Răzvan could practically feel them watching him, but he couldn’t muster the energy to give a shit. He was too wired, his fingers twitchy with the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

The high of earlier hadn’t worn off, and though the pain of getting shot, even through his vest, hadn’t nulled completely, it was nothing compared to what he wanted to do to that fucking Brit.

To Syn.

Maybe he wouldn’t use a gun on the man once he caught up with him—and he would be seeing him again. Guns were easy. There was no finesse to shooting someone, but if you took a knife to them, knives could make a person sing.

“So who’s waving the red flag?” Thanatos asked, watching him from the couch with brows raised. “‘Cause the bull doesn’t look like he’s simmering down.”

He didn’t attempt to entertain his brother’s words, not when the only thing on his mind was Winter.

It didn’t fucking matter that she was with the mercenaries or that he knew she was safe. He wanted her here at his side where he could keep her safe—where he could figure out what the fuck was going on.

As he contemplated violence, there was no knock on the door to announce the man who casually strolled through the loft, Italian leather shoes loud against the polished concrete floors.

Usually, the man had a rather practical gait, but today he walked with a purpose, and to say he wasn’t pleased was an understatement.

“In case you were curious—I’m assuming you are, considering I have to be here wasting my time—Luna has it in her head that she’s ready to be a mother. It could be that an associate of hers has just had twins and she’s suffering baby fever. I don’t pretend to understand everything that goes on in that pretty little head of hers. Of course, it’s not her biological clock that’s ticking as she likes to remind me, it’s mine.”

Fang, who had only just finished unstrapping his vest, said what Răzvan was thinking. “Uh, congratulations?”

Nix only glared at him. “Furthermore, I’m hunting a woman who’s intent on seeing my brother ruined. Imagine, a woman intelligent enough to fool us into believing she was something as boring as a journalist.”

“Sounds like you’re going through it,” Thanatos muttered, looking a bit too amused for Nix’s taste.

“What this means,” Nix went on, gaze narrowed, “is that I have zero interest in standing here, telling you what I’ve already warned you about. Stay away from the hacker.”

To that, Răzvan didn’t let his brothers answer. —That’s not going to happen.—

Nix leveled a look on him he usually reserved for the others. Since the day he took him away from the orphanage, Răzvan had always been the one to stay out of trouble.

Unlike the others, he didn’t mind rules as much, but this wasn’t a rule he planned on following. There was nothing the man could say, or any of those mercenaries could do, to make him stay away from her.

It wasn’t happening.

“If they didn’t want retaliation, the fucker shouldn’t have shot Răz,” Invictus added.

“And let’s be clear—if any one of them had taken Calavera, not only would you have killed all of them, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion,” Fang said next. “So either you tell The Kingmaker to put his mercenaries back on their leash and give her back, or we’ll do it for him.”

Nix, who never responded to threats well, didn’t look amused. “Tread lightly, Fang. I’m annoyed enough today to do violence.”

—Either she’s here, or I bring her here.—

Nix stepped around the couch, helping himself to the vacant armchair across from Răzvan. “Let me give you a quick little history lesson. There are only three mercenaries my brother allows certain privileges. My wife, of course. Skorpion, because he was my brother’s guard for a little more than half a decade. And Syn. I don’t know the reasons behind it, nor do I particularly care to find out. What I do know is that he’s capable of savagery the likes of which impresses even me. And if there’s one thing he cares most for in this world, it’s the hacker.”

He’d seen the look in the man’s eyes before two bullets sent him to the ground.

That look had been the same one he’d worn as he cut through the men who were holding Winter.

But Răzvan didn’t care how savage the man was—he would go to fucking war with him if he needed to.

“I’m not sure,” Thanatos spoke up, “if that was meant to be a challenge because we all know how much I enjoy those.”

Nix rubbed his forehead. “We’re surrounded by children, yet she wants more.”

Fang’s smile was lopsided. “So do we have to tear through this city, or will you give us an address?”

“Neither. Calavera is over there now attempting to smooth things over.”

Răzvan shook his head. —And if she can’t?—

Nix looked at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. “God help us all.”

* * *

“Are you taking the fucking piss?”

Syn was at least two hundred pounds of muscle and angry Brit. He didn’t understand the concept of personal space—especially not when it came to her.

To him, she was his charge, his ward, his little miss. In his mind, she was his.

And for the longest time, she hadn’t minded this—loved it, actually. She enjoyed the weight of his protection, the way he seemed to treat her as if she were made of glass, but the older she got, the less appealing it became.

She wanted him to see her as a woman—as someone to cherish love and everything else—but now she didn’t.

