the most,
know about me and what I’m doing.”
Kane narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Taking down Delatorre. Dismantling his entire operation from the inside out.” He walked back to the
banquette with Kane and sat. Kane hovered over him for a second then sank to the floor at his feet.
“Look at me, Marshal.”
Kane tilted his head and met Syren’s gaze. The confusion was still there.
“I’m not an official FBI agent.” He cracked a smile. “Don’t want to be one, but I offered them a deal
and they took it. I take down Delatorre, give them the Nietos and any others in the process and they
bankroll it.”
“Just like that?”
“Definitely not just like that.” Not by a long shot. “I had to jump through hoops for those bastards.
They let me handle the human trafficking part of Delatorre’s organization all by myself. As proof that
I was on the up and up.”
Kane grasped his knee. “Delatorre doesn’t do trafficking anymore?”
“Insiders know he doesn’t, but not other traffickers.” Syren grimaced. “Every now and again we’ll get
someone who wants to sell or buy and I handle it, set up a sting with the Feds and they take care of
it.”
“How?” Kane rose on his knees, fingers painful on Syren’s thigh. “How did you manage that?”
Syren forced a smile. “The whippings are part of it.” A small part. “The price I have to pay for that.
The Feds and the Brazilian government set up a sting and target all the players Delatorre normally
dealt with. That put pressure on him. It really wasn’t that hard to whisper in his ear. Make him rethink
it.” And offered myself up to sweeten the pot. This was perfect opportunity to bring Càtia up, but
Syren couldn’t make himself do it.
“How long have you been doing this?” Kane demanded. “Living inside the lion’s den and playing for
both sides?”
Syren shrugged. “The years have long blended together. Too long. That’s how long it’s been.”
“And Rafe knows.”
“He does.”
“You’re telling me this why? I didn’t have to know.”
Syren grabbed Kane’s hand on his thigh and twisted their fingers together. “I couldn’t keep it from
you. I’ve been around a lot of people since I was rescued at fifteen, men and women. I’ve never
wanted any of them to touch me. Hold me. I’ve never dreamed of any of them.” He lifted his head,
searched Kane’s gaze. “You are everywhere. In my head, in my dreams. You are who I want. You
make me feel and I— sometimes I like it, sometimes I don’t, but you make me feel and after twenty

years, that alone is enough for me to want things. Unattainable things. With you. From you.”

Chapter Six

Kane stared at the man next to him, into his eyes and felt himself falling. Slowly. Surely. He didn’t

know his name, not really. Until today he could’ve said he was attracted to a bad guy and used that as
the excuse to hold Faro at arm’s length.

Except his name wasn’t Faro. According to him. Nothing was proven. All he had was what the

man said.
The man.
Syren Rua or Marcos whatever.
“Where were you born?” he asked. Because damn if he didn’t need answers. Full disclosure. He
needed something to start making sense.
Syren—call him Syren—swallowed. “São Paulo, Brazil. My father was the biggest drug dealer there
in the eighties. He went by the name Manuel Rua.”
“I know that name.” Kane sat back in amazement. “He and his entire family were massacred. No one
was arrested for it, but everyone thought…” He shook his head at the entire sad tale. “Everyone
thought Delatorre did it.”
Syren nodded as he wiped his eyes. “He ordered it, but he wasn’t there. I don’t think he knew Luiz
Salazar sold me.”
Kane eyed him. “But you blame Delatorre.”
“He put the wheels in motion.” Syren lifted his shoulder slightly. “Salazar was dealt with early on,
but he got off easy if you ask me.”
“Is this all about revenge?” Kane asked. “You kill the men responsible for the death of your
childhood and then what?” Was that all he lived for? If so, Kane needed to know now.
Syren let out a breath slowly, his mouth curved into a mockery of a smile. “There are worse things
than death. I have never killed, nor do I plan on killing anyone anytime soon. All the men who took
part in my family’s demise are in jail. All, except for Delatorre.” He broke eye contact for a second.
“I admit when I first conceived this plan all I cared about was making Delatorre pay. I didn’t think
beyond my hands around his neck.”
Despite himself Kane drifted closer to Syren on the banquette. He’d recognized the pain in those
weird eyes, he’d noticed the darkness, but damn if he could’ve dreamed up something as fucked as
what Syren confessed. To be destroyed, violated at such a young age and still remain standing. To
still be sane—most of the time, because he did question Syren’s sanity a time or two—was a feat in
itself. How had he managed to escape the hell he’d been sold into?
“Let’s go back.” He clasped Syren’s hand in his, squeezing as he asked softly, “How did you escape
from whoever you’d been sold to?”
Syren laughed. Genuinely laughed. Life crept back into his eyes, banishing the shadows as the husky
sound wrapped itself around Kane’s middle. “Dumb luck,” Syren said. “Dumb luck. In five years I’d
been sold three times. I’d learned when to fight back, when to give in and when to hold out for as long
as humanly possible.” His gaze drifted over Kane’s shoulder and out the window. “I’d been sold to a
Saudi businessman in Paris. I was fifteen then and I didn’t know who he was until later, but he was
richer than rich.” His teeth appeared briefly. “Had to be to get me. He also collected weapons—old
guns, swords, bows and arrows. The kinda shit you and I couldn’t care less about, but those types of
guys salivate over. Turns out a thief had his eye on his collection and, two weeks after I’d been

bought, he broke in.”
Syren’s voice was soft, calm. He spoke as if recounting someone else’s life, as if the events he
relived weren’t his own. As if they hadn’t happened to him and shaped him into who and what he
was.
“I was naked,” Syren said. “Shackled in a small room somewhere in the bowels of his Paris mansion,
punishment for refusing to simply lie back and have him fuck me.”
Kane swallowed the bile in his throat. How could that happen to anyone, let alone the man who sat
beside him now? Beautiful and strong and vibrant, and yet broken, in ways Syren himself probably
never realized. How did things like that happen?
“He wanted willing he said, and until I was willing, I was to remain naked and shackled. No food.
No company. No nothing. He thought that was punishment.” Syren turned his gaze back to Kane, his
eyes bright. “I was in fucking heaven down in that dark, cold room. I was alone, no one trying to make
me do anything I didn’t want and I was going to finally, finally be with my parents and Fabio again.”
The last part of that took a while before registering with Kane and when it did, he gaped at Syren.
“You were going to kill yourself?” The horror of that was too much to contemplate. “You tried—”
“No.” Syren shook his head. “The plan was to let nature take its course. It was winter in Paris. I
would either die of the cold, dehydration or malnutrition. I felt it and I welcomed it. Any one was
better,” Syren said fiercely. “Any one was better than the hell I was in.”
Kane blinked away the moisture Syren’s words brought to his eyes and swallowed. Syren’s eyes
were dry, his words more controlled. He appeared much more in command of himself and his
emotions.
“I was curled in a fetal position when I heard the first scrape in the lock,” Syren whispered. “I
thought he’d given up waiting and come to take me. Come to finally get what he’d pay so highly for,
but when the door did open it was to reveal a creature cloaked all in black, a mask covering his face.
That didn’t hide his reaction at seeing me there.” Syren chuckled. “Can’t tell you who was more
shocked to see whom.”
“I can imagine,” Kane murmured.
“I didn’t trust him and he didn’t care, he simply lifted me over his shoulder and bolted.” Memories
had taken over and Syren’s face was lax with them, his mouth curved, his eyes dancing. “My
rescuer’s name was Henri and he couldn’t very well take me to the cops, how would he explain how
and why he’d found me? No, instead he brought me to his house and proceeded to feel my wrath as I
took my anger and fear out on him.”
“You were a kid and scared, he had to understand.”
“Oh he did. He knew without being told why I was there and he treated me with kid gloves. I hated it.
I was fifteen and I hated being treated like I was ten again.” Syren shook his head. “During the day I’d
yell at him in Portuguese, tell him if he thought he’d have my ass in gratitude he better think again and
by night I’d find myself in bed with him when the nightmares came.”
“He slept with you?” Kane wasn’t aware he’d shouted until Syren lifted an eyebrow. “He took
advantage of you?” What kind of sick person was that?
“No.” Syren gripped his shoulder, holding him still when Kane would’ve leapt away. “He held me
while I cried and yelled and screamed. He held me when thunderstorms drove me to hide under my
bed and even when I didn’t want to be held. We never had any other kind of relationship.”
Kane closed his eyes, his chest expanding as he drew in a deep breath then let it out in a shaky rush.
He hurt. For the boy Syren had been and the man he was. The burden was way too much for one man
to bear.

“He brought me into his world and he gave up a lot, a hell of a lot for me. He even brought someone
in to look after me when he had to run errands.” He smiled that sad smile. “She was a pickpocket,
willing to do anything for a meal and he paid her to watch out for me. Somehow she never left us.”
Kane had to smile at that. “You’d formed a family, a band of misfits.”
Syren grinned. “Exactly right, and for a long time we were good, but it didn’t last.” His smile
dropped away. “He loved me more than he loved her.”
“Why would you think that?” Kane frowned. “I’m sure—”
“I heard them when I was around nineteen. She’d seen the way he looked at me and she wanted him to
look at her that way.”
Kane leaned forward. “What way?” But he knew, what other way could there be with someone who
looked like Syren did?
“I’d seen it too, but I pretended not to.” He chuckled. “I’m good at that, pretending. He wanted me,
Henri wanted me and I wasn’t angry or repulsed or anything. I was just sorry.”
Kane didn’t get it. “Why sorry?”
“He was lonely. He’d given up everything to be there for me and Isa and I wanted to see him smile all
the time. I wished I could feel for him what he felt for me.” He locked eyes with Kane. “I’d have been
happy to be with him, to make him happy, but I didn’t feel that way for him. I knew he was in love
with me, but he never once brought it to me and I never once spoke of it to him or Isa.”
“Oh man. I can’t imagine this life you describe to me. I can’t imagine how you can sit here with me
now and not be a raving madman.” He cupped Syren’s jaw and the other man laughed.
“Maybe I am a raving madman.” He winked. “You haven’t seen me first thing in the morning. I’m a
bitch.”
Kane brushed the tip of his nose. “I bet you are.” He wanted to see that, Syren first thing in the
morning. His heart raced at the implications of such an action. Simply thinking about it felt like a
betrayal. To distract himself he searched for more answers in the hopes of unraveling the mystery of
the man whose face he stroked.
“How did you get to Delatorre?”
“Actually.” Syren made a disapproving sound. “It was not that hard. Loyalty is what Delatorre likes
in his men so I found a job as a gofer at one of his other businesses and when I saw the man skimming
off the top, I let Delatorre know. I was in.” He snorted. “I brought him business, gave him extra ways
to make money when all his other contacts were getting locked up or killed off.”
Syren’s doing, Kane would bet.
“I expected more truthfully, and on that principle alone I decided he had to be taken down. No one
that clueless should be in his line of work.”
Kane chortled.
“I worked my way up. Henri and Isa hated it. They worry about me.”
“Where are they now?”
A cloak of sadness fell around Syren again. “In Paris, in the same house.” He waved a hand. “Except
now Henri’s dying of pancreatic cancer. He’s on his last legs.”
“I’m so sorry.” Kane touched his shoulder. “He means a lot to you.” That much was obvious when
Syren mentioned Henri’s name. “How old is he, your Henri?”
“He’s sixty-five, twenty years older than me.”
“And soon he’ll be leaving you.”
“Yes.”
Kane pulled Syren into his arms, smoothing his hair as he whispered in his ear. “I’m so sorry. I wish I

could take away your pain. All of it.”
Syren hugged him tight and buried his face in Kane’s neck. They held each other as Syren sat in his
lap, his legs around Kane’s waist. Their embrace felt real and raw and right. Kane got choked up
inhaling Syren’s hair.
“Of all the things I imagined when my brother called you the other day,” he told Syren softly, “this so
wasn’t it.”
Syren huffed out a breath against his neck. “He did the right thing, you know.” He leaned back and met
Kane’s gaze. “I would’ve told you eventually, but not now. Not this soon.”
“Why not?”
Syren glanced away. “Because it’s so fucking heavy and it drives home how messed up I am, the
baggage I carry and why this should never work.” He gestured between them. “I wanted to have a
chance with you before you knew just how bad of an idea the two of us together really is.”
As if Kane didn’t already know. Only days ago he’d thought of Syren as the bad guy and that was
reason enough, but this, his past. Did he want to get involved in any of it?
He pressed their foreheads together. “Gabe thinks you’ll hurt me,” he said softly.
“He’s right.” Syren’s breath heated Kane’s face when he spoke, whispering back, “Your brother
knows this could never be anything but a bad idea.” His fingers crept up Kane’s left shoulder and
delved into his hair, nails scraping his scalp.
Kane shivered.
“But you must want this,” Syren murmured, “if you discussed me with your brother.”
“I—” Syren’s knuckles grazed the shell of his ear and Kane lost his train of thought. He cleared his
throat. “He asked about my date with Vince and I told him Vince wasn’t who I wanted.”
“Vince. Right.” Syren didn’t release Kane but instead pulled back a bit, meeting Kane’s gaze with
eyes clouded with heat and something else. “How did the date go? Did you enjoy it?” He leaned
forward and nosed Kane’s neck, his breath and lips skating over the exposed skin there.
Kane growled low in his throat and tightened his fingers on Syren’s left shoulder. “The date was…
fine. He kissed me.”
Syren paused infinitesimally, but Kane felt it. “Of course he did.” Sharp teeth nipped his lobe. Kane
slid his fingers into Syren’s hair and tugged.
“Syren.”
The man in his lap shuddered. A full-body shaking that echoed in Kane’s crotch.
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Marshal.” Syren’s tongue traced the curve of Kane’s ear and he groaned.
“Did you like his kisses? Is he a better kisser than me?”
He wiggled and Kane gasped. “Damn, I— I don’t know.” He lifted his hips to press against Syren. “I
don’t know.” Fuck. Heat licked his skin and he wasn’t looking to be cooled down anytime soon.
Syren stopped all movement. “Why is that, Marshal? Why don’t you know?”
What the fuck? Twenty questions at a time like this? Was he supposed to think? “Syren.”
Lips closed around his lobe. Syren sucked him into his mouth, warm and wet and God, so hot. Kane
couldn’t stop shaking. “I—I’ve never kissed you so I don’t—”
Syren lifted his head and peered down at him. “Time to remedy that, don’t you think?”
Yes. Yes. “Fuck yes.” He lurched forward and sealed their lips together. They stayed like that, lips
pressed to each other, just feeling, then Syren shifted, parted his lips and oh fuck.
Kane dived in, groaning as Syren latched on to his tongue and sucked. He twisted his fingers in
Syren’s soft hair as his eyes rolled back. The taste of Syren, warm and sweet, carnal flavored with
the untried, went straight to his head and groin.

His head spun, his entire body throbbed, but nowhere as intensely as his cock. Syren must’ve felt him
there, nestled against his ass, because he rocked back.
Then forth.
Kane yanked on his hair, but Syren merely whimpered and sucked harder on his tongue. Oh fuck. Oh
Jesus. Kane fought to breathe, to think. To remember why this, them, was such a bad idea, but he came
up with a blank. He pulled Syren tighter against him and ground up, the evidence of Syren’s arousal
heavy and trapped between their straining bodies.
He slid his hand down Syren’s back carefully, because he hadn’t forgotten the ugly scars there, and
cupped his ass through his clothes.
“Hmm.” Syren moaned into his mouth.
Kane kneaded him and Syren trembled. God. The responses were heady. The way Syren reacted to
his every touch. The sexiest thing ever. He tried slowing down the kiss, gentling it, but Syren was in
control and having none of it. He chased after Kane with his mouth, capturing him, feasting on him
like a man starved.
Kane wanted to hold back, be careful, but all he could do was go with the flow, get swept away with
Syren’s kisses. Every swipe of Syren’s tongue was a welcomed touch, a much-needed salve, precious
commodity he wanted to hold on to forever. Every grunt, every moan, every sigh was music and he’d
been deprived of it so he gorged, tightening his hold on Syren’s hair and meeting him thrust for thrust.
They battled. Mouth, teeth and tongue fighting for dominance as hands and fingers held on for dear life
and their bodies jerked closer and closer together. Movements were awkward, uncoordinated, but
they worked and never felt hotter.
Sexier.
Then Syren pulled away, releasing Kane’s lips with a plop.
What? No. “No.” Kane grabbed his hair, dragged him back. He took those swollen lips again, sucked
on them again, made them wetter. Redder.
“Did he kiss you like that?” Syren whispered against his lips. Kane grunted and moved to take his
mouth again and Syren dodged him, skating his lips across Kane’s jaw. “Did he make you feel like
you feel now?”
Feel like what? Exposed? Naked? Hungry for something he had no name for? “No.” Kane squeezed
Syren’s nape. “No.” He mouthed Syren’s throat, flicked his tongue over the pulse hammering for him.
“It’s all you. Please, give me—”
“This?” Syren lifted Kane’s chin with a finger until they were eye-to-eye. His eyelids were heavy and
drooping, hiding whatever he felt from Kane. He brushed his lips over Kane’s. Once, then twice.
“Give you this?”
Kane nodded. “Yes.” The word was a croak. He didn’t care. “And more.” More wet kisses. More
fingers in his hair, on his skin. Clawing at him, sinking in, bringing him back to life.
Syren’s lashes lifted. The veil went up and the walls went down and Kane saw it, the same need, the
same want. Intense and unreal and so good.
Undeniable.
“I want more.” Somehow when Syren said it the words meant something other than the kisses. The
touches.
“Then take more.” They were both aware this went way beyond the kisses. Way beyond the touches
and maybe tomorrow Kane would freak out, but right now…
Syren kissed him. Sweeter than the last, softer too. Gentle and deep. This one Kane felt to the soles of
his feet. He curled his toes and sighed. Yes.

“This makes sense,” Syren murmured. He tunneled his fingers through Kane’s hair and kissed him
again. “We make sense. Like this, in here, we fit.”
Kane moaned his agreement while deepening the kiss. He wanted Syren’s taste and his smell, his feel
even, to be imprinted on him. They did make sense even when they shouldn’t. Before he knew who
Syren really was he’d been attracted to the other man, he’d felt compelled to be near him. He’d
needed Syren even when he’d refused to acknowledge it.
He broke the kiss to whisper, “I want this.” He delved into Syren, plunging deep and shuddering as
Syren sucked on him.
“I can give you more.” Syren flicked his tongue over Kane’s teeth and gums. “I can give you all.”
“Yes.” Kane’s eyes burned and he squeezed them shut. He knew what he was saying yes to. The
gravity of the situation would hit him later but now, now Syren was in his arms and licking a wet trail
across his neck. “God.” He threw his head back and cradled Syren close, fingers trembling.
It was all too much and yet, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. He tore at Syren’s shirt tails, yanking them
from the back of his pants. Syren lifted to help and once he had enough room, Kane dipped his hand
inside. His palm slid across soft skin and softer underwear.
Syren lifted his head and froze.
Kane frowned up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I— Um—” Syren’s phone rang, sending relief chasing the very real fear in his eyes. “Sorry.” He
lifted off Kane, his arousal straining against the front of his pants. “I have to get this.” He didn’t look
at Kane as he dug into one of his pockets. The movement dragged down the waist of his gray pants
and pink lace trim peeked out, finally registering.
Lace.
“Syren.” Kane stared up at him, the flush on his cheeks, the wet, swollen lips and he couldn’t quite
form the question.
“Isa?”
Syren spoke into his phone, rapid-fire French Kane had no hope of interpreting. He did catch the
worry and another kind of fear the more Syren spoke. The smaller man righted his clothes with fidgety
fingers, his words growing more stilted the longer he talked.
Finally he ended the call and stood in the middle of the room, staring at the phone.
“Syren?” Kane called his name twice before Syren raised wet eyes to him. “What is it?” He pushed
up from the banquette and grabbed Syren’s arm. “What’s wrong?”
Syren’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Henri’s on his last few hours. Isa wants me to come say my
goodbyes.”
“Go.”
But Syren shook his head. His eyes glittered when he said, “I’m not—I don’t know that I can do it.”
Kane pulled him into his arms. “You can and you will.” He pressed a kiss to Syren’s hair then
stepped back. “Power up that private jet I’m sure you have and go say goodbye to him.”
Syren still looked undecided.
“Isa will need you, I’m sure.” Kane picked up his jacket and held it out. “You will be needed. Call
your pilot. Now.”
Syren narrowed his eyes, but did as told then called the car service that dropped him off earlier.
When he finished he shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll have to say goodbye,” he said softly.
“You can use the time to thank him for saving you.” Kane hugged him close with one hand around his
shoulder. “Tell him thanks from me.”
“I wish I didn’t have to leave you,” Syren whispered.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Kane promised. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Call me if you feel
like talking. Text me if you don’t.” He smiled. “Either way, stay in touch. Please.”
Syren nodded. He stepped back and gazed up at Kane. “Thank you for this.” He waved at the room at
large. “And for the kisses.” He grinned.
Kane feigned nonchalance. “It was purely research, I assure you. Merely seeing who the better kisser
was.”
Syren placed both hands in his jacket pockets and raised an eyebrow. “I see.” He nodded solemnly.
“And what was your conclusion?”
Kane moved into his space and dipped his head. “I’ll need more kisses before I can determine
anything concrete.” He brushed his lips over Syren’s. “From you, I mean.”
“Ah. No more kissing other men?” Syren placed a hand flat on Kane’s chest.
“Definitely not.” He claimed Syren’s lip in another hungry exploration that had them both groaning,
but before Kane could sink into it a car honked outside.
“My ride is here.” Syren didn’t move.
“Go.” Kane gave him one last kiss then stepped back. “Take care of what you need to do and I’ll be
here.”
Syren traced his knuckles across Kane’s jaw, his eyes deep and haunting. “Thank you.”
Kane acknowledged his words with a nod and took his hand. “I’ll walk you out.” He led the way out
the den and down the hallway through the living room, past Bailey’s favorite chair, past the pictures
of smiling, happy Bailey and to the front door that he jerked open. A late-model Lincoln Town Car
idled at the beginning of the driveway, its windows blacked out.
Syren stepped through the door onto the steps. “I’ll call you.” His eyes caressed Kane’s face.
“Okay.” He nodded. As Syren descended the steps he added, ’‘And when you get back we can talk
about what’s under your clothes.”

* * * * *

Syren hid behind dark glasses all through the small ceremony and following trip to lay Henri to

rest. The weather was a blatant mockery of his mood, cloudless, brilliant blue topped off with bright
and stinging sunlight.

Henri didn’t have many blood relatives to speak of, just cousins scattered far and wide. Five

showed up—two older gentlemen and three ladies—informed by Isa, no doubt. They looked familiar,
so they’d probably been to the house over the years. Right now, they stood huddled near Henri’s
gravesite, casting confused glances between Syren and Isa.

Seemed they never bought the story that Henri had adopted them.

Not much they could do about it now. Not after the news that Henri had left all his worldly
possessions to Syren and Isa. She got the house and the chateau, all his collections, the legal ones.
Naturally Henri wouldn’t mention the ill-gotten ones in his will, but of course Isa would have those
too.
Syren got the rest, which was a lot. Henri was immensely wealthy even before he got into the life of a
thief. His parents owned one of the most successful hotel empires in Paris and Henri had inherited
everything from them. He’d never needed to work, never needed to go down the path he’d chosen, but
he had and Syren couldn’t be more thankful.
He’d gotten the chance to say that, to whisper in the fading Henri’s ear about Kane and what he felt
about the man. What he wished they could have. He’d pretended not to notice the tears slide down

Henri’s cheek. The old man wanted him to be happy, Syren knew that. Henri wanted to make sure
he’d be okay, but that was in doubt.
Gloved fingers curved around his and he looked up into the mirrored sunglasses that took up two-
thirds of Isa’s face. She looked stunning, even in her mourning garb— black lace veil covering the
hair she’d pulled back into a severe braid, black coat belted around her tiny waist, hiding the modest
—for Isa—Chanel number Syren helped pick out.
“Let’s wait until they’re gone before you freak out, okay?” She spoke through clenched teeth, lips
pulled back to imitate a smile for the mourners around them.
Syren squeezed her fingers. “I’m okay. I’m not going to freak out.” At least he didn’t think so.
“You have the look of flight written all over you,” she murmured. “I’ve seen it enough to recognize
it.”
Syren glanced down at himself. He stood on the balls of his feet, free hand jammed into the pocket of
his black pants. He did not look as if he were getting ready to run. He touched the phone in his pocket
again. Three days since he’d left Kane’s place. Three days since that parting shot. The fear hadn’t
subsided once.
He hadn’t answered any of Kane’s calls or texts.
Maybe Isa was right. He might be running.
He pulled away from her and headed to the limo. “I’m going to Costa Rica.” He didn’t look back to
see the expression on Isa’s face, but he heard it in her voice when she grabbed his arm.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Best one I’ve got.” He reached the car and she yanked him to a stop. Syren turned to her with a
frown. “Damn, when did you get so strong?” He rubbed his arm.

She smiled. “I’ve always been strong, you and Henri just haven’t paid much attention.”

Oh man. “Isa.” He cupped her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, the slight tremble in her bottom lip the only evidence of her emotions. “I say that
only to remind you I know the burdens you carry, but you can’t bring them to her.”
“I’m not doing that. It’ll make me feel better and she’ll love the surprise.” He smiled at her. “Come
with me. You two haven’t seen each other in a while.”
“But—”
“It’s settled.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms. “You’ll come with me and you’ll get
some sun and some rest.” He kissed her forehead. “It’ll be good for you.”
“What will be good for you?” she asked at his ear. “What will make you smile?”
“Isa, we just lost him. I’m entitled to a frown, aren’t I?”
“No.” She pulled away from him and whipped off his sunglasses. “The frown was there before Henri
left us.” She took off her sunglasses, the worry in her eyes focused on him. “What happened?”
He sighed. “I’ll tell you on the plane.” She opened her mouth and he pushed on. “Only when we get
on the plane.”
“You’re blackmailing me?” She raised a blonde eyebrow in incredulity.
“I am and we both know you’re already intrigued.”
“Well.” She shrugged. “Only a little bit.”
As the plane took them to Syren’s idea of paradise, he told her about Kane and the way they’d left
things.
“He knows, Isa.” He curled up beside her on the seat and pulled the cashmere throw over their legs.
“I got carried away and he felt it, saw it or both and now I don’t know what his reaction will be if I
go back.”

She paused in the midst of undoing her braid. “You mean when not if, right?”
Had he said if? Syren broke eye contact and stared out the window. “I don’t know.”
“My God, you are thinking about running from him, aren’t you?”
“This is the one thing I can’t predict how he’ll react, Is.” Syren tried to make her see his reasoning.
“He didn’t freak then because I’d gotten the news that Henri was on his deathbed, but he’s had time to
think about it. Time to formulate his rejection so poor messed-up Syren won’t freak.”
Isa slapped him, nice and sharp across the face.
Syren blinked at her, his cheek stinging. “What the fuck, Isa?”
“That poor Syren bullshit doesn’t become you.” Her eyes flashed anger back at him. “Snap out of it. If
he doesn’t love you, all of you with your baggage and your quirks and yes, your fetishes, then he’s not
worth it.”
Syren pressed his cool palm to his cheek and stared at her. The fire in her eyes wasn’t a surprise. Isa
was a force when she needed to be, but her words hit him in the chest, letting him know this wasn’t
all about his insecurities with Kane.
“Isa, I’m sorry.” Fuck, what was he doing moaning about Kane when she’d lost Henri? “I’ve been a
very bad baby brother, have I not?” He opened his arms. Her face crumpled first, the anger in her
eyes draining away, replaced with grief and loss and all the things Syren felt in his chest but refused
to acknowledge lest he never recover from the fall. Isa melted into his arms, her tears quickly soaking
the front of his shirt. Syren held her tight, combing his fingers through her luxurious hair. He didn’t try
to give her empty words, didn’t try for promises he’d never be able to keep.
He held her, showed her his support and his love and gave her space to be human enough to give in to
the emotions she labored under. While he comforted her, she comforted him, holding him tighter when
his body shook and the tears rolled down his face. He mourned for Henri, the one man he’d trusted
and loved who never let him down. He was alive because of Henri, he had Isa because of Henri and
he had a chance at a real life because of Henri.
“He wouldn’t want us to be sad,” he whispered to Isa. He swallowed the tears that cleared his throat.
“We can’t honor him with sadness.”
She nodded into his chest. “I’m sure he’ll overlook our brief moment of weakness.”
Syren grinned. “I don’t know, Henri never was one for overlooking shit.”
Isa lifted her head with a very unladylike snort. “Yeah.”
Syren cupped her cheek, brushing a tear away with his thumb as he dropped a kiss on her forehead.
“We’ll be okay, Isa.” He’d make sure of it. This life Henri gave them would not be wasted. His
sacrifice would not be in vain.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and moved away. “You want to be okay? Stop running.”
She licked her lips and closed her eyes briefly before gazing back at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I
know about insecurities,” she confessed. “I loved him when I knew how he felt about you.”
Syren’s heart raced up into his throat. “Isa don’t.” He didn’t want to discuss it. He didn’t want to
know.
“You have to know.” She took his hand in hers. “I wasn’t angry, only…sad. He couldn’t have who he
wanted so he settled, but I never felt it. Except on the days you came home.”
Syren couldn’t look at her, but he also couldn’t escape the pain in her words. She may say she didn’t
care, but her tone proved otherwise and he didn’t know how to heal what he’d broken. He stared
down at their fingers, entwined. Like their lives.
“Whenever you came to Paris I’d see the difference in his eyes, in his posture, I’d hear it in his voice
and I’d know I was second choice. I’d know there was something I wasn’t getting from him and

something he sure as hell wasn’t getting from me.” She shook her head with a small smile. “Then
you’d leave and it’d be all about me and I’d have to question if what I’d seen even happened.”
Then he was all the more glad to have left Paris.
“I say all that to say don’t be afraid to take that chance, despite the fear and the questions.” She
brought their joined hands to her chest and pressed it over her left breast. Her heart beat steadily
under the touch. “If I’d let my past and you stand in the way I’d have never known happiness with
him. And trust me when I tell you, I was happy.”
“That’s all that really matters,” Syren spoke to himself. “Happiness.”
“Yes.” Isa tugged on his hand. “Your Kane makes you happy. Call him, tell him you’re okay.”
Syren bit his lip. He did want to call Kane back, but he didn’t want to hear the rejection in his voice.
“I’ll text him.”
Isa curled her lip at that. “Call him already, quit stalling.” She grabbed his phone from the seat
opposite them and began scrolling. “There you go.” She pushed a button. “Call connected.”
“Fuck, Isa. I’m not ready.” He groaned and tugged on his hair. He doubted he’d ever be ready, but he
took the phone with trembling hands when Isa handed it over. “You’re evil,” he mouthed.
She grinned.
Goddamn it.
The phone rang and rang and he kept his fingers crossed, hoping Kane answered, praying he didn’t.
“Hello?”
His heart jerked. “Marshal.”
A pause had him fidgeting before Kane spoke. “I believe you made me a promise.”
Syren swallowed at the grave tone. He met Isa’s questioning gaze as he asked, “Uh, what promise?”
“You promised to keep in touch,” Kane reminded him.
“Isn’t this what I’m doing?”
Another pause. “After almost three days of radio silence you’re keeping in touch now?” There was a
dangerous growl to that question Syren chose not to acknowledge.
“I was busy,” Syren hedged. “Let’s— Can we discuss this some other time?” He couldn’t talk to
Kane with Isa right there, blatantly eavesdropping.
“Like when, the next three days?”
“Of course not!” Syren dragged frustrated fingers through his hair. “I’m not—wait, are we fighting?”
Damn, why did that make him smile?
“This isn’t a fight and I can hear you smiling,” Kane grumbled. “I expect when you say you’ll check in
that you check in.”
Something in those words made Syren nod. “Yes, I understand.” He raised his eyes to Isa’s. “You
were worried.”
The rush of air Kane exhaled let him know he’d hit the nail on the head.
“I was…worried. Yes.” Kane’s voice dropped considerably. “How are you? How is Isa? Don’t
disappear like that on me again, got it?”
Syren’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “Yes, I got it. I am fine, so is Isa.” At her name Isa blushed, a quite
becoming shade of pink he didn’t think her capable of.
Kane grunted. “No, you’re not, but I’ll accept it for now. When do I see you?”
“Not for a few days. I’ve got business, but I’ll check in. I will,” he promised before Kane could take
him to task again.
“See that you do.”
Syren laughed. “À bientôt, Marshal.”

“Syren, thanks for checking in.”
“Anytime.” He ended the call and promptly collapsed onto the plane seat, eyes closed, palms sweaty
and pulse racing.
“You’ve got it bad, chéri.”
Syren made a sound but didn’t correct her. What could he say anyway? He did have it bad and only a
face-to-face would help him decide if he was doing the right thing. Only after Kane saw him, all of
him, could he know.

Chapter Seven

Syren brooded all during the ride from Brooklyn to Connecticut. A long enough trip to divide his

time into worrying about what he’d find when he got to Kane’s and the bomb he’d dropped on Pablo
Castillo.

He’d turned the man’s world upside down with a folder and a video conference with a dead man.

Not just any folder and not just any dead man. Pablo had decisions to make and both Syren and Rafe
had urged him to make the right one. The good one. They had no say in it though, all they could do
was sit back and watch what Pablo did next. From the look in Pablo’s eyes earlier, Syren had a
feeling it would be something bad.

It was weird for him, going from a man all on his own to now having friends whose lives he cared

about. Whose well-being he was heavily invested in. Fuck, he was turning into a major softie.

The situation with Pablo didn’t help any in taking his attention from Kane and what lay ahead.

Syren curled his fingers into his palm and stared at the passing scenery. He wouldn’t settle, he knew
that much. Kane had to accept all of him.
He had to.

The car pulled up in front of Kane’s house and the front door opened immediately. A good sign?

Syren took a deep breath, swallowed to wet his throat then exited the car after letting the driver know
he could call it a night.

No matter which way the wind blew with him and Kane tonight, he’d have closure. His heart

raced at that thought.
He took his time walking up to the door and when he got there he simply stared at Kane. “Hey.”
A small smile curved Kane’s mouth and softened his eyes. “Hey.” He wore a navyblue t-shirt with the
marshal logo on the upper left side of his chest, dark jeans, and stood in bare feet. He stepped back
and Syren entered, removing his jacket as he followed Kane into the kitchen.
The house smelled amazing. He draped the jacket over the back of a nearby chair and sniffed the air
as Kane walked over to the stove. “Are you cooking?” A man who knew how to cook. Jackpot right
there.
“Yeah.” Kane spoke without turning around. “Just some orange chicken with rice and veggies.” He
looked over his shoulder. “You hungry?”
Hell yes. Syren grinned. “I’ll eat anything you cook.”
Kane laughed. “I hope not. I tried making stuffed peppers once, gave Gabe and Bailey food
poisoning.” A stricken look came over his face and he quickly turned back to the stove.
A heavy silence settled over them, broken only by Kane stirring whatever he had in the pot. Syren
placed an elbow on the granite island countertop and leaned forward. “How was your day?” Crap.
He wanted to recall those words as soon as he spoke them out loud. Too domestic. Too much, too
soon. Too every damn thing.

Kane placed the pot spoon in the sink next to the stove and turned to him with a shrug. “Was okay if
you don’t count me hurting my partner.”
“What do you mean?” Syren frowned.
“I had to tell Vince there’d be no chance for me and him.” Kane washed his hands then turned off the
burner and faced Syren. “I had to watch his heart break right in front of my eyes.” He moved toward
Syren who sidled away to the other side of the island.
He’d had to do the same with Thiago so Syren appreciated how hard that conversation could be. Yet
he couldn’t help asking, “How did that make you feel?”
Kane’s eyes were sad, but they twinkled at Syren’s question. “Shrink now, are you?” He propped a
hip against the counter and folded his arms.
Syren shrugged. “Curious.” Did Kane regret having to hurt his partner? Did he wish he could be with
someone simpler, less damaged? That last one Syren couldn’t bring himself to ask.
“I’m sorry I hurt him,” Kane said. “But that couldn’t be helped.” He took a breath then let it out
slowly. “Let’s talk about you.” He came closer and Syren shuffled farther away.
Fucking chess game.
Kane stopped moving, his gaze inscrutable. “How was the funeral? How’s Isa?”
If Syren wasn’t already gone over Kane Ashby those two questions did it. They sealed the deal. He
cleared the emotion out of his throat. “The funeral went as was expected, without a hitch, though Isa
and I did get some cold stares from a couple of Henri’s distant relatives.” He smirked. “They never
did get the dynamic of the three of us.”
Kane had shifted while Syren spoke, this time getting within inches of him, his gaze daring Syren to
run. Syren flinched but didn’t move.
“And Isa?”
This close, with barely any distance between them, Kane’s voice reverberated in Syren’s chest and
lower extremities.
“She’s…far stronger than I ever realized.” He couldn’t help but smile. “She’s grieving, but she’s
going to be okay.”
Kane nodded. “And you?” He cupped Syren’s cheek. “How are you?”
The innocent query brought a burn to Syren’s eyes. “No one’s asked me that in a long while,” he
confessed.
Kane’s gaze searched his face, nostrils flaring slightly when Syren licked his lips. “What’s the
answer then?”
“I was prepared for Henri’s death, but I wasn’t ready for it.”
“I can understand that.” Kane’s thumb brushed his cheek and swept lower. “He’s been the only
constant in your life for a long time.”
“He’s the only person I trusted implicitly. The only person I knew without a shadow of a doubt would
never betray me.” Syren tore his gaze from Kane before the other man saw the tears in his eyes, but
Kane wasn’t having it. He gripped Syren’s jaw and turned him back until their eyes met.
“Don’t hide from me,” Kane whispered. “Henri’s gone and he’s taken your safety with him, yeah?
He’s taken your trust, all your hopes?”
Syren pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. Way too soon for Kane to know him so well, way
too soon for Kane to know how he felt. For him to know what losing Henri represented.
“Open those haunted eyes and look at me.”
Syren’s eyes flew open at the harsh command. The hard look in Kane’s gaze sent something—heat,
anticipation, goose bumps—dancing up and down his spine. “My eyes are haunted?” News to him.

Kane huffed a laugh. “When was the last time you looked in a mirror? Your eyes are like a fucking
road map to the shit you’ve been through.” His voice dropped an octave. “One only has to know what
to look for.”
“You do?” Syren refrained from squirming under Kane’s gaze like a captured worm. He didn’t like
that much, feeling as if someone had read him cover to cover and knew him, inside out.
“You trusted me enough to show me who you are,” Kane said. “Now I know what to look for.”
Syren backed away from him, fixing his gaze on a spot just over Kane’s left shoulder. “I don’t—” He
shook his head. “I can’t do this.” He took a step back and another and Kane didn’t move, just watched
him from under his lashes, a look of complete concentration on his face.
“What can’t you do?”
The tremors started and Syren cast his gaze about for an exit, somewhere to run and hide. “I—I feel as
if—” He grabbed the front of his shirt, bunching it in his fists as his breath came in pants that had his
chest heaving. “No, I don’t feel, I know.” He pounded his chest. “I know I’m drowning. I’m out of my
depth. I can’t find my footing anymore.”
Kane’s expression softened and he approached, but Syren held up a hand. He had to get the words
out, right then might be the only chance. His only chance. He closed his eyes and fought to steady his
breathing.
In and out. Calm, think calm. Breathe in and out.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he whispered without opening his eyes. “It’s clear to me I’m not
equipped for this.” He breathed in then let it out in a long whoosh. “My heart knows what I want, but
my head won’t let it be. The memories are there.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “And they’re not
leaving me alone.” He swallowed. “I’m afraid.” Those two words broke under the weight of his
emotions.
“Open your eyes.” Kane’s breath on his face stifled the air in Syren’s lungs and he gasped.
His lashes fluttered open. Kane smiled down at him, only patience and understanding etched on his
features. Syren wanted to move, close the distance between them and wrap himself up in Kane’s
arms. He wanted to bury his face in Kane’s chest and hide.
He couldn’t do any of those things. Not until all the cards were on the table.
“You want to get rid of the bad, but you can’t,” Kane said. “Those memories are what molded you
into the man you are now. You can’t escape them. All you can do is build on them. Build good ones.”
The saddest smile hovered over his mouth and shadowed his eyes. “In time they’ll cancel out the
bad.”
This was a man who also had his share of loss—his parents and his partner. He knew loss. He knew
pain. Syren would do well to take the advice Kane gave.
Build new memories. Happy memories.
He licked his lips. “I have one last thing to discuss with you.” His pulse started up at that. “And then I
have a few questions.”
Kane nodded. “Okay. Go.”
“I like wearing women’s underwear.” He spoke the words in one endless breath. “I wear panties,
have since I was eighteen. That is who I am, all of me. I want to share myself with you, but you have
to let me know—” He gave up trying to make his voice stop wobbling. “You have to let me know
now if you can’t handle it. Please.” The idea of a rejection wasn’t fun, Kane turning from the sight of
him would cut him to the quick, but he needed to deal with it now and put it to bed.
Kane’s expression hadn’t changed one bit. “Did someone reject you before, because of your…
preference?”

