Embracing His Syn (Nothing Special 2)

“Got a real heavy foot there, don’t you Lieutenant?” Syn gritted through clenched teeth.

God let out a grunt as sharp green eyes caught Syn’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

Please just watch the fucking road.

“You know what else is real heavy, Sydney?” God smirked.

“Oh let me guess,” Syn deadpanned.

“Yep. My goddamn balls. So just sit back and shut up.”

“I concur,” Day chimed in matter-of-factly. “About the heavy balls ... not about you shutting up, Syn.”

“Shut up, Day,” God and Syn grumbled in unison.

God made a hard right turn onto N. Peachtree Hwy.

“Ya know, I’m more than capable of driving myself to a crime scene. I appreciate you chauffeuring, but it’s not necessary.”

“It was Day’s idea,” God said.

“We oversee the narcotics division. We should present a united front when we approach the scene. The Homicide Detectives aren’t gonna like us taking this over,” Day said, while adjusting the volume on the police radio mounted on God’s dash.

An operator was reporting a 10-32, a person with a firearm, on Puttmans Head Road, which was only three streets over from where they were. God hit his brakes hard. If Syn weren’t wearing his seat belt, he’d definitely have a massive headache right now from slamming into the back of Day’s seat. Syn jerked right when God swung his large truck into a U-turn in the middle of the street, no doubt heading toward Puttmans.

“Suspect about five-foot-six or seven, Caucasian, wearing dark clothes. Proceed with caution,” the operator's voice came over the radio.

“What the fuck is going on?” Syn asked, pulling his Glock from his holster and removing the safety. God lowered the windows, all the men on full alert now. Syn didn’t bother to ask the question again, since it didn’t look like he’d get an answer.

“Cash slow down,” Day whispered, and turned down the police radio.

It was eerily quiet on the dark street. It was after midnight, the residents of Peachtree City had turned in for the night. Day was looking up the street and Syn followed his gaze. There was a man walking fast with both hands in the pockets of baggy black cargo pants, his dark hoodie pulled up. Syn saw the man look back at them as God slowly approached from behind. Syn and Day both kept their weapons pointed down, waiting to see what the man would do.

“He’s a runner,” Syn said quietly

“I think you're right,” Day agreed.

God unlocked the doors and pulled up next to the sidewalk. The man pretended not to notice but he walked faster, keeping his head lowered.

“Excuse me,” Day said loudly. Surely, the man heard him, but ignored him.

“Sir, can you stop walking, we’d like to ask –”

Day didn’t get to finish his question before the suspect whipped around, pulling his hand out of his pocket, a shiny object coming into view. Fuck! The three of them ducked down. Knowing exactly what the man held, God hit the gas and cut the wheel hard to the left, spinning them around. A single shot rang out in the night, the bullet sounding like it hit the bed of the truck. The heavy footsteps of military-style boots told them the man was on the run, moving away from them quickly. Day and Syn jumped from the truck, almost completely in sync and gave chase.

Day was fast, but Syn had no problem keeping up with him. Syn heard the squeal of God’s tires, and was sure he was circling the block to try and cut off their suspect.

“Stop. Atlanta PD!” Day yelled, and the suspect doubled his efforts to elude them.

The guy still had his gun out and Syn watched it as he ran. This was a residential area; he didn’t want the suspect firing his weapon, bullets going through a house, hitting an innocent.

The armed man cut through a yard, jumping a low fence. Day and Syn increased their speed and both hurdled the fence, closing the distance fast. The man had cleared the next fence, putting him on the other side of Puttman Street, when he turned and raised his gun in their direction.

“Down!” Syn yelled as he and Day both dove to the ground; three shots rang out. Bullets whizzed by him and Syn cursed. He heard God’s powerful turbo engine revving then the loud sound of tires skidding across asphalt. They stayed low to the ground, peering carefully around the trees scattered throughout the yard. The next shot sounded like thunder. That shot, fired from God’s Desert Eagle had Syn breathing rapidly, tensing in anticipation of another shot from that damn cannon.

“Day. Sydney,” God’s deep voice carried to them. His concern for his lover clear in his tone.

Syn and Day jumped the fence and jogged around the corner.

“Damn that sight makes my dick hard,” Day said straightforwardly.

God was leaning out his window. Both huge guns still in his hands, one with smoke rising from the barrel. The suspect was on his knees with both hands behind his head. Syn breathed a sigh of relief that God had only fired a warning shot. He didn’t think he’d ever want to see the damage God’s gun could do to a person’s chest, or what would be left of their chest.