The Syndicates: A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Raven Scott

  “Wait.” Why couldn’t I just keep my big-ass mouth shut? Pursing my lips thinly, I cleared my throat roughly as shame threatened to close it. Carlyle’s expression twisted in irritation, and he tapped his foot impatiently. “What happened between you and Remmy?”

  “Make sure you ask the right people the right questions.” He walked back inside, tossing his cigarette carelessly, and I exhaled a gust of a sigh that puffed out in front of me. Clutching my head between my arms, I silently cursed myself as the last few minutes raced through my head. This was exactly why I joined the Navy— I took orders much better than being left with my personal opinion.

  “Shit . . . shit . . . ” Scuffing my heel, I jerked open the door to stalk into the main room of the precinct, and my eyelid twitched when I heard Remmy screaming in Donald’s office. Carlyle sat on my desk, his legs hanging off the back, and I made a beeline for the front door because, well, fuck all this drama.

  I wasn’t going to stick around for a new partner.

  “I should’ve known being a cop wasn’t for me.” I came from the SEALs, damnit, and being a cop was so . . . so objective. Good didn’t mean good, and bad didn’t mean bad. At least, in the military, I got my orders and didn’t have to think any more about it. I didn’t have to know who I was targeting, only that he was being targeted.

  Natasha didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of crazy and stupid.

  9

  Erik

  “Ah!” The pained hiss that seeped through the small cube sitting on the nightstand woke me from a troubled sleep, and I rolled over to stare at it through the gloom. Natasha kept the bug off during the day and turned it on at night, and her hurt sounds tormented me all the way to morning. I knew what this was. This was her getting back at me for poking my nose somewhere I shouldn’t have. This was her turning the tables on the privacy I had tried to wrest from her.

  I couldn’t turn the damn thing off, either— no matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn’t press that tiny button on the back. After Remmy got fired two days before, I’d quit within the hour, and Donald hadn’t tried to get the equipment back. Maybe. He knew it was compromised. Maybe, he just wanted to forget the whole thing happened. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to slink back to that God-awful place to ask.

  “Shit . . . ” The thick slur assaulted my ears, and a loud rustling emanated from the speaker the muffle harsh pants. Sitting up, my skin burned against the sheet that slid off my chest, and the coarse hairs there bristled. Goosebumps swept up my arm when I grabbed the device, and a little choked sound burst out of it. “I don’t know if you’re listening . . . if anyone ever really listens. Everything I say is being recorded, right? So it’s like a diary . . . ”

  Natasha sucked up a sharp, shallow wheeze of breath, and I pulled my knee up to prop my elbow and hold my forehead in my palm. Grimacing as she laughed a hollow, sad noise and sniffled hard, I could picture her wiping her face when I blinked, her image blossoming through the darkness of my room.

  “When you tell people things, they become real. Wait, no, delete that. That’s not how you’re supposed to start.” Exhaling a crackly sound only to sniff hard, she audibly flopped down, and I clenched my jaw as apprehension flooded my veins.

  “Dear diary . . . I never told anyone this because I didn’t want it to be real. It happened, and I got through it— that’s how I looked at it. I had no choice but to keep trudging because Valerie needed me. She doesn’t know any of this, either. I mean, of course, she knows the parts she was there for, but the rest . . . There’s so much more than just being sold off for drugs.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I have abandonment issues. I mean, it started when I was twelve, but my dad didn’t know about any of it because my mom hid it so well. They were going to have another baby, another set of twins, but she had a miscarriage. It’s not exactly that uncommon a story— they lose a baby and can’t recover. It’s pretty standard stuff.” Natasha’s voice stabilized as she spun her story, and I closed my eyes as she sniffled and chuffed a sigh. Every part of me was quiet, still, waiting for what came next, and a cold sweat dribbled down my back as my gut curdled with anxiety. “She hid her drug use really well until my dad witnessed a murder and decided that was a perfect time to escape. He went into witness protection and never came back, but we all thought he was dead. That set my mom off. She was bad before, but . . . ”

  “I had just turned thirteen, and I was definitely a tough kid, tougher than Valerie. When my dad left, she was a huge wreck, and my mom just went off the deep end with the heroine. I guess she had an excuse, but she had two living kids that she just abandoned. At the same time, I lost everyone but Valerie, just bang, gone.”

