The Sinner

by J. R. Ward

  “God, Syn—”

  When she reached over and put her hand on the sleeve of his leather jacket, he moved away sharply. “No. I’m going to get through this once and then I’m never speaking of it to you again. And you’re not going to touch me when I’m talking.”

  “But I feel bad—”

  “I don’t care.” He looked over at her. “You want a pound of flesh, fine. I get it. Hell, it’s even a fair thing to ask. Do not pity me, though. You can fuck off with your sympathy. I’m not asking for it and I’m not interested in it. Are we clear?”

  There was a brief pause. And then she nodded with a sadness that was palpable.

  “Crystal clear,” she said quietly.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Inside the downtown garage bay, Butch paced back and forth across the space where Manny’s surgical RV chilled out when it wasn’t in use in the field, transporting someone to the clinic for treatment, or being worked on back at the training center.

  He checked his watch. Paced some more.

  The garage was a nifty bolt-hole on the edge of the field, and the two-story, steel-girded lockdown was stocked with all kinds of supplies: Medical crap. Mechanical crap. Food crap.

  Crap, crap, crap—where the fuck was V?

  Muttering to himself, Butch walked over to where he’d parked his roommate’s car off to one side, popped the trunk’s release, and went to the four rings on the hood. Lifting up the panel, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, took off his silk shirt, and put on his long-sleeved base layer. In the warmer months, he wore muscle shirts, but they were not there yet with the temperature. It was still cold as balls out there as far as he was concerned.

  As he undid his belt and dropped his slacks to the tops of his loafers, he sensed he was no longer alone.

  Kicking off his shoes, he said, “It’s for your own safety, and where the hell have you been.”

  “I had to go back to the Pit for smokes. Something told me I’d need them.” There was a shcht as V lit up. “And that whole safety argument did not fly with you. What makes you think it’ll work on me?”

  Butch stepped to the left and picked up his pants, folding them precisely down the creases and putting them with his good clothes, a sandwich of Armani. “Because you’re smarter than I am. Always have been—and if you try and deny this, I will remind you of alllll the times you’ve felt compelled to point the happy fact out.”

  Grabbing his leathers, he pulled them into place, hopping on the balls of his feet to get them over his bare ass.

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone, cop.”

  “There are about twenty other people who can back me up.” He turned around and tucked in his shirt. Then buttoned things up down below. “There’s only one who can Simonize me.”

  V exhaled a stream of smoke and leaned back against a counter that had a tool box and six silver jugs of Valvoline Full Synthetic Advanced 0W-20 motor oil on it.

  “That metaphor doesn’t work. I’m not buffing and polishing you.”

  “Oh, my God.” Butch clapped his hands. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “See? You’re smart enough to know about that metaphor thingy not working out. Therefore you are smarter than I am. Henceforth, the logic of you staying the fuck home is more immediately apparent to the likes of you because you’re a fucking brainiac.”

  “FYI, you don’t get more points for your argument by tossing around ‘therefore’ and ‘henceforth.’ ”

  “It’s the only recourse an idiot like me has.”

  “And the last time someone used the word ‘brainiac’ in a sentence was when Flock of Seagulls was hitting the charts and AT&T was ordered to break up.”

  “Thank you, Alex Trebek.” Butch bent down and picked his chest holster up out of the trunk. “And by all means, let’s keep talking. It’s just making me look dumber which is a big help to my side of this debate.”

  V seemed nonplussed for a moment. “Are you aware of what you’re saying?”

  Strapping on his daggers, handles down, Butch shook his head. “Not a clue. Which is what stupid people do, right? Not smart people. Like you.”

  He put his ammo belt around his waist. Stocked the guns on either side. Checked his bullets. Then he put his leather jacket on.

  “What about your boots?” V muttered.

  “You know, unless you’d mentioned them, I would have forgotten to put them on.”

  “Don’t you dare sit your ass down on the front of my car.”

  “Not to worry. I might be dumb, but I don’t have a death wish.”

  Shutting the hood, Butch parked it on the concrete floor by the front air dam and drew socks on. Put his feet in shitkickers. Laced things up.

  He grunted as he went back onto the vertical. Jogging everything into place, he put his hands on his hips and stared across the vacancy of the garage.

  “You wanted to kill me the first night we met,” he said.

  “Still do.”

  “But we’re a long way from that now. And if I’m going to do what I need to out there, I can’t be worried about you.”

  As V started to look around, Butch went over to a table and picked up a half-full bottle of Coke. “You ash on the good doctor’s floor, he’s going to operate on something you can’t grow back.”

  When he cracked the top, there wasn’t a fizz to be heard or seen. “Here.”

  V took what was offered and tapped his hand-rolled over the open neck. “I’m not going to let you die out there.”

  “The Omega is going to come after you. That he hasn’t already makes no sense.”

  “Maybe he’s not that smart.”

  “You know that’s not…” Butch rubbed his temples as they started to ache.

  “What?”

  What had he been saying? “Anyway, you know how your mom left us? The species, I mean.”

