The Syndicater (Dark Verse #6)

20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Lyla, Tenebrae City

There was too much activity around her.

Lyla stood at the back door of the mansion, watching as teams of staff put up tents and prepared a large open lawn area for a party. As Lyla had learned over the last few days, it was one of the many lawns on the massive compound. Everything about this whole property was massive, too much, too overwhelming. She couldn't wrap her head around that, even after being here for three days. She had never seen a place like it before. Her home in Bayfyord was large and unique, but nothing like this… castle that was as old as it looked, being in the Maroni family for generations.

The Maronis were the nicest family too, though she didn't think Dante trusted her. She didn't really blame him either. She was a stranger who had come into his home and from questionable sources and could be a threat to his family. In fact, seeing a man be so expressive and emotive, so loving to his wife and baby, had been somewhat of an eye-opening experience. Her experiences with men, especially rich and powerful men—outside of Dainn—had been ugly. The men she had seen had been the ones cheating on their wives, selling their daughters, and apathetic to females outside of the sexual ways they could use them. The men she had seen in her time here were three completely contradictory examples, three completely different personalities with three very different partners, and yet Lyla didn't doubt their love for each other for a second.

Tristan, her brother, was the most silent part of the group, but he felt deeply, much like she did. He was quiet, but his energy was a forcefield, and the way he looked at Morana every time she walked into a room, tracking her with his eyes, made her so happy for him. She didn't know him very well yet, but from the little she knew, the little she could deduce, and the little she saw, he deserved it. And Morana was just incredible. Lyla could feel the intelligence in her eyes behind those glasses, always walking around with her phone in her hand and t-shirts with cool quotes on them. If she was being totally honest, Lyla was a little intimidated by her even though she had been nothing but nice, and she clearly loved her brother deeply.

If she'd had to pick a brother for herself, Tristan would have been the one. He was quiet but constant, always somewhere close to her, never prying or forcing her into conversation. They spent every evening talking, learning each other a bit more, and the more she learned, the more she liked. His protectiveness of her, as silent but strong as he was, was a balm on her soul. It healed parts of her that had been so alone and so hurt growing up, and knowing that he had been looking for her even then made her feel so many things. As an older brother, he was perfect. She only hoped she didn't disappoint him as the baby sister.

When it came to others, Dante, though mildly mistrustful, was still very kind to her. He adored the ground Amara walked upon and treated Tempest in a way that made her heart clench with joy for the little girl, who would grow up with so much love. He was good-looking, charming, and more approachable than the other men. She didn't doubt women would throw themselves at him. But his eyes never strayed from his insanely beautiful wife. Amara wasn't just beautiful, though. She was accomplished, polished, and so nice . She made Lyla feel both comfortable in the mansion and uncomfortable in her skin through no fault of hers.

It was maybe the fact that female companionship hadn't been a part of her life. Growing up, being made to feel worthless and then healing in isolation, her only other younger female interaction being with Nikki—she thought sourly at just the mention of the girl, the image of her naked, trying to seduce her man still making her so angry—that seeing these incredible, smart women who had been friends for so long made her feel a little out of place.

The one person she automatically gravitated towards, though, was Alpha. He was the embodiment on the outside of how she felt inside. Just looking at him, all stern and scarred, yet still standing, made her feel safe. It was absurd. He was the largest man she had ever seen, bulky and huge, with arms bigger than her thighs. Out of everyone, he would have been the one she would have run away from first because he could pick and throw her so easily, kill her with a crush of his fist. Yet, he felt the safest outside of her brother, like a giant but a gentle one. He looked at her through one eye; his lip was pulled down on one side, and she could still feel his gentleness when he was near. She didn't know why, but it made her want to cry.

And out of all the girls, it was his wife who made her feel the most relaxed. Maybe it was because Lyla knew Zenith, her childhood friend who had escaped their hell, had been loved all her life by the woman. When they had been kids, Zenith had been a number Lyla couldn't remember anymore. But Lyla had called her Sky, for the one thing she'd wanted to see but never could. They had been taken together in a small batch, and they had slept in the same room, talking about everything they would do when they got out.

And one night, her friend had managed to get out. Lyla had seen her running toward the tree line, one of the guards running after her. Lyla had jumped on the guard and bitten him, giving her friend the freedom she could never have. Her life had become hell after.

She shook off the memories, focusing on the staff.

Somehow, knowing Zenith had been so loved by her sister made Zephyr feel like a sister to Lyla too, like her friend had bridged the space between them. If joy could be a person, it would be Zephyr. Though there was still an air of sadness around her sometimes, her soul felt happy.

Lyla remembered the moment Zephyr had come the day after they had, her heart aching because along with Zephyr, he had come.

Xander.

