Embracing His Syn (8 page)

Syn yanked Furious up and slung him
protectively behind him. Preppy looked startled for a second then
bared his teeth at Syn.

“
You don’t want none of
this, man. Stay out of it.” Preppy looked around Syn, obviously
wanting some more of Furious.

“
Maybe I do.” Syn looked
bored and then thought for a second. If he broke this kid’s jaw,
that could be his damn promotion. Just when the kid looked like he
wanted to start something, Syn pulled his badge. “Maybe a night in
lock-up will get you to shut the fuck up.”

Syn heard the guy he punched groaning
and looked at him, not wanting to find himself attacked from behind
too. What he was surprised to not find was Furious. Syn pulled out
his cell and called 911, he gave his name and badge number and told
dispatch he had a few drunk and disorderlies that needed clearing
out.

Syn desperately wanted to find
Furious. He knew the man was alright. Surely he was able to take a
gut punch, but he wanted to talk to him. Syn knew he may have
already fucked up. Without thinking, he’d pushed Furi behind him
like he couldn’t defend himself. But when Syn saw the pain of that
punch flash over the man’s beautiful face, his protective instincts
rose with a vengeance and he’d acted. He looked back and forth from
the bar, to the door, to the college assholes, wanting to run and
find Furi, but he couldn’t leave his perps unattended until the
uniforms got there.

“
Um, Officer. I’m sorry
okay. Can you get that guy so I can apologize to him and then I
promise we’ll leave and never come back,” Preppy damn near whined
his request. He wasn’t so confident anymore. Didn’t want daddy to
have to come bail him out of jail.

Syn heard the sirens and knew the
officers would be in soon. He turned to preppy and a deep frown
contorted his face. “Fuck no. And I better never see you guys in
here again.”

Collective ‘Yes sirs’ came from the
kids that had sobered quickly at the thought of going to lock-up,
even if it was just for one night. As the police led the guys out
and into squad cars Syn hurried back to the bar, but there was no
Furious.

Syn didn’t even think twice. He made
his way to the end of the bar and lifted the top, coming behind the
bar. The two girl bartenders looked at him in shock and Syn flashed
his badge again. “Where’s Furious?” he asked, using his
authoritative cop tone.

“
He left,” they said in
unison, still looking at him strangely.

“
Damnit,” Syn hissed and
raced out of the pub.

He looked anxiously up and
down the sidewalk and saw Furious sitting on the bench, head
hanging low, waiting on the bus. Even though he had a hoodie pulled
up and hanging low over his forehead ... Syn knew it was his
ma–
He’s not my damn man, he’s just a
friend.

Syn approached his new friend with all
the confidence in the world but wasn’t prepared for the angry,
haunted eyes that looked up at him when he slowly removed Furious’
hood. Syn sucked in a hard breath and blew it out slowly before
finally deciding to speak. “Furious. Are you okay?”

No answer.

“
Are you hurt?” Syn was
really concerned. Furious looked detached, closed in on
himself.

“
Bab–”
Shit.
“Furi,” Syn quickly corrected.
“Please answer me. Look my place is right there.” Syn pointed in
the direction of his building. “If you want you can come up and
talk. I can take you home later.”

It was a few long and very intense
minutes that Furious didn’t move or say anything.

“
We’ll just talk, okay?”
Syn tried again.

Thanks a lot MARTA.
Perfect timing.
Just Syn’s luck that the
bus pulled up to the curb and the air doors swung open.

“
Furious, I just want to
talk.”

“
No thanks,
Detective
.” Furious'
voice was so deep and angry, it’d felt like Furi had struck him.
Syn swallowed a hard gulp.

That was the second time in a matter
of minutes that his title had been used nastily against him. Syn
didn’t give a fuck about his stoner neighbor showing his distaste
... but coming from Furious, it stung. Syn’s adam’s apple bobbed up
and down as he worked to think of something, anything, but Furious
was already half-way to the back of the bus. He watched him plop
down into his seat and throw his hood back over his head. The bus
driver looked at Syn a split second before closing the doors and
merging back into traffic.

Syn wanted to punch the bus bench, the
light pole, any damn thing. What was really pissing him off was
that he didn’t know what this was with Furious and how the man got
under his skin. Yeah, he knew Furious was gay, he’d all but said
it, but it was very clear he wasn’t interested in Syn. He needed to
let it go. He’d find another bar.

Syn trudged back across
the street and took the elevator to his floor. As soon as he walked
into his apartment he felt a prickle of something unfamiliar
slither down his neck. His entire place was dark, so he didn’t
flick on the lights just in case he had an intruder.
If it’s you Stoner, you picked the wrong fucking
night.
Then a smell hit him.
Coffee.
Syn let out an
annoyed grunt, running his hand across his beard.

“
Is this what I have to
look forward to Lieutenant? You and Day breaking into my place any
time you feel like it?” Syn said hitting the lights.

Day was sitting in his
small kitchenette, leisurely drinking his usual jumbo cup of coffee
while God stood next to him leaning casually against the wall, his
massive arms crossed over an even more massive chest. His long
chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail. God’s leather coat
was draped over the back of the chair Day sat in. With no coat on,
God’s guns looked like something you’d see in a drug kingpin movie.
Silver Desert Eagles with gold appointments. Sexy, rolling, script
etched into the long metal barrels
‘In God
We Trust’.
The black grips had large
lions' heads etched into them. Syn had never seen anything like
them. No doubt, they were gifts from his lover. Those cannons were
attached to his sides, secured in his black leather shoulder
holster. Very few people got to see the twelve-inch,
military-style, serrated blade that he kept sheathed and tucked
under his left arm. Syn had heard stories of that blade’s
handiwork. God’s gold badge hung suspended around his neck by a
long silver chain and rested it the middle of his chest. The black
lettering ‘Lieutenant’ etched into the gold.