  She clapped to punctuate her point, and I flinched as the sound rattled my brain. Even so, Natasha didn’t stop talking, and I wondered briefly if she knew I was listening, or hoped it, or just shot in the dark because she was desperate. “Things went downhill fast. My mom stopped paying bills, and the electricity went first. That was kinda cool, honestly. At first . . . It was Dallas, after all, so it didn’t get cold. But, then, it wasn’t so cool. My mom introduced me to her drug dealer when Valerie was at after-school, and he gave her rent money. Of course, she used it for drugs.”

  Disgust coated my tongue when Natasha paused for what seemed like forever, and I held my breath as a bead of sweat trailed down my neck. She cleared her throat roughly, and my heart leaped into my throat when the crackling of an open microphone suddenly went silent. My eyes widened in shock, and I tightened my grip on the receiver as a particular kind of panic stained my chest.

  “What the fuck . . . ” The slur rolled between my teeth thickly, and I dropped my head forward to groan in frustration. Natasha probably had an incredibly fucked up story, and I needed to know it. Hauling my ass out of bed hastily, I stormed out of my bedroom to pace the length of the living room as my mind raced furiously.

  Why did I even care about this so much? I could throw the stupid receiver away, delete the app from my phone, and pretend it never happened. Pausing to flop my head back, I blew out a hot sigh as my lungs threatened to squeeze my heart too hard. Natasha could ignore that this had ever happened like we’d never met, and I’d find a new job in fucking Cancun or something. We’d never have to see each other again. She could move on with her life, and I could continue trekking through the shit of my own.

  Her face that night at CVS, when she smiled at me, flashed behind my lids when I blinked, and I scowled at the ceiling. I was responsible for this. I couldn’t just run away. I was the guy who ran toward danger . . . or I used to be. Rubbing my lower back with a clammy palm, I gazed down at the receiver in my free hand and ground my teeth hard.

  “This is my fault.” Okay, not all the shit Natasha had been through, but her reaching her breaking point was entirely my doing. If I had just followed my gut and told Remmy to fuck off, I wouldn’t be dealing with this right now. Ever since Syria, I’d been second-guessing myself, and it had to stop. Just like then, people were in danger, and this time she was innocent.

  “Ben . . . I wish you were around to tell me what the fuck I should do.” Leaning heavily on the back of the sofa, I sniffed hard as my murmur echoed in the large living room. My pension was enough to live on, but if I didn’t get a job, I’d probably go insane. I needed to go to the gym— working out always helped me think.

  I wanted to crawl back in bed and wait until Natasha turned the microphone back on.

  I could go for a drive.

  Rubbing my hand down my face, I groaned into my palm as my thoughts went every which way, and I shook my head viciously. Natasha’s expression when I asked her about the bomb filled my mind’s eye and walked around the pleather, semi-circular couch to grab the sheath of papers I had on Carlyle Santino.

  After her apartment was blown up, she’d moved into the complex he owned, and I knew she was home. Searching for the address, I flipped through the pages and furrowed my brows as my t
houghts finally slowed down. I’d probably never get the opportunity to apologize if I waited in Natasha to show up in front of me.

  Carlyle knew classified information about me if his threat was real, which means he knew why I left the SEALs. Ben getting killed was my fault— I’d followed a bad call, ignored my gut because I trusted my team lead. If I had voiced my objection, Nathan would’ve reconsidered our plan, and Ben would still be alive. I wouldn’t have a bullet dangerously close to my spine.

  Shaking my head furiously, I dampened the thoughts of what could’ve been and tried to focus on fixing the shitstorm I’d kicked up.

  10

  Natasha

  “They let you in here?” My bland tone hid how astonished I was, and I scanned Erik as he stood rigid on the other side of the threshold. “What do you want? I’m not saying anymore.”

