Syn hated the dark.

The cloaking silence. The way the shadows seemed to surround and tighten around him until he suffocated. It didn’t matter that it had been years since he was in a room completely devoid of light—he could still feel the hands on his skin, the slaps and punches, the way scalding water had felt as it burned his skin.

His memories blended one into the next, until he was no longer sure whether the torture he’d suffered was at the hands of the other mercenaries, or if it had been his mother and brothers.

By the time he was thrown into a room in the compound, Syn hadn’t been sure which part of him was reacting to the absence of light. The scared little boy who’d been trapped in a house with a mad woman and demented siblings who’d liked to see just how tough he was, or the savage his old organization had shaped and molded until his crazy became a weapon for them to utilize.

Most days, he didn’t know what he was anymore.

He only knew what he could do, and what he was capable of. That made all the difference in the world.

Knowing he could kill with ease only dampened the anxiety inside him though, it didn’t quell it completely. Which was why he was stuck on a private jet heading to California instead of a commercial flight. The last time he’d had a blowup, it had actually hit the papers.

During those moments when reality faded, only extreme aggression—a product of his fucked up childhood—could calm the beast inside him when he was ready to explode.

Or Winter.

Winter.

His precious little miss.

The girl he’d happily give his life for should she ever need it. Had once, already, years ago.

Back before the Den.

Back when he’d worn a leather jacket with The Wraiths’ logo on his back.

Back when he’d betrayed a brotherhood—the only family he’d known.

He hadn’t known she would be there the day he and the others had walked into the pub demanding money. Not until he was already sitting at a table, waiting for the clock to strike one.

She’d just been a wee thing after all, hidden beneath a table of her own. He’d been completely oblivious to her, but she’d seen him.

Funny, considering he saw what others didn’t want him to see.

He saw lies and truth—love and disgust.

He saw what turned people into animals when the time called for it.

As he’d sat alone at the bar, twisting a pocketknife around in his palm as he’d contemplated how quickly he could kill the man he’d come for, her voice had proven louder than the ones in his head.

He would never forget, not for as long as he lived, the way she’d looked at him once she realized she had his attention—she smiled.

She hadn’t been tainted by the world yet—she didn’t see the monster he’d become over the years. The monster he’d been bred to be.

Winter had only seen someone in need of a friend, and she’d offered him that.

That was the moment he could never let go of. That one moment changed everything for him.

He’d wanted to preserve it—selfishly hoped that she would never look at another the way she’d looked at him.

In the process, he’d held on too tight.

Now, there was someone else she worried and gushed over. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—look at him the same.

Besides, the man she now loved was able to give her something he couldn’t.

Syn loved her the way he was sure he would never love another person in the world—with all that he was and all he would ever be. If she asked for his heart, he would gladly cut it out of his chest and hand it over.

But he couldn’t love her the way she deserved—as a man loved a woman.

So, despite being the selfish bastard he’d always been, he’d let her go, proud to only have thought of how he’d coped without her for just a few moments before walking away from her.

It was the right thing to do.

Even if he still felt like shit because of it.

He’d started to think he was made of tougher stuff than he’d thought, but as each day passed, he was sinking into a deeper, darker mood—one that wasn’t lifting no matter how much he fucked or fought.

For the third time since takeoff, the stewardess drifted past, glancing over her shoulder at him, a coy smile playing at her lips. An invitation, if he wanted to take her up on it.

But even as he had a mind to take her into that back bedroom, his head space wasn’t right and there was no guarantee he could fuck her and she’d be able to take it.

Instead, he rubbed his tired eyes and sat without speaking until the jet landed.

Thankfully, payment had already been arranged before he’d ever stepped foot on the jet, so he didn’t have to worry about talking to the pilot once he grabbed his bag and headed off. Even the driver standing next to the car waiting for him on the tarmac merely nodded without making eye contact.

During the drive to the compound, Syn pulled out his phone, checking his messages, then checking the timer he’d set before leaving London.

Since his entry into the Den years ago, he’d never stayed more than a week at a time in any city other than New York. There, he didn’t—and fucking wouldn’t—spend more than forty-eight hours, and that was pushing it.

It was the one place in the world, he had no doubt, the Wraiths could find him if he lingered long enough to give them the chance.

Maybe it was time to stop running …

As the thought crossed his mind, the car came to a stop in front of the compound’s gates. Tossing, his bag over his shoulder, he slid out of his car.

It was time to work for a living.

Guards watched him from the rooftops as he walked toward the entrance of the main building, undoubtedly more conscious of his presence here than anyone else who’d arrived.

Shouldering his way through the doors, Syn walked through the halls of the compound, navigating his way to the Kingmaker’s office in the back without stopping. Anyone that passed him in the hallway and attempted to engage in conversation were all given a polite, “Fuck off.” Enough to make them clamp their mouths shut and keep moving.

Those that were smart enough to only look at him didn’t linger on his face or blank expression, rather they drifted over to his ear and the cigarette he kept tucked behind it. Then, and only then, did they take an audible breath before walking right past him.

So long as that little stick of nicotine was there, the likelihood of him committing violence was slim.

It didn’t matter if blood stained his hands, or if he looked like a demon from the flames of hell made flesh, so long as he had it, there was nothing to worry about.

They were willing to bet their lives on it.

It was a filthy habit, one he hadn’t wanted Winter to pick up on—though he now knew how crazy it was to even think he could tell her what to do for the rest of her life.

