Kane sat next to him on the banquette, legs stretched out, feet bare as he regarded Syren with eyelids riding dangerously low. “Care to tell me why speaking your own name brings you to tears?”
Syren shrugged. “‘Probably because I haven’t spoken that name out loud in twenty years.”
Lines appeared on Kane’s forehead. “Why now?”
“Because of you.” Syren barked a laugh, a rough sound that illustrated his selfishness and false bravado. “Because for years I was fine being someone else, dealing in secrets, lies and barely keeping myself from giving in to the darkness, then the one man I considered a friend fell in love with your brother.”
Kane shifted. “I don’t understand. What do Rafe and Gabe have to do with this?” He waved a hand, confusion stark on his face. “With you and me?”
You and me. “I watched out for Gabe while Rafe was locked up. Made sure none of his enemies knew about Gabe and I watched him with you. You took care of him and comforted him and were just…there for him.”
“That’s what siblings do.”
“Yes.” Syren nodded. “I had to know who you were and I dug. I knew about your loss, your job, your everything.”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“It wasn’t a chance I could ever take, approaching you. I knew that. So I kept my distance. Went about my business. I tucked you away in that place where no one but me could reach whenever I needed to.”
Kane leaned closer and grasped Syren’s chin, eyes peering into his soul when he asked, “And have you ever needed to?”
Syren lowered his lashes and swallowed. “Yes,” he whispered. “Many times. Too many to count.” His voice broke and Kane caressed him, fingers idly stroking Syren’s jawline.
“Tell me about him,” Kane said softly. “Tell me about Marcos.”
A gap eased open in Syren’s chest. He choked back a sob. Still too early in the game to fall apart. Outwardly at least. “Marcos watched his family die. He watched the gunmen kill first his older brother Fabio, then his mama and then his papa. And even though they let him live, Marcos died with them that day.” His eyes burned and even though Syren didn’t open them, Kane was there, wiping the tears as they fell.
“How old was Marcos?” Kane asked. “Why was his life spared?”
Now Syren laughed. He opened his eyes and watched Kane’s irises contract. “Because Marcos was pretty.” He spat the word out between them. “And what do we do with pretty boys?” He asked the last part in a singsong voice. The very same question many had taunted him with in the early years.
“No.” Kane dropped his hand and shrank back onto the banquette, away from Syren. That retreat sent him back to trembling.
“Yes.” Syren pulled his legs under him and wrapped his arms around his middle. “I was sold. At ten years old, I had to learn how to be what they wanted me to be. I had to learn to take all they dished out and survive.”
Kane dropped to his knees on the floor in front of Syren. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes were red and wet, filled with horror and pain for who, Syren or Marcos?
“Why are you sorry?” Syren cupped Kane’s cheek. “You weren’t there. You had no part to play. You didn’t order my family killed. No.” He shook his head. “That was all Ricardo Delatorre’s doing, not yours.”
Kane froze. “Delatorre? Your boss, Delatorre?”
“Sick right?” Syren released Kane and flung off his jacket then unbuttoned his shirt. “Sick that I’d allow myself to work for him, to be near him, to let him do this.” He stood and yanked the shirt down.
He literally felt Kane stop breathing.
“Son of a bitch!” Kane grabbed him and turned him around. Syren blinked at the furor on the other man’s face. “Why? Why would you allow him to do this to you? Why work for him? What is this?”
“This is who I am now.” Syren tapped his chest. “Marcos no longer exists, he’s gone. And now I’m Syren Rua. It’s my real name. Now. And I’m with the
Syren shrugged. “‘Probably because I haven’t spoken that name out loud in twenty years.”
Lines appeared on Kane’s forehead. “Why now?”
“Because of you.” Syren barked a laugh, a rough sound that illustrated his selfishness and false bravado. “Because for years I was fine being someone else, dealing in secrets, lies and barely keeping myself from giving in to the darkness, then the one man I considered a friend fell in love with your brother.”
Kane shifted. “I don’t understand. What do Rafe and Gabe have to do with this?” He waved a hand, confusion stark on his face. “With you and me?”
You and me. “I watched out for Gabe while Rafe was locked up. Made sure none of his enemies knew about Gabe and I watched him with you. You took care of him and comforted him and were just…there for him.”
“That’s what siblings do.”
“Yes.” Syren nodded. “I had to know who you were and I dug. I knew about your loss, your job, your everything.”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“It wasn’t a chance I could ever take, approaching you. I knew that. So I kept my distance. Went about my business. I tucked you away in that place where no one but me could reach whenever I needed to.”
Kane leaned closer and grasped Syren’s chin, eyes peering into his soul when he asked, “And have you ever needed to?”
Syren lowered his lashes and swallowed. “Yes,” he whispered. “Many times. Too many to count.” His voice broke and Kane caressed him, fingers idly stroking Syren’s jawline.
“Tell me about him,” Kane said softly. “Tell me about Marcos.”
A gap eased open in Syren’s chest. He choked back a sob. Still too early in the game to fall apart. Outwardly at least. “Marcos watched his family die. He watched the gunmen kill first his older brother Fabio, then his mama and then his papa. And even though they let him live, Marcos died with them that day.” His eyes burned and even though Syren didn’t open them, Kane was there, wiping the tears as they fell.
“How old was Marcos?” Kane asked. “Why was his life spared?”
Now Syren laughed. He opened his eyes and watched Kane’s irises contract. “Because Marcos was pretty.” He spat the word out between them. “And what do we do with pretty boys?” He asked the last part in a singsong voice. The very same question many had taunted him with in the early years.
“No.” Kane dropped his hand and shrank back onto the banquette, away from Syren. That retreat sent him back to trembling.
“Yes.” Syren pulled his legs under him and wrapped his arms around his middle. “I was sold. At ten years old, I had to learn how to be what they wanted me to be. I had to learn to take all they dished out and survive.”
Kane dropped to his knees on the floor in front of Syren. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes were red and wet, filled with horror and pain for who, Syren or Marcos?
“Why are you sorry?” Syren cupped Kane’s cheek. “You weren’t there. You had no part to play. You didn’t order my family killed. No.” He shook his head. “That was all Ricardo Delatorre’s doing, not yours.”
Kane froze. “Delatorre? Your boss, Delatorre?”
“Sick right?” Syren released Kane and flung off his jacket then unbuttoned his shirt. “Sick that I’d allow myself to work for him, to be near him, to let him do this.” He stood and yanked the shirt down.
He literally felt Kane stop breathing.
“Son of a bitch!” Kane grabbed him and turned him around. Syren blinked at the furor on the other man’s face. “Why? Why would you allow him to do this to you? Why work for him? What is this?”
“This is who I am now.” Syren tapped his chest. “Marcos no longer exists, he’s gone. And now I’m Syren Rua. It’s my real name. Now. And I’m with the
Similar Books
