Shadows & Silence: A Wild Bunch Novel

by London Miller

  Winter tried to pay attention to what she was saying. Honestly, she did, but she was too confused by her choice in food. “Something you want to share with the rest of us?”

  She was lifting a handful of popcorn to her mouth when she paused. “What?”

  “That’s gross.”

  “It’s amazing. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Uh-huh. You sure that’s you that think it’s amazing or maybe someone else? A little someone else.”

  Her expression shifted too fast for Winter to catch what it meant. “Just popcorn.”

  “Right.” Winter glanced at her phone. “How long do you think this ‘talk’ is supposed to last?”

  “Oh, trust me, this could continue for hours, but Răz will probably have it wrapped it up soon. You know he has little patience.”

  Yeah. Yeah, she did.

  The last time they’d gone off together, she’d worried every minute they were gone. It wasn’t as if they had the best track record when they were alone together, but this time, Răzvan had promised to keep it civil.

  She trusted he would … but anything could happen with the mercenaries and The Wild Bunch.

  “I hope he isn’t—”

  The sudden whirring of the elevator shut her up.

  At worse, there would only be bloody lips, maybe a couple of bruises, but as they all stepped into the loft, she was pleasantly surprised to find everyone uninjured.

  Răzvan’s eyes found her immediately before they shifted to Syn, but for once, Syn wasn’t the first thing in a room she noticed.

  Smiling, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, and went up on the very tips of her toes to kiss him.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Syn mumbled, sounding annoyed. “This has been fun, but it’s time for me to go.”

  “It’s usually you telling me to stay out of trouble, isn’t it?” Winter asked, trying to inject some humor in her voice as she looked over at him.

  Saying goodbye was never easy.

  It was never truly goodbye, not when she knew she would see him again, but there was something decidedly different about this time than the others.

  She wasn’t even sure how to adequately to describe it.

  Syn wasn’t dying, and he would be just as far away as he usually was, but a piece of her was afraid of the moment when he climbed in his car and disappeared.

  “Because you’re a little troublemaker, and we both know it.”

  Winter stepped out of Răzvan’s embrace, ready to walk Syn out, but glanced back at the last minute, catching his slight nod of approval.

  He understood.

  Neither spoke, not until they were outside, and Syn was digging out his pack of cigarettes and shaking one loose.

  “Are you sure he’s the one?” he asked after a while.

  “More than that, I don’t think I would be happier with anyone else.”

  “That’s all I ever wanted, you know. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”

  “You have. Where the hell would I be without you?”

  He opened his mouth as if he wanted to respond, but no words came out. “If he doesn’t do everything he’s supposed to, you know I’m just a ring away.”

  She laughed even as her chest felt tight. “I know.”

  “You’re also going to miss me when I’m gone,” he whispered with a wry sort of smile before he kissed her forehead.

  “Of course, I will. I always do. Besides, who else is going to keep you in line?”

  “Don’t worry about me, little miss. I’ll be fine.”

  “Syn—”

  “Look at me,” he said, turning her head. “It’s probably time you stopped worrying about me, yeah?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about you, Syn.”

  Even now, she wondered where he would go—who he would call when he stood on the precipice.

  “Be easy, Winter.” He tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, his gaze following the movement. “I’ll love you most in this world, always.”

  Emotion clogged in her throat. “Don’t say that, Syn.”

  “I’ll always be honest with you, even when you don’t want to hear it.”

  She bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying anything more as he started off down to the gate.

  In his all black clothes and boots, it was like watching a part of herself walking away.

  But she couldn’t leave from the spot where she stood, not until he disappeared around the corner and out of view.

  That was usually the way of it—he swept into town and back out before he could get too comfortable.

  A wraith.

  Răzvan was the eye of the storm—the calm after so much damage.

  Syn was the fucking storm—a hurricane she had wanted to tame but didn’t know how.

  For the longest time, she’d thought she could fix him; that his demons would be gone if he’d just let her try to quiet them.

  But it wasn’t her job to fix him.

  Not anymore.

  Răzvan was waiting for her when she made it back upstairs. —Okay?—

  “I’m okay.”

  She would never, for as long as she lived, get tired of that smile on his face.

  “We should discuss our honeymoon. I’m thinking somewhere warm.”

  —Wherever you want, Îngeraș.—

  It was official

  She was keeping him.

  Epilogue

  Heaving a sigh, Winter donned her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the early morning sunlight and wondered whether her life could get any better than this.

  Saltwater scented the air, waves lapped at the shore, and the smell of grilled fish made her smile as she rolled over on the towel stretched out beneath her.

  With this kind of weather, she was seriously starting to rethink her move to New York. She used to find inspiration in the gloom, but the city was too busy, and there was nothing quite like the sunny weather she was currently enjoying.

  Or rather, they were enjoying.

  Vacation looked good on Răzvan.

