Shadows & Silence: A Wild Bunch Novel

by London Miller

  And for whatever reason, Jack looked annoyed with him.

  But he wasn’t the only one. Răzvan had picked up on the same vibe from Dismas the night before when he’d been sitting at the bar with Winter.

  In the time he’d been coming here, neither man had blinked twice at him, but he couldn’t help but notice the scrutiny now.

  But whatever his opinion, Jack didn’t say a word as Răzvan paid for the pair of them and slipped by the man.

  Even Dismas, who sat behind the bar on an old whiskey barrel, didn’t look pleased as they walked in.

  He knew the mercenaries were protective of her, but he hadn’t expected so many others to be.

  The Hall wasn’t overly crowded for a Tuesday night, but the tables were almost completely full. He only needed to make eye contact with Ronnie, a bookie with a gambling problem, and a nod of his head for him to get a pool table for himself.

  —Drink?—

  She made a face. “I’m sure Dismas will send back my usual.”

  He hadn’t the slightest idea what she meant, but he figured he’d find out once he got to the bar.

  A few of the table girls lingered as he neared, painted lips smiling and expectant—the girl standing in the very middle smiled the brightest.

  Tillie was a pretty thief who liked to live on the wild side, and more nights than he could count, he happily indulged her.

  They had an understanding.

  So long as she was available, he’d take her to bed.

  If she wasn’t, he wouldn’t.

  Fewer complications that way.

  She’d watched him from the moment he’d left Winter’s side until he was standing beside her at the bar, her expression unreadable.

  Tillie wasn’t the jealous sort—she didn’t blink an eye if he was with someone other than her—but things were definitely different tonight.

  “Are you entertaining the hacker?” she asked, not a trace of malice in her tone. If anything, she sounded genuinely curious.

  He didn’t have to look back at Winter before nodding, but he wouldn’t explain himself any more than that.

  “Careful there, Tăcut. Even a good time isn’t worth the shit you’re courting if you hurt her in any way. Call me when you’re free again.”

  She touched his shoulder affectionately before strolling off in the opposite direction, her parting words lingering between them.

  “Your usual?” Dismas asked as he appeared, his tone flat.

  Not a-fucking-nother one.

  Răzvan nodded.

  Dismas grabbed a bottle from the mini fridge below the bar, removing the cap with deliberate slowness—making sure to show it hadn’t been tampered with—then reached back under and grabbed another frosted green bottle, but this one wasn’t alcohol.

  “You tell Winter when she shows me an ID that one of her people hasn’t made—I know the difference—I’ll send her a real drink.”

  Jesus, she wasn’t even twenty-one?

  He’d already assumed she was younger than he was, she looked it, but he hadn’t expected she was that young.

  Just how old was she?

  Răzvan accepted the drinks with a nod of his head before heading back to the table.

  As she reached out to take her drink from him, he held the bottle a moment longer than necessary, conveying what he didn’t want to ask.

  “Don’t worry,” she said with a sarcastic smile. “I’m legal.”

  —How old are you?— At this point, he felt he had to ask.

  For someone who happily talked and told him anything he wanted to know, she seemed reluctant to answer. “I’ll be nineteen this year.”

  So eighteen.

  She was eighteen.

  Thirteen years younger than he was.

  Răzvan took a drink of his beer.

  That should have bothered him that she was so much younger, but while his brain was a little put off by the number, the rest of him wasn’t.

  Fuck, he needed to get laid.

  “Are we playing?” Winter asked with a nod of her head at the table. “Or are you going to stand there trying to figure out if you still want to have sex with me now that you know how old I am?”

  In the split second it took for her to finish her question, he choked on his beer.

  “Where are your brothers?” she asked, changing the subject without a blink. “They weren’t here last night, and they’re not here now. I thought you guys traveled in a pack?”

  —Only when we’re working.—

  She nodded like the answer satisfied her enough as she began racking the balls, easily maneuvering around the table with a confidence one couldn’t fake.

  He’d expected her to pretend as if she was bad at the game, to try to lull him into a false sense of security in his own skills, but instead, she showed him exactly what he was up against.

  —This favor you’re asking for,—he signed once he had her attention again,—does it have anything to do with wherever the hell you were tonight?—

  She paused, seeming surprised he’d guessed as much, but it was obvious something had changed since last night because she would have told him about it when he was at her place.

  “I hope you’re not following me around, Răz. I don’t think we were there yet in our relationship.”

  —Educated guess.—

  She eased around the table, lining up her next shot, and maybe he was a bit of a bastard, but he couldn’t help but notice the way her jeans hugged her ass as she bent over—or the fact she was at the perfect height for what he wanted to do to her.

  “Are you going to stare at my ass all night, Răz? Because if you want, I can stay like this.”

  Fucking Christ.

  She stepped around him, allowing him his chance at the table, but he wasn’t focusing on his shot.

  Winter was just there, leaning one hip against the table, the edge of her top riding up and revealing the pale flesh of her abdomen and waspish waist.

