Syren Rua didn’t make it hard for Renzo to find him. Maybe he’d known Renzo would eventually be coming around in search of answers. One phone call netted him an address in Alpharetta and he got into car.

No Dax this time. This Renzo absolutely had to do on his own.

After parking behind a black Mercedes with tinted windows in the circular driveway, he walked up to the front door and rang the bell of the single family house. Hands in his pockets, he waited. He’d put as much of his old life as possible behind him. The nightmares remained, of course. Maybe he’d never fully get rid of them, but he tried. He tried so fucking hard.

Now, Syren was back in his life, with earnestness in the same eyes that had tricked Renzo all those years ago. This was the last place he wanted to be, but he needed answers and Syren had them.

It wasn’t Syren that opened the door, though. It was his husband, former US Marshal Kane Ashby. A tall muscular figure with a head full of dark hair and captivating eyes. Renzo liked to do his research. He knew what the former Marshal looked like. Today, with his hair sticking up and a few days’ worth of gray stubble on his chin, the man looked as if he hadn’t had a proper sleep in a minute. Dressed in a gray t-shirt and sweats, some kind of towel tossed over his right shoulder, he didn’t even seem a bit surprised to see Renzo on his doorstep.

The way his tired gaze sharpened, he recognized Renzo, but all he did was open the door wider and step to the side.

“Come in.”

Renzo followed him through the house and into a large living room area just as a little boy of maybe three or four came scrambling down the stairs, followed closely by a teenage girl.

“Marcos, put your pants on!” She stopped in her tracks when she spotted Renzo.

That name slammed into Renzo’s chest, stumbling his footsteps. Marcos. Syren’s birth name.

“No.” The boy cackled as he ran up to Kane and hugged him around the knees. “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

Kane scooped up his son. “Let Càtia dress you, Marcos. Then you can have something to eat.”

But the kid ignored his dad, his eyes now on Kane. “Who are you?”

“This is Papa’s friend,” Kane told his son. “Say hello.”

Marcos grinned at Renzo. He had Kane’s eyes, only the kid’s own was wide and guileless. “Hello.” He twisted around in his father’s embrace. “Càtia, I want food.”

His sister rolled her eyes.

“Càtia, take your brother to get dressed so we can go to dinner.” Kane handed Marcos off to his daughter, but just as the girl turned around, Syren appeared at the top of the stairs, a baby in his arms. All smiles.

“She’s sleeping, and anybody who wakes her gets no dessert.”

“Papa. Papa.” Marcos struggled in Càtia’s hold. “Your friend is here.” How could somebody so small be so loud?

Renzo hid a smile at the surprise on Syren’s face when their gazes met. He didn’t think anybody could surprise Syren.

“Kids, go get ready,” Kane urged them as Syren made his way down the stairs.

Much like his husband, Syren’s appearance suggested he hadn’t seen his bed a long while. Like Kane too, he had a towel tossed over his right shoulder where he held the tiny sleeping bundle swaddled in white.

He looked tired, yes, but still so ethereally beautiful, even wearing a t-shirt with what looked like spit up on the front, lounge pants and a black robe with pink lips all over it. He didn’t speak until he stood directly in front of Renzo smelling like baby power.

“Renzo.”

“Figured I’d be the one to show up unannounced this time.”

Syren’s lips quirked and he gestured to his husband with his chin. “Marshal, meet Renzo Vega. I owe him my life.” His eyes silenced Renzo’s denial. “Renzo, this is Kane Ashby, my husband, father of my children.”

The love and pride in his words humbled Renzo and he stood there for a second, forgetting why he’d come.

Kane nodded at him with a grunt then turned to Syren. “You want me to take her?” Motioning to the baby.

Syren shook his head. “Not yet, she’ll just wake right back up.”

“All right.” Kane glanced at Renzo then back to Syren. “I’m gonna take a shower, because I smell like vomit, and get the kids ready.” He brushed a lock of white-blond hair from Syren’s forehead, tucking it behind his ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. “Take your time.”

Syren smiled up at him and Renzo couldn’t help feeling an intruder. “Thank you, Marshal.”

“Vega.” Kane held Renzo’s gaze for a second before leaving the room.

