Erik: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Syndicate Book 3)

by Raven Scott

  Pointing her fork at the TV, Valerie frowned under furrowed brows, and I mimicked her expression as I trained my gaze on the distant point beyond the coffee table.

  “Authorities in Dallas are have officially declared the rash of murders these past months the result of mounting tensions between local gangs. Here’s more from Chief of Police Spencer Montgomery.” The newswoman paused and I snatched the remote to turn up the volume before the screen flickered to what looked like a police conference room. “Continuing the investigation of the slew of murders of known Baron Ninety-Nine gang members with the same determination as any other murder. The general public will continue to be under curfew advisement until we have more information. As of today, based on what evidence we’ve gathered during the course of our investigation, this department can confirm that the explosion that occurred in November is the direct cause of this war.”

  My brows rose in surprise, and I pursed my lips thinly as that hectic time flashed in my mind’s eye. So, Carlyle had a plan when he blew up Pedro Gonzalez’s warehouse— he used it to cover up what was essentially a genocide. He’s scary smart when it comes to this kind of thing. Or he’s just plain scary.

  “Valerie.” Speaking up as the police chief continued droning on and on, I picked up my garlic bread as she hummed softly next to me. “If you weren’t expressly told about Carlyle, do you think you ever would’ve found out?”

  “Of course not, Natasha. Is that what you’re worried about? That this Erik guy will find out?” Puffing out my lips thoughtfully, I bopped my head side to side, and Valerie giggled a little as I scrunched up my face. “He’s no Sherlock Holmes, huh?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think he’d ever figure it out by himself. He just doesn’t think that way. I noticed that he takes everything at face value even when they’re blatant lies or manipulated stories. Erik doesn’t question anything too much, which is nice.” Trailing off as our past encounters raced behind my lids when I blinked, I stuffed my mouth full of spaghetti as Valerie nodded in understanding. Erik ran with whatever information someone plopped in front of him. That was how he was conditioned to operate. He’d said it himself that he basically grew up in the military, and he was a soldier through and through. He received orders and executed them, and he sure as shit didn’t question them.

  “He’s not a bad guy, he just trusts people too easily. Erik’s partner was his senior, so now that I think about it, I’m not really that surprised that Erik followed him despite feeling it was wrong.” Thoughtfulness inflected my tone, and I inhaled deeply as I set my bowl on the table to take up my wine glass again. The white liquid swirled so beautiful, and Valerie hummed around her mouthful in acknowledgment. “I don’t know. The more I see him, the more I think he’s like me— he got swept up in some shit because he trusted the wrong person.”

  “We were kids, and we trusted our own mom because that’s what you’re supposed to do, Natasha.” Taking a large gulp of my wine, I drained the glass, and I grabbed the bottle as I fought a dark scowl. “She’s dead, okay. You have to let it go.”

  “You don’t know shit about it, Val.” My nasty snarl pulled a shocked gasp from my sister, and I glared hotly at her as venom dribbled from my tongue. Her eyes widened, but I didn’t feel the need to restrain myself in this moment. “I can’t let it go, and it doesn’t matter that she’s dead. It doesn’t even matter that I was the one that pulled the trigger. The only thing that matters— truly matters— is I don’t forget why I’m so fucked up.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’d forget, but maybe you’d find some peace.” A sharp, scornful, hollow laugh burst from my throat, and Valerie frowned as she shot me a hard look. “When were you gonna tell me you were having nightmares again, then?”

  Tensing at the accusatory tone, I scoffed loudly, and anger seared through my chest to overwhelm all my other, even worse, emotions. Valerie held my gaze firmly, eyes flaring with determination and worry, and I licked my dry lips as fire seeped from my nostrils.

  “I wasn’t going to at all. I dealt with it before, I can deal with it again. I’m not going to forget, Valerie, and I’m not going to forgive. And I sure as shit am not going to accept that this is my life, never being able to shake a man’s hand, let alone . . . ” Trailing off softly, I stood up after a few, terse seconds to walk to the kitchen, and Valerie didn’t follow me. Lifting the wine bottle to my lips, I chugged straight out, and my eyes ached as the last two years of my life flashed behind my tightly shuttered lids.