  A tempting distraction.

  With a quick jerk of his arm, he sent the cue ball flying, purposely missing the striped ball across the table.

  He needed her to think this would be an easy win for her. That way, she’d lower her guard, and he could get some answers out of her. —Why’d you pick me for whatever it is you’re planning?—

  “Why not you? You’re … you.”

  —Enlighten me.—

  “Fishing for compliments? Because you can just look in a mirror, you know. Pretty sure you know you’re nice to look at.” She glanced back at him, her head tilting to the side as she regarded him. “Seriously?”

  She waited until he’d taken his shot before she came to him, so close he could smell the floral scent of her perfume.

  “You have great cheekbones,” she whispered, the brush of her fingers against his face making him stand a little straighter. “And your eyes are blue. Then there’s the little fact you’re all brawny.” Her smile grew a little. “But that’s just why I want you—has nothing to do with what I need from you.”

  He could get lost in her, he realized—lost in the fantasy she presented.

  —So which one are you after? Me, or what I can do for you?—

  “Both. I’m multitasking.”

  She turned then, lining up her next shot.

  Five balls later, she was up by two and completely oblivious to him letting her win. For now.

  —Where’d your friends disappear to?—

  “Probably in the back,” she said with an absent wave of her hand.

  While she was busy looking back at the door he’d seen her come out of the night before, he sunk a ball then scratched.

  —Are they part of whatever this is you’re doing?—

  “You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself there, big guy. You haven’t even won the game yet.”

  Ten minutes later, her bravado turned to confusion as he easily overtook her lead and sank every ball he had left.

  With all the finesse in the world, he’d managed t
o distract her, and she watched in surprise as he lined up his last shot and sank the eight ball into the corner pocket with ridiculous ease.

  But on the heels of her amazement was disappointment.

  “You’re way better than I thought.”

  He shrugged, looking from the table to her. —I always win.—

  “Is that a fact?”

  He gestured to the table with a tilt of his head, letting that be his answer.

  She placed her pool stick back on the rack against the wall. “Looks like our fun is over.”

  He caught her hand before she could walk away, and if he were being honest with himself, he didn’t give a shit about whatever secret they’d been playing for. He didn’t want her to walk away.

  There was a shroud of mystery surrounding Winter, and he wanted to figure her out.

  —Drop by the loft tomorrow. Let’s talk.—

  When she smiled, he felt on top of the world.

  Chapter 6

  The loft was huge, far bigger than what she’d initially anticipated, but it had to be, she reasoned, since four dudes were staying there.

  Winter couldn’t imagine what that must be like.

  She knew firsthand how Ollie lived, with pizza boxes and beer bottle strewn everywhere, and if Syn ever stayed any place longer than a week, his would probably be the same.

  That times four?

  Chaos.

  The entire cab ride over—she’d insisted, though Răzvan had offered to drive her himself—she’d thought about it, but more importantly, she thought of all the information she had to go over with him.

  She’d spent the better part of the night creating her own file with every bit of information she could find on Sylvain Reynolds until she was positive she’d found everything they would possibly need.

  By the time she was walking up the back lot toward a secret doorway and keypad set into the wall, she felt confident about the hunt.

  With her skills as a hacker and Răzvan’s work as a … whatever the hell he liked to call himself, it would be a piece of cake.

  Punching in the four-digit code he’d texted her hours ago, she opened the first door then stepped into the freight elevator and rode it up, briefly wondering if his brothers would be here.

  He hadn’t mentioned it, and she hadn’t seen any of the bikes downstairs, but they could still be hanging around.

  She didn’t mind either way, but she was curious what they would be like when they weren’t in the middle of a job—the files never showed that.

  Once the elevator stopped, she was barely inside the loft when a message from Răzvan pinged on her phone.

  Third floor, last door.

  Even as she followed his direction, walking up the metal staircase on the other side of the room, her gaze drifted over the open space.

  From the mismatched furniture to the surprisingly clean kitchen to the television still on with what looked like Call of Duty on pause.

  It was definitely clear that men lived here.

  Light spilled in from the wall of windows, bathing the concrete and metal in bright light until everything practically glowed.

  She’d always loved this about lofts—how open they were and the rustic nature of them.

  “You should probably think about installing another elevator,” she called out once she reached the third floor, drawing in a much-needed breath once her thighs stopped screaming.

  It wouldn’t hurt if she scaled back on the tacos …

  The sound of fists hitting something solid carried to her ears from the open doorway of the room Răzvan had indicated, and she only had to clear it before she knew where the sound had come from.

  Răzvan stood just to the side of a punching bag, his taped fists striking out in quick succession, jostling the bag from side to side.

  It was impressive enough to watch him do that, but it was made all the better considering he was wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts that cut off at his knees, hanging just low enough that she could see the black waistband of the boxer briefs he wore.

  With each punch, the sinewy muscles that made up his arms and back flexed with the movement. Not an ounce of fat covered him anywhere.