He was so close she could smell the scent of him, dark and alluring, as he loomed over her, dark eyes trained on her face. But his heart didn’t race. He wasn’t antsy. Nothing about what he had done affected him.

A reminder that he would take on a fucking army for her and not blink an eye.

But his scent, as intoxicating as it had once been, didn’t sweep through her very being the way it used to. It was no longer all she could think about or all she could feel.

Now, she was numb to it.

“I can explain this, but that doesn’t explain why you shot Răz!”

“Răz?”

Her mouth snapped shut. She hated the way he said his name with such contempt, disgust curling around the edges.

More, she hated the way his eyes now narrowed as he studied her face.

“Don’t do that,” she said, attempting to push him away though he stood firm in front of her. “Don’t read me.”

“Why’s that … eh? Something to hide?”

Years with him had shown her all his tricks and not just the ones he’d learned inside a darkened room with knives.

Micro-expressions, he’d once explained to her, he could see them—he was like a human lie detector.

He saw what nobody wanted him to see, and even what people didn’t mean to show.

“Who’s that Romanian? If he’s not the fucker who took you, then who the bloody hell is he?”

“My boyfriend.” The word didn’t feel good enough to describe what she and Răzvan had—juvenile, almost—but it was the truth all the same.

“You’ve fucked him, then.”

Her cheeks went scarlet. “That’s none of your business, Syn.”

“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”

The question was whispered, more to himself than her, but either way, it affected him from the way his hand spasmed. “Is this about London?”

“No.”

The door swung open, but Syn didn’t move away from her, merely turned his head in the intruder’s direction.

Anyone else might have shrunk under Syn’s glare, but Calavera wasn’t anyone. Plus, she wasn’t afraid of Syn—she understood him better than the other mercs.

“We never get together for brunch or something fun like that, just kidnappings and murder.”

Syn finally did step back once Calavera shooed him away so she could do her own examination of Winter.

“I’m fine,” Winter said quickly. “And I would’ve been fine before Syn showed up and shot him.”

“Him?”

Syn dropped down in a chair across from a round table. “Her Romanian.”

Calavera looked back at her in confusion. “You have a—Tăcut?”

“Guess I’m the only bastard who doesn’t know who this Romanian is?”

“That’s not important. You shot Tăcut?”

“If you mean the big bastard, then yeah, I did.”

“In his vest,” Winter said when Calavera’s expression grew alarmed.

More than anything, she wished she could check for herself. She didn’t want to just call him either. She needed to see him—to know for herself that Syn hadn’t wounded him too badly.

“I think you might want to explain what the hell is going on, Winter.”

Three hard knocks on the door—as if someone was trying to send their fist through the wood—made Winter jump, her gaze flashing in that direction. Maybe it was the sheer harshness of that knock that told her who was on the other side, but she knew who would be standing there before Calavera let out a sigh and pulled the door open.

Răzvan was the first through the door, but his eyes didn’t come to her. They narrowed and locked on Syn sitting on the couch and didn’t stray.

Four long strides and he was across the room, his hand around Syn’s throat before he lifted him bodily from the chair and slammed him down on the table so hard Winter could feel it from where she stood across the room.

Syn didn’t have a chance to react—he didn’t have a chance to blink before Răzvan was launching his fist into his face.

“Răz—” She fully intended to break them up, but Fang was suddenly in front of her, six and a half feet of unmovable man.

“Might want to sit this one out, babe.”

“Then you do something.”

Fang’s expression changed. “He shot two bullets into my brother, Winter. You’re lucky he doesn’t die tonight.”

Syn only allowed him the one punch before he reared back and caught him with a boot to his chest, but Răzvan had him by at least fifty pounds, and Răzvan barely went back a foot.

Răzvan swung again, this one to his jaw that should have put Syn down, but he merely blinked and smiled, blood staining his teeth. That was the thing about Syn; he would never back down from a fight, even if there was no chance of him winning it.

He liked the fight—the pain of it.

Men like him … he got off on it. He thrived on it.

But even men like him had a breaking point—a moment when it was no longer a game, and it stopped being fun.

Syn could continue for hours, playing with prey that thought they were the predator. They never knew until it was too late that every move he made, every punch he took was all a part of his end game.

Now, though, his eyes clouded in that way that made her heart skip a beat, terror filling her chest.

Once.

Once she had seen what he was capable of when he got like this—it was an experience she never wanted to repeat. There was just a glint, a brief flash of light that no one else seemed to notice, but she did—she’d been looking for it.

Răzvan could handle himself, she knew that, but she also knew that he wouldn’t hurt Syn in a permanent way for her. But Syn … his brand of love was entirely different.

Winter didn’t let Fang stop her this time as she raced across the room and stepped between them, her back to Răzvan, her gaze solely focused on Syn.