  “No. I forgot—tell me more. And we shoulda gotten her a fake gold watch for her retirement. Cake that read ‘The Golden Years Are the Best.’ Bouquet of fucking flowers with a card.” V shook his head and spit out a flake of tobacco. “Helluva female, true? Creating all this shit and leaving it in the dust like none of us matter—I mean, the race. Like the race doesn’t matter.”

  “But what if she left because she had another job to do.”

  V frowned. “Like what.”

  “Protecting you.” As V rolled his eyes and started cursing, Butch put up his palm. “Hear me out. The first rule in conflict is finding the weakness in your opponent and exploiting it. The Omega knows what I do and he knows about you. His very existence is at stake. You think he’s not going to do the math and put a target on your back? Eliminate you and what I can do to him is out the door. Problem solved.”

  “You’re suggesting that the Scribe Virgin took off so she could watch over me?” V laughed in a short burst. “Yeah, right. My mahmen doesn’t think about me or my sister.”

  “I don’t know if I believe that. I think she’s more involved than we know, and I think she came to me to send me a message about your safety.”

  “Trust me. It was not about that.”

  “Then what the hell was she doing in a Catholic church tonight?”

  “Not talking to me, that’s for sure.” V ashed into the soda bottle again. “And let’s put this conversation aside, so we can keep fighting about the topic at hand. One argument at a time.”

  Butch shook his head and walked across to stand in front of the brother. Putting a hand on the side of V’s neck, he cut the bullshit.

  “You can dematerialize to me, anywhere I am. I can’t do that. I’m stuck with the ground game. You can be covered by a legion and so can I when we’re together. But if we lose you? It’s all over for me. We are both equally important, but what I do has to be in the field. What you do can be done anywhere.”

  V stared down at the tip of his hand-rolled. “I’m feeling some kind of way about this.”

  “It’s the
truth and you know it.”

  “Motherfucker.”

  Butch leaned in and put his forehead on V’s. “I’ll call as soon as I need you.”

  “You die on me, I’ll resuscitate you just so I can kill you all over again.”

  “Fair enough.” Butch straightened. “Now get the fuck back home.”

  “I don’t agree with this.”

  “Yes, you do or you wouldn’t be leaving.” Butch nodded to the exit, even though that would not be the way Vishous ghosted out. “Go on—”

  “How did my mahmen look?”

  “I’d never seen her face before.”

  “That makes one of us,” V said bitterly.

  “Mothers are complicated.”

  “You don’t say.” V dropped his hand-rolled into the soda bottle, a little sizzle rising up. “You call me. I’ll come at any second.”

  “Or they’ll bring me to you.”

  “I’d prefer the former.” V rolled his eyes. “Guess I’m going to go clean my room.”

  “You think Fritz is going to allow that?”

  “You think he’s going to have a choice?”

  V was shrugging as he dematerialized, and Butch stared at where his best friend had stood for a moment. Then he locked up the R8, and texted to everyone on rotation that he was heading into the field.

  He didn’t make it.

  As soon as he stepped out of the garage, he stopped dead in his tracks from shock. “Jesus… Christ.”

  * * *

  Behind the wheel of the Golf, Jo tightened her grip and was tempted to tell Syn to stop talking. But that was a whole load of bullcrap. He’d had to live through his past. She was just having to listen to it.

  And when he didn’t immediately go any further with his story, she was not about to prompt him. She just kept driving them along.

  About a mile later, he started talking again. “That female I cared for fed me when I was starving. She clothed me when I was all but naked. She warmed me with her smile when I was cold.” He paused. “She was the only thing in my life that didn’t cause me pain.”

  I would have helped you if I could have, Jo thought.

  “She sounds like a very good person,” she said.

  “She was.”

  “Was? Is she… has she passed?”

  “I don’t know what happened to her. I moved away from my village, and I understand that eventually, she came over here as I did. I also understand she got mated and had some young. Two, I think. Which is a blessing.” He rubbed his eyes. “After everything she did for me when I was a young, I just wanted her to have a good life. A long, happy, healthy life.”

  “So you did love her.”

  “I told you. It wasn’t like that.”

  “No, I mean—you loved her as in she mattered to you.”

  “She did.” The breath that came out of him was sharp and short. “But enough about her.”

  “Okay.”

  He cleared his throat. “I was a natural born soldier. I was good at… what I did. So I was recruited to fight the enemy.”

  “Was this just after nine-eleven? You must have been so young. I mean, how old are you? And what country did you fight for?”

  “In times of war, you do what needs to be done. And it was the best use of me. Before the structure of my… unit, I guess you’d call it, I was doing contract killing. My cousin was the one who got me into the service—”

  “Wait.” Jo glanced over at him. “Contract killing?”

  “Yes.” He looked at her. “Don’t make a hero out of me, Jo. It won’t serve you well.”

  “Do you ever regret what you did? What if you killed someone who was innocent?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I only accepted certain kinds of jobs.”

  “I can’t imagine taking someone’s life.”