Lyla had seen him from her window in the guest room of the mansion. Her room overlooked the driveway and a horn honking had made her go to the window and look out. And there he had been, getting out of the back of the large car, wearing loose light clothes with big headphones in his ears, typing on a phone. He had taken the headphones off and hung them around his neck, waiting for the woman with the pink and blue hair.

Lyla remembered gripping the edge of her windowsill, her jaw trembling with the need to shout his name and have him look up at her. But she controlled herself. She couldn't barge into and disrupt his life like that. So, she had just watched him go into the mansion, hoping she would see him soon.

It had been two days, and he was nowhere to be found. Lyla didn't go roaming around looking for him because this was a new place and a part of her was still scared of stepping out of line when everyone was being so nice to her. But her hope and patience were slowly turning into desperation, knowing he was so close but so distant, messing with her head. It was different when she hadn't been able to see him, but now that she had, she just wanted to look into his eyes and hold him once before she let him go.

Tempest babbled to Amara as she carried her out.

Seeing her sent an occasional pang through her heart for what she'd lost and never experienced and would never experience again. It wasn't that she wanted to have a baby. She didn't think she could be a mother, and to be honest, she just didn't have it in her. It would be a miracle if she healed her trauma by the time she died, and a child deserved love and a healthy environment like she saw all around her. It made her happy to witness all of it, because that meant her son was surrounded with the same love, growing up with the same love, exactly what she had hoped and wished for him.

"Morning!" Zephyr came to stand next to her. They were almost the same height, but Zephyr had curves Lyla never had.

"Good morning," Lyla greeted her back, seeing her take a sip of some kind of juice.

"Why are you standing here all by yourself?" Zephyr asked her.

Lyla didn't know how to explain it. She felt overwhelmed but underwhelmed too, overwhelmed by all the emotions she had felt in such a short span of time, all the things she had seen, all the people she had met, but underwhelmed with the fact that she missed home, a part of her wishing for the solitude, wishing for him.

She touched her necklace like a talisman as if reminding herself that he was real, and so was everything they had, that she hadn't dreamed it all in a deluded state of a broken mind.

But she hadn't. In the bag he had packed for her, his t-shirts that she'd stolen to wear at home, a pack of the tea she liked until she could restock, and a puzzle box that opened every twenty-four hours and popped out a small strip of paper with a handwritten note. It had taken her a while to figure out how to open the puzzle box, and when she had succeeded that morning, she'd gotten her first note.

'My atoms miss your voice.'

Her atoms missed his too.

"Hey, you okay?" Zephyr's concerned voice brought her back to reality. She was spacing out a lot as her brain caught up with all the information thrown at it and processed everything.

"Yes," Lyla reassured her. She was okay, better than okay. Just a bit overwhelmed.

Zephyr gave her a long look that made her think nothing got past her. "You know, you have absolutely gorgeous hair?" she began, changing the topic. "That natural shade of red is so rare."

Lyla touched her strands, longer than the length she had chopped them off at, feeling a little self-conscious, a flush coming over her face at the compliment. "Thanks."

Zephyr raised her hand, her colorful wedding ring catching in the sunlight, before pausing. "May I?"

Lyla gave a nod and the other woman ran her fingers through her hair, rubbing the ends between her tips, holding them and moving them.

"You want a haircut?" Zephyr suggested, her eyes going over her face. "You have such lovely bone structure, I feel like a little cut will frame everything so nicely. What do you say?"

Lyla felt her nose tingle. She'd never had a professional haircut. Her handlers had wanted her hair long and forbidden her to cut it. It was one of the best selling points for her. All she'd been allowed was a little trim at the ends or the threat of a severe punishment. Until she had cut them off herself in a frenzy, they had remained pretty much untouched. And here was a woman who didn't really know her, who offered her kindness. She had no idea what it meant to her.

Lyla gave a tiny nod and saw a wide smile transform Zephyr's face, dimples popping in her cheeks that made her look so pretty.

Zephyr clapped her hands. "Yes! Come with me." Taking hold of her hand, she pulled her inside and down a corridor to a part of the mansion Lyla hadn't been in yet. It was slightly different than hers, with more artwork on the walls and more warmth. They went down one corridor, turned into another, and up a flight of stairs, so long Lyla forgot the direction she had come from. It would be so easy to get lost in this place.

Finally, Zephyr stopped in front of a wooden door, punched in a code to the side, and opened it. "Tada!"

Lyla entered what looked like a suite, something similar in size to the Gladestone hotel she had stayed in, but with a completely different vibe. The Gladestone suite had been very modern; this felt more antique. Antique sitting area with polished furniture, antique wooden windows right opposite the entrance, antique rugs, and drapes. Even the doorknob was antique. Lyla's suite in the other wing was smaller, more suited for one person than a couple, and less antique, more gothic. But the living and dining spaces were more opulent. She realized that each wing had a different interior theme and marveled at that for a moment. How amazing was that?

