Wraith

by Kathleen Kelly

  Kathleen Kelly

  WRAITH

  Kathleen Kelly

  Copyright © 2020 Kathleen Kelly

  All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Kathleen Kelly is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  All efforts have been made to ensure the correct grammar and punctuation in the book. If you do find any errors, please e-mail Kathleen Kelly: kathleenkellyauthor@gmail.com

  Thank you.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  Editing by Swish Design & Editing

  Proofreading by Swish Design & Editing

  Book design by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover design by Clarise Tan at CT Cover Creations

  Cover Image Copyright 2020

  First Edition 2019

  All Rights Reserved

  You think you can take what’s mine, and there’ll be no repercussions?

  I will hunt you.

  I will torture you.

  I will make you tell me your secrets, then dispose of you.

  My daughter is my most precious possession.

  I will make them regret the day they came near her.

  I will destroy the Harbingers of Death MC and the Petrov family. They will regret ever having touched what I protect. These men have never come up against a Wraith, and I swear, this Wraith will be the last thing they see before they meet their miserable end.

  For Jack

  Infinity plus one.

  March 10th, 2003 – January 20th, 2019.

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Connect With Me Online

  About The Author

  WRAITH

  Wraith

  noun

  ~ a ghost or ghostlike image of someone, especially one seen shortly before or after their death.

  My hands are slick and warm. I delve deeper into my work, relishing in the heat. I pull, prod, and explore, but this one’s not right. I can’t find what I’m looking for in this shell. But this one will be remembered. She fought, she begged, she even tried to seduce me, but nothing would or could stop me in the end. I pull my hands out of her corpse and frown. So quickly the cold wraps itself around me. I plunge my hands back inside, but the fun’s all gone. With a sigh, I drag myself away. Blood drips from my hands as I stare out the window to the snow that covers everything. I can’t stay here long. Even with the cold, she’ll stink everything up.

  Karen, that was her name. She did give me some information—she gave me the next person I’m to interrogate. My methods may seem brutal, horrific, even distasteful to you, but it’s necessary. I must find the one I’m ultimately seeking.

  The next person on my list is a member of an MC. His name is Declan Jones. I’ll need to prepare, to change my appearance, get a motorcycle. Apparently, he’s a patched member of the Harbingers of Death. He’ll get me closer to the one I’m looking for, the one who needs to pay. I’ve been through eight people or as I like to call them, evildoers. By my figuring, there can only be two or three to go before I find the one.

  DECLAN

  It’s fucking cold. The kind of cold that rips through your leathers and bites into your bones. Occasionally, I ride through a warm spot, but it’s fleeting, and it makes the cold worse. I hit the city limits and slow my bike down. I don’t need the police on my ass for a bullshit offense like speeding. I’m headed to the only diner in this town worth eating at, and it’s also the place that we, the Harbingers of Death MC, conduct most of our business. I park at the side of the building. I get off my bike, groaning as I straighten my frozen limbs.

  “It’s fucking cold, hey?”

  I pull down the bandanna that covers the bottom half of my face and turn toward the voice. It’s a man who’s a little taller than me and maybe a little older. I cast a look around the carpark. There’s another bike parked at the other end of the lot. The Harbingers don’t pay me to consort with strangers, so I nod and keep going. Footsteps sound behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. The stranger is following me in, his eyes are fastened to the ground. I pay him no more attention as I enter the diner.

  “Declan! What the fuck are you doing out in this cold?” asks Lucy, the diner’s owner and trusted friend to the club.

  “You know, same old, same old. How’re things?”

  “Business is good. How’s Ham?”

  I smirk. Ham is Hammer, our President, and Lucy has held a torch for him as long as I can remember. She means nothing to him. She’s just another in a long line of hopefuls.

  “He’s good. Can I have my regular? And a large cup of coffee, the biggest you have.”

  I watch as the man walks past me and takes a seat in the back. Whoever he is, he’s positioned himself so that his back is covered, and he can see trouble coming. Smart. It also means he’s either wanted or used to trouble. I take the booth opposite him, but I’m sitting in the window. It’s not as safe as his position, but I have nothing to fear here.

