Brooklyn Sinners 3 -A Sinner Born (22 page)

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.

“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.