Syn watched Day look around at his
lack of furniture ... or pictures ... or art ... or decorations ...
or any other amenities that made a house a home. “Oh good. It looks
like we didn’t miss the housewarming party. Are you
registered?”

“
Fuck off, Day,” Syn
grunted and jerked open his refrigerator for a Corona since he
never got to finish his at the pub.

“
Put that back. We got a
dead body. Let’s go.” God grabbed his coat.

“
Dead body.” Syn frowned.
“We doing homicide now?”

“
We do whatever the fuck I
say. Let’s go.” God’s voice was definitive.

Syn put the beer back quickly and went
to his room to get his own shoulder holster and his other Glock. He
harnessed them both and went out the door behind his
bosses.

They walked down the hall, neither man
concerned with making his footsteps light. Wouldn’t you know – it
must be Syn’s shit day because stoner-neighbor was coming off the
elevator with another pizza and about five more guys in
tow.

“
Hey, it’s the mob squad.”
Stoner laughed, high fiving one of his friends who looked as high
as he was. Stoner turned and looked at them. “I’m just saying you
guys look ... well ya know ... you look weird.” Stoner
giggled.

“
Dude, you think we look
weird, and you’re the one wearing a goddamn Members Only jacket,”
Day scoffed, grinning.

“
Who the hell wears those
things anymore?” Syn asked in disbelief.

“
The last fucking member.”
Day laughed.

Syn’s laugh burst from him before he
could stop it, even God let out a husky laugh. Syn had to admit,
Day was one funny motherfucker. God’s hulking figure moved through
the crowd. None of stoner’s friends wanting to accidently bump into
him. As they got onto the elevator they could still hear Stoner’s
friends ribbing him about his old-school jacket.

Furi shoved his apartment key into the
lock with way more force than was needed and shouldered the door
open, making it bang loudly against the wall behind it.

“
A cop, he’s a fucking
cop!” Furi yelled at his empty apartment. He pulled out a cigarette
from a crumpled pack and lit it while he dialed the only person he
trusted.

Furi listened to the annoying rap song
that was programmed as the ring on Doug’s phone while he waited for
him to pick up. He answered on the third ring.

“
What up,
Furi?”

Furi sighed at the sound of his best
friend’s voice. “Hey man, are you busy? I need to talk to you right
now. I’m fucking freaking out.”

“
Say no more. I’m on my
way. Are you at home or at the pub?” Doug asked.

“
I’m home.” Furi ran his
left hand through his hair and pulled on the length. It was a
nervous habit.

“
Be there in
twenty.”

“
Thanks babe.”

Furi went to the bathroom
and pulled off his bar shirt and noticed the bruise from the
punch.
Fucking bastard, college
prick.
As he leaned against the wall
waiting for the water to get warm, he thought about Syn’s
reactions. The man had jumped into the fight like
super-save-a-gay-man and taken out one of the guys before Furi knew
what was happening. Then he was being pushed behind him while Syn
flipped out his badge.

Furi got under the spray and washed as
quickly as he could. He tried not to think about Syn’s scent, his
voice, or his strength. Men like that were nothing but trouble.
Powerful men. Men who thought they controlled everything. Furi’s
dick was hard and aching to be touched as he replayed Syn’s actions
repeatedly. He was pissed off; he didn’t want to want him. He’d
actually been entertaining the thought until he saw the
badge.

Furi had just stepped out of the
shower and wrapped a towel around himself when he heard pounding on
his door.

Furi yanked it open. “Geez Doug. Wake
up Ms. Jones why don’tcha?” Furi moved aside and let his friend in.
Doug had obviously just come from work. His jeans had grease stains
and his work shirt was opened revealing a tight, smudged, white
wife-beater. His black steel-toe work boots had plenty of
wear-and-tear on them. Doug was the hottest fucking mechanic Furi
had ever seen. “What’s that?” he asked, looking at the brown
crumpled bag in Doug’s hand.

“
A little something for
your nerves.” Doug pulled out a bottle of Don Julio tequila and
grinned at him.

“
Damn man, sparing no
expense huh?” Furi said, walking over to his dresser and grabbing
some boxers and a pair of track pants.

“
Well it sounded like you
could use it.” Doug went into the tiny kitchen, pulled out two
mismatched glasses, and grabbed an ice tray out the freezer, making
his way back to Furi’s thrift store couch. “Is this still about
Mack pressing you to scene with a chick?”

“
No. I haven’t heard
anything else about that.
Hopefully I
never will.
This is about a guy.” Furi
slid on his pants and plopped down by Doug, quickly taking the
offered glass. He gulped it and relished the premium liquor sliding
smoothly down his throat.

“
Fuck that’s good.” Furi
held out the glass for more, and Doug laughed, pouring him another
two fingers. After two more refills, Furi slouched down and rested
his head on the back of the couch, happy to have a nice buzz
starting.

“
So tell me about him.”
Doug sipped his drink.