The Syndicates: A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Raven Scott

  Of course, I could just wash it all and deal with the stains, but going to a laundromat was probably more expensive than getting a new blanket and pillowcase. Keen eyes followed me as I shuffled towards the corner designated as the kitchen, and I pressed my palms down on my hips to arch a little. My back popped, and a gust of a sigh escaped me before I grabbed the bathroom door handle.

  Pausing to look over my shoulder, I frowned as Theo stared at my ass with an appreciative glint in his eye.

  “Don’t try to come in the shower with me or anything creepy like that.” His narrowed gaze snapped to my face at my demand, and I hid my surprise when he only nodded silently. “Seriously.”

  “I won’t creep on you in the shower, Illya. I know I’m not making the best case for myself, here, but I wouldn’t do that . . . unless you asked me to.” Arching a brow quizzically, my frown deepened, and Theo scanned me from top to bottom above thinned lips. “I’m not a creep. I think we got off on the wrong foot, here.”

  “Right.” Pushing the door open with that skeptic reply, I shut myself in the bathroom to lean against the barrier and heave a massive sigh. “What the fuck?”

  Jerking the shower curtain closed, I turned on the knob to just above lukewarm and gingerly peeled off my shirt. A fury of emotions bombarded my chest and squeezed my heart, and I scowled at the edge of the shower rising up off the old, cracked tiles.

  If Theo wasn’t a creep, why the shit did he stick around in my apartment and watch me sleep for twelve hours? What the Hell did he consider that kind of thing if not straight-up weird? And, now, he basically strong-armed me into going to breakfast for . . . for what? To show me he wasn’t a creep? That he could do normal things that weren’t glaring and scowling and occasionally doing a shitty parking job?

  “Ow.” Torn from my thoughts when I climbed out of my jeans to unsnap my leotard, I held my breath as I rolled the fabric up my chest. “Ow-w-w shit.”

  My bandages stuck to my skin, and I pulled my bodysuit over my head to tug the taped end free. Blowing out a hot breath, my hands shook as I carefully unwrapped my torso, and I winced as swear acted like a glue against my scar.

  Could such extensive burns even be called a single scar, or was it like a conglomerate of scars?

  “Oh, my God.” Covering my mouth with my free hand, clamminess tingled against my lips, and I choked on a gasp. It seemed like forever before I’d unraveled myself, and I rolled up the bandage to toss it into the trash by the toilet. My bathroom was so small that one ninety-degree turn and I was in front of the sink, and the other way, the toilet. I didn’t have to take a single step except to get into the shower, and goosebumps blanketed my body.

  I just had to wash my hair. Such a concept was simple, but putting it into practice was much harder. My chest tightened and spasmed from the streams of cold water, not frigid but not warm, either, and I turned my back to the showerhead. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took stabilizing, forceful breaths as my heart rate jacked up, and I straightened my curled spine as I slowly but surely got used to the pain.

  “Shit.” Green ran in rivers down my body, and I grabbed my shampoo to help wash all the color out. My hands still shook, but I didn’t pay it any mind as I let the pounding on my scalp massage my haggard brain.

  I need to take my contacts out. My face was so caked in shit that I hadn’t even remembered my contacts until that moment, and I scrunched up my nose in irritation. I had developed something of a routine, and that’d been shattered to pieces by Theo. Kneading my scalp and running my fingers through my hair, I tensed and eased as raising my arms pulled the tissue on my chest.

  Theo might’ve only had two fingers and a thumb on one hand, but I wondered if even he could handle seeing me naked. Shit, I didn’t even want to see me naked most of the time. Rinsing my hair, I cracked open my eyes to glance behind me, and a relieved sigh escaped me at the clear water dripping from my hair. The long strands were black from being so soaked, and I grabbed my face wash to stare down my front.

  “What guy thinks this is attractive?” My palm hovered over my chest, and I cupped my breast, or what little of it I still had. A dense lump formed in my throat, and my grip on my fash wash bottle tightened as disgust battered the backs of my eyes. I’d never— not ever— had sex without my shirt on and the guy absolutely fucking trashed, just blind drunk. As messed up as that policy was, I didn’t really have a choice.