Renzo waited until it was just him and Syren before speaking. “You did it.”

“Did what?”

“You said you wanted a big family.” Renzo swallowed. “You said you’d make your own family.” Of course when they’d been making those plans inside that cell, it had been the two of them. The two of them creating that big family together. “You did it.”

Syren watched him silently for a few heartbeats then sidled closer, lifting the baby from his shoulder and holding her out cradled in his hands. She was pink, eyes closed as she slept, face a little wrinkly, the tiny hat on her head sliding back to tease at the patch of pale hair on her head. “This is Sunny Rose.”

Renzo stared. “How-How old is she?”

“Two weeks.”

“She the reason you and your man looked like you haven’t slept in months?”

“Yes.” Syren grinned and his happiness blinded Renzo.

He didn’t want to feel resentment, but he did. Didn’t want to feel angry, but he did. Perceptive fucker that he was, Syren picked up on it.

“Why did you come?” he asked.

“I have questions.” Renzo looked away from the baby stretching in her sleep. “You seem to be the man with all the answers.”

Syren sat in an armchair and Renzo took a seat opposite him on the couch. “So ask.”

Exhaling sharply, Renzo sat and crossed his legs, ankle over his knee. “You warned Stavros Konstantinou away from me. Why?”

“Stavros had plans to come at you through your clubs.” Syren shrugged. “I gave him a choice between you and someone he wanted way more.”

“Daniel Nieto.”

Syren nodded. “Yes. And like I knew he would, Stavros made the right choice. He came to you?” When Renzo nodded, Syren asked, “Why?”

Renzo explained about Tennyson working for him by Stavros’ orders.

Syren’s lips quirked. “Now you’re holding this Tennyson hostage?”

“Am I?”

“Well…” Syren shrugged. “You haven’t told me what you did to her, but don’t worry about it. I will handle Stavros.”

Renzo’s brow lifted at that. “Really?” He snorted. Stavros was one of the very last people he’d think could be handled. Maybe Syren was losing his edge.

Syren took note of his skepticism, because he grinned, eyes flashing something feral. “As long as Stavros is in love with Daniel Nieto, I can handle him.”

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t lost that infamous edge. “But why do you care?”

Syren glanced at him sharply. “How is that a question? Do you think I would willingly stand by as someone plots your death?”

“You did it before,” Renzo reminded him, not a little bit bitterly. “No,” he quickly corrected himself. “You planned and carried out my death yourself.”

Grief and regret flashed in the depths of Syren’s eyes. There one second, gone the next. “We survive by any means necessary, and if we get out alive, we make amends to those we hurt along the road of survival.”

“You believe that, huh?”

“I live by it.” Syren’s chin went up a notch as he patted his daughter’s back softly. “Inside that cell, you were brave. I was a survivor. We both know they are not one and the same, because sometimes to survive you do things that are decidedly not brave. Things that are cowardly. Things that are selfish and destructive. To survive I had to destroy you.”

He’d done it so well, too. At such a young age he’d been an expert at destruction. No wonder he turned out to be the man he was at this moment.

“The monster—” Syren’s words trembled slightly. “Monster said if I got rid of you, I’d get to go home. I had to do what he asked. I had to follow his instructions.” He shook his head, lips curled into a self-deprecating smile. “But of course I had yet to learn what you’d already known, there was no going home.” The baby started fussing, so he got to his feet and started pacing, bouncing her carefully. “I had to make it right for you,” he said. “I did what I had to do and the first time I amassed any kind of leverage, I used it to find you.”

Renzo sat up. “When?”

“You were in Chicago.”

Acting on his own, trying to find lost children. He hadn’t known much, hadn’t had any contacts, just his own experiences and instinct to go on. Being approached by the FBI changed his life.

Once again Syren changed his life.

“I should thank you, should I?”

“You should do what you’ve always done, whatever you want.” Syren stopped and faced Renzo head on, gaze heavy and searching. “Are you happy, Renzo?”

“I am.” The truth and honesty in those two words shocked Renzo, and he had to take a second to think. Before Low, the answer would have been no. Even with the nightmares, with his aversion to darkness, he was happy. Low’s presence filled the aching hollows in his bones, filled the spaces in his heart.