  Valerie and I partied a lot, and it was only in that setting that I could bear being touched. Raves were the farthest thing from a dusty, crumbly house or barn, and there was no way to hear anything over the pumping music. I didn’t have to listen or see anything, and it helped.

  But outside of that alcohol-strengthened bubble, I couldn’t. Slapping Erik in the face was the closest I’d gotten to touching a man in any way in almost thirteen years.

  Shaking my head viciously, I grabbed a piece of garlic bread and leaned back against the counter to take a few calming breaths. When I walked back into the living room, Valerie glanced up at me with bleary eyes, and a frown dragged down the corners of my mouth.

  “Don’t, okay, just . . . don’t.” Offering the piece of bread, I rubbed my face hard when my sister took it, and I dropped onto the sofa to take a swig of wine and sigh heavily. “I’m sorry for yelling, Valerie.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Nat.” Leaning her head on my shoulder, Valerie nibbled her crusty bread with a little sniffle and I folded my legs under me as my stomach roiled dangerously.

  14

  Natasha

  Stepping to the side to let Erik in, I quietly shut the door behind him, and he turned to me to block out the light streaming down from the ceiling fixture. My heart stuttered, and the blood drained from my face as he slowly, very visibly, brought up powerful, muscle-roped arms to brace his hands on either side of my head. Tension gripped me in a vice, and I couldn’t breathe beyond the dense lump in my throat.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I stiffened when Erik reached to touch my chin, the faintest whisper of the flat of his finger. He slowly leaned back, and a ringing grew louder and louder in my ears as the silence stretched. What the fuck was that for?

  Now, Erik just stood there, watching, waiting, and anxiety curdled my gut as panic sloshed in my chest. My lungs screamed shrilly for air, and black spots assaulted my vision as I froze. The moment slid by on pins and needles, and goosebumps blanketed my skin as frigid, icy prickles strafed my spine.

  Blinking hard, I snapped out of my daze somehow, and I gulped down the hard ball blocking my airway to wheeze a breath through my nose. Erik didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t anything, and I somehow managed to bend my knees enough to shuffle down the hallway. My wheezes filled the living room, and I craned my neck and tangled my fingers in my hair as the black spots edging my vision closed in. My heart threatened to squeeze through my ribs, throbbing painfully with the force of its beats, and my blood reduced to a thick sludge that barely moved in my veins.

  I could feel Erik glaring at me as I practically threw myself onto the sofa. I could feel it on my skin how much he wanted to touch me, but he refrained. Labored breaths gradually got deeper once I was on my back, and my fading vision started to return to blur the popcorn on the ceiling.

  “Shit . . . shit . . . ” Croaking hoarsely, I flung my arm heavily over my eyes, and my legs spasmed from the tightness that wrapped around my spine. My episode slammed into me so hard, so fast, that I couldn’t even panic, and it disappeared just as abruptly. In my dazed mind, I felt the cushion beyond my feet dip, and I rolled onto my side to pull my knees to my chin. Struggling to breathe, I shivered as the tension seeped from my body, and the ringing died down as blood drumming began to louden and replace it.

  “I hoped it wouldn’t be that bad.” Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Erik spoke up, and I winced as his gruff tone grated my brain. A cold sweat slicked my skin, and I rolled my eye in
its socket to glare at him weakly. His face showed everything he was feeling, and there I saw sadness and shame and anger despite the blur of my tears. “Does that happen any time someone touches you, Natasha?”

  “I don’t let anyone touch me.” My rasp only tightened the scowl tucked in his goatee, and he leaned back against the sofa carefully. Sniffling hard, I pushed myself onto weak arms and dragged myself farther away, and I panted hoarsely with the effort. “Why? Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t think it would be that bad.” That wasn’t a good answer, but I knew it was the only Erik had. Frowning, my lips twitched uncontrollably, and I raked my hands through my hair roughly. “Did you remember, or—”

  “Not anymore. It . . . it just happens . . . whenever . . . ” Licking my dry lips heavily, I shook my head a little, and Erik’s expression darkened out of the corner of my eye. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I stared at the coffee table blankly as emptiness invaded my mind. “So . . . that happened.”

