Page 50 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

Chapter 17

Dainn, Gladestone

Dainn watched the reunionfrom the shadows behind the beams. There was a secret cache of space up in the rafters, and he crouched down there, watching them.

If hisflammahad thought he'd leave her alone, especially in this part of the city, she still didn't know him very well. There wouldn't be one moment that he wouldn't have his eyes on her, not after she'd given herself to him, and definitely not after the last time he'd left her unsupervised. His one mistake had cost him six months of scouring the filth of this city, killing more people in the span of weeks than he had in years, until the black on his body had absorbed all the blood he'd spilled. It had almost cost him her life, and that wasn't a mistake he was going to make again.

Head tilted to the side, he silently lingered and saw the raw emotion wash over Lyla's face as she looked at her brother, so much so that he knew he'd made the right decision. She needed to have this in her life, needed to see where she came from so shecould understand where she was going. Lyla needed to find her roots to bloom. Her brother would root her. And he? He would be the thorns on the stem, leaving the soft petals to spread her fragrance while spilling the blood of anyone who tried to pluck it.

Her brother, Tristan Caine, the cold predator of the mob, weeping like a boy.

Dainn didn't know what he'd expected from the man, but this display of emotions hadn't been it. It seemed like the siblings were more similar than anyone had thought, both feeling too many things, only Tristan had learned to hide his better and Lyla still wore her on her sleeves for anyone to see.

His eyes moved to Dante Maroni standing at the door like a guard, protecting the pair inside. But it was the look on his face, almost contemplative, that gave Dainn pause. Dante was looking at Lyla like he couldn't decide if he was going to trust her yet. Had he felt normal things, he would have been offended by that on behalf of hisflamma.He almost felt pride instead, proud because a powerful man wasn't underestimating hisflamma. That pleased him because she wasn't to be underestimated. As innocent as she was, she had a fire within her that could raze the world down, so powerful it could be a force to behold, but so hidden she didn't see it herself.

"Hi," Lyla's little whisper had his eyes going back to the siblings.

"Hey," Tristan whispered back. From the angle, it was difficult to make out the other man's face, but Dainn was sure it was a reflection of what he was seeing in Lyla's. A reunion full of emotions. It was almost like watching a movie, trying to strategize and dissect everything, except the main protagonist was his woman.

Morana stood at the door with Dante, her face unguarded, posture slightly funny. Dainn narrowed his eyes, watching the way she leaned a bit more to her right. He knew she'd been shot,but from the medical reports he had accessed, she seemed to have made a good recovery. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours since he'd sent the text out. He doubted she would've had much rest in the ensuing chaos.

But he hoped she rested a bit, that they all did because there was more chaos yet to come.

He looked down at his watch, noting the time. This should be wrapping up soon, and then he would have somewhere else to be.

Just as he thought it, Tristan stood, still holding Lyla's hand, and brought her to her feet. They stared at each other, before Lyla launched herself at him, and he caught her, hugging her tightly for long minutes. As much as he disliked the man, mainly because of the power he was now going to hold in hisflamma'slife, he couldn't deny that Tristan Caine loved her. He didn't know her, but he loved her. His ceaseless search for her for decades was admirable, especially because of how rare it was in their world. People gave up hope more quickly than they gave up their life. For Tristan, it had been the opposite and a part of Dainn, the one that wanted Lyla to be happy, was glad. Because had Tristan Caine not been the brother he had been, Lyla would have never known. Had he just been an excuse of a man like most waste-of-space men he saw, Dainn would have happily kept that information to himself if he'd had a single shred of doubt that her relationship with her brother would do her any emotional or psychological damage.

"We should go," Alpha announced from the door, and Dainn took him in as well. The man was a giant but a gentle one. His wife, a sweet little thing, was gentle too. The whole group would be good for hisflamma. It would be good for her soul, so when he came back for her, she would be more whole, more at peace. He hoped it would make her laugh more easily too, the memoryof the sound and what it did to his brain enough to make him grip the beam at his side.

Listening to Alpha's words, the group wrapped up. Tristan led Lyla to the door after she took the bag Dainn had packed for her, pausing for what looked like introductions in a voice too low for him to hear. Morana hugged her, and both the men gave her nods since Tristan refused to let her out from under his arm. And then, they all exited.

