The Syndicates: A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

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The Syndicates: A Dark Mafia Romance Collection Page 52

by Raven Scott

“Nat—" Jumping at the call, goosebumps blanketed my body and my head whipped up the sent a sharp ache down my neck. Tensing as Carlyle sat on my table, his feet planted firmly on a chair, I sucked in a sharp breath as black dots clung to the edges of my vision. Propping his forearms on his knees, he held my gaze in an iron grip, and I blinked hard as uncertainty chattered my molars. “You want to talk?”

  “N-no . . . no, I don’t. I . . . ” Shaking my head viciously, I tore my eyes off him to cross my arms tightly around myself, and shame engulfed my face. The tiles on the floor moved even though they weren’t supposed to, and I shivered from the anxiety that gripped my spine. “Shit.”

  “Do you need to be hospitalized?” Sinking to the floor, I sat against the cabinets and shook my head, but Carlyle was clearly unconvinced if his tone was anything to go by. “I didn’t ask if you want to, Natasha. You need help, whether you like it or not. As much as I appreciate that you’re Valerie’s sister, I really don’t have time to deal with your mental instability. Mateo is setting up in New York City, and with Oran disappeared, I’m starting the Italian plan over from scratch. I’m not going to come whenever you call. If you need it, I’ll provide you better care than you had last time.”

  “Oran had the right idea.” Not acknowledging Carlyle’s little spiel, I sniffled hard as I drew my knees to my chin. “This place is suffocating. I . . . I asked you to come down because . . . I want to leave. Erik asked me on a road trip, and I want to go.”

  “Why do you think you need my permission? You’re an adult, and you’ve never been a prisoner here, Natasha.” Carlyle’s eyes narrowed on me as he trailed off, and I frowned against my knees. “Valerie doesn’t know?”

  “She’s not talking to me. I’m only here for her, and if she’s ignoring me, there’s really no point. Besides, if I end up dead somehow, I’d rather she didn’t know for a while.” Despair thickened my voice, and my gaze flickered up to catch Carlyle’s as he tensed noticeably. “If it gets too bad, I don’t want her to stop me. I don’t want her to think she could’ve stopped me. You know, Carlyle, she’s never gone this long without talking to me. To be honest, I don’t care if she’s hurt or feeling betrayed or whatever about what happened. She has that luxury.”

  “If you’re suicidal, I’ll take precautions.” A small, pitiful smile tilted my lips at that, and Carlyle frowned darkly as he leaned back to hold himself on his arms. His fingertips drummed heavily on the table, and I cleared my throat roughly of the dense lump that blocked my airway.

  “You being here is the precaution. You’re here so you can tell Valerie that you tried to offer me help, and I declined, so it’s not your responsibility. It’s okay. I know how it is. The truth is . . . Valerie will be fine. She’ll be sad, but what can she do? Blame you because you’re dating and rich and why didn’t you? No, that’s not gonna happen. I wanted to talk to you because I wanted you to know, but I don’t want you to tell Valerie. If she doesn’t ask me directly, you can’t tell her.” Carlyle’s expression pinched, but he jerked his head in a nod regardless, and a weight lifted from my chest. Heaving a massive sigh, I grabbed the counter to climb to my feet, and he was still as I grabbed the coffee pot in a trembling hand. “I spent almost fifteen years sacrificing for her, and she’s fucking ignoring me. Over what? Over the fact that I’m keeping my problem to myself? Is she so betrayed that she can’t stand the sight of me? Well, it’s not anything new— I can’t stand the sight of me, either.”

  “Natasha, Valerie isn’t the source of all your bitterness and self-hatred, and I think you know that.” Snorting roughly, I poured my joe into a large mug, and some spilled and sloshed over the edge to splatter on the countertop. Disgust soured my tongue, and I sniffed hard as I jerked my head and swiped my hair away from my face with my free hand.

  “Of course, I do. I’m me. But you know what, Carlyle? I don’t know anything about myself. You probably know more about me than I do. Okay, so I have two choices. Either I find a way to accept that I’m a disgusting, emotionally stunted, terrified thing.” Tightening my grip on the coffee pot handle, my lip curled as dark determination seared through my chest, and Carlyle’s stare became heavy. Glaring at my reflection in the mug, I ground my teeth together as black seeped into the edges of my vision. “Or I don’t accept it, and at that point, there’s no use living anymore. Death is only painful for those left behind and even then . . . I’ll be dead. It won’t be my problem.”

