Shadows & Silence: A Wild Bunch Novel

by London Miller

  —No … it wasn’t. It’s a long story, though.—

  He held up his hands almost apologetically, and she hated that. And if she didn’t already know that the professor was dead and in the ground courtesy of Nix, she would have tracked him down herself.

  “You must have forgotten,” she said as she got to her feet and walked over to him. “I’m an amazing listener, and whether you sign for twenty minutes or three hours, I’ll be right here, still listening.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his hand before he could respond, pulling him from the chair and over to the bed where she pushed him down onto it then straddled his lap. “So tell me a story about you and your brothers. Oh! And Sebastian. You never talk about him. There must be at least one good memory from that orphanage.”

  His face softened, but it always did when he looked at her. His expression was always so hard, so formidable when it was anyone else, but when he looked at her, she felt like the most important person in the world.

  —One. There was one.—

  She nodded her head eagerly. “Regale me.”

  Months had passed since Răzvan lost his voice, and he was sure, in all that time, he had yet to smile.

  It wasn’t because he didn’t want to.

  Since he’d woken up unable to do anything but silently scream, the other boys in the home treated him kinder.

  No one picked on him.

  Or tried to take what little food was given to him.

  Nor did they call him names anymore.

  Except one.

  Tăcut.

  Silent.

  Voiceless.

  The nickname hurt at first—a reminder that he was different from everyone else. That he would never be the same.

  But it was Sebastian who told him about the power in a name.

  “Are you moping again?” Sebastian asked as he came toward him, holding a torn-off piece of bread in his hand. He might have been the professor’s son, but he was treated as badly, if not worse, than they all were.

  His home was as much of a prison to him as it was to them.

  Răzvan opened his mouth to speak, quickly forgetting that he no longer possessed the ability. Still as pathetic and broken as he’s always been.

  Unable to answer, he merely shook his head.

  Even if he was sitting there feeling sorry for himself.

  “My father?” he asked.

  Răzvan shook his head once more.

  “Our brothers?”

  In their time there, they’d both grown closer to three of the other boys—brothers, they all called themselves. If they had no one else, they had each other.

  But it wasn’t Fang or Nicu or Vali that bothered him.

  They were the nicest besides Sebastian.

  “One of the others then?” he guessed. “Your new name?”

  This time, Răzvan nodded.

  “You shouldn’t let it bother you,” he said, tearing off a piece of his bread to share with him. “I’d love to have a nickname. Something terrifying, though. Maybe Canis mesomelas? What do you think?”

  Sometimes, he forgot how smart Sebastian was, and that at one point, he had been his father’s pupil. He always talked funny that way, casually using words Răzvan didn’t know the meaning of.

  For the first time in days, Răzvan found himself smiling even as he shook his head at the terrible name.

  It was a mouthful.

  Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder. “Words can have a lot of power—just don’t let them have power over you. Now, how about we exercise our own power and show them the real meaning of tăcut.”

  Forgetting all about his desire to stay in front of the window—waiting and hoping—Răzvan shuffled to his feet, following behind Sebastian as he navigated them through the many hallways until they reached a secret door that led to a pathway to the other side of the building.

  He’d long since stopped being surprised by what he saw when he went on journeys with Sebastian.

  He had a tendency to disappear and reappear like a ghost, and very few knew how he was able to accomplish it.

  “Remember, Răzvan,” Sebastian whispered as they neared the other side, voices carrying from the other side of the door. “You’re small, so use that to your advantage.”

  Elbows, he thought. Fang too had always told him to use his elbows.

  “Wait, his idea of getting back at them involved violence?” Winter asked, interrupting. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  —Why is that funny?—

  “Because somehow your version of a feel-good story still has some sort of bloodshed. You need to work on that, Răz.”

  —What? It was a good memory. That was what you asked for.—

  And judging from the adorably lopsided grin on his face, he had gotten his revenge.

  “If you never liked the name, then why did you keep it?”

  —It was meant to mock me, so I turned it into something that empowered me.—

  Silence was deadly after all.

  “I think I would have liked Sebastian. He sounds like he would have been nice.”

  He smiled a gentle smile before pulling her down for a kiss that made her sigh against his lips.

  —Thank you.—

  “For what?”

  —Distracting me.—

  “If you want, I can distract you in another way.”

  The offer barely left her lips before he was yanking at the button of her jeans, melancholy briefly forgotten.

  The thing about secrets?

  They always came out eventually, and if the keeper of it wasn’t the one to share it, it never ended well.

  Răzvan wasn’t around when it happened—when Winter had mistakenly told Mariya about Aidra, a secret she hadn’t known to keep—but he saw it now written all over her face.

  She looked years younger when she was apologetic, and that made his desire to protect her flare up. “I didn’t know she didn’t know.”

  Răzvan shook his head, turning her face so she was looking at him. —Don’t blame yourself for that. Fang needs to fix his own shit.—

  And he did.