  “Tell me, what brings you to Medina?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Just passing through. Needed a place to warm up before I move on.” He holds out his hand across the aisle. “Gordon Barnes.”

  I shake his hand. “Declan Jones.”

  He smiles, nods, and looks up at Lucy as she draws near with two cups and a pot of coffee. She places one in front of me and fills it.

  “Mister, you want a cup?” Barnes nods, and she does the same for him. “Know what you want?”

  “Special of the day.”

  I chuckle, and both of them look at me. “Trust me, you don’t want the special.”

  “Fuck you, Declan. You don’t even know what the special is,” replies Lucy sassily.

  “I’d bet my last dollar whatever it is, it’s a day or more old and eating it might just kill
him. Do you want to commit murder, Lucy?”

  Lucy frowns at me, then looks back to him. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s funny.”

  I nod and spread my hands wide. “It’s your funeral.”

  “What would you recommend?” Barnes asks.

  “Lucy, give him what I’m having.”

  “Whatever!” replies Lucy as she stomps away.

  “You always torment her like that?”

  “Lucy is used to me,” I say loudly, then I lower my voice. “The special is for suckers.”

  Gordon Barnes smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I’ve seen that look in more than one man’s eyes—the eyes of a man who’s killed before because he’s liked it. I reach down and touch the gun in my waistband, assuring myself it’s there.

  “You affiliated?” I ask.

  “Nope, didn’t take. You?”

  I frown. He walked behind me, so he had to have seen my cut.

  “Harbingers of Death MC,” I state.

  “Interesting name. Do you live up to your reputation?”

  “Fuck with us and find out,” I say, flatly.

  Barnes smirks, spreads his fingers wide onto the tabletop, and nods. “Fair enough.”

  I sit staring at him for a while, and he stares straight ahead. I only turn my head when Lucy reappears and puts our meals in front of us. The food here is always good, but this guy, this Gordon Barnes, has made my stomach turn sour. The meal is tasteless as I analyze our conversation in my mind. Whoever he is, he met me here on purpose, and to what end, I don’t know.

  WRAITH

  I ate my meal. Declan Jones was right, it was good. I could tell he knew what I was. It was the subtle way he touched his gun and kept giving me sideways glances. It’s hard to disguise what I am. The harder I try to conceal my inner demon, the more it peaks it’s head out. If I'm honest, I like that people cross the street when they see me coming or instinctively get out of my way. But it’s not going to work if I don’t find what I’m looking for. I need to be better, smarter.

  So, I left Declan in the diner, thanked the waitress, Lucy, and rode away. I’ve been watching him for a little while, so I know which road he’ll take. It’s winter, and not a lot of people are out and about, the cold keeping most people inside. But Declan Jones will need to get back to his club, and he always takes this road. Stupid. The key not to getting caught is originality. Don’t repeat the same route or kill the same way. Change those habits, make it different. See, that’s the problem with people. They do the same things over and over again, making it easy for someone like me.

  By now, Declan will have completed his business, such as it is and be headed this way. I’ve prepared a simple wire across the road fastened to a tree on either side. All I need to do is pull, fasten it, and wait for his sorry ass to slide down the asphalt. It’s risky. Someone might be on the road at the same time, but I’ve been here for a couple of hours, and in that time, there’s only been one car. If he does come off in front of witnesses, I need only disappear into the woods.

  The sound of a Harley punches through the air. I’m so excited that I’m giddy, even grinning to myself. I pull hard on the wire, fasten it, and wait. A loud thud sounds as man and Harley hit the road hard. Slowly, I stand, listening for a car or anyone else. The only sound is the Harley, and it sounds like it’s about to die. I chuckle to myself and approach the road.

  Fuck!

  The wire severed his head off. Declan's head is rolling about, and his bike and body are several feet down the road. In frustration, I kick his head, sending it off into the woods.

  Fuck, fuck, fuckity, FUCK!

  I jog down to his bike, steal his wallet, knapsack, and bedroll, then double-time it to the car that I’d stolen to transport him in.

  Now what? He was my lead. I rummage through his wallet and don’t find anything useful except for the cash. I empty Declan’s knapsack and find more money, a notebook, and some protein bars.

  I punch the steering wheel and roar.

  It can’t be the end.

  It can’t.

