The Redemption of Roan (The Syndicate #2)(7)

By: Kathy Coopmans

She’s been back for several months now, and not a word from him. I know she left in a hurry to study in England. What I don’t know is why. Why did she leave him? Did he do something to her? I have dug around into every hole I can think of, talked to so many people, but keep getting the same answer: it was because she found out he was being trained to be a killer.

They all say he was lost when she left. Became even angrier and bitterer than he already was. How that could be possible blows my fucking mind. He was already teetering on the edge of insanity. Whatever happened between the two of them pushed him over the ledge.

I leave the bar a few minutes after she leaves with Deidre. I’ve known Deidre a long time. Her father is one of our family attorneys. A good man. Loyal. He’s the one who helped me convince Calla to befriend Alina in the first place. It did not do me any good at the time. What it did do is give my cousin a friend.

I’m grateful they have a friendship. Even though Calla works her ass off and she spends most of her spare time with Cain, her husband, or her parents, she has found the time to have lunch a few times with Alina.

Locking the door to my penthouse behind me, I toss my keys in the dish on the small table in the foyer before I, make my way into the kitchen. I down a bottle of water and turn off all the lights, then retreat down the hall to my bedroom, strip myself down to my boxers, and climb into my bed. The New York skyline is vibrant through my floor-to-ceiling windows. Propping up against the headboard, I look in the far out distance in the direction of Alina’s apartment.

I cannot seem to get her or the fact she agreed to go out with me out of my head. I know she agreed to one date. One I plan to make damn good, leaving her no choice but to want to know me better. This woman fascinates me. For several reasons, I like her without knowing her personally. She strikes me as a caring woman. One who respects herself as well as others. She never goes home with a man. Hell, she has never even been linked to anyone but my brother. I need to find the missing pieces here. Bond them all together and figure out exactly why a woman as open yet mysterious, independent, driven, and outright beautiful as her is all alone. Which she won’t be any more if I can help it.

She seemed different tonight, troubled. Something was brewing through her mind after she stopped dancing and stood off to the back of the club. She was disturbed. I know that nothing happened in the club to make her upset. My eyes never left her face.

I close my eyes with images of her face. She has it all: the looks, the body, the mind. Lying down in my bed, I drift to sleep thinking about all three of those things. Knowing damn well when you mix them all together the result could lead me into a disastrous situation. I look forward to the challenge.

I’m anxious when I wake. It’s only been a few months since this woman has unknowingly weaved me into her web of beauty and grace.

I send a quick text off to Cain, letting him know I’m skipping our workout this morning, haul my ass out of bed and within a half hour I’m ready to hit the streets. To see her beauty, to indulge in her existence.

A thin layer of sweat drapes down my back when I stop and park my bike along the curb of Alina’s apartment on 61st Street, close to Central Park. The closer I get to her place, the more nervous I become. Sure, I’ve taken women on dates before. Usually the first date is about getting to know one another, to see if you hit it off, to feel if there’s any type of chemistry between the two of you. That shit never mattered to me before. Now it scares the fuck out of me. I know there’s chemistry between us. I felt its power last night the closer she got to me. And it wasn’t just my dick that felt it. It was my entire body. I fought within myself not to haul her closer to me. To breathe in her scent. To drag my tongue across her satin skin.

Her view has to be immaculate from here. The park is one of New York’s most beautiful places. It’s a little bit of a drive for me. Hell, just getting around this town is a drive. Though I’m used to the traffic after living back here for a few years now, doesn’t mean I like it.

Pulling my helmet off my head, I swing my leg over my bike, inhaling the crisp early spring air, trying to shake off my nerves. Why the hell I’m nervous I have no idea.

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