  “You have a point.” Reluctance deepened his baritone, and Carlyle sighed heavily before shuffling to get his feet on the floor. “I won’t tell Valerie, but if she comes to you, you should, Natasha.”

  “She won’t.” The air became frosty at my murmur, and Carlyle didn’t say anything more before walking out. Grabbing my burning hot mug, I frowned at my reflection before lifting it to my lips.

  20

  Erik

  “Donald, what’s going on?” Casting a curious glance at my former boss, I leaned on the doorframe to cross my arms as he held up a hand and continued talking on the phone. Ignoring the conversation, I tilted my head as quiet determination permeated the entire squad room. The detectives I’d barely gotten to memorize the names of were all hunched over their desks, and confusion furrowed my brows. This city had a sizeable police force but not nearly as many detectives. There wasn’t much crime here to investigate, probably thanks to Carlyle Santino.

  “Erik, come on in. Sorry about that.” Donald set the phone on the receiver to stand, holding out his hand, and I nodded as he shot me a stress-wrinkled, tired smile. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. There was a murder last night. So, you’re here for . . . what, exactly? Your last check should’ve been deposited already.”

  “Uh, yeah, no. I came by because I was wondering what day, exactly, you’re going to kick me out of that rental.” Understanding flickered in Donald’s eyes as he sat down, and I gripped the back of the chair across his desk to lean on it slightly. “I’m gonna head back down south for a bit. My parents want me to come see them and stuff. I figured that since I was jobless, I might as well.”

  “Good . . . good . . . I don’t blame you for having a bad taste in your mouth after what happened, Erik. It’s even better that this is kinda a backwater, so we can bend the rules a little when it comes down to it. That’s a good thing about being in the shadows of New York City, at least.” Typing away as he talked, Donald squinted at the computer screen, and I ground my teeth lightly in anticipation. Once I knew the date of the eviction, I could let my father know when to expect the truck with my shit in it. “It says here you’re accommodation will be terminated on the twenty-sixth.”

  “Oh, that’s convenient. I’m actually planning to be in South Caroline around then.” Honestly, there wasn’t much of a plan, and Natasha hadn’t even agreed out loud to go along with this insane idea. Donald nodded with a grunt, leaning back in his chair, and I tapped the pleather of my own before speaking up again. “That’s all I wanted to know, really. I’m heading to the gym, now, but this is on the way.”

  “I hope you find something that fits, Erik. You deserve it.” Nodding as a slight awkwardness wiggled between my shoulder blades, I turned to walk out of the precinct. I hadn’t been around long enough for anything to feel familiar, but the sensation was strange. I might not ever be back here, and the relief that knowledge brought me was indescribable.

  My cell phone pinged loudly in the lobby, and I fished the thing out of my pocket to scan Natasha’s text message. Even this way, somehow, she came off as a little desperate, agreeing with only two words: I’ll go. Nodding to myself, I stepped into the frigid ugliness of late winter and pulled my collar up against the wind.

  Erik: Awesome. Do you want to meet up for lunch later?

  Truth be told, I didn’t understand how things had progressed from me being the bad guy to this. Ours was a relationship born of desperation— if ‘relationship’ could even be the term to use. Natasha was sick, and I hesitated to really see her as som
eone healthy and available. She swung wildly between acting okay to the point that even she believed it and incredible despair and suicidal ideation.

  I knew that, more than likely, Natasha had some truly good days, but those were few and far between, and I had yet to see one for myself. Hopefully, with a change of scenery, she’d get a little better. She wasn’t tied down by a bad employment decision, and I knew that her sister wasn’t talking to her. These past few days, she hadn’t slept at all, but she didn’t invite me back over, either.

  A couple of times a night, Natasha would talk through the bugged jacket at me, as if she needed to release some pressure. Everything she alluded to was horrific, and I was ashamed to say I’d developed some sort of morbid fascination with her story.