“I was twenty-one.” Syren shrugged. “I had the stupid notion I could simply be myself.” That
particular memory didn’t hurt as much as it once did. “He laughed and pointed, and that’s after letting
me know he wasn’t interested in boys trying to be girls. I knew after that to keep my secret, this secret
to myself.” Not that he’d had anyone to keep it from except Delatorre. Lovers, he’d had none.
Kane’s jaw tightened with each word he spoke, the anger in his eyes on Syren’s behalf sparking
irrational hope that Syren pushed down.
“I have to admit I’ve never given it a thought until the other day.” Kane’s lips curved. “When I felt it
on your skin, when I caught a glimpse under your clothes. I can’t stop thinking about seeing you in
them and nothing else.”
Syren blinked. Twice.
“Do you always wear them?” Kane asked.
“Except when I go to business meetings or meet with Delatorre.” Syren searched his face for any clue
as to what Kane was thinking, but he got nothing.
“Strip.”
Syren gaped at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” Kane’s nostrils flared. “Don’t make me come over there and tear off that fucking
suit.”
Jesus H. Syren’s fingers trembled as he fingered a button on his shirt. “Kane.”
“You look so put together, neat and tidy in that suit,” Kane spoke softly. “I bet it costs a pretty penny,
all expensive. It’s like fucking armor and I want to rip it off, get you dirtied up.”
Syren exhaled loudly and shrugged out of the shirt. He dropped it on the countertop.
“Don’t stop.”
He unbuckled his belt with shaky fingers, the fluttering in his stomach getting more and more
pronounced. The moment of truth. He never thought it would happen, but he suddenly wished to be
anywhere else but there, undressing for Kane. He’d be the first man, the first to see Syren naked in so
long. Naked, from head to toe.
The pressure in his chest grew and grew, hindering his breathing. He didn’t look down at himself as
he stepped out of the pants and kicked them away. He knew what he looked like; smooth, pale skin,
lanky limbs, the scars on both hips and back and the panties. They were a pair from the most recent
purchase Isa made for him, black, flirty boy shorts in allover lace, decorated with tiny golden
butterflies. They hugged his body and rode low on his hips, rising just over the crack of his ass and
cupping him gently in the front. He loved it, the look and feel of those pretty things on his skin.
He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to vocalize what he felt. “I feel desirable and untouchable
when I wear them,” he whispered. “No one knows what’s under my clothes but me and yet I feel
powerful and in control.”
Kane’s eyes gleamed. “Do you want to know what I see?”
Syren shied away from meeting his eyes and bit his lip. “Yes.”
“Then look at me.”
He did. Something blazed bright in the depths of Kane’s blue eyes, something that would’ve made a
lesser man bawl, but he was made of tougher stuff so he only sniffled. “Kane.”
“You’re perfection.”
Those words touched him in that cold prison where his heart resided, melting the ice bars holding him
caged. Syren’s head spun and he gulped in a lungful of air, only then realizing he’d been holding his
breath, waiting for the hammer of rejection to come down.
“I can’t reject you even if I wanted to.” Kane crowded him and spoke in his ear. “You’re perfect,

your skin, your body.” His heat branded Syren, but even though they were close enough to touch, Kane
didn’t. He used his words instead. “Those panties against your skin—” He broke off with a groan. “I
want to pull them to the side, bend you over this fucking counter and take you.”
Syren’s knees buckled. He reached out, grabbing on to the edge of said counter for balance. He
wasn’t used to feeling so wanted. So needed. He wasn’t used to the notion that he made someone feel
the way Kane spoke.
“Would you let me?” Warm fingers grazed his nape then tangled in his hair, holding him still as Kane
peered down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Would you let me take you here, hard and fast, fuck you
’til neither of us can move?” His feral gaze sparked an answering rush in Syren’s blood. His cock
was already leaking, wetting his panties.
“I—I—” He’d forgotten how to form words, but he needed to let Kane know. “Any way you want me.
Any how you—”
Kane kissed him, swallowing the rest of his sentence. Syren moaned and parted his lips, reaching up
to sink his nails into Kane’s forearms as the other man pushed his way inside, tongue thrusting deep.
He’d been kissed before, not by many but enough to know he’d never been kissed like Kane kissed.
All-consuming. All-encompassing. Kane kissed with his entire body, a weapon to strip Syren of any
shields he’d erected, to tear down any walls he’d built.
Kane rocked into him, the rough material of his jeans scraping Syren’s middle and leaving goose
bumps. Kane’s arousal pressed into him, heavy, its heat burning through his jeans and singing Syren.
He arched into it with eyes wide open, jumping into the unknown feet-first.
Kane wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him and Syren didn’t hesitate, he used his legs to
circle Kane’s hips and humped him, his wet cock sliding over Kane’s stomach through his panties.
Kane didn’t break the kiss, but he palmed Syren’s ass with one hand and moved them, gently placing
Syren onto the smooth, cool surface of the counter.
Syren tightened his hold on Kane, hooking his ankles above Kane’s ass as he rubbed up and down on
that erection straining for him. The blood in his veins had long since turned to liquid fire, burning him
up from the inside out. Only Kane had the ability to douse it. Kane’s hand slid from his hair down
Syren’s left side, rough palm coasting over his thigh and under to the swell of his ass.
“I knew you’d be like this.” Kane broke the kiss and nipped his jaw. “I knew you’d be a fucking beast
for it.” He palmed Syren’s cock through his panties. “I get to give you what you need.”
“Yes.” Syren pushed into his hand. “Eu preciso de você, por favor.” Kane squeezed him again and he
shuddered. “I need you, please.”
Kane’s palm moved over his shaft, a thrilling touch that had his teeth chattering in its intensity.
“You’ll get me. There’ll be time for hard and fast, but I gotta give you the slow first.”
Syren barely registered the words once Kane’s fingers drifted lower to cup his balls. “Kane. Kane.”
“Look at me.” Kane squeezed his balls until Syren complied. Need dilated his pupils and flushed his
skin, but Kane smiled down at him tenderly. “Tonight I make love to you, yeah? Give you what you
need, only slow and steady.”
Syren swallowed. “O-okay.” He already hovered on the verge of combustion, would he survive the
slow and steady? He lifted his hand and traced a finger over Kane’s bottom lip. “Thank you.” His
own lip trembled so he caught it between his teeth. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this.” Syren nodded between them. “For giving me a chance. For making me feel wanted.”
Kane blushed. “I think I should thank you,” he said. “For making me feel again. For making me want
again.”

Syren smiled up at him. “I have a question.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to help me build some memories?”
A wide grin split Kane’s face. “I’d be honored.” Syren’s stomach rumbled and he laughed. “Let’s get
you fed then we can start on those memories.”
Syren didn’t bother getting dressed. They both stayed in the kitchen, leaning over the counter eating
the meal Kane prepared. A meal Syren was sure tasted delicious but he couldn’t vouch for it. His
mind wasn’t on what they did then but what they’d be doing soon. Kane tried engaging him in trivial
conversation, but Syren couldn’t concentrate.
His heart remained lodged somewhere between his throat and windpipe. Taking a solid breath was a
chore. If asked he had no clue as to what he felt.
Fear. Anticipation. Dread.
Mostly fear and anticipation, but he crossed his fingers around the iced tea Kane served him to be on
the safe side. He’d tried having sex once. He ended up a sniveling mess underneath a stranger’s bed,
convinced the man was intent on taking him by force.
How did he control himself with Kane? How did he make sure nothing like that happened now, that
his demons didn’t rain on his happy fucking parade once again? He didn’t sit and dwell on his past
and he didn’t talk about it. He’d locked those memories up, but he’d been the one to set them free. To
be true to Kane. Now he’d be the one to blame if they destroyed any chance at moving beyond the
kissing and heated touches.
He loved those kisses.
Syren stared at Kane’s mouth over the rim of his glass. He loved Kane’s taste and his expert tongue
that knew where to lick and suck, but he wanted more. He wanted all. He’d waited for so long for this
moment. A moment he’d been convinced would never ever come. Not for someone like him. Not for
someone so irrevocably destroyed.
He had a chance now. A shot. If he could keep the darkness at bay.
He inhaled at the thought.
“Hey.”
He looked up. Kane stood next to him, banked heat in his blue gaze.
“Come.”
Syren stared at the outstretched hand Kane offered. The significance of taking his hand, of following
where Kane led, weighed heavily on his chest, on his heart. An image flashed in his mind, of him
staring at a picture of Kane and his brother. A long time ago, but he remembered stroking Kane’s face
with the barest tips of his finger, wishing he could do that in real life.
Knowing he couldn’t. Yet there he sat now.
Life was funny that way. Laughably funny and funny strange that the darkness he’d been gifted with at
age ten would bring him to this point, to this happiness, to this man.
He slid his hand in Kane’s and straightened. The fires in Kane’s gaze burned brighter, hotter. He
circled Syren’s wrist, enough pressure to tug him along as he walked through the kitchen, but not too
much to keep him from breaking away if he wanted. Syren walked with him through the house, past
the living room with the pictures of a life Kane no longer had and the weird chair that didn’t fit with
the rest.
Sweat trickled down Syren’s naked back and dipped into his crack. Anticipation and fear, all twisted
up in each other, tingled his skin and hollowed his stomach. He climbed the stairs behind Kane,
barely noticing the classily decorated space as they went. Finally they reached the second floor and

Kane led him down a dark-carpeted hallway filled with even more photographs, past closed doors—
one of which Kane hesitated in front of before moving on and entering the one room with its doors
flung open.
A bedroom styled simply; white walls, blue-and-white drapes, bedding on the kingsized bed, and
shiny wood floors. Syren stared at the bed then pivoted to face Kane who’d shut the door and now
leaned against it.
“Um.” Syren rubbed his upper arms to ward off the sudden chill. “I’m out of my element.” He licked
his lips. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Kane smiled and pushed away from the door. “That’s the beauty of this,” he said softly. “Both of us
are in uncharted waters.” He cupped Syren’s cheek. “I won’t hurt you.”
Syren released the breath he held. Words burned the tip of his tongue, words to promise in kind,
promise Kane he wouldn’t hurt him either, but he knew himself too well. He circled Kane’s waist and
buried his face in the other man’s chest, inhaling the fragrance of fabric softener and Kane’s heated
skin. Kane’s hand slid up and down his back, carefully, reverently over the scars and they stood like
that until Kane’s erection poked Syren’s middle.
Syren backed up and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re still fully dressed, Marshal.”
The right side of Kane’s mouth curved and he stared Syren down as he walked over and stood
between his parted knees. “Do something then. Undress me.”
Syren did as ordered, albeit with shaky fingers. He undid the button and zipper then tugged the jeans
down until the other man’s erection greeted him, thick and flushed, the flared head purple-red and
wet. Kane kicked his pants away, but the act barely registered. Syren’s entire body froze as he eyed
Kane’s cock. His mouth watered and his lips parted.
His own cock pulsed, his balls heavy and achy.
He wanted to taste the translucent liquid beading out of the tiny slit, bend his head and flick his tongue
and lap at it until he’d had his fill. It hit him then, what he’d been missing. What he’d been denied.
Without looking up at Kane, he tapped the crown with his index, capturing the moisture that he then
brought to his mouth. The sweetness hit his taste buds, igniting his appetite for more. Syren moaned
and bent, but a yank on his hair kept him upright.
He growled.
”Easy.”
He glared up at Kane who only grinned.
“We’re going to take this slow.” Kane pulled his t-shirt over his head, exposing gloriously tanned
skin, and dropped it on the floor. “As slow as it takes and you sucking on me will not result in slow,
trust me.”
Despite the urge to smooth his palms over Kane’s muscular and slightly furry chest, Syren scowled.
“We don’t need slow.” He didn’t want to think. Slow would give him time to think, time for the
memories to intrude. He placed both hands on Kane’s hips and dragged his tongue over a hipbone.
Kane shuddered. His fingers in Syren’s hair tightened.
“You need this.” Kane pulled him away and stood back. His eyes were serious even with his cock
jutting out between the two men, bobbing an invite to the suddenly ravenous Syren. “It’s been forever
for you, right?” Syren nodded and Kane continued. “I have to make sure you’re adequately prepared.”
Forever for Kane as well. Even though he didn’t say it, Syren knew the other man hadn’t been with
anyone since his partner died. It was a big deal for Syren, but it was also big for Kane. Maybe they
both needed this, slow and steady.
“Okay,” Syren conceded. “First your way then mine.”

Kane grinned and motioned with his hand. “Lie back.”
Syren did, gaze straying and staying on the ceiling as Kane walked over to one of the night tables. The
butterflies remained in his stomach, but the uneasiness had eased up some. Nerves still gave him
goose bumps, but they were the good kind. Anticipation, waiting for Kane to make his move.
A rough finger dipped into the hollow at his throat then slid down, tracing a straight line to his
bellybutton. Syren squirmed. Kane leaned over him, lips pulled back in a grin.
“You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen in a very long while.” He dipped his head, slick tongue
retracing the steps of his finger.
Syren inhaled and gripped Kane’s biceps. Muscles flexed under his fingertips. Kane shifted away
from his hold, kissing his way down Syren’s body while his fingers skirted over his sides. Syren
lifted his hips off the bed, moving into Kane’s touch when he dipped his tongue into his navel.
“Umm.” Kane sucked on him there, a hint of teeth coming through to tease Syren. “You taste good, salt
and sweet and fucking hot.” He moved lower, nuzzling Syren through his panties.
Syren whimpered. He squeezed his eyes shut and twisted his fingers around the sheets. The ache was
like nothing he’d ever experienced, nothing he’d ever imagined. Lower half rising off the bed, he
arched into Kane’s face, pushing himself closer.
Warm breath teased at him through the material of his panties then wet joined in. Syren bucked. Kane
made a sound and Syren looked down. Kane was sucking him through the panties, hungry moans
falling from him.
“Oh God.” Syren drew his knees up. “Kane.”
Sharp nails dug into his hips then quickly released as Kane peeled his underwear off. Syren lifted his
ass off the mattress to help, eyes rolling back to the ceiling when Kane nuzzled his balls.
“Jesus!” He reached down, blindly grabbing Kane’s hair. Confident fingers circled his erection,
gripped him tight. Syren groaned. “God. Kane.”
Kane sucked one of his balls into his mouth.
Syren cried out then bit his fist to mute the sounds. He couldn’t make himself look down, see what
Kane was doing to him, but he felt it, the warm, wet mouth sucking his balls deep, the tongue dipping
lower to tease and retreat.
He shook on the bed, the tremors taking over, sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down to the
mattress. Kane used his lips and his fingers, tugging on Syren’s balls, a finger tracing the length of his
shaft, dipping into his slit, teasing. Syren simply held on, fist stifling the cries as Kane worked to help
him create new memories.
Hot breath cascaded over the head of his cock. Syren damn near leapt off the bed. A chuckle drifted
up from the man between his legs.
“Kane, I want—” He swallowed then tried again to voice his wants. “I want to touch you too.”
Kane shook his head, the movement causing his chin to bump against Syren’s sensitive cock head.
Breath stuttered in Syren’s lungs. Kane took him inside and all thought fled.
“Ugh.” He arched, the movement sending him deeper in that wet cavern. “Kane. Fuck. Please.”
All motion from Kane ceased and Syren glanced down to find eyes trained on him. As he watched,
Kane slid both of his palms over each of Syren’s thighs, caressing as their gazes held. His cock slid
out of Kane, but the other man didn’t appear to notice.
“You’re so smooth all over.” One of his hands left Syren’s thigh to fist his cock and tug. “So smooth.”
“I— I wax.”
A lazy smile curved Kane’s swollen lips. “Yeah?” He dipped his head and bumped his nose against
Syren’s crown. “Fuck my mouth.” He parted his lips and waited.

Syren blinked down at him. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” Kane said. “Let me help you. Sit up and use me, use my mouth. I want you to,” he
added.
Syren bit his lip and hesitated, despite the ache in his groin. Could he do that? Use Kane for his own
selfish pleasures? No, it wouldn’t be selfish. Kane wanted it. They both did.
He levered himself upright and sat. Kane moved back on his haunches and waited.
“T-take me in your mouth.”
Kane did, without a hint of doubt or hesitation. His warmth closed around Syren, who couldn’t help a
groan as the sweetest pleasure dragged from the deepest part of him. He bucked up.
“Ah God!” He held Kane by the nape, a light touch, and pushed up into his mouth again and again.
Kane moaned, the sound traveling up Syren’s length, tightening his balls even more and settling in his
lower belly. He watched from under his lashes as Kane took him deep, a sensuous advance and
retreat as Syren slid in and Kane pulled off, the shine of Kane’s spit on his cock a surprising turn-on.
Kane held his gaze through it all, cheeks hollowed, eyes promising more where the blowjob came
from. Syren grabbed the hairs at the back of Kane’s head and forced him forward when he would’ve
retreated, jamming himself deeper down his throat until Kane swallowed around him.
“Oh fuck.” Syren lost control of his hips then, slamming forward, burying himself deeper. Orgasm
reared its sweet head, the familiar heat clawing at his spine. “Oh fuck.” He pushed forward and Kane
twisted away and off, squeezing the base of Syren’s shaft with two fingers.
“Damn it, Kane!”
Laughter danced in Kane’s eyes and he smacked his lips. “Love the way you taste.”
“Really? Wouldn’t have guessed the way you totally just fucking blocked me from shooting down
your throat.” From shooting period. Then Syren realized what he’d said. He looked up to find Kane
staring down at him, head cocked to the side.
“That’s what you want?” Kane asked. “To shoot down my throat?”
“Well.” Syren shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind it.”
Using his palms flat on Syren’s thighs to hold his weight, Kane bent and brushed his lips over
Syren’s. ”Maybe I’ll let you, if you play your cards right.” He kissed Syren again, thrusting inside to
flick his tongue over his teeth and gums.
Syren hung on to him, chasing the hint of himself he tasted on Kane, but too soon the other man broke
the kiss and stepped back.
“Lie on your stomach.”
“I had no idea this was a card game,” Syren grumbled, but he did what Kane asked, mostly because
he was too far gone to turn back. The man was a freaking tease.
Cock tease.
“I’m no tease,” Kane whispered at his ear. “I give it up.” He sucked Syren’s earlobe and Syren was
too busy humping the mattress to be embarrassed that he’d spoken out loud.
“Let me kiss you.” Kane kissed his ear and his neck then dropped one on his shoulder as he moved
over Syren. “All over.”
Syren stiffened at the first drag of Kane’s lips over his scarred back. “No. Don’t.” He lifted his head,
but Kane held him fast with another kiss and another.
“Shh.” Kane’s breath heated the raised flesh, some areas more sensitive than others. “I want to.”
Syren buried his face in a pillow. Why? Why did Kane want to touch him there, let alone kiss him?
His back was a patchwork of raised scars crisscrossing each other, branding him as the property of
someone else. “No.”

Kane paid no attention to him. He continued kissing his way down Syren’s back, pausing every now
and then to trail a finger over a particular scar or trace it with his tongue.
“You’re beautiful,” Kane whispered.
His lips skated over Syren’s lower back, over the rather nasty scar he’d gotten where Delatorre’s belt
buckle had cut him. “You’re perfect.”
He didn’t stop kissing the stupid scar and the tenderness was too much. Syren squeezed his eyes tight
but hot tears escaped somehow, soaking into the pillow. Kane didn’t notice, he finally moved from
Syren’s back to his ass and palmed him, kneading gently.
Syren tensed.
“Relax. I’ve got you.” Kane nipped first one butt cheek then the other, stroking all the while. A finger
traced his crack then circled his hole.
Syren fisted his hands and kept his face in the pillow, his eyes firmly shut. The pressure in his chest
grew and grew, drawing tighter. Cold chills broke out on his skin. Please. No.
“One day I’ll taste you here.” An oiled finger pushed into him. “One day.”
He heard the words, but their meaning was drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears. Images
cycled through his head, none of them pleasant, none of them kind, yet all of them carried a pain and
darkness he wished he could escape. No matter where he went they found him.
He shook under the force of all those memories, his teeth chattering loudly.
“Hey. Hey.” A palm slid over the small of his back. Kane’s voice was calm and soothing, but his
finger was still inside Syren, sliding deeper. “Stay with me. Listen to my voice. Feel me touch you.”
He pushed in another oiled finger.
Syren winced at the burn. “Kane.”
“I know.” Kane moved the fingers back and forth. “I know this brings bad memories, but we can
create good ones.” He sank the two fingers all the way in then curved them. His knuckles pressed
against something magnetic that had Syren gasping. “Better ones.” He pressed against that spot again
and Syren’s shudder this time was one of pure pleasure.
“Yes,” Kane spoke to him in that low, gravelly tone. “Stay with me here. Know who’s touching you.”
He paused and added another finger, stretching Syren with three thick digits. “Say my name.”
Syren breathed through the burn, eyes open and locked on the mahogany headboard.
“Say my name,” Kane spoke again. He scissored the fingers and nipped Syren’s right ass cheek.
“Ahh. Kane.” Syren found himself pushing back, searching for those fingers, lifting his hips to wiggle
on them.
“Good. That’s it,” Kane whispered at the base of his spine. “Say it again.” His tongue slid down
Syren’s crack and licked around the fingers he had embedded in Syren.
“Oh fuck. Kane. Kane.” He was going to combust. Lifting his lower half off the bed, Syren fisted his
cock, tugging on it. “Kane.”
Kane’s fingers slowly slid out then Syren found himself pinned to the bed, face mashed into the
mattress. No. No. No. The memories came, fast and cold. Drenching him in darkness. He saw the ten-
year-old he used to be, captive, helpless, brutalized. Not again. He fought back, kicking, punching the
air. He was bigger now. Stronger now. He could fight back.
“Listen to my voice.” Kane was at his ear, whispering to him. “Listen to me. Stay with me.”
Syren couldn’t, not when those images in his head remained. Not when they prevented him from
having a normal life.
“We’re making new memories,” Kane said patiently. He pressed his front to Syren’s back and his
cock nestled in the cleft of Syren’s ass. “Feel me. I’m touching you and nothing about this is wrong,

nothing about it is bad.”
Syren’s cries dipped to whimpers.
“I want you.” Kane kissed his neck. “I want to make love to you, take you, fuck you when you’re
ready.” He rocked into Syren, his shaft sliding up and down his cleft.
Jesus.

Chapter Eight

“You get me so fucking hard. Your skin and your eyes and those sexy panties,” Kane growled.

“You make me forget I’m not supposed to care about anyone else.” His voice caught on the last word,
emotion heavy in his tone.

“We’re both making new memories, so stay with me,” Kane begged as he rocked his cock in the

oily valley of Syren’s crack. “Don’t let them win, don’t let the bad memories win.”

Syren lifted his head. “Kane.”

“Yes, it’s me.” Kane grabbed him by the jaw and kissed him, deep and thorough. “New memories.”
He smiled down at Syren with red-rimmed eyes. “Let’s make some more.” He rolled off Syren and
sat at the edge of the bed. “Come here.” He patted his lap.
Syren crawled over to him, not to look alluring, but because he didn’t think he’d be able to stand.
Kane held up a condom. “Take control. Ride me.”
“What?” Syren gaped at him. “I don’t want to take control. I’m always in control.”
“No, you’re not.” Kane pulled him onto his lap and positioned Syren until Kane’s cock was teasing at
his entrance. “You’re not in control sexually and you need to be, even if it’s this once.” He tore open
the condom and rolled it on as Syren watched in fascination.
He had so much to learn.
“Here.” Kane held out a tube of lube and Syren took it. He squeezed a generous amount onto Kane
then dropped the lube onto the bed and grasped Kane’s shaft firmly, massaging the lube into the
condom.
His eyes were on his task but Kane’s breath was loud and ragged as he pushed into Syren’s touch.
“Okay.” Kane held him aloof as he positioned his cock to Syren’s entrance. “Look at me.”
Syren did with his lip between his teeth.
“See who’s inside you, who’s loving you,” Kane murmured.
His cock pressed into Syren who pushed down.
Kane’s lashes fluttered. “Goddamn.”
The burn brought the sting of tears to Syren’s eyes, but he held Kane’s gaze as he sank down even
more.
“You feel—fuck—you feel like heaven.”
A tear slid down Syren’s cheek. It was happening and he hadn’t lost his mind or jumped out of his
skin. The pain was immense, the stretch and burn unavoidable, but he sank down on Kane until his ass
met the top of his lover’s thighs. A smile wobbled on his lips.
“You’re inside me.” No small amount of wonder colored those words.
Kane sank his fingers into Syren’s hair and leaned forward. “I’m inside you and you’re still in
control.” His pupils were dilated, cheekbones flushed bright, but he smiled sweetly. “You set the
pace, you take what you need.”
“You.” Syren wrapped his legs around Kane, hooking his ankles behind him on the bed. “I need you.”
Kane’s lips hovered over his. “Then take me.” He mashed their mouths together.

Syren clung to him and rocked back and forth, testing. His movements sent zings of heat and pleasure
to his groin and lower belly. He did it again and faster, rocking back and forth and up and down as
Kane sucked on his mouth like a man in need of sustenance. Between their writhing bodies Syren’s
cock rubbed on the satin hardness of Kane’s stomach, drooling pre-cum, painting him with it and
sticking them together.
Maybe later he’d be able to process what Kane did, claiming him and controlling him by giving Syren
the power, but now, right now, the thick cock inside him was hitting secret places, making him see
stars. He moaned into Kane’s mouth, fingers twisting into his hair. There was no pace to set, just the
flow of their joined bodies straining together, doing what came naturally. Kane thrust up into him, the
jolts of electricity making him pant and his chest heave.
Nothing had prepared him for pleasure like he was experiencing, nothing prepared him for
experiencing it with Kane. Syren was glad. He’d never shared this with anyone before and he knew
as Kane reached between them and stroked him firmly he’d never share this moment with anyone else.
This was all about him and Kane. About him once again daring to dream of a future beyond the life he
led at the moment. A sob caught in his throat and he also made note to be embarrassed about crying
like a fucking teenage girl. But later. Like when Kane wasn’t trying to fuck him through his slit with a
very determined pinky.
“Ugh.” Syren threw his head back. “God.”
“Not so much.” Kane chuckled at his throat. “I want you to come on me.” He cupped Syren’s balls
and squeezed. “Right now.” He bit down on Syren’s throat, hard.
“Oh fuck!” Syren’s ass clenched. Kane growled and bucked up, nailing that place inside him. The
pleasure reached its fever pitch and spilled over, Syren’s release splashing all over Kane’s ripped
front.
“Yeah.” Kane growled against his throat. “Fucking gorgeous watching you come.” He anchored his
hand in Syren’s hair and thrust up once, twice then his entire body shuddered, the muscles in his arms
and neck straining, bulging as he reached his own climax. He dropped his head on Syren’s shoulder
with a deep sigh.
Both held each other tight as their bodies worked through the aftershocks. Syren clenched around
Kane still nestled inside him. The other man growled and nipped his neck and shoulder. They were
sweaty and sticky and Syren already felt the effects of having Kane inside him, but damn, he loved
that moment. Nobody speaking, just labored breaths and clamoring heartbeats breaking the silence,
the mingled scents of sex and lube and sweat perfuming the air.
Simple and messy and amazing. It was what he’d been waiting so long to find and now he had it.
He kissed Kane on the neck then licked the sweat. “One day a few months ago I spent a weekend with
your brother and his husband,” he said in Kane’s ear. “I got up late one night and saw them, you
know, making love.”
“Fuck, really?” Kane lifted his head and mock-glared at Syren “You want to talk about my brother
and his sex life now?”
Syren kissed him, because he could and he’d never tire of that fact. “I didn’t mean to watch them, but
they were…beautiful together and I allowed myself to entertain the what-ifs.” He blinked rapidly
when his eyes burned. “To think, what if I ran into Kane Ashby right now? What would I say? What if
I had this with Kane right now, would it feel as good as those two looked together?”
Kane’s expression gentled. “And?”
“Feels good. I think we’re way hotter than Gabe and Rafe any day.”
Kane chuckled. “Let’s get cleaned up.” He helped Syren to stand and led him to the bathroom where

they took turns wiping off, Syren with his back to the mirror. He looked around Kane’s bathroom with
a frown. It didn’t look lived in, used. The soaps were unopened, the washrags still had their tags on.
The bathroom looked immaculate.
Like a guest bathroom? For the guest bedroom Kane brought him to, made love to him in. Not his bed.
Not the bed he’d shared with the other man. The dead man he couldn’t let go.
“Hey, you okay?” Kane touched his cheek and Syren moved away. Kane frowned.
“Yes. I’m fine.” If it’s too good to be true.
“Come, let’s lie down for a while.” Kane tugged him back to the bedroom and Syren went, because a
little bit of Kane was way better than no Kane at all.
He woke sometime later in a warm cocoon curled onto his side, spooned by Kane. A smile played on
Syren’s lips even though the pain in his ass remained. He shifted and winced, but he welcomed it as
proof that his wildest dream had come true. He hadn’t freaked out and lost Kane, in fact Kane had
made it okay for him to freak out. An amazing man.
“Hmm.” A heavy hand circled his waist and Kane nosed his nape. Syren wiggled back. “Miss you
much,” Kane mumbled. “Smell so good, Bay.”
Syren froze. Bay. As in Bailey, Kane’s dead partner. Wow. That hurt. It shouldn’t but it did, deep
inside. He tried to roll away, but Kane held him trapped. Syren tugged on him.
“Move. Move, damn it.” He’d gone shrill and his chest hurt, but damn it, this was nothing to cry over.
“Wake up.” He pushed back on Kane. “I gotta go.”
“Hey what—”
Kane shifted and Syren shot out from under him, landing on the floor where he immediately looked for
his clothes. “Goddamn it, where is it?”
“Whoa.” Kane sat up, wiping a hand over his face. His hair was disheveled and his eyes heavy with
sleep and he looked so good. Syren tore his gaze away. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”
“I need— I need to go.” Downstairs. He snapped his fingers. He’d originally undressed in the
kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Kane tried to touch him but Syren jumped away and headed for the door. He
ignored the hurt in Kane’s eyes when he asked, “Why are you leaving?”
“Because I want to,” Syren shot back. Kane’s brow knitted. “And because you called me him.”
Kane’s mouth opened and Syren rushed on. “You called me Bailey.” He ducked out the door on
Kane’s stunned expression.

* * * * *

Kane stood next to his car with his hands folded, the cool breeze rustling the hairs on his arms and

nape. He’d followed Syren when he ran out his house in a panic, followed him all the way to New
York. Syren’s driver hadn’t stopped except to refuel the dark-tinted Town Car because it appeared
Syren was in a hurry, a man on a mission. Now Kane knew what that mission was.

Or who.

He ran his fingers through his hair, questioning yet again why he’d felt the need to chase Syren out the
door. He’d needed to explain, if he could, explain why he’d called Syren Bailey’s name. Explain that
he needed some time.
From the looks of things he’d have all the time in the world now. The knowledge hurt more than he
expected it to, the sight that greeted him as he watched Syren and the other man inside the house
opposite even more painful.

A third figure joined the two inside the house and soon after the front door opened, Syren’s short
frame illuminated as he stood there, straightening his clothes, righting his hair. Kane didn’t speak, he
simply waited for Syren to notice him. For any of the actions since he woke from that dream to make
sense.
Why hadn’t he left when he’d understood what was about to play out? Why had he stood and watched,
gritting his teeth and holding himself back from storming the house and demanding answers and
explanations?
Syren walked down the short driveway and out to the road. He’d taken two steps across the street to
his car parked farther down the block when he stopped.
“Kane.”
Kane watched as he visibly collected himself then came over, steps measured, eyes wide and
questioning.
“Why are you here?”
Kane forced out a chuckle devoid of mirth. “You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question for
the past twenty minutes.” He shook his head. “No answers yet.”
Syren’s Adam’s apple slid up and down. “How did you—”
“Know where you were?” Kane finished the sentence. “Followed you. I thought I owed you an
explanation.” That role was now reversed.
“You followed me all the way from Connecticut?” Syren took a single step back, expressionless
except for those fucking eyes. Surprise lurked there, surprise and fear. Kane didn’t get the latter, but
he didn’t get a lot of things about the man who stood before him.
“Fool move, right?” Kane raised his gaze back to the house. “Didn’t expect to see you go into Pablo
Castillo’s house.” He pointed a finger at the window shrouded in light where two shadowy figures
were locked in an embrace. “Sure as hell didn’t expect to see you climb into his lap and his arms, for
you to kiss him like you just finished kissing me.”
Breath left Syren in a loud whoosh. Kane turned back to him, but Syren’s eyes were closed, his lashes
brushing his pale cheeks.
“I’m left standing out here with questions,” Kane continued. “Like was all we shared an act? Do you
normally swap spit with Castillo? And what else don’t I know about you?”
Syren jerked his head in a no. “This was an…isolated incident.” He opened his eyes and Kane had to
look away, else he’d get taken in, captivated by those purple orbs. “He—I—we needed to prove
something to ourselves, I think.”
There was no apology in that tone, not in that half-assed explanation and Kane’s temper flared. “And
you decided the perfect time to test whatever it is you wanted to

test was immediately upon leaving my bed?” Disbelief dripped from his words when he sneered,

“You’re unbelievable.” He turned away and yanked on his car door. “Unfucking-believable.”

“Me?” Syren grabbed his hand and held on. “I’m unbelievable? What about you?” He lowered his

voice and asked again, “What about you?”
Kane shrugged away from his hold and turned to face him. “What? What did I do?” He slapped a
palm to his own chest. “Tell me what I did that deserved a reaction like this. Tell me.” He heard the
harsh pants of his breath, felt his pulse racing under his fingertips and reminded himself to calm
down. No matter what, he wouldn’t lose his control, he wouldn’t allow Syren to bait him into losing
his temper.
“Fuck what you deserve,” Syren spat at him, in his face, close enough for his breath to lash at Kane’s
chin. “What about me? How could you do that to me, love me so good, make me feel so wanted then

strip it all away, cheapening it by calling me his name?”
Christ. The pain bled from Syren’s eyes and words, his swollen bottom lip trembling violently until
he sank his teeth into it. Kane felt his hurt, he got it, but damn if he’d give Syren a free pass.
“You’re a big boy,” Kane snapped. “Hysterics don’t become you, neither do rash decisions. You had
the drive from my house to here to think about what you’d do.” He shook his head. “You planned that
shit and if I hadn’t followed you I wouldn’t have known, would I?”
Syren stared up at him, lips parted, face leached of any color or expression. He’d lowered his lashes
so Kane couldn’t read his eyes. “Let’s call this a day, shall we?” He looked around and rubbed his
arms. “We’re in the middle of gang territory. You go your way and I’ll go mine.” He turned away.
“Goodbye, Marshal.”
“Like hell.” Kane yanked him backward and twisted him around. He slammed Syren into his car then
pressed their bodies together, his front to Syren’s. A gasp he was sure Syren tried to bury reached his
ears and he grasped Syren by the chin, holding his head steady as he stared down into thunderous
eyes.
“I get you’re hurt. I get that I’m the cause, but you got your pound of flesh, didn’t you?”
“Kane.” Syren’s tongue sneaked out to wet his bottom lip. Kane followed the movement with his
eyes. “I’m not liking the manhandling. Please stop. Now.”
Kane moved his hand up, using his index and thumb to pinch Syren’s face on either side. Hard. The
result forced the smaller man’s mouth into a fishlike pout. Syren’s gaze narrowed dangerously. Kane
ignored him and spoke. “You don’t like being manhandled, at least not by anyone who isn’t me. Isn’t
that right?”
Syren remained stubbornly silent so Kane bared his teeth and continued. “I saw you and Castillo. He
initiated that lip-lock, but you took control, didn’t you?” He rocked into Syren, grinding his erection
against him. Syren’s answering arousal poked at him and Kane briefly entertained the thought of
fucking Syren right there in the open. “I bet I could have you right now, even with the anger and the
hurt.”
Syren’s eyes flashed in defiance but his cock throbbed against Kane, hot and heavy.
“You want it.” Kane dropped his voice and leaned in, rubbing his stubbled jaw all over Syren’s
smooth cheek. “You’d beg for it. If I said the word, you’d step right out of the expensive suit and drag
your pretty panties to the side. Wouldn’t you?”
A small needy sound escaped Syren and he tilted his chin, angling his mouth to meet Kane’s. Kane
held himself out of reach. “No way am I kissing you with another man’s taste on your tongue.” He
rubbed against Syren one last time then spun away. A move to make it appear he didn’t care. That
wasn’t the case, but Syren had to prove himself.
He hadn’t so far. Kane looked at him, splayed out on the car, his hair and clothes mussed, hard cock
clearly outlined through his suit, lips all swollen and red. He wanted that man. He really did but not at
the expense of his memories. Not at the expense of Bailey and that put them at an impasse.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said softly. “I wish I hadn’t. I wish I didn’t just watch you kiss another man
like you kiss me.” He stared up at the dark sky and blinked. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you should
go your way and I should go mine, but that’s not what I want.” He opened his car and climbed in then
looked up at Syren, regarding him with inscrutable eyes. “I want you, without having to worry about
another man and if I’m sharing you.”
Syren barked a bitter laugh. “I want that from you, Marshal, and the fact is, I already know I’m
sharing you.” He walked away.

* * * * *

“Good quality. Good price.” Jamal’s front gold teeth flashed when he attempted a grin at Syren. A

grin Syren ignored.
He wasn’t inside the damp, rundown warehouse in the bowels of Fresno Valley to make friends. His
sole mission was to make sure the shipment he expected had arrived, thus eliminating another one of
Delatorre’s drug connects. With the help of a few good men inside the FBI, Syren had been
systematically shutting down Delatorre’s drug suppliers and clients.
The fine line he toed made it so he knew where and when any shipment of cocaine entered or left the
country and he in turn alerted the Feds, but there were times when he had to go in personally to make
sure the deed got done. Today happened to be one of those days.
Jamal’s boss—no name yet—wanted to be Delatorre’s main guy on the West Coast after the old main
guy got pinched and dipped. Syren’s job was to size them up, test the goods and negotiate price. He
was good at all those things and while he did them, the men he’d arrived with watched his back. He
rolled with an entourage ten men deep and he trusted them to keep him from meeting an unfortunate
end, but that was the extent of it. They were Delatorre’s men and when shit hit the fan they’d be
looking out for their own asses.
The warehouse they now occupied had already been outfitted with mics and cameras to record the
transaction, thanks to Dutch and his team at the FBI. Now all Syren had to do was bring that shit
home.
He walked forward and the men on Jamal’s side of the room tensed. Syren ignored them. “Show me
what you’ve got.”
He followed Jamal over to a large plastic container as tall as Syren’s knee and about three feet wide
at the far side of the room. As he watched, Jamal opened the container and fished out a bunch of
tomatoes. He polished one of the shiny red vegetables on his t-shirt with a grin then bit into it.
“Nice.” Syren smirked.
Jamal unpacked the tomatoes then pulled out what looked like a loaf of bread wrapped tightly in
cellophane and plastic wraps. Syren waited patiently, tapping a foot until Jamal tore away the
wrapping and handed over a knife.
“Check it yourself.”
Syren dipped the thin blade of the knife into the white powder and brought it to his mouth. He licked
the residue. His tongue went numb. He spat on the floor next to Jamal’s feet. “How much can your
boss provide on short notice?”
Jamal’s eyes lit up. “Say the word, we got it.” His dark skin glowed with sweat.
“Let’s start off at two hundred kilos then we move more if it sells fast.” He jerked his chin. “My boss
will be here at the next meet. Your boss is expected to be here as well, voids the deal if he isn’t.” He
winked. “We like to know who we’re working with.”
At least Delatorre did.
“Oh he’ll be here.” Jamal rubbed his palms together. “Let’s talk prices, my man.”
Back in LA at his apartment, Syren made the obligatory calls to Delatorre to keep him abreast of the
deal. They agreed on more details than Syren thought they would. That was always a surprise to him.
After he hung up with Delatorre he placed a brief call to Costa Rica to check on things then collapsed
onto his bed in an exhausted heap. He’d been moving nonstop, traveling coast to coast with barely
enough sleep and food to sustain him.
What he did have were his cigarettes and the last conversation with Kane playing over and over in his

head. The kiss with Pablo, now that was a surprise. Not at all unwelcome so did that mean Syren
wasn’t as into Kane as he thought? If he was, surely he wouldn’t have been where he was that night,
getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
For his part he’d wanted to wipe away the taste and feel of Kane and he suspected Pablo had wanted
to prove he wasn’t completely owned by the man who’d walked in on them on his couch. Both of
them attempting to prove something.
It didn’t work, at least for Syren and judging from what he’d seen when he’d glanced back at Pablo’s
window, not for him either. So what was the goddamn point? It’d been five days since that incident
and he hadn’t heard from or spoken to Kane. Maybe that was his fault. He hadn’t tried.
What did he have to say?
Kane was still so completely entrenched in the life he’d had before, with the man he’d had before. It
didn’t matter that his partner wasn’t coming back. The man had never left. And Syren didn’t yet know
how he felt about ménages.

* * * * *

Kane stood, head bent, hands jammed into his pockets. His eyes were safely closed, blocking out

the site and setting of where he was, but damn if it wasn’t branded into his mind.