  This went beyond anything that Winter might have done, but it wasn’t something she would understand. He would talk to Fang, and hash this out so he wouldn’t continue making an ass out of himself.

  “I don’t think I said thank you for this, though,” she said, the first real trace of a smile on her face.

  He finished soldering another bit of metal, dropping his tools onto the table. —Don’t thank me for this.—

  He’d give her the world if she wanted it.

  A throat cleared behind them, and though he was content to ignore whoever it was, Winter looked back.

  He could tell just from the flush in her cheeks who it was before Fang ever spoke.

  “Is now a good time for you?”

  Winter’s gaze dropped to the floor a moment before she looked back at Răzvan. “I’m going to go.”

  He was ready to tell her she didn’t have to leave even as he frowned over at Fang and the annoyed tone he was using.

  But before he could, Fang spoke. “Do me a favor when you go out there, yes? If you get that impulse to spill what isn’t yours to share, don’t.”

  Răzvan didn’t think before he was lurching off that stool, a haze of red falling over him, but as fast as he moved, Winter moved faster, her fingers wrapping around his arm and pulling before he could even take a full step.

  “I’m only sorry because she obviously cares for you—though I can’t see why,” Winter said tightly, “and it was probably not something she wanted to be sprung on her. But thanks for reminding me why I prefer the Den to you.”

  She glanced back at Răzvan as she grabbed her bag, whispering an apology before heading for the door, stepping well around Fang as she did.

  He knew she hadn’t wanted him to do anything to Fang because of her, but the second she was out of sight, Răzvan started across the floor, his fingers balling into a fist and before F
ang could even think of blocking him, he swung, putting enough power behind the hit to let him know he wasn’t fucking around.

  Fang’s head snapped to the side. “Jesus fuck.”

  Răzvan didn’t swing again, nor did he move as he waited for Fang to right himself, and only when he had his attention again did he sign, —Talk to her like that again, and I’ll break your fucking jaw.—

  “I said what I said. I’ve got enough shit to deal with without you lot getting in the middle of it—especially someone I don’t know or trust.”

  —Then stop acting like a fucking coward.—

  “That’s bullshit,” Fang spat back at him. “Whether I told Mariya today or six months from now, it was still supposed to be me who told her, not your new pet.”

  He was goading him, itching for a fight, but Răzvan wasn’t going to be the one to give it to him. Whether he wanted to listen or not, the man needed to get his shit together and stop trying to escape his fucking problems.

  —The way I see it, we’re knee-deep in the middle of your shit because you asked us to be, or are we not taking on the fucking Russian mafiya because you asked us here?—

  Fang rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, cleaning off a spot of blood. “I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

  Răzvan rolled his eyes, a soundless breath leaving him. —How the fuck was she, or any of us, supposed to know you hadn’t mentioned Aidra at all in the six months you’ve been gone? It was six fucking months, Fang. You do understand you brought her to our home?—

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding tired. “I got that.”

  Răzvan doubted he was upset he’d brought Mariya here, rather that he finally had to face what he’d been running from in the first place.

  —What’s there to hide? Tell her the truth, purge it, and move on. It’s time.—

  “Yeah,” Fang agreed. “I know that too.”

  Nodding, Răzvan took a step back. —And you’re going to apologize to Winter, or I’m kicking your ass.—

  Fang glanced at the door. “So that’s really a thing? You and the hacker?”

  —If it is?—

  Some of the tension drained out of Fang’s shoulders as a smile curled his lips. “You’re gonna have it worse than I did with Aidra. I only had Nix on my back—you’ll have an entire fucking network of mercenaries.”

  Yeah, he didn’t doubt it.

  But he also didn’t give a shit.

  Winter was his, and he didn’t give a shit what anyone else had to say about it.

  After the run-in with Fang, Winter steered clear of him and everyone else really.

  Her day was spent brushing up on some coding, then ultimately venturing back into Răzvan’s office to see the laptop he’d surprised her with.

  No one—no one had ever given her a more thoughtful gift.

  Especially when it wasn’t one he’d bought at a store and handed to her without much thought.

  No, he’d spent time on this, and since she knew how to build one, she knew how long it took to make one of these.

  She knew she liked Răzvan—it was impossible not to—but the feeling that curled in her stomach the moment he nodded toward it and said it was for her … indescribable.

  At some point later, they’d ventured into his room, and she’d fallen asleep.

  Winter blinked now as she came awake, not quite sure what had pulled her from her sleep, but as the arm around her waist squeezed tight enough that she actually winced, she realized what it was.

  Răzvan.

  As gently as she could, she pulled away from him, looking over at him. It only took a single glance to see that he was still fast asleep, but instead of the serene look she’d seen on his face many times before, now he looked pained.

  Worse, he didn’t seem to stir at all as she moved on the bed. Odd, considering the slightest movement could wake him usually.

  “Răz?”

  He didn’t stir—not when she called his name, or even when she reached out and lightly touched his arm.