Speaking of Winter …

Her laughter drifted from an open door, the familiarity of it making his hand twitch. If she was here—which was fucking news to him—she wouldn’t be alone. Annoying as the fucker might have been, her Romanian wasn’t going to let her walk into a place like this without his being here.

The smart thing would have been to keep walking, pretend like he hadn’t heard her—he didn’t need to torture himself with a visual—yet he’d hardly passed the door before he heard his name.

“Syn!”

Against his better judgment, he turned, spotting her climbing off the Romanian’s lap, a smile on her lips as she came toward him.

Genuine happiness reflected in her eyes, but of everyone in the room, she was the only one glad to see him.

Tăcut still sat where she’d left him, an unreadable expression on his face, his mask resting on the seat beside him. The others’ expressions weren’t as blank, rather openly hostile.

They didn’t like him, and he couldn’t give a shit.

But unbeknownst to them, had that cigarette not been behind his ear, he’d have been liable to give them a reason to have that look on their faces.

First example of why he hated coming around motherfuckers he didn’t like for another motherfucker he didn’t really want to see.

Story of his fucking life.

But he only needed to remind himself of how easily it would have been to take Tăcut’s life before to take the edge off. He could still see it playing on a loop in his head—the moment he’d had his knife pressed against the other man’s throat, seconds from dragging it across his jugular and ending it all right there.

He would have bled out in less than a minute, but Winter had been there to save him and talk Syn off the precipice, just as she’d done years ago.

It was only because of her that he wasn’t ending his life now—she’d never forgive him if he killed her precious Romanian.

The moment her arms came around him, he blew out a breath, allowing himself a moment to remember what he’d had and lost.

Syn could guess what they were thinking—could even understand why.

His relationship with Winter had always been complicated, and there’d always been questions about the nature of it. Some thought he was so protective of her because they’d fucked, even knowing that she’d only been a little girl when he was brought into the Den.

He might have been a bastard, but he wasn’t that much of one to take her when she was too young to recognize that he would be shit for her.

Maybe some part of him had always known the way she felt about him, and that this moment was inevitable, but fuck if it was doing him any good now.

He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a quick hug, the feel of her pressed against him as familiar as his heart beating in his chest. He missed this, but before he could think about how much he wished things were different, he set her away.

Things couldn’t be like they were.

Not anymore.

“I thought you were going home,” she said thoughtfully, stepping back to look him over as she always did.

At the reminder, his thoughts drifted to the Wraiths—the reason why he rarely stuck around the States longer than he needed to. Their memories were long and his betrayal wouldn’t be forgotten, no matter how many years had passed.

“Couldn’t ignore a summons, could I? The Kingmaker can be a right bastard if you don’t come when he calls.”

Which usually annoyed the shit out of him considering he hated being called on like a well trained dog. But his problem with authority came long before he’d joined the Den.

“While you’re here, we can—”

“I’m not here long, little miss,” he said for only her to hear. “Just here for the assignment then I’m popping off again.”

Her smile slowly fell. “But we haven’t hung out in ages.”

“Work and all,” he said, scratching at the new facial hair growing in on his jaw. When was the last time he shaved? “I’ll be seeing you.”

He didn’t wait for her response before stepping back out of the room, nor did he look back at her to see the way her expression fell.

Selfish? Maybe. But he’d never proclaimed to be anything else.

Besides, the sooner he got out of the compound, the better. Already, memories of this place were slamming themselves against the vault in his brain he kept them in, but the last thing he needed was to lose his shit in here and wind up in one of the padded rooms again.

To his surprise, the Kingmaker wasn’t in his office, rather in one of the observation rooms further down, overlooking a set of new recruits that probably had no idea the life they were signing up for.

“You’re late,” he said without looking away from the view below, his arms folded across his chest.

“Fuck off. I’m here, yeah? Get on with it.”

When it came to the Kingmaker, everyone spoke to him with the uptmost respect—except Syn.

“How’s the hunt for Grimm?”

Syn shrugged. “Unproductive.”

He’d been tasked with finding his former comrade since he was in Europe more than any of the others—and he had a way of getting answers out of people that others couldn’t—but so far, no matter who he tortured and extracted information from, he only knew Grimm was being held at a black site which wasn’t doing them any good if they couldn’t find it.

“I have another job for you.”

Good. At least that would take his mind off Winter for a while. “Alright …”

“I need you to find a woman named Belladonna. I have it on good authority that she’s still in the city.”

Syn drew a blank at the name. “Who the hell is she?”

“No one of importance at the moment. Just find her, or anything related to her. Friends. Employees. Connections. Anything”

He didn’t believe she wasn’t important for a second. If the Kingmaker called him in from London, the woman had to be important. The only question now was why.

“I can’t stay long,” Syn said, though he already knew this.

It was only a secret to those outside of this room where he’d come from and just what he’d done to become a part of the Den.

He didn’t stay away from his old city because he hated the place and contemplated burning the entire city to the ground, but because his very life depended on him. He never stayed longer than it took for someone to track him.

His old boss had ties everywhere—though they were weaker once Syn had crossed the ocean—and no matter how careful he was, it wouldn’t take long before word got back to the Wraiths that he was back in the States again.

The Kingmaker nodded, finally glancing at him. “Understood. See this done and you can take your leave.”

Then it was time to work.