Brooklyn Sinners 3 -A Sinner Born (18 page)

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.

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?”