  From the shade of her oversized umbrella—she was far too pale to tan—she watched Răzvan walking back toward her, his ever-present scowl still on his face even as he carried two drinks in his big hands, though they couldn’t help taking second glance once he’d passed.

  She definitely understood why.

  After taking half an hour to convince him he couldn’t wear military boots and jeans to the beach, she’d finally talked him into wearing the gift she’d bought him for their trip—bright blue swim shorts with even brighter flamingos printed all over them.

  Anyone else might have looked ridiculous in them, but of course, Răzvan managed to pull them off.

  “You should totally wear these all the time,” she said as he dropped down beside her with far more grace than anyone his size should have managed, giving her the chance to run her fingertips over the scrunched waistband of his shorts. “If you can’t scare people to death, you could seduce them.”

  He dropped down beside her on the sand. —I’m only trying to seduce you.—

  “Oh please, you’ve already done that, or did you forget last night?”

  She’d always told herself she’d never do anal … but Răzvan had a way of talking her into things.

  Once he was within reach, she traced her fingers through his damp hair, the strands tickling the palms of her hands.

  After weeks of letting the thick, dark strands grow out, his hair was falling in his eyes when he let it. He still stiffened if anyone’s hand went near his head, but gradually, he was starting to let the hold the orphanage had over him go.

  His smile grew a little wider. —I’ll never forget last night.—

  Before she could respond, though, a distinct buzzing ended their moment.

  “You’re not answering that,” she warned him even as he pulled out his phone. “We’re on vacation.”

  But even as she spoke, she knew they
didn’t have much of a choice. They both had to answer to someone.

  Resigning herself to this fact, she arched a brow and asked, “Nix?”

  He shook his head. —Kingmaker.—

  Months had passed since her last job with the Den, and even longer since she’d last seen the man who manipulated lives for a living.

  It really shouldn’t have surprised her that he had Răzvan’s number, especially when he could have just reached her directly, but there was a method to his madness.

  And if he was going this route, there was a reason behind it.

  Winter barely had the phone to her ear before he started speaking. “I trust Barbados is treating you well.”

  “Can’t really complain,” she hedged. “Sun, surf, and quiet.”

  “Three days from now, I expect you back here in New York. There’s work to be done.”

  “Three days?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  The Kingmaker might have been unnecessarily attractive and had a tendency not to drive her as crazy as he did the mercenaries, but he could be terrifying if he didn’t get what he wanted.

  “Aye, aye captain. I’ll be there.”

  “And bring the Romanians. I may have use of them.”

  He hung up without another word, leaving her staring down at the device in her hand wondering just what the hell he was up to.

  —Everything okay?—

  “I don’t know.”

  Not yet.

  But knowing The Kingmaker, things definitely weren’t going to be okay.

  “We have three days to enjoy this before we have to report for duty,” she said as she tossed her phone in the sand. “We should make the most of it.”

  Răzvan studied her for a long while before he was leaning across the sand and kissing the breath out of her.

  —Then let’s make the most of it.—

  A burst of laughter left her as he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her down to the water.

  She couldn’t have asked for anyone who fit her better than he did.

  This was it—the good life.

  Crooks & Kings

  Read Fang’s story in Crooks & Kings, available now!

  Crooks & Kings: A Wild Bunch Novel

  Turn the page for Sneak Peek

  Prologue

  Christophe Lupei knew what it felt like to be helpless.

  The feeling threaded through his every thought when he’d been back at the orphanage and under the care of a tyrant. It swam in his veins like a dark promise he couldn’t ignore. But he’d fought those demons. Overcame them.

  He hadn’t felt this kind of weakness again … until now.

  How quickly he was snapped back to the past when his back was against the wall, and he had to fight his way out. No, he needed to fight his way out because someone was relying on him.

  Someone who meant the world to him.

  As he stood there, the barrel of his rifle pointed at the man on his knees before him, he focused on one thing—one person.

  Aidra.

  Aidra.

  Aidra.

  Her name whispered over and over inside his head, maddening him, goading him to finish this at his own speed instead of waiting as was his protocol.

  Christophe had never cared for politics and the dramas it involved. The politician begging for his life meant nothing to him, nor did he give a shit what the man could give him for sparing his life.

  He had to die for Aidra to live.

  Simple as that.

  But this wasn’t his kill, or his call, to make.

  He had to wait for the two men seated in plush wingback chairs to finish asking their questions.

  They were brothers on opposite sides of the underworld. One was known only as The Kingmaker, a fixer of unparalleled abilities—he was capable of starting and ending wars, all for a price.

  The other brother, however, was a former assassin, and the man who’d single-handedly cut through at least thirty men to free Christophe and so many others from a place he wished he could forget.

  Nix, his name was.

  The Facilitator.

  And his handler.

  Every second of the seven and a half minutes he stood there, he saw the conversation going on around him, but he didn’t hear a word.