Bailey Alfred Shannan. Beloved son, brother, partner. Gone, yet he lives in us. Tears burned his

eyeballs. A natural occurrence every time he visited Bailey’s grave. Colorful flowers were laid out
around the headstone, no doubt left there by Bailey’s mother Marilyn or his sister Benny. They visited
very regularly, Kane knew. Every now and again they’d leave him a message to invite him along, but
he’d politely beg off.
He didn’t want witnesses to his grief. He didn’t have to visit the gravesite to speak to Bailey. His
body may be in the ground but Bailey’s spirit was still present. Every time Kane walked into their
bedroom, into the living room and saw that damn chair. Every time he thought about Syren and
moving on, Bailey’s memory was right there to call Kane all kinds of foul names.

He felt as if he cheated on Bailey each time he remembered kissing Syren, touching him. The

heaven of being inside Syren was dulled by Kane’s guilt. He’d driven away Syren by calling him
Bailey’s name and he couldn’t fault the man for running. Kane doubted he’d have acted differently if
the roles were reversed. He wanted to give Syren a chance, he wanted him, but how?

The burning sun beat down on his neck and shoulders, exposed by his black tank. His throat felt

parched, but he couldn’t make his feet move until he’d allowed himself to do what he came to do.

He opened his eyes and stared down at the grave, at the leaves both green and yellow, dying and

blossoming. “It’s crazy.” Words fell from him into the stillness. “I never thought there would be an
‘after Bailey’. I never thought you’d ever leave me lonely, but you have.”

A fat tear rolled down his cheek. Kane ignored it.

“You’re gone, Bay. You’ve been gone and I’m here, holding on to memories of you, of us, by my
fingernails. I don’t know how to put us where we need to be—in the past—and move on. I don’t know
how to let someone else in when you’ve been the only one in my heart for so long.” He licked the tear
when it dripped off his bottom lip. “I don’t know if he’s the one, I don’t know how I truly feel for
him, but I want to try, Bay. Please. Help me try. Help me be happy again.”
He dropped to his knees and grabbed a fistful of the tiny weeds around the headstone. “Help me, Bay.
You made me happy, we were happy, but now I want him. I want to make him happy.” He dashed
away the tears and swallowed. “I want to be content again.” He used the hem of his tank to dry his
face. “No more tears, Bay. I’ve

wallowed in it for too long and I have to stop. I’ve got to get over the guilt and the anger and

live.” He cracked a crooked smile at the grave. “Sounds like something you’d say.
“I’ve been so mad at you,” he confessed. “You weren’t supposed to be at work that

day. You promised me you’d take the day off, but you went anyway. Guess you thought you’d run

in for a few hours and I’d never find out since I was off on a case. You thought wrong. The guilt eats
me up inside, that I was nowhere near when you needed me.” His voice broke. Kane paused and took
a breath.

“You needed me, Bay, and I wasn’t around. I was hundreds of miles away when my partner, my

lover, my best friend took his last breath and the thought never leaves my head. It never leaves me
alone. I dream about it, what you must have went through and what you must have thought. I wonder if
you asked for me, if you called out for me.” He covered his face with a palm, catching the tears
before they made their way south. “I sit in the dark and I wonder and it kills me. Something in me died
with you. It’s gone and I can never get it back. You were everything, everything good and kind and

soft to me. Everything selfless and caring and worth fighting for and I let you down. I let our love
down.”

He stopped and trailed Bailey’s name on the gravestone with a trembling finger. “I’m sorry. I’m

so sorry. I wish you’d never gone away, but it changes nothing. You’re gone and I’m here and I want
to breathe again. Fear of losing us keeps me from taking that chance, but I want to.” He glanced up
into the blue sky. “Before it’s too late.”

The glow of the sun and steady summer breeze washed over him. Kane sat with his knees drawn

up and stared at Bailey’s name, allowing the images of their life together to cloud his mind. Their first
meeting, first date, first kiss. The first time they made love, in Bailey’s bedroom at his parents’ house,
doing their damndest not to make any sounds. Kane smiled at the remembered hushed moans and
giggles.

They’d had their share of arguments. Bailey was hardheaded and way too focused when he set his

mind on something. They’d argued about where to buy their first house, what color to paint the place
and even if they should think about adopting or surrogacy. Kane had shot down both, insisting they
had time to decide and Bailey had been adamant that they begin considering it early.
They’d run out of time.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Miss the shitty coffee you made and the way you hogged the damn

covers. I miss your crappy singing in the shower and you putting your cold toes on my bare skin to
warm them up.” Bailey’s toes were always freaking cold, didn’t matter the temperature outside. Kane
had joked many times they’d needed to buy stock in a sock company. “I miss brushing your hair out of
your eyes, miss watching them light up when you see me.” He cleared his throat. “Mostly I miss us. I
miss Bailey and Kane, Kane and Bailey.” Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to the cold
headstone. “That couple is no longer here, are they? I’ve got to let them go and move on.”

He struggled to his feet and dusted off the seat of his jeans. “I’m going to do as you’ve often asked

—give it the old college try.” Using the tip of his boot, he scraped away a patch of gravel near the
headstone. “Thank you for loving me, Bailey Shannan.” He choked up again. “Thank you for taking a
chance on me. There’s no way I could ever forget what we shared.” Throwing a wink at the grave he
promised, “I’ll be back.”

He walked away, pulling his cell phone out and dialing before he could change his mind.

“Marshal.”
Kane took a breath and spoke. “Get on your plane and bring an overnight bag with you. I want you.
Come to me.” He exhaled loudly over the beating of his heart, but Syren had gone silent. Kane’s pulse
kicked into high gear. “Syren.”
“Yeah. I— I’m outside your door.”
Kane stopped with one foot hanging out his driver’s side door. “You are?”
“Thought I’d be the bigger man. Make the first move.” Hesitant laughter rumbled in Syren’s voice.
Kane grunted. “Right. You’re all about making first moves, aren’t you?” He caught his gaze in the
rearview mirror and stared. A wide smile creased his face. His eyes sparkled.
“I am.” Syren paused. “Where are you, Marshal? I’m on your doorstep.”
“Make yourself comfortable on the front steps,” Kane told him. “I’m about twenty minutes away.”
“First, I don’t do direct sunlight so you better be making this shit up to me.”
Kane buckled into his seat with a bark of laughter. “What’s second?”
“I missed you.” There was no pretense, no false undertone in Syren’s clearly spoken words.
Kane leaned his head back on the car seat and closed his eyes briefly. “I missed you too.” The words
left him in a husky breath. “Let’s not do this again.”

“Let’s not,” Syren agreed. “Hurry, Marshal. I’m melting.”
He made it to his house in under twenty minutes and pulled into his empty driveway with a frown. He
saw no sign of Syren. He turned the car off and exited, keys in hand, reaching for his phone in his
jeans pocket.
His front door opened and Syren stepped out, lithe frame clad in a dark pinstriped suit, a white shirt
and a lilac-colored skinny tie that clashed in the best way with his eyes. He stood barefoot and
regarded Kane with the smuggest smile.
Kane walked up to him with narrowed eyes. “You broke in?” Why the hell was he surprised? He
brushed past Syren and into the house. The door closed behind him.
“Break-in is such a nasty word,” Syren said from over his shoulder. “I prefer to say I availed myself
of your home whilst you were gone.”
“Really?” Kane tossed his keys and wallet onto the small table to the left of the entryway then faced
Syren. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?” Leaning into the archway to the living room, he
folded his arms and smiled.
“Let that be a lesson.”’ Shifting from one foot to the other, Syren looked up at him from under his
lashes. “Don’t make me wait on you.” His gaze danced all around the room.
Kane grinned. He liked knowing he had Syren on edge. “Duly noted.” He beckoned with a finger.
“Come here.”
Syren’s lashes fluttered and his cheekbones grew rosy with color. “Hmm. Say what now?”
“Get your ass over here,” Kane rasped. “You don’t want me hunting you down.”
Syren’s nostrils flared and his lips parted. Kane loved watching the effect his words had on the other
man. The knowledge that he was the only man to do that, talk to Syren and elicit those kinds of
reactions, made him feel ten feet tall.
Syren edged closer. “I’m not liking your tone, Marshal.” His throaty voice belied the words and Kane
raised an eyebrow.
Dropping his gaze to Syren’s crotch, he said, “Your body does.”
“My body does not control me.”
Kane reached out and grabbed him by the lapel, yanking Syren flush against him. “But who controls
your body?” he asked with his mouth hovering over Syren’s.
Syren held on to him by grasping his biceps, his short nails digging in and holding fast. His pulse sped
up under Kane’s touch, but he didn’t answer.
Kane fisted Syren’s hair with his other hand and yanked his head back.
“Ugh.” Syren’s lashes dipped, hiding his eyes.
“Answer the fucking question.”
Syren’s eyes flew open, pupils dilated. He licked his lips and pressed his lower half into Kane.
“You.” He held Kane’s gaze, never backing down as he acquiesced to Kane’s purely selfish Q and A.
“You control my body.”
Kane dipped his head and dragged his teeth over the column of Syren’s neck. The man in his arms
shook uncontrollably. “Only me.”
“Yes,” Syren hissed and attempted to get closer. “Only you.”
Kane licked his Adam’s apple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. “Only rule. No one else,” he
whispered into Syren’s ear. “No kissing anyone else.” He cupped Syren’s ass and nipped his earlobe.
“No touching anyone else.” Kane traced the shell of Syren’s ear with his tongue and smiled when
Syren gulped. “It’s me and you.” He moved back to Syren’s mouth, lightly brushing their lips together.
“Say it.”

“It’s you and me,” Syren moaned. “Kane—”
Kane took his lips, hard and punishing, an attempt to wipe away whoever tasted Syren before,
whoever came before. Syren opened for him, eagerly offering up his tongue and Kane took it, sucking
until Syren squirmed, until the nails in Kane’s arms left their mark. He tore his mouth and tilted
Syren’s head back.
“I want you upstairs, spread out on my bed,” he grated next to Syren’s jaw. “I’ve got a pair of
handcuffs with your name on them.”
A soft breath left Syren. He opened his eyes and pinned Kane in place. “You want to shackle me,
Marshal?”
“Yes. I want nothing but you spread-eagle while I fuck you, my handcuffs leaving marks on your
wrists.” He trapped Syren’s hands in his. “My marks.”
Syren’s chest rose and fell rapidly, but his gaze searched Kane’s. “How?”
Kane cupped his jaw. He saw the fear and while Syren never spelled it out, he’d already guessed
Syren didn’t like being taken from the back, being vulnerable. “That way.”
Syren shook his head. “No.” His bottom lip trembled. “Kane. No.”
“Yes.” They had to find a way to exorcise those demons else their sex life would be over before it
began. Kane was no shrink, but what better way to remove the bad memories associated with sex than
to replace them? Syren’s mind could then associate sex with good memories. Not an exact science,
but worth a try. “Trust me,” he pleaded. “Let’s try to link that position with some good stuff, huh?” He
brought their noses together. “What’s better than me kissing you, touching you while you’re laid out
like that?”
Syren’s eyes were red-rimmed. “I’ll come apart.” His words shook. “If we do it that way, Kane, I’m
afraid I’ll come apart.” His gaze begged Kane to understand and he did.
“I’ll be there, right there, to put you back together.”
Syren simply stared at him. “You’re saying you want to have your way with me. You want complete
control over me.”
Kane shrugged. “Thought that went without saying.”
A smile curved Syren’s face and spread to his eyes. “Get your handcuffs then. I trust you to take care
of me.” The smile went away. “I’m trusting you to catch me when I fall.”

Chapter Nine

Despite the slight tremor in his voice, the trust in Syren’s words hit Kane square in the chest. That

was when he got it, when he understood the responsibility he’d undertaken with Syren. The smaller
man’s trust didn’t come easy, in fact it was damn near unattainable, yet he’d placed himself in Kane’s
hands.
“I’ve got you.” He kissed him softly. “I’ve got you.”

This time when they went upstairs and made their way down the hall to the guest bedroom, Kane

didn’t hesitate in front of his bedroom like he’d done the last time. It was a step that needed taking,
but he wasn’t ready. He would be one day soon. At least he hoped. Making love to Syren in his and
Bailey’s bed would be the last step to take in order to leave his life with Bailey behind and as he
pushed open the door to the guest bedroom and entered, Kane knew despite the words he’d spoken in
the cemetery that shit was more easily said than done.

He looked over at Syren and found him hovering near the bed, his brow knitted as his fingers

plucked at the edges of the sheet. Thank God Kane had remembered to change the bed since the last

time they’d been it in. He wasn’t usually good at that. He strode purposefully past Syren and pulled
open the bottom drawer in the nightstand, removing lube, condoms and cool, silver handcuffs.

He dropped them on the bed next to Syren and watched him flinch. Nerves were easy to read on

Syren’s face, but so were the rosy flush and parted lips when he lifted his face to Kane.

He was afraid, but not too much so. He remained hesitant but willing and Kane couldn’t ask for

more. His job was to remove any doubts from Syren’s mind, to make it plain that he wanted him, he
desired him.

“Stand.” He spoke the one word in a curt manner, a definite command he knew Syren would heed.

There was a submissive bent to the gorgeous man that Kane had no problem exploring.

Syren got to his feet slowly, staggering a bit. Kane reversed their positions, taking a seat on the

edge of the bed while Syren stood before him.
“Come closer.” He crooked a finger. Syren licked his lips and did as he asked, his gaze locked on to
Kane’s, never letting go. Kane parted his thighs, giving his aching balls some room as he motioned for
Syren to stand between them. When he did, Kane jerked his chin. “You got something pretty on under
that suit?”
Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, Syren nodded.
“Get undressed. Take your time.”
Syren shrugged out of his clothes, baring his pale, smooth skin inch by mouthwatering inch. Kane kept
his gaze on him and palmed his own crotch, rocking into his hand under Syren’s heavy-lidded
scrutiny. “You get me so hard,” Kane murmured. “Every time I look at you I have to restrain myself
from pouncing on you.”
Syren’s raspy breaths echoed across the room as he stepped out of his pants. The scrape of the
material hitting the floor blended with Kane’s hiss when he got an eyeful of what Syren wore.
Black leather with barely enough material to contain the bulging cock Kane couldn’t take his gaze off.
The underwear was secured on either side of Syren’s narrow hips with thin straps tied in bows.
Sexy. Unreal. Leaving Kane so unbelievably turned-on he could barely form words. “Goddamn,” he
breathed.
“I picked it especially for you.” Syren swallowed. “It turns me on knowing how much I turn you on.”
“Fuck turn me on.” Kane unzipped his jeans and freed his pulsing shaft with a moan. “You blow my
mind. You leave me speechless.”
Syren smiled. His eyes grew darker as he watched Kane stroke himself. “So who’s controlling whom,
Marshal?”
“Smart-mouthed little fucker, aren’t you?” Kane eased his ass off the bed and pulled his jeans down
his hips. He kicked them aside and arched an eyebrow. “You’re not done, show me the back.”
Syren complied with a toss of his head.
All saliva inside Kane’s mouth dried up. A thong. The tiniest slip of string buried between Syren’s
pale ass cheeks. An ass Kane wanted to leave his palm prints on, sink his teeth into, it was that plump
and juicy.
“Goddamn.” The contrast of Syren’s skin was striking, his entire back disfigured with the evidence of
his beatings, the scars a beautiful tapestry of sacrifice and yet, below his hips, Syren was flawless.
Kane reached out a hand in reverence, caressing the small of his back and down the curve of a hip.
Smooth like satin, from his ass down to the soles of his feet. Syren’s body looked like a creamy
confection, all Kane’s for the taking.
The tasting.
He leaned forward and swiped his tongue across an ass cheek.

Syren jolted.
“Grab your ankles.” Kane didn’t wait for him to comply, he yanked at the string securing the thong on
the right and it came undone slowly. Syren bent over and Kane sank his teeth in, biting and quickly
licking away the pain.
“Uh. Uh.” Syren shook under his touch. “Kane.”
“You’re such a fucking tease.” Kane smacked him, not too hard, but enough to sting. “I should punish
you, beat that gorgeous ass for getting me so hard I can’t think straight.” He tongued Syren’s crack and
undid the other tie before flinging the thong to the floor.
“Please, Kane.” Syren’s words were a breathy cry as his body rocked. He pushed himself back into
Kane’s face and that earned him another smack. Same ass cheek, same spot. He trembled. “God.”
Kane stroked himself and used the index from his other hand to circle Syren’s hole. He tapped against
the dark, wrinkled entrance and grinned when it contracted for him. “Your responses. Man.” He
swiped a thumb over his wet crown. “The way you respond to me, I get high off that.”
Syren pushed against his finger. “Kane, please.” He begged just right, voice agitated, breathy raspy,
body shaking. “Do something!”
Kane grabbed the lube and squeezed some onto his fingers. “On your knees.”
Syren sank to the floor, a fluid motion that looked so effortless and sensual.
“Cheek flat on the floor,” Kane rasped. “Ass in the air.”
Syren did it, his body shifting into position as if he’d always done so. The curve of his spine was
beautiful as he waited and Kane couldn’t resist smoothing a palm down from his nape to the top of his
ass.
“Hold yourself open for me.” He edged closer and he heard it, Syren’s breath rattling in his chest.
“So beautiful like this. Perfection. I want to dirty you up, come all over your back. Your ass.”
“Yes.” Syren arched higher, knuckles white against his skin where he exposed himself so readily.
“Do it.”
Kane pushed a finger into him, his pulse racing at the heat. Syren’s entrance resisted him at first,
clamping down and fighting to expel him. He pushed forward slowly and sank clear.
“Aah.” The word was sighed from the man before him as he wiggled. “Hmm, God. More.”
Kane smacked him. “I give the orders.” Yet he added another finger and wormed his way inside.
“Oh yeah.” Syren rocked back, foreign words falling from his lips. “Yes.”
Kane smacked him again, because he loved the sound of his palm connecting with Syren’s flesh, and
because the most beautiful and mournful sounds emanated from Syren’s throat when he did. With each
blow Syren rocked, ass pushing back, riding the fingers Kane scissored inside him.
His hands were busy but Kane’s cock hadn’t gotten the memo—his shaft bobbed with every blow he
landed on Syren, dribbling sticky pre-cum on his upper thighs and lower belly. His balls had long
started throbbing, syncing with the pulsing muscles in Syren’s ass. He paused long enough to get more
lube then screwed three fingers back into Syren.
The other man’s cries ratcheted higher, bouncing off the walls, yet he pushed back, hips rolling as he
lifted off then sank down on Kane’s digits again and again. Kane wiggled his fingers, searching for
his prostate with sure, upward strokes. He found that bad boy and grazed it with his knuckles.
Syren cried out and raised his head. His limbs trembled quite noticeably but he worked himself on
Kane’s fingers.
Kane touched him there again.
“Please,” Syren whispered. “I—oh fuck. I need—”
“I know what you need,” Kane assured him. He pressed against the walnut-sized gland again, bit

more pressure this time. “This, this is what you need.” He stroked himself, root to tip, fast and
furious, the action quickly taking him where he wanted to be.
Syren arched, widening himself and Kane moved off the bed in a semi-crouch over his lower half. In
that position he could angle his fingers in even deeper and he did, rougher this time, no holds barred.
He dug in and out, the movement making his wrist ache, but Syren’s noises grew louder and Kane’s
orgasm reared up.
“Fuck!” He threw his head back and let go. His release was blinding, ripping a hoarse cry from him
as he pointed his cock head downward and emptied himself on Syren’s lower back.
“Ugh.” Syren shuddered. Kane’s cream slid down the crack of his ass. “Fuck. Kane!”
Kane removed his fingers, slowly, grinning as Syren’s muscles grabbed at him to keep them inside.
Syren hadn’t achieved his release but Kane wasn’t finished with him. “I’m not done with you,” he
murmured. “Get on your feet.”
He moved to the side. It took Syren three tries before he could stand on his feet and he still wasn’t
steady when he raised accusing eyes to Kane. “W-was that your plan? To keep me hanging on the
edge?”
Kane grinned and yanked him close, taking Syren’s mouth and thrusting his tongue deep. Kane didn’t
do gentle, not then. He used his teeth, biting at Syren’s lips and chin while he fisted his silky hair.
Syren didn’t simply allow himself to be taken either, his hands roamed Kane’s back, nails dragging
along his spine, leaving goose bumps.
He moaned into Syren’s mouth, pushing his semi-hard cock, still leaking, into the man’s stomach.
Syren ground against him, their teeth clinking, tongues twisting. It was a claiming and Kane couldn’t
say for sure who claimed whom. He pushed Syren away and the other man stumbled back.
He met Kane’s gaze with wide eyes and flared nostrils, his lips red and swollen, cock hard and
pointing at Kane with a slick, wet head. “Don’t test me, Marshal.” Syren’s hands balled into fists.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” The words rumbled in Kane’s chest and he stepped closer. “It’s
what you want, isn’t it? For me to test you, push you, make it okay for you to want what I give?” He
reached between them and trailed a finger down Syren’s shaft, from head to balls.
Syren’s breath caught, but he spoke anyway. “What exactly do you give, Kane?”
“I give sex.” Kane rubbed his jaw against Syren’s and mouthed his ear. “The guiltfree kind. The bad
kind that’s just good enough for you. Especially for you.” He squeezed the dick in his hand and
Syren’s hips surged forward. “The kind you beg for.” He sank his teeth into Syren’s jaw.
Syren shook, his cock grew harder, the crown wetter. The sounds in his throat had Kane hard again,
had him ready again.
“I don’t beg,” Syren whimpered.
Kane laughed. “For me you do.” He grabbed the hair on the top of Syren’s head and jerked him back,
exposing Syren’s throat and eyes to him. “Tonight you do.” He kissed Syren’s throat then thrust him
away. “Lie in the middle of the bed. Facedown and this gorgeous ass up.” He squeezed one of
Syren’s plump cheeks then stepped away and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. One thing about Syren, he knew how to follow orders and Kane loved
that so much, it made his balls and teeth ache. In the middle of his bed, Syren settled on his stomach,
face buried in the pillows. Kane sat beside him and picked up the handcuffs. They clinked and Syren
lifted his head.
“Kane.” The fear was back, shadowing his eyes, leaching color from his flushed face.
“I’m here.” Kane traced his lips with a finger. “I’m here, remember? To keep you safe, to make new
memories and to put you back together if you come apart.”

Syren kissed his fingertip. “My hero, are you?”
An unfamiliar ache blossomed in Kane’s chest. “Whatever you want me to be,” he whispered.
Clearing his throat, he cupped Syren’s jaw. “Whoever.” Truer words he realized he hadn’t spoken in
a while. Whatever Syren needed he’d be.
Syren held Kane’s hand and pressed his cheek into his palm. “Kane Ashby, he’s who I want.” Syren’s
lashes fluttered then lifted. The vulnerability in his gaze rocked Kane. “Can you be Kane Ashby?”
Kane tried for a smile, but he knew it came out shaky. “Even if this Kane guy can be rough and kinda
domineering and maybe even a pain sometimes?”
Syren’s lips quirked but he nodded. “Yep.”
“Then yes.” Kane swallowed. “I can be who you want.” His heart was racing, threatening to jump out
of his chest at any moment, but he couldn’t look away from Syren, couldn’t extricate himself from the
sensual web they’d created.
“Então me tome.” Syren winked and offered up his wrists. “Then take me.” His fingertips were cold
when they brushed Kane’s thigh. “I expect you to do your damndest in an attempt to make me beg.” An
easy smile graced his lips. “But I won’t, of course.”
“Of course.” Kane clasped Syren’s wrists and used the handcuffs to shackle him to the head of the
bed. Finished, he stood next to Syren with his hands on his naked hips. “Good?”
A flash of pink caught his eye when Syren licked his bottom lip. “Never better.”
Kane frowned down at him. “Don’t hesitate to tell me if it gets to be too much. I want this to be good
for you.” This exercise was for Syren, to show him all the good things they could share, things that
didn’t have to be clouded by his past experiences, painful though they may be.
“Don’t hover, Marshal. It’s quite unbecoming.” Syren moved an arm and the handcuffs rattled. Kane
took note of the tense set of his shoulders.
“Syren—”
“Do you have a belt?”
A belt? “Why do you need—”
“Answer the question,” Syren snapped. He jerked his head up, jaw set. “Yes or no?”
Kane gaped at him. “Yes.”
“Leather? Thick?”
Kane pursed his lips. He didn’t like the stubborn tilt to Syren’s chin or the sudden flash of something
dark in his eyes, there one minute, fading the next. “Yes.”
“Get it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Kane didn’t know where this dialogue was going, but damn if it
would be anywhere good.
“Obviously I can’t get it myself,” Syren spoke from the bed. “Get the belt, Kane. Please.”
Kane watched him, searching Syren’s gaze for anything that gave away his train of thought, but Syren
had everything locked up tight. Finally he forced himself to walk out the guestroom and into his
bedroom. He ignored the photographs on the nightstands and chests of drawers, the huge portrait on
the wall opposite the bed. He ignored everything and instead focused on rummaging through drawers
until he found the belt Bailey had bought him.
He held it tight, twisted it around his palm and went back to Syren. He remained in place, face in the
pillows.
“Bring it to me.” He lifted his head when Kane came over. “Put it near my face, my nose.”
Kane had no clue what was happening, the look in Syren’s eyes was one he couldn’t describe, one he
didn’t know yet if he liked, but he unfurled the belt from his hand and let it fall, the end gently tapping

Syren on the nose.
His eyelids fluttered then dropped, closing off his thoughts and feelings to Kane. As he watched,
Syren sniffed the belt, rubbing his nose up and down its length as far as he could reach.
“For a long time I’d be scared shitless whenever I heard someone’s belt buckle rattle.” Syren spoke
so low Kane barely made out the words, but he heard. Oh he heard and his heart bled. “Felt so
helpless,” Syren continued, words coming out sounding wet. “That’s the worst part, feeling helpless.”
“And now?” Kane asked. Syren raised tear-soaked eyes to him and Kane said, “Tell me what you
want me to do and I will.”
“Use it.”
Kane blinked. “What? No way.” He shook his head. Hell no. “I’m not beating you. I’m not whipping
you. I’m not causing you any more pain.”
“I’m not asking for that,” Syren said softly. Teeth marks on his bottom lip made it an angry red. “Love
me with it, make me scream and beg and come apart.” His Adam’s apple slid north and south. “Make
me come undone…but use the belt.”
Kane shook his head slowly. “Syren. I don’t know if I can.” Christ. Did he have any idea what he was
asking? Kane’s fingers twitched and he tightened his hold on the belt.
“You can, Marshal, and you know why?” Syren raised an eyebrow. “Because this is about me, about
what I want and tonight I want new memories. With the belt.” He pushed his face back into the
pillows.
As Kane watched, Syren parted his legs, spreading wide. Kane licked his lips. He couldn’t help that
everything about Syren’s body had his pulse racing and his balls aching. Syren positioned himself
with both elbows pressed into the mattress and slowly, effortlessly, lifted his lower half off the bed.
“Fuck!” Kane gaped.
Syren chuckled. His legs remained spread wide, his ass winking at Kane who’d moved to stand at the
end of the bed. It was like watching someone perform some weird sexual pose in yoga. Syren’s ass
was in the air, muscular thighs straining as he held himself steady with only his elbows on the
mattress, legs wide.
“Just so you know, Marshal, I’ve been doing yoga for almost ten years,” Syren said. “I also practice
Krav Maga and uh, Brazilian jujitsu.”
Kane swallowed his tongue. “Ah, okay?”
“That means you can’t physically hurt me.” The pillow muffled Syren’s words, but Kane still heard
them clearly. “Not unless I want you to.”
Well all right. If that was the way he wanted things. “Hold that position.” Kane thumbed his cock
head and climbed onto the bed. He crawled between Syren’s legs and lay on his back, looking up,
directly below Syren and ordered, “Now lower yourself. Slowly.”
Syren did. Kane moved into position. He opened his mouth, taking Syren’s waning arousal inside.
“Fuck!”
Syren’s body shook, his tight control wavering. Kane sucked him, tongue lashing around his cock
head, dipping into Syren’s slit. Slick pre-cum fired his taste buds and melted on his tongue.
Kane moaned at the sweetness. He sank his fingers into Syren’s ass cheeks, holding him steady when
he felt his muscles start rebelling. Syren grunted above him, hips working, humping Kane’s face as he
fought to thrust deeper down Kane’s throat. Kane’s hips moved too, fucking air, the hint of a cool
breeze around his sensitive cock almost too much.
And not enough.
He dropped his jaw, hollowed his cheeks and Syren sank deeper. Deeper. Then Kane swallowed.

The handcuffs wailed, rattling extra loud in the quiet. Syren was crying out too, jumbled words a mix
of English and other languages as his hips sped up. Kane trailed a finger down his crack and pushed
in.
Bittersweet cream flooded his mouth as Syren exploded. “Oh God. Kane. Oh God.”
“Hmm.” Kane swallowed him, one hand holding the base of his own cock to stave off his climax.
When Syren finished spurting, Kane shifted away and allowed the other man to drop back to the bed.
“Fuck.” Syren twitched in place. “Damn.”
Kane sucked his bottom lip into his mouth—he didn’t want to give up Syren’s taste so soon.
Smoothing a hand down Syren’s flank, he asked, “All good?”
Syren’s gaze wasn’t quite steady when he lifted his head. “Could be better.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Give me your mouth.”
Kane crawled up his body with a grin. He held Syren’s head steady with a hand in his hair and bent.
Syren took his mouth, tongue thrusting and twisting around his, probing.
“Mmm.” Syren broke the kiss, mouth hovering over Kane’s. “Love the way you taste, Marshal.” He
dove back in and Kane welcomed him with a nip. Syren sucked his tongue hard, yanking guttural
moans from Kane.
Kane broke the kiss. “How do I taste?”
Syren licked him from chin to nose. “Like me. Like my cum.” He caught Kane’s bottom lip between
his teeth. “You like it? My seed filling your mouth, coating your throat?”
Fuck. Kane humped the mattress. “I do.”
“Good. Let’s make it a habit.”
Kane chuckled and moved away. Spying the belt on the floor he picked it up and unfurled then held it,
letting it drag over Syren’s back in the briefest of touches. Syren undulated with a low hum.
“The way you move,” Kane murmured. “Like a fucking belly dancer. It’s a sight.” He let the tip of the
belt caress the swell of Syren’s ass and the curve underneath where ass and thigh met.
Syren fidgeted, fingers closing around the sheets.
“Feel every touch,” Kane spoke in a low tone, his gaze on Syren’s body as it moved along the
mattress. “Close your eyes and picture me, every touch of the belt is me, kissing you, licking you.” He
pulled one cheek aside and dragged the belt in between Syren’s dark valley.
Syren’s breaths turned to pants to match Kane’s. He bent his knees and rocked back. Kane took the
belt away, letting its tip dance around Syren’s ankles and calves.
A frustrated sound left Syren. Kane smacked his ass.
“I know you love that, when I make your skin red.” He bent and kissed the spot he just slapped. “It’s
so striking, the red of my handprint against the paleness of you.”
“Kane, please. Take me. Fuck me.”
Damn. Those words sent Kane’s blood to boiling in his veins. He grabbed the condom and quickly
put it on. “What’s that, begging are we?”
Syren’s right leg had taken up a constant shaking. “It’s not begging. It’s—it’s…”
Kane lubed up two fingers and pressed inside Syren, sinking deep without too much resistance. He
scissored them while stroking himself and prepping Syren.
“Yes. Yes.”
Kane removed his fingers then pushed in, dipping in his crown then remaining still as the guardian
muscle at Syren’s entrance put up a losing fight. Before Kane began moving Syren was there, lifting
off and sliding down Kane’s shaft as if he were born for it.

“Ungh.” The handcuffs shook when Syren pulled at them. “Goddamn handcuffs.”
Kane folded his knees and sank back on his haunches, eyes on Syren’s ass as the other man lifted off
and sank down, over and over.
“Fuck.” Kane squeezed his eyes shut at the pleasure of the tight squeeze, but quickly reopened them.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as Syren rode him. “Fuck yourself on me. Do it.”
Aroused cries filled the room, his and Syren’s. The smaller man used his upper body to propel his
lower body onto Kane. He canted his hips and sank down.
Kane drove in, hard and deep.
“Kane. Fuck.” Syren clenched around him. “Killing me. So good.”
“Work me,” Kane said hoarsely. “Work me good.” He licked his thumb then rubbed at the spot where
his cock and Syren met.
Syren’s cries grew louder. Kane’s thighs ached. The pulse at his left temple pounded. Syren rose and
lowered himself, sliding down Kane’s length. A sight impossible to verbalize. The sexiest thing Kane
had seen in a long while. The snug clasp of Syren’s channel the hottest and tightest he’d ever felt.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and nape, dripping into his eyes, burning him. Kane blinked it away
and focused on the vision of his shaft disappearing inside Syren. As if they were made for this. Their
bodies built to fit so perfectly together.
Blasphemy. Maybe. Right then Kane didn’t care. He sank his fingers into Syren’s hips and pulled him
back onto him.
A strangled yelp erupted from Syren. “Oh fuck. Right there.” His ass contracted painfully around
Kane. “Right there.”
He begged so Kane gave it to him. He dragged Syren backward and pounded into him, hitting his spot
as Syren cried out and the handcuffs clanged. There would be marks tomorrow.
His marks.
The thought sent heat spiraling down his spine, swamping his balls.
“Fuck me,” Syren cried out. “Make it hurt. Give it to me.”
Kane reached under him and cupped Syren’s balls, rolling them in his palm, squeezing.
“Ah. Ah.” Syren bowed. Kane tapped at his entrance with one finger then pushed it in alongside his
cock. Syren stiffened then flailed. Seed poured from him, coating Kane’s fingers. The contractions in
his ass pulled at Kane, drawing him closer and closer to the edge.
He pistoned into Syren, burying himself as far as he could then letting it take him. Bright light burst
from behind his eyelids as he emptied into the condom protecting them. His scalp itched. His lungs
burned. Kane groaned.
He felt drained. Empty. As if he’d given Syren all he had. His body collapsed and he fell forward
onto Syren, his face mashed into the other man’s back. They stayed like that, no one speaking for God
knew how long, until Syren shifted and the handcuffs rattled.
Kane forced himself to move. He unlocked the handcuffs then went into the bathroom where he got rid
of the condom and cleaned himself then he wet a rag and returned to the bedroom and took care of
Syren. Afterward, they went back to lying down, neither talking. This time his head was on Syren’s
stomach and the smaller man’s fingers were sifting through Kane’s hair, nails scraping his sensitive
scalp.
“Next time you come, bring results of your latest blood tests,” Kane spoke into the darkness. “I don’t
want any barriers between us.”
Syren’s fingers paused. “Okay.” He went back to playing with Kane’s hair and Kane did his damndest
to deny he’d just taken an irrevocable step into the unknown.

* * * * *

A sound woke him. Kane turned over in bed and cracked an eyelid open. Syren sat at the edge of

the mattress, at Kane’s feet, smoking. His pale skin gleamed in the dim light and the end of the
cigarette glowed orange-red every time he inhaled.

“Thought you were quitting.”

Syren shrugged. “Thought so too.”
Kane sat up. “Did I make you relapse?”
Syren looked at him through swirling smoke with a half-smile. “I think we can both

agree a fuck like we just had deserves a celebratory cig break.”

“I don’t like it.”
Syren paused. Tipping his chin upward, he blew out smoke then spoke. “Yet
another thing to add to the con column, huh?”

Kane frowned but didn’t answer. What was Syren really asking? They sat in the dark room in

silence until finally Syren dragged fingers through his hair.
“I gotta go.” He stood and Kane noted he wore his pants and shoes.
Kane blinked up at him. “What’s happening? Where are you going?” And what was with the feeling of
déjà vu that swarmed him?
Syren buttoned up his shirt and shrugged on his jacket. “Sorry.” He dropped a kiss on Kane’s brow.
“Business, I promise.”
“It can’t wait?” Kane squinted at the clock on his nightstand. What kind of business did Syren have at
11:48 at night?
“Can’t wait. I’m sorry.” Syren sat next to him and cupped his jaw. “Loved watching you sleep,
Marshal.” He smiled. “Kinda loved waking up next to you as well.”
Kane scowled. “But you’re leaving.”
“Can’t be helped.” He grasped Kane’s shoulder and kissed him, soft and sweet, but consuming all the
same. “I’ll call as soon as I can.” He stood and walked to the door. “Thank you for tonight.” He
winked and disappeared out the door.

Chapter Ten

Syren folded his hands in his lap and tried not to glance down at the dark marks on his wrists.

Kane’s marks were everywhere, some seen, most felt, but he had bigger things on his mind than
reminiscing about his lover’s touch.

He sat in the back of Delatorre’s limo alongside his boss as they drove back to his LA house after

making a brand-new deal with a drug supplier. They’d all shaken hands, exchanged a boatload of
cash, and Delatorre got what he came for—a face-toface with his new business partner and as much
cocaine as his guys could fit into a rental truck.

They rode in silence, Delatorre fiddling with his phone. Syren tried not to fidget. He’d waited so

long and now that moment was at hand, and he couldn’t calm himself down long enough to breathe.
His heart beat loud and fast, reverberating in the tips of his fingers and toes. The plan had to work, all
the strings he’d pulled, the asses he’d had to kiss over the years. All the palms he’d greased and shit
he’d overlooked. They all had to come together to work. Smoothly. With none the wiser.

Much more was at stake now than when he’d originally concocted the elaborate ruse. His heart

was all tangled up in making sure everything went as it was supposed to, as he wanted it to. If the

Feds fucked it up, he’d have their heads. Individually. Syren didn’t trust them.

Took one shady bastard to recognize another.

One moment all was quiet and the next tires were squealing, lights flashing and Syren was up, doing
the best goddamn acting job of his life. He grabbed the back of his seat and looked over his shoulder
at the black SUV gaining on them.
“What’s that?” He turned to the driver. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, sir.” The driver met his eyes in the rearview. “Should I stop or…?”
“No. No.” Delatorre spoke up before Syren could respond. “Please pull over, Enzo.” He remained
unflappable, not a hair out of place or a frown marring his face. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Enzo did as ordered and they waited, surrounded as they were by huge SUVs and more than half a
dozen men approaching on foot with weapons raised.
“Any idea what’s going on?” Syren asked Delatorre from the corner of his mouth.
“Nothing but more harassment, I’m sure.” Delatorre spoke in smooth Portuguese. He shifted with a
heavy, put-upon sigh. “We’ll have to lodge a formal complaint. Call Peter and have him do it once
we’re done here.”
Syren nodded.
The doors of the limo were yanked open, as if in a coordinated move. “Hands up. Now! Now!”
Syren raised his hands in the air. “Anyone care to explain what this is all about?” He lifted his gaze
and met the eyes of the man whose service weapon was aimed at his forehead, dead center. “We’ve
broken no laws, officer.”
Varun Patel rolled his eyes, quick enough for Syren to see and he stifled the grin. Patel didn’t like
him, he simply tolerated Syren in order to get his case solved and closed.
“Were we speeding?” Delatorre spoke up. “I can assure you, officer, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s agent to you,” Patel snapped at Delatorre, but his gaze remained locked with Syren’s.

“Save the bullshit, all of you. We’ve got you on tape. CCTV has the deal you just completed in 3D.”

Delatorre didn’t speak, but Syren felt the sudden tension and his body followed suit, terror rising

before he remembered it was over. He wouldn’t have to deal with the beatings anymore.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Syren barked at Patel, “but I want to speak to someone

in charge of this fucking circus and we want our lawyers.”
“Out.” Someone grabbed Syren by the shoulders and dragged him out the limo. He winced at the pain
in his shoulders, but cursed when he heard his jacket rip.
“Hey, no.” He wrenched away from the agent and wagged a chastising finger in his face. “No. This is
a fucking five-thousand-dollar jacket,” he growled. “More than you make in a month. I’m filing a
complaint.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” The man behind him brought him to a standing position and handcuffed him behind his
back. Not as fun as when Kane did it, that was for damn sure. “You’ll get to do that soon enough.” He
pushed Syren forward to one of the SUVs.
He really would have to file a complaint. What was with the rough handling? He tried rotating his
shoulders with little success. Damn his delicate bones and easy-tobruise skin. But only in that
particular context, because when Kane had him handcuffed, delivering slaps to his ass, Syren loved
the idea of being all red and marked up for him.
“Head down.”
Syren huffed in outrage when the agent pushed him up into the SUV. Settled in the backseat he
watched as Delatorre received the same treatment feet away, his mouth moving a mile a minute.
Probably cursing a blue streak and threatening to sue everyone involved.

Yeah.
Pretty soon he’d know exactly how futile resistance was.

