Sinner Like Me by Avril Ashton
Three
“When will you be back, Daddy?” Càtia stared at Kane with sad eyes from across the breakfast table, syrup from her waffles on her chin.
Syren knew how she felt, but unlike Càtia he kept the words to himself. Kane had been called to testify in a Brooklyn court on a case he’d worked before he retired. Instead of making the trek home to Connecticut and back to New York every day until he was done testifying, he’d opted to get a hotel in Brooklyn. He’d be gone for a couple of days at least, and Càtia was sad. Syren was too. This would be the first time they’d spend a night apart since that day Kane came to him in Costa Rica.
“I’ll be back in a few days, baby girl.” Kane gave their daughter a wide, bright smile. “In the meantime, you and Papa can call me or text, and we can even video chat. Would you like that?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Good.” Kane licked his thumb and leaned across the table to wipe at the syrup on Càtia’s chin. He sucked it off with loud noises. “Mm. You taste really sweet, baby girl. Like syrup.”
“Daddy.” She giggled. “That’s not me, that’s the syrup from my waffle.”
Kane winked. “So you say.”
Syren drained the last of the orange juice in his glass. “Finish eating, Càtia. Auntie Nina will be here soon to take you to school.”
Nina had followed them to live in Connecticut to be their babysitter. Syren would never leave her all alone, and Kane had no problems when Syren mentioned buying Nina a condo near their home. She wasn’t with them twenty-four seven. Only on the days when Syren and Kane had business to take care of, like today. Normally Syren would be the one taking Càtia the twenty-minute drive to and from the private school she attended.
This morning he’d be driving Kane into the city and meeting with a potential client interested in hiring his security company. He’d taken his resources, and Billy’s expertise, and started up an online security firm, providing security for companies doing the bulk of their business online. He’d been worried his face would have been recognizable, that people would know he used to be Faro. So far he hadn’t had any incidents and the business was operating smoothly. Billy did most of the heavy lifting though. Syren was only the face sent to reel prospective clients in. He didn’t mind it. It kept him working from home where he could be with
Càtia and Kane. His husband was a man of leisure for the moment, as well as a silent investor in Syren’s business. During the day Kane did work on their backyard, something Syren silently thought Kane should let a professional handle, but hey, his man wanted to do things himself. So even when Kane messed up and busted the pipes underneath the ground in the backyard that were intended for the new pool, or when he accidentally cut down the trees they’d intended to use to build a treehouse for Càtia, Syren cheered him on.
Neither of them needed to work. God knew they had more money than Isa had red bottoms, but Kane wanted to keep busy and Syren, well, he was never one to lie around idly.
He dressed Càtia and had her dark brown hair brushed and in something resembling a ponytail by the time Nina let herself in with the key Kane had made for her. Armed with her Hello Kitty backpack and lunch bag to match, dressed in her uniform, Càtia stood at the door and looked at Kane as he knelt in front of her and cupped her chin.
“Don’t be sad, okay?” He kissed her nose. “I’ll call you before bedtime for sure, and you can text me when you get home from school.”
Her big brown eyes filled with tears, and her little chin trembled, but she nodded. Syren swallowed the lump in his throat and bent, kissing the top of her head.
“Daddy will be home before you know it,” he promised. “And I’ll be here when you come home from school.” He waited until Kane hugged her then he did the same. “Go on, Nina’s waiting.” She went, walking slowly hand in hand with Nina. Kane and Syren stood next to each other in the doorway, waving as Càtia looked over her shoulder and did the same. When they drove off, Kane cursed.
“Damn, I didn’t expect that to hurt so much.” He rubbed his chest. “I miss her already.”
Syren smiled sadly. “I know. I did it for seven years.” He closed the door and stood there.
“I don’t think she’s used to it, me being there all the time. She still expects us to be gone when she wakes in the mornings.” It hurt, knowing it was his fault. Knowing he was the reason his daughter was so scared of goodbyes and expected him to leave at any time. “I fucked her up for life, didn’t I?”
“Hey, come on.” Kane shook his head. “You did what you had to do.”
“No.” Syren’s lips twisted. “I did what I wanted to do, and my daughter paid the price.”
He turned away, walked into the kitchen, and stood staring at the dishes still on the table. Warm arms surrounded him from behind. Kane kissed his nape and Syren leaned back against that solid chest, sighing. “I have so many regrets,” he confessed softly. “And every day, I’m reminded of just how much and how far the consequences of my actions reverberated.”