  But his expression turned pained, a tremor running through him.

  “Răz, wake up. You’re having a night—”

  His arm shot out, but she scrambled back with a yelp, narrowly missing getting hit before tumbling to the floor.

  The pain in her side didn’t matter, or that her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest. She was more concerned with Răzvan.

  She stumbled to her feet, ready to try again, but before she could, she saw him—saw him—and a lump formed in her throat.

  Screaming.

  He was screaming.

  Muscles straining in his neck, his hands balled into fists at his sides, he looked like he was being tortured.

  Yet not a sound came out, and that was most heartbreaking of all.

  “Răz—”

  “Winter.”

  She spun around in a flurry, not having heard Invictus enter the room.

  He barely spared Răzvan a glance before he had her arm and walked her out of the room.

  “Easy,” he said, taking a step back from her, just out of reach.

  “But—”

  Invictus looked unsure for a moment, rocking back on his heels. “We can … discuss it.”

  He gestured for her to follow him down the hall, starting off without waiting to see if she would follow.

  She took one last glance back at Răzvan and forced herself to walk away.

  “He won’t remember it in the morning,” Invictus said, pulling a pair of glasses from the cabinet and filling them both.

  “And you all what? Don’t say anything?”

  There were two things she was starting to realize about Invictus.

  The man didn’t show emotion.

  His expression never changed from the one he’d worn when he’d walked her out of the bedroom even as he spoke on a subject that had to be hard.

  And second, he was far calmer about all this than he should have been.

  But now that she thought about it, she didn’t think she had ever seen him lose his cool about anything.

  It was almost as if he didn’t react to stimuli.

  “What’s there to say?” he asked. “It’s not like he can change it. He doesn’t even remember it.”

  That only made her heart sink in her chest. “So he suffers alone?”

  His gaze cut to her, unblinking. “No one likes an audience for their torment. Trust me, I’d know.”

  That quickly, she was reminded of where they had come from and the horrors they’d faced there.

  It was one thing to hear about it, but it was completely different to witness it.

  “Is that what he’s dreaming about? That orphanage?”

  “The nightmares don’t stop just because the horror ends.”

  A lump formed in her throat at his words.

  Răzvan hadn’t deserved what was done to him—none of them did. They had only been children, and the thought of them as little boys having to survive the horrors—horrors she still didn’t really know about—made tears well in her eyes.

  “What was he doing?”

  “Pardon?” Winter glanced at him, not understanding the question.

  “When you were in there with him, what was he doing?”

  She tried to think back before his scream had made her lurch for him and Invictus entered the room. “His head. He was rubbing his head, I think. Does that mean something?”

  Invictus seemed to consider his words before he answered. “Răz doesn’t keep his head shaved because he likes it like that—maybe he does now, but that wasn’t the reason he initially cut his hair.”

  Winter knew with every fiber of her being that whatever he said next, she wasn’t going to like it.

  “Tell me.”

  Invictus took a sip of his vodka. “His hair used to be as long as Than’s. They both had it when they first came to the orphanage, but the professor … he didn’t like long hair on boys. It softened them, he said. So he and his fucking gu
ards would torment them—yank them by their hair, drag them by it. It got to the point when some of the other boys would join in and torment them too.”

  Invictus’ eyes were distant as he kept on as if he was back there in Romania in a place he wished he could escape. “There was one boy—I can’t remember his fucking name—he’d pull their hair so hard he’d yank bloody strands free. Since then, Răz has kept his head shaved. There was nothing to pull on after that.”

  The sound of something thumping against the wall made her jolt, her hand flying to cover her mouth to contain the sob threatening to come out.

  God, the feeling in her chest was almost too much, and no matter how she shook her head and tried to force them back, the tears still came.

  If this was what she was feeling just knowing what he had suffered, she could only imagine how it must have felt to live it.

  It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t remember this in the morning, not when his body remembered for him.

  “Easy there,” Invictus whispered, actually reaching out to brush her tears away. “I’ve never done well with females crying.”

  “I’m sorry you guys suffered,” she whispered back, swiping a hand under her eyes. “So sorry.”

  “Everything happens for a reason.” Invictus shrugged when she looked at him as if he were crazy. “If we hadn’t been at the orphanage, we would have never met Nix that night. Had we not met Nix, we wouldn’t be here right now with you apologizing for wrongs you didn’t commit. Sometimes you have to hurt a little before you can get the good.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “Than’s optimism is rubbing off on me.”

  Speaking of Thanatos … “Why didn’t he cut his hair? Did the boy stop after Răz cut his?”

  “Oh no, he would have kept going until the end of fucking time if he could.”

  “So why’d he stopped?”

  Invictus tossed back the last of his drink, and without even a little inflection to his words, he said, “I tried to cut off his fucking hands. The rusted spoon failed me before I could get through one of his wrists, though.”

  She didn’t know whether to be horrified by his confession or proud.

  “That’s … wow.”