Embracing His Syn (Nothing Special 2)

God pulled one of the dining room chairs into the room, turned it around and straddled it. He stared at Syn, those green eyes drilling into him, but he didn’t dare look away. God was intuitive as fuck. He knew Syn was thinking something was off about this bust.

“I heard you was crooked man,” Goose snapped at God.

“You still hearing shit,” Syn answered before God could. God briefly gazed at Syn.

“Where’s your fucking warrant, God? I didn’t hear you motherfuckers knock before you kicked in my door and just invited yourselves in.”

“You don’t invite the wind,” Day said with a mischievous grin, coming back into the room with Ronowski trailing. “The wind just blows in.”

“Fuck you,” Goose snarled.

They hefted a medium-sized safe onto the wobbly dining table and Ronowski quickly pulled a small device from one of his pockets. He attached it to the front of the safe, next to the lock. Putting his ear to it, he listened intently as he turned the dial.

“I knew it. Dirty-assed cops!” the angry man yelled, bolting to his feet. God moved so fast Syn didn’t have a chance to react. God’s large hand gripped the suspect around his throat and lifted him several feet in the air before slamming him down onto the unforgiving floor.

“Ouch town, population you.” Day chuckled.

Fuck. Syn’s head was spinning. Something wasn’t right. God didn’t have a warrant, he hadn’t read the man his rights, and no one was calling this in. Oh fuck me ... this can’t be happening.

"You alright over there, Detective Sydney?”

Syn blinked and realized that beads of sweat were dripping down his face and his weapon was still out. Everyone else had returned their weapons to their holsters. Syn hoped he wasn’t witnessing what he feared he was.

“Jackpot,” Ronowski said.

Syn spun around and watched the smooth-faced Detective pull out stacks of rolled money. He didn’t know exactly how much, but it had to be at least ten to twenty thousand since the rolls contained hundred dollar bills. Ronowski turned and winked at God, and Syn narrowed his eyes. Please someone pull out an evidence bag. Please. He watched Ronowski’s bright blue eyes turn to Day and he’d be damned if the man he’d heard such wonderful stories about didn’t reach into the safe and pull out several rolls of cash, putting it into the lining of his vest ... God and Ronowski following suit.

“Got a payday on your first seize. Looks like your lucky day Sydney.” God’s look was a warning when Syn refused to pocket any of the money.

‘Fool Me Once, Shame On You’

The ride back to the precinct in the unmarked Suburban was awkward and silent. God drove like a bat out of hell while everyone else held on tight to the oh-shit bars. It seemed likely the man broke every traffic law on the books.

Syn’s head was reeling. He imagined that if this were a cartoon, he’d have smoke coming out of his ears and his eyes would be bulging out of his head. How in the hell could God and Day be dirty cops? Was the whole task force dirty, or just these three? He thought he would show his superiors his efficiency and fearlessness in carrying out a raid, but it was all bullshit. They didn’t even arrest Goose. They’d stole his damn money and told him to get out of town or they’d be back.

What the fuckin fuck?

Ronowski looked like the boy next door with his cropped blond hair, smooth face, and eyes bluer than a Wyoming sky. But after God had issued Goose his warning, Ronowski quickly cut the zip tie from Goose’s hands and leveled the guy with a powerful right hook. He’d casually stepped over Goose’s motionless body and walked out the door with his shotgun resting on his shoulder.

They’d just walked into the precinct when Captain Myers bellowed from his door for them to come into his office. Syn huffed a frustrated breath and felt God drop a heavy palm on his shoulder, moving the grip up to the back of his neck.

Syn jerked out of the hold. “Get your damn hand of me Godfrey.”

“Uh oh. Looks like someone needs a little more fiber in his diet,” Day quipped on his way past them.

“Get your asses in here, now!” The Captain came back out and yelled across the bullpen.

Syn and God were locked in a heated stare-off. “You think I’m scared of you, God?”

“You should be,” was the man’s simple response. The toothpick moved around in God’s mouth as he spoke like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Syn narrowed his eyes, his anger plain. “Yeah, I heard you were a fucking psycho and I was looking forward to working with you. But now you can kiss my ass.”

“You mean working for me ... not with me. I’m your Lieutenant, Detective Sydney.”