  One time, when I was still pretending to the world that I wasn’t homeless and dirty, I’d taken off my shirt with my first serious boyfriend. He was faceless now, but the image of him projectile vomiting at the sight of me— that was a memory I’d never be able to scrub from my mind.

  And Theo would be no different, I knew.

  “Maybe I should do that so he’ll finally leave me alone.” The hot pink flesh, swirling with tints of normal, pale coloring and purplish blotches in some places, twitched noticeably as my breath flowed down it. An absolutely enormous, sickly green-yellow bruise smeared across my side where Theo had grabbed me, and I dragged my fingers down it. Only the crescent indents of his fingernails really stung, and my lips thinned as I shook my head viciously.

  That wouldn’t work— Theo would just try harder. He’d see me as a broken thing that he could try to fix. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea considering my patchwork, duct tape job is failing so miserably.

  13

  Illya

  “So . . . ” Breaking the silence only when we’d turned off my block, Theo gripped the wheel with his good hand and held up his right with a sidelong glance. “I was in Afghanistan about three years ago when my convoy was attacked.”

  He hesitated, his jaw ticking noticeably as he flexed his fingers, and my eyes widened in horror. My heart nearly stopped beating at that short but powerful confession, and I covered my mouth to hide my gasp even though it echoed in the car. Theo chuffed lightly, his lips twisting in a rueful smirk, and he reached over the center console to set his mangled hand on my knee.

  “Technically, my ring finger got shot off at the first knuckle, but a bullet went through the tire I was behind and the rubber exploded and sliced them both clean off. I got med-evac’d to the States, and they decided that since I wasn’t useful anymore that they should discharge me. When I got out of the hospital, after agreeing to go to PT that I never went to.” Theo cast me an almost fond smile— the softest, gentlest smile yet— and my heart throbbed painfully as his fingers flexed against my jeans. “They gave me a bunch of money and forgot about me. My family acted like nothing was wrong, which was inarguably worse than being shoved out of the Marines before I was even conscious.”

  I opened my mouth only for nothing to come out, not even air, and Theo cleared his throat roughly.

  “I was four months into being a civvi when I was invited to my sister’s house. To be honest, I wanted to go, which was my first mistake. It was a family thing. She was having a gender reveal thing. Anyway, I’m there, and I don’t drink so I’m stone-cold sober when she comes up to me and asks me to do something that required both my hands.” A gasp of foreboding wrenched from my throat, and Theo grunted in acknowledgment as his expression darkened. “I obviously can’t do shit with this hand, so I told her so. She said to my face, in front of fifty-odd family members and kids, that my fingers getting blown off shouldn’t affect what I’m capable of doing, and that I should try harder.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yeah. I basically told her if that’s what she thought, I’d happily cut off her fucking fingers and see how much she likes it. My sister wasn’t too excited about that. That was the point when I decided . . . fuck it. I’m the oldest of six, and I’m being treated like that after being a Marine for eleven years? It was a huge thing. I grabbed my sister and told her if she didn’t think having two missing fingers was a huge deal, I’d cut them off her right there. She started freaking the fuck out, and I put her hand on the table and pulled out my knife. I’m not gonna lie— I probably could’ve handled it better. The
police got called. I got put in jail, and she pressed charges. At court, the old-as-dirt judge was a Vietnam vet and sided with me, but I got a protection order slapped on me. Honestly, it was a blessing in disguise. I always felt like they were my family, so they’d stick by me if I just stuck it out and eventually, I’d get somewhere.” Theo’s voice grew darker and deeper as his tangent bounced off the dashboard, and I tensed when his fingers squeezed my knee weakly. He didn’t even seem to notice, and my mind frantically tried to keep up with his story as his car eased to a stop at a sign. “I shacked up with Mateo because I went to Mexico intending to disappear and be a hermit. He needed a bodyguard, and I needed money and something to do. He pays really well.”