  “You know what happened that made my dad send me to a juvenile military school?” Casting Erik a dull look at the sudden change of subject, I shook my head again, and he tapped his fingers against the armrest as memories played in his eyes. “I shot some kid with a paintball gun right in the chest. I’m a really, really good shot, even back then. I wasn’t a small kid, but this other kid had like a hundred pounds on me or something. I was tall and skinny, and he picked on me because he was fat and self-conscious.”

  “What happened?” Sniffing to unclog my nose, I reached a trembling hand to wipe my face, and a strange sense of complacency settled heavily on my shoulders. “He bullied you?”

  “Oh, fuck, did he ever.” Stroking his goatee with his free hand, Erik shot me a sly look, but there was no smirk to accompany it. “I went to shit school in Virginia because my dad was stationed in Norfolk. This kid, his name was James, but everyone called him Jimmy Johns because all he did was eat shitty sandwiches. Anyway, his father was always deployed, his mom was unhappy, and he acted out a lot. In a place like that, it’s not something that makes you special. You don’t get special treatment or anything because a lot of kids’ parents were deployed. I knew this one girl who lived with her grandparents because both her parents were in the Navy.”

  “That seems irresponsible.” Erik only shrugged at my mumble, and I closed my eyes as he took a breath in preparation. The demons that strained at the bit around the edges of my consciousness kept at bay by his voice, and a tiny ember of relief lit under my heart.

  “Maybe. Back to the story. Jimmy was a huge kid, so he threw his weight around— literally. He’d knock me into lockers and push me in gym and shit like that. Everyone hated him, and he didn’t know how to handle the fact that no one liked him because he was a dick, so he acted like more of a dick. One day, he took my lunch that my mom made— I’ll never forget it. It was a roast beef sandwich with spicy mustard. They were my favorite. Jimmy took it and ate the whole thing in, like, four bites, and I was fucking pissed. I left school and no one even noticed, and I got my paintball gun. I only lived a block from the school. Lunch hadn’t even ended by the time I got back, and I shot him square in the center of his chest at seventy-five yards as he was walking to the bathroom. That’s impressive for a twelve-year-old and a paintball gun.”

  “Did you get suspended?” He snorted, waving his hand in dismissal, and a glimmer of curiosity sparked in my chest. “What happened when he tattled on you?”

  “I got expelled, but so did he, so I wasn’t bitter. Also, my dad wasn’t even mad at that point. He was looking for a reason to stick my ass in a youth cadet program at that point. He didn’t make enough money, so he had to get a recommendation, and viola. Jimmy died from undiagnosed diabetes when he was sixteen, and I learned how to shoot at two thousand meters.” My lip quirked up at how proud he sounded, and it beamed in his eyes as he settled deeper into the sofa and crossed his knees leisurely. “I graduated at seventeen, like I said, but 9/11 had just happened, so I got my last three credits postponed until I got back from my first deployment.”

  “When I was twelve, my dad witnessed a murder and got put in witness protection for a year, and they staged his death and everything. That’s what we thought, that he was dead. My mom was already an addict at that point— really, really bad. I was already this way, too. Valerie’s younger than me by six minutes, so it was my job to take care of her.” Gazing at Erik steadily, I rubbed my head with the butt of my palm as an ache sprung behind my eyes. “It wasn’t so bad when I told myself that. Sometimes, I even managed to convince myself that I liked it, you know. I got some money, and it’s not like it hurt anymore. One time, one of the guys gave me a bracelet. I pawned it for sixty bucks. That’s a lot for . . . that’s a whole week of food.”

  “But then he got really mad when I didn’t wear it.” Fisting my hair taut, I tugged gently as icy prickles invaded my chest, and dread churned my stomach. “He grabbed my hair. I don’t know why, but it didn’t hurt. Maybe, I was used to that, too. They weren’t gentle . . . and they laughed a lot for some reason. That ugly, gross laugh, like they were disgusted with me and mocking me, and they were great, and I was dirt.”

  “You never went to the police?” A scoff of a void laugh burst from my throat, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I shook my head viciously. “Why not?”