“She’ll be fine. Càtia will be fine.” Kane spun him around and cupped his jaw, earnest blue eyes staring into Syren’s soul. “She’ll be just fine because she has us now. And we’re never leaving. Never. When she’s old enough to understand, we’ll tell her why her early years were the way they were.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “She’s your daughter so I know she’ll understand why you had to do something.”
Syren chuckled. “You think so?” God. He wished. He hoped.
“I know.”
He allowed Kane to hold him for another few seconds before he took a breath, put away his temperamental emotions, and stepped back. “Okay. Enough hand-holding, Marshal. You’ve got a date with a judge, and I’ve got a client to schmooze.”
Kane hauled him back again with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “If I help load the dishes in the dishwasher that should give us, what? An extra five minutes?”
“For what?” Syren placed both hands on Kane’s shoulders and frowned up at him. “Do you have to make a stop?”
“Uh-huh. To the bedroom.” He let Syren go and slapped his ass. “You’re gonna get out of this robe”—he fisted Syren’s short purple silk robe—“and get in the shower, where I’m gonna join you after I put the dishes away.”
Well. “All you had to do was say the word, Marshal.” Syren ducked away from Kane’s hot perusal and raced to the stairs. “Just say the word.”
* * *
“I’m late.”Kane groaned as Syren pulled up near the courthouse.
“It’s your own fault.” Syren grinned. “We didn’t need to use the—”
“But it was fucking hot.” Kane kissed him, a loud smack on the lips. “No cutting corners when it comes to making you scream.”
A blush heated Syren’s face. “I don’t scream,” he growled. He did not.
“Yeah, I’ve got your voice on tape proving otherwise.”
Syren stared at him. “You recorded us having sex?” He lunged at Kane, but the bastard opened the car door and raced out. “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Oh look, time for me to go.” Kane bent and looked at him through the open driver’s side window. “I’ll call you when I can.”
“Don’t forget to call Càtia to tell her goodnight.”
Kane smiled patiently. “I won’t forget.”
“You mean like you forgot to kiss me goodbye just now?” Syren hiked up an eyebrow, chuckling to himself when Kane grumbled and dove back inside the car, half of his body lying atop Syren. He caught Kane by the neck, holding him tight as his husband fucked his mouth at 10:03 a.m. on a busy Brooklyn street.
“Hm, I gotta go.” But Kane didn’t budge from where he was, lips pressed to Syren’s.
Syren smiled. “You should go, Marshal.” He tunneled his fingers through Kane’s short hair, rumpling it. He pulled back, catching Kane’s face in both hands. “You look really fuckable in that suit, did I tell you that?”
He’d introduced Kane to his tailor and had his husband now sporting the same well-tailored look. Today Kane wore a dark suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. He looked like a freaking model with the striking blue eyes and two-day salt-and-pepper scruff on his chin.
“You did tell me,” Kane murmured, “but I’ll never tire of hearing it.” He stared at Syren, expression so warm and open. All that love. It took a while to get used to all that love being directed at him.
“I love you.” One last kiss and he pulled back, releasing Kane. “Go before they send marshals for your ass. I’m not dressed to fight burly men off you today.” Tom Ford suits weren’t made for that.
Kane leaned back, trailing a finger down Syren’s cheek. “Love you. Be good.”
Syren pouted. “What do you mean, be good?”
“I mean it.” Kane stood and waggled a finger at him. “Be good. All that bad shit belongs to me.” He snapped a salute and turned away, racing across the street, weaving and dodging the four lanes of traffic.
Syren watched him go, ogling that ass all covered up in Hugo Boss, and squirmed in his seat. Damn. And it was all his.
* * *
The Chester Restaurantwas located inside the Gansevoort Hotel in the Meatpacking District, and empty except for the staff when Syren strode in at 10:45. Not the place he would have chosen to meet, but the client picked the spot. He followed the waiter to his seat and perused the restaurant’s signature Breaky menu while waiting for his brunch date to arrive.
Movement to his left caught his eye. He turned that way. A burly man dressed all in black stood next to his chair, hands behind his back, a bulge in his waistband. Syren tensed. Movement to his right made him glance that way. Same deal. Burly man. All black. Same bulge.
Well, this wasn’t good.
“Hello, Faro.”