  “Sometimes it’s easier than you think. If someone threatened you, your immediate family, your blooded kin? You’d be surprised what you can do in that moment. Civilians can turn into soldiers pretty damn quick in those circumstances.”

  “You definitely see things like a military man,” she murmured.

  “Always. And I will defend me and mine against all comers. It doesn’t matter who they are or how otherwise virtuous they may be. If you are a danger to me? To my brothers? To those I serve? You will submit to me. I will take the payment for your indiscretion out of your flesh. And when I am finished? I will never think of you again—not because I am troubled by what I have done, but because you do not matter to me and neither does your death.”

  A cold fear curled in Jo’s chest. “I cannot fathom those deductions. That conclusion. I mean, a life is a life.”

  “Then you haven’t looked into the eyes of someone who is going to kill you solely because you are not like them. Because you do not believe the same things they do. Because you are living a different kind of life. Wartime is not the same as peacetime.”

  Jo shook her head. “Anyway, so you said your cousin got you into the military? What branch? Or was it, like, Special Forces?”

  “Yes, something like covert ops. We fought for… years over in the Old Country. Then the focus of the conflict changed course and I came to America with the leader of my squadron. After some… reorientation… we fell in line with the powerful male I work for the now. And that brings us up to date.”

  Jo thought of the flash of attraction she had felt when she had seen him in all that leather, with all those weapons on his body. He had seemed so thrilling and mysterious. Now, she confronted the reality of what the guns and knives were used for. What they did. What his body had done to other bodies.

  “What would you be doing with your life if the war hadn’t happened?”

  There was a pause. “I would have been a farmer.” He shifted in his seat. “I would have liked to have a plot of land I could cultivate. Some animals to care for—horses to ride, cows to graze and milk. I would have liked… to be one with the earth.”

  As Syn seemed to become steeped in sorrow, he lifted his palms and stared down at them, and she imagined he was picturing his hands in good topsoil, or traveling down the flank of a healthy horse, or cradling a newborn calf.

  “A farmer,” she said softly.

  “Aye.” He put his palms down on his thighs. “But that is not how things went.”

  They were silent for a while. Then she felt compelled to say, “I believe you. Everything you said, I believe.”

  He leaned to the side and rooted around inside his leather jacket. Taking out a slim wallet, he presented her with a laminated card.

  “Here’s my driver’s license.” When she shook her head, he put it up in front of her. “No, let’s do it all. That’s who I am, but the address is an old flophouse where I stayed with my brothers.”

  She glanced at what he held out. The name listed was Sylvester Neste. And the street was like “Maple Court,” or something equally all-American.

  He took the license back. “As I said, I’m living with the male—man, I mean, and his family. I’ve got no wife, no kids, and never will. So you know everything about my current status.”

  Jo opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. “And here’s my telephone number.”

  He recited seven digits. Twice. “You want me to write it down for you? There’s a pen right here.”

  Taking her Bic out of the drink cup holder, he bent down and fished around the Slim Jim wrappers at his feet. Wrote his number on the back of a Hershey’s wrapper. Tucked the number into the drink cup holder and put the pen back where it had been.

  “Any questions for me?” he said evenly as he tucked his wallet away.

  Jo looked over at him. “I’m not going to pretend to be comfortable with some of the things you stated. But it’s… they’re the reason I think you’re being honest, though.”

  “I withheld nothing.”

  “I feel like I should apologize for forcing you to talk.”


  “Don’t worry about that. I’m a stranger and this is a dangerous time. There’s nothing wrong with taking care of yourself.” He brushed the top of his Mohawk. “Also, I have no Facebook page. No social media anything. Who gives a shit about all that. I also do not have an email address, and I do not put money into the banking system.”

  “At all? So how are you paid?”

  “In cash, and I will not apologize for being off the grid. No one should trust the government.”

  She laughed dryly. “I don’t judge you on that.”

  “It is what it is—and feel free to verify everything. I’ll give you my Social Security number if you want? But I’ll tell you that it’s one that was bought and paid for on the black market. I don’t really exist in the records of the world you live in.”

  “Syn.” She briefly shut her eyes. “I didn’t mean to turn this into an inquest.”

  “Do you want my Social Security number?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  As they came up to a four-lane byway, she braked at a red light and took a right. She didn’t expect him to say anything. Ever again.

  “I’m not a hero, Jo.” He put his elbow on his window’s jamb and propped his hard chin on his knuckles. “I have no future, and a past I don’t waste time thinking about. I’ve got this moment here and now, and even when it comes to that, I’m only halfway present. You spoke the truth. I’m a joke.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” she said sharply.

  “Yes, you did. And I’m not hurt by the truth. Why should I be hurt by the reflection of myself in the mirror of your eyes?”

  “Syn…”

  Jo looked over at his profile. With his Mohawk and his hooded eyes focused on the road ahead, he looked like exactly what he’d told her he was. A military man who had seen the very worst of humanity, been at the mercy of governments and greedy politicians, and learned that trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford.