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Syren cocked his head, lips twitching. “I like you.” He stood and threw a hand over Scotty’s shoulders. “Normally, I would say if you’re a friend of Vince’s then you’re an enemy of mine, but I like you, Scotty,” he said, speaking in a low tone as if imparting a secret. Syren turned them until they were facing the balcony and the view outside. “You know, it’s been a while since I visited Coney Island. The last time I came?—”
“Syren!”
Scotty flinched at Vince’s shout. Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Syren spun them back around. Vince and Zander stood side by side, Zander in just jeans with his chest bare, and Vince in only his underwear. Zander’s expression was thunderous, but Vince’s held panic and fear.
“Oh. Hey, Vince.” Syren greeted him as if he were an afterthought, his hold tightening on Scotty. “I see you’re still alive.”
“Syren—”
Syren waved his free hand in dismissal. “No need to say it; I know I look better than ever.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Zander demanded, bringing a gun up and pointing it at Syren.
“Please.” Vince’s voice trembled. “Syren, let him go.”
Syren chuckled. “Why? Scotty and I were just getting to know each other. I heard you were here, so I thought I’d pay you a visit,” he told Vince. “Gotta say, I did not expect to find you in bed with not one but two good-looking men.” He tsked. “You’re a lucky one, aren’t you?”
“What do you want?” Vince asked as Zander crept closer, gun steady.
“Two things: I want Kian or Zander or whatever he’s calling himself nowadays to lower that gun before somebody gets hurt. Spoiler alert: it won’t be me. And then I want to talk about the mole inside your unit.”
The last time they’d been face-to-face, Vince had been doing his level best to ignore the hurt and embarrassment of being rejected by Kane, Syren’s husband, while Syren spectated. Vince had practically thrown himself at Kane, half dressed in a hotel room. He hadn’t expected to ever come face-to-face with Syren Rua again. But here they were. He swallowed the fear and tried to make sense of what was happening. Syren had an arm around Scotty’s shoulder and a smile on his pretty face but there was nothing friendly about that gesture.
Or the man wearing it for that matter.
Syren was and would always be a threat. He was the most dangerous man Vince knew; not so much because of violence, but because of what Syren possessed. He trafficked in information. Anything there was to know about the criminal underground and the people who ran it, Syren knew it. Was involved in it. It made him untouchable, something of a boogie man. But that didn’t stop others from trying to get to him, maybe hoping to get him to share what he knew about their rivals by offering money or threatening him and his family.
But Syren was never scared. He moved around—when he did show his face in public—as someone who didn’t have a care in the world. That was probably true, seeing as he’d insulated himself by building a wall of criminals, men he called his family, between him and anybody trying to come for him.
Vince wanted Zander to lower his gun, but Zander ignored him, sliding closer and closer to Syren and Scotty’s position.
“We can talk about whatever you want.” It took no time or thinking at all to capitulate to Syren. Vince wouldn’t fuck around, not when Syren had his hand on Scotty. He knew all too well the damage a man like Syren could do. “Just let Scotty go.” He beckoned. “Scotty, come here.”
“No.” Syren shook his head. “Scotty and I just met, but I think we could be friends. He’s staying with me.”
Fuck.
“There’s nothing stopping me from putting a bullet through your fucking head,” Zander growled. “Let him go.”
Syren cocked his head. “Hmm. I figured that red dot in the middle of your forehead would’ve at least made you hesitate, but”—he shrugged—“your funeral.”
Red dot? Vince glanced at Zander and his heart jumped into his throat. That was a fucking sniper’s dot on Zander’s forehead. “Zander. Th-there’s a—” Fuck, he was stumbling over his words. “A sniper.”
Zander’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t back down. “Then I guess we’ll both be dead.”
“You can guess again.”
Vince stiffened at that voice. He’d hoped the three of them would never see each other again, never have reason to be in the same room, but he didn’t have that kind of luck. Because Kane Ashby, Syren’s husband and Vince’s ex, walked out from around the corner, coming from the direction of the kitchen. “Kane.” He looked the same. Better, if Vince was honest with himself.
“Lower your gun,” Kane ordered Zander as he calmly walked up and pressed a gun to Zander’s temple.
“No!” Vince snapped. Fuck, why didn’t he have his own weapon? “Kane, put your gun down.”
But Kane ignored him. And Vince wanted nothing more than to leap at him, knock his ass to the ground, but Scotty remained in Syren’s grip and there was still a sniper hidden somewhere with Zander in his sights.
“Zander.” Scotty spoke for the first time. “It’s okay. Put it down; he won’t hurt me.”
Syren beamed as he glanced at Scotty. “Look at you, being the only sane one out of all of us.” He redirected his gaze to Vince. “Let’s sit. We have things to discuss.”
