Synek didn’t often get uncomfortable, but the idea of answering that question had him scrubbing a hand over his face and wishing the reality wasn’t so ugly. But even if the truth was something she probably didn’t want to hear, he’d tell her anyway. “My flat.”
Iris did her best to hide her surprise, but he had always been good at seeing what others didn’t mean for him to. A talent he both loved and hated at times.
“Had you just moved in?” she asked, referring to the first time he’d brought her here.
If he hadn’t been worried back then that she would run the first chance she got, he wouldn’t have brought her inside—at least then she wouldn’t remember this place and all it said about him.
He’d never explained that he owned it that first time, that this was his space, and he didn’t own anything like the brownstone they were currently squatting in.
Was that something she wanted?
He hadn’t been considering anything outside of the weeks they spent together.
It was all about living in the moment.
Chasing down a problem and putting an end to it before they moved onto the next.
He only knew he wanted her, and the rest was secondary.
Synek cleared his throat as he stepped around her. “I bought it a few years ago. I don’t visit often,” he explained, already making excuses for himself, “but when I do, this is enough for me.”
She frowned as she eyed his couch, and he could guess what she was thinking. “That’s not true. You at least deserve a pillow.”
The tension he hadn’t known had crept in and locked up his shoulders slipped away again. “Is that all?”
“Maybe a little paint but nothing we can’t fix.”
Iris didn’t mention the shit neighborhood or the small size of it. She accepted it as it was.
He couldn’t ask for anyone better than her. “Come on.”
Synek walked into the back bedroom, flipping the switch on the wall before heading for the closed closet door. Identical in color to the one sitting out in the living room, a trunk sat on a shelf, this one far larger than the other.
He set it on the floor, running his hand over the smooth leather before typing in the four-digit code on the security lock and opening the top.
His own personal armory.
Even as scarcely as his apartment was decorated, he had a number of hidden weapons at his disposal.
But nothing like this. This case had all his favorites.
“I think I underestimated your love for knives,” Iris said with a hint of a smile in her voice as she looked over his shoulder at the contents
Rows of them were inside—from pocket knives to industrial-size blades meant for one thing and one thing only. His collection wasn’t full of shiny new toys that only the best money could buy.
Pilfered and curated over the course of ten years in this business, each and every one of them had been tried and proven effective.
These were his favorites.
His babies.
“Be gentle,” he said as she crouched beside him and plucked one out of the box, not missing the way she rolled her eyes at him.
But he didn’t have to tell her to be careful. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to wield a knife properly—which was what had gotten his attention in the very beginning. And how mental did it make him that he found it sexy that she could handle that knife as well as she did?
“Was that concern for your knife or me?” she asked, looking from it to him, then handing it back.
“Depends on which answer gets me into your knickers later.”
“Then I guess you’d better pick the right choice.”
Cheeky. “If you’re done,” he said, closing the case and grabbing the handle, “we have somewhere we need to be.”
“Right. Are you going to tell me where?” she asked.
For what he had planned, the surprise would be better. He hadn’t known what to expect from her visit with her father, but her tears never factored into it. He hadn’t predicted when he would get around to sharing what he had done but now was as good of a time as any.
Once they left his apartment, Iris relaxed back into the passenger seat of the car, anticipating the left turn Synek would make to take them back to the brownstone, but instead, he kept forward, taking them out of the city and toward the warehouse district.
Synek drove them down a street lined with a mixture of abandoned warehouses. Some were in various states of decay, but a few were still open and running, workers walking in and out of the buildings.
“Where are we going?” she asked, turning her gaze from the view out the window to him.
Synek tried to hide it, but it was hard to miss that little flicker of a smile on his face, the way the expression lit a fire in his eyes. Even if he hadn’t meant to, that told her everything she needed to know. Wherever they were going, whoever was waiting on the other end wouldn’t be happy to see them.
Now she tried a different approach. “Who’s left for you to torture?”
Running through a quick mental list in her head, she crossed out names as she went.
His enemies within the Wraiths were either dead or wishing they were, and the ones he let live were now under new management and no longer a threat. Unless one or both of his biological brothers were strung up in one of these warehouses here, she wasn’t sure just who they were going to see.
It couldn’t be the governor, though a part of her didn’t mind the idea of him being Synek’s victim, but she was sure if Synek had snatched him, his face would have been all over the morning news, and she would have known by now.
Someone else …
“I thought you liked surprises?” Synek asked, glancing over at her before turning into a gated entry.
A four-digit code and a press of his thumb later, the gate swung open and he drove them through and around to the back of the building where he parked alongside a row of identical black panel vans.
Iris did like surprises. She loved them. But she could never be sure of the kinds of surprises he liked to offer. It could be him making her pancakes in the morning when she hadn’t even known he knew how to cook, or the way he got starry-eyed when he demonstrated how well he knew his way around a knife.