Dainn waited a beat, making sure they were gone from the immediate area, before jumping down from the rafters, landing in a crouched position for the least impact. He straightened fluidly, moving next to the door and peering out.

A limo was parked in the front. Everyone got in, and the limo rolled out.

Once the coast was clear, Dainn exhaled, the sound louder than he'd wanted it to be. He looked at the exact spot he'd stood with her for the last time with her, tasting her lips and hearing her voice, knowing that even though he would keep visual on her, her sound and touch would still leave him empty. It hadn't been five minutes and he already felt hollow.

But he had things to do and a threat to annihilate. And then, they could be together again.

He walked out into the industrial block, pulling his hood over his head and hands in his pocket, adopting a hunched gait so anyone looking would think it was a random junkie. Daylight was trickier to navigate. In daylight, he had to adapt and adopt personas to give the illusion that he wanted to any onlookers. He could be a billionaire executive as easily as he could be a homeless junkie, both personas that had a slight grain of experience lending it more credibility. As he made his way to the next block, he thought about the time he'd been on the street as a teen, wondering how things would have been if he'd had a sister or a brother to look after. Dainn didn't know if he wouldn'thave cared at all, or if him caring would have culminated into more chaos. Watching Tristan with Lyla, he wondered absent-mindedly how things would have been if he'd had her much before as kids. Would it have been the same? It wouldn't have surprised him if they'd crossed each other's paths sometime before since they'd both been in the same dark circles all their lives.

A factory came into view, and this one was not abandoned. It belonged to some manufacturing company, with tall gray chimneys emanating tall gray smoke into the sky. Even daytime in Gladestone was gray. The city was a shitshow.

Dainn walked into the factory with the same hunched demeanor, inconspicuous and hiding in plain sight. Workers were focused on doing their thing. Some homeless people took up space in the side, thanks to pimping to the manager of the place. Even without The Syndicate, the whole machinery was corrupt as fuck. Humanity was corrupt. That was the only truth of life. Except for rare occasional exceptions, morality and humanity were selective facades opted by those in power to hide they were powerful. The whole system was rigged, and Dainn had zero compunction making use of it for his own benefit. If power was to be had, betterhehave it than someone else.

He slipped to the back, knowing the entire floor plan having looked it up earlier. Had to thank public databases for making it so easy.

Walking down a corridor, much less crowded than the front, he headed to the office area, where his prey was hidden.

Sounds of grunting came from behind closed doors, and Dainn wondered how humans could find pleasure in something without any connection. He couldn't imagine being inside a woman who wasn't hisflamma, couldn't imagine his skin touching any other, couldn't even tolerate the sound of anyone else's moans in his ears. Sex without connection had zeromeaning and zero purpose. The world was idiotic to engage in something so stupidly unsatisfying, creating a hole bigger and bigger each time that needed more and more stimuli to fill it, like a toxic endless loop.

Lyla would have chided him and told him not to be so judgemental of people's decisions. His lips twitched, imagining it.

With that smile, he pushed the door open. Idiot hadn't even locked it.

The round, older man looked up with anger, panting as his tiny cock flapped to find a hole, the boy he had pressed over the table looking around in desperation to escape. The boy couldn't have been older than fourteen, maybe fifteen, and Dainn grit his teeth. The dicks who preyed on children were cowards. It wasn't his morality or his own experience speaking, it was just the fact that children were helpless. There was such a power vacuum in that dynamic that it was just wrong, like pitting a puppy and a snake together. Of course, the snake was going to bite and poison the trusting, innocent creature. They ate their own eggs if need be, and the older man was exactly such a snake.

Xavier, also known as Mr. X, also the man who had knowingly sicced his dirty dogs over his own flesh-and-blood daughter, had been hiding in plain sight for a week. Mr. X had sent his men to abduct, torture and rape Amara Maroni when she had been fifteen years old. Dainn had read the reports and heard the stories during his interrogations, and the reason he'd wanted to see Amara speak at the conference years ago had been to see how she'd grown up after that. It had been a surprise to see the beautiful woman with her head as high as her empathy. She was an interesting study of how some victims took their trauma and turned it into something better. Zenith had been similar in that sense. After escaping The Syndicate, she had dedicated her life to rehabilitating victims of violent crimes.

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