Hair wet and tied into a bun, Iris sat with her laptop in front of her, finishing up the last of her new upload—this batch of the woman he was having an affair with.

As far as she could tell, the girls only lasted a few months, all given a key to a downtown apartment with impressive views and a doorman, though none knew the girl before her had occupied it too, or that the girl who came after her would as well.

They couldn’t know unless they had zero self-respect for themselves.

She tried to imagine a life like that—waiting on the whims of a man. Especially one like Spader.

He wasn’t unattractive, though not conventionally good looking either, but what he did have was a trait most politicians possessed—charisma. He appealed to others with little effort.

He knew how easily he could take advantage of others, and the first chance he got, he wasn’t afraid to demonstrate the power he possessed.

She couldn’t wait to see his fall.

“Where’s your family?” Synek asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway of her bedroom, nearly scaring her to death.

She’d meant to close the door—surprised she hadn’t considering her need for privacy. He had a way of sneaking up on her, and it was unsettling.

“Do you knock?”

He held a bottle of Grey Goose in one hand, the cap long gone. Though the bottle was nearly a fourth empty, his eyes were clear, and he didn’t seem to have any trouble standing.

A look of derision on his face, he raised his hand and rapped twice on the open door before stepping inside, walking over to the bed, and stretching out without so much as an invitation. She had a better view of the tattoos on his chest, along with the fine scars that marked his torso.

It seemed the life he led, both before and after the Wraiths, had been a hard one.

“Where’s yours?” she asked, thinking he would drop it.

“Is that how you get by? Turning the question on the asker, hoping they won’t want to talk about themselves?”

“It’s been working for me,” she mumbled, though judging from the little smile on his face, he’d heard her just fine.

“You ready to answer my question now?”

“I don’t have a family,” she answered reluctantly, figuring he wasn’t going to give up the way he had earlier. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Course not. I’m not a complete savage all the time.”

“Then why ask at all. Why does it matter?”

He met her gaze, something unspoken lingering there. “Because I want to understand.”

“You want to understand me?” she asked in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He paused for a long while. “I don’t know. I just … do.”

Feeling uncomfortably exposed, she reached for the bottle in his hand. Even knowing she hated the taste of alcohol when it wasn’t mixed with anything, she still brought it to her lips. Drinking a mouthful, she winced as it burned all the way down and settled in her stomach. But as quickly as it set fire to her throat, she soon felt warm all over.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re not desperate to get back to anyone. You didn’t send a text to anyone when you set up your new mobile, and the only pictures I could find in your apartment were of Spader. Far as I can find, you haven’t got a single person checking up on you.”

Synek was far more observant than she’d given him credit for, but then again, she didn’t really know him and only based her assumptions off what little was in the file and their few interactions.

Though he was starting to seem like a burgeoning alcoholic—he had come in here with a bottle of his own—he was far more intuitive than she’d originally thought.

He saw easily what she kept hidden from everyone else.

She didn’t owe him an explanation for who she was or the things she was doing, but he was going out of his way to do something for her.

The least she could do was entertain his questions, even if they reopened old wounds.

“Then that should have given you your answer, right?”

It sounded unbelievably sad when she put it that way.

“Not necessarily. I have brothers out there, somewhere. Can’t imagine they’d ever want to get into contact with me, though.”

His answer surprised her This had to be the only thing he’d ever told her about himself freely. “Why not?”

“On account of my mum.”

Iris had never gotten close to any of the Wraiths, or anyone, for that matter. She didn’t know the protocol for this—for something serious. His entire demeanor had changed, though she wasn’t sure if he’d realized it or not.

He rubbed his eyes, seeming to grapple with a decision. “She thought of me as the devil.”

Her smile was quick, thinking he was joking, but when his expression didn’t change, the brief tilt of her lips flattened again.

“She thought the best way to heal me was to beat the sin out of me, as she liked to call it.”

Iris tried to imagine him as a boy, back before he was hardened by life and not drinking his nights away. She could almost see chubby cheeks, floppy hair, and a sort of presence you couldn’t help but notice.

