Brooklyn Sinners 3 -A Sinner Born (14 page)

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.

“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.”