The familiar name and voice made him jerk and he jumped to his feet as Monica Delatorre slid into the seat opposite him. Hands on his shoulders pushed him back down onto the chair. Monica was the wife of Ricardo Delatorre, the man who’d killed Syren’s family. The man responsible for Syren being sold off to the highest bidder when he was just a kid. To make Delatorre pay, grown Syren had infiltrated his organization under the name Faro and became a trusted member of his team.
Delatorre’s death hadn’t taken away the pain, but it was no longer as bad as it used to be.
Seeing Monica now, shock wasn’t the word for the cold gripping him, but he stared at her and shrugged off the hands still on him.
“Monica.” He eyed her up and down. “You don’t look like an Alberta Clemente.”
She shrugged. “My alias. Couldn’t very well have booked face time with you as the widow of your former boss, now could I?” There was something in her eyes, a fierce and dark look, not dissimilar to her Thiago, the son she had with Delatorre.
Thiago. There was a name he wished he could forget. “Why couldn’t you?” he asked calmly, despite his heart beating out of control. Despite the cold sweat dampening his hairline. Something had been out of place. He’d known it. Felt it. And the woman across from him smelling like an expensive stink, clothed in Carolina Herrera, and drenched in memories was the cause.
“Would you have met with me?” She smiled at him, lashes dipping then lifting in what was probably meant to be seductive. Teased within an inch of its life, her hair was a black puffy cloud around her head, and the rings on her fingers glittered when she picked up his glass of orange juice and sipped.
“What do you want, Monica?”
“My money.” She put down the glass and looked him in the eye. “The money that disappeared the same time you did. The same time my husband died and my son went poof.”
Syren sat back and eyed her. She was a beautiful woman. Spectacularly beautiful, but she would have to be in order to be seen on the arm of Delatorre. She didn’t look like a forty-nine-year-old mother of three. Her figure was still in top shape. Thirty years with that monster didn’t show on her flawless olive skin and black hair. Her lips were painted with something nude, her perfect cheekbones with something to give the illusion of a blush. She was dressed befitting a woman of her station, had her husband still been alive. As it stood, Monica Delatorre should be homeless, so why was she here, looking like she’d hit the Brazilian lottery?
“What money?” Syren asked. “Looks to me like you’re doing just fine. Got yourself a new sugar daddy?”
Her eyes sparkled with fire, but her voice was cool and controlled when she spoke. “I was approached to take up where my husband left off in his business.”
No. No.Syren dropped his hands and gripped the sides of his chair until his knuckles hurt.
“His associates made a very compelling offer. I couldn’t refuse.” Her lips twitched as her gaze rose to the men flanking Syren then dropped to him. “I’d expected you to be among the first to be there, asking me to take up the mantle. Where were you, I wonder?”
He leaned forward, but she wasn’t finished.
“I find you a changed man, Faro.” She snapped her fingers and the man to his right handed her a folder. She opened it and pulled out what looked like pictures. Syren’s gut clenched and dread cramped his stomach. “I find you a married man. A father. With a new name, and lots and lots of secrets, no doubt.”
His mind blanked. She knew about his family. That was unacceptable.
“I especially like this one.” Monica pushed a photo forward. “I can see how much you love them.”
He glanced down and swallowed the gasp. He and Kane and Càtia at a park near their home. Kane was pushing her on the swings, and Syren was in front, pretending to catch her.
Monica had been watching. They’d been under surveillance and he’d noticed nothing. Nothing.
He balled his fists.
“You love them,” Monica said softly as she put her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “Therefore I’m giving you the chance to save them. I want the money, all the money you stole from my husband. From me. Give it to me and your family remains the same.” A hard cold look hardened her gaze. “It’s more than you ever did for me.”
He sat back in silence and stared at her, at the smug expression on her face. It wasn’t a surprise she turned out to be just like her husband. It wasn’t a stretch they’d raised a rapist for a son. He took a breath, allowed the rage and panic to subside.
“You know nothing about me, but I knew who you were long before you even knew my name, Elizabeta Silva.”
She blinked when he used her real name. Syren didn’t smile, not yet. “It surprises no one that a street rat who grew up whoring herself out in the favelas would once again be here, begging for money.” He leaned in. “You don’t want to make me your enemy, Elizabeta.” Smiling, he said, “Your family, the monsters you pretend to care about, is your weakness. My family is my strength.” He jumped to his feet and took a few steps away before looking back. “Fuck with me and I’ll put you down like the rabid, well-used bitch that you are.”