It was a toss-up where he was concerned.
She stepped out of the car after Synek had already snapped off his seat belt and climbed out ahead of her, trying to conceal the curiosity she felt as she followed him into the building, her expression morphing to alarm as he started to whistle a jaunty tune.
Definitely murder.
Synek was rarely this happy unless he was inflicting pain on someone or figuring out new and creative ways to get her out of her clothes.
It also became clear as they ventured down the dimly lit hallway that the Den owned this warehouse—she could see it in the design setup of the space and the technology built into everything around them.
Maybe it was just mercenary work …
Wet work as he liked to call it.
“You know, if this is some elaborate way for you—”
In the span of a heartbeat, Iris forgot what she was about to say. In that time, she came face to face with a man she thought she would never get the pleasure of seeing again.
A very bruised and bloody Ernest Rockly.
As long as she lived, she didn’t think she would ever forget the smug arrogance on his face when the jury came back and found him not guilty of murder.
He wasn’t strapped to a chair with zip ties around his wrists and ankles to prevent him from moving. Instead, he hung from a hook in the ceiling with a blindfold over his eyes and a dirty cloth stuffed inside his mouth.
Ernest was unconscious, which explained why he wasn’t screaming bloody murder even with the gag in his mouth, but when Synek closed the heavy steel door behind them, she didn’t doubt if the man had screamed, no one would have heard him.
“Syn, what did you do?”
No, that wasn’t quite the right question.<
br />
She could see what he had done. A better question to ask was how had he managed this without her knowing? She wasn’t by his side at all times, but she did, for all intents and purposes, live with him. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed him keeping something from her.
Besides, Ernest Rockly wasn’t an easy man to find.
Though he’d been a free man after his trial, Ernest had all but disappeared. Not that it had been easy for her to keep tabs on him when she had been a teenager at the time and practically homeless, but even years later when she had access to the resources needed to track him, she still couldn’t find him anywhere.
He might as well have been a ghost.
Yet here he was.
“No one’s going to be looking for him. Where he was hiding in Mexico … people go missing there every day.”
“How did you find him?” she asked, stepping back. “When did you find him?”
“Give Winter enough information, and she can find anyone.”
Iris didn’t doubt that.
Even if they didn’t necessarily see eye to eye on certain things, she knew Winter was formidable with a keyboard in front of her.
Synek grabbed a chair from across the room and hauled it over, patting the seat for her to sit as he moved closer to Ernest’s limp form. She sunk into it without question, her eyes glued to him as he dropped his bag onto the floor and unzipped it, pulling out a wrapped bundle from inside.
She knew, without having to actually see it, what was inside.
His collection of knives was extensive.
“To answer your other question, I found him about a week ago.”
“When did you even have a chance to fly down to Mexico and extract him?”
Even as he straightened to his full height, Iris was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact he had managed this without ever tipping his hand. Moreover, she couldn’t believe the timing of it.
“Had a little help,” he answered with a shrug, pulling off his leather jacket as he did so. “But none of that’s important, is it? The important bit is that he’s here.”
Synek stretched his arms above his head, going up onto the balls of his feet and lingering there for long moments before righting himself again. He was stretching. As if the depravity he was about to inflict on this man was a sport he was excited to play.
Strung up before her was a man she had always thought she would want to hurt the moment she laid eyes on him, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off the other man in the room.
Her man.
He’d once told her she had a black heart just as depraved as his, yet she hadn’t wanted to believe it. But now as she watched Synek move closer to his captive, Iris no longer doubted what he saw in her.
She wasn’t disgusted by what he was about to do.
She was looking forward to it.
Synek first pulled the blindfold off the man’s face, then double checked the hook that held him aloft. Once he was satisfied, he slapped the man hard enough to wake him up with two raps to his back.
“Rise and shine, mate. We’ve got a lot to discuss, you and I.”
Ernest came awake violently, his head swinging around as he tried to get his bearings. His eyes were wide and frantic, not staying on any one thing for longer than a couple of seconds.
His eyes seemed to widen even further as he settled on Synek’s smiling face. He looked as if all the air in the room had disappeared.
It was almost too easy for Synek to strike fear in others.
He hadn’t spoken a word yet, nor did he actually have any visible weapon in his hands, but that didn’t matter. Not when he could turn the simplest object into something deadly.
“Thought it’d be nice if you had a little chat with the missus,” Synek said as he turned the man bodily until he faced her.
While he was busy yanking the cloth from Ernest’s mouth, Iris marveled at the sight that Synek made. She had seen his work before, in a file and in person, but nothing quite like this. It wasn’t eagerness, she didn’t think. She doubted it was excitement for the upcoming torture that had him almost vibrating with energy.