  “That’s a stupid question. CPS is the worst thing ever.” There were no words to describe how much I hated CPS and everything they stood for, and I sniffed a shallow breath. Erik frowned but didn’t open his mouth to protest, and I blinked blearily. “Let’s cook something. I’m hungry.”

  “Natasha—" I unfurled myself to climb off the sofa, and Erik bit back his words as I headed around the table and into the kitchen. Leaning my arms on the edge of the sink, I glared at the drain, and those ravenous dogs threatened to eat away at my brain if I kept talking. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I took a few, stabilizing breaths and sniffled before straightening my shoulders.

  15

  Erik

  “Okay, no offense, but you should start keeping a case of beer in here if this is gonna be an every other night thing.” Frowning as I closed the refrigerator door, I held a bottle of tequila up as Natasha paused what she was doing to look at me. “I’ve never even heard of this brand of tequila.”

  “My sister brought it back from France.” She shrugged, her nose crinkling slightly, and I glanced down at the bottle through narrowed eyes. “I don’t really like it— it’s kinda spicy. If you wanted beer, you should’ve brought some yourself. I don’t drink beer. I prefer white wine.”

  “I can tell.” My gaze trailed to the tall, slim wine cooler on the counter, its six racks full of various bottles, but I tried not to judge. “I’ll bring a six-pack next time, then.”

  Nodding hesitantly, Natasha went back to deveining her shrimp, and I stuck the bottle back in the fridge as my mind churned. What was I even doing here? She’d asked me to come over, but why? If she wanted to torture me with her story, it’d be a lot easier to do it through the bug, and she knew I would listen.

  It wasn’t as if we really talked while we cooked, or when Natasha cooked and I just pretended to know something of what I was supposed to do.

  “I like to cook. It clears my head. I wanted to go to culinary school, but it’s such a high stress job, and you’re not going to get any easy work. I like to cook on my own terms.” Breaking the silence, Natasha tossed a shrimp into the bowl beside her, and I wandered over to watch her, but not too close. She picked out the vein from the head and ripped the rest out so easily, with practiced movements, and she glanced over at me warily. “Want to try?”

  “Your fingers are a lot thinner than mine— I’d probably squish the shrimp.” Holding up my palm, I curled my fingers absently, and a small, noiseless scoff escaped me. “I never had to cook. I was too busy learning how to be a good, little tin man.”

  Surprise caught my breath when Natasha held her hand over mine, not touching
but close enough to prickle against my palm, and my cheek twitched in agitation. Her fingers were so slender, her nails perfectly oval and shiny from shrimp slime, and I could fold them under my first knuckles. Time seemed to stop when I glanced up to find her big, brown eyes on mine, and my gut tightened when she pursed her lips thinly under loosely knit brows.

  “You have big hands.” The murmur caressed up my jaw, and the hairs in my ears bristled even as a shadow passed through her eyes. “Not like them.”

  My lip curled up in a slight snarl when Natasha looked down, and needles stuck up my arm in waves when she touched her pointer finger to the middle of my palm. Her breath hitched loudly, lower lip quivering as she sucked it between her teeth, and her cheeks paled a few shades. A dazed expression swept across her face, like she didn’t mean to but couldn’t take it back, and I ground my teeth hard. So soft, her fingertip glided up over my knuckles and the callouses I’d built up over years and years of gloves and guns and knives.

  The moment was surreal, how something so ordinary and inconsequential could be so important.

  “It feels good.” Natasha’s eyelids fluttered closed, and tension throbbed against the metal plate in my chest as my heart raced furiously. Gunk from the shrimp followed her touch, and I held my breath as I took her hand, acutely aware of how she immediately stiffened, the intense shift in the atmosphere. Placing her palm on my chest, I caught her wide, glazed eyes when they popped open, and she gulped nervously.

  I saw it flicker in her eyes— her pupils tightening, her irises flashing black— and Natasha pulled her hand away with a hiss. Turning to the counter, she ducked her head to hide behind her hair, and I wanted to say something as her touch lingered, burning through my t-shirt. Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she sniffed hard, and I almost winced at the harshness of the sound.