He was happy.

“That’s what I want,” Syren told him. “I want your happiness. I want you to have what we talked about inside the cold dark cell.” His eyes turned a darker shade as he came to sit next to Renzo on the couch. “You might not claim me as such, but to me you’re family. The first one I chose. Sometimes family hurts us, but that doesn’t change the bond between us. It might be weathered and frayed, Renzo, but that bond remains.”

Renzo shook his head, tearing his gaze away. He didn’t come here for this.

“When you’re ready to take what I’m offering—”

“What are you offering?” Renzo barked. The baby let out a shrill wail and he immediately lowered his tone. “I still have no fucking clue what it is you’re offering.”

“I’m offering a family, my family, as yours. It might not be the exact way we envisioned it inside that place, but my loyalty to you remains.”

Renzo barked a laugh. “I don’t get you. I really don’t. You deliberately destroy me and now, what, you get to put my broken ass together?”

Syren granted him a grim smile. “There’s no putting men like you and me back together, Renzo. Pieces of us will always remain lost. We can only hope to find people who love and accept us despite our missing pieces.” He shifted the baby from his right shoulder to his left. “I’ve been lucky. What about you?”

“My life and happiness aren’t your responsibility.”

“Maybe not.” Sadness flitted across Syren’s face. “But I lost you once, I can’t let it happen again.”

Renzo cocked his head, really taking in the man next to him. “Am I the reason you’re in Atlanta?”

“Part of the reason.” Syren didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “A large part.”

“How does your husband feel about that?”

Syren’s lips curved. “My husband knows my moves before I make them. He understands and supports everything I do. In fact, he was the one who insisted I reach out to you in the first place.”

Renzo pushed himself to his feet and stared down at him. “And if I tell you to go away?”

Purple eyes lifted to his. “Then I’ll go, but I’ll always come back.” Syren’s chin tilted toward Renzo, quivering, the only sign of his emotions. “Until you forgive me. Until what you feel for me is no longer past tense.”

Renzo shoved his hands into his pockets with a sigh, rocking back on his heels with his eyes closed briefly. When he reopened them, Syren’s gaze remained on his face. “The boy you left for dead no longer exists.”

“The boy who left you for dead doesn’t either.”

“But you remind me of them,” Renzo told him in a hoarse whisper. “Those boys, you remind me of them, and I can’t function like I need to with that reminder.” They regarded each other in silence, the memories mucking up the air around them. Turning it heavy, oppressive. The tick of a clock filtered in from somewhere in the beautiful house.

Even the baby stopped fussing and settled down.

“You want me to go away.” Syren’s voice broke on the last word and Renzo wanted to comfort him. He wanted to tug the smaller man into his arms and hug him close, comfort him like he’d done a lifetime ago.

But he couldn’t voluntarily fall down that hole. He’d never find his way up again.

“I don’t want you to leave Atlanta. Christ.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “It’s your fucking home, Syren. I want you to fall back. Stay out of my life.”

Syren’s throat worked. “Do you find it funny that after what we went through, after being captives, vulnerable, weak, we’re now who we are? Untouchable and powerful. But our time in that cage still influences everything we do, doesn’t it?” His expression turned achingly haunted. “We fear the darkness, yet we’re so much more comfortable operating within it than the light.”

Renzo didn’t answer him. It was the truth, after all.

“I will always look out for you,” Syren rasped. “If you call me, Renzo, I will come. And if there’s someone out there threatening you, hurting you, I will use the power I amassed by doing unspeakable things for—and to—unspeakable people, and I will make them pay. Because you’re my family. You were the first one my heart chose.”

Renzo walked away then. Without a word.

Out the door.

Into his car.

Aching fingers gripping the steering wheel, head bowed as he wrestled with those memories. That feeling, that lost feeling. The cold freezing his blood and creaking his bones. The hunger eating him from the inside out. They converged on him now, suffocating, leaving him gasping.

Struggling.

He shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t be here.

In his lap, his phone went off, a single notification lighting up the screen.

The first few lines of a text from Low. “I’m at your place. Meet me…”

He didn’t even bother reading the rest. He went to his family. Because that’s who Low was. The family Renzo’s heart chose.