Pressing her hand against the center of his chest, she held it there, feeling his erratic heartbeat beneath her palm. “Syn, don’t.”

His gaze lifted to her. She doubted he even saw the guns trained on her. “Why?”

“Because you love me,” she whispered.

“You only ever get to hit me once,” he reminded her, the words a mystery to the others in this room.

But she knew.

She understood.

Syn had suffered a lifetime of abuse by those who were meant to love him the most. That type of torture stayed with you far longer than it took the bruises to fade.

But bruises weren’t enough for him—he made sure no one ever made him bleed again.

“Please.”

“You love me too,” he said. “Anyone else and you wouldn’t blink an eye.”

That was where he’d always gotten it wrong.

She did care. She wished she could talk him down every time he went over the edge of his own sanity, but she couldn’t always be around.

“I love him, Syn. Don’t take him from me.”

His expression changed then from unrestrained fury to wounded.

Her words had hurt him, as she knew they would, but after a heartbeat, he blinked then dropped the knife he held against Răzvan’s throat.

He didn’t linger, not even sparing her a glance before he was leaving the room.

She didn’t realize until warm hands closed around hers that she was trembling.

Fang was the first to break the silence. “What the fuck, Calavera?”

“I need a drink,” Calavera muttered, gingerly stepping over all the broken glass to get to the bottles.

“You let that fucking thing out of its cage?” Fang went on.

“Let me explain something to you that I’m guessing Winter never got around to. There is one thing—one—that Syn cares about in this world. Imagine how you feel about Mariya, how you felt about Aidra, how Nix feels about me. Multiply that by ten, and you’ll get close to how Syn feels about her.” Calavera poured tequila into a glass and threw it back. “Winter, I love you, you know that, but this is your mess to fix. I’ll go make sure Syn hasn’t killed anything.”

Răzvan’s brothers lingered, but not for long when he sent a look in their direction that sent them out the door as quickly as Calavera had left.

“I’m sorry.”

For as long as she could remember, she was apologizing for Syn’s outbursts more than he did, but this was the first time it was because of her.

—What are you sorry about exactly?—

There was no one thing she could choose. “Everything.”

But at the top of that list, she was sorry for not telling Syn about Răzvan.

This, all of it, could have been avoided had she not let him be blindsided by it.

He took a step back, and though it was a mere few inches, it felt like he was across the room. —Explain it to me because I don’t fucking understand.—

“He didn’t know you were you.”

Syn made it a point to stay out of the States—New York, especially. There was nothing here for him, he’d said. Because of that, he rarely knew what was going on with the day to day of the Den.

He knew the highlights, sure, but no one had bothered to mention The Wild Bunch to him because until recently, they hadn’t been a factor.

“He didn’t know you were saving me,” she went on, trying to explain as best she could. “I was getting around to that when you got here.”

—You were getting around to it? You didn’t bother to mention me in how many fucking months?—

“It’s—”

—Don’t fucking say it’s complicated.—

It was the only word that made sense, and without it, she had no answer for him. “It’s not like that between us,” she said, reading between the lines. “It never has been.”

—No? Then why do you keep looking at the door.—

He didn’t look angry.

He didn’t look upset at all.

His expression was carefully blank, but she hated that most of all.

“Răz—”

—I’m not some fucking pet you can keep on a leash until you can get that fucking asshole out there.—

“I never treated you like that! I didn’t tell him about you because this was how he would have reacted regardless. Whether now or weeks ago, Syn would have still come here and some variation of this still would have happened.”

Răzvan scrubbed a hand down his face. —That week we didn’t talk, you said you were in London.—

If it was possible, all the blood in her face drained away as she readied to confront a truth she hadn’t thought about since the first week she was with Răzvan.

She wouldn’t say this wasn’t the way she wanted him to find out, though that was true. If she’d had it her way, no one would know about what happened in London.

But she couldn’t lie to him.

—You went to see him, no?—

Her heart beat a little faster. “Yeah.”

—Did you fuck him?—

Winter chewed on her lip but ultimately answered his question. “Once.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear—it was written all over his face—but she couldn’t take it back now that the truth hung between them.

This time, she didn’t have the right words. She didn’t know what she could say to make this better.

So many mistakes and she had no idea how to fix any of them.

Winter didn’t realize she was looking back at the door again until Răzvan turned her to look back at him.

—Go.—

“Please, don’t. It’s fine. He’s fine. Calavera is out there.”

Răzvan looked sad before he broke their stare. —And you’re out there too because you’re definitely not fucking here.—

Before she could utter a word, he was disappearing out the door, leaving her standing there watching him.