* * * * *

Syren sat next to Patel in an office in a federal detention center located in a nondescript building

in downtown LA, blinds drawn.
“What’s the next move?” he asked.
Patel sat back with a sigh. “Well, we’ve got everything lined up, everything documented thanks to
you. What we don’t have, or who, is Daniel Nieto.”
Syren frowned. “Didn’t you pick him up along with his brother?” He’d given Patel and his people
evidence that the Nietos would be in the US for some bogus business meeting. Patel’s job was to grab
them as soon as they landed. They already had more than enough to hold them.
“Only one brother was on that flight.” Patel pinched the bridge of his nose. “How these bastards can
be so slippery…” He squinted at Syren as if he should have the answer.
“It’s a gift?” Syren shrugged.
“DEA made a huge bust out on the East Coast,” Patel said. “Some of the Nietos’ men were caught up
in it. They expected to get the brothers, but we let them know we had it covered on our end.”
“So what?” Syren wasn’t getting the gist. “You have even more Nieto players in custody along with
one of the brothers. What’s your next move?”
“We use what we have on who we have. Either way, the Nietos are done as is your boy Delatorre.”
“My boy. Uh-huh.” Syren mentally rolled his eyes. “Any word on when my lawyer will be here?”
Peter Heppner was the lawyer on retainer for Delatorre, a lawyer Syren had brought in for the
express purpose of dealing with the situation they now faced.
Peter had his own reasons for accepting Syren’s deal, but they both agreed on one thing—Ricardo
Delatorre needed to be taken down.
“Heppner is in with Delatorre now.” Patel stood and gestured. “Word is you’ve gotten bail so, you
know, make yourself scarce.”
Like hell he would. “I want to see Delatorre.”
Patel stopped with his hand on the doorknob and regarded Syren over his shoulder. “You’re not about
to out yourself are you? Because that would be premature.”
“Really?” Syren snorted. “I know what I’m doing, Patel. Been doing it for longer than you so no, I’m
not about to burst in there and start letting him know who I am.”
“Then why do you need to see him?”
Could he be that dense? “I’m his right-hand man, Patel. Think.” Syren tapped a finger to his temple. “I
have to make sure he knows I’m doing my best to get him out of here, that I’m working on things with
Peter. I can’t simply disappear, that would be the quickest way for him to start asking questions.”
Patel relaxed a bit, if the man ever did. “Fine, I get it. What about his kid, though? You think he’ll
make trouble, maybe want to step in and take his father’s place?”
Syren grimaced at the thought. Thiago was a good kid, all things considered and he didn’t want to see
him go down that road. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.” Hopefully he had enough influence over Thiago to
make him see the most prudent thing would be to put the Delatorre name and all it entailed out of
business.
Patel seemed to understand without him saying more. He led Syren out the office and down a maze of
narrow hallways painted puke-green before stopping in front of a locked orange door.

“He’s in there with the lawyer.”
Syren nodded his thanks then opened the door and stepped in. He shut it behind him and met Peter’s
gaze before turning to Delatorre.
“Heard you got bail.” Delatorre’s façade had begun to crack. Worry lines now bracketed his mouth
and frown lines creased his forehead. The confidence he’d had hours earlier had all but evaporated
from him, leaving his skin a sickish pasty color.
Syren nodded at him and responded in Portuguese. “Yeah.” He sat next to Peter and leaned across the
desk. “Did Peter tell you what they have?”
Delatorre nodded. “He wants me to make a deal.” He shook his head. “No way.”
“I told Mr. Delatorre his options,” Peter spoke softly and clearly. “His job is to think each one over
and choose which is best.”
“Why does he have to make a deal?” Syren asked. “Can’t the video and photos be thrown out or
something?”
Peter nodded and looked down at the notepad in front of him on the desk. “I’m working on it, but I
won’t hold my breath. Mr. Delatorre has been on the FBI’s radar for a long time and they have more
than enough to hold him until trial.”
“Do something,” Syren urged. “I can make some calls, bribe some judges, threaten some people?” He
looked to Delatorre for the okay, but Peter spoke first, his voice tight.
“I’d advise against it.”
“I will think about it.” Delatorre looked first at Peter before turning the full weight of his perusal on
Syren. “Make sure everything else is taken care of,” he said. “Thiago needs to be watched and the
family back home…”
“I’ll make sure all is well and up and running for when you come back.” Syren smiled. “You can
count on me, sir.” Fucking hurt him, physically, to speak those words out loud.
“I know I can.” Delatorre waved a hand in dismissal. “Go.”
Syren and Peter rose as one.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” Peter promised.
Outside in the hallway Peter grabbed Syren by the throat and slammed him into the wall. “What the
fuck is this? Do you have any idea how hard it is to look him in the eye much less act like I give a
fuck about his well-being?” His brown eyes flashed.
Syren attempted a smirk despite the stranglehold Peter had him in. “I may have an idea, yes.”
Peter’s expression softened, but he didn’t release Syren or ease the tight hold. “Fuck.”
“I did not peg you as the vulgar type,” Syren said. “Just goes to show, it’s always the quiet ones.”
“Shut up.” Peter shook him. “I have to think.”
“Okay, but while you’re thinking try not to hurt me, Billy would be upset.” He grinned. “How is your
lover, by the way? Still hacking into places he shouldn’t?” He raised an eyebrow and Peter opened
his fist. Syren’s feet were once again planted on solid ground. He exhaled.
“Last I checked,” Peter answered, “you were the one paying him to hack into places he shouldn’t.” He
tugged angrily on his ugly brown suit.
“Well yeah. The man’s got talent.”
Peter moved away from him and stood with his back against the opposite wall, banging his head
against it. “Can we not talk about Billy right now?” He slid agitated fingers though his short, dark
hair.
“Sore subject?”
“None of your business.”

Syren smiled at him. “Of course it’s my business. I brought you crazy kids together, did I not?
Therefore I’m invested in making sure all is well.”
Billy had been working for Henri, in charge of getting the buyers for the items Henri stole. Syren kind
of inherited him and his insane computer skills. Peter Heppner Syren found when he did his research
on who had it out for Ricardo Delatorre. It appeared Peter’s father had died of a drug overdose in one
of Delatorre’s whorehouses in Brazil. Problem with that was the elder Heppner had no history of
drug use and he’d been an investigative reporter asking questions. When Syren offered Peter a way to
avenge his father, the lawyer jumped at the chance. Guess he was a son first and a lawyer second.
Syren stared at the pinched expression on Peter’s face. “All is well, right?”
“We’re fine.” Peter raised his gaze to the ceiling. “I just, I want this to be over with already. We need
some peace.”
“You’ll get peace when Delatorre is dealt with.” Syren walked away, making his way through the
seemingly endless hallways until he bumped into Patel.
“Any hospitals or clinics in the vicinity?” He had a blood test to take and a lover to check in with.
Patel looked him over. “You don’t look sick.”
“Then look closer, I’m sicker than your average.” Syren winked. “Any idea where my phone is?”
“Didn’t have it on you when you came in?”
Syren shook his head. “I think one of your overzealous agents may have swiped it.” “No one turned it
in. Maybe you dropped it in the limo?”
Fuck. “Damn it! Where is the limo?”
“I’ll have one of the guys go find it.” Patel eyed him curiously. “You’re mighty flustered over a
phone.”
“And you’re mighty inquisitive, aren’t you? All up in my business, Patel.” He stuck his tongue out
when Patel glowered. “Where’s the nearest health clinic?”
“About ten blocks east of here.”
Syren was off before he finished speaking, racing to catch Peter as he got on the elevator. “I need a
ride,” Syren panted. Man, he was so out of shape. “And your phone.”
Despite the curiosity in his gaze, Peter handed over his phone as the elevator doors closed on them.
Syren dialed and waited.
“Hey, babe.”
He snickered. “Hey, babe to you too, Billy.”
Billy sputtered. ‘‘You! Why do you have Peter’s phone?”
“Your man is here with me, details aren’t important.” Syren waved away Peter’s glare. “My phone is
lost, can you find it with your fancy thingie?”
“What fancy thingie?”
“How should I know? You’re the expert. You know my phone number, use some kinda GPS
something or other to locate it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve got some very important
calls to make and I need that phone.”
“I can try.” Billy didn’t sound too sure.
“Do more than try, William.”
“Ugh. Hate when you use my government.”
“Which is precisely why I use it.” The elevator dinged, opening up in an aboveground parking garage.
“Get a pen and paper, I have a number for you.” He recited Kane’s number to Billy and instructed him
to, “Call this number as soon as we hang up. His name is Kane. Tell him I’m fine, but I lost my phone.
Got it?”

“New man in your life?” Billy asked.
“Butt out.” Syren walked alongside Peter as they headed to the lawyer’s car. “Do I question you about
your love life?”
“Yes!” Both Billy and Peter answered.
“Whatever. Make that call, William, then find my phone. I may have to put the moves on sexy Peter
here if you don’t.” He hung up over Billy’s very creative curses regarding Syren’s anatomy. “Come
on, Pete. We’re going to a health clinic over thataway.” He pointed in what he really hoped was east.
“Don’t call me Pete.”
Peter unlocked the car and Syren sank into the front passenger side, thankful the windows were tinted.
He buckled in then patted Peter on the shoulder as the lawyer started the car. “Whatever you say,
Petey.”

* * * * *

Kane sat in the New York office, along with Vince and two other guys from New Jersey. They

were all collaborating on the case of a recent parolee who’d neglected to check in after cops were
called to his house to find his mother, sister and younger brother shot. The mother and sister were
going to be fine, but not the brother. He’d died on the way to the hospital.

Nearly two days since then and Randall Blevins had been spotted in Brooklyn after fleeing

Jersey. Now Kane and his crew were on his trail. The action helped keep his mind off Syren. His
lover neglected to check in and didn’t answer the two times Kane gave in and called him. The DEA
had made a huge bust in Jersey, rounding up a bunch of people, but Kane knew Syren was nowhere
around that, so where was his lover?

Vince had been avoiding him, or maybe Kane was the one doing the avoiding, either way they

both seemed to never be in the same room alone, together. Eventually they’d have to talk, especially
since Vince knew he’d put in for retirement. Thanks to his freaking team leader for outing him before
he spoke to Vince privately. Kane had forgotten all about that. He’d thought about retirement when
Bailey died, but opted to stay on since that was the only thing keeping him sane. He’d rethought it
once Vince kissed him and put in the papers on impulse, but he didn’t regret it. He needed a change of
pace, a change of scenery. A change of every damn thing.
“We got a lead.”

He looked up at Vince, who appeared incapable of making eye contact. “Okay, where?” He stood

and grabbed his black leather jacket off the back of his chair.
“Blevins’ car was spotted in Brooklyn. Someplace called…” Vince looked down at the piece of
paper in his hand. “Canarsie Pier.”
“All right, let’s go.”
Vince’s left eye ticked when his gaze lifted. “I’m gonna sit this one out. Thomas and Michelson will
tag along with you.” He turned away and Kane grabbed his arm.
“Vince.”
His friend shook his hold and moved out of reach without even looking at Kane. “Not now. I can’t—”
Kane’s cell phone went off. He released Vince with a grimace and picked it up from his desk.
“Ashby.”
“Uh, is this Kane?”
“Yeah.” Kane frowned at the strange voice. “Who is this?”
“Not really as important as the message I’m passing along,” the caller responded. “Syren lost his

phone, but he’s okay.”
Kane sagged against his desk with a loud sigh. “Where is he?” Vince looked on, all kinds of questions
in his stare.
“Yeah, I wasn’t supposed to disclose that so I won’t.” The caller paused. “He wanted you to know he
was okay and he’ll call you as soon as he can.”
“Fuck!” Kane rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t like that at all, but what choice did he have?
“Fine, thanks for calling.”
“Uh-huh.”
He hung up and stared down at the phone in his palm. Syren still had secrets and Kane didn’t know
how he felt about that. Did he want to know all of Syren’s dark secrets? Did he want to share in all
that with the man he now called his lover? Should he call Syren on it or wait for him to share in his
own time?
“What was that? Is Gabe okay?”
Kane jerked his head up. “Huh? Oh yeah, that wasn’t about Gabe.”
Understanding dawned in Vince’s eyes. “It was about him? The guy you’re seeing?”
Kane moved away and looked around. “Can we not discuss this now?” Or ever? He called out to the
other agents. “Guys, let’s head out before we lose Blevins again.”
Maybe he’d clear his head while he was out there. Get some things to start making sense.

* * * * *

Delatorre didn’t get bail. No big surprise there, no one except him thought he would. Despite

news of a huge traffic tie-up and arrests the day they were picked up, the Feds and DEA both decided
not to make it known exactly who they’d taken into custody.

Syren hadn’t banked on that, but he had no complaints. That actually worked in his favor. He

focused his attentions on making sure all of Delatorre’s accounts were empty, the money given out to
much appreciative charities, anonymously thanks to Billy.
That guy was just a magician on the computer.

He needed to call Kane. Despite having Billy call and reassure his lover, Syren felt he owed it to

Kane to offer some kind of explanation for running out on him after sex, yet again. He’d retrieved his
phone to find a couple missed calls from Kane and one from Isa. He also needed to check in on Costa
Rica. Before he did that though, he needed to deal with Thiago. The young man insisted on seeing his
father so Syren did that, taking him to see Delatorre before the older man was carted off.

He’d noticed Thiago’s reticence to accept there would be nothing between him and Syren. He’d

done his best during the car ride to the detainment center to get his hand on Syren’s crotch. Syren did
everything short of breaking the idiot’s fingers to get him to see reason. Thiago had only stopped,
frozen in fact, when Syren let him know there was someone special in his life.

He had no way of knowing if he was someone special in Kane’s life, but he damn sure was

special to Syren.
Speaking of.
Making sure the coast was clear, Syren ducked into Patel’s office and shut the door before pulling out
his phone and dialing Kane. The marshal might be at work, or in the field, Syren didn’t know, but he
wanted to hear Kane’s voice. And give him a bit of news.
“Found your phone, did you?”
Syren sank into the chair behind Patel’s desk with a grin. “Really, this is the way you answer your

phone? Manners, Marshal, get some.”
Kane grunted in his ear. “I have manners, thank you very much. What can I do for you?”
“Miss me?” Syren propped his feet atop Patel’s desk and crossed his ankles.
“Not really, no.” Kane didn’t miss a beat.
“Har har har. I’ll take that as a yes.” Syren pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and
unfolded it. Just looking at it made him hard. He squirmed.
“Where and how are you?”
“LA and fine.” He tipped his gaze to the ceiling. “You?”
“I’m in New York, work stuff.” Voices rang out in the background.
“Uh-huh. Got a fax machine near you?”
“Yes. Why?” The wheels turning in Kane’s head were mighty loud on Syren’s end.
“Give me the number, Marshal.” Kane hesitated and Syren urged him. “Trust me, you’ll like this.”
“Fuck.” Kane relayed the number under his breath. “This shit better be good or I swear to God.”
Syren got to his feet and proceeded to send the fax. “Threats, really? When I’m sending you a gift, a
naughty one at that?” He finished and sat back down. “I don’t mind telling you, I am not enamored
with your tone.”
“Yeah? Too bad.” Kane’s voice dropped lower. “I’m not enamored of you continually running out of
my bed.”
Syren’s body heated in a wave that started at his nape and swept down to his toes, hardening him
along the way. “Aw, look at you. Demanding I stay and cuddle. So…sweet.”
“I want an entire night, damn it.” Frustration thinned Kane’s tone. “I need to…oh fuck.”
Syren chuckled. “My fax has arrived, I take it?”
“Goddamn.” The throaty word shook.
Yep. “You wanted it and now you have it. My test results.”
“I—” Kane’s swallow was audible. “You were supposed to bring it next time you came.”
“Yes,” Syren purred, “but where’s the fun, huh? This way there’ll be no holdups when I come through
your door, Marshal.” He cupped himself and stroked lightly. “You can fuck me up against your front
door. Bend me over the kitchen counter.”
Kane groaned. “Stop it.”
“Three guesses on what I’m doing right now.” He fondled his balls. “Touching myself, thinking of you
ordering me to my knees as soon as I come though your door.”
“Syren.” A sensual warning.
“Yes.” A low moan punctuated the word. “You want me to take you in my mouth, don’t you? Swallow
you? Maybe I will. Then again…”
“Fucking tease!” Kane panted in his ear. “When? When will you get here?”
“Soon.” Patel’s office door opened and Syren looked up. Patel stood there and he was not pleased,
not by that sour look on his face. “Gotta go.” He hung up and frowned. “What?”
“Any reason in particular you’re making yourself at home in my office?” Patel leaned against the
door, arms folded, a frown on his face. His dark skin was cleanshaven, but unhappy lines bracketed
his black eyes and otherwise really kissable mouth.
“Of course.”
Patel raised an eyebrow and Syren waved away his unspoken question.
“Oh none that I care to share, but I do have reasons.”
Patel rolled his eyes. “I heard enough.” He grinned. “Found yourself some poor bastard to torture, did
you?”

Syren stared at him. Damn, Patel was a stunner when he smiled. “First, loving the smile. Second and
maybe most importantly, stay out of my business and we won’t talk about you having a hard-on for
who you should definitely not be having a hard-on for.”
That wiped away any mirth on Patel’s face and in his eyes. “Whatever you think you know, forget it.”
“That could work.” Syren tapped his lips with a finger. “If only you could do the same.” He dropped
a pointed look to the gold band on Patel’s ring finger. “Thoughts?”
“Fuck off.” Patel rushed out the office and Syren barked a laugh.
He really should not be in possession of other people’s secrets, but that was the life he’d found
himself in, brokering in secrets and lies. He used them, but only if it benefited him. Otherwise, what
was the point? Lucky for him, his own secrets remained locked in his head, in his memories and those
who knew had no cause to hold it over him.
Still, he couldn’t wait to be done with the entire Faro charade. Dispense with the secrets, the lies, the
false names and false promises. The biggest lie he held on to was the one of omission, the one he kept
telling himself shouldn’t matter. Kane didn’t have to know. They weren’t serious. They may never be,
so why rock the boat? Why put all his cards on the table, bring Càtia into the mix, when Kane wasn’t
over his dead lover and may never be?
True, his heart was already caught up. Had been from the instant he’d looked into Kane’s eyes in the
photograph, but that was his failing. His weakness. He expected nothing from Kane but a good time.
Really.
Wishing for more was unrealistic. Wishing was for fools. He was a lot of things, but Syren didn’t
think he fell under that particular banner. He’d always been painfully realistic and he’d known getting
into anything with Kane Ashby would hurt. Unforgivably so, but this was him being selfish. Taking
what he’d always wanted. When it ended, and it would—sooner, but hopefully later—he’d have
amassed an arsenal of new memories, good memories to banish the old and bad ones.
Can’t ask for more. Well, he could, but he wouldn’t get it so there really was no sense in asking.
A knock on Patel’s office door jerked his attention back to the present. A tall blond stood in the
doorway, eyeing Syren like a bug under his shoe.
“Patel’s not here right now.” Syren sank into the chair, smirking at the bright disapproval in the
newcomer’s eyes. “Care to leave a message?”
“Jack Wellington, DEA.” He made a huge production out of showing his badge. “You are Faro,
correct? Delatorre’s mouthpiece?”
Syren’s mouth twitched. Lots of potential with that mouthpiece comment, but he let it slide. “I’m
whoever you want me to be. Jack.” Syren knew Agent Wellington. He’d been in New York with
Pablo Castillo’s lover, also a DEA agent, on an op hoping to net the Nieto Brothers. They got many
things, but still didn’t get the Nietos. Syren refrained from pointing out he was the reason one of the
Nietos was locked up. Time enough later for that, right now he wanted out of the damned building.
Place was crawling with do-gooders, it was enough make his skin itch.
Wellington’s nose flared. “Why is a known criminal making himself comfortable behind an agent’s
desk?” He stepped into the room, hand grasping the butt of the gun strapped to his waist.
Syren rolled his eyes but didn’t budge. “You should watch yourself. Jack.” He made a show of
looking around. “Is Agent Ruskin here with you perchance?” He lifted a brow. “He and I go way back
and we have lots of things in common. Lots.”
Shane Ruskin was Pablo Castillo’s current lover and Wellington’s ex. That couldn’t be a good look,
your DEA ex bumping uglies with a known criminal.
Wellington’s gaze narrowed at Syren’s comment. “You know Shane?”

“Indeed I do.” Syren smiled. “Do you?”
Wellington wasn’t good at masking his feelings or maybe Syren knew what to look for, either way the
man remained in love with Agent Ruskin. The quick flash of pain in his eyes proved that.
Syren rose and made his way to the door. “While you ponder that question, why don’t you have a
seat?” He waved a hand at the room. “I’m sure Patel will be along soon.” He escaped the office
before Wellington could speak. The man’s emotion was too much, he couldn’t stay and wallow in it.
Not when it reminded him of his own problems. He needed to round up Thiago and get his ass back to
the Delatorre house up in The Hills then Syren needed to get to Connecticut where everything he ever
wanted waited.

Chapter Eleven

His pilot had time off so Syren flew commercial the next day, the bane of his existence. What was

the sense of having a shitload of money if he couldn’t have himself a private jet to cart his lazy ass all
over the globe when he felt like it? He’d bought the used plane from a friend of Henri’s after shit hit
the fan and Càtia came into his life. He had to keep her hidden and find ways to see her without
Delatorre tracking him. His pilot made enough money to keep his trap shut, but more than that, the
former navy pilot knew Syren wouldn’t hesitate to blow his world to hell should he disclose Syren’s
frequent Costa Rica trips.

Quid pro quo. That son of a bitch was a necessity in his line of work. He had a hard-on begging

for attention and the need to taste Kane riding him hard. He squirmed in the back of the taxi, the first
one that’d pulled up as he stepped outside the airport. Kane had no idea he was coming and Syren
would be seriously pissed if he got there and no one was home.
“Fuck.” He dialed Kane, muttering, “Please be home. Please be home” under his breath.
“Calling to tease me again?”
“Marshal! Are you home? Please say you’re home.” The words left him a rush.
“Uh, I’m on my way home.”
“Crap!” Syren smacked his forehead. “Should’ve called earlier to be sure.”
“Why, what’s up?”
“I’m about five minutes from your house.” He peered out the window of the taxi. “Scratch that, I’m
outside your door.”
“Well. I’m still about forty-five minutes out so…”
“I’ll break—uh, let myself in like I did last time.” Syren paid the driver and stumbled out the taxi,
lugging his overnight bag. “Later.” He hung up on Kane and waited for the taxi to drive off before
picking the lock with the tools he’d stashed at the bottom of his bag. One could never be too prepared.
Once inside, he turned on the lights, dropped his bag on the couch in the living room then stood,
admiring the pictures of Kane’s dead lover that decorated the mantel and walls.

Bailey Shannan was a beautiful man. His smile, the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes gave

him away. In Kane’s arms, in which he seemed to be in almost every frame, his eyes sparkled, their
brightness blinding. Everything about this man, about him and Kane spelled loved and commitment
and devotion. Nothing Syren thought or did could compare to that.

A cold fact, but true nonetheless.

Faced with the life Kane had for so many years before him, Syren didn’t see what Kane could
possibly get by being with him. Their times together weren’t like that, they weren’t carefree, nothing
to laugh about. They weren’t as easy or open. Neither he nor Kane were honest with the other. He had

his secrets and Kane had his memories.

He wanted what he saw in those pictures. He wanted that life so bad he could damn near taste it

on his tongue.
Rocking back on his heels, Syren balled his hands into fists to keep them from reaching for a frame
and flinging it across the room.
In his head, in his mind where no one but he could hear, he damned Bailey for having had Kane first.
He cursed him for being the one to know what being loved by Kane felt like. For having his heart,
earning his way into Kane’s memories then leaving him a shell with nothing more to give. Syren had
to own up to the fact he cared for someone who could never stop wishing, never stop hoping that
Syren was someone else.
He forced himself to move, to walk through the house as he did the last time he broke in. He climbed
the stairs and entered the bedroom, the one Kane never brought him to. The one Syren had no hope of
ever entering.
The master bedroom. Theirs, Kane and Bailey. Two toothbrushes still sat in the holder in the
bathroom, one red, one forest green. Two towels hung on the rail. It was as if Bailey had never died,
he’d simply gone to the store or something.
Kane wasn’t giving him up so where did that leave Syren? Odd man out. On the outside, praying to be
let in. No dice. There obviously was no room in Kane’s heart or his bed for Syren. All he got was the
guestroom.
He’d make himself deal with it because he couldn’t walk away. He’d come too far and sank too deep
into Kane, into the heat. The chemistry didn’t lie. The sex was the only truth about them. Between
them.
Syren could deal until Kane changed his mind, until he said otherwise. He walked out the bedroom,
closing the door softly before he went into the guestroom. He emptied his bag on the bed, choosing his
clothes, then went to the shower. He might not have Kane’s heart, but he damn sure had his body and
Syren had no intentions of saying no when it came to sex with Kane.
By the time Kane’s car pulled into the driveway, Syren had showered and composed himself. He took
his sweet time descending the stairs, barely making a sound on his bare feet. Kane’s keys sounded in
the lock and at the bottom stair Syren paused and waited, nerves clawing at his insides, teeth
worrying his bottom lip. He steeled himself against disgust in Kane’s eyes. Even though his head
knew Kane accepted his tastes in women’s underthings, his heart didn’t trust it.
The door opened and Kane swept in, his head down as he fiddled with the keys and bags of food he
held. He kicked the door closed then dropped the keys on the little table to his left.
“Syren,” Kane called as he placed the food on the same table then turned. “I’m—” Their gazes
collided and Kane’s widened.
Home. Say home. Please say you’re home. Syren managed a smile despite the ache in his chest.
“Hi.”
Kane’s hot stare slid down Syren’s body, slow and dirty. “Goddamn.” He licked his lips as color
crept along his cheekbones. “Is that my shirt?”
It was indeed. Syren had found the crisp white shirt in a basket of freshly laundered clothes at the top
of the stairs and paired it with the pink lace bikini that cupped him gently. He’d secured one button,
leaving much of his chest exposed, but the large shirt slipped off his shoulders, showing even more
skin. At Kane’s question he fluttered his lashes and spun.
“You like?” He fingered a button on the shirt and winked at the man regarding him under heavy
lashes. “I smell like you. That gets me hard.” He dropped his gaze to Kane’s crotch, chuckling as his

lover’s shaft twitched. “Think it has the same effect on you.”
“Come here.” Kane didn’t move, but his chest rose with each pant.
The knowledge that he was the reason for Kane’s loss of control was a heady thing. Syren inhaled and
went to him. Standing inches apart, he tilted his head to meet his lover’s eyes. The mutual burn was
there in Kane’s icy-blue eyes, but the tender need was different.
Syren didn’t know what to do, how to respond without laying all his cards on the table so he reacted
instinctively.
He dropped to his knees.
“Fuck.”
Skimming his hands down Kane’s sides, Syren regarded him though the strands of hair that had fallen
into his eyes. “How many times have you thought about having me like this?”
Kane’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Too many,” he rasped. “Far too many to count.”
“You have me here, now.” Syren tugged up Kane’s t-shirt and pressed his nose to the warm skin he’d
exposed, directly above his belt buckle. He inhaled the musk of Kane’s skin. “Use me.”
Kane trembled. He cupped Syren’s jaw. “The look in your eyes,” he murmured hoarsely. “It’s killing
me.”
Syren mouthed Kane through the jeans’ rough material. “What look?”
“Hungry.” Kane pushed forward when Syren spoke, a beautiful grimace on his face. “Like you’ve
been wanting this.”
“I have.” Syren unbuckled Kane’s belt and twisted the end around his palm. “I’ve been wanting to
taste you like this.”
Kane’s erection swelled even more, arousal wafting off him in thick, mind-clouding waves. “You
need this.”
“That too.” Syren used the belt to yank him closer. “Give me.”
“No.” Tender fingers grazed his cheeks then settled in Syren’s hair, tugging gently until he looked up.
“Take.”
Wow. Syren’s entire body spasmed. “Kane.”
“I’ve only kissed one person the past few years. Never gotten close enough to do anything else.”
Kane’s words rumbled above Syren’s head. “My tests are upstairs.” Syren unzipped him and he
inhaled sharply. “In my nightstand.”
Without taking his eyes off Kane, Syren fumbled his way into his lover’s open fly, grasped his heavy
shaft and pulled it out. “What does the test say, Marshal?” He traced Kane’s length with one finger,
watching the muscle under his left eye jump.
“Says I’m clean.”
He never doubted that. Kane was too responsible to ever fuck around. “Does it say I can do this?” He
dropped his focus on the cock in his hand and flicked his tongue out to dip into the tiny slit.
The fingers in his hair tightened. “Y-yes.”
“Hmm. What about this?” Syren parted his lips and took Kane inside. The other man’s hips flexed.
“Syren.”
The plea was music to Syren, pushing him to step over the invisible line he’d drawn in the sand. The
one holding him back from giving everything. He widened his mouth and Kane pushed in by slow
increments, filling Syren until his jaw ached. He stayed like that, lips stretched wide around Kane’s
girth as his lover fucked his mouth tenderly, his pre-cum coating Syren’s tongue and making him
giddy.
There was a time when he’d never even thought about this, him on his knees, being used like this. But

there was also a time when he was floundering, unhappy in his skin and in his life.
Everything was different. What mattered now was pleasure, his and Kane’s, and Syren would do
anything for the man who looked down at him as though he was the only one.
Kane pulled back and eased in gently, slowly, taking his time. That worked for a bit, but Syren grew
restless, needy, so he slid both palms over Kane’s naked ass then sank his nails into his cheeks.
Kane pushed into him with a grunt, grazing along teeth to the back of Syren’s throat, his length pulsing
on his tongue like his heart. All pretense at tender, at gentleness evaporated then and Kane thrust into
his mouth, slamming in. Syren moaned and held on. He didn’t bother using his tongue; he simply held
his mouth open and rocked, his own cock hard and aching, soaking his panties with pre-cum.
The fingers twisted in his hair guided him on and off the shaft in his mouth and Syren had no problem
with it, he had no problems letting Kane direct him in giving his lover pleasure, in giving him what he
wanted.
A fine tremble vibrated under the palms he’d placed on Kane’s ass, a giveaway on how affected his
lover was even though he’d lapsed into non-syllabic sounds. Syren snapped out of his passive state
and sank down on Kane’s shaft, down and down until the spongy head bumped the back of his throat,
obstructing his breathing, and his nose was pressed into the short and curlies around Kane’s groin.
Syren swallowed.
Kane yelled and thrust deeper.
Breath disappeared. Syren’s eyes burned, moistening as he fought for air, but Kane held him there,
pressed against him as he fought to burrow deeper down Syren’s throat. Syren curled his fingers,
hanging on to Kane by his nails. He didn’t panic, didn’t struggle. This was Kane and with Kane he
had nothing to fear.
He relaxed and Kane yanked him off. A wet sound rent the air as his throat released his prize and
Syren coughed, gasping air into his lungs. Kane stroked himself as he watched, face hard in his
arousal, but eyes alert and questioning. Syren gulped in air then gave him a nod.
He was all right. He was fine and he wanted more. He reared up on his knees, lips parted, begging
with his eyes and Kane stepped forward, tracing Syren’s lips with his slick cock head. Syren flicked
out his tongue and tasted the salt.
Hmm.
“Open.”
He did and Kane sank in, fucking his face without missing a stroke, hips snapping. Syren pressed a
hand on his left hip to keep his balance and allowed himself to be caught in the flow. The feel of
Kane, thick and hard, veins bulging and flared crown dripping was all he could’ve hoped for. All he
wanted right then. He dipped a hand into the waistband of his panties and jerked himself off.
This was it, when everything aligned right for them. When nothing intruded, when no questions were
needed because all the answers were the correct ones.
“Fuck,” Kane grated above his head and Syren lifted his eyelids and looked up. His lover’s face was
twisted into a sexy grimace, jaw flexing, the veins in his temple bulging. “Your mouth is heaven,
don’t want to leave it.”
He slowed his thrusting and Syren dipped his head, dragging his lips along the length of him until he
got to the tip. There he stopped and used his tongue to drill Kane’s slit, his lashes fluttering at the
other man’s taste.
“Shit.” Kane hardened even more in his mouth. “Gonna come. Gonna—”
Bittersweet cream filled Syren’s mouth and slid down his throat. He shuddered. Kane’s hoarse cries
rang out over his head, his muscles straining. Syren swallowed and Kane spurted again.

“Christ.”
He swallowed all of it then polished off Kane’s shaft until the other man’s knees gave out and he sank
to the floor with Syren.
“Make yourself come.”
Syren’s eyes flew open. Kane’s gaze was on him, wild. He wobbled on his knees, the pants around
his thighs constricting his movements.
Syren looked down at himself. His hand was in his panties, sticky from preejaculate. He’d been so
bent on giving Kane pleasure, so caught up in that he hadn’t realized he’d neglected his own.
“Do it,” Kane growled.
Syren’s cock ached, the pain in his balls damn near unbearable, but at the heat in Kane’s eyes, the
growl from his throat, his body responded, growing harder, leaking more. He followed the command,
holding Kane’s gaze. With one hand he tugged down the underwear while the other cupped his balls,
squeezed them. He went rough with it, a bite of pain that echoed down his spine and yanked a gasp
from his lips.
Kane’s gaze sharpened. “Pull on them.”
Fuck if Syren didn’t. “Oh. Oh God.”
Kane crept closer, slashes of color on his cheekbones making them appear more prominent. “Yes,
that’s it,” he whispered. “Now stroke it. Stroke it for me.”
Syren leaned back. His cock jutted forward and he circled it and stroked. Up and down, nice and
steady, a squeeze here, a tug there, all while Kane watched. All while Syren panted and stared into
the blue flames of Kane’s eyes.
“So fucking hot, watching you.” Kane dragged a finger along Syren’s inner thigh. “You’re like
perfection.”
“Kane.” Syren choked out the name as his skin tightened and blood pounded in his ears. “Please.”
Touch me. Love me.
Kane plucked Syren’s left nipple. “Come for me.”
His lover asked and Syren delivered. He relaxed the grip he had on his control and the orgasm
crashed through him, the force of it curving his spine. He doubled over as he erupted, filling his palm
with the evidence of his release. His cries were a mixture of Portuguese and French, a jumble he
couldn’t distinguish except for his lover’s name. The name of the man intent on tearing him apart, but
would Kane want to put him back together again?
Syren kept his head bowed and didn’t stir until Kane took his hand, the one holding his cum and
licked it, cleaning him off. Breath left him in a sob. “Fuck, Marshal.”
Kane lifted his gaze to him and chuckled around Syren’s finger. “You’re dirty,” he mumbled. “It’s my
job to clean you up.”
Syren’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “You are just the worst.”
Kane held up his hand and flattened his tongue down the center of his palm. “But in a good way,
right?”
“Hell yeah.”
Softness, tenderness flooded Kane’s eyes and he looked at Syren as if…as if he were seeing him for
the first time. Syren squirmed. He couldn’t read Kane’s expression, the eyes told him nothing, but he
felt some kind of shift, he felt it in the way Kane nuzzled his palm and hummed.
Syren started to shake. He shifted, tried to move way, but Kane held him firm.
“I brought food,” Kane said softly. “Chinese. You hungry?”
Syren shrugged. “If you’re feeding me, I’m eating.”

“So where did you go and what happened?”
They sat back on the couch after their meal, Syren in a fresh pair of panties, purple with black frills,
and Kane’s shirt and Kane bare-chested with only his jeans, unbuttoned but zipped.
Kane leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. Probably trying to ignore the mantel opposite
filled with pictures of a dead man smiling at them. Syren couldn’t ignore them if he tried. He
mimicked Kane’s movements as the other man’s phone went off. Kane ignored it for the third time
since they sat down.
“Am I keeping you from something?” Syren turned to him with a raised eyebrow, but Kane didn’t look
at him. “Answer it or turn it off already.”
“You’re ignoring my question.”
“Oh I’m ignoring your question?” Syren shook his head. “We made our move on Delatorre. He’s
locked up.”
Kane swung around to face him. “Does he know who you are?”
“Not yet.”
“When?” Kane frowned. “When do you get to finally put all that behind you and move on?” He
continued on. “I haven’t heard or seen an anything about it on the news.”
“They’re keeping it under wraps for now, only on a need-to-know basis.” Syren held his tongue on
Kane’s other questions else he’d start asking Kane the same things and he had a feeling that like him,
Kane wouldn’t have the answers.
“How do you feel about it?” Kane went for a more subdued tone when he asked, “Are you ready for it
all to be over and done with?”
Syren dropped his gaze to the array of photos displayed opposite them. He focused on one in
particular, where Kane and Bailey stared into the camera, wide smiles on both their faces. Kane’s
fingers were buried in Bailey’s hair while Bailey tugged on his right ear.
Pain echoed in Syren’s chest. “I think it’s time for something new, something different and I’m ready
for a change.”
Kane leaned over and took his mouth, kissing him tenderly. “Good.” He stretched out and pulled
Syren atop him. “Lie with me.”
Who could say no to that? Syren wrapped his arms around him and laid his head on Kane’s chest,
allowing his heartbeat to lull him. They needed to talk. They needed to sort out this thing between
them, but it could keep until he wasn’t so sleepy. As sleep claimed him, Kane’s phone went off again.
A cramped leg and parched throat woke Syren a while later. He climbed off Kane and padded into
the kitchen to get a drink of water, only to stiffen at the sound of a key in Kane’s front door. Placing
the cup carefully in the sink, he grabbed a knife off the block on the counter and crept out.
A figure in dark clothes, jeans and t-shirt strode into the living room and stood over Kane where he
slept. As Syren watched, a hand reached down and stroked Kane’s head.
Their mystery visitor’s close-shaved head turned slightly and Syren smiled. It appeared Kane’s
partner had a death wish.
He tiptoed forward and pressed the blade of the knife to the man’s throat. “You can look, but never
touch.”

* * * * *

A touch on his head pulled Kane from sleep. He opened his eyes in time to watch Syren put a

knife under Vince’s throat.

“You can look,” Syren snarled as Vince threw his hands up, “but never touch.”
Kane vaulted off the couch. “Syren. Don’t.”
His lover held Vince in a death grip, one hand locked around his neck, the other holding the knife.
Syren didn’t appear to hear him, his face was blank.
“Syren.” He lifted his head and Kane motioned to a mercifully silent Vince. “Let him go, you know
who he is.”
“Did you know he was coming here?” Syren scowled at him.
“No.” Vince answered before Kane did and Syren’s fingers tightened around the knife. “He didn’t
know I was coming. I called your phone,” he addressed Kane, “but you didn’t answer.”
“He didn’t answer so you thought you’d just walk in?”
Fuck. Kane had forgotten about the key he’d given Vince back in the early days of the aftermath of
Bailey’s death. “Syren, put the knife down. I’ll handle this.”
Syren flashed him an incredulous look before he stepped away and flung the knife across the room.
“Unbelievable.” His anger clouded the air, but Kane focused on Vince.
“Why are you here, Vince?”
His partner turned his betrayed look to Kane. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d put your papers in?” He
walked closer and Syren tensed where he stood on the other side of the room, arms crossed. “I have
to hear you’re retiring from someone else?”
Jesus. Kane shoved his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t deal with Vince’s hurt feelings right now.
“I’m sorry.” From the corner of his eye he watched helplessly as Syren stalked out the room and up
the stairs, the tails of Kane’s shirt he wore long enough to hide his panties. Kane turned back to Vince
with a sigh.
“This isn’t the time, Vince. I’m sorry you had to hear about me from someone else, but things change,
you know?”
Vince scoffed. “Yeah? Like you and him?” He nodded in the direction Syren disappeared. “Do you
even know who he is?”
“I know who he is.”
“Do you?” Vince moved into his space and cupped his jaw. “Is that who you want, a criminal?” His
eyes bored into Kane, searching. “A drug dealer? Is that how far you’ve fallen?”
Kane shook his head. “You know nothing about him, about us. Don’t judge until you do.”
Vince stared at him. “Is that how it is, you and him now? What was it when you were kissing me?”
He’d known that shit was a mistake and now he was getting it thrown back in his face. Fuck.
“Answer the man, Marshal.” Syren spoke from behind him.
Kane spun. Syren had gotten dressed in his armor, a dark suit and white shirt, all put together, but his
eyes told another tale. He dropped his overnight bag on the couch and rummaged through it before
zipping it and meeting Kane’s gaze.
“I think your friend deserves an answer, don’t you?” Syren cocked his head. “Give him one, we’re all
waiting.”
“Look, Vince, I’m sorry. It was a mistake and I told you that from jump. I can’t give you more.”
Vince’s throat worked. “But you can give him?”
Syren laughed, a brittle sound. “More fool you.” He walked toward the door and Kane grabbed his
arm.
“Where are you going?”
Syren shrugged away his hold. “You’re not that stupid or clueless, Marshal. I’m leaving. This shit is
getting far too crowded for my liking. I need breathing room.”

