Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 (5 page)

“Big T.”

“Yeah, boss.”

Damn, that man was always right where I needed him, when I needed him.

“I need food, dude. You hungry?”

“Already on it. Ordered a bunch of food when I took the young ladies to the lobby. Should be here in about twenty. That cool?”

“Rock on.” I tapped my fist to my chest and then raised it in the air to Big T. He was completely righteous. Tony was not only my bodyguard but he was family. He kept my ass straight and out of trouble on most nights, and when I did fuck up, he was the best damage control I could ask for. I loved that man.

Just then, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Flipping the phone over, I was hopeful that it was Brooklyn and I could find peace, but the face staring back at me was Hendrix’s. I snapped his contact picture while Hendrix was getting a tat on a part of his body I never thought I would see. Let’s just say equipment below the waist was in proportion with the rest of his body.
Lucky bastard.
Hendrix and I decided to get some ink after a show in Boston, and my boy Hawke hooked me up on late notice. Hendrix’s pain tolerance was running out, and I took the opportunity to memorialize the moment with a photo. Needless to say, the fucker was flipping me off, and I was certain, although he denied it, there was a tear in his eye.

Hawke was like my brother from another mother. We both had shitty pasts and even more uncertain futures. We met God knows how many years ago when I walked into his tattoo shop in Southie looking to scratch the ink itch I was having.

Thinking back to that moment made my new reality seem a little farther away. Denial—such a beautiful and powerful tool. After clicking on the screen and opening the text from Hendrix, I threw my head back as the laughter took over.

Hendrix: Thanks, asshat. Payback is a bigger bitch than the one I just sent packing. Karma Syn…Karma :(>

Me: Oh, you big baby. She looked like your kinda fun. No?

Hendrix: You’re a DICK!

Me: If anyone would know dicks, dude, it would be you.

Hendrix: Fuck off!

After slipping my phone into my pocket, I decided to get some air. It was summer in Chicago, and the air was crisp like freshly washed sheets. Big T had food on order, and Brooklyn was somewhere shooting through the night air on her way to me. Soon, very soon, my night would be okay. It had to; there was no other option. As I dropped down into the chair on the balcony, I began thinking of all the ways I could tell her the
news.
I closed my eyes, allowing all the maybes and the what-ifs to flash through my mind. I was exhausted. Instead of figuring out how to explain this to her, I was a pussy and left the letter sticking out of my jacket, knowing she would see it. I knew it was a coward’s approach, but part of me thought if I didn't say the words out loud then it wouldn’t be real. If it was real, then my life was over, and I wasn’t ready.

Brooklyn
-
Oh No, He Didn’t!

Did you ever have one of those moments in life that you knew would be the turning point, but while it was happening, you were so pissed off and all you could see was red? Yep, that was me. Standing at the front desk of the Grand Plaza, I tried convincing the blonde bimbo that I was who I said I was, and that I did in fact have the permission—to use her words—
to see him
. Fuck, it was easier to get through airport security with a shoe bomb than past this woman. I began tapping my foot at an alarmingly quick rate, which was the cue that any ounce of restraint I had was gone. Leaning against the desk, and in the friendliest voice I could muster, I explained, “Listen, I understand that you are doing your job. I appreciate rules as much as the next person, but if you will look on your list, you’ll see that Brooklyn Reigns is on there. It would make this so much easier. Please and thank you.”

When she dipped her head for the millionth time to check, I knew if she looked at me again with a sense of loss and confusion I was going to punch the bitch. That thought and envisioning her head snapping back from the impact put a smile on my face.

I know, I know those are not the words of a lady. Well, I never said I was a lady. If you looked at my appearance and heard my internal dialogue, they would seem as different as black and white. Standing in a black A-line skirt that hit me mid-calf, sky-high peep-toe pumps, a perfectly pressed and creased light blue shirt, and black vest, I was every bit the lady that I appeared from the outside. But on the inside, well, you’d figure it out. Lucky for her and the hundred plus people in the lobby, she got it right and slid me a room key. All I could think was,
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus
. But now that I was past security, I had to deal with bigger issues.

As my heels pounded the wood floor, I knew I was making a scene, and if there were two fucks to be given, neither was coming from me. Reaching out my perfectly manicured fingernail to press the elevator button, I watched as the beautiful shades of red collided with the black of the up arrow. When the arrow lit and the doors opened, it was like dropping the green flag at a NASCAR race…
Start your engine, boys
. I had never been a fan of confined spaces, so when I entered the elevator and saw it was already full, like fire marshal overcapacity, my heart threatened to explode within the cage that was my chest. Giving the best smile I could, I stepped to the left beside a man who looked like he could have doubled for Santa, figuring he would be harmless and my safest cellmate until I could exit this steel death trap. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves.
If he thinks he is going to demand I come at his beck and call, he is damn well going to pay. What does he think I am?

Santa Claus spent the next twenty floors staring at my tits, and even when the car emptied, he never moved more than a foot from my side. 
Perfect, B
. This should be a clue that you sucked at reading people. As if Carter… Wait. If Carter and my ex-husband Royce weren’t enough of an indication that my character compass was broken, I had no idea what was.

When Santa finally exited on the twenty-fifth floor and the doors closed, I was alone. I stood in the middle of the elevator, stretched my arms out, let my head fall back, and released a big sigh. Space. Thank you, Lord, for some space. As the doors clanged open, breaking my peace bubble, I could feel my temperature begin to rise. This was the first clue that I was about to do something rash.
Well, this is what he would get. UGH
. No more than twenty feet in front of me was the door I had been summoned to. Here I was at this ridiculous hotel, in this God-forsaken cesspool of a city, in the middle of the night, and all it took were three words and I came running.

