Brooklyn Sinners 3 -A Sinner Born (11 page)

Syren brooded all during the ride from Brooklyn to Connecticut. A long enough trip to divide his time into worrying about what he’d find when he got to Kane’s and the bomb he’d dropped on Pablo Castillo.

He’d turned the man’s world upside down with a folder and a video conference with a dead man. Not just any folder and not just any dead man. Pablo had decisions to make and both Syren and Rafe had urged him to make the right one. The good one. They had no say in it though, all they could do was sit back and watch what Pablo did next. From the look in Pablo’s eyes earlier, Syren had a feeling it would be something bad.

It was weird for him, going from a man all on his own to now having friends whose lives he cared about. Whose well-being he was heavily invested in. Fuck, he was turning into a major softie.

The situation with Pablo didn’t help any in taking his attention from Kane and what lay ahead. Syren curled his fingers into his palm and stared at the passing scenery. He wouldn’t settle, he knew that much. Kane had to accept all of him.

The car pulled up in front of Kane’s house and the front door opened immediately. A good sign? Syren took a deep breath, swallowed to wet his throat then exited the car after letting the driver know he could call it a night.

No matter which way the wind blew with him and Kane tonight, he’d have closure. His heart raced at that thought.
He took his time walking up to the door and when he got there he simply stared at Kane. “Hey.”
A small smile curved Kane’s mouth and softened his eyes. “Hey.” He wore a navyblue t-shirt with the marshal logo on the upper left side of his chest, dark jeans, and stood in bare feet. He stepped back and Syren entered, removing his jacket as he followed Kane into the kitchen.
The house smelled amazing. He draped the jacket over the back of a nearby chair and sniffed the air as Kane walked over to the stove. “Are you cooking?” A man who knew how to cook. Jackpot right there.
“Yeah.” Kane spoke without turning around. “Just some orange chicken with rice and veggies.” He looked over his shoulder. “You hungry?”
Hell yes. Syren grinned. “I’ll eat anything you cook.”
Kane laughed. “I hope not. I tried making stuffed peppers once, gave Gabe and Bailey food poisoning.” A stricken look came over his face and he quickly turned back to the stove.
A heavy silence settled over them, broken only by Kane stirring whatever he had in the pot. Syren placed an elbow on the granite island countertop and leaned forward. “How was your day?” Crap. He wanted to recall those words as soon as he spoke them out loud. Too domestic. Too much, too soon. Too every damn thing.
Kane placed the pot spoon in the sink next to the stove and turned to him with a shrug. “Was okay if you don’t count me hurting my partner.”
“What do you mean?” Syren frowned.
“I had to tell Vince there’d be no chance for me and him.” Kane washed his hands then turned off the burner and faced Syren. “I had to watch his heart break right in front of my eyes.” He moved toward Syren who sidled away to the other side of the island.
He’d had to do the same with Thiago so Syren appreciated how hard that conversation could be. Yet he couldn’t help asking, “How did that make you feel?”
Kane’s eyes were sad, but they twinkled at Syren’s question. “Shrink now, are you?” He propped a hip against the counter and folded his arms.
Syren shrugged. “Curious.” Did Kane regret having to hurt his partner? Did he wish he could be with someone simpler, less damaged? That last one Syren couldn’t bring himself to ask.
“I’m sorry I hurt him,” Kane said. “But that couldn’t be helped.” He took a breath then let it out slowly. “Let’s talk about you.” He came closer and Syren shuffled farther away.
Fucking chess game.
Kane stopped moving, his gaze inscrutable. “How was the funeral? How’s Isa?”
If Syren wasn’t already gone over Kane Ashby those two questions did it. They sealed the deal. He cleared the emotion out of his throat. “The funeral went as was expected, without a hitch, though Isa and I did get some cold stares from a couple of Henri’s distant relatives.” He smirked. “They never did get the dynamic of the three of us.”
Kane had shifted while Syren spoke, this time getting within inches of him, his gaze daring Syren to run. Syren flinched but didn’t move.
“And Isa?”
This close, with barely any distance between them, Kane’s voice reverberated in Syren’s chest and lower extremities.
“She’s…far stronger than I ever realized.” He couldn’t help but smile. “She’s grieving, but she’s going to be okay.”
Kane nodded. “And you?” He cupped Syren’s cheek. “How are you?”
The innocent query brought a burn to Syren’s eyes. “No one’s asked me that in a long while,” he confessed.
Kane’s gaze searched his face, nostrils flaring slightly when Syren licked his lips. “What’s the answer then?”
“I was prepared for Henri’s death, but I wasn’t ready for it.”
“I can understand that.” Kane’s thumb brushed his cheek and swept lower. “He’s been the only constant in your life for a long time.”
“He’s the only person I trusted implicitly. The only person I knew without a shadow of a doubt would never betray me.” Syren tore his gaze from Kane before the other man saw the tears in his eyes, but Kane wasn’t having it. He gripped Syren’s jaw and turned him back until their eyes met.