  A sheen of sweat covered him, but that did nothing to take away from his appeal—it added to it.

  Răzvan was just raw, unadulterated sex appeal.

  And the part of her brain that had always put Syn at the top of her list of hottest men had quickly found a replacement.

  Clearing her throat to get his attention, she stepped farther into the gym, her gaze skirting around, so she had something, anything, to look at other than him.

  “I didn’t realize you were a southpaw, Răz,” she commented as she drew closer to him. “You’ve got a pretty decent swing too.”

  She tapped his arm for emphasis, not bothering to hide the fact that she was checking him out a little.

  There was just so much to look at, and once he turned to face her, the front was definitely as good as the back, if not better.

  His chest was solid—defined pecs and abs that stood out in stark relief when he exhaled.

  Scars littered his torso—the only thing that marred its perfection, but perfection had always been overrated anyway.

  When she could finally tear her eyes away from his chest and actually look up at him, he gave her that half smile that made her smile in return.

  —I didn’t know you knew what a southpaw was.—

  “I watch a lot of TV. So is boxing how you stay in shape or was this for my benefit? Because, by all means, keep doing what you’re doing. I’m enjoying the show.”

  Răzvan embarrassed easily and seeing that rosy hue in his cheeks darkening a bit as he swiped a hand across his sweaty face only made her smile wider.

  As close as he was standing now, she could practically feel the heat wafting from his big body, and even as sweat rolled off him, she wasn’t put off in the slightest.

  She felt delicate standing next to him, and she loved every second of it.

  Dragged from her thoughts as he jerked his head for her to follow him, they left the gym, but not before he grabbed his discarded T-shirt and two bottles of water from a mini fridge in the corner.

  He led her to another room on the floor, this one requiring a key to open. Without walking in, he flipped the light switch and gestured again for her to go before him.

  A single, white-top table sat in the middle of the floor with a standing lamp beside it. Twin bookshelves filled with various texts from books about coding and programming to others on late philosophers she’d only ever read about in school.

  As her gaze skimmed over them, it didn’t take her long before she realized they were all in alphabetical order.

  Everything about the space was organized, not a single piece of anything out of its proper place. It was almost scary how neat everything was.

  She liked keeping things clean-ish, but this was a bit much even for her.

  “Is this your office?” she asked, her gaze seizing on the table in front of her.

  Scattered across the top of it were hundreds of puzzle pieces, more than she had ever seen in her entire life.

  It was obvious he’d been hard at work on it considering the perimeter was finished and now it was just a matter of filling in the middle, but still. There were a lot of pieces.

  “I didn’t take you for a puzzle man,” she added absently. Though if there was anyone with the patience for it, it’d probably be him.

  She loved them.

  Syn never had the patience for them. Then again, it was hard for him to stay in one place long enough to complete one.

  He pulled out a chair for her before claiming one of his own, gesturing for her to start.

  “You asked me why I’m in New York, so here’s your answer.”

  She laid it all out for him to see, starting with the very same pictures Piston had shown them as well as an article about his murder.

  —What am I looking at?—

 
“His name is Sylvain Richards. Long story short, he thought he was smarter than his clients and stole lots of money. Fast forward, he was killed … painfully, but the money he stole was never recovered.”

  Răzvan’s brows shot up, his interest clearly piqued. —Go on.—

  “His clients weren’t good people by any stretch of the imagination, so if you’re worried about that, you shouldn’t. Anyway, let me backtrack a bit. There were rumors about a ghost account, one that was untraceable.”

  —Was?—

  “Untraceable because we never knew who the account belonged to or where to even find it.”

  —What do you need exactly?—

  “Sylvain never told anyone about where he put the money—only that he confessed to having it.”

  —And you want to steal the money … again.—

  “Precisely.”

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw. —You might not know this, but it’s either all of us or none of us. We don’t work individually.—

  “It’s not a job,” she said quickly, eyeing his expression. “Think of it more like a contest to prove who’s the best.”

  —We already know the answer to that, no?—

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, Răz, but sadly, while I know I could hack it, this particular server can’t be breached remotely.” She touched his hand. “That’s where you come in. I need someone to get me in the building, and I can handle the rest. Who could be better at that than you?”

  He smirked, and it was a good look for him. —Flattery, huh? Tell me, why haven’t you asked Calavera to help you?—

  “Because she’s honeymooning with her husband, and that would be selfish of me to ask her to give that up.”

  —And the other mercenaries?—

  “They’re not as nice to look at as you.”

  —This is the first time I’ve been offered a job because of the way I look.—

  She shrugged. “I played fantasy baseball once and picked all my players based on looks. I think I came third in my league.” His baffled expression only made her laugh. “It’ll be cake, Răz. Just a little B&E and it’ll be over before you know it.”

  —If I agree to do this, you’ll do what I say.—

  “Are you this bossy in all aspects of your life?”

  He didn’t even blink as he ignored her question. —I need to see what you have.—