  “No, that’s not why I came here. I . . . ” Trailing off, Erik pursed his lips thinly, and he captured my eyes steely as he straightened his broad shoulders. “I want to apologize, not just say ‘sorry.’ I knew what I was doing was wrong when I did it, and I . . . I want to try to start over fresh.”

  “Okay . . . ” Frowning darkly, I stepped to the side, and Erik crossed into my apartment as my mind whirled. Carlyle really let him in— even after he bugged me. Why? What did Carlyle say to Erik at the station the other day? I knew he quit because Carlyle had been sure to mention it to me, but I wasn’t convinced it had much to do with me. Certainly, his deciding on a different career path wasn’t only because of his guilt over how badly he’d fucked up? “If you knew it was wrong, why’d you go along with it?”

  Gesturing Erik into the kitchen as I posed my question, I rolled my lips between my teeth as I went to the stove to check on my stew. I had just started a slow cooker with some ribs, and my turkey and rice were basically just parts of a turkey carcass at the moment.

  “It’s a bit of a story, but . . . you shouldn’t be the only one sharing, Natasha.” So he was listening. A vicious kind of satisfaction saddled my chest, and I turned as he dropped in a chair to clasp his hands on the table. Erik didn’t have a lean piece of meat on him anywhere, and his hunched shoulders just made him appear coiled, ready to strike. “My last mission, I should’ve done the same thing. I should’ve trusted my gut. My best friend died, and a few of us got injured. I knew I wasn’t going to pass my physical anyway, so I opted for medical discharge. I shouldn’t have become a cop, either. I doubted myself when I enrolled, throughout the training, even during the graduation ceremony. Ever since that last mission, I fuck everything up. It’s honestly impressive, but not in a good way.”

  “So, you not trusting yourself just makes you not trust yourself more? That makes no sense. Shouldn’t you be more inclined to stick to your guns?” My probing earned me a huff, a slight shake of his head, and Erik sat back to stretch his long legs and tilt his head to me. His brown eyes glimmered with his shame at being so uncertain with himself, and I almost felt a little bad for him.

  “You’d think so, but . . . I don’t know. I’ve never been a civilian. My parents were pretty poor, and I was a screwup, so I got sent to a military academy when I was thirteen after changing schools for the fourth time for fighting.” Surprise rose my brows, and Erik chuffed a humorless laugh as a sense of surrealism blanketed my kitchen. “I’m pretty good at it, so I enlisted. I was a sailor first, and then I became a SEAL— did that for almost eleven years. I had a place, and I was good at it. Now, I don’t.”

  “Your partner was a lot older than you.” Suddenly, I felt really, really bad for Erik. How messed up was it to be used as a tool for some guy’s crusade? Wait a minute . . . that’s exactly what Carlyle did. The only difference is he knew he was right. “You really never had another job or anything outside the military?”

  “Aside from being a police officer, which lasted a whopping four months, no. I’d been warned about Remmy’s craziness with Carlyle, but we were supposed to investigate the bombing. It got away from me.” Shame thickened his tone, and Erik ran his hand over his head and down his neck as he glowered at the edge of the table. “I should’ve just done what I thought I should do and asked you directly. Remmy convinced me Carlyle would never let me get that close because he’s rich, and capitalism breeds criminals and yada-yada-yada . . . ”

  “You quit the force?” Turning to the pot, I peeked inside to check the temperature, and I jacked up the heat a little to get it to a boil. “Why investigate the bomb in the first place?”

  “Remmy pitched the public safety crap, and everyone fell for it. It was just a pretext, though. Besides, I’ve got a pretty good idea why you got that bomb. It was to scare you into going back to Dallas, right?” My brows furrowed deeply, and I slowly turned back around as a tightness balled up under my heart. “They wanted you back, right?”

  “Not me. Valerie. They sent the bomb to her because . . . I guess I didn’t do it for them anymore.” Smiling grimly, I sat down across the Erik as his lip twitched up in a snarl, and his eyes darkened with the shadows that played on his face. My abdomen ached from the tension in me, and I reached to rub my heart as it stuttered dangerously. “I thought about it a lot— why did they suddenly only want her? I never found an answer. She’s happy, though, so that’s what matters.”