“Don’t hide from me,” Kane whispered. “Henri’s gone and he’s taken your safety with him, yeah? He’s taken your trust, all your hopes?”
Syren pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. Way too soon for Kane to know him so well, way too soon for Kane to know how he felt. For him to know what losing Henri represented.
“Open those haunted eyes and look at me.”
Syren’s eyes flew open at the harsh command. The hard look in Kane’s gaze sent something—heat, anticipation, goose bumps—dancing up and down his spine. “My eyes are haunted?” News to him.
Kane huffed a laugh. “When was the last time you looked in a mirror? Your eyes are like a fucking road map to the shit you’ve been through.” His voice dropped an octave. “One only has to know what to look for.”
“You do?” Syren refrained from squirming under Kane’s gaze like a captured worm. He didn’t like that much, feeling as if someone had read him cover to cover and knew him, inside out.
“You trusted me enough to show me who you are,” Kane said. “Now I know what to look for.”
Syren backed away from him, fixing his gaze on a spot just over Kane’s left shoulder. “I don’t—” He shook his head. “I can’t do this.” He took a step back and another and Kane didn’t move, just watched him from under his lashes, a look of complete concentration on his face.
“What can’t you do?”
The tremors started and Syren cast his gaze about for an exit, somewhere to run and hide. “I—I feel as if—” He grabbed the front of his shirt, bunching it in his fists as his breath came in pants that had his chest heaving. “No, I don’t feel, I know.” He pounded his chest. “I know I’m drowning. I’m out of my depth. I can’t find my footing anymore.”
Kane’s expression softened and he approached, but Syren held up a hand. He had to get the words out, right then might be the only chance. His only chance. He closed his eyes and fought to steady his breathing.
In and out. Calm, think calm. Breathe in and out.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he whispered without opening his eyes. “It’s clear to me I’m not equipped for this.” He breathed in then let it out in a long whoosh. “My heart knows what I want, but my head won’t let it be. The memories are there.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “And they’re not leaving me alone.” He swallowed. “I’m afraid.” Those two words broke under the weight of his emotions.
“Open your eyes.” Kane’s breath on his face stifled the air in Syren’s lungs and he gasped.
His lashes fluttered open. Kane smiled down at him, only patience and understanding etched on his features. Syren wanted to move, close the distance between them and wrap himself up in Kane’s arms. He wanted to bury his face in Kane’s chest and hide.
He couldn’t do any of those things. Not until all the cards were on the table.
“You want to get rid of the bad, but you can’t,” Kane said. “Those memories are what molded you into the man you are now. You can’t escape them. All you can do is build on them. Build good ones.” The saddest smile hovered over his mouth and shadowed his eyes. “In time they’ll cancel out the bad.”
This was a man who also had his share of loss—his parents and his partner. He knew loss. He knew pain. Syren would do well to take the advice Kane gave.
Build new memories. Happy memories.
He licked his lips. “I have one last thing to discuss with you.” His pulse started up at that. “And then I have a few questions.”
Kane nodded. “Okay. Go.”
“I like wearing women’s underwear.” He spoke the words in one endless breath. “I wear panties, have since I was eighteen. That is who I am, all of me. I want to share myself with you, but you have to let me know—” He gave up trying to make his voice stop wobbling. “You have to let me know now if you can’t handle it. Please.” The idea of a rejection wasn’t fun, Kane turning from the sight of him would cut him to the quick, but he needed to deal with it now and put it to bed.
Kane’s expression hadn’t changed one bit. “Did someone reject you before, because of your…preference?”
“I was twenty-one.” Syren shrugged. “I had the stupid notion I could simply be myself.” That particular memory didn’t hurt as much as it once did. “He laughed and pointed, and that’s after letting me know he wasn’t interested in boys trying to be girls. I knew after that to keep my secret, this secret to myself.” Not that he’d had anyone to keep it from except Delatorre. Lovers, he’d had none.
Kane’s jaw tightened with each word he spoke, the anger in his eyes on Syren’s behalf sparking irrational hope that Syren pushed down.
“I have to admit I’ve never given it a thought until the other day.” Kane’s lips curved. “When I felt it on your skin, when I caught a glimpse under your clothes. I can’t stop thinking about seeing you in them and nothing else.”
Syren blinked. Twice.
“Do you always wear them?” Kane asked.
“Except when I go to business meetings or meet with Delatorre.” Syren searched his face for any clue as to what Kane was thinking, but he got nothing.
“Strip.”
Syren gaped at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” Kane’s nostrils flared. “Don’t make me come over there and tear off that fucking suit.”
Jesus H.
Syren’s fingers trembled as he fingered a button on his shirt. “Kane.”