Especially not when his gaze caught hers in the next second.
No, he didn’t care at all about the man he had strung up.
This was about her. For her.
Finally getting the cloth free, Synek tossed it away and turned his attention back to Ernest. “Speak.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Synek shook his head, walking around until he was standing in front of Ernest and the man had no choice but to meet his eye. “I want to know about the man who helped you beat a murder charge.”
Ernest might have always led a life of crime, but his arrests had all been for low-level offenses. Drugs, a couple of domestic violence incidents, and a number of other petty things that showed he was more of a nuisance than anything else.
Until he’d been brought up on murder.
The evidence was there as well as enough cooperating witnesses to guarantee his conviction, yet he had been found not guilty of the crime.
His laughter came sudden and sharp, his disinterest in Synek as fake as the blooming smile on his face. “I don’t have to tell you shit.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Worse, Synek didn’t suddenly lash out. He didn’t punch the man in the face and demand he tell them everything he knew. Instead, he canted his head to the side and stared at the man without blinking.
He stayed that way for so long, even Iris glanced over at him to see what he would do next. At first, she thought it was because he was giving the man a chance to change his answer, but that wasn’t it at all.
He was deciding on a weapon.
Had she not been paying such rapt attention to him, Iris might have missed the blade he dropped into his palm, or the moment when he lashed out and all she saw was a streak before Ernest let out a scream so loud even she winced.
But as quickly as he was using a knife to carve his skin to shreds, he tossed it aside before using his fists. Each hit came one after the other, precisely aimed, and each place his fist struck left a red mark in its place.
“Syn …”
It was as if he didn’t hear her.
He kept punching without slowing even as his own knuckles became mottled with the effort.
“Syn!”
The smart thing would have been to stay exactly where she was—out of his way and out of his fists’ path, but caution was the last thing she thought about as she sprung out of the chair and across the room, only hesitating a moment before she touched his spine and he froze.
Just that quick.
As if her touch alone calmed him.
Ernest managed to tear his gaze away from Synek long enough to focus on her, but after a while, it was clear he had no idea who she was or how they were connected.
He only knew his best chance at getting out of this room alive was through her.
“I want to know who hired you,” Iris said, managing to keep her voice firm, though she felt anything but.
Though years had passed—years she’d spent hardened by the Wraiths and life itself—she was still unable to be as emotionless as she wanted to be. Synek stood there with blood on his hands and some spattered across his throat, yet his expression was as dead as it had been in the first picture she had ever seen of him.
She wished she wasn’t as affected by the torture she was witnessing. She wished she could hate the man in front of her enough to take his life.
Did she want him to hurt with every fiber of her being? Yes.
Did she mind that Synek tortured him slowly and quite thoroughly? Not really.
But could she bring herself to kill him? Unfortunately not.
That part of her she thought would be able to do it was dormant and quiet inside her. Instead, and perhaps it was because of her recent visit with her father, she wanted him to face justice for his part in everything. No, he couldn’t be charge
d for the same crime that he had eight years ago, but they could get him on plenty more.
It was only a matter of finding the evidence.
“Hired me for what?” he asked.
“To frame Marvin Spencer.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Eight years ago, Marvin Spencer was framed for a murder. I want to know who hired you and why.”
She just needed him to say his name …
“It’s not gonna matter,” he said through bloodied lips, breathing heavily through his mouth. “You’ll never get close enough to hurt him.”
“I already know about Spader,” she said, figuring if she gave him the name they both knew his mind was whispering, he would just get on with it.
After all, he didn’t need to fear the governor any more—not when Synek was standing in front of him.
“What I want to know,” Iris said, holding his gaze, “is why. That’s the only thing I want from you.”
The only thing she needed.
Because, no matter what she had heard in her father’s tapes, no matter what she had found during her own research, it still didn’t make any sense to her. After everything that the governor had done—and if Synek and the Den were to be believed, Belladonna as well—why was her father so important …?
Why had they needed to ruin his life?
From everything she had gathered, her father hadn’t even considered the governor in any of his research. He had known a higher force was working among the crew he was looking into, but he hadn’t known who was involved or even where to look.
Iris had found the connection.
First, she followed the money, then she followed the high-priced hookers until the only thing left standing was a name she would never forget so long as she lived.
Michael Spader.
Ernest grunted out a pained laugh, gritting his teeth after a moment and revealing bloodstained teeth. “You think ’cause you got a pit bull here that’s gonna make a difference?” He shook his head, sweaty hair falling limp over his face. “They’ll eat you alive and laugh while they do it. Your best bet is to walk away before you get that old man of yours killed.”
“So you do remember him,” Iris said, taking a step closer. She felt emboldened because now, she had him where she wanted him.
Iris. (Den of Mercenaries Book 7) Page 3