  My phone pinged again, tearing me from my thoughts, and I swiped around on the screen as I pulled out my keys to twirl them around my finger.

  Natasha: What are you doing right now?

  “Well, I guess I’m not going to the gym.” Texting her back that I was available, my brows furrowed in consternation when she replied instantly. She suggested meeting at the coffee place, and I typed a quick affirmative before climbing into my car. Pulling out of my spot easily, I turned onto the street to drive the two blocks to my destination. Surprise twitched my brows when I saw Natasha already standing by the door when I passed, and she lifted a hand to stop me on the curb.

  Confusion masked my face when she hopped in the back seat, not the passenger seat, and I flexed my hands around the wheel. Her hair fluffed from the wind, a cold rosiness in her cheeks, and she clung close to the door as I waited on bated breath for her to speak.

  “Um, hi. So, did you go to the precinct?” Natasha sputtered a little, and I arched a brow quizzically as I caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Her face stained red, and she brushed back her hair to pull it over her shoulder as anxiety sparkled in her eyes. “What?”

  “Why are you sitting back there?” I hadn’t pulled off the curb yet, and Natasha went a little wide-eyed as her face pinched. “I’m not going to make you sit in the front.”

  “Oh, good, yeah. I take a lot of Lyfts and stuff. It’s a habit.” I could practically taste the lie in her tone, but I didn’t question her further. “I didn’t get a car when we moved here because we lived within blocks of everything, so— but, anyway, I thought that maybe we could . . . hang out.”

  “What do you want to do?” Warmth suffused my chest when Natasha’s deer-in-the-headlights look intensified, and I turned my attention to the street. There was so much under that thick veil of dissatisfaction, and she probably knew it. She didn’t know how to get out of the hole that she’d been thrown in. Content to just drive around slowly, I took a turn that led into another turn, and the irony of it didn’t escape me. I was going around in circles with her, and I wasn’t sure how this happened to play out this way.

  Was Natasha craving something so badly that I seemed like a good guy, even after bugging her when she was all fucked up? Did she somehow manage to rationalize it away as ‘if he thought he could use me, it means he cares in some capacity’?

  How messed up is that? And considering the shitstorm that got kicked up . . .

  “Actually . . . ” Speaking up absently, I glanced in my driver’s side mirror before taking the second turn, and Natasha hummed softly from the back seat. “Everyone was busy at the station, so I asked my questions and left. It wasn’t anything grand. What about you, Natasha? What were you doing out?”

  “I was getting coffee, but there was a really long line.” Glancing at her in the rearview, I pursed my lips at the drawn expression on her face. Natasha looked so uncomfortable, and she hugged the door like she could jump tuck and roll at any second. “I talked to Carlyle this morning since Val . . . she’s ignoring me. I think she’s hurt because I didn’t tell her how bad I was getting. I mean, I don’t get it. Why would she feel betrayed and not hound me for answers?”

  “Maybe, she needs time to find the right questions.” Spouting out some shit, my lips twitched down at the sudden dip in her voice, and Natasha frowned fully before I turned my gaze back to the road. “I honestly don’t know, either. I only met her the once, but from what I saw . . . you lie to her a lot more than she realized.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s things she doesn’t tell me, so . . . ” I had a nagging feeling Natasha was about to launch into a rant about how she wasn’t obligated to speak her every emotion to her sister. Bracing myself when she took a breath in preparation, I tightened my grip on the wheel.

  And she didn’t prove me wrong.

  21

  Natasha

  “I don’t think you’re being unreasonable, but all lies aren’t equal lies, Nat. Lying about your PTSD is a lot worse than lying about hanging around all day in your pajamas and being lazy.” Erik’s words sunk deep into my mind, and I slumped in the seat as I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “So, what did Carlyle say?”

  “Um, he asked me if I thought I needed to be hospitalized. But I really think that a change of scenery will help a lot.” My lips thinned as Erik caught my gaze in the rearview mirror and held it, and I slid down deeper until my chin pressed against my sternum. “So, I want to try it, at least, before . . . ”

  “Okay. Do you want to get, like, a map, a real physical map, and we can sit somewhere and figure out all the places we want to go?” I nodded dumbly, and Erik tore his eyes off me to focus on the road as he weaved through downtown toward the suburbs. “Have you ever used a map before?”