Brooklyn. Chicago. NOW.

Like every other time, I was there. As I walked down the hall, the smell of stale cigarettes, alcohol, and a sprinkle of sex hit my nose. Had it been anyone else who summoned me I would have blamed the fowl concoction of scents on another guest, but I knew they belonged to Synister. If I were the champion at making bad decisions, he was the master of the universe at fuck ups. At twenty-nine, I had been married and divorced. Synister never went as far as actually getting married, but if the endless line of skanks were any indication of his love life, then I looked like a saint.

What a pair we were.

With Synister and me, there was no dramatic life event that threw us together. No jaded lovers story—oh God, no, that was never our deal. We met freshman year in college, philosophy class. I was looking to get an A to keep my GPA up, and Synister wanted to get into the pants of the redhead who sat in front of me. So after three weeks of passing information and running interference for him, when he finally banged the chick and moved on, I thought our relationship was over.

That would be the first time that I underestimated Synister. Sadly, not the last. He thought I was the smart girl on his bucket list of fucks to cross off, and I enjoyed the chase. Initially, part of me wanted to teach him a lesson. To not look at a woman like a piece of meat. As I got to know him, I realized his behavior was just a wall to hide his demons. Not that my life got lost in his and all that girly crap. Hell no. I had never had a problem being confident. I decided when I was little that people would never have to wonder what I wanted or thought. I would tell them. Point-blank. If they didn’t like it, then it was their cross to bear, not mine. The popular term was
bitch
, but I liked to see myself as a true speaker. Synister always encouraged me to speak my mind. It was part turn-on and part morbid curiosity to see how others would react. Whatever it was, we were great together.

By the end of freshman year, we were inseparable. Most people on campus thought we were a couple, and I couldn’t say that we didn't fuel the rumors just for fun. Synister was untouchable, the drummer in a local band. But he wasn't that guy. He was genuine, sincere, with a huge heart. He was also broken and barely keeping it together. I guess you could say I was the one charged with keeping him in one piece. A job I gladly accepted because, well, I loved him. I didn’t know if I had ever said those exact words, but we both silently understood.

As our relationship grew, so did my understanding of what laid behind his beautiful hazel eyes. Like all barriers, they started to break. In time, the wall would eventually fall, taking him and me with it. Truth was, I couldn’t determine when the cracks began to appear in the façade. However, the second Synister revealed himself, his true self, to me the sadness that would come to rest in my heart still haunted me.

I reached for the door that was once white, but now a combination of stains and smudges that I could only imagine their origin. I didn’t worry about using the key card I had worked so hard to obtain. Grabbing the hem of my skirt, I pulled it up to my mid-thigh, lifted my right foot in the air, bent my knee, and kicked that damn door so hard I knew there would be no need for a second attempt. As splinters of wood went flying, I knew Synister would have to pay to fix the door, but that was what he got for demanding I did something. And, well, I always enjoyed making an entrance. Stomping through the door, I was immediately met by a six-foot-five balding man dressed in a black suit, pointing a gun at my head. When my eyes met his, I winked. “Jesus, fuck, Tony, it’s just me. Where is he?”

Lowering his gun, Tony cocked his head to the side. “
Really
, B, you had to kick in the fucking door? I have already sent three girls home because he was done with them, and settled up with the bar because he was a total ass and broke God knows how many glasses. Now you go and break the door. I swear, I fucking quit.” As the final words left his mouth, he walked toward me and pulled me in for the biggest hug you could imagine. I felt the tension in his shoulders give way. Tony would never quit. He loved us too much. He was arguably the closest thing to a real father Synister ever had. Even though Syn gave Tony a run for his money on most nights, I knew he would be lost without him.

“Ah, there, there, Papa Bear. You know you’re not going to quit. You would worry about his stupid ass too much.” We both smiled, and as he walked away, phone already in hand, I knew he would be doing damage control well into the morning hours. But that was how it went around Synister. You paid a heavy price to be near him. So, why do it, you ask? Why be near someone who could, and had, hurt you so many times in the past? Because, you see, it was like looking into the sun. You knew if you stared too long it would begin to hurt, but something so beautiful, no matter how great the pain, was worth the risk. 

Making my way through what was the living room, I began to realize the extent of the ‘bad’ in the situation tonight. There were chairs overturned, I could see a pair, recount...make that three pairs of panties on the couch, and lines of coke on the glass coffee table. Was I shocked? Nah. This was a normal Friday night for Synister. This he could handle. What he couldn’t deal with was the fallout… That was where I came in. That was the role I had played for over a decade. I guess I always hoped that he would grow up, but then Push signed a record deal, and BOOM. Synister was given a reason to be a kid and do whatever to whomever on the world’s playground, so growing up went out the window. I felt the breeze across my face before I noticed the glass sliders were open. The black floor-to-ceiling curtains danced in the breeze like ghosts. At that moment, I wished I had a coat. I hadn't realized how the chill had set in until now. My adrenaline was at an all-time high. I knew the minute he opened his mouth I was going to be boiling pissed and would no longer be frozen to the bone.

As the breeze blew through the room, I heard the faint sounds of music, but I couldn't place the song. I had heard every Push track a million times, and this one I didn’t know. Maybe it was a new piece he was working on. Synister wrote all the songs for Push, and I was the official beta
tester for lyrics and music as far as he was concerned. The other band members tried to interject differences of opinion initially, but to quote Synister, “B will hear everything and give her input first or I’m fucking out.”