  He couldn’t focus.

  He couldn’t think.

  His finger slipping around the trigger of his rifle, Christophe considered pulling it, knowing the moment he did, the hot lead would tear its way through the man’s skull, and he’d be dead before he hit the ground.

  “I’m a man of my word,” The Kingmaker said, drawing Christophe from his thoughts. “I won’t kill you this evening.”

  The man, whatever the fuck his name was, didn’t have a chance to even sigh in relief before Nix aimed and fired.

  Not even two minutes later, Nix’s phone rang.

  Blood rushed in his ears, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Frozen in place, Christophe waited on bated breath until finally, Nix was ending the call and looking at him.

  “Thirty-two fifty-one Adame Street. Go, and don’t hesitate to cut through anyone in your way.”

  He didn’t have to be told twice, nor did his brothers who were right at his heels the second he bolted from the room.

  Once he was on his motorcycle with the address plugged into GPS, he took off without looking back.

  “Slow down,” Aidra would have said if she was with him, her arms squeezing tight around his middle, “or you’ll crash and kill us both.”

  She’d always hated when he drove recklessly, and even now, as he raced to save her life, she would probably be more concerned about him wiping out than the fact he was going well over a hundred miles an hour trying to get to her.

  But Christophe didn’t care.

  He just wanted to make sure he could get there in time so she could yell at him about being reckless with his own life.

  He needed to get to her.

  A robotic voice droned in his ear, spouting directions for the warehouse he was heading toward. It would have been a twenty-minute drive, he was sure.

  Christophe made it in seven.

  Squeezing the brake hard, it sent his bike skidding across the pavement, but even as he laid it down with little care to its paint, he was taking off across the parking lot, running faster than he ever had in his life.

  His brothers were close behind, their booted feet echoing off the ground as they dashed after him, but his gaze focused straight ahead, only thinking about what he would find on the other side of the locked door.

  Pulling the gun from its holster at his waist, Christophe fired, rearing back to send his booted foot against the door.

  A crash sounded then a curse followed as a man ran out a back door, just a blur at the edge of his vision, but he didn’t direct his attention to the runner.

  Rather to the tank set up in the middle of the floor.

  Aidra …

  Her hands and ankles were bound, but her eyes were wide with panic as the water feeding into the tank was nearing the top of her head.

  “I’m going to get you out!” he said—he promised.

  If it was the last fucking thing he did.

  Christophe scrambled forward, trying to find the opening, but the latch was impossible to open, no matter how he twisted and pulled—and finally, losing his patience, he shot the fucking thing.

  Nothing.

  The bullets only embedded themselves in the metal but nothing more.

  Tăcut, who was only a foot away, tried to shoot at the glass, but besides a vague scuff where the bullet struck, the glass held.

  They’d made a tank of reinforced glass.

  If possible, the panic only grew in Aidra’s eyes, mirroring what he felt.

  He needed to think.

  He needed to think.

  He needed to think.

  Nothing was ever truly bulletproof. If you shot it enough, its integrity would start to fail, and eventually
, it would break.

  That was easy—there was enough ammunition between the two of them that by the time they were done, there would be nothing left but dust.

  He could get her out.

  He would get her out, but even as hope filled him, time wasn’t on his side. The water was already above her head.

  Three minutes …

  He had three minutes to get her out before she drowned.

  Christophe fired until his gun clicked, until the center of the glass was opaque, and he could no longer see Aidra’s face, but he did see the rest of her—the way her legs had stopped flailing and her arms had gone limp.

  The panic and acute pain filling his chest were nearly too much. Too real.

  She wouldn’t die. She couldn’t.

  Not like this.

  Not when he was right there and could save her.

  One minute, Tăcut was beside him, and the next, the man was gone, only to return seconds later with a sledgehammer from a nearby workbench, and with every bit of strength he possessed, he sent it flying against the glass.

  One hit.

  Another.

  Another.

  Until finally, finally the glass front shattered and water gushed out, nearly taking them off their feet, but Christophe stood fast.

  “Aidra!” he shouted, even as he pulled her from the tank, ignoring the feel of her clammy skin as he laid her flat, shoving the strands of her hair back from her face.

  Stacking his hands on her chest, he pressed, trying to force the water from her lungs. Rearing up, he opened her mouth, blowing in air before he repeated it all again.

  He didn’t stop, even as his arms cramped, even as he felt one of her ribs crack under the pressure.

  But she never uttered a sound.

  He knew.

  He knew, but he didn’t stop.

  She didn’t deserve this—not Aidra. She was too kind, too giving, too sweet—too much of what was good about him to be taken from the world as violently as she was.

  Gut-wrenching screams echoed all around him, the noise nearly splitting his head open, and the only thing he wanted at that moment was for it to fucking stop.

  But as he cradled her in his arms, holding her tight against him, he realized the screams were coming from him.