“No.” Kane held on to Syren and spoke to Vince. “We’ll see and speak to each other at work.”
Vince stood as if rooted to the floor, his eyes sad. Kane wished he could ease the hurt he’d inflicted
on the man he’d called friend for so long, but Syren needed him and Syren was priority.
Finally, Vince stepped away and walked slowly to the door. Kane waited until he heard the door
close before he turned Syren to face him. “Don’t go.”
Syren’s face was blank when he shrugged. “There’s no room, no space here for me.” What? “No,
don’t say that. Of course, there’s—”
“He has a key!” Syren exploded. He dropped his bag to the floor. “He has a key,” he said again.
“Yes.” Kane nodded.
“Remedy that shit, ASAP.”
Kane bristled. “Are you telling me what to do?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Are you fucking him?”
Kane reared back. “You know I’m not.”
“Yeah? I know you’re fucking me, but I don’t have a key.” Syren shook his head. “Look. I’m already
in a ménage relationship with a fucking ghost, I’m not about to put up with this—this four-way shit. I
let you take the lead in everything else, but in this I am telling you to remedy that shit. ASAP.”
Kane gaped at the fire in Syren’s eyes, at the fury on his face. He shook his head slowly as Syren’s
words sank in. “What are you talking about? What ménage?” But he knew, even before he uttered the
words he knew.
Syren approached him slowly. “Do you think I didn’t know?” he asked quietly. “You think I didn’t
notice you only fucked me in your guestroom? You think I haven’t seen how you’ve enshrined your
own bedroom to him, as if you’re waiting for him to get back from a walk?”
Kane swallowed. “It’s not what you think.” His heart felt as if it had become lodged in his throat. The
pain in Syren’s eyes, in his voice, was too much to witness.
“No?” Syren gazed up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Tell me, where is Sunset, the painting you
loved so much? I bought it for you and no matter how I search, and trust me I’ve searched, I can’t find
it anywhere.”
“It’s— I locked it up.”
“Ah.” Syren nodded as if Kane had laid all his questions to rest. “Who do you see when you touch
me? When you’re inside me and you close your eyes, are you wishing I were him?” His voice broke.
“Are you making love to him through me?”
Jesus Christ. “No,” Kane said firmly. “No, Syren. Never.”
Syren pursed his lips and Kane couldn’t tell if he believed him or not. “Do you know how hard it is to
compete with a ghost? It’s an impossible task, Kane. One I can’t win. I’m taking myself out of the
running.”
“No.” Kane blocked his path as Syren turned to the door. “Please. Don’t leave. I’m sorry.”
Syren shook his head with a forced chuckle. “What’s there to be sorry about? I never— I never had a
chance.” His face crumpled, only for an instant, before he composed himself.
“Syren, please. I want you.”
“More than you miss him?” Syren shot back. “More than you want him?” He didn’t wait for Kane’s
reply, he ducked under his arm and started for the front door.
“No.” Kane grabbed him by the hair and dragged him backward. Syren twisted, contorting his body,
and freed himself. He spun around and punched Kane on his jaw.
“Don’t fucking manhandle me.”
Kane shook his head to clear the stars. For such a small man, Syren packed a powerful punch. “You

hit me.”
“And I’ll do worse damage if you try to stop me.” Syren sneered. He bent to pick up his bag and Kane
tackled him. They crashed to the floor, both throwing blows. Syren slammed an elbow into his ribs,
stealing his breath, and Kane reciprocated by holding him in a headlock.
“Don’t leave,” he begged. “Don’t leave me.”
Syren stopped moving under him and when Kane released his hold, Syren scrambled to his feet.
“There’s nothing more to say, is there?” He straightened his suit. “I want more and you can’t give it.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing more to say.”
Kane struggled upright. “That’s not true.”
Syren ignored him. Instead he walked into the living room and stood with a hand on his hip. “Give me
back Sunset. You don’t want it, so give it back.”
Kane followed him. “Fine. Under one condition.”
“What?” Syren glared at him.
“Kiss me goodbye and I’ll give you Sunset.”
Syren stared at him as if he’d sprouted an extra eye or something. “Are you out of your fucking
mind?”
He must be because he didn’t want to see his lover’s back as he walked out that door. He wasn’t
ready for what saying goodbye to Syren meant. He was ready to make his feelings clear. “Don’t act
like it’s some kind of hardship.” He granted Syren a crooked smile. “You love my kisses.”
Syren’s eyes narrowed. “Not true, but whatever, let’s get this thing over with so I can leave you and
your memories alone.” He cocked his head and seized up Kane. “It’s what you prefer, isn’t it? Your
memories.”
“It’s not.” He trailed a finger along Syren’s jawline. “It’s not what I prefer and you know that.”
“Because I read minds, yes?” Syren scoffed. He pursed his lips, closed his eyes and waited.
Kane kissed him at one corner of his mouth then the other. He rubbed their cheeks together before
planting tiny kisses along Syren’s jaw, journeying to his ear. “I want you, you have to know that.” He
bit down on Syren’s lobe gently and grinned when the other man’s breath hitched.
“I don’t know anything anymore, Kane.” Syren’s words were breathy. “Just…let’s make this quick,
huh?”
Kane grabbed the back of his head and yanked him back. “Okay. Let’s.” He took Syren’s mouth in a
harsh possession, forcing his tongue inside when the man in his arms whimpered. Kane kissed him
until his chest burned from the lack of oxygen then lifted his head.
Syren’s eyes were at half-mast, his lips already red and swollen as he gripped Kane’s biceps.
“You want to make this our last one?” Kane bit out. “Then let’s. We’ll go out with a bang.” He tore
off Syren’s shirt then took his mouth again. Before the buttons hit the floor his hands were on Syren’s
zipper, dragging it down, tugging his pants off his hips.
Syren shuddered, hands pushing him away, but his lips and tongue pulled him in, keeping him close.
When his pants dropped to bunch around Syren’s thighs, Kane lifted him in his arms and staggered
forward.
The closest chair was Bailey’s armchair and he dumped Syren in it, flipping him until his torso hung
over the seat and his knees were on the floor.
“Kane.”
The moan hit him low in his gut and Kane tore at his jeans, freeing his cock as he circled Syren’s hole
with two fingers. His vision narrowed only to the man he touched, the man he wanted and needed. He
needed to show Syren, to make him understand, but he had no words. This would have to do, it was

the best he had.
He tapped at Syren’s entrance with the pad of a finger and his lover tipped his ass in the air. “Ugh.
Fuck, Kane.” He was louder, shaking uncontrollably, fingers sinking into the arms of Bailey’s favorite
chair.
Bailey who wasn’t there anymore, who’d long gone away.
Kane pulled on his erection. “Lube,” he gritted. “Fuck, we need—”
“My bag.” Syren looked back at him over his shoulder, the same fever clouding his eyes and
darkening his cheeks. “Hurry, fuck!” He squeezed a hand between him and the chair and stroked
himself. “Kane,” he moaned so prettily. “Please.”
He retrieved the tube of lubricant in record time and crouched behind Syren, quickly slicking up two
fingers and pushing them into his lover.
“Oh God.” Syren bent, opening up himself more. “Hard. Please. Please.”
He begged and Kane complied, fucking him with three fingers until he couldn’t stand the delay, until
he almost came at the feel of Syren clenching around his digits.
He lubed up and guided himself to Syren’s entrance before pushing in, slow and steady, in and in until
he was all there, inside all that heat and tightness.
All for him.
“All for me,” he grounded out against Syren’s nape. “This is all for me.” He bottomed out then eased
back and plunged in.
Syren cried out.
Kane thrust in, hard and brutal, trying to make a point, but losing his mind in the pleasure, the
rightness of it. “Say you won’t leave,” he begged, a hoarse whisper. “Say it.” He sank his teeth into
the flesh of Syren’s shoulder and his lover bucked, clenching his muscles around Kane’s shaft.
His teeth hurt, he ground them so hard. Clamping a hand down on Syren’s right hip, Kane pounded
into him while he rained slaps on his ass cheek, reddening it. “Say you’ll stay.”
“Kane.” Syren rolled back onto him, humping him, riding his cock.
“I’m inside you,” Kane rasped. “With no protection, no barriers, and you feel…” He paused to catch
his breath. “You feel like nothing and no one I’ve ever felt. Ever.”
Syren shook and buried his face in the chair.
“You have to know that.” Kane slid his fingers in Syren’s hair and used it to lift his head. He drew
him back onto his chest then turned his head until their eyes met. Syren’s were red-rimmed. “You
have to know how much I want this. You.”
The hope in those eyes, they cut him to the bone. When Syren’s lips parted, Kane kissed him,
swallowing whatever he was about to say, sucking on his tongue until Syren pushed back onto him,
working them both to the edge.
“Fuck me,” he whispered at the corner of Syren’s mouth. He nipped his jaw then his ear and dragged
his tongue along his neck. “Fuck yourself on me, take whatever you need. Whatever you need.”
Syren wrenched his face away with a low cry then covered his mouth with an arm as Kane sped up
his punishing strokes.
“Yes.” Kane threw his head back with a groan. “Like that. Fuck.” He held on to Syren’s hips as Syren
went to work. Climax swirled at the base of his spine. “Do it.”
Syren clenched and cried out and Kane went over just like that, emptying inside him, filling him with
his cum. Syren bucked and yelled, reaching his own completion and before he finished quaking Kane
pulled out of him and sat back.
Syren remained hunched over. Evidence of his orgasm splattered the front of the armchair and

dripped onto the floor. As Kane watched, his own release eased out of Syren and slid down the backs
of his legs.
Fuck. He licked the pad of two fingers then pushed them back inside his lover. Syren jerked and gave
a low moan.
“I could fuck you again.” The words rumbled in his chest. He pumped three fingers into the stretched
entrance, thrilling at the evidence of his possession, hot and sticky.
Syren didn’t speak, he only made harsh sounds and writhed as Kane finger-fucked him.
“You think I’m all about Bailey, huh?” Kane licked his nape and tasted the salty sweat. “You should
know I just fucked you on his favorite chair, the one you came all over.” He pulled out his fingers and
stood and walked away without a backward glance.
At the front door he grabbed his t-shirt and keys. He needed fresh air and a clear head and hopefully
when he came back Syren would still be there, and he’d know how much Kane wanted him to stay.
How much he needed him to stay.

Chapter Twelve

Strong arms lifted Syren. His lashes fluttered when dry lips pressed against his brow. With a sigh

he burrowed into the hard chest then froze.
He opened his eyes. “Kane?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” His lover held him close and started up the stairs.
“Hmm. Wh-where were you?” He’d finally curled up on the couch when it became clear Kane wasn’t
going to be coming back soon. Fool that he was, he couldn’t make himself leave.
“I went for a drive, I needed to clear my head.”
Syren made a sound and closed his eyes again. “Where are you taking me now?”
“To bed.”
Ah, well.
“My bed.” Kane stopped walking.
Syren’s eyes flew open and he lifted his head. Kane stood in front of his bedroom. Not the guestroom,
but the master bedroom, the one Syren was sure he’d never be invited into. “What—”
“I want you in my bed.” Kane met his gaze with a somber expression, half of his face in the shadows.
“I want to wake up with you in my arms. That is what I want.”
Syren sank his teeth into his bottom lip and gave him a small shrug. What else could he do? “Okay.”
Kane nudged the door open and Syren closed his eyes tight, never opening them until Kane settled him
onto the mattress then climbed in beside him. A finger touched his brow and he looked up into Kane’s
eyes, lit by the lamp on the nearby nightstand.
“I’m in your bed.”
Kane nodded gravely. “Where you belong.”
That shit had his head spinning fast. Dizzying, the happiness bubbling up inside. Too much to take in,
too careful to accept the hope and the change. He had to know. He needed the words. Sleep had long
abandoned him. He lifted himself up on his elbow.
Words, they needed words.
“Despite the fact that we like cock, we’re men. We don’t share our feelings.” He swallowed as Kane
waited patiently. “That’s usually reserved for females—whiny, clingy females—’cause I’m sure the
real ones know enough to let a tight pussy do the talking.”
Kane threw his head back and laughed. The sound rumbled in the room and echoed in Syren’s bones,

leaving warmth behind.
He smiled. “That being said, I want— I need the words.” He balled his hands into fists and broke eye
contact. “If I had the chance to bring him back, to give you a second chance with him, I wouldn’t.”
Kane lifted an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“You’re mine.” The words burst from him, fierce and possessive. “He had you and I want it to be my
turn.” He should be embarrassed, he should feel ashamed, but the time had come to lay it all on the
line. Go for broke. “There has to be space in your heart for both me and him.” His breath hitched
when knuckles grazed his cheek.
“You’re crying.”
He snorted. “No, I’m not.”
The mattress groaned when Kane shifted. His lips brushed first Syren’s cheek then his lips. “Yes, you
are.”
Syren licked his lips and tasted the salt. Okay fine, maybe he was crying. A little. He sniffed
delicately. “Fine, you win.”
“Not yet.” Kane stretched out next to him and caught Syren’s hand in his. “You want to hear a story?”
“Depends.” Syren ran his tongue over his teeth. “What kind of story?”
“A story about Bailey and Kane.”
Syren considered it. He really did and in the end he nodded. “Is it a love story?”
“Yes and no.”
Well, that sold him. “Fine, I’m all ears.”
“I was twenty-five when we met. He was nineteen and in a relationship with his high-school
sweetheart.”
Not what Syren expected to hear. He pulled the covers up and over them then settled back on the
pillows. Kane stared straight ahead, his face stoic.
“He ran out in the middle of the street, directly in the path of my cruiser. I was on the local PD then.
He was hysterical because apparently he’d caught his boyfriend cheating on him. Again.” Disgust
dripped from Kane’s words. “He wanted me to arrest the boyfriend on some trumped-up charges and
while I stood there in the middle of the street trying to calm his crazy ass down, up comes the
boyfriend with the sweet words and false promises and I saw Bailey shift from strong to weak in a
blink.”
“He took him back.”
“He took him back.” Kane nodded. “But I gave him my card. I didn’t expect him to call. He didn’t, but
he showed up at the precinct two years later. He identified himself, but I already knew who he was.”
His voice grew hoarse. “I hadn’t stopped thinking about him. He was beautiful, man, and he glowed
with something I didn’t know, but wanted to.”
“What did he want when he showed up?” Syren asked.
“He wanted to ask me out, on a date.” Kane chuckled. “He’d left the boyfriend, he said, and I made an
impression ’cause I was such a stuck-up shit, that he was pretty sure I was lacking fun. And regular
dick.”
Syren laughed. “He sounds…feisty.”
“He was feisty, fun and spontaneous. He breezed into my life and took it over completely, I didn’t
stand a chance.” Kane rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. “We were inseparable after that first
date. To this day, I can count on one hand the amount of times I heard my name on his lips.”
“What did he call you then?”
“Babe.” The word cracked. “I was his babe and he was my partner for ten years. I gave him all of me

and he did the same. I never doubted his love for me. I never hid him or my feelings for him. Loving
him was easy and quick and no surprise.”
Jealousy was a living thing in Syren’s stomach, eating away at him. He pressed his lips together and
nodded as if he got it. As if he understood.
“On our fifth anniversary, he came home with a tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. A ‘K’ tucked
inside a heart.” Kane smiled with a shake of his head. “I looked into his eyes and I knew I’d live
forever with that man. I knew we’d have children and pets and we’d be fine. Just fine. Bailey and
Kane.”
“But it didn’t last.”
“No.” Kane took a deep, long breath. “He wanted to help people and he did, but one of those people
took him away from me. He was a legal aid lawyer, and a former client held him hostage and shot him
in his office.”
Syren could only imagine how Kane took that. “You blame yourself.”
“We bought this house six months before he died. In preparation for the kids he wanted, the kids I kept
putting off. Not because I didn’t want them, but I thought we had enough time. ‘We have time’, I’d
always say when he brought up the idea of us starting the surrogacy process.”
Wow. Syren’s heart banged against his rib cage.
“We’d had a fight,” Kane confessed. “He was working hard on a case and I thought he needed time
off, to recharge. I promised to take him away for a weekend, but then I got called in to work. I had to
go out of town. He was mad at me for leaving, but I made him promise to stay home and rest. In turn I
promised to make it up to him.”
“He didn’t stay home.”
Kane shook his head. “He didn’t like staying in the house by himself. I guess he figured he’d make a
quick trip to the office, keep occupied until I came home.”
Kane’s hand trembled in Syren’s hold and he squeezed it tightly.
“I don’t remember where I was when Gabe called me with the news that he was gone.” Kane’s voice
shook horribly. “I only remember falling to the floor and screaming until I couldn’t anymore.”
Fuck. Syren’s eyes watered at the pain that poured from Kane’s every pore.
“He was stubborn, you know. Stubborn and so damn headstrong. A fighter. And all I can think is that I
wasn’t there. I wasn’t there when he died. The guilt was…potent. Gabe and Vince thought I’d hurt
someone or myself, that’s how Vince ended up with my keys. He’d check on me every few days.
Make sure I was still among the living.”
“I’m sorry.” Syren needed more words than that, but he couldn’t find them.
Kane turned to him. His eyes were sad but dry, and he simply stared at Syren. He allowed it until he
couldn’t.
“What?”
“Remember that day I left you standing on my front porch? The first time you broke in?”
“Um, I did not break in, but yeah.”
A flash of Kane’s teeth. “I was at his grave. Saying goodbye. I told him I wanted you.”
Syren inhaled. “That’s…nice.” Crap. He grimaced inwardly. That’s nice? What the what?
Kane smiled at him, all tender and understanding. “I thought so. I still do.”
“Well good.” He looked away then back at Kane. “You want this relationship?”
“I do.”
“All right then. But you know, you could’ve simply said so, Marshal.”
“I know.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Kane’s thumb caressing his. Syren took quiet, deep breaths,
allowing Kane’s words to settle. They needed to sink in, become real. What he wanted, the only thing
he’d allowed himself to wish for was his for the taking and the biggest secret, the one hidden away in
Costa Rica rushed to the tip of his tongue. Here he had the perfect opening, the perfect opportunity to
spill. To let Kane have the last piece of himself he’d kept under wraps, but fear stayed the words.
He’d never been more afraid of losing everything as he was then. He shook his head to distract
himself. “Tell me something you’ve never told anybody. About you.”
Kane though for a minute, a frown of concentration on his face. “My parents died when I was
eighteen, you know this?”
Syren nodded.
“Our grandmother came to live with us, to take care of us, but really it was me and Gabe against the
world. I took care of him, but there were times…” His voice dropped lower as if he were afraid
someone other than Syren would hear. “There were times when I resented it. I love my brother,” he
quickly pointed out. “He’s my best friend and I’d die for him, that shit goes without saying, but back
then, I was still a kid and learning about myself. He clung to me, I was his lifeline and it was too
much at times.”
“I think that’s understandable.” Syren rubbed his shoulder. “Also, your brother is really not a fun
person to be around. Just my opinion.” He offered a shrug and a grin.
Kane leaned over and kissed him, chuckling against his lips. “What about you? What haven’t you
shared with anybody else?”
“I think you know more about my past than even Henri and Isa.” Syren clutched the sheets. “I
discussed this with Henri once and never again. This would be the first time in a long, long time I’m
thinking it much less voicing it out loud.”
“What is it?” Kane peered down at him. “You’ve gone pale.”
Syren huffed. “I’m naturally pale.”
Kane waved away his words. “More so.”
The words were heavy and burned his eyes, but he forced them out anyway. “There’s a possibility
that my father wasn’t my father.”
Kane didn’t speak for a while and Syren couldn’t bear looking at him. He stared up at the contoured
ceiling instead.
“What makes you think that?” Kane finally asked.
A laugh burst from Syren’s dry lips. “Have you seen me? The hair color, the eyes?” He tugged on his
hair. “None of it is fake. None.”
Kane squinted. “I kinda thought they were dye and contacts.”
“Nope.” Syren shook his head. “My father had dark hair and brown eyes, my mother the same, but
here I am.”
“Wow.” His marshal had gone speechless.
“Henri brought it up in the early days of my rescue when I told him my name. I didn’t look anything
like the people in the newspaper articles he’d found.” He brought his hand up, the one that gripped
Kane’s fingers so tightly, and pressed it against his heart.”‘The thing is, I remember that life, I
remember bits and pieces of it and I was happy.” His voice cracked a little under the emotional
weight. “I remember my father’s arms around me. I remember his smile and the dimple in his chin. I
remember always feeling secure and happy. If I wasn’t his child he didn’t care.” He’d had to know,
there was no way to hide Syren’s light eyes and hair.
“Then you have your answer,” Kane murmured in his ear. “He was your father and it shouldn’t matter

who or what you look like.” He pulled back and searched Syren’s gaze. “Do you care?”
He didn’t. Not when he’d been loved unconditionally. Syren shook his head. “No,” he whispered.
“No.” Family wasn’t defined by blood. Family was the people who loved you without reservations,
who accepted you, who cared enough to make sure your happiness was realized.
Kane held him firm in his strong arms, nice and secure in the little cocoon they’d created in the space
they shared. All he ever wanted and yet a shadow hung over him, over them.
“You good?”
Syren smiled where his face rested on Kane’s shoulder. “I’m good.” “We good?”
He drew back and lifted an eyebrow. “Who, us?”
“Yes.” Kane’s eyes danced. “Are we good?”
In answer Syren pushed him flat against the pillows and climbed atop him. “You were inside me
without any barriers tonight.” He wiggled, pushing his semi-erect cock into Kane’s lower stomach.
A hand landed on his hip, holding him still as Kane bucked up. His eyes shot blue sparks when he
bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “I was.”
Syren dipped his head and flicked his tongue over the tip of Kane’s nose. “I liked it. A lot.” A shiver
raced through him at the remembered feel of Kane, hard and hot inside him, the feel of his cum
spreading creamy warmth through his channel. “The feel of you.”
Kane palmed the back of his neck and drew him into a kiss. “I liked it too. A hell of a lot more.” He
took Syren’s mouth, tongue plunging deep. When he finally allowed him up for air, Syren panted in
his ear.
“Then we’re both on the same page.” He slid backward, kissing his way down Kane’s chest and
torso. “Let’s do it again.”

* * * * *

A moist kiss on his left collarbone woke him abruptly. Syren’s lashes fluttered open. He stared up
into bright-blue eyes.

That shit was not a dream. He hadn’t imagined the talk, the sex, none of it. And after all the time

he’d waited, after everything he’d been through he had gotten what he’d wished for most.
Kane.

“Marshal, is that any way to wake someone?” he grumbled. “Kiss me proper, damn it.”

His lover did. Holding his face in both hands, Kane kissed him. A delicious nibble on his lips before
he came inside. Soft and tender. No rush, no plunder, just a careful exploration of Syren that made
him moan and grasp Kane’s biceps. He hung on tight, allowing his lover to lead him wherever.
Whenever.
Sunlight shone in his eyes and he closed them, shuffling closer to Kane. He threw a leg over the other
man and placed a hand on his hip. Savoring the kiss until Kane lifted his head, eyelids lowered.
“Hi.”
Uh-huh. Syren licked his lips. “Hi there.”
The smile on Kane’s face started small and grew bigger and wider. “Hungry?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.” Kane brushed a lock of Syren’s hair off his forehead. “I’m gonna make us something to eat.”’
He nodded to the bathroom. “Toothbrushes and whatever else you need are in there.” He moved away
and climbed off the bed. “Come down when you’re ready.”
Syren watched him walk away, his golden skin exposed except for the black shorts covering his tight

ass. Damn the man for taking over all his senses. He sat up and grimaced at the ache in his ass. He’d
taken a pounding last night. A smile broke out.
Man. He couldn’t get enough of that.
He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Three steps across the room and Kane’s cum
began to leak out of him. “Fuck.” Syren hardened instantly. The feeling was…sublime, knowing that
even then Kane was inside him, his possession thorough.
In the bathroom he managed somehow to brush his teeth and wash his face without ever meeting his
own eyes in the mirror. He’d have to get over that phobia, he knew that deep inside, but not quite
then. Not when Kane was downstairs, pots clanging as he cooked.
For me.
Back in the bedroom, he pulled on a pair of boy shorts, yellow with pink bows all over, then
wrapped himself in his favorite robe, short, purple and silk, and went downstairs.
Kane stood in front of the stove when he entered the kitchen. Syren walked up to him and placed a
kiss on his nape. “What are you making?”
Kane leaned back against him. “Sausage and tomato omelets. I’ve got some muffins in the freezer,
gonna thaw them out. You want coffee?” He pointed to the coffee machine at the opposite end of the
counter. “Orange juice in the fridge.”
“Need help?” Syren circled his waist with one hand and pressed his cheek to the hard plane of
Kane’s back. This shit was scary domestic. Scary, but good.
“Nah.” Kane shook his head at Syren’s question. “I’m almost done, just need to heat up the muffins.
Chocolate chip good for you?” He moved out of Syren’s arms and over to the fridge.
“That could work.”
“Your phone’s been going off.” Kane placed the muffins on a baking sheet then bent and slid them into
the oven.
Syren sipped his coffee and ogled Kane’s ass with what he knew had to be the stupidest grin. “I’ll
check it later.” No interruptions. He hopped onto one of the high stools at the island and placed his
elbows on the cool granite countertop. “You like to cook, don’t you?”
Kane met his eyes briefly with a shrug before he focused on his omelets in the pan. “I like it. Bailey
on the—” His shoulders stiffened.
“It’s okay, you know,” Syren said in a soothing tone. “You can talk about him. You can share him
with me.” He took a sip of the coffee. “If you—if you want.”
Kane didn’t pause in what he was doing, but his shoulders visibly relaxed. “He couldn’t cook to save
his life.” He chuckled softly. “He didn’t like coffee either, but he made it for me every morning. Shitty
coffee, but he made it so I drank it.”
Syren remained silent. He found he could do it, he could bear to hear about the life Kane once had
with Bailey as long as it stayed where it should be—in the past. He waited until Kane finished
cooking and they sat opposite each other, eating, before he broached the subject foremost on his mind.
“Retirement, huh?” He kept his attention on his plate as he forked the great-tasting omelet into his
mouth.
“Yeah. I’d thought about it in the early days after Bailey died.” Kane dropped his knife and Syren
raised his gaze to his. “I stayed because it was the only thing I had and I needed something else to
focus on.”
“But now?”
“I put the papers in before we met. The day Vince ambushed me with a kiss. I just…” Kane dragged
his fingers through his hair. “I’ve got about a month left to go, but I’m over it, you know? And this

thing with Vince.” He shook his head.
Syren understood that. He saw the strain around Kane’s eyes and the needy gleam in Vince’s the night
before. “What will you do with yourself without your job?” He couldn’t see Kane as a man of leisure,
lazing about.
Kane shrugged at his query. “Money isn’t a problem. Gabe and I inherited our parents’ estates. We’ve
never really had to work if we didn’t want to.” He sipped his orange juice.
“That’s nice, but not what I meant.” Syren fake-grimaced at him. “Are you gonna just lay around all
day, eating bonbons and shit? ’Cause I’m not sure I want to sign on for that.”
“Why not?” Kane grinned. “I’ve earned that right, don’t you think?”
Syren rolled his eyes. “Really?”
Kane burst out laughing. “Calm yourself. I plan to spend some time fixing up the backyard. The pool
and stuff back there need upgrading.”
“I’ve never seen your backyard.”
Kane lifted a brow. “And whose fault is that? You can see it when you’re finished eating.”
“Yes sir.” Syren snapped a salute.
“I’m also thinking of getting myself a dog.”
“Sounds great.”
Kane’s phone went off at his elbow and he picked it up with a grin. “Gabe’s calling me.”
Ah, okay? “Answer the man already.”
“Are we a secret?”
Syren threw him a death glare. “Why would we be a secret?”
“Just checking.” Kane shrugged and answered the phone. “What’s up, bro?” He continued eating,
occasionally flicking his gaze to Syren. “Yes, I’m chewing in your ear, it’s fucking breakfast time,
Gabe. You’re interrupting.”
Syren chuckled.
“I’m fine, as I’m sure you can tell so quit it.” Kane sat back and met his eyes with a wink. “Uh-huh.
Syren is here, would you like to say good morning?”
Syren jerked in his seat and mouthed the word “no”.
“Yes, we’re together. Yes, he spent the night and I made him breakfast.” A grin split Kane’s face.
“The sex is great, thank you for asking.”
Syren thought really hard about sliding down the stool and cowering under it. His face burned and he
refused to meet Kane’s eyes.
“Sorry, bro.” Kane chuckled. “I can’t share any more otherwise the man opposite me right now might
stab me with his fork.”
Damn right.
“Besides, I recall asking you the same thing about you and what’s-his-face and you didn’t share.”
Fuck. What was this and how could he get out? He wanted no one knowing about their sex life, no one
and especially not that Gabe. Smug bastard. He’d had the nads to warn Syren away from Rafe the first
time Syren visited them in North Carolina. Like Syren had even an ounce of want for Rafe. He hadn’t
been interested, but he’d smiled calmly in Gabe’s face and more or less implied—okay more—that
Rafe and he had a connection.
They didn’t and Gabe obviously knew, but it was all kinds of fun to yank on his chain. Of course he’d
had to make tracks quick before some kind of “accident” happened to him; he’d seen the way Gabe
eyed him. That fucker was crazy. Things had definitely calmed down though over the months and now
that he and Kane were together he’d have to see more of Gabe.

Bet he’d just love that.
“Yeah, we’ll talk later. Bye.”
Syren didn’t bother hiding the huge sigh of relief when Kane ended that call. His lover only laughed.
“Most uncomfortable conversation ever.” He narrowed his eyes at Kane. “Don’t let it happen again
and for the record, our bedroom antics are not for public consumption. Else I will fuck your ass up.”
Speaking of which, his tough talk reminded him. “I have to go into New York. Brooklyn to be exact.”
Kane returned his gaze to him slowly and Syren forbade himself from squirming, but damn it, Kane’s
gaze seared into his flesh.
“Wanna come with?”
Kane’s mouth twisted. “Brooklyn, huh?” He got up from his chair and stalked over to Syren and stood
there, hovering. “To see who, your kiss buddy?”
“Jealous?” Syren couldn’t help the tease.
Kane shook his head and cupped his jaw. “Why should I be? I’ve got you.” He rubbed his nose
against Syren’s.
“I’m no prize,” he murmured and tilted his head, giving Kane more space to nuzzle his neck.
“Hmm. So you say.” Kane’s breath licked at his skin. “I think I will accompany you on your journey
into the big city.” He affected a haughty British accent. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost. Or hurt.”
Syren rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Whatever.” He sobered. “I need to let Castillo know that Delatorre is
going down.”
Kane pulled back and frowned down at him. “I thought the Feds weren’t letting people know about
Delatorre being locked up?”
“They’re not, but…” He slid a hand over Kane’s shoulder. “He needs to know he has an out.
Delatorre is his only gun supplier and if he doesn’t have guns he can go legit.”
Kane still looked confused. “Castillo has been in that life for practically forever, why would he want
to go legit?”
Syren smiled up at him. So cut and dry, this one. “Why did Rafe go legit?”
“For Gabe, but—” Kane’ eyes grew wider. “Wow.”
“Yeah. He’s in love with a DEA agent who was working undercover to get to the Nietos.”
“Damn. Is that the same guy who joined the two of you that night?”
Syren didn’t play himself by asking what night. “He didn’t so much as join us as he walked in on us,
but yes. He’d learned—” He stopped himself. “I found out the guy’s real identity and shared it with
Castillo.” He met the censure in Kane’s eyes with a grimace. “He loved him and I think finding out
the man he was sleeping with was DEA was a blow. He wanted to prove there were no feelings
between them.”
Kane nodded slowly. “What did you want to prove?”
Syren tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. “That you hadn’t just cut me to the quick. That if I
wanted to I could move on. Like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“How did that work out for you?”
Syren flashed his teeth. “Worked out quite well, actually.” He moved to stand and Kane fisted his
hair, holding him in place against the counter.
“You have no idea what that sight did to me,” he said roughly. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I
won’t spank the shit out of you if he touches you again. In any way.”
Damn. Syren’s knees shook at the sound of those words. So forceful. Possessive. He had no idea that
shit turned him on until Kane. A whimper escaped his throat and Kane drank it, kissing him hard and
bruising, never letting up until Syren tasted blood.

Kane released his bottom lip with a wet plop. “Let’s get dressed, we’ve got a long drive.” He turned
away then threw a wink over his shoulder.
Shit. Syren adjusted his dripping cock and followed him to the bedroom. Maybe he could lure Kane
into some hanky-panky before they left.
The drive to Brooklyn was full of sulking on Syren’s part. Kane refused to ease his sexual frustration,
even after he did a sexy striptease for him. Damn man was giving him blue balls. He voiced his
displeasure loud and clear, but of course, Kane simply grinned at him.
Torture. Pure torture.
As Kane drove, Syren took out his displeasure on his phone, checking messages and returning texts
from Isa, who wanted to know all about his time with Kane. As if he’d ever kiss and tell. Still, he did
let her know he was quite satisfied.
Which, despite Kane’s holding back on the goodies, he was. Content. Now if all else would fall in
line like it was supposed to. Which brought him to Patel’s calls. The agent called damn near half a
dozen times, but only left a message once, a terse, “Call me. Now.”
Syren frowned at the phone. Patel had some kind of nerve. He glanced up from his phone screen as
Kane crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge and exited on the Brooklyn side. “You know the way from
here, right?”
“Yep.”
He reached over and tugged on Kane’s earlobe. “I have to make some calls. Give me a few, okay?”
“Do your thing.” Kane glanced at him. “I’ll try not to listen too hard.”
“Yeah. Try.” Syren dialed Patel and threw his head back on the headrest.
“Took you long enough.” Patel sounded out of breath.
“Unlike some people I’ll refrain from naming—you—I do have a life outside of that, Patel. What’s
up?”
Patel exhaled in his ear. “What the fuck isn’t up? We had to rush Delatorre to the hospital a couple
hours ago. Something’s wrong with him.”
Syren sprang upright. “The fuck you say?” He felt Kane’s eyes on him. “Something’s wrong? You
better give me more than that, Patel.” What the hell? His fingers were cold where they clutched the
phone to his ear.
“He said he couldn’t breathe, that he felt dizzy and then he sorta keeled over. He’s been unconscious
for a while.” Voices came through the phone as Patel broke off to speak with someone else on his
end. “Listen, the doctors are running tests. We won’t know what’s wrong until the results come in.”
“What the hell, Patel?” Syren didn’t know he was screaming until Kane pulled the car to a stop and
laid a hand on his shoulder. “I left him in your fucking care. You wanted him, I gave him to you and
this is what happens?”
“Hey, calm down. We don’t even know if it’s anything serious.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down.” Syren shoved unsteady fingers through his hair. “I’ve got plans for him.
Plans that require him to be breathing and let me tell you something, if he isn’t I will be bringing shit
down on your head like you won’t believe.”
“Don’t threaten me, you son of a bitch.”
“Oh trust me,” Syren snarled. “That’s no threat. It’s a motherfucking promise. A check you sure as
hell can take to the bank.” He ended the call and flung the phone away. It bounced on the dashboard
then landed right back in his lap.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Kane’s voice sounded as if he spoke from far away, as if his voice drifted to
Syren through a tunnel.

He had plans and that bastard Patel was fucking them up. “Delatorre’s in a hospital, unconscious.
Doctors don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“That’s—”
“Fucked up, that’s what it is.” He turned to Kane. “I’m not done with him. I’m not done making him
pay, watching him suffer. He doesn’t get to fucking bypass all that and just die!”
“Come.” Kane unbuckled his seat belt and did the same to Syren before hauling him into his arms.
“You don’t know what’s happening. Why go with worst-case scenarios?”
Syren held him tight. Held on to Kane like a lifeline as the panic attack swept up. He couldn’t breathe.
Sweat dampened his collar and armpits, chilling him. His control was shot, frayed beyond
recognition and just like that his calm was gone.
Destroyed once again.
“Someone did something to him.” He barely recognized the ragged whisper that fell from his lips.
“How did anyone know where he was?”
“Don’t panic.”
Ha. Too late. A laugh bubbled up in his throat.
“Okay. Enough.” Kane pulled away and captured his face in his hands. His eyes bored into Syren.
“Listen to me,” he said slowly. “Are you listening?”
Syren swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”
“You don’t know what’s happening. You can’t jump to conclusions like that.” His gaze roamed
Syren’s face, so tender. “You’ll make yourself sick and I’m not the best of nursemaids.”
That coaxed a reluctant smile from Syren as he pictured Kane all decked out in a nurse’s outfit.
“You’d look hot in one of those tiny white uniforms.” He giggled. “Topped off with the hat.”
Kane laughed with him. “Don’t think so, but I’m glad I can make you laugh.” He kissed the corner of
Syren’s mouth. “We’re a couple blocks away from Castillo’s place, what do you want to do?”
“I’d love to tell Castillo Delatorre is out of his hair, but I can’t. Not right now.”
“All right. What do you want to do next?”
Syren held Kane’s gaze, willing him to understand as he said, “I need to go to LA.”
“Okay.” Kane pursed his lips. “Want me to take you to the airport?”
Syren shook his head. “No I— Come with me.”
“Huh?” Kane frowned at him. “Come where, to LA?”
“Yes, please.” He grabbed Kane’s arm and held on. “Come with me. I need you there with me.”
“All right.” Kane stared out the windshield then nodded once. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
“Thank you.” Syren breathed a sigh and clutched his phone. “I’ll call the pilot.”
Kane massaged his shoulders as Syren spoke to the pilot. The man was at his home in Texas and
would be there in a few hours. Syren hung up and turned to Kane. “We’ve got a few hours to wait.”
“Okay. You’re wound tight, you need to get some relaxation.” Kane started the car. “Do you want to
get us a hotel room for a couple hours? That way you can lie down for a few.”
“I can do you one better.” Syren grinned. “Do you know how to get to Coney Island from here?”

Chapter Thirteen

The code to the security gate was the same Rafe said it’d be. Syren had to explain to Kane that the

abandoned building smack dab in the middle of Coney Island belonged to Rafe and yes, he had
permission to enter. At anytime.

He didn’t have to pick the lock to the apartment, for which Kane appeared exceptionally grateful.

Syren used the key he’d forgotten he had, the one Rafe gave him the last time they saw each other
face-to-face. Rafe had offered up use of the place with a cryptic, “If you ever need it, it’s there.”

It was dark when they let themselves in, remedied quickly with a flick of a switch. The faint hint

of dust and something else reached Syren’s nose and he sniffed. He turned around to make sure the
door had locked behind them and found himself pushed face-first into it.

“I think you need to relieve some stress,” Kane growled in his ear. “Let me help with that.”

How much did he fucking love this guy? Syren slapped both hands flat onto the smooth surface.
“Manhandling me again, Marshal? Thought I warned you about that?”
“You love it.” Kane bit his shoulder, right through his shirt. Syren bumped against the cock riding his
ass.
“Damn right.” He did love it.
Kane reached in front and unbuckled Syren’s belt, kissing down his spine through his shirt. Syren
stayed on his feet, barely, as Kane dropped to his knees, taking Syren’s pants with him. Kane directed
him to lift first one foot then the other before he freed the piece of clothing and flung it away.
He palmed Syren’s panty-covered ass, squeezing him. “I can’t get over how gorgeous you look in
these. Fucking sexy.” He pulled the panties to the side and flicked his tongue down Syren’s crack.
His knees buckled. “Shit.” His nails scraped the door, dark-brown paint flecks peeling off under his
fingers.
Kane pushed two fingers inside him, pumping around the tongue he had toying at Syren’s entrance,
teasing, testing him. A moan rumbled in Syren’s chest and he pushed back on those fingers, on Kane’s
tongue, but they disappeared.
“Kane.”
“Right here.” Clothes rustled and Kane was once more at his ear. “Right here.” A hand on Syren’s
shoulder turned him around.
Kane was shirtless, his jeans opened and plum-colored cock hanging out, twitching. In his right hand
Kane held up Syren’s belt, in his left a small tube of lube. Syren made a mental note to remember to
ask about the lube later.
“Give me your wrists,” Kane bit out.
Hell yeah. Syren offered them up and Kane wrapped the belt around his wrists, tight, buckling it even
tighter. Before Syren could utter a word, Kane pushed him back into the door. His forehead banged
against it and Syren winced.
That’s gonna leave a mark.
Slick fingers sank into him, deep, with purpose. Syren lifted his bound hands, resting his chin on them
as he pushed back, filling the room with his grunts. Kane breathed in his ear, loud pants as he worked
him over, digging deeper, knuckles pressing on his knot.
Syren yelped. “God.” Sweat tickled his scalp and dampened his shirt. “Please.”
“Beg me for it.” Kane caught his earlobe and bit down. “Beg.” He nestled his erection along the crack
of Syren’s ass and rocked into him.
Syren’s saliva dried up. Damn it. How was he supposed to speak? “Kane.” A sob spilled from his
lips. “Please. Please. Put it—”
Kane traced his entrance with his wet cock head.
“Yes,” Syren hissed. “Put it in.”
“Like this?” Kane dipped inside then retreated. “Huh?”
That son a bitch was itching for a punch in the face. When Syren wasn’t aching to get fucked. “Do it,
goddamn you!” He arched.

