Over the course of thirty-two years, Răzvan had known pain.

A lot of it.

He’d had his vocal cords removed, bullets plugged into his chest and subsequently dug out, and a number of knife wounds he didn’t want to remember, but he would gladly experience any of them all over again if it meant he didn’t have to be in The Hall, sitting across from the one man, in particular, he really didn’t want to fucking see.

Syn was the culmination of everything he hated about mercenaries—brash, psychotic, and a bloodlust that he didn’t want to know the reason behind—but it didn’t matter what he might have felt about the man.

Winter loved him, and he was man enough to swallow his distaste to try to get along with him for her sake.

Even if Syn was making it damn hard.

“Now, I’m staring at the back of this geezer’s head, and I’ve told him, yeah? I told him to fuck off, and there he is, running off at the mouth, begging me to feed him his teeth. And you know what I did?”

Răzvan gave him a droll stare, already imagining what the demented bastard had done. After a week of being forced to put up with him, he knew far too many stories of what Syn had done both before and after he joined the Den.

All of them ended bloody.

Waving his hand in the universal signal of get the fuck on with it, Răzvan guzzled his beer.

One minute, Syn was telling the story with a jovial smile on his face, and the next, Syn was pulling a gun from his waistband and pointing the barrel directly between Răzvan’s eyes.

“I showed him Lucille here and pumped six rounds of lead into his arse.”

Fucking Winter and the things he would do to keep her happy.

His gaze cut to the Russian at one side of Syn who tried and failed to hide a smile behind a pint glass then to the Irishman on his right who didn’t bother hiding his amusement at all.

Fucking mercenaries.

Syn dropped his gun on the bar top. “Fun bit is out of the way, so let’s get right to it. How about you tell us your intentions, and I’ll decide where we go from here, eh?”

—Was that what all this was about?— Răzvan asked while Fang translated. —You wanted to ask me my intentions?—

“Seems a fair question considering the company you keep.”

Fang arched a brow. “I’m offended. We hit a few banks, and you lot turn your noses up. Let’s not get into the crazy shit you’re ordered to do by your handler.”

Syn frowned and then shrugged. “Fair enough, but that doesn’t answer my question, does it?”

—How exactly do you want me to answer that? That I’d kill for her? That I’d die for her? You already know the answer to that, or you wouldn’t be sitting here asking me stupid questions.—

“What’s he saying?” Syn asked, looking at Fang who was studying Răzvan.

“Sentimental, flowery bullshit. Short version? He loves her and will do everything in his power to make her happy—even putting up with you shits.”

Syn was silent for so long, Răzvan thought he wouldn’t respond, but after several seconds, he shrugged. “Good man.”

Syn sobered long enough to throw back the last of his drink, slamming his glass down on the bar top. “Take care of my girl, yeah? I always wanted her to stay away from the danger of it all.” Syn smiled as he shook his head. “Fucking girl’s going to be the death of me, but it looks like it’s your turn.”

If anyone had asked Răzvan a week ago whether he’d be able to sit in the same room with this particular mercenary and be civil, it would have been over his dead fucking body.

But now, things were different.

They weren’t friends—acquaintances, at best.

God help them all.

* * *

“Just imagine,” Calavera said, pouring a generous amount of chocolate syrup over her popcorn. “This could’ve gone a lot different. Fortunately, they seem to be getting along.”

Winter tried to pay attention to what she was saying. Honestly, she did, but she was too confused by her choice in food. “Something you want to share with the rest of us?”

She was lifting a handful of popcorn to her mouth when she paused. “What?”

“That’s gross.”

“It’s amazing. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Uh-huh. You sure that’s you that think it’s amazing or maybe someone else? A little someone else.”

Her expression shifted too fast for Winter to catch what it meant. “Just popcorn.”

“Right.” Winter glanced at her phone. “How long do you think this ‘talk’ is supposed to last?”

“Oh, trust me, this could continue for hours, but Răz will probably have it wrapped it up soon. You know he has little patience.”

Yeah. Yeah, she did.

The last time they’d gone off together, she’d worried every minute they were gone. It wasn’t as if they had the best track record when they were alone together, but this time, Răzvan had promised to keep it civil.

She trusted he would … but anything could happen with the mercenaries and The Wild Bunch.

“I hope he isn’t—”

The sudden whirring of the elevator shut her up.

At worse, there would only be bloody lips, maybe a couple of bruises, but as they all stepped into the loft, she was pleasantly surprised to find everyone uninjured.

Răzvan’s eyes found her immediately before they shifted to Syn, but for once, Syn wasn’t the first thing in a room she noticed.

Smiling, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, and went up on the very tips of her toes to kiss him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Syn mumbled, sounding annoyed. “This has been fun, but it’s time for me to go.”

“It’s usually you telling me to stay out of trouble, isn’t it?” Winter asked, trying to inject some humor in her voice as she looked over at him.

Saying goodbye was never easy.

It was never truly goodbye, not when she knew she would see him again, but there was something decidedly different about this time than the others.

She wasn’t even sure how to adequately to describe it.

Syn wasn’t dying, and he would be just as far away as he usually was, but a piece of her was afraid of the moment when he climbed in his car and disappeared.

“Because you’re a little troublemaker, and we both know it.”

Winter stepped out of Răzvan’s embrace, ready to walk Syn out, but glanced back at the last minute, catching his slight nod of approval.

He understood.

Neither spoke, not until they were outside, and Syn was digging out his pack of cigarettes and shaking one loose.

“Are you sure he’s the one?” he asked after a while.

“More than that, I don’t think I would be happier with anyone else.”

“That’s all I ever wanted, you know. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”

“You have. Where the hell would I be without you?”

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to respond, but no words came out. “If he doesn’t do everything he’s supposed to, you know I’m just a ring away.”

She laughed even as her chest felt tight. “I know.”

“You’re also going to miss me when I’m gone,” he whispered with a wry sort of smile before he kissed her forehead.

“Of course, I will. I always do. Besides, who else is going to keep you in line?”

“Don’t worry about me, little miss. I’ll be fine.”

“Syn—”

“Look at me,” he said, turning her head. “It’s probably time you stopped worrying about me, yeah?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about you, Syn.”

Even now, she wondered where he would go—who he would call when he stood on the precipice.

“Be easy, Winter.” He tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, his gaze following the movement. “I’ll love you most in this world, always.”

Emotion clogged in her throat. “Don’t say that, Syn.”

“I’ll always be honest with you, even when you don’t want to hear it.”

She bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying anything more as he started off down to the gate.

In his all black clothes and boots, it was like watching a part of herself walking away.

But she couldn’t leave from the spot where she stood, not until he disappeared around the corner and out of view.

That was usually the way of it—he swept into town and back out before he could get too comfortable.

A wraith.

Răzvan was the eye of the storm—the calm after so much damage.

Syn was the fucking storm—a hurricane she had wanted to tame but didn’t know how.

For the longest time, she’d thought she could fix him; that his demons would be gone if he’d just let her try to quiet them.

But it wasn’t her job to fix him.

Not anymore.

Răzvan was waiting for her when she made it back upstairs. —Okay?—

“I’m okay.”

She would never, for as long as she lived, get tired of that smile on his face.

“We should discuss our honeymoon. I’m thinking somewhere warm.”

—Wherever you want, Îngeraș.—

It was official

She was keeping him.