Then she tried to picture anyone who thought to hurt him.

“It became a game then,” Synek said bitterly, lost in the past. “To see who could break me. Between my brothers and her, it was a toss-up who came up the winner of the night.”

“Jesus, Syn.”

She hated that ghost of a smile, even as she realized what she had said given their conversation.

“Did anyone ever step in?” She didn’t know much about child protection agencies in other parts of the world, but she was sure Britain had one.

“I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if they could. I took off.”

“And joined the Wraiths?” she asked, remembering bits of a story Rosalie had told her once.

“I lived on the street for a bit after, but yeah, the Wraiths came after.” A humorless laugh left his lips, and only after he took a deep swallow of his liquor did he say, “They didn’t have much to work with.”

Though he said this as if he believed it, Iris didn’t.

He could have been someone else. Had he been loved and nurtured. Even if he had been broken, and she didn’t doubt he had, the Wraiths had twisted him up.

They’d created Syn.

Once he fell silent, she thought of leaving it there, but despite her initial desire not to share anything with him, she found herself saying, “My father is in prison.”

For the first time since he’d mentioned his mother, he met her gaze. No judgment. No questions. He merely passed her the bottle of vodka.

There was an out there if she wanted it, but she didn’t take it. “He was convicted of a murder he didn’t commit.”

“No shit?”

She thought back to that last day in the courtroom—how it felt as if her throat was closing up when the guilty verdict came back. That, by far, had been the worst day of her life.

“And your mum?” he asked next.

“She took off practically the second I was born.” Iris shrugged, remembering the stories and distant memories of the woman who’d loved her in her own way—at least, that was how her father described it. “It wasn’t her fault. She was never ready to be a mother when she ended up pregnant with me. Couple that with grandparents who apparently thought it would have been better for her to have an abortion than keep me, and I guess I’m lucky to be here at all.”

She waited for the pity to light up his eyes—for him to feel sorry for her—which would immediately make her regret sharing anything with him. But he didn’t look at her as if she were broken—he looked at her like he understood that pain all too well.

He’d told her not to pity him when she’d first seen his scars, and now, he was giving her the same in return.

“What’d you do … after, I mean? Can’t imagine if someone banged up your dad, they wouldn’t come after you next.”

Iris crossed her legs, far closer to him than she realized. The bed couldn’t have been smaller than a king, yet they were mere inches apart. “He was a detective with the NYPD for twenty years.”

Even now, she remembered the way he always smiled when he came home, proudly pulling that gold shield off his belt and setting it up on the highest shelf along with his service gun.

“It was the summer of 2012 when he lost everything. I don’t know what happened … not all of it. I haven’t been able to find any answers for that, but once he was fired and became a bounty hunter, that’s when everything changed.” She sighed, running her fingers through her hair as she brushed the strands off her face. “That was when he started talking about the possibility of something happening to him. There was never any shortage of people pissed he found them and brought them in because they skipped bail, but I don’t know. I guess I never thought I would actually have to go through with what he wanted me to do.”

To run.

To hide.

To stay invisible so that whoever had come after him wouldn’t come after her.

“Anyway … you didn’t ask me any of that.” She’d been rambling. “After he was sentenced, I lived on my own.”

“Since you were … fourteen?”

Thirteen, but he was close enough. “It wasn’t easy, but I managed it.”

His expression softened. “No, it’s never easy, is it?”

He understood, probably better than anyone else. He might have been younger when he had to try to make it on his own, but their struggle was the same.

As she fell silent again, Iris couldn’t help but feel lighter after telling her story. The truth was, though only parts of it were no longer just on her shoulders—she was no longer the only one who knew.

She was thankful he’d listened, and despite it all, it was enough for her to relax more with him.

“The scars,” she said, her gaze falling back to them. “They’re not from the Wraiths, are they?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand what she meant. “I was fucked up long before they ever got their hands on me.”

Because of his own mother.

She’d thought hers was bad.