Kane plunged in.
Syren bucked. His teeth nicked his tongue and he tasted blood. Fuck that. He swallowed it. “More.”
Shivers raced through him, sparks that made him want to jump out of his skin. “More.”
Kane pulled out, all the way, until only the barest hint of him remained then he plunged in again. Syren
went frantic under him, arching back, tipping his ass higher. A silent plea for more.
Deeper.
Harder.
Kane gave. He unleashed whatever he’d been holding back, pounding away at Syren with one hand at
his nape, the other on his hip. His mouth at Syren’s ear, talking to him. Dirty words. The sexiest
words. Syren loved those words.
He clenched around Kane. Muscles rippling, grasping at him.
“I can feel you working me all the way to my toes,” Kane rasped. “I can taste you on the tip of my
tongue.” His fingers pressed into Syren’s skin. Marks. More marks to proclaim his possession.
That worked for Syren.
“I want this always.” Kane yanked on his hair. “I want to own this, always.”
Done and fucking done, but somehow Syren’s tongue wasn’t cooperating so he used his body instead,
rocking back on his heels, rising on his tiptoes, riding the cock pistoning into him.
His teeth rattled at the rough handling that reverberated in his bones. His ass flamed, but in the most
delicious way. The arousal fever burned through his blood, eviscerating breath and thought. All he
had and all he knew was sound.
The slap of Kane’s flesh against his. His cries as they rang out. Kane‘s words, incoherent but there on
his skin, in his ear, melting him to a puddle. The rattle of the belt buckle every time Kane sank deep.
They surrounded him and pushed him closer, ever closer to the edge.
Kane angled his hips and this time every time he drove in his head bumped Syren’s prostate, sending
him out of his mind. His cries ratcheted higher, Kane’s growls grew deeper. He placed his lips to
Syren’s ear, flicked his tongue over the shell and Syren went over. His orgasm shot from his own
cock, untouched. His legs gave out and he feel to his knees, but Kane was there, racing to his own
climax.
Heat flooded Syren’s channel, a feeling he didn’t know how to describe so he didn’t try, but the
meaning yanked a sob from him and he buried his face in his bound hands. Kane eased out of him.
Moist lips brushed the base of his spine then climbed higher as his lover paid homage to his scars,
kissing and licking every one. Syren didn’t turn away this time. He didn’t fight Kane in this. He had a
man who accepted all his scars, both seen and unseen.
Nothing else mattered. Nothing.
Kane covered his back with his front. Syren tensed and waited for the panic attack to hit. His breath
quickened and his heart raced, but he was still coming down off his orgasmic high. He remained
otherwise unaffected. He hadn’t been magically cured, hell, he might not even be cured, but it felt
good to not flinch when your lover touched you a certain way.
“Was I too rough?” Kane asked against his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”
Syren shook his head. “The pain—when you take me, the pain…it’s the kind you welcome, the kind
that makes you sigh as it sinks into your bones. The kind you miss once it disappears.”
“You’re something else, you know that?” Kane rolled off him and kissed his forehead. “You want to
go find a bed in this place?”
Syren pretended to think it over. “Yeah, but I’ve apparently lost all function in my legs.”
“What should we do about this?”

“I’m thinking you should carry me.”
Kane shrugged. “If you insist.”

* * * * *

Syren held on to Kane’s hand in a fucking death grip as he approached Delatorre’s hospital room.

He couldn’t let go to save his life. According to Patel and the doctors, Delatorre had been poisoned.
By what, they had no clue. They were managing the symptoms—failing organs, constant seizures. Not
much they could do for the loss of sight in one of Delatorre’s eyes though.

How could a man locked up so tight and under twenty-four-hour surveillance be poisoned without

anyone knowing? How did this happen and why now? Just as Syren had garnered some peace, just as
he’d managed to pick himself up and dust off the remnants of his past.

The doctors cautioned Delatorre’s heart was failing. Fast. He’d been asking for Syren or more

correctly, Faro. That son of a bitch was going to die, kick off without feeling the pain Syren intended
him to feel. Without ever knowing who Syren really was? Not if he could help it.

He halted in front of the glass doors leading to Delatorre’s private room and stared at the figure

on the bed inside, hooked up to machines, face covered in a mask. Henri looked like that at the end,
but this wasn’t Henri. Where he’d been afraid to see the hold death had taken on Henri, he looked
forward to this.
“Are you ready for this?” Kane asked in a hushed voice.

Syren jerked a nod and looked around. FBI agents milled about, doctors and nurses too. Patel sat

off to the side, a cup of coffee in hand, phone to his ear, gaze steady on Syren. No one in the FBI knew
his history, he hadn’t felt the need to share why he wanted to take Delatorre down so badly, but
Patel’s look made him think maybe the agent knew more than he should.

No time to wonder about it at that moment. Everything he’d planned and worked so hard for was

gone and he had nothing to fall back on but the memories and the truth. Today he’d hit Delatorre with
both.

Kane faced him with his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’d take you in my

arms right now and kiss you,” his lips twisted into a smile, “but I’m not sure how well that would go
over here.” He waved a hand.

Syren edged closer to him and laid a palm on his chest. “Like I give a fuck.” He tilted his chin.

“Kiss me.” Kane did, a tender brushing of lips, over too damn soon. Syren licked his lips and stepped
back. “Okay.” He straightened his shoulder and swallowed. His stomach was queasy, the coffee he’d
had on the way from the airport sloshing around in his throat.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Kane’s gaze caressed him, the concern in it overwhelming.

He wasn’t used to someone caring for and about him, besides Isa and Henri. Syren wanted so much to
burrow into Kane’s broad chest, snuggle into the hold of his strong arms and never leave.

But that was fantasy. This and the man dying mere feet away was reality, his reality. Time he dealt

with it and him.
He pulled up the surgical mask someone had hooked around his neck covering his mouth and nose,
and stepped into the room. The beeps and whirs of the machines keeping Delatorre alive echoed all
around him, deafeningly loud. Syren crept closer and closer to the bed and the form who laid on it,
unmoving, save for the barely noticeable up and down of his chest.
A memory flitted through his mind of the first time he met Ricardo Delatorre. He’d been so young and
still so clueless, his knees trembling, heart in his throat that the man would know who he was. That
Delatorre would recognize him as Marcos Inácio de Melo and he’d know. He’d know how many men
had used Syren for their own ends and he’d laugh and point, brag to his men.
Delatorre hadn’t known then, but he would now.

He grabbed a chair from over in the corner and brought it close to the bed before sinking into it. A
sound, a moan maybe, came from Delatorre and Syren leaned over him so the man could know he had
company. Delatorre’s skin was pasty and blotched, his forehead damp with sweat. As Syren stared
down at him, Delatorre’s lashes fluttered and his eyes opened. Both were bloodshot and dilated, but
the left one, though unfocused, held some recognition. The right eye stared blankly.
“Faro.” A harsh whisper left Delatorre’s throat. He attempted to lift his shoulders off the pillows, but
gave up when Syren didn’t offer a hand in help. Delatorre flopped back down, gasping for air.
“Poison. They want me dead,” he rasped in Portuguese.
Syren nodded. “Any ideas on who that might be?”
“Nieto.” Delatorre coughed. “Nieto.”
The Nieto Brothers. How would they know where Delatorre was and who had they gotten to poison
him?
“Find them.” Despite the whole dying thing, Delatorre still thought he could order Syren. “Kill them
all.”
Syren looked him over. A complete shell of the man he used to be. Taken down so easily. He’d
thought about that in the early years, poison and accidents and all that, but if he went that route, what
would have been the point in naming it revenge? Delatorre had to know who and he had to know why.
“Monica,” Delatorre moaned his wife’s name. “She must know. The kids. Bring them to me. I want
my family.”
Syren cocked his head to the side. “Funny you should mention family. I would also like to have my
family, but thanks to you, that’s not going to happen, is it?” The pinky on his right hand tap-tapped on
his knee.
Delatorre’s left eye sharpened—as best it could—on him. “What are we speaking of?” He visibly
struggled to breathe. “You told me you didn’t have family.”
“Well I don’t.” Syren shrugged and held that one eye. “Not after you had your men murder them to get
a hold of the business there in São Paulo. My father, Manuel Rua, you may have heard of him?”
Delatorre’s search for breath grew louder and louder, his good eye flitting back and forth as the
machines beeped.
“Of course you knew my father.” Syren chuckled. “You sent Luiz Salazar to kill him, to kill us. Only,
Luis saved one.” He poked his chest. “Me.”
Delatorre shook his head on the pillows. As Syren watched, the heart monitor dipped lower and
lower.
“Lie. That,” Delatorre croaked, “is a lie.” He fumbled unseeing for the button to alert the nurses and
Syren grabbed it from him.
“I’m afraid it’s not a lie.” He held up the alert monitor. “Luiz liked ’em pretty didn’t he? Is there
anyone prettier than me?” He bared his teeth. “I’m the reason he’s in that Columbian prison.”
“No.” Delatorre tried rising off the mattress and Syren pushed him back.
“Yes.” He didn’t know what he expected to feel when he stared down at the son of a bitch, but the
emptiness inside him wasn’t it. The hollow in his gut wasn’t it. The thrill of revenge wasn’t what he
thought it would be. “I remember everything. Everything,” he spat. “And let me tell you, nothing
cements a memory so much as the wish to forget. I can’t forget.” The hand he’d trapped between his
knees shook uncontrollably. Syren pressed harder on them.
Delatorre stared up at him. “Manuel’s son, eh?’ He didn’t quite pull off the sneer. “Then it was good
that I had you, made you bleed.”
The coffee raced back up his throat, but Syren didn’t blink. His chest hurt when he swallowed, a foul,

bitter taste lingering on his tongue. “You didn’t take anything I wasn’t offering,” he spoke calmly.
“And for what I got in return the price was nothing. Completely worth it.”
“What you got?” Delatorre’s one good eye widened. “This is you?” He motioned to his chest. “You
poisoned me?”
Syren burst out laughing. “Not my style and besides, why wait until now when I could’ve done it long
before now? No.” He shook his head. “Maybe it is the Nietos, Lord knows I worked hard to make
sure they hated you.”
Delatorre’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted, eye questioning.
“Who do you think leaked the days and times your shipments would be passing through Culiacán?
More importantly, remember who suggested we use Culiacán?” Delatorre swore and Syren laughed.
“You thought you were in control, didn’t you? But not with me around, you weren’t. I shut down the
sex trade, with some help from the FBI and right under your nose too.” He tsked. “Someone was not
on his game.”
Veins bugled in Delatorre’s face and neck, his skin growing darker and darker as he coughed and
coughed.
“Remember the money you thought you had in those offshore accounts? It’s long gone, donated
anonymously to some very deserving charities.”
Delatorre’s machines went crazy as the man wheezed, his body arching off the bed under the force of
his coughs.
“You have no money,” Syren told him. “None. You have no life beyond these four walls, and even
that’s on borrowed time. Everything Delatorre is gone. I win.” He spoke the words, but he didn’t feel
them. Not really. All the years he’d bled and lied and sacrificed and it all came down to this. He
wanted back into the comfort and safety of Kane’s arms.
Delatorre thrashed on the bed, eyes wild, color draining from his face. Syren kept talking.
“You took everything from me. I paid for your sins,” he told Delatorre. “It’s about time I returned the
favor.” He stood and bent, whispering in Delatorre’s ear, “She’s still alive and she’s mine.” He
straightened and turned way. Nothing more needed to be said because Delatorre knew what he meant,
who he spoke off. The machines blared and Syren pressed the nurse’s button. Seconds later the room
was filled with people.
“Step aside!”
“He’s seizing.”
Syren stood off to the side, against the wall, as they worked on Delatorre. He blocked out sound and
focused on the body on the bed. Doctors tore away his gown and pressed the paddles to his chest.
Delatorre’s body jerked upright then fell backward. Mouths moved, lights blinked. The paddles
landed on him again and again, on his bare chest, working to revive the black heart.
At the corner of his eye, Syren saw Thiago pressed up against the glass doors, fear big and bright on
his face. He looked younger than he was, a boy needing his father. He wouldn’t get that chance, much
like Syren never got his chance.
When the doctors gave up and stepped back, dropping the paddles as one of them glanced at the clock
on the wall, Syren brought his gaze to the heart monitor.
Straight lines. They took a minute to register and Syren had the sudden and overwhelming urge to
drop to the floor, curl on his side and sob, because the memories were still there. The pain was still
there. That box of darkness he’d been gifted hadn’t let up with the stopping of Ricardo Delatorre’s
heartbeat. Where was the relief he’d expected? The slate hadn’t been wiped clean, not one bit.
Delatorre was gone and he remained the same man, tainted and forever burdened with the life he’s

struggled so hard to escape. His legs moved, carrying him out the room and outside where Thiago
grabbed him, tears in eyes so much like his father’s Syren couldn’t hide the wince. He stood,
unmoving, as Thiago wet the front of his suit with the tears he shed for a man he didn’t really know. A
father he loved, nonetheless. Kane stood behind Thiago, holding Syren’s gaze, his eyes searching for
something Syren didn’t think he found because Kane’s mouth tightened.
He patted Thiago on the back awkwardly then stepped away. He wasn’t the one to be comforting
Delatorre’s son, but Thiago didn’t know that because hurt darkened his eyes when Syren retreated.
“I’m sorry.” All he could say. All he made himself say. He looked up and Kane was by his side,
silent but there, and Syren reached for him. Just a hand, he stretched out a hand and Kane took it.
Squeezed him. The strength in his touch enough to tug on the unraveling thread of his control.
“Thiago.” He faced the young man with the tearstains. “Call your mother. I’ll see you soon.”
He turned and walked away hand in hand with Kane. They didn’t speak in the elevator. Syren held
himself in check, his gaze straight ahead. He felt Kane’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look to be sure.
The elevator stopped then opened into the dark underground parking spot, filled with cars, but silent.
He blinked.
Kane grabbed his arm and pulled him out, half carrying him until they were up against a concrete
pillar, huge and looming, hiding them from anyone who wanted to see.
“Hey.” Warm fingers touched his chin. “I’m here.”
He collapsed into Kane, fingers digging into his lover’s upper arms and looked up into his eyes.
“He’s gone.” The words were a mournful sob he couldn’t contain.
Kane nodded. “I know.” So much pity in those blue eyes.
“But it’s still here.” He pressed a hand to the center of his chest. “The pain is still there. It won’t
leave.” He rubbed the heel of his hand right there, over his heart, the source of his pain. “Why?” he
asked. “Why won’t it go away?”
“I don’t know.” Kane held him close, hands rubbing up and down his back as he pressed kisses to
Syren’s head. “I don’t know.”
Syren buried his face in Kane’s chest. There should have been some kind of relief, something to let
him know he hadn’t completely wasted all those years. Revenge should feel better than this.
“I just feel empty,” he murmured into Kane’s t-shirt. “It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth it.” He
pushed away from Kane and fumbled for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. Using the gold
lighter Isa gave him he lit the business end and turned away, giving Kane his back. His hand shook so
bad he couldn’t contain it. Couldn’t hide it from anyone looking for evidence of him losing his mind.
One deep drag on the cigarette then he brought the lit end to the inside of his left wrist and held it
there, on his skin.
The pain. His gums hurt, but his heart leapt, welcoming it. The burn raced up and down his entire
hand and breath filled his lungs on a hiss. He did it again, pressed the lit cigarette to the inside of his
wrist and his knees buckled.
“Hey.” Kane grabbed him, held him steady. Pulled him close, but Syren shrugged away his touch.
He felt himself going under with nothing solid under his feet to break his fall.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Kane yanked his hand up, horror in his eyes when he saw Syren’s
destruction. “Syren, what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Syren brought the lit cigarette back to his wrist, but Kane knocked it
to the ground before it made contact with his flesh. “Bastard!” Syren swung, fist connecting with the
underside of Kane’s jaw. “Don’t fucking try to control me.”
Kane caught his hand and twisted it behind his back. “Calm down.” He shoved Syren up against the

hood of a dark-colored Toyota Camry and caged him in. Pressed together as they were, Syren
couldn’t tell which one of them was trembling, whose teeth he heard rattling in his head.
“I know you’re hurting,” Kane murmured harshly in his ear, “but this isn’t the way you deal. This self-
destructive shit isn’t you.”
“Fuck you, what do you know about me?” Syren pushed his ass into Kane’s crotch, snickering at the
bulge. “Go on, do it. Fuck me.” Anything, anything to let out the pain. To ease the coil of tension in his
gut.
Kane’s arm tightened on his wrists. “Not gonna happen.”
“Then I’ll find someone willing to do it.” Syren struggled in Kane’s hold, fighting to escape, but Kane
wasn’t having it. He breathed in short, hot spurts on Syren’s nape, erection still present, fingers biting
into Syren’s skin. He closed his eyes and smiled.
“Fuck me, Kane,” he purred and arched, rubbing sensually on the cock poking him back there.
Kane released him suddenly and stepped back. “No.”
“Then why are you here?” Syren whirled and lashed out. Kane’s gaze was understanding when he
shouldn’t be, expression calm, and Syren hated that. Hated him in that moment. “Why are you here
with me?” he yelled. “If you can’t give me what I need, then I don’t want you around.”
A muscle in Kane’s jaw ticked. “Then you’re shit out of luck, because I’m here and I’m staying.”
Syren held his gaze while he unbuckled and unzipped his pants. When they dropped to his ankles, he
pointed to the scars on his hips and upper thighs. “See this? This isn’t Delatorre’s work, this is all
me. This is what I do to myself.”
Alarm didn’t begin to describe the look in Kane’s wide eyes.
“I need this,” Syren begged in a ragged whisper. “I need to release the pain.” The boulder in the
middle of his chest grew bigger, tighter. “Please.” He took a step and dropped to his knees at Kane’s
feet. “Please.” He looked up into the other man’s eyes, the man he loved, and begged for help.

This man he didn’t recognize. Kane swallowed the lump in his throat and stared down at Syren on

his knees, begging for Kane to do what? Hurt him? Scar him? Give him pain?

His heart hurt, because he saw how Delatorre’s death affected Syren upstairs. He wasn’t

prepared for this, to be faced with a lover intent on destroying himself. The look in Syren’s eyes was
of a drowning man flailing, calling out for help, but what he wanted, what he claimed to need wasn’t
something Kane could ever give.

Snot mixed with the tears Kane was almost sure Syren didn’t know he shed. Kane’s own sinuses

stung at the sight of his lover so broken.
“Why?” His vocal cords felt tight, barely used as he asked, “Why are you giving them so much power
over you?”
Syren’s Adam’s apple worked overtime as his lover swallowed again and again. His expression shut
off, as if someone had slammed a door shut, and Syren dragged himself to his feet.
“Fine.” He turned away, securing his pants. “Goodbye, Kane.”
“Like hell.” Kane grabbed him, stopping him midstride. “You think I’d leave you by yourself to get
into God knows what kind of trouble?” He shook his head and held out his free hand. “Give me your
phone.”
Syren’s lips tightened and he didn’t budge so Kane dug into his lover’s pockets and fished out the
damn thing.
“You’re being a petulant child right now,” he spoke while browsing Syren’s contact list. “Not a good
look on you.”
“Bite me.”

Oh he’d do more than that, but not then and definitely on his own timetable. He found Syren’s pilot’s
info and called the man, letting him know they were on their way back to the airport. Syren didn’t
speak. He sat in the car with his arms folded, the frown a permanent fixture on his face.
Kane ignored him. He wasn’t going to abandon Syren to his pain, but he wasn’t giving in on his own
rules. They played rough and loose in the bedroom, but no way was he going to hurt Syren like that,
make him bleed or anything else. There had to be another way of releasing his pain and frustration.
Kane needed to find it because he wasn’t losing his lover.
On the plane ride to Connecticut, Syren held himself apart, physically and emotionally. He plopped
down into a seat in the aisle opposite Kane and curled up with his eyes closed, a blanket draped over
his legs. Kane didn’t know if he slept or just played at it, but he figured that was better than a
hysterical Syren.
By the time the plane set down at the airport, it was way past midnight and not a word had been
exchanged between them. Kane got them a cab and hustled a surprisingly pliant Syren into the
backseat. This time Kane didn’t allow his lover a space. He pulled Syren into his arms and cradled
his head on his shoulder.
Still, they didn’t speak.
The cab ride took all of twenty minutes and when they finally stumbled through his front door, Syren
plastered to his side, Kane was exhausted. He had to take care of his lover though.
“Are you hungry?”
Syren looked around the entrance as if he were seeing it for the first time.
Kane grasped his chin to steady them both. “Are you hungry? I can make you something, fix you a cup
of tea or something.”
Syren shook his head mutely. His eyes glittered when he met Kane’s gaze. Shadows lingered in their
depths.
“Come on.” He took Syren’s hand and led him upstairs to the master bedroom. There, he sat his lover
on the edge of the bed and pulled off his clothes. No time to admire the smoothness of Syren’s skin or
to properly inspect the scars he’d revealed as his own doing. He brought a mute Syren to the
bathroom and turned on the shower. Normally he’d choose a bath, but that would take too long.
He undressed himself, turned on the shower spray and looked over his shoulder at Syren. His lover
stood with his back to the mirror, not the first time Kane had noticed Syren’s reluctance to meet his
own reflection.
The more he knew about his lover, the more Kane realized he didn’t know shit.
He helped Syren into the shower and stepped in behind him. Kane went about cleaning his lover from
head to toe, washing his hair, soaping him down. He took his time over the scars, all of them, and
kissed each of them once the soap was washed away, even dropping to his knees to get those on
Syren’s hips and the insides of his thighs.
Jerky fingers sifted through his hair, the first sign of life from his lover in a long while. Kane
smothered a smile against Syren’s abdomen then stood. Their erections bobbed but Kane ignored
them, this wasn’t about sex and he didn’t want to confuse Syren. He offered comfort, his presence, his
time and his arms.
Once Syren was cleaned, Kane washed himself quickly then carried his lover back into the bedroom
where he dried him off and laid him on the bed, under the covers. He climbed in after him and pulled
him into his arms, holding Syren tight when he made as if to escape.
“Sleep.”
When next he opened his eyes, sunshine flooded the bedroom and Syren had left his arms or drifted

away, either way, his lover lay on his stomach on the far side of the bed, one hand hanging off the
mattress, his face buried in the pillows.
Kane sighed and trailed his gaze down Syren’s naked back, all the way past his delectable ass. He
simply allowed himself to look at the man in his bed, to take in his presence and his beauty. A lesser
man wouldn’t be able to deal with the baggage Syren came with, a lesser man could have lost out on
this, the flutter in Kane’s chest every time he laid eyes on Syren.
Wanting Syren in his life, accepting him in his bed meant also allowing in Marcos and Faro, the men
Syren was at some point or another. Needing him meant needing them. They were all one and the
same. How did he help Syren see that? How did he make his lover understand that it was okay to
have the pain, to feel it, but not okay to be owned and controlled by it?
He scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t know how to do it, how to care about someone so
broken. How did he begin to put Syren back together and could he? His lover had to see that hurting
himself wasn’t good, not for either of them. He rose gingerly from the bed and made his way to the
bathroom, relieving his bladder then brushing his teeth. As he met his eyes in the mirror, the words
Syren threw at him the night before pinged in his brain.
If you can’t give me what I need, then I don’t want you around. I’ll find someone willing to do it.
Kane winced. They hurt now, in the aftermath. Were they just words, simply his lover’s pain and
despair talking or something more? Something deeper?
He wiped his face and hands and did his best to forget, to put the stress of the night before behind
him, but when he stepped into the bedroom and stared into Syren’s sleepy eyes, he couldn’t.
Syren didn’t speak and Kane didn’t. He went about getting dressed, grabbing his gun and shield
before using his fingers to tame his short hair. He finally turned back to Syren after tugging on his
boots and jacket. His lover sat in the middle of the bed, knees hugged to his chest, skin so pale, eyes
bloodshot, white-blond hair a mess. He never looked more beautiful to Kane, more sexy and yet so
untouchable in that moment.
“I have to go in to work for a couple hours,” he said softly.
Syren jerked a nod. “Okay.” His voice came out sounding rusted.
Nothing more was exchanged between them and Kane shook his head slightly. The awkwardness was
new to him, he’d never been that way around Syren, but now he was. “Will you be here when I get
back?”
Syren lifted a shoulder, but didn’t speak and Kane just wanted to get the hell outta there.
“I see.” He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder. Syren appeared so
forlorn, so sad and alone in the middle of his bed. Kane ached to go to him, haul him into his arms and
wipe away all the bad dreams and pain his lover carried. Only Syren didn’t appear to want him to do
any of that. “I’ll call you.” He left before he didn’t.
Syren occupied most of his thoughts throughout the day and Kane had to constantly remind himself not
to dwell. They’d work things out, they would. He wished he could call up his brother and talk things
out with Gabe, but he couldn’t. No way could he break Syren’s confidence. He had no idea what
Gabe and Rafe knew about Syren’s life as Faro, but Kane doubted they knew it all.
When he wasn’t worrying about Syren he had to deal with Vince and his cold shoulder when he
wasn’t staring daggers at Kane. Thank fuck he was getting out of there. He had enough to deal with.
He’d taken a chance and no way had he envisioned it ending up the way everything had.
The mess with Syren made him see how much he’d been missing. How much he’d missed taking care
of someone, having someone to hold. Syren never had someone like that, someone to turn to. Despite
his closeness with Henri and Isa Kane knew enough about his lover to know he wouldn’t burden them

with his demons. He’d work it out himself. Only, hurting himself more wasn’t the answer.
They needed to talk.
He called Syren on his lunch break, but got his voicemail. He tried again with a text but didn’t get a
reply. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and he tried to will it away. Nothing bad would
happen. Syren wouldn’t do anything to seriously harm himself, would he?
Kane remembered the drowning look in his eyes the night before and grabbed his car keys and jacket
before racing out his office. All the way home he tried calling Syren and he got no response.
Fear made itself known with goose bumps on his skin, his heart in his throat. When he finally got
home, he rushed through the house, calling his lover’s name and listening as his words echoed back.
Syren was gone.

Chapter Fourteen

“Will you answer him?” Isa prodded Syren. They sat in a café in the heart of Paris, Syren doing

his best to hide what he was really feeling behind dark glasses and a heavy scarf.

Two days since he left Kane’s house and he didn’t know if he could go back. He’d let it all hang

out, the ugly truth about him. His scars. He’d shown his true colors and begged, begged, for Kane to
hurt him when he knew his lover would say no. And finally the cowardly act, sneaking out of his
house when Kane went to work.

He had to go back, at least to give Kane the gift he’d ordered for his retirement. What else was

there? Was he done pretending to be normal?
He ignored Isa’s words and she kicked him under the table. “Coward.”
“I own that.” He winced. “But ease up on the kicking, goddamn it.”
She curved her ruby-red lips. “Maybe I should meet him, this Kane.” She winked and shifted in her
chair. “I wonder if I can turn him over to the dark side, the good side.”
He lifted an eyebrow with a snort. “The pussy side?”
Isa shrugged. “You don’t want him.”
A reluctant smile curved his lips. “I want him so much it’s a physical ache.”
“But here you are.”
“Why can’t I come visit you?” He leaned back in his chair. “You buy me pretty things, you listen to
me whine. You’re my favorite person.”
“Eh, only because I let you run and hide.”
“Who’s hiding?” Syren spread his hands on the table. “No one’s hiding.”
All traces of laughter leaked from Isa’s face. “Do you want to talk about it? About Delatorre?”
Fuck no. “What’s there to say? Someone poisoned him, now he’s dead and I’m alive.” Barely.
“Are you sure you’re alive?” Isa echoed his words. “You’re running from the man you say you love.
You’re hiding the single most important person in your life from him.” She checked off his dirty deeds
on a finger. “You’re pushing him away and testing him at the same time.”
“No way. What test?” Syren frowned at her. “I wasn’t testing him.”
She gave him a droll look. “What do you call what you did in the parking lot, dropping your pants and
showing him your self-inflicted scars?”
That wasn’t a test. “He needed to know,” Syren whispered through frozen lips. “I— that wasn’t a test.
I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Sounded like a test to me,” Isa said quietly. “Maybe you wanted him to look at you differently, with
disgust, so you could use it as an excuse to walk away. Your sick way of saving him from broken

Syren.”
Syren stared at her, mouth open. What? How did she come to that conclusion and why wasn’t he
telling her she was wrong? “Jesus. Jesus.” He shook his head and gripped her hand. Tightly. “Am I
that fucked up, Isa?” His voice cracked. “Am I that sick?”
She patted his hand in sympathy. “Not if you don’t recognize it. Not if you don’t remedy it before you
lose him.” Isa met his gaze, her eyes piercing. “Is that what you want, to lose him?”
“No.” The word ripped from his chest. The implications too much and too heavy to contemplate. “I
don’t want to lose him, but I— I can’t look at him without remembering what happened in that parking
lot. How much I fucked things up.” He’d been so lost in his own pain, he hadn’t noticed the pain he’d
inflicted on his lover. “I hurt him.”He acknowledged the words out loud. “I hurt him.”
Isa nodded. “And you’re compounding it, no?” She pulled a cigarette from the pack on the table
between them and lit it. Syren stared. “You leave and you ignore his calls.”
Christ. He couldn’t listen to any more. He pushed his chair back and stood. “I need air.”
Isa blew a cloud of smoke in his direction. “We’re outside, chéri.”
Syren chuckled. “I love you, Isa. You know that, don’t you?” He’d be lost without her biting words to
keep him grounded.
“Hm, I know that.” She stood and took his hand. “And you know I love you, which is why I have to
ask, when will you tell your man about Càtia?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Please, one thing at a time.” He wasn’t prepared and he’d never be
prepared to talk about Càtia. She was his.
Isa made a sound. “You can’t keep her hidden forever and now that Delatorre is dead, she doesn’t
need to be.”
“Just— Can we not talk about this right now?” He stopped and grasped Isa’s shoulder. “You want to
come with me to see Kane? I’ll need a buffer.”
“You’ll need more than a buffer.” She paused, a finger on her chin. “I haven’t been to the States in
forever. I could do with some shopping in New York.”
Syren pouted. “I didn’t plan on taking you to New York.”
“Right. Whatever you say.”
They flew commercial to New York’s John F. Kennedy Airport and went straight to Madison
Avenue. Well, Isa went and Syren tagged along to make sure she didn’t run over anybody in her six-
inch Givenchy peep-toes. They shopped, Isa picking out stuff and he nodding yes or no. His phone
stopped ringing before they left Paris and fear clutched his throat with icy fingers.
Maybe Kane gave up on waiting, on calling, reaching out without any word from Syren. He wished he
could simply call up his lover and offer an apology, but he was man enough, this time, to do it face-
to-face. To look into Kane’s eyes and beg forgiveness for being so selfish and fucked up that he didn’t
see how much he’d hurt him.
After Isa put a significant dent in the money Henri left her, they had dinner then quickly boarded the
small plane in Lower Manhattan that would take them over to Connecticut. Syren had to make a stop
to pick up the gift he’d thought was a good idea at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure.
By the time they made it to Kane’s house, dusk had fallen and the marshal’s house was locked up
tight, shrouded in darkness. He broke in using the usual means and waved Isa inside.
She didn’t speak, only directed a pointed stare his way before brushing past him. “Beautiful house,
chéri.”
Syren closed the door behind them. “Yeah.” He followed Isa into the living room and stood next to
her, staring up at the mantel. The naked mantel. All but one picture of Bailey was gone and the one

remaining frame was Bailey by himself as he stared off into the distance.
Sunset hung on the wall above the fireplace.
Syren swallowed. Jesus.
“This is the dead lover?” Isa asked. Syren nodded and she touched his arm.
“He— Kane is making room for me in his life and I’m pushing him out of mine.” The truth in those
words hurt to say, to think, after he’d been so dogged in his pursuit of his lover.
“You’ll fix it, right?” Isa turned to the kitchen. “We feed him. That always works.”
Syren sent up a silent prayer that it did work, but still crossed his fingers to be on the safe side.

* * * * *

His house bathed in light let Kane know he had company. Only one person could be the culprit.

He didn’t know how he felt about seeing Syren again after all that went down. He’d disappeared into
thin air and the days he’d been gone were the longest of Kane’s life. Worrying as he’d never had to
before. Questioning as he’d never allowed himself to do before.

Dog barks from inside the house brought a frown to his face as he fit his key in the lock. The door

yanked open and ball of something flew at him, licking his face. Kane staggered under the weight.
“What the hell?” He looked from the dog in his arms to Syren’s face, mildly chagrined.

“Down, boy.” Syren snapped his fingers and the dog left Kane and padded over to him, tongue

lolling to the side. Syren scratched him behind the ears as he looked up at Kane. “Hello, Marshal.”

“Why is there a dog in my house?” Kane walked inside and stopped short. A woman stood in the

entryway between the living room and kitchen, blonde hair framing her strikingly beautiful face. As
Kane stared at her, her full red lips parted in a smile. “Why is there a strange woman in my house?”

“Strange woman?” She walked to him on heels clacking on his wooden floors, body tight and

compact in a short white dress, breasts out to there. “We’re family, chéri.” She purred the words in a
thick French accent and Kane caught on as she air-kissed him.

Twice.

“Isa?”
Syren appeared out of nowhere and yanked her away with a comical expression on
his face. “Marshal, this is Isa, my sister for lack of a better term.” His eyes were soft when he turned
to Isa. “Isa, this is Kane.”

Wow. Side by side they did look as if they were siblings, both gorgeous with the pale skin and

hair. Kane smiled at Isa. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Her breasts rose and fell when she took a deep breath. “Same here. All great things.” She spoke to
Kane with her eyes but he couldn’t decipher the message she meant to convey. Finally Isa broke eye
contact and looked around. “My car will be here to take me to the hotel any minute.”
As if on cue a car honked outside.
Isa picked up the dozen or more bags from the couch and Syren rushed to help. Together they
struggled out the door, the dog at their heels. A dog. And Isa. All in his house after he hadn’t seen
Syren in so many days. Kane stood at the door, hovering, as Syren piled Isa and her bags into the car.
Maybe if he knew where things stood with him and Syren he’d have invited Isa to stay, but he didn’t.
He flew blind.
“See you, Kane,” Isa purred as she leaned out the taxi window. Man, she and Syren had that purring
thing down to a science. “Let’s have dinner before I leave, yes?”
The car drove off before he could reply and Kane backed into the house, thanking God for small

favors because he had no answer for that. He would love it, but more than that he would love to know
where he stood with his lover. He walked into the kitchen and stood, leaning against the island. The
place smelled heavenly and he sniffed, trying but failing to identify what smelled so good.
“Isa cooked.”
Kane looked over to find Syren standing there, gaze hesitant, face blank. The dog stayed at his side,
looking up at Kane with curiosity.
“Tell me about the dog.”
Syren looked down at the animal then back at Kane. “He’s a German Shepherd. You said you wanted
to get a dog when you retired.” He lifted a shoulder. “That day I called Gabe, asked him what type of
dog you’d prefer then I contacted a shelter and got the adoption ball rolling.”
Kane stared at him. “You got me a dog?” The disbelief couldn’t be helped. Syren got him a dog. Like
he got him Sunset. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the gesture, didn’t appreciate that his lover
actually listened and paid attention, but… “You think that’s what I need, a dog?”
“No I—” Syren didn’t meet his eyes. “I wanted to make you happy.”
“Really?” Kane cocked his head to the side and eyed his lover up and down. “You know what would
make me happy? Having you not disappear for days without a fucking word! That, that would make
me happy.” He stalked past Syren and into the living room.
“I’m sorry.” Syren spoke behind him. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t face you after what I did to you.”
Kane whirled on him. “What are you talking about? What did you do?” He’d never seen his lover so
forlorn. Syren stood with his fingers laced in front of him, gaze downcast. “Look at me!”
Syren’s head shot up.
The dog at his side whimpered.
“What did you do that made you hesitant to face me?”
A flush brought red blotches to Syren’s face and neck. “What I did in the parking lot,” he said quietly.
“I hurt you with my actions and my words when I didn’t mean to.” He swallowed audibly. “I’m so
sorry.”
Kane squeezed his eyes shut. “Then why did you?” Why had Syren pushed him away and run off?
“I was in pain and I needed to hurt someone.” Syren’s eyes glittered like polished amethyst stones. “I
just lashed out at you and I’m—”
“Fuck that noise.” Kane slashed a hand through the air. “Excuses. Those words are excuses. I want
the real.”
Syren jerked a nod and stared off into space for the longest time. Kane gathered patience he didn’t
even know he had and waited.
“I was scared,” Syren whispered. “I was— I am afraid you’ll wake up one day to the realization that
I’m broken beyond repair.” He met Kane’s gaze evenly. “I’m afraid you’ll decide it’s too much work
to deal with me and my demons and you’ll walk away.”
Kane couldn’t stop his feet from moving forward, but he stopped shy of taking Syren in his arms. The
pain in his lover’s eyes and voice clawed at him though, and he shook his head. “No.”
“I hurt myself,” Syren bit out. “I make myself bleed and it feels good. It eases the pressure inside me,
but it never lasts for long.” His lips trembled. “Before I slept in your bed, I’d never had a full night’s
sleep. Before I crawled into your arms I’d never been safe.” He shuffled forward. “You give me that.
You hold that power and you can take it away.”
The weight of those words hit Kane in the middle of his chest and he rocked back on his heels. “You
never told me that.”
Syren’s mouth twisted. “Not something you share with the man you—with the man you’re sleeping

with. It’s also not your job to fix me, to make sure I’m happy.”
“Of course it is.” Kane grabbed his arm. “It’s my role as your lover to make sure you’re okay. What
are you even talking about?”
“But I’m not okay, am I?” Syren gave him a sad smile. “I won’t ever be okay and that night in the
parking lot was about me letting you go on my terms before you wise up and escape the madness on
yours.”
Kane couldn’t help the chuckle. “Escape, huh?” He tucked some loose strands of hair behind Syren’s
ear. “You’re fucked up, yeah, I’ll give you that.”
Syren looked away.
“But I kinda like it, you know.” He cupped Syren’s chin. “You’re like no one I’ve ever met. You
fascinate me.”
“I don’t mean to,” Syren said hoarsely. “I just— I’m scared of how much I need you. My happiness is
not all about having you in my life, it’s also about making myself whole again.”
“You know that so what are you doing about it?”
Syren lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Come.” Kane pulled him down beside him on the couch and the dog jumped onto his lap. Kane
patted his head. “Hi there, you’re so well-behaved.” He sank his fingers into the dog’s short, dark-
brown coat and scratched behind his ear. “What’s your name, huh?” He beamed at the animal.
“What’s your name?”
“Um. Kane, say hi to O.G.”
Kane glared at him over the dog’s head. “What kind of name is that?”
Laughter lurked in Syren’s eyes. “I think, and this is what the woman at the shelter said, it’s short for
Original Gangster.”
“That’s—” Kane spluttered. “That’s criminal. We have to rename him, my dog will not be named
Original Gangster.”
His lover pursed his lips. “Yeah. Um, he’s been at the shelter for a while and they tried renaming him
everything under the sun.” Syren gazed at Kane in sympathy. “He only answers to O.G.”
“Hell no.” Kane patted O.G.—the dog’s head. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something much more
suitable, boy.” He snapped his finger. “Boy! That’s it. What about Boy?”
Syren rolled his eyes. “Really? That’s all you’ve got?”
“Fine.” Kane narrowed his gaze. “But this conversation isn’t over.” He fixed his attentions on Syren.
“Let’s talk about you and the need you have to constantly run from me.”
Syren paled. “I’m sorry.”
Kane waved his words away. “I don’t want your words of apology. I want that shit to stop.” He
threaded his fingers through Syren’s hair and closed his eyes for a second, breathing in his lover. “I
was so worried about you, wondering where you were, if you were safe or hurt.”
“I was okay. Physically.” Syren covered Kane’s knee and squeezed. “I went straight to Isa. She’s my
sounding board.”
The pang of jealousy in Kane’s chest was an unwelcome surprise. What did it matter that Syren
preferred to speak to Isa about his and Kane’s relationship than Kane?
“I missed you,” he readily admitted. “My head was not in the game at all and that’s…that’s new for
me after all this time. Worrying about someone like that.” Syren’s lips parted and Kane nodded. “I
know. You’re sorry.” He took a breath and spoke the words he really wished he didn’t have to. “I
want you to stop hurting yourself and any way I can help—without injuring you—I will. I want you to
let me in. Open up and let me in. I’ve got carte blanche to your body, but it feels like I’m locked out of

everything else.”
Syren bowed his head and Kane wasn’t having it. He lifted the smaller man’s chin with a finger.
“I’m here for you to talk to, with a shoulder for you to cry on.” So much more he wanted to offer. So
much more he choked on the words, stifling them, because Syren wasn’t ready to hear how empty
Kane was without him around. “I want you to listen to me when I say this. If you run from me again,
I’m done.” The words burned his tongue, painful as they were to say, but they needed to be aired.
Syren had to know this thing wasn’t a game. “No more chances.” He caught Syren’s face in his hands
and a tear ran down his lover’s cheek. “If you run you’re telling me I’m wasting my time, that you’re
not willing to put in the work, and I won’t give you a third opportunity to hurt me like you just did.”
Syren’s fingers dug into his thigh. “Fair enough.” He nodded. “More than I deserve.”
“You know what, you deserve so much more than you think you do.” For all the strength Syren had, he
had as many weaknesses and Kane saw now, one of them had to be the fear of rejection. Of not being
good enough. Lots of people went through that, didn’t they? Everyone worried about measuring up.
Only in Syren’s case, everything he’d been through amplified his fears times a thousand.
He hugged his lover close and just held him, hands roaming up and down his back until O.G.—God,
they really had to find that dog a new name—barked at them and sat down at Kane’s feet.
“Thank you for getting me a dog,” he whispered in Syren’s ear. He’d wanted one for a while. But he
doubted he’d have put that task at the top or even middle of his todo list. That Syren listened and
acted warmed him better than any hot toddy ever could.
“Thank you for that,” Syren murmured back and waved at Sunset on the wall opposite them. “Thank
you for making room for me in your life.”
“It’s the easiest thing.” Kane pressed a kiss to his forehead. Emotion thickened his voice. “It’s the
easiest thing, letting you in.”
Syren sighed and clutched him then O.G. barked and they sprung apart. Kane stole a quick kiss from
Syren’s lips then leapt to his feet. “Does he need to be walked or fed or what?”
Syren gave him a droll look. “Yeah.” He winked. “Why don’t you and O.G. figure that out while I go
take a shower?” He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. “I’m very dirty.” He peeked up at
Kane through his lashes. “Very,” he purred.
Goddamn.
Syren stood and made his way to the stairs, clothes trailing in his wake. “If you hurry, Marshal,” he
paused halfway up the stairs, “you can dirty me up all over again.”
Goddamn. “Come on, dog.” He knelt and stared into O.G.’s face. “Tell me what you need so I can go
take care of your other daddy.”