Zephyr opened one door and went in. Lyla glanced in and saw it was the bedroom. All she caught was a peek at the twisted sheets before her face flushed, and she immediately pulled back, not wanting to invade their privacy.

Zephyr came out with a large kit, leading her to another door. "Come on."

It was a large tiled room with a fancy sink and faucet, a huge ornate mirror, and a high stool in front of the counter.

"Hop up."

Lyla hesitated, before getting on the stool. Zephyr opened a cabinet and got a towel out, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"Won't it make a mess?" Lyla asked, not wanting to be the cause of any problems.

Zephyr shook her head. "I'll clean it up. You don't worry about a thing. Just relax and trust my expertise."

Lyla inhaled deeply, seeing in the mirror as Zephyr turned the faucet on, taking some water in her hand and wetting her hair slowly but steadily. Once that was done, she opened her kit and took out some kind of clips. a pair of scissors and a comb. She brushed her hair back, focused, and looked at the uneven lengths before sectioning it. Lyla watched in fascination as Zephyr's hands moved with surety over the strands, a confidence the likes of which Lyla had never experienced herself.

That was what she realized all the women in her brother's world had in common—confidence. They were all confident about something or the other, all of them carrying an air of certainty that came from being good at something. And even though Dr. Manson had specifically told her not to, Lyla compared and found herself coming up short.

What was she confident about in herself?

She didn't know.

She swallowed.

"You know," Zephyr began, working without stopping. "Alpha has this place that helps survivors. My sister used to work and help there."

Lyla's heart gave a thud at the mention of her old friend. She wondered what it would have been like if she'd been alive. Would she have remembered her or forgotten? Lyla didn't even know how old they had been. The concept of birthdays was foreign to her. She made a mental note to ask her brother about it when she saw him again.

"I used to volunteer there," Zephyr continued, finishing clipping her hair in the final section, all the twists making her look weird. Lyla had no idea how the hell Zephyr would figure out what to cut from where in the form that her hair was in.

"What did you do?" Lyla asked, curious.

Zephyr smiled. "Give free haircuts."

Was this a charity case for her, too? Was that what she was? She hoped not.

"We girls—" Zephyr told her, taking out her scissors and pulling one section out "—have so much importance attached to our looks, people don't realize how much difference a little change can make." She snipped and moved on. "It's like shedding your old skin, becoming something new. It's a choice you make—" she made another cut "—and you get more liberated."

Lyla mulled over her words, remembering how she'd felt different after she had cut her own hair. There was a certain truth to what she was saying.

Silence descended. Lyla sat quietly, and Zephyr worked, one section after the other, cutting and pulling, never asking her once why her hair was cut so badly, never commenting about anything related to it.

Finally, after a few minutes, she brushed the fallen pieces off her shoulders and plugged in a hairdryer in the socket. The loud noise of the dryer made her wince, and she sat still as Zephyr ran her fingers through her hair, turning it this way and that way under the focused blast of air, drying and framing it. Lyla kept her eyes closed to avoid the air in her eyes, letting herself enjoy the sensation of fingers over her scalp and strands.

The dryer turned off, and the noise cut off suddenly.

"So, do you like it?" Zephyr's voice came from behind her, her hands on her shoulders.

Lyla held her breath, her heart beating fast with fear for some reason.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, facing her reflection in the mirror.

She looked… different. Her red strands fell around her shoulders in a straight line, the length a little longer than she'd been expecting, wisps of shorter strands framing her face in a way that made her cheekbones look more prominent, her eyes sharper, her chin softer. She was amazed at the difference something like a haircut could make to her appearance and, moreover, to her insides. She looked like a woman who knew what she wanted, a woman who was poised, elegant, and more fitting into the circle she had been a part of.

Her eyes moved up to Zephyr's, conveying everything she couldn't put into words—a family problem she was coming to realize, a trait she shared with her brother. "Thank you."

The other woman squeezed her shoulders, giving her a wide smile. "Anytime."

Lyla's eyes moved back to her face, a smile coming over her lips as she imagined Dainn's reaction to seeing her like this. He had taken her out with his arm around her while being Mr. Blackthorne, and she'd always felt like the shoes she was filling out in society with him might not fit her. For the first time, looking at herself and feeling the surge of surety inside her, she felt like she could be Mrs. Blackthorne. Appearances had never mattered to her, her own beauty weaponized against her all her life by others. This wasn't about external beauty, though. This was about inner confidence.

And though she wasn't fully there yet, it felt like a big step in the right direction.