Brooklyn Sinners 3 -A Sinner Born (25 page)

“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.

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.