  “I’ve used Google Maps.” He smirked a little at my grumble, and my face flushed as embarrassment closed my throat. “You use a lot of maps in the military?”

  “Well, you have to know how to read one, but it’s mostly GPS. The only time you really use a map in the traditional sense is for training exercises so if shit goes FUBAR, you can get to where you need to go without it.” That really made no sense, and Erik chuckled lightly at my furrowed brows before I sat up a little. “Basically, you read the map, know where on it you’re supposed to be at what time, and the best way to get back in one piece. One time, during an exercise, my team and I got dropped in this jungle in Venezuela, and Ben . . . ”

  Cutting himself off abruptly, Erik’s whole face closed in on itself and became stony, and I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth. For a moment, the tense silence threatened to suffocate me, but he sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head as my heart jumped into my throat.

  “Ah, my best friend, Ben. Nathan and Ben were brothers, and Nathan was the oldest and also our team leader person. After our last mission in Syria went south, and Ben died, Nathan killed himself right there in the rubble.” My heart squeezed painfully, and a horrified gasp escaped me as Erik noticeably tightened his grip on the wheel until his knuckles were white. “Fucking sucked. I was second in command, and if I had said something before, they’d both be alive. I wouldn’t have a bullet an inch from my spine, and I’d still be in right now.”

  “What happened?” I knew I shouldn’t have, but I had to know. I had to know someone suffered as much if not more than me. Maybe, it was different, but the guilt, the shame, the horrific memories . . . those were all the same. “I . . . I mean . . . ”

  “It’s fine, Natasha. Honestly, I know I’m not entirely to blame.” By your tone, you don’t really believe that, though. “It still sucks ass. It was too difficult at the wrong points- like we were being led into a trap. And Nathan’s dumbshit self was too trusting of the packet. We don’t ask too many questions— we do our job, and that’s it. But that was a moment we should’ve stopped and reassessed. In the end, we lost Ben and Nathan, another guy got permanently crippled by the rubble, and me, well, I guess I’m lucky.”

  “That’s awful.” Erik sounded so bitter in that last statement, and my heart filled as goosebumps washed my arms and across my chest. “What happened to you?”

  “I got shot, and it traveled up and lodged really close to my spine. I could either transfer out into
a position that wouldn’t agitate it, or I could get medically discharged with honors. I took the discharge. My dad only recently started talking to me again, and that’s just to be an asshole.” I hadn’t really caught most of Erik’s conversation with his dad that day at the coffee shop, and I nodded mutely. Emotions battered my chest, some for him but most for me, and I licked my lips as my mouth dried and my stomach roiled.

  “My dad faked his death to get away from us.” The gross oversimplification earned me a curious, dark glance, and I frowned ugly under tightly knit brows. “He witnessed a murder, and got put in witness protection for the trial, and they faked his death. He never came back afterwards. He met someone, got married, and ignored us. He ‘died’ when we were twelve and a half, maybe. I saw him when I was touring for college, so I dug him up.”

  “Do you blame him for what happened to you?” Puffing out my lips thoughtfully, I rolled my jaw, and I sat up fully to sniffle a shallow breath. Did I blame him? No, not really. Not for what happened to me, at least.

  “I hate him for not bringing us. I hate him for so grossly misjudging our mom’s heroin addiction, because I have absolutely no doubt he knew about it. I hate him for not coming back for us, because it wouldn’t have been too late for Valerie, but I don’t think I blame him for leaving. I think he was right to run away. I blame my mom because it’s her fault. It was her drug dealer and his gang, and it was her addiction, and it was her agreement. Maybe, she even instigated it. But like I said, she’s dead, so there’s no point in blaming her anymore.” Everything was so complicated, and I sighed as my tangent faded into exhaustion. “Carlyle was good for that, at least. He was able to find her pretty fast.”

  “Okay.” I could hear the tension in Erik’s tone. He wanted to ask me about it, but he didn’t think it was a good idea. For a fraction of a second, I debated not continuing the conversation, but why be hesitant at this point? Why hold back?

 

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