Iris reached for him without thinking, quickly noting the way he flinched but tried to hide it. Drawing her hand back, she readied to apologize—she shouldn’t have been touching him anyway—but he caught her wrist before she could get far.

Silent permission for her to do what she wanted.

Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was a little more, but very carefully, she brushed her fingertips across the scar that curved around his shoulder.

“Six-inch blade,” he said without opening his eyes.

When she touched another, this one a little lower on his chest, right over his ribs, he said, “Serrated steel.”

“And this one?” she asked as she found another—a gunshot wound, she thought.

This one managed to get a small smile out of him. “It was the Berlin job.”

He didn’t offer any more explanation than that, but whatever he meant, it was obviously a fond memory.

As she moved onto another, he offered another explanation. At first, she wasn’t sure if he was joking, but there was no indication at all that he was lying, which could only mean that he did remember how he’d gotten all his scars.

No matter where she touched, he had a ready reply, even when he rolled over without her prompting, and she found the rest.

Thirty-seven scars and he had a story for all of them.

“What’s that look for?”

She blinked, looking from his chest back up to his face. “What look?”

He gestured without actually touching her. “The anger. What’s the anger for?”

“I’m not angry,” she answered with a quick shake of her head. Not because she wasn’t, but because he couldn’t possibly know that she was.

“Micro expressions, remember? You get a tic, right there,” he said, and this time, he did touch her. Just the barest sweep of his thumb beneath her eye.

She couldn’t be sure, but his touch seemed to linger a fraction longer than what was innocent curiosity.

“If you’re so good at reading people, why …?”

She thought better of the question before it fully left her mouth, but Synek knew what she was about to ask regardless.

“Why did I still fall for your ploy? The truth ain’t always what you want it to be, dove. Would’ve been awkward if I’m trying to get my hand in your jeans and you’re faking.”

Then he’d let himself be fooled.

She was glad his gaze had trained on a spot on the wall rather than looking at her. She didn’t want him to see that she hadn’t minded being in that alley with him—that that hadn’t actually been a part of the job.

For a second there, she had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her.

“I don’t know if I’m making good company.”

“Nah,” he answered. “You’re doing your bit.”

“Telling you about my shitty life?”

“Keeping me out of my head.”

That made her hurt for him. “We’re just talking.”

He shrugged. “I don’t talk to anyone.”

“Not even Winter?”

She’d waited until the bottle was mostly gone before venturing into “Winter” territory.

“We were … close,” he hedged. “Not anymore.”

“You’re not?”

“You missed that giant fucking Romanian who’s always a step behind her just waiting for someone to piss him off. That’s why.”

She might have laughed had he not look so disgruntled. “So it’s because of him?”

“Not really. She wanted what I couldn’t give her, so she found it in him.”

“Oh.” Iris might not have been in many relationships, but she knew what that meant. “Why?”

“She’s just a kid.”

Iris doubted she was much older than her—five years, at the most—but then she remembered the story of how he and Winter had met. Even as she’d grown older, maybe he always saw her as that little girl.

Synek sighed, long and hard, before he got to his feet. He’d lost a bit of that grim edge he’d had when he first entered the room. Now he just looked tired, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Early morning,” he explained.

She didn’t know why—she could have just let him leave the room without saying a word—but she stood all the same and trailed behind him to the door.

To close and lock it behind him, she told herself.

As he readied to disappear out the door, he turned back at the last second, making her stumble into him. An apology was on the tip of her tongue, but she forgot all about it when he turned and cupped her face with his free hand, dragging her forward until he could mesh his lips with hers.

It was unexpected and desperate and everything she could ever want.

He stole her breath without trying, and obliterated any defenses she might have had against him. Just like before, she didn’t think of anything else at that moment other than the way his hand felt on her neck and his lips felt against hers.

Moments later, too soon, he released her and took a breath. When she met his gaze, she was mesmerized by his dilated pupils.

“Right.”

“What?”

She wasn’t sure what to make of the look on his face—like he was suffering, but enjoyed it all the same.

“You’re a beautiful poison.”

Synek disappeared out the door, leaving her staring after him, not sure what to think.