* * * * *

They spent the entire day with Isa, doing both breakfast and dinner since she showed up at Kane’s

house at the ass crack of dawn, interrupting some major make-up sex time.

Syren really wanted to strangle the bitch, but he gritted his teeth and went along with the program.

Thankfully she headed back to Paris that night with a threat to visit soon. Not if he could help it. That
chick straight cockblocked him.

He and Kane settled into a routine, comfortable and amazing. Syren stayed in the house with O.G.

when Kane went to work and in the evenings they took O.G. out for walks in the nearby park, went out
to dinner or stayed in while Kane cooked delicious stuff and Syren pretended to help. He knew where
his real talents lay and it was not in the kitchen. The need to tell Kane about Càtia became too much.

The time had come to reveal the last piece of himself he’d so carefully tucked away. It wasn’t fair to
Kane and to Càtia anymore to divide his time when he didn’t have to. The two people he’d give his
life for, the two people he lived for, had to meet and he had to quit with the fear and make it happen.

He waited until Kane went out to LA—on the trail of a teacher who’d jumped bail after being

charged with having sex with her underage student—and made the trip to Costa Rica. This time he
made sure his lover knew he was leaving, only he wasn’t quite as forthcoming with his destination.
Kane assumed he would be visiting Isa and Syren didn’t correct him.

In Costa Rica, on the tiny deck outside Càtia’s bedroom, under the stars, he told her about the man

he’d given his heart to and showed her a picture of Kane he’d taken on his phone. Her questions were
expected and he didn’t have a lot of answers but he answered them as best he could. Mostly she
wanted assurances that the heart he’d told her belonged to her would remain the same. Nothing would
change that, whether Kane accepted her or not. Nothing.

The phone call came as Càtia fell asleep in his arms. Syren scrambled to answer it before she

woke up. “Hello?”
“It’s Gabe, where are you?” Gabe Ashby sounded stressed and out of breath.
Syren frowned as he glanced down at Càtia. “Out of the country. Why?”
“Kane’s been shot.”
The three words echoed in Syren’s brain for a second before he fully understood them. “What?”
“How soon can you get here?” Gabe rattled off the name of a hospital in LA and Syren staggered to
his feet.
“What the hell happened?” he barked into the phone. “Gabe, answer me.”
“Someone shot him outside the hotel where the marshals were staying.” Gabe sighed. “He’s got a
bullet in his upper torso.” Gabe’s voice shook. “He’s in surgery, but I know he’ll want you here, so
get here.” He hung up and Syren stared down at the phone.
Kane was shot.
Syren ignored the unease crawling up and down his spine, the fear burning his chest like hot ice and
quickly left the house, glad that this time Càtia wasn’t up to watch him leave yet again. He didn’t
remember the ride to the airport, but once there he paid a college-aged female close to five thousand
dollars for her plane ticket and boarded the commercial flight, all on autopilot.
Kane had to be fine, there was simply no alternative, but in the confines of his cramped aisle seat, he
crossed his fingers in his lap and reached out to a God he’d never really believed in.
A cab took him from the airport to the hospital and Gabe, who met him in the lobby. The worry on his
face set Syren’s heart racing. Jesus, just how bad was Kane?
“Hey.” Gabe touched his arm. “How was the flight?”
Syren shrugged. “Six hours too long. How’s Kane?”
“He’s doing good. Surgery went well.” Gabe walked ahead of him in the direction of the elevators.
“There’s a bunch of marshals up there, some I know and some I don’t. Some who may know his
sexual preference and some who may not.”
Syren didn’t meet his eyes as they stepped onto the elevator and started moving. “Why are you telling
me this?” Did he think Syren would act like the little woman and freak out?
“I called you because I know he’d want you here, but try not to call too much attention to yourself.”
What the hell was he talking about? “What does that even mean?”
The elevator doors dinged open.
“Vince is there and he…refuses to leave Kane’s side.”
Ah. A smile threatened to break out on Syren’s face, but he kept his calm demeanor. Time enough to

deal with Vince and his schoolboy crush later. “Did you know I held a knife to his throat?”
Gabe chuckled. “I do know. Try to keep your little ass calm before the guys with guns fuck your ass
up.”
“That’s twice you’ve mentioned my ass, darling. Been staring at it again?” Syren threw Gabe a wink
as they strode past a group of burly and downright scary-looking men. The weight of their eyes on him
was damn unnerving. “They think I’m Faro,” he whispered to Gabe from the corner of his mouth.
“You are Faro.”
Leave it to Gabe to point out the obvious.
They paused at a door where a uniformed officer stood guard. He greeted Gabe with familiarity, but
raised an eyebrow at Syren.
“This is my brother’s partner,” Gabe said.
The officer didn’t blink, but he did insist Syren pony up his identification before he opened the door
and waved them into Kane’s hospital room. Vince sat in a chair beside Kane’s bed, holding his
bandaged hand, his chin touching his chest as he nodded off.
Unacceptable. On too many levels to count. Syren cleared his throat and Vince jerked upright, face
going stony when he recognized Syren. For his part, Syren ignored him and strode over to the other
side of Kane’s bed and slid in carefully.
His lover’s eyelids fluttered and opened. “Hey.” Kane peered up at him with foggy eyes. “When did
you get here?”
“Just now.” Damn. Syren swallowed the thick emotion constricting his breathing. “I leave you alone
for a day and you get yourself shot, Marshal?”
Kane smiled up at him, looking comically high off whatever pain meds they had him on. “That means
you should never go away again.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He traced Kane’s nose with a finger. “You scared me and you know I don’t do
fear well. Don’t do it again.”
“I know and I won’t.” Kane nodded then groaned. “I hurt. Kiss it better.”
See if he didn’t. Syren kissed him on the forehead, eyelids and nose, tender brushes of his lips. When
he got to Kane’s mouth, Syren kissed him deeply, uncaring of Gabe’s presence and Vince’s
censorious looks. He finally broke the kiss and looked up at Vince. “Can we get some privacy here or
do you want to watch?”
Kane’s touch on his shoulder chastised him and over in the corner Gabe snickered, but Vince with the
hard-on for his man shot Syren a dark look and got out of his chair.
“I’ll be back to check on you later,” he told Kane, who nodded.
“Make it much, much later,” Syren shot back as Vince disappeared out the room.
“Childish much, Tiny?” Gabe asked.
Syren stuck out his tongue. “Where’s your better half?”
Gabe got serious mighty quick. “Back home.” His face twisted. “You know he can’t show his face,
especially in this crowd.”
Syren nodded solemnly. “I know that.”
Angelo Pagan may have changed his address and the name on his driver’s license, but he hadn’t
changed his face, and the truth of it was he wore the face of a dead gang leader and gunrunner.
“Go to your hotel and get some rest,” Kane croaked to his brother. “You heard the doctors, I’m fine,
just need to heal up.” He lifted a hand then winced and dropped it. “Go. Syren will stay with me.”
“And I promise to call you if anything changes.”
“It won’t,” Kane piped up.

Syren shot him a glance. “But if it did, I’d call.”
“Fine.” Gabe walked over and hugged his brother. “Listen to the doctors,” he murmured in Kane’s
ear. “Take your meds. I’ll be here tomorrow.” He straightened. “You.” He pointed a finger at Syren.
“Take care of him.”
Syren snapped a salute. “Yessir.”
“Tiny bastard.” Gabe escaped through the door and closed it softly behind him.
Syren grinned at Kane. “I think your brother has a problem with my height.”
“Well, you are rather…miniature.”
Why that— Syren glared at his lover. “If you weren’t all hopped-up on painkillers I’d punch you right
now.”
“Save it for later.” Kane dropped his head back onto the pillows with a sigh. “I’m tired.”
“Do you know who did this?” Syren asked. “Was it the person you’d come out here to find?”
“Could be, but it felt personal.” Kane sounded winded. “He strode past Vince and a couple other guys
in the parking lot to get to me.”
“It was definitely a man?”
“Yep.” Kane’s lashes fluttered and seconds later he was asleep, snoring gently.
Syren stayed up, positioned next to his lover all through the night as the nurses came in to check on his
bandages and administer his meds. He managed to squeeze a couple answers from one of the nurses
who told him the bullet had been removed and there should be no serious damage in the long run.
They’d keep him for a couple days, monitor his progress then send him on his way.
Good news for Syren. He needed to know who had a grudge against Kane, who wanted his lover
dead, because that shit was not happening. Not on his watch. He needed to get Billy on it. In the
morning.

* * * * *

Two days later, Billy was on the case, but coming up empty and Syren was itching to escape the

sense of impending doom that wouldn’t leave him alone. Kane was due to be released that evening, so
Syren put his pilot on standby.

“I’m going to head over to my place,” he told Kane as Gabe helped him put on his shirt. His

lover’s left hand was in a sling and a bandage covered his wound. “I need to take a shower and get
some more clothes.”
“We’re just waiting for the discharge papers,” Kane said.

“So come meet me when you’re done,” Syren suggested. “We’ll take the cab from my place to the

airport.”
“Okay.” Gabe nodded. “We can do that.”
Syren gave them his address and left. He got to his apartment and let himself in. Whistling, he stepped
into the shower. He’d have to sell the condo for sure, but right now he’d let it sit. Once he and Kane
got back to Connecticut he planned to come clean about Càtia. His stomach cramped at the thought of
that conversation.
He dreaded it.
A knock that sounded on the door as he stepped out of the shower had Syren hurrying to answer it.
Kane and Gabe had arrived already?
He swung the door open. “That was qui—Thiago?”
“Where have you been?” Thiago pushed past him and into the condo. “I’ve been calling you for days

and days.” The younger Delatorre’s eyes were wild, his hair and clothes unkempt. “Here.” He handed
Syren one of the coffee cups in his hand.
“Thanks. Uh, I’ve been busy.” Syren closed the door and frowned at him. “What’s wrong? You don’t
look so good.” He sipped the coffee.
“We need to be running the business.” Thiago spun in a circle, his face tilted to the sky. “Why aren’t
we running the business together? We can do great things, man. Great things.”
“Uh.” Okay. “We can’t run the business because the Feds and the DEA and everybody and their
mother are onto us.” He clamped a hand on Thiago’s shoulder. “We have to give it up.”
“No way.” Thiago shook his head, a scarily unfocused look in his eyes. “I got a connect. He can get
us something new, the best drugs ever, man. We’ll make money. So much money.” He laughed as
though he’d cracked some kind of joke. “I’m telling you, this shit is good.”
“I’m not interested.” Syren swallowed more of the coffee as he moved past Thiago and headed to his
bedroom to get dressed. “The Delatorre cartel died with your father, Thiago. Let’s leave it in the
grave where it belongs.” He’d be damned if he’d let the Delatorres take any more from him. He’d
tried ever since Ricardo croaked to distance himself from Thiago, but the hardheaded fool kept
blowing up his phone. He couldn’t put Faro to bed, could he?
“My father’s dead, he got what he deserved,” Thiago said from his bedroom doorway, “but that
doesn’t impact the business. I made sure it didn’t, so you and I could take over. Partners.”
His grin chilled Syren and for the first time since he’d known Thiago, Syren questioned his sanity. He
finished the coffee and placed the empty coffee cup on his nightstand. “What do you mean you made
sure?”
Thiago crept into the room, slowly, silently. “Will you run the business with me as partners? My
father isn’t here to beat you, to hurt you.” He cupped Syren’s chin and smiled. “You can belong to me,
not the man in the hospital.”
Syren froze. “What man?” He shifted and Thiago’s hand on his chin tightened.
“I knew he was special to you,” Thiago spoke softly as though imparting a secret. “You reached for
him instead of me that day, when my father died, but it was grief, wasn’t it? You didn’t know how to
react.”
Jesus Christ. Chills ghosted down Syren’s spine and blanketed his skin in goose bumps. He’d made a
mistake. He’d underestimated Thiago. “Was it you then?” he asked in the same soft voice. “Was it
you who shot him the other night?”
“You’re mine. My father couldn’t have you and this man, this marshal guy, he can’t either.” Thiago
sounded so reasonable, so confident in his words.
Syren’s mind raced. He had no weapons within reach and his phone was in the living room on the
couch. All he had to rely on was himself. “Did you hurt your father too?”
Thiago chuckled, the creepiest sound. “He never saw it coming. I put it in his drink when I went to
visit him in that place. He needed to go.” Thiago leaned down and pressed his forehead to Syren’s. “I
needed to have you to myself, but I turn around and you’re with someone else.” He sounded genuinely
hurt at the thought of Syren being with someone other than him.
Christ. Syren shook his head to clear it. “What did you poison him with?”
Thiago shrugged. “Just something I had one of my friends make for me.” His teeth flashed. “Nice,
huh? We can have the recipe for it, for the right price.”
His vision swam and Syren shook his head again. “No. Thiago, this isn’t happening.” He held the
other man’s gaze, willing him to pay attention to his words, but for some reason Thiago wavered.
“I’m moving on with my life, something different, with someone different. This, what you want, it’s

not going to happen.”
“Make it happen,” Thiago snarled. “Choose. That guy or me, those are your choices. Make it now.”
Syren mentally rolled his eyes. Why me, damn it? “What do you think I’m going to say, Thiago?” He
wrenched himself away. “Please, forget about this and do something productive with your—” The
floor shifted under his feet. “What—” The room swam. Something stung him in his neck, below his
right ear. His knees buckled.
Son of a bitch. Thiago drugged him.
“Thiago. Thiago what—” His tongue felt swollen, too big for his mouth.
“Wrong choice,” Thiago spat in his ear. “You went so willingly to my father, you took his punishment
with no complaints.” He tangled his fingers in Syren’s hair. “I almost think you liked it.”
Syren’s legs gave out and he fell, half on, half off the bed. Thiago dropped to the floor with him.
Thoughts, panicked thoughts, flitted through his mind, but Syren couldn’t hold on to them. The room
swayed in front of his eyes, colors changing, dancing. He couldn’t lift his head, move his arms or
legs.
Rough hands parted his thighs, dragging him backward. Syren hung on to the mattress with his
fingertips, wanting to run away, but unable to. Wanting to hide, but there was nowhere to go but inside
himself. He didn’t want it, didn’t want the pain, but it came and he left.

Chapter Fifteen

The throbbing in his head roused Syren from a dead sleep. He moved his legs restlessly against

the mattress and a jolt of pain yanked a groan from his parched throat. His entire body hurt. Clouds
fogged his head. His mouth felt as if he’d been chewing on cotton.
What the hell did Kane do to him last night?

If he didn’t know better he’d think he was hungover. Had they talked, he wondered. Had he finally

told Kane about Càtia? He tried reaching for that memory, but it wasn’t there. In fact the last thing he
remembered was being with Càtia in Costa Rica. Syren lifted his face off the pillow and tried
opening his eyes, but quickly shut them. The bright sunlight hurt and the room tilted dangerously. He
did see enough to know he wasn’t in Kane’s home, he was back at his condo in LA.

When did he get there? Where was Kane?

Despite his limbs feeling as uncooperative as the rest of his body, Syren anchored his fingers in the
sheets and turned over onto his back. He ran his tongue over his dry, cracked lips and tried opening
his eyes again. The sunlight still stung, but at least he managed to keep them open. Fear took over, his
heart attempting to beat out his chest.
Syren forced himself to breathe. Think. Remember. All he had was a body he couldn’t get under
control and a blank spot where his memory used to be.

A door slammed and Syren jerked upright, hissing at the pain. So encompassing, stealing his

breath.
“You’re up.” Thiago Delatorre strode into his bedroom as if he owned it, as if he lived there, a
sparkle in his eye, his dimples showing. He held up the coffee in his hand.”I brought you some
breakfast.” His gaze traveled over Syren’s body and he wrinkled his nose. “You might want to clean
up first.”
“What’s—” Syren’s voice cracked, broke. Had he had sex with Thiago? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t
hurt Kane. “What’s going on?”
Thiago sipped the coffee he’d said was Syren’s. “Hmm.” He nodded in approval. “What happened is

we came to an agreement last night, cemented our new role as partners of the new Delatorre cartel.”
Syren didn’t react. Think, he berated himself. Think. “Why do I hurt like this?” he asked calmly. A
new picture formed in his mind. One he didn’t look at too closely; the implications were there.
Thiago shrugged off his question. “You were tight. Guess I had it wrong, you weren’t giving it up to
my father after all.”
Syren clenched his teeth to stifle the roar he wanted to let out. Instead he moved gingerly, rolling to
the side of the bed and swinging first one then the other foot off the side. He sat there, palms flat on
his thighs and waited for the tightness in his chest to ease. He had no time for a panic attack. No time
to embrace the pain.
The anger. That was a different story.
With every move he made to stand, his stomach rolled. Cold sweat blanketed his skin. He did though,
as Thiago stood off to the side, an approving look in his eyes. Much like his father, the Delatorres had
a habit of always taking what didn’t belong to them. Naked, Syren steadied himself by leaning into the
bathroom doorframe, his knees bent, fingers scraping and marking the paint.
Inside the bathroom he dropped to his knees and threw up on the floor before ever making it close to
the toilet bowl. Nearby Thiago tsked. Syren emptied his stomach, heaving violently, arms wrapped
tight around his middle.
The similarities to his former life weren’t lost on him. The many times Marcos had been there, on his
knees, emptying his guts after someone else staked their claim and professed to own him. Own his
body. He upchucked until all he had were dry heaves. Misery tapped at his shoulder, an old and
familiar friend.
Not today. Not ever.
Syren struggled to his feet and staggered to the sink where he stripped away the black plastic hiding
the mirror. The time had come to deal with Marcos, to recognize the part of himself that would
forever and always remain Marcos Inácio del Melo. His Faro parts and his Syren parts. He had to
own them all.
For the first time in a long, long time, Syren met his own eyes in the mirror.
They were Marco’s eyes. They were Faro’s eyes and yes, also Syren’s. He was all three of those
people, he carried all their pain, all their darkness, but he’d be damned if he’d allow it to own him.
Control him.
His eyes were red-rimmed, his pupils dilated. Drugs would have that effect. The left side of his face
appeared to be swollen and a dark bruise the size of a silver dollar decorated his neck on the right.
That might be the cause of the pain in his neck.
He turned away from the mirror and stepped into the shower, quickly washing away anything from
Thiago that remained on his skin.
There were still some things he couldn’t wash away.
Syren blinked up into the shower spray. He’d have to get tested. His brain cycled through jumbled
thoughts at a million miles a minute. He needed to keep thinking things out, else he’d drop to his knees
and let the pain consume him.
He would. Just not right then.
When he reentered the bedroom, Thiago had stripped away the sheets on the bed and sat on the bare
mattress, legs crossed.
“You took too long in the shower,” Thiago groused. “I had to drink the coffee before it got cold.”
Syren ignored him and went to his drawer, hiding the knife between his clothes. He stepped into a
pair of lounge pants and pulled on a t-shirt.

“Panties, huh?” Thiago winked. “Never would have guessed. By the way, your phone’s been beeping
all night. Very annoying.” He flung the phone down on the bed and Syren snatched it up.
He had three voice messages, all from Kane. Syren pressed play on the first one with a trembling
finger.
“Hey, Gabe and I are leaving the hospital now. We’re gonna grab a cab and head over to your condo.
Be ready.”
A sob caught in his throat. Kane had been in the hospital. What happened and why hadn’t Syren been
there? His mind remained a blank.
He pressed play on message two.
“We’re downstairs. Where are you? Don’t make me come up there and get you.” His lover laughed
and hung up.
Syren swore he heard his teeth chattering. The tightness in his chest returned with a vengeance,
burning his lungs. He hovered a finger over the third message, hesitant, because a part of him knew,
he knew it’d break him.
He pressed the button.
“I’m at your door, Syren.” He made out the sounds of knuckles rapping against something. “It’s open,
Gabe, push it.” Then Kane’s voice rose higher. “What’s taking so long in—”
Something shattered and Syren jumped. Kane had dropped the phone. He’d seen them, Syren and
Thiago. “He was here.” The agonized words fell from him in a whisper. “He was here.”
“Damn right he was,” Thiago said at his shoulder. “We gave him an eyeful.” He cackled. “He and that
guy couldn’t leave fast enough.” He doubled over with his mirth, slapping Syren on the back.
Syren got to his feet and flew at him, sinking the blade he held into Thiago’s throat. The other man
dropped, slowly, to the floor, beautiful surprise in his eyes as he took Syren down with him. “Here.”
Syren pulled out the blade then struck again. Blood flowed. Not too much, but enough. “A token for
your troubles.”
He grabbed Thiago’s hand closest to him and brought it up to hold the end of the cutter. His fingers
weren’t cooperating so Syren formed them one by one until they curved around the handle. “Do you
think you were the first to take me against my will?” he asked conversationally.
Thiago’s lips trembled. His throat worked, but only whimpers escaped.
“Men more powerful than you, including your father, wanted to own me.” Syren smiled at him, that
Faro smile. It was his and he used it. “I’m telling you like I told them, you couldn’t if you tried.” He
yanked out the knife and stabbed Thiago again, this time in the jugular. Blood spurted, messing up his
clothes. “Lay there like the good little boy you are and die while I make some calls.”
He wanted to call Kane, but he had to put that on the back burner. He called Billy, quickly instructing
him to call Syren’s contact at the FBI then hung up without leaving room for Billy and his usual
chitchat. He sat on the floor next to a bleeding Thiago, legs stretched out as Thiago struggled for
breath. Syren watched him dispassionately.
Taking a life wasn’t something he’d ever done. He’d prided himself on that. He’d never wanted to go
that route but had been prepared for it when dealing with Delatorre. That was the normal way of
things, being prepared. He’d done all he could, but still hadn’t seen Thiago coming. The situation he
found himself faced with was personal and Thiago needed to be dealt with as such. He couldn’t stop
to think about consequences.
He stopped being a victim at fifteen, no way was he reverting back to that time. The hollow in his gut
reminded him he’d soon have to launch another fight to save his relationship.
His cell phone vibrated in his lap. He answered on the third ring. “I need a team to my condo. Now.

People you trust. And a doctor.”
“What’s going on?” Dutch asked. The concern in his voice wasn’t an act. Dutch was a genuinely nice
guy. All about duty and country. Syren didn’t get it, but he didn’t have to.
“Thiago Delatorre is bleeding out on my bedroom floor. I stabbed him.” He spoke the words calmly
when his entire insides rioted.
“Jesus Christ! Why?”
“He drugged me with something last night.” Syren cleared his throat and spoke the words. He made
them real. “He raped me.” His throat clogged and unbidden fat tears rolled down his cheeks. After all
this time. He’d come so far.
Dutch went radio silent on him. “We’ll be there in thirty.”
Four men arrived less than twenty minutes later, Dutch included. They had to break the door down but
Syren wasn’t budging from where he sat. Life had long drained from Thiago’s eyes, but they remained
open. Syren stared into them, searching for answers to questions he hadn’t known he had until Thiago
uttered that last, final sigh. Why didn’t matter, not anymore. How anyone felt they had the option, that
taking someone against their will was the correct option scared him more than anything.
He sat in silence while Dutch and his men took away Thiago. He didn’t want to know what they had
in store for him. Finally the doctor knelt beside him and Syren became dimly aware of the man asking
questions, of him drawing blood, but he couldn’t focus. His body was cold all over and he hugged his
knees to his chest, searching for warmth.
In the back of his mind he knew he was succumbing to the shock, but was helpless to stop it. He
reacted like a victim when he’d promised, promised himself, he’d be no one’s victim ever again. His
body and mind weren’t on the same wavelength and maybe that was a good thing. There’d be no
action if he stayed with the thinking.
The doctor popped a pill in his mouth and put a glass to his lips. Syren drank and swallowed.
Something pricked his upper arm and he glanced down as the doctor pulled a needle out of his flesh.
He tipped his chin to the sky and waited for it to be over.
“Hey.” Someone touched his knee, briefly.
Syren jolted and stared into Dutch’s face.
“What do you need?”
“Noth—” Syren cleared his throat and blinked. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Dutch’s expression called his words bullshit, but he jerked his chin in the direction of the doctor. “Do
you need him to examine you more?” The emotion in his voice and on his face made Syren feel…
weird. They weren’t friends, he and Dutch. They rarely ever spoke on the phone and saw each other
even less and yet, the horror and obvious worry over Syren was real.
“I’m fine.” He shook his head slowly. “I just need some meds for the pain and a few hours rest.” He
needed Kane more. “I—where’s my phone?”
Dutch handed him his phone then moved away, giving him his privacy. He called Kane’s phone three
times, but it went straight to voicemail. He called Gabe next and when he got no answer dialed Rafe.
His friend answered on the fifth ring.
“What’s up, man?”
“I need Kane.” The words burst from him. “Where is he?” Rafe stayed silent until Syren pressed him.
“Rafe, tell me where he is.”
“I don’t think he wants to see you, man.” Rafe sighed in his ear.”You fucked up, do you know that? He
saw you and someone—”
“I know what he saw,” Syren interrupted. “And that wasn’t—it’s—I need to know where he is.”

“Shit.” Rafe paused. “Gabe will fucking kill me when he finds out I told you, so you better make it
count, got me?”
“Yes. Please.”
“He’s here with us.” Rafe hung up.
Syren scrambled to his feet, wavering on unsteady legs. Someone grabbed his elbow, steadied him.
He turned and met Dutch’s worried frown. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I need someone to take me to the
airport.”
“Jesus, do you think that’s a good idea?” Dutch asked. “You’re in no condition, even I can see that.”
Syren shrugged his hand away. “First, my name is not Jesus. It’s Syren, use it. Second, I’m fine. I was
raped, it’s not a fucking handicap. Not to me.”
Dutch stared at him. “Well, the shitty attitude is back. That’s as good a sign as any.”
The doctor appeared at Syren’s side. “Sir, we don’t know what you were drugged with. We don’t
know the side effects or how long they’ll last.”
Syren walked over to his closet and picked out a dark suit. “I’ll keep hydrated. I’ll lie down on the
plane, but I’m leaving.” After getting dressed, he called the pilot. Dutch would keep him up-to-date
on what they did, he didn’t have to ask. As he walked out the door the doctor reminded him to get
another HIV test after three months. Dutch promised to let him know what they found out about the
drugs Thiago used.
All Syren had to do was salvage his relationship.
His energy carried him as far as the lobby then evaporated like smoke. His vision grayed, legs
collapsed and Syren went down, the blue marble floor rushing up to meet his face.
Dutch kept him holed up in a private suite somewhere for two days. Syren didn’t bother asking where
and how. On the third day he walked out despite Dutch’s protests. A quick plane ride later he was in
North Carolina, outside Rafe and Gabe’s house.
He called Rafe’s phone and he buzzed him in secretly. Syren understood the awkward position he put
Rafe in, but he’d take any help he could get. As he stood on the front porch, shifting his weight from
one foot to the other, he thought about what he’d say. What he’d do. He tried really hard to face the
reality that he might not get the outcome he sought.
The door opened and Gabe appeared. “Really?” He crossed his arms, disgust on his face, in his snarl.
“You fuck someone else and you’re here for what, forgiveness?”
Syren spread his arms. “This is between me and Kane, not you.”
Gabe grabbed him by the throat and pushed him back outside. “You made it my business,” he spoke
through gritted teeth. Gabe slammed him into a pillar and Syren cried out when pain reverberated up
and down his spine. “You made it my business when you refused to stay away from him, when you
had us walk in on you getting fucked by someone other than my brother.”
“I didn’t cheat on your brother,” Syren croaked. “I didn’t have a choice in—”
“Fuck you.” Gabe’s fist landed on his jaw. Syren’s head jerked back then Gabe went away abruptly.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe’s voice rang out.
Syren opened his eyes, swallowing the blood that filled his mouth. Rafe had his husband by the front
of his t-shirt, holding Gabe steady when he would have launched himself at Syren again. “Answer me,
damn it.” Rafe shook Gabe.
“He hurt Kane! I warned him.” Gabe narrowed his eyes at Syren.
“So what, are you a fucking kid?” Rafe pushed his husband away. “Kane can fight his own battles. He
doesn’t need you hurting anyone on his behalf.”
“Don’t lecture me,” Gabe lashed out. “You caused this when you told him where Kane was. I asked

you not to and yet, you did.”
“What’s going on?”
Everyone turned to the front door. Kane stood there in jeans and a blue t-shirt, his arm in a black
sling. His face hardened when he saw Syren.
“Kane, please.” Syren rushed to him. “I know what you saw, but please, let me explain.”
“I don’t want you here.” Kane’s jaw ticked as he looked over at Rafe and Gabe. “I don’t want him
here.”
“Angel told him where you were.”
“It’s my fault,” Syren said. “All my fault. Let me fix it. Please.” He stared up at Kane, putting his
heart in his eyes as he begged, “Just give me five minutes.” He moved backward, giving Kane enough
room to step outside.
His lover didn’t budge.
“Come on.” Rafe grabbed Gabe’s hand and pulled his husband behind him. “They need to talk.”
Gabe’s reluctance was obvious but he followed Rafe, glowering at Syren until he disappeared into
the house and closed the door. Kane and Syren stared each other down until Syren spoke.
“I didn’t cheat on you. Never,” he whispered. “What we have is too important for me to—”
“What we have?” Kane laughed harshly. “What do we have, Syren?”
Syren blinked up at him. “We have a relationship. We have—”
“Sex,” Kane spat. “We have damn good sex, but that’s all it is because let’s face it, I know absolutely
nothing about you, do I?”
“No.” Syren shook his head as his heart cracked with each word Kane spoke. “You know me.” His
voice shook. “You know me better than everyone else. Better than anyone.”
“But I don’t.” Kane leaned against the porch rails and looked out into the distance. “I don’t know you
otherwise I wouldn’t have been so surprised to see you getting fucked by the son of the man you
blame for everything that’s gone bad in your life.” He turned to Syren, looking into his eyes for what
felt like the first time. “You give me nothing. You’re a stranger and I don’t care to find out any more
of your secrets. You’re not for me.”
“Don’t,” Syren rasped. “Don’t make a decision without knowing all the facts.” His chest squeezed
tight, but he battled through it. Fought to breathe, to think straight, to remain standing when he wanted
to fall to his knees.
“What are the facts?” Kane asked, voice devoid of emotion. He’d already closed himself off and the
realization hurt. “The facts are you’ve got a million and one identities. You’ve made lying your
business and stock in trade for the past few years. Nothing you say can be trusted.” Kane’s throat
worked. “You can’t be trusted. I can’t trust you with me, with my heart.”
“That’s not true.” Syren grabbed his arm. “You can trust me. Don’t. Please,” he whispered brokenly.
“Don’t hurt me.”
“Like you hurt me?” Kane asked quietly. “Like you trust me?” Syren nodded and Kane laughed, the
sound without mirth. “Where did you really go last weekend?”
Syren gaped at him.
“You told me you were going to see Isa in Paris, but when Gabe called you about me being shot you
were back in LA in less than six hours.” Kane held his gaze. “Paris to LA is at least ten hours.”
“I didn’t—” For the first time Syren found himself stumbling over his words. Kane gave him a sad
smile.
“Save the excuses.” Kane held up his good hand. “I’m not interested in being with someone who
constantly lies to me, who can’t be bothered to be faithful to me.” His lips twisted. “I’m too old for

that shit, too old to settle for just anything. I’ve had the real, I know what it is.” He shook his head.
“It’s not this.”
Syren stood rooted to the spot. “Don’t make me go back.” His lips and words trembled, but he didn’t
care. “Don’t make me go back to a life without you.”
“Maybe you need to be by yourself,” Kane offered, not unkindly. “Maybe you need someone who
doesn’t mind the bullshit, the lies, all of it. That someone isn’t me. I’m done.” He turned and walked
away.
“Kane,” Syren called to him. “I can’t go back.”
Kane stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Then move forward. Without me.” He walked into the
house and closed the door.
Syren stood, hands fisted at his sides. He hurt all over, but it wasn’t physical. The pain was inside,
under his skin where he couldn’t get at it. He forced himself off that porch and onto the streets. In the
back of a cab he let the pain out the only way he knew how—he pulled a pocketknife from his jacket
pocket and sliced into his palm. Sounds fell from him as he carved himself open, raw and wounded
and he didn’t hide them. He ignored the driver’s questions.
No, he wasn’t all right. He’d never be again.
What he needed, who he needed had given up on him. Left him like everyone else and once again, he
was back fighting the demons and the darkness alone. He should have known this day would come,
loving someone who could never love him. Attempting to live in a life he wasn’t made for.
He had no sense of time when the plane finally landed in New York. Not where he wanted to be, not
by a long shot, but he needed to speak to Pablo Castillo. He couldn’t tell the man of either Delatorres’
deaths as yet, but at least he could give Pablo the out he’d been looking for to be with the man he
wanted. Syren couldn’t let him suffer when he didn’t have to just because his own relationship lay in
ruins. He’d be a big boy, wipe the tears and the blood away and smile Faro’s pretty smile.
Everyone liked that.
He found Castillo sprawled on the floor of his living room, looking like shit. He lifted an eyebrow
when Syren dropped into a chair.
“Rough times?”
“I could ask you the same, no?” Syren smirked and made a show of looking around the room and up
the stairs for who he knew he’d never find. “Where’s your agent friend?”
Castillo’s expression shuttered, but he didn’t hide the pain fast enough. “Who knows? Gone.” He kept
his voice short, curt, yet that too gave him away.
Syren grunted. “You sent him away, yes? Your choice, so why do you look like you want to kill
someone?”
“Fuck, what are you? My shrink?” Pablo moved onto his stomach and buried his face in the cushion
he’d been using to prop his head up. “Are you here for a reason or just to invade my goddamn
privacy?”
“Hmm. Can it be a little bit of both?” It actually hurt, the banter. The small talk.
Pablo rolled his eyes and sat up. “Okay. Just say what you came to say and let’s part ways before I
shoot you.”
Syren clucked his tongue. “I’d watch that temper, Mr. Castillo. Not attractive.”
“Oh my God!” Pablo chucked the cushion at his head and Syren ducked out of the way. “Why don’t
we talk about you, hmm? About the swollen lip and the person who caused it? Found yourself a
boyfriend, did ya?”
Shit. Damn that Gabe and his right hook. Syren swiped his tongue over said bottom lip. Pablo laughed

and Syren fidgeted in his seat. He wasn’t used to that. He wished for a second he could let the façade
fall. That he could talk to someone. Other than Kane. “Yes, well, I have some business to discuss
with you, Castillo.”
“I bet you do.”
“Faro business.”
Pablo sobered quickly and Syren figured he’d go with the old “rip it off like a BAND-AID method.
“Delatorre is suspending all North American weapons shipments indefinitely.”
Pablo cocked his head to the side. “What?”
“Some in-house machinations have made it impossible for the Delatorres to continue the weapons
trading part of their business.” Syren’s lips quirked up. “The main supplier of our weapons has had
a…change of heart, shall we say?”
Castillo remained skeptical, if that expression on his face was any indication. “This is your doing?
Part of your plan to deal with the Delatorres?”
“Could be.” Syren shrugged. “These things happen. Of course, Delatorre isn’t a stupid man. His eggs
aren’t all placed in one basket. Which is why the other baskets are burning to the ground as we
speak.”
“Meaning you’ve begun. Whatever your plan is, you’ve put it in motion.” Pablo leaned forward, his
gaze steady on Syren. “Are you sure about this?” Pablo asked. “It’s a very complicated thing you’ve
set out to do.”
“I’m sure.” He’d never been surer.
“You’ll be okay after all this? What will you do?”
“What will I do?” Syren wrinkled his nose. “You mean if I’m not outed and killed?” Anything was
possible. The plan had been simple—complete the family he’d wanted for so long. Now he didn’t
know what he’d do. Strive to wake up every day and go on without Kane?
“Uh. Yeah, that. What else do you want to do? Your life will not be ending with the Delatorres’
demise.”
Not if he could help it. “My life.” An image of what he wanted his life to be flashed in his mind and
he sighed. “I hope to be happy. Everyone wants that, no?”
“You think we deserve that? People like you and me, do we deserve to be happy?”
Syren barked a brittle laugh. “Deserve? No one cares about who does or doesn’t deserve. People
make stuff happen for them. You and I, men like us, we take our happiness whether or not we deserve
it.”
“Wise words.” Pablo eyed Syren up and down. “What will make you happy after all this?”
Damn. He’d never gotten this serious with Pablo before and his questions were taking Syren places.
Places he didn’t want to dream of again. His lips parted and he hesitated. “I-I’m not sure yet.” He
shook his hair away from his forehead. “You?”
Pablo held Syren’s gaze and he gave him a sad smile.
“Yes. Your agent.” Syren folded his arms and grinned at Pablo. Maybe he should have taken things
with Castillo further. Maybe then he wouldn’t be crumpling bit by bit on the inside. “We would’ve set
your big bed on fire, you and I.” Then again, maybe not.
Pablo blinked as though caught in someone’s headlights. “We would have?”
Syren nodded. “Burn it to ashes.”
“How do you know my bed’s big?”
“You like big things.” And he was a great kisser. Syren was a little bit glad he’d gotten to know that.
“I kinda do.” Pablo had a funny expression on his face, damn near comical, as he tried to make sense

of what Syren said.
Syren waved his words away. “But our time has passed. You should go after your agent. Beg him to
take you back.” Obviously Pablo was pining over his lover. Stubborn man.
“Giving me advice on love now that you’ve put me out of a job?” Pablo’s words lacked any real
censure.
“You could always step into the other sections of the Delatorre stronghold.” Syren already knew the
man would never go for any of that stuff, but he wouldn’t be Faro if he didn’t at least keep up
appearances.
“Drugs and human trafficking?” Pablo shuddered. “I’ll pass.”
“What will you do?”
“Who knows?” Judging by his tone, Pablo did know, but instead he said, “Maybe take a vacation.
Never been on one.”
“Alone or with the agent?” Syren stood and made a show of straightening his suit.
“Why are you so interested in my life?” Pablo asked. “You need to hurry up and deal with Delatorre
so you can find someone and I can interfere.”
Syren smiled at that until he remembered he didn’t actually have anyone anymore. “I was just with
your friend and his husband. It would be nice to see you and him back in the same room again. Even
the same state. He misses you. Maybe you should visit?” He raised an eyebrow, but really that was
more a command than a question and Pablo understood that.
“Maybe I will visit.”
Syren walked out Pablo’s house under a much lighter weight. One more friend was out from under
Delatorre’s control. One more man was much closer to having his own happiness realized. That never
used to matter to him. Shit like that never used to make him smile and put a bounce in his step, but
now, despite his own pain, it did.
He took his plane to San Jose then got a ride from the airport to his house up in the hills and let
himself in, startling Nina.
“Syren.” Her eyes were wide as she took in his appearance but he didn’t really care right then.
“Is she asleep?”
Nina nodded and he made his way to Càtia’s bedroom. She lay under the covers, one hand under her
cheek, lips parted slightly. He brushed his lips across her forehead.
Her dark lashes fluttered and Syren found himself staring into sleepy brown eyes. She blinked then
launched herself at him.
“Papa, you’re home!”
Syren held on to his daughter, squeezing her tightly.

