Desiree
“Tell me about the sadness.” The lazy words dragged across my lips. “Why are you such a loner? Why, at times does it seem a haunting sadness overtakes you?”
We had fallen into a comfortable snuggling position with half of my limp body atop his. I couldn’t stop bathing him with kisses. For once in my life, I was at peace and satisfied.
I placed a tender kiss on his pec before setting my chin against the firm mass of warm flesh. I was in awe of him as I looked up into his face, my actions causing him to smile.
Khane smiling was one of the most beautiful expressions I had ever seen. Without him having to tell me, I sensed that he didn’t smile much.
The tips of my fingers traced along the hairs of his forearm before I flattened my hand and let it glide the rest of the way up his arm. I would have given anything to have this companionable bliss with him permanently, but this one stolen night was all we were destined to enjoy. When the truth of that thought gripped my happiness, I shook it away to relish every second we had left.
“At a certain point, so much had happened that I learned to embrace this lifestyle,” he started.
“The Ferali Syndicate isn’t a traditional outfit like some of the other crime families. You grow up in this, and you contribute to it, feed it power. Arjen and I were death soldiers, trained to assassinate for our father, but ultimately, it was always for the syndicate. Later, Arjen took my father’s position and appointed me his second in command, kind of like a CEO and vice president. However, those titles are secondary to our roles in the syndicate. When they need someone dead, we answer the call.”
The lump of fear his words put in my throat didn’t go down easily. They were confirmation of some of the updates Mecca had given me. I was under the impression that he killed for his family’s sake, but now I knew that he was also a hitman for the deadly organization he had grown up in. He would never be free of this, could never get out of it. And Lord help me, I was marrying into it.
“The syndicate has been around for hundreds of years, long enough for my father, and the grandfather I never met, to grow up in it. Unlike some crime units, we are run like a corporation, with the ability to make deals using a governing vote. It’s kind of like getting a bill passed through congress. Guns are the major product resource, but like any major corporation, the market has expanded to a variety of products: accessories for weapons, body armor, and spy equipment. They hold patents for new equipment and new technology. They have scientists and doctors working on scientific and medical advances.”
He shifted to tuck the pillow tighter under his head. His movement had my gaze running along the muscles that worked in his arm as he adjusted.
“The syndicate has mastered the ability of maintaining functionality as a whole while forming alliances with hundreds of other entities. Extensive research has to be done to ensure an alliance doesn’t upset the balance set within the organization because it is a tightrope of push and pull that rarely gets tested. The alliance we made with your family wasn’t based on a handshake. It went through channels and levels, individuals that we haven’t even met. It took months, signed documents by Arjen and your father, and votes, lots of syndicate votes.”
His update put a crease in my forehead. It meant that my father had known of this arrangement for months. Did he have that much faith in knowing I would agree to the arrangement?
“Our syndicate maintains over fifty percent of the world market in arms sales. Although weapons bring in billions each year, the syndicate also empowers one of the most diverse criminal curriculums. People like me, who grew up in this, could have gone to a syndicate-funded school, for anything from money laundering and hacking to crime scene cleaning and staging.”
This wasn’t just an organization. It was a sub-world, providing training on how to be expert criminals.
“In dealing with anything illegal, you first have to know how to protect yourself, legally and physically. You have to know how to kill. You have to know how to capture. You have to know how to escape. When we were younger, Arjen and I ran away three times, but our father easily tracked us down. When he gave an order, you followed it, or suffered the consequences.”
Where would he be if his father were still around?
“Like I mentioned to you before, we were homeschooled. We didn’t study the standard curriculums. We each had one-on-one tutors, and if they didn’t have us a level or two ahead of kids our age, my father would fire and replace them. We learned for mental strength and trained for physical strength. We were punished as severely for a slip up on speech or for below-average grades, as we were for our physical training. He would always say, “No son of mine is going to sound like an ignorant fool.” The only kids we were allowed to spend time with were other boys who were in training. Unless it involved a special assignment, we rarely interacted with kids that weren’t brought up in the syndicate.”
He had been segregated from normal society. I couldn’t imagine what that must have been like. Now, I was starting to understand his loner personality.
“Arjen and I had been tasked with capturing and killing a man who’d come into our territory and set up an arms operation without consent. With the exception of New Mexico and Alaska, my father ran the entire west coast. He never bothered with men like the one we had been ordered to kill because independent arms deals like his were small enough not to pose any real threats. However, this particular arms dealer was to be used as an example of my father asserting his power, showing what would happen to others like him.
“High ranking committee members were the closest my father had to bosses because they held the power to sway decisions made for the organization. They were in town, visiting my father. Therefore, he was going to make a bold statement where it concerned handling us and the arms dealer who infringed on his territory.”
My sluggish breaths were starting to increase in tempo with each sentence he added.
““You disobeyed a direct order! Your orders were to capture and prepare him for the kill!” he yelled at us. “Why wasn’t it done?” We were aligned against the wall in the basement of his mansion. Arjen was fifteen, and I was thirteen. We were receiving our father’s version of training for life in the syndicate.
“We had captured the man as ordered, however, he had gotten the drop on us and escaped, and one of our men had been shot and killed during our attempt to recapture him. Our father had to discipline us for allowing the man to escape. With major players in the syndicate present, we knew that he needed to make the punishment worth their time. He had to prove his ruthlessness.”
I tensed. Even without hearing Khane’s full story, the way he lived hinted at the hellish life experiences he had suffered.
“My father had handed out harsh punishments to us over the years: brutal beatings, broken bones, burns, and extended periods of time in a soundless black hole in the ground he called the vault. Of all the punishments, the vault was the worst, and where I assumed we would go for our punishment. The vault messed with your head, and it would take weeks after you came out to re-acclimate your mind.”
I swallowed, attempting to push down the thick lump in my throat, imagining the traumatic events he had suffered.
“Arjen and I pleaded, praying that our father wasn’t about to do what we knew he was capable of doing. He didn’t treat us any better than the rest of his soldiers. If anything, sharing his blood made him even tougher. “An eye for an eye,” he said, glancing back at the audience. My father had lost a man because of our mistake, so he was going to take something from us. “Do I have a volunteer?” he asked, glaring at me.”
Khane’s gentle hand eased down my tense shoulder, rubbing away some of the stiffness.
“I shook with unchecked fear. The first step my father took towards me, Arjen stepped in front of me, always my protector. “I volunteer,” he told our father with no fear, knowing what was about to happen. Our father’s brutal mentality was what had earned him a top place within the syndicate. It alone was enough to fear. He didn’t answer to many, which meant that he often went unchecked in his methods and guidelines.”