  “Your happiness matters, too, Natasha.” My eyes stung as I shook my head sluggishly, and I inhaled a harsh, deep breath through my nose while Erik leaned forward. “Seriously, you deserve it just as much, if not more.”

  “Yeah, I know. I didn’t say Valerie’s was the only thing that mattered. I hate living here.” His brows rose, and his goatee bristled as sourness infected my expression and stained my tongue. “I hate my job. I hate watching everyone around me get better while I only get worse. I hate lying all the time. I hate being up all night. I think what I hate the most is that I’m too much of a coward to actually kill myself.”

  “What? You shouldn’t. Natasha, everything gets better, even if it takes a little time.” A scoff escaped my nostrils, and Erik’s lips thinned as they dragged into a deep grimace. “You can change all this stuff you hate.”

  “I used to tell myself that all the time— just hold on. It’ll get better. I just have to endure it, and I’ll get rewarded eventually. The thing is . . . I suffered so much. I put up with so much. I did so many things . . . so why did Valerie get her happily ever after, and I didn’t? She’d be okay eventually, but I’m tired of waiting and hoping and thinking I’ll get some relief.” Inhaling a huge lungful, I cleared my throat roughly, and Erik curled his shoulders in defeat to my points. I mean, what the fuck did he expect? I had months— years, even— to think of why and how and if. “You really don’t have the best perception, do you, Erik?”

  “Not really, no. I didn’t really come here with a plan, Natasha. I just wanted to . . . to try to fix the damage I did to you. I know I probably can’t, but I had to attempt it, at least.” Eyeballing him critically, I cocked my head as he held his higher, and his eyes blazed with determination when they met mine. “I was hoping we could help each other.”

  My eyelid twitched at that, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Erik just wanted to absolve himself of guilt. It had nothing to do with helping me— he only wanted to help himself. Lifting myself from my chair, I skirted the table to stand between him and it, and he never once looked away from me.

  “You know what? Let’s eat. That always helps, right? Since you’re so keen on that . . . ” I didn’t move, though, my eyes narrowed into fine points as Erik clenched his jaw noticeably, and I reached to drag my fingertip down the bridge of his nose. “Unless you meant a different kind of fix. It’s been a long time. I bet you’d really enjoy yourself. Maybe, you’d even have a little pride at breaking my thirteen-year dry spell.”

  “Dinner would be perfect.” I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or disappointed at Erik’s gravelly declaration. Shuffling toward the refrigerator, I pulled out a package of steaks and bacon, and I could feel his eyes scan
ning me critically. “Natasha, I mean it— I want to try with the goal of succeeding.”

  “I bet you do.” Bitterness stained my tone. I couldn’t hold it back anymore, and I twisted to shoot Erik a nasty glare. Irritation stabbed my heart again and again, and he tensed in his seat as I slapped the packages on the counter hard. “I bet you want to succeed because then you won’t feel so bad. No one does anything unless it benefits them in some way. You wouldn’t be here if it didn’t do something good for you, Erik. I’m not stupid, and I’ve played this game before, so don’t fucking lie about it. You’re here because you feel awful, so guilty, so ashamed, and you want that absolved, so you trudge your ass all the way here, head hung low, and try to find a way in to exploit for yourself, not for me.”

  “I’m not here for me.” Storming over to him, I smacked Erik across the face as hard as I could, and he flung back from the chair and onto his back. The hard clatter of wood crunching between tile and a body echoed in my ears, and I straddled him to take his cheeks in both my hands. My anger got the best of me, but I was so tired of being lied to, and hot, fat tears leaked from my eyes to dribble down my nose.

  “Maybe that’s why you’re such an indecisive piece of shit, Erik. You lie and you pretend and you act like you’re righteous, but you’re not!” His blurred expression twisted in disgust, and my voice crackled harshly as I squeezed his cheeks between my palms. “Don’t lie— you’re not some fucking justice warrior, okay. No one cares about you anymore. You’re a name on a list of people that failed, and you can’t even accept that? How many bad guys did you takedown in all that time? You’re not better than anyone else just because you went into the military. The worst monsters aren’t the ones overseas— they’re right here.”