  “You know he’s not Mexican, right?” Blurting out the only thing I could think of, I gulped down the dense lump in my throat as Theo cast me a quizzical glance. For the moment, I ignored everything he’d just told me. It was too much to process right now, and maybe he knew that. Maybe he just wanted to tell someone, and that unfortunate someone was me. “Uh-uh, he’s not Mexican. His accent sucks, and I’d bet money he learned Spanish in a classroom in a fancy boarding school or something.”

  “How can you tell?” Oh, shit. Blinking hard at the question, dread gnawed at my gut, and a twitch pulled up the corner of my mouth grimly.

  “I lived in Mexico when I was younger. My parents were there for work for a few years, and I’m pretty good with languages. Mateo isn’t a native Spanish speaker, even as a household language. If I had to guess, I’d say he got lucky with the looks.” Theo’s brows rose at my analysis, and I rolled my lips between my teeth as I recalled the one and only time I’d met Mateo. “I pretend to have a Spanish accent at work because it gets me more money, especially on Wednesday and Thursday nights.”

  The car rolled through the four-way as I spoke, and Theo grunted lowly as he turned his attention to the road. My heart ached for him, and I tentatively covered his right hand with mine. I knew exactly what that was like, for everyone around me to act like what happened to me hadn’t changed me. The only difference was that I was twelve when my traumatic event happened.

  “When did you enlist?” Launching my probe into the immense quiet, I grazed my fingertips along the smooth scar tissue where Theo’s fingers should’ve been. They must’ve taken out the knuckles and done some grafting, and he swung into a turn before inhaling in preparation. It feels like my skin.

  “When I was seventeen, I graduated high school and went to the recruitment office the next day. My family wasn’t very well off, and the military would pay for my college. I wanted to be an engineer, but I ended up going into the Marines instead as an infantryman. I found out I was really, really good at it. I was going to be a career man until my hand got fucked up.”

  “I never considered the military to get out of my situation.” My mouth dried at my own admission. I sure as shit would’ve done the exact same thing if I could’ve. I knew I wouldn’t pass the physical, though, so there was no point in trying. “I’m doing pretty okay now, though. I mean, compared to the past, at least.”

  “You were homeless.” His wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway, and Theo’s hand twitched against my leg. “That must’ve sucked, but at least the weather wasn’t too bad, right? No snow or anything.”

  “Um . . . no snow, yeah.” Furrowing my brows over thinned lips, I turned my gaze out the window as the grungy apartment blocks gave way to small businesses and slightly cleaner streets. Theo had told me a lot about himself in the short time we’d been driving, but I couldn’t help the reluctant pull at the base of my throat. More often than not, things went sour fast and intensely, and him confessing all this awful shit to me didn’t change what I thought.

  The notion that Theo was trying to make it up to me wasn’t something I could turn down, though. He was creepy, sure, but not straight-up pervert-sexual-offender creepy. He was just a lonely guy that thought something was a good idea when it really wasn’t. I’m going to Hell for making excuses for his behavior. That’s a red flag. He’s just a bundle of red flags.

  “That was one thing that sucked. I was deployed in the Philippines for four months during the monsoon season. There was mud literally up to my elbows sometimes.” Theo turned onto a stretch of road by the train station, and a sign climbed high above the single-story plaza emblazoned with a waffle and a name. Licking my lips heavily, my stomach grumbled eagerly, and I almost forgot what he said as soon as he said it. “I’d rather go back to Afghanistan than go to the Philippines in monsoon season.”

  The conversation fizzled out as we came closer and closer to our destination, and Theo reluctantly pulled his hand out from under mine. Pulling into the parking lot, he prowled for a spot, but I could see even in my skewed peripheral that parking made him nervous. Keeping my eyes firmly on the window, I picked at my fingers and tried not to tense when the first available spot required some K-style maneuvering.

  14

  Theo

  Leaning back in the booth of a fairly nice breakfast place, I propped my head in my arm and watched Illya scan the menu. She seemed thinner than before her shower, but that could just be her tank top. An apology clung to the backs of my teeth, but I had a little bit of an issue getting it farther. Her fanny pack hugged the edge of the table, she’d washed her face free of green and dried tears and sweat, and my eyelid twitched before I lowered my arm to clear my throat.