“You look so put together, neat and tidy in that suit,” Kane spoke softly. “I bet it costs a pretty penny, all expensive. It’s like fucking armor and I want to rip it off, get you dirtied up.”
Syren exhaled loudly and shrugged out of the shirt. He dropped it on the countertop.
“Don’t stop.”
He unbuckled his belt with shaky fingers, the fluttering in his stomach getting more and more pronounced. The moment of truth. He never thought it would happen, but he suddenly wished to be anywhere else but there, undressing for Kane. He’d be the first man, the first to see Syren naked in so long. Naked, from head to toe.
The pressure in his chest grew and grew, hindering his breathing. He didn’t look down at himself as he stepped out of the pants and kicked them away. He knew what he looked like; smooth, pale skin, lanky limbs, the scars on both hips and back and the panties. They were a pair from the most recent purchase Isa made for him, black, flirty boy shorts in allover lace, decorated with tiny golden butterflies. They hugged his body and rode low on his hips, rising just over the crack of his ass and cupping him gently in the front. He loved it, the look and feel of those pretty things on his skin.
He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to vocalize what he felt. “I feel desirable and untouchable when I wear them,” he whispered. “No one knows what’s under my clothes but me and yet I feel powerful and in control.”
Kane’s eyes gleamed. “Do you want to know what I see?”
Syren shied away from meeting his eyes and bit his lip. “Yes.”
“Then look at me.”
He did. Something blazed bright in the depths of Kane’s blue eyes, something that would’ve made a lesser man bawl, but he was made of tougher stuff so he only sniffled. “Kane.”
“You’re perfection.”
Those words touched him in that cold prison where his heart resided, melting the ice bars holding him caged. Syren’s head spun and he gulped in a lungful of air, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath, waiting for the hammer of rejection to come down.
“I can’t reject you even if I wanted to.” Kane crowded him and spoke in his ear. “You’re perfect, your skin, your body.” His heat branded Syren, but even though they were close enough to touch, Kane didn’t. He used his words instead. “Those panties against your skin—” He broke off with a groan. “I want to pull them to the side, bend you over this fucking counter and take you.”
Syren’s knees buckled. He reached out, grabbing on to the edge of said counter for balance. He wasn’t used to feeling so wanted. So needed. He wasn’t used to the notion that he made someone feel the way Kane spoke.
“Would you let me?” Warm fingers grazed his nape then tangled in his hair, holding him still as Kane peered down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Would you let me take you here, hard and fast, fuck you ’til neither of us can move?” His feral gaze sparked an answering rush in Syren’s blood. His cock was already leaking, wetting his panties.
“I—I—” He’d forgotten how to form words, but he needed to let Kane know. “Any way you want me. Any how you—”
Kane kissed him, swallowing the rest of his sentence. Syren moaned and parted his lips, reaching up to sink his nails into Kane’s forearms as the other man pushed his way inside, tongue thrusting deep. He’d been kissed before, not by many but enough to know he’d never been kissed like Kane kissed.
All-consuming. All-encompassing. Kane kissed with his entire body, a weapon to strip Syren of any shields he’d erected, to tear down any walls he’d built.
Kane rocked into him, the rough material of his jeans scraping Syren’s middle and leaving goose bumps. Kane’s arousal pressed into him, heavy, its heat burning through his jeans and singing Syren. He arched into it with eyes wide open, jumping into the unknown feet-first.
Kane wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him and Syren didn’t hesitate, he used his legs to circle Kane’s hips and humped him, his wet cock sliding over Kane’s stomach through his panties. Kane didn’t break the kiss, but he palmed Syren’s ass with one hand and moved them, gently placing Syren onto the smooth, cool surface of the counter.
Syren tightened his hold on Kane, hooking his ankles above Kane’s ass as he rubbed up and down on that erection straining for him. The blood in his veins had long since turned to liquid fire, burning him up from the inside out. Only Kane had the ability to douse it. Kane’s hand slid from his hair down Syren’s left side, rough palm coasting over his thigh and under to the swell of his ass.
“I knew you’d be like this.” Kane broke the kiss and nipped his jaw. “I knew you’d be a fucking beast for it.” He palmed Syren’s cock through his panties. “I get to give you what you need.”
“Yes.” Syren pushed into his hand. “
Eu preciso de você, por favor.
” Kane squeezed him again and he shuddered. “I need you, please.”
Kane’s palm moved over his shaft, a thrilling touch that had his teeth chattering in its intensity. “You’ll get me. There’ll be time for hard and fast, but I gotta give you the slow first.”
Syren barely registered the words once Kane’s fingers drifted lower to cup his balls. “Kane. Kane.”
“Look at me.” Kane squeezed his balls until Syren complied. Need dilated his pupils and flushed his skin, but Kane smiled down at him tenderly. “Tonight I make love to you, yeah? Give you what you need, only slow and steady.”