Chapter Sixteen

Winter

A warm body pressed into Kane as he stood at the stove, scrambling eggs. He stiffened for a

minute before he made himself remember.
“Morning.” He glanced down at O.G. standing dutifully by his side, the dog’s head cocked to the side
as he gave Kane a very familiar and disapproving stare.
Lips brushed his nape. “Hmm. Good morning.”
O.G. barked.
“Do you want toast or bagels?” He moved away and grabbed a plate from the cupboard above his

head.
“Anything quick, I’ve got to go in.”
He turned away from the stove as his overnight guest tried pulling on a shirt, sipping his coffee at the
same time. “I’ll make you a sandwich.” He made quick work of that and wrapped it in foil before
handing it over.
“Thanks, babe.”
Déjà vu grabbed hold of Kane then, transporting him to another time. Same place with another man.
“Gotta go.”
Kane nodded. “Sure. We’ll talk later.”
“Definitely.” Vince smiled at him, eyes so open, hiding nothing. “If we get done early, I’ll come by. If
not I’ll call. Cool?”
“Sure. Cool.”
Vince left after one last kiss goodbye and Kane sank into Bailey’s chair in the living room. O.G.
trotted over and sat at his feet, looking so lost. Like Kane felt.
Many months had come and gone, summer turned into fall then winter and he still kept waiting. For
what he didn’t know. The nights he woke reaching out for Syren in his bed were now few and far
between. He wasn’t getting drunk anymore. Wasn’t questioning his judgment, his sanity. Thank God
for Vince who was there, helping him pick his pride and the pieces of his heart up off the floor.
Vince had dragged him out of the bars Kane had never frequented until that point. Vince sat with him
in the dark, in silence, when he contemplated his life and the mistakes he’d made in giving Syren
chance after chance to hurt him. Vince was there and after one too many nights of a cold bed, Kane
found himself saying yes when Vince asked for a chance.
Two months since he’d made that move with Vince. Long before that Syren had called off the
campaign he’d launched to get Kane back. The phone calls, emails. Even Isa called Kane, begging
him to give Syren a second chance. Or was it third? Fourth? He told Isa, and he was relatively sure
she’d pass on the message, that he was all out of chances. The last time she called he let her know
he’d moved on.
Only he couldn’t stop thinking about it, that scene played out in his head over and over. At night when
he sought sleep, the images came. That man on top of Syren.
The blow was excruciating.
Days afterward, he’d gotten a call from an FBI agent informing him of the identity of the man who’d
lodged a bullet in Kane’s ribs. Thiago Delatorre, Syren’s lover. Guess the man got tired of sharing
with Kane so he decided to put an end to the competition.
Kane rubbed his chest with a grimace. That shit hurt. All this time and he still felt it, as if it happened
yesterday. He wanted to forget it, wanted to forget how much he’d wanted to wake up and have what
happened not be true. How much he wished he hadn’t fallen in love with someone he didn’t know.
Someone like Syren, with so many different names and lives and lies to keep straight.
He’d thought he could fix him, make him better. Take away the pain and shadows in Syren’s eyes.
Maybe Syren liked it, liked how Kane was so eager to accept him. To fuck him.
He sat back in the chair, gripping the sides as he looked over to the far wall. Sunset was still there.
He couldn’t make himself put it away or even sell it. He’d tried. Twice. Both times he’d stood there,
the painting in his hands, and remembered.
He remembered the laughter and the banter, the sex and the touches. The tears Syren shed when he
confessed his real identity and the heart he’d bared when Vince walked in on them. They weren’t
faked. They were real. Kane was there, he saw it, felt it. They were real and he couldn’t hide them

away in a box.
So there Sunset hung, reminding him.
Vince in his life felt uncomplicated. Easy and familiar. He knew Vince’s every expression, knew his
life story, the perks of having worked side by side with him for years. They were an easy bet. Sex
was off the table for the time being, but Kane had no doubt that too would be uncomplicated. Which
was what he needed in his life.
Only he simply felt unfulfilled, on the cusp of something that never seemed to ever materialize. Many
times he’d wake and lie in bed with his eyes closed, too cowardly to open them to the realization
Syren wasn’t there beside him. Too many times he’d felt the sting of disappointment when he did
open his eyes.
He didn’t have to be a psychic to figure out he wasn’t completely over Syren. That man had sunk his
claws deep, left his mark on Kane and for the life of him he didn’t know how to erase it. How to
erase him.
Maybe it was true. Maybe all he needed was time, distance and another man in his bed.
The holidays came and he spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with Vince, at home with O.G. His
brother wanted him to visit, but Kane declined.
“What do you want to do for New Year’s?” Vince asked.
They were in Vince’s house, lying on in his bed with Kane’s back against the pillows, and Vince’s
head was on his chest, his fingers tracing circles over his abs through his t-shirt.
Kane tensed. He hadn’t given that much thought. “Uh. Gabe invited me to his house, he’s having a
party for some friends.” Gabe had indeed invited him to a New Year’s Eve party, but Kane had
declined, now for the first time he rethought his decision.
“Okay.”
Kane looked down at Vince. “I think I should go, I haven’t spent any time with him this holiday and
that’s a first for us.” He’d been wallowing in his pity party for so long he hadn’t thought about that,
about spending time with his only living relative.
“Sure.” Vince shrugged, granting him a hesitant smile. “I could come, if you need company.”
“Sorry.” Obviously he couldn’t take Vince to Gabe and Rafe’s ever. “It’s just a small gathering, but
maybe next time.” He patted Vince’s head, ignoring the dejected look on the other man’s face. Fact of
the matter was, Kane wasn’t ready for anything beyond the routine he and Vince had going. They met
up two or three times a week, had dinner, drank a beer and fooled around without going too far.
Causal had its perks and right now Kane was intent on enjoying all of them.

* * * * *

Kane eyed Pablo Castillo from across Gabe and Rafe’s dining room. The other man and his

partner, DEA agent Shane Ruskin, were posted up in a shadowed corner, watching the rest of the
people in the room and occasionally whispering into each other’s ear.

They weren’t touchy-feely. They simply stood next to each other, but one look at them and you

knew they were together. Something in their stance gave it away. Or maybe because Syren had shared
Castillo’s story with him, Kane knew what to look for. Still, he wanted to punch Castillo in the face
every time he remembered the kiss he’d witnessed between him and Syren.

He controlled himself, however, with a sip on his rum and coke. A little over twenty people filled

the room, mostly Gabe’s friends down at the youth center where he volunteered and a few neighbors,
mingling and talking. A large-screen TV was on and though Kane couldn’t hear, he glanced at it every

now and then as everyone in Times Square prepared to usher in the new year.

He was damn ready for a new year, a new start. Ready to put the past year, with all its mistakes

and false starts behind him. He could let all the shit he’d been through turn him into a certified cynic,
and he had every right to be, or he could pick himself up, dust himself off and try again. Try harder
with Vince. He owed him that.

Spinning away from the crowd, he pulled his cell from his pocket and walked out onto the back

porch through the kitchen. A cool breeze stroked his nape as he dialed Vince.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?”
“Hey, you.” Vince chuckled in his ear. “I’m on my couch with a bottle of wine,

watching the countdown.”

“I wish I was there with you,” Kane confessed. He shouldn’t have left, Vince
deserved more from him.
“Me too, but we’ll see each other soon.”
“Yes.” Kane cleared his throat. “We’ll talk when I get home, about us.” Vince
remained silent and Kane rushed to assure him. “Nothing bad, I promise.” “Okay.” The smile was
definitely back in Vince’s voice.
“Happy New Year, Vince.” Kane leaned against the porch and stared out over the
dark waters of the private beach below him.
“Happy New Year. I love you.” He hung up.
Kane stared at the phone. He’d known, but hearing the words said aloud
was…different. They chilled him. He was nowhere ready to reciprocate, and in the back
of his mind he couldn’t help the runaway thought that wished someone else had said
the words. Someone with weird-colored eyes filled with darkness and secrets. That time
was done and he had to stop thinking about him, thinking about asking Rafe if he’d
heard from him. His brother-in-law hadn’t broached the subject of Syren since that day
he’d come by, asking Kane’s forgiveness.
The day after.
Kane took a deep breath then went back inside. His brother grabbed him before he
stepped back into the party area.
Kane frowned at him. “What’s with the rough treatment?”
Gabe glanced over his shoulder then back at Kane. “Shit.” He pulled Kane into the
pantry and closed the door, locking them inside the cramped space. “Rafe invited Syren
to come tonight, after you declined our invite.”
Kane blinked at him. “What are you saying?”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “He said no, but like you, has obviously changed his mind
because…he’s here.” Gabe waved a hand at the door. “In the living room.” “Motherfucker!” Kane
twisted away from his brother and banged his forehead on
the door. “Why? Why is he here?”
“Who knows?” Gabe shrugged. “That pint-sized fool is a glutton for punishment.” Not from Kane. He
wasn’t going to cause a scene, or speak, even acknowledge
Syren. They were grown men, they could avoid each other in a room full of people. “It’s
okay.” He faced Gabe. “I’m man enough to deal with an ex during a dinner party.” “Atta boy.” Gabe
smacked his shoulder with a grin.
“I’ve moved on.” Kane shoved his suddenly cold hands in his pants pockets. “I’m

with someone else, so obviously I’m over him.”
“Uh, yeah.” Gabe’s grin fell away and he peered at Kane with sympathy in his eyes.
“One step at a time, right?”
Kane ignored him and opened the pantry door. “Let’s go.” He straightened his shirt
and walked into the living room. He didn’t even try to deny he immediately searched
the room. He found him quick enough.
Syren was dressed in a shiny gray tux, one hand in his pocket, one holding a glass
of something. Maybe sparkling water because he didn’t drink. He held court with Pablo
Castillo, his partner and Rafe. His body faced the room, but his gaze was on the men he
spoke to. Kane ate up the sight of him, his hair falling into his eyes, his stance giving the
appearance of being relaxed when in reality Syren balanced on the balls of his feet. Ready for flight.
Kane couldn’t take his eyes from his face, so beautiful. He couldn’t be sure with the
lighting, but Syren’s skin seemed to be a bit darker than before. Tanned. “Yeah, I can see how over
him you are,” Gabe, at his elbow, whispered. Kane pinched him in the side.
“Ow, damn it.” Gabe pushed him away. “Don’t hurt the messenger.” He stuck his tongue out at his
brother, but not for one second did Kane take his
eyes off Syren. Because of that, he knew the instant Syren caught sight of him. The
giveaways were subtle, the swallow, the way he licked his lips and the way he shifted
his weight from his left to his right foot.
No one else would know, but Kane did. Fuck, he knew this man. He knew him.
Syren’s gaze locked on his and Kane couldn’t move. He felt that stare like a touch. The
graze of Syren’s knuckles on his cheek. The brush of his lips against Kane’s. Familiar
and eliciting the same reaction, a knot in his gut.
“Fuck.” The word trembled on his lips.
“Yeah.” Gabe remained by his side, probably giving Syren the evil eye. Syren leaned over and said
something to his group then walked across the room
and disappeared out the back door. The only thing out there being the beach. Before
Kane knew it he was moving, running behind Syren. Except, he wasn’t running. He was
a grown man, therefore he took really long strides, escaping the small crowd. Outside
he made out the small figure pacing down on the beach. Kane scaled the stone steps
and went down there.
With no plan.
Syren’s back was to him and Kane grabbed his arm. “Why are you here?” He
yanked Syren around. “Why did you come?”
Syren’s eyes blazed back at him. “Don’t ever touch me like that again.” Kane dropped his hand at the
explicit threat in those words.
“I was invited so I came.” Syren eyed him up and down, something like disgust on
his face. “Not that I owe you an explanation.”
No, he didn’t. “Like you’d give a truthful one?” He couldn’t help the jab. Hurt
bubbled to the surface, feelings he thought he’d long buried.
“You know what?” Syren got in his face. “Fuck you.” He turned away and Kane
lashed out.
“Are you still with him? Still fucking him even though he shot me?” The punch caught him right in the
solar plexus and he doubled over, coughing. “Who I fuck is no longer your concern, just like who you
fuck isn’t mine,” Syren

spat. “But I bet I can guess who you’re throwing it to now. Couldn’t wait, could you?” Kane
straightened with a wince. “At least I waited until we were done. Can you say
the same?”
Syren stared at him, the bright moon making his eyes glow with a preternatural
light. Kane thought he saw pain there, hurt, but Syren blinked and it disappeared. “I gave you more of
me than I ever thought I could,” Syren whispered, “but now I
see that was a mistake. I loved you. Who’s loving you now?”
Kane stared at him, mouth open.
“Vince is your choice?”
Kane shook his head. “He was better, he is better, than someone who won’t share
himself with me.”
Syren threw his head back and laughed. When he finally met Kane’s gaze, his was
profoundly sad. “All I thought about was forever. With you. What about you, Kane?
Did you think that far ahead for us or was it all about your beloved Bailey?” “Don’t bring Bailey into
this.” Kane balled up his fists. “I gave you many chances,
you were the one who fucked up.”
Syren nodded. “And now, you’re the one who has moved on.”
“Yes. Vince and I are together.”
“Uh-huh.” Syren turned toward the water, expression suddenly bleak. He hugged
himself. “Does he love you?”
“Yes, he does.” Which was what Kane wanted. Vince was who he needed. He
swallowed. “He loves me.”
Syren sank to his knees in the sand and Kane followed suit. They sat together, side
by side. “Do you think about me?” Syren asked.
Kane took a minute to contemplate whether he should go with the truth or lie.
“Yes.” He didn’t look at Syren. “Yes.”
“Because I think about you,” Syren said. “And I remember you and us. Your touch,
I still feel it.” His voice dropped to a thread of sound.
Kane dug his fingers into the sand, struggling to hold on to something before he
grabbed Syren, the person he shouldn’t. He kept silent and let Syren’s throaty words
lull him back to another time. A time he hadn’t really left, in all honesty. “The marks you left on my
skin, they’re gone.”
As Kane watched Syren touched two fingertips to the inside of his left wrist. Kane
licked his lips.
“The thing between us we could never put a name to, I remember it.” Syren pushed
his hair behind his ears. “I can’t forget it.” He glanced at Kane. “But you have.” No he didn’t.
“Syren.”
Syren touched his face, tentatively. He ghosted the pad of one finger to Kane’s
bottom lip. “I’ve been thinking about you, about this.” He leaned forward and pressed
his mouth to Kane’s.
Kane inhaled.
They both froze in place.
Until Kane parted his lips and Syren dove in. Hungry and rushed and wet. They ate
at each other’s mouths, tongues twisting, teeth banging against each other. Kane made a
harsh sound and grabbed Syren’s jacket, pulling him closer.

Syren broke the kiss. “Where is he?” He nipped Kane’s bottom lip and Kane chased
after him, brain fogged with lust and memories.
A roar went up in the house above them and Kane barely made out people
chanting, “Ten, nine, eight…”
“Where is he while you’re here kissing me?” He sank his fingers in Kane’s hair and
held him steady, kissing him deep.
“One. Happy New Year!”
“Still needing me, loving me?”
Kane groaned and sucked on Syren’s tongue until his last words registered. He
jerked away. “I don’t love you.”
Syren’s wet lips twisted. “No?”
“Hell no.” Kane scrambled to his feet, swaying only a little. “We’re done and I—” Syren stood and
dusted off his hands. “You what?”
“I love Vince.”
Something flashed in Syren’s eyes. “That’s your failing, isn’t it? Want to know what
mine is?” he asked. “I love you. Then and now. Still.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Goodbye, Marshal.” He walked down the beach and Kane stared after him until he
disappeared and even then he continued staring.
When he went back up to the house the party was winding down. He bade
everyone goodnight and went up to bed, avoiding his brother’s questioning eyes. He’d
deal with Gabe when the sun came up.
The house fell silent with everyone gone, but sleep eluded him. He couldn’t get
Syren out of his head. Finally, Kane got up and padded down to the kitchen for some
water, he could at least get the taste of Syren off his tongue.
That felt like the thing to do. He kept thinking about Vince and how it wasn’t the
same. The kiss. The chemistry. They weren’t the same.
Back in his bedroom, he opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the deck that
wrapped around the entire upper floor. He sat there in the dark with only his boxers on,
head thrown back and sighed.
“Fuck, cop.”
A moan jerked Kane’s head up. He frowned and looked to his left.
“Jesus.” A shaky gasp followed the word. “Deeper.”
Kane squinted then froze. Well shit. His brother and Rafe were out on their deck
and judging by the way Gabe had Rafe backed against the wall and Rafe’s legs
wrapped around Gabe’s waist, they hadn’t noticed him.
Knowing his brother was with a man and seeing him have sex with said man were
two entirely different things. Kane pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it. “I love you.” Gabe held
Rafe at his throat with one hand and it did not look like
anything else but what it was, a claiming touch. A possessive hold. Gabe’s other hand
was on Rafe’s ass as he thrust into his husband. “I love you.”
Even from where he stood Kane made out the shudder that shook Rafe from head
to toe.
“Yess.” Rafe threw his head back. “I love you too. So much.”
After that, wasn’t much talking as much as indecipherable sounds. Thank God the
fuck-fest didn’t last long. Kane made a note to talk to his brother about the public sex

displays when he had guests over. When the two lovers came down off the high, they
sank into one of the lounge chairs on their deck, wrapped in each other. “Happy New Year,” Rafe
told Gabe. “Thank you.”
“Hmm, back at you.” Gabe kissed Rafe on the side of the neck. “Why are you
thanking me?”
“For loving me.”
Kane had never heard that much emotion from Rafe before, it was unnerving. “For taking a chance.”
“Like I had a fucking choice.” Gabe chuckled. “I love you. Any chance, I’ll take it
with you. For you.”
Goddamn. Kane couldn’t take them and their sweet shit anymore. He eased out of
his chair and crept back into his bedroom. He needed sleep and a clear mind. When he went
downstairs the next morning, Rafe was seated at the dining table, on
his computer. “Morning.” He glanced up with a serious expression. “Great show last
night?”
“Ugh.” Kane shuddered in remembrance. “You two need to keep that shit behind
locked doors when I’m staying here.”
“It’s our house.” Rafe shrugged. “If I feel like being fucked on my dining room table
in the middle of a dinner party, I’m afraid you’ll simply have to deal. Besides, you
stayed for the whole show. Must have seen something you liked.”
“Cut that shit out.” Kane sank into a chair. He took an apple from the bowl on the
table and polished it on his t-shirt. “At least now I know which position you play.” He
gave Rafe a slow grin as he bit into the fruit. “Always wondered about that.” “Don’t let last night fool
you, bro. I play all positions.”
Kane made a face.
“Did Syren talk to you last night?” Rafe asked.
“Why?”
Rafe shrugged. “Just found myself wondering why you’re not freaking out and
why you’re not with him right now.”
“Why would I be with him?” Kane growled. “And why did you invite him
anyway?”
“He’s my friend.” Rafe got to his feet and sized up Kane, storms gathering in his
eyes. “He comes clean to you, opens up and you still let him walk away? How heartless
can you fucking be?”
Kane gaped at him. What was with the attitude? “I have no idea what’s got you all
worked up, but I don’t appreciate the bass in your voice. Check that.”
“He loves you and even after he tells you the truth, you turn your back on him?”
Rafe shook his head. “Cold, really cold.”
“I didn’t turn my back on him,” Kane corrected. “He cheated on me. Besides, that’s
all old news now. Vince and I are together and we’re happy.”
“What are you talking about?” Rafe exploded. “He was assaulted, raped and you
continue to blame him?”
Huh? Kane blinked at him. “No.” He shook his head. “No, he’s lying to cover up
the fact that his lover shot me.”
“What’s going on?” Gabe appeared and took a seat next to Rafe’s.
“Your husband,” Kane sneered at Rafe, “thinks that Syren was raped. How naïve

does he think I am?” As if Kane would fall for any more of Syren’s lies.
Gabe looked from Rafe to Kane and back. “He doesn’t know the truth?” “What am I missing?” Kane
stared at them. “What truth?”
“Fuck.” Gabe banged the table with a fist.
“He didn’t tell him,” Rafe told Gabe.
Kane leaned forward. His brother didn’t meet his eyes. “What’s going on?” Rafe and Gabe glanced at
each other, communicating silently then Rafe spoke. “He
was raped. Thiago drugged him and raped him.”
‘That’s crazy,” Kane snapped. “And untrue. I would definitely know if—” “Kane,” Gabe said sternly.
“He was raped. We walked in on him being assaulted.” “No.” Kane shook his head. He would know.
Kane would know if something like
that went down, wouldn’t he? And Syren would tell him, so no. He shook his head.
“No.”
“Thiago did it. He poisoned his father because he wanted Syren to himself,” Rafe
said softly. “But when he saw you and Syren together, he knew he couldn’t have him so
he shot you.”
“What?” Kane jumped to his feet. The chair flew backward. “What?” Bile clawed at
Kane’s throat. “Raped?” he whispered. “Syren was raped?”
“Syren told us last night, after you guys met on the beach,” Gabe said. “I thought
he’d told you.”
“He didn’t give any indication either way if he’d told you or not, but I figured he
had.” Rafe shook his head with a sigh. “I thought he’d told you and you turned him
down anyway.”
“Thiago’s dead,” Gabe said. “Syren dealt with him that same night.” “I didn’t know.” Kane grabbed
his middle and doubled over. “I didn’t know. Why
didn’t he tell me?” His head spun. Syren had been violated and Kane blamed him. He
accused him of cheating.
“What happened last night?” Rafe asked.
Kane wiped his eyes. “I called him a liar and a cheat. Damn near called him a slut. I
told him—” He swallowed. “He said he loved me and I told him I loved Vince.” A blow
he’d launched knowing he’d hurt Syren.
“Well fuck,” Rafe swore.
“He tried to tell me.” Kane’s throat hurt. “He tried and I wouldn’t listen.” Oh God.
“Where is he? I need to find him. I need—”
“Calm down,” Gabe said sharply. “Rafe stays in contact with him, but I don’t think
any of his information has changed. He lives in Costa Rica.”
“Costa—why?” Kane breathed.
“He has a house there and some other obligations,” Rafe said. “Handle your
business with Vince before you go to him. Be sure you want him, otherwise brother-inlaw or no, I’ll
fuck you up if you hurt him again.”

Chapter Seventeen

“I’m sorry.” Kane looked on helplessly as Vince put on his jacket. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I

swear.”

“Cold comfort.” Vince jerked his overnight bag closed. “I thought we were building something here.
Was I wrong?”
“We—there was nothing to build,” Kane said softly. “I was never free and I shouldn’t have started
this thing with you. I knew better.”
“You’re not making sense.” Vince stared at him. “What does that mean?”
“I wasn’t fair,” Kane told him. “I wasn’t fair to either of us. I had no business starting something with
you when I’m not free, when I’m still in love with him.”
Vince frowned. “This is about Bailey? I don’t get it. We can deal with you still caring for your dead
partner.” He reached for Kane who backed away.
“No.” Kane shook his head. “This isn’t about Bailey. This is about Syren, the man I love.”
“The guy who hurt you? The criminal?”
“He’s no criminal and he didn’t hurt me.” Kane shook his head. “That was me. I hurt him. I hurt us.”
He was drained by the time Vince drove off, but Kane took the time to send Syren a three-word text.
We broke up.
He waited a week and when he got no response, he got Syren’s address in Costa Rica from Rafe and
boarded a flight.
The Spanish-styled house was painted a bright yellow with chocolate-brown trimmings, homey and
cute. A pink tricycle leaned against a wooden fence along with a pair of pink slippers and a red ball.
A child lived there. Kane’s heart beat out of his chest as he knocked on the door.
A woman opened. A gorgeous young woman with dark curls down to her shoulders, dark eyes and
olive skin. Her colorful sundress didn’t quite hide the curves, or the breasts on her.
“Yes?” A hint of fear darkened her eyes further.
“I’m looking for Syren.” Kane looked around. “Does he live here?”
She nodded slowly, not bothering to hide the curiosity. “He’s not home. Do you want to wait for
him?”
Home. Oh Kane definitely wanted to wait for him.

* * * * *

Syren sat on a wooden bench in the shade of Derek and Casper’s surf shop as he watched Càtia

and her friend from school play in the surf feet away. This was his life now—taking her to school in
the mornings, picking her up in the evenings. Homework and cookies and everything else he’d missed
while out there searching for vengeance.

Seven years of only weekend visits was all his daughter knew from him. All he’d ever given her.

The surprise in her eyes every time he woke her for school in the mornings, the glee when she set
eyes on him outside the school at the end of the day broke his heart. All that he’d missed and for
what?

The media now knew of Ricardo Delatorre’s death and subsequent demise of the business he ran,

but there’d been no mention of his son. Dutch hadn’t disclosed what he’d done with Thiago’s body
and Syren didn’t ask. He did learn the contents of the drug Thiago had used to dose him; a potent mix
of GHB, succinylcholine or “succs” as hospitals referred to it and other shit the chemists couldn’t
name. If Syren wanted he could follow up on that, have Billy dig deep enough to find who gave
Thiago those drugs. Billy would find them, but Syren wasn’t interested.

Not now. He’d been to hell and he’d come out on the other side. Not unscathed, not by a long shot,

but he was alive. He had his daughter. No Kane, but at least he knew what that felt like. Right? At

least he’d had his marshal, even if it was for a short time. Now all he had to do was forget. He didn’t
regret it. Sometimes when he woke at night reaching out for Kane, he cursed the other man, but he
wasn’t sorry he fell for Kane Ashby. He couldn’t undo what he’d done, all the things he did to get
where he was, all the pain he caused and lies he’d told. He wanted to forget and yet he didn’t.

What would he have when the memories of their time together faded away? “Daydreaming?”

Someone sat next to him and Syren turned slowly. “I don’t dream, not anymore.” He looked Donovan
Cintron up and down. “You
look like shit.”

Donovan’s right arm was in a sling, bruises marred his tanned skin from face to throat and a

butterfly bandage covered his left brow. A heavy black coat hung over his shoulders, hiding his dark
suit.

“Didn’t get the temperature memo?” Syren lifted a brow.

Donovan grimaced. “It’s ten degrees in New York right now.”
“Sucks.” Syren grinned at him.
They sat in silence, staring at the girls playing.
“Which one is yours?” Donovan asked.
Syren jerked his chin in Càtia’s direction. “The one in yellow.” Syren had
accompanied Càtia and Nina to the store to pick that out. Quite a revelation, taking his daughter
shopping. Comfort and fit weren’t priority. She only cared about the colors.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yep.” She’d break hearts and Syren would break heads.
“Is this your life now?” Donovan shifted on the bench. “Is Faro dead?” The million-dollar question,
wasn’t it? A lot of people out there knew his face. He’d

been the front for Delatorre, the one conducting business. He couldn’t very well kill off every

single person who knew him as Faro. One day that identity, that life would come knocking, but for
today… “Faro is retired.”
Donovan nodded.
“How was the undercover gig?” Syren asked him. “Got yourself worked over well,

I see.”

“The bruises look worse than they are.” His lips twisted when he met Syren’s gaze.
“Your boy Castillo isn’t who I thought he’d be.”
“I would have warned you about that, but I doubt you’d have listened.” Syren
sighed. “He saved your life with that bullet.”
Donovan turned back to watching the sea. “Not much of a life. I’ve got no job and
my family’s pretty much disowned me.”
Syren stared at the ex-agent’s profile. “You wanted to be on your own, remember?
No rules and all that.”
A long time ago, Donovan used to be in the same unit at the FBI that Syren worked
with, alongside Dutch and the rest, but he’d broken the rules one too many times and
gotten slapped down. Hard. Donovan also had the honor of coming from a military
family where everyone played by the rules and did as told without question. That
couldn’t have been a happy environment for someone like Donovan who questioned
everything he was told.
“I don’t mind following rules,” Donovan told him. “They just have to make sense.
They can’t hurt the people I—” He took a deep breath. “Did you get it?” Before Syren answered

Donovan’s question, he had one of his own. “When did you
realize who he was?”
Donovan scratched the small scar on the left side of his face. “York had me follow
Castillo to get the identity of the woman he had in Philly. I watched him.” He shook his
head. Agony bled from him, from his voice when he said, “There was no woman.” Cast out of the
FBI, Donovan had insinuated himself within the folds of one of the
Nieto Brothers’ associates, Jeffrey York out of Staten Island, New York. Syren didn’t
know all the facts, but he knew Donovan worked his ass off to bring the Nietos down.
And he knew the ex-agent had a personal agenda. He’d recently found someone he’d
loved, someone he thought had died and Syren was about to reunite them. At least put them in the
same vicinity.
He reached down below the bench and picked up the folder he handed over to
Donovan. They both ignored the man’s trembling fingers when he snatched the file and
opened it.
“Christ!” Donovan sniffed.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “It’s been years. He might not be as
welcoming as you hope.”
“Too fucking bad,” Donovan ground out. “He’s still my husband.” He got to his
feet and gave Syren a nod. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“Do that.” Syren watched the man walk away and he really hoped Donovan got
what he wanted.
He gathered his and Càtia’s things and called her out of the water. “Time to go.” She pouted but
didn’t argue and after waving goodbye to her school friend and her
mother, they walked the short distance home.
He spotted the figure seating on the front steps and slowed up, pulling Càtia
behind him.
“What’s wrong, Papa?”
What was with kids and their sixth sense? “Nothing’s wrong, baby.” He held out a
hand and she took it, wide eyes so trusting when she glanced up at him. Syren gave her
a smile. “See? Nothing’s wrong.”
She smiled back, the dimples in her cheeks flashing. “Okay.” She nodded at him
and they walked on.
He’d dropped his phone on his bed while getting dressed earlier and forgot about
it. He kept no weapons, not around his daughter so right now, they were vulnerable. Only if he
allowed them to be.
He quickened his steps only to stop short a couple feet away. Kane was on his
doorstep. Panic wasn’t the word for the racing of his heart. His throat went dry and his
limbs refused to move. Kane stood and turned to face him. Syren remained rooted to
the spot.
“Papa? Papa, can I go inside? I’m cold.” Càtia moved forward and Kane’s gaze
dropped to her. “Papa?” She squinted up at Syren.
“Shh. Hush, baby.” Syren took her hand again. “Come on.” He closed the
remaining space between him and Kane, keeping his gaze on his face. Kane looked lost,
as if he suddenly didn’t know where he was or why. “Kane.”
His ex-lover stared at him, lips parted then glanced down at Càtia.

Càtia jerked on Syren’s hand, excitedly jumping up and down. “Papa, it’s him. It’s
him.” She pointed at Kane. “It’s the man from the picture. The other half of your heart.” Well crap.
Shouldn’t have shown her the picture of Kane on his phone. Syren
looked down at his daughter. “Càtia, please introduce yourself to our visitor.” Her bright eyes dulled
and she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. “Yes,
Papa.” She stepped out from beside Syren and held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Càtia Maria
Rua.”
She got it just right and in English too. Syren couldn’t be prouder.
Càtia brushed her bangs from her eyes then asked Kane, “What’s your name?” Kane dropped to one
knee and took her hand. “I’m Kane Ashby.” He kissed her
fingers. “It’s my pleasure to meet you.”
She nodded at him, speculation in her eyes. “Will you leave enough room for me in
Papa’s heart?” Turning to Syren she said, “I don’t think he can fit, Papa, he’s too big.” “I can fit,”
Kane spoke up. “We both can fit.”
She squealed and clapped her hands. “Can we, Papa? Can we?”
Jesus. Syren really wanted to cry. “Nina!” He called for Càtia’s aunt and when she
appeared he asked, “Nina, can you get Càtia out of the wet clothes and give her some
cookies and milk? She’s been asking for that.”
“No problem.” Nina nodded at his request, but kept her gaze on Kane. “Come on,
querida.”
“Can I wear the dress Aunty Isa bought for me, Papa? The red one with the
butterflies on it?”
Syren sighed. “Nina will dress you, baby. She decides what you wear, not you.
Understand?”
“Yes, Papa.” She pouted all the way into the house.
“You have a daughter.” Kane spoke into the silence.
Syren nodded. “Yes.”
“How old is she?”
“Seven in a couple months.” Syren turned away with his arms folded. “Why are
you here?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Kane fired back.
They fell into a tense quiet where the only sounds were the ones that drifted up to
them from the people on the beach below.
Kane deserved an answer so Syren provided one. “I didn’t know if you were the
kid type. I wanted to make sure we’d built something permanent before I introduced
you two.”
“You’re a selfish son of a bitch, you now that?”
Syren jerked his gaze to Kane’s, but the other man stared off into the distance, his
face hard and blank.
“I know that.”
“I sent you a text about a week ago and I’ve been waiting for your response.” Syren could ask what
text, but he knew the one. “What should my response be,
Kane?”
“We broke up!” Kane swung to face him, anguish in his eyes. “Don’t you care?” “Should I? That has
nothing to do with me.” He turned and Kane grabbed his

shoulder.
“It has everything to do with you.” He pressed Syren into the side of the house.
“Why did you let me think you cheated on me when Thiago raped you?” Pain filled his
eyes as he rasped, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t I—” A dry chuckle rose in Syren’s throat. “I tried to tell you, only you
were too busy believing every bad thing about me. I tried for weeks to get you to talk to
me and what did you do? You chose Vince!”
“I’m sorry.” Kane clutched his face. “I’m so sorry, I wish I could take it back.” Syren’s throat
clogged and he lifted his gaze from Kane’s mournful eyes. “You
can’t. It’s too late now anyway.”
“No.” Kane’s nostrils flared. “It’s not too late. It’s never too late if we love each
other.”
Syren laughed in his face. “Love, huh? The love you turned your back on when the
first signs of trouble hit? The love you dropkicked when you took that smug bastard
Vince to your bed?” That shit hurt to think, to say. He couldn’t hide the pain, his body
shook with it.
“Please.” Kane pressed their foreheads together. “I didn’t sleep with him. Let me
make it up to you. I’ll spend my life making it up to you.”
“Yeah?” Syren felt around in the pockets of his shorts, but came up dry, no fucking
cigarettes. “That easy? I thought you loved old boy.” Oh that’s right, he’d quit the damn
things. Shit. His palm itched.
“I didn’t. I don’t.” Kane touched Syren’s bottom lip. “I’ve loved you from the
moment those men delivered Sunset to my house. I’ve loved you even more when you
told me who you were and what you’d been through.” He kissed Syren softly then
spoke against his lips. “I loved you then. I love you now.”
Syren moved away from him, from the pull of his warm body enticing him to
remember how good they were. “And Vince?” Knowing Kane had turned to someone
else, to Vince, was the hardest part. Imagining Kane touching someone, kissing
someone, the same way he’d done those things to Syren ate away at him day in and day
out.
“Vince was beside me when I fell apart, when I turned back to the booze and
sleepless nights.” Kane inhaled sharply. “He sat with me without judgment and one
day I got too lonely to ignore what he’d been offering.”
“Just like that, without strings?”
Kane’s face twisted. “My strings are already tied up. With you. Around you.” He
took Syren’s hand in his. “He was my distraction or he was supposed to be, but that
didn’t work because I’d still wake in the middle of the night reaching for you.” Syren looked away.
”The thought of you touching him in any way, that’s what I
hate most.”
“He was a substitute for who I really wanted, but I swear I didn’t sleep with him.”
Kane’s eyes begged Syren to believe him and he wanted to.
Syren bit his lip. “It hurts,” he admitted. “Not your rejection so much as the
appearance of you moving on. With him.”
Kane made a comforting sound low in his throat.
“You sliced me open,” Syren whispered. “New Year’s Eve when you said you

didn’t love me, that you loved him. You sliced me open.” His voice roughened at that
remembered blow. “I’m still raw from that cut.”
Kane grabbed him then, held him tight in his arms and Syren didn’t cry, but he
came damn close. The familiar embrace, the smell of his lover. He’d missed them so
much.
“I was lying,” Kane said fiercely in his ear. “I wanted to hurt you, wanted to shake
you up. You looked so untouchable. I wanted to hurt you and I reached for the sharpest
tool in my arsenal. I’m sorry.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“Please.” Kane held the back of his head and leaned away, peering down at Syren.
“I fucked up. I know. Let me make it right.”
“There’s nothing to make right.”
Kane held up Syren’s left hand and smoothed his palm open. Syren knew what he’d
find, but he didn’t squirm.
“You’ve been hurting yourself.” Not a question, but not an accusation either. Syren explained, “The
last time was that day, the day after, when I came to
explain.”
“Jesus.” Kane closed his eyes, his throat working. “Jesus Christ.”
“It’s no big deal now.” Syren touched his jaw. “I’ve been seeing someone.” Kane’s eyes snapped
open. “Who?”
“A psychiatrist.” Syren smiled for the first time. “For my demons.” “Okay.” Kane nodded. “Is it
helping?”
Syren shrugged. “Who the fuck knows? I’ve given up the smoking and I haven’t
hurt myself in months, long before New Year’s Eve, so I’d say yes.”
“Good.” Kane hugged him close. “Good. I want to help.”
Syren ducked out of his hold and turned his gaze to the view of the beach below
them. “I was yours before I knew the sound of your voice, the feel of your touch. I’ve
been yours, only yours from our first conversation. Our first kiss cemented that fact in
my bones. I’ve wanted no other options beside you and when you turned me away I— I
accepted that I’d be alone, raising my daughter.”
“What about Nina?” Kane asked. “Who is she to you?”
“Nina is Càtia’s mother’s sister. I rescued them from one of Delatorre’s brothels.
Yolande was pregnant and Delatorre wanted her dead.” He sniffed. “She wanted out of
the business to raise her child in peace, but he wasn’t having it. I walked in on him whipping her
bloody.” He shook his head at the memory. “She was nine months
pregnant.”
Kane touched him at the small of his back.
“I asked him to stop, offered myself in her place.” He looked at Kane. “That’s how
my beatings began. I bartered my body for Yolande’s and Nina’s freedom.” It was the
easiest thing he’d ever done, saving those women. He’d do it all over again if Càtia was
the outcome. “Yolande went into labor right there on the cold floor where Delatorre had
dropped her, but he made both her and her sister watch me take their punishment and
when he was finished ordered me to sell both women off to anyone willing to buy
them. Oh and I was to get extra for the kid.”
“Sick fuck,” Kane muttered. He stroked Syren’s back and Syren leaned into his

touch, so good and familiar, as if he hadn’t gone months without.
“After the beating, I took the women and the child with me. Yolande was in a bad
way and I knew she wouldn’t survive it. She knew too, I think.” Syren stared down at
his hands. “Nina and I did our best, but we couldn’t save her.” He choked up. “Before
she slipped away she told me to protect them. Protect them from him. I worked for him.
I don’t know how she looked at me and I knew I would. I said yes, but inside I’m
asking myself, how do I do that?”
“How did you?” Kane asked.
Syren shrugged. “Money. We buried Yolande and I hid Nina and Càtia away until I
got them passports and out of the country to England. Isa and Henry did the rest, held
them in Paris for a while until I got the house in Costa Rica ready and they’ve been here
ever since.” He met Kane’s gaze. “I officially adopted her, illegally of course, so Càtia is
mine. She’s the reason I approached the FBI. Nina stays because she wants to, but she
has her own life and nothing sexual has ever occurred between us. I consider her a
surrogate sister.”
Kane seemed to get that. “With your life as Faro when did you get to see Càtia?” “Every weekend.”
Syren smiled. “That’s why I got my own plane, so Delatorre
couldn’t watch my comings and goings. He tried to dig for information, but I took the
beatings instead.”
“And now you’re a full-time father.” Kane moved in close, gaze searching. “Is there
room in this life,” he waved at the house, “for me?”
“I don’t want to hope that you’ll be in my life then have you disappoint me again,”
Syren told him. “I’m a father. Faro is retired, but that life can come knocking on my
door at any time. You live in the States and I—”
Kane kissed him, swallowing his words. Syren hesitated only a moment before he
opened for his lover, sighing when their tongues touched. Bliss. He felt that all the way
to his toes. Kane’s hold on him was firm and claiming. Perfect.
He smiled into the kiss then moaned when Kane sucked his tongue and rocked into
him. Syren buried his fingers in Kane’s hair and held on. Too soon Kane released his
mouth and looked up, face flushed, eyelids hanging low.
“We can split our time between here and my house.” He licked his lips. “O.G.
misses you. I miss you. Tell me you love me. Tell me I can be in your life. In Càtia’s
life.”
“I love you,” Syren said softly. The words were the easiest things to say. “I’ve loved
you for so long.”
Kane’s eyes pleaded with Syren. “Then tell me.”
Kane laid out everything Syren ever wanted in a buffet line. All his to take, to have,
with only one word. “There were so many times over the years when I thought I
couldn’t go on,” he confessed. “Especially back when I was being used and sold like
chattel. I proved myself wrong.” He held Kane’s gaze, never blinking. “I thought for
sure I wouldn’t be able to live without you.”
Kane’s façade wavered, fear bleeding from his every pore.
“I know now that’s not true either,” Syren whispered. “I can live without you.
Make me not want to.” He took both of Kane’s hands and brought them around his
waist. “Make me ask you to stay.”

Kane squeezed him until Syren barely breathed. “I don’t know what you want me
to say. I love you.” He kissed Syren on his nose, the corner of his mouth. “Give me the
chance to show you. Give me a chance to know your daughter, to love her like I do her
father.” His eyes were red-rimmed. “All I want is the chance to prove that I’ll never let
you go again.”
Syren wanted to believe in those words. He wanted to believe in Kane, but he
couldn’t make himself say what he knew his lover desperately needed to hear. “You thought you were
the damaged one,” Kane said softly, “but you’re wrong. I
was the one who needed saving and you came along and did just that.” He cupped
Syren’s jaw. “I can’t go on without you.”
Their gazes held and Syren’s defenses melted away like nothing. The front door
banged open. The two men jumped apart.
“Papa?” Càtia stood there, hair in pigtails, wearing the red dress with butterflies Isa
bought her and barefoot too. She gazed at him and Kane quizzically. “Papa, it’s okay.
Remember, he can fit.”
Syren had to smile. “Thank you for the reminder.”
She nodded. “It’s time for dinner, Auntie Nina says.”
“Thank you.” Syren strode forward and took his daughter’s hand. “Come on.”
Footsteps shuffled behind him and he looked over his shoulder. Kane was making his
way toward the gate leading away from the house. “Wait!” Syren grabbed his arm. “Papa, are you
okay?” Càtia peered up at him.
Syren smiled down at her. “Yes. I’m okay.” He looked up to find Kane’s eyes on
him. Cautious. Hopeful. Chances, they were made for taking.
“Stay.”

About Avril Ashton

Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y., with a tolerant Spousal Equivalent.

Together they raise a daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore). Avril’s
earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing plot points of Nancy Drew and the Hardy
Boys with an equally book-mined mother.

Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09

and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the pages of
Avril’s Stories, but there’ll always be a happy endin; Av remains a believer of love in all its forms.
Avril welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her

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Brooklyn Sinners 1: Love the Sinner

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