Page 35 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

Chapter 12

Lyla, Gladestone

Gladestone had too manyabandoned warehouses.

Lyla stood in front of one of the smaller ones in the industrial district. There were blocks and blocks of abandoned areas like this in the city going to complete and utter ruins, factories and companies either shutting down after the turn of the century or moving to greener pastures. There was nothing green about the city. It was a concrete jungle cloaked with corporate greed while hiding crime underneath. Lyla had never really been in the city much, but whatever little she had seen from the windows of cars she had traveled in, it had left her feeling numb.

She looked up at the sky, seeing nothing but gray, not a star visible in sight, and sighed. She missed the skies in Bayfjord. Lyla hadn't known skies like that could exist in real until she'd seen them herself—skies so vast and endless and open she felt like she could fly just looking at them; skies the grayest when roiling with clouds and the bluest when clear and the orangest when burnished at sunset; skies the blackest canvas at nightwith the brightest stars splattered across it like the most surreal painting. The view of the mountains and the sea from the deck outside the bedroom, the freedom to roam the property knowing the best security was working around the clock at the border, the people she had made connections with, she missed all of it. She missedhome.

But she had to do this.

"This is for meetings." The voice made her turn her neck to look at the man at her side, the one holding her hand in his gloved one. He stood next to her in a black hoodie and jeans, the casual attire not hiding the sheer danger he wore around him, holding an overnight bag in his free hand. He led her into what looked like a dilapidated little warehouse from the outside, punching in a code and opening the rickety-looking door that appeared like it was going to fall any second.

A gasp left her as she stepped in, the inside not matching the outside at all. It was like an office but cozier and smaller. High ceilings were covered with beams that gave the building more structure than it looked like. A pair of armchairs sat on a rug on the left. A coffee machine, mugs, and snacks occupied the far left corner of the space. The major portion was taken up by a long table she'd seen in the offices in movies, mostly in boardrooms, with ten chairs around them. A projector was fixed on one of the beams, pointing to the back wall that was painted white.

"What kind of meetings is this for?" Lyla asked, taking it all in.

Dainn walked to one of the armchairs, dropping the bag down on it. "The clandestine kind. Some people like to have meetings completely off the radar, with no paper trail, and places like this are for such."

Lyla followed him in, going to the middle of the space and looking around. "Really?"

He chuckled, the tone dry. "You'd be surprised. Humans are pretty predictable in some ways." He moved to her. "The more power they get, the more important one thing becomes."

"What's that?" she asked, fascinated by how he thought.

He bent, his face close to hers. "Secrets," he said, like sharing a secret between them. "People will do anything to keep secrets."

She swallowed, realizing the truth in his words. "And you?"

"I hoard them," he told her, his hands coming to her waist. "Use them. Manipulate them."

It shouldn't have turned her on, the way he spoke about manipulating and playing people, but it did. Knowing him as she did, seeing how he was with her in contrast to the persona he shared with the world, made her feel in on the secret. It gave her something she'd never had before—power. She realized that while he hoarded and used others' secrets, he had given her all of his. And it was a rush knowing that and keeping it close to her chest, just something between the two of them, no one in the world privy to their bubble.

And what a bubble it had been, especially the last twenty-four hours.

Lyla was so sore, more happily sore than she'd ever been in her life. She could feel him in every step she took, her pussy battered and her thighs still shaking in the aftermath of what had been the most intense, insane sexual marathon of her life. He had bent and twisted and turned her every which way, and she had pushed and bounced and moved back, their touches tinged not just with desire but with desperation, memorizing each other, gorging on each other to keep themselves satiated for longer during the separation.

She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the solid beat of his heart underneath a hand, as if she could soak his innate confidence. "What should I tell them?"

He nuzzled her nose, the gesture so soft it made her heart clench. "Anything you want."

Her eyes widened. "Anything?"

He shrugged his broad, muscular shoulders she'd witnessed hold his weight so many times it had become a constant core memory. "Tell them whatever you want. It's your truth and your choice.Yours.You decide how much to share, when to share, who to share it with."

"Except with you," she clarified. "You get all my truths."

"And all your lies. And everything in between." He looked pleased. "Just don't mention Blackthorne yet."

It fascinated her every time he mentioned his different personalities like that, like they weren't the same man wearing different masks. "What about the Shadow Man?"

A twitch near the corner of his lips. "If Morana is as smart as I believe, she already suspects who you are to the Shadow Man."

She felt her eyes narrow at him. "What did you do?"

His grooves in the corner of his mouth deepened but he stayed silent, his hands firm on her waist. She basked in the presence, his warmth and his scent, for a few moments before laying another one of her fears out in the open for him. She was scared of everything—meeting all the new people she had never heard of until a bit ago but who had known of her for years. She was also scared of being… less. From what she'd found, Morana was a tech genius, Amara was a renowned psychologist, and Zephyr had been a hairstylist but was now working with her husband. Even Zenith, her old friend, had been working with people and helping them. Lyla was none of those things. Through no fault of hers and because of her circumstances, she hadn't had the opportunity to be something, her focus always on survival when it hadn't been on death. Even now, she was barely learning herself, her own likes and dislikes, little things about her that she'd never known before.

"What if… they are disappointed? I don't know how to… be. Who to be."

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