  “Just so you know, I didn’t sit around your apartment all night. I’m not that dense.” Pretty, light green eyes, real eyes, met mine over the rim of her menu, and Illya arched a thin brow quizzically. “You said your parents lived in Mexico, right? What’d they do?”

  “Uh . . . my mom worked for the U.S. government, and my dad was a stay-at-home father.” Reluctance seeped into her tone as curiosity sparked in my chest, and I reached to rub my wrist under the table. I’d tried not to fuck up my parking job, but I didn’t want to find a spot farther away. And they say chivalry is dead. “I lived in Mexico for about two years, and I learned the language really fast. We came back to the States when I was eleven.”

  “Did it suck moving around like that?” Her thick, pink lips thinned, eyes diverting to the menu, and my own narrowed on her as I propped my elbow on the table to hold my chin. “Did your parents drag you around a lot?”

  “Yeah, but at least they were alive.” Aw, fuck. The bland reply tightened my chest as Illya clearly shut down the topic, and I clenched my jaw hard. Long, nimble fingers raked through her hair to pull it over her shoulder, and my gaze followed the movement. Despite all the dye, Illya had beautiful, bouncy curls that I just wanted to wrap my fist in, and I tapped my cheek absently.

  “Were you an only child?” Shrewd eyes flashed hazel when she shot me a glare from over her menu, and I struggled not to frown. “I just wanna know.”

  My stubble bristled when Illya closed her menu with a soft flop and set it on the table. Slumping into the seat, she gazed at me with frustration changing the color of her eyes, and I scratched my cheek as prickles shot up my arm. Clear as day, she was debating whether or not to chew me out about asking questions, but I wanted to fucking know. That’s not a crime. Inhaling through parted lips, she exhaled through her nose before sitting up and clasping her hands on the table to cast me a stern look.

  “I wasn’t, but I am now. Can we not talk about this? Actually, let’s not talk about anything at all, okay? I really, really, really— and I cannot stress this enough, Theo— don’t wanna talk about myself.” Gesturing between us, Illya frowned deeply in displeasure, and apprehension gripped my heart in a vice. “I came out to breakfast with you because you wouldn’t let me not. You know where I live. You know where I work. You obviously don’t give a fuck about hurting me because you’re using your guilt as an excuse to do the exact opposite of what I want, which you clearly don’t care about, either. I’m gonna eat, but that doesn’t mean that whatever you want to happen is gonna happen.”

  The thick muscles in my back tense
d and released sharply as anger struck my chest like lightning, but I forced myself to take a huge breath and hold it. Craning my neck, I rolled my shoulders in an semi-successful attempt to shirk off the sting of Illya’s calm declaration. Her half-hooded eyes glimmered with weariness, like she expected me to jump across the table to strangle her or something.

  She held my gaze firmly, and I exhaled slowly before even thinking of trying to open my mouth.

  “You’re not gonna give up, are you?” Truth be told, I thought that if I was just persistent enough, Illya would cave. Obviously, I was wrong, and she shook her head quietly across the table as I rubbed my cheek and neck with my good hand. “At the club, I didn’t get the impression that you were so strong-minded.”

  “Because it’s my job to listen to drunk guys complain about their wives and sit on their lap, not give my opinion.” I only grunted at that, and Illya’s frown darkened under furrowing brows as I sat back to keep my knee from banging against the table. “I’ve told you half a dozen times, Theo, I’m dealing with my own shit. I don’t need anything more piled on.”

  I opened my mouth, but my words never rolled off my tongue when my phone began to trill shrilly. The only numbers I had in the new device were Mateo’s and my favorite pizza place, and I scowled as I fished it from my pocket. A childish disappointment hit me when I saw it was my boss. There was always the hope that, somehow, I’d won free pizza for life. Inhaling a steadying breath, I swiped the Accept button and slumped deeper into the booth.

  “What?” Mateo had been insufferable since nabbing Sylvie, and she still hadn’t come down from that high we’d found her in. He strapped her to a bed and left her with a doctor to throw a fit about her that lasted all night, and I was honestly on the verge of shooting her myself. “I’m busy, Mateo. Make it quick.”