  She must be avenged.

  Sitting there, I suck air into my lungs as I try to calm down. Ripping open a protein bar, I eat it, slowly, deliberately, not really tasting it but concentrating on the act of chewing to try and get myself under control. It’s not about the food as I’m not hungry, it’s about regaining my composure. After five minutes, my breathing is back to normal.

  I need to move. I start the car and drive to the spot where I’ve stashed my bike. All of Declan's belongings go back in the sack, and I pick up the bedroll. It all gets transferred to my bike, and I head to Spofford. It’s a small town with lots of empty houses. Less than a hundred people live there. I need to be careful. It’s not like a big town where everyone is too wrapped up in their lives. Here, people take notice. I’ve done the ride in an hour and a half, but I need to calm down, so it’s going to take me longer. I estimate two hours. Two hours to sort this mess out in my head and come up with a plan.

  By the time I get to the house that’s on the outskirts of town, I’m no closer to sorting out this mess. I park the Harley in a shed at the back of the property. If you drove past, you’d never see it. It’s a three bedroom, one bathroom home, that’s seen better days. I’ve cleaned the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. They are the only rooms I need.

  I unlock the back door and go inside. The windows are all boarded up. All I had to do was install new locks in the front and back, and she’s as good as a safe… well, almost. I’m stealing power, so I have hot water and can cook myself a meal. I place Declan’s knapsack and bedroll on the rickety old dining table. I’m stiff and cold. I need a hot shower to loosen my muscles.

  The next day, I empty the contents of the knapsack, eat another protein bar, and go through everything again. The wallet has nothing unusual in it, so I toss it in the trash. The notebook has names, phone numbers, and what looks like code but without a cipher, which I’m not going to crack it anytime soon. That just leaves the bedroll. With a sigh, I undo it, shaking it onto the floor so I can see it in its entirety. Nothing flies out. Nothing is hidden within it. Unzipping it, I open it up, flattening it out, and I find another notebook. My hopes soar, but I know it could be nothing. Nonetheless, I pick it up, and inside is a list of names and addresses. The first is Karen’s. My heartbeat quickens. Next to her name, it says, ‘bait.’ Then I find Declan’s name and next to his, ‘handler.’ Now, I’m excited. It’s progress, it’s a lead. Flipping the page, I find the name Darius Todd, ‘negotiator,’ and under his, Thomas Strike, ‘seller.’

  I’ve done it. I’ve found them all. Part of me knows that Karen and Declan will already have been replaced, but these next two, if I can rid the world of them, that means she will have been avenged.

  DARIUS

  Harbingers of Death VP

  I’m at the Coroner’s Office in Medina. They have Declan’s body on a slab, and as I’m the closest to family, I’m here to identify the body. It’s as cold in here as it is outside. The walls are painted a mint green. I read somewhere once that it was supposed to remind us of life. Green, in any shade, reminds me of money.

  “Mr. Darius Todd?” asks a small woman as she enters the room. I glance at her and nod. “Thank you for coming in. I know this is an awful time. I’m so sorry for your loss.” False platitudes from a woman who’s probably done this dozens if not hundreds of times. “I’m Doctor Hernandez. Are you ready to give an identification for…” she looks down at her clipboard, searching for a name.

  “Declan Jones,” I state flatly.

  Doctor Hernandez flinches and looks to her colleague who has remained off to one side the entire time I’ve been in here. Their unspoken language moves him into action. Doctor Hernandez places a hand on my arm as he opens the draw.

  “Prepare yourself,” Doctor Hernandez whispers.

  I look down at her hand, and she pats me like a dog and tries to look sympathetic.

  “Let’s get this over with, shall w
e?” I ask.

  I stare at the body bag, then take two steps toward it and grab the zipper.

  “Markus will do that,” Doctor Hernandez says quickly.

  I grunt and look at Markus, who avoids eye contact and unzips the bag.

  Declan’s head is detached from his body. I lean in for a closer look. It’s a clean slice like a knife through butter.

  “What the hell caused that?” I ask, pointing at the severed line between his head and torso.

  “It appears as though Mr. Jones fell victim to a wire that was strung up across the road. Death was immediate.” I glance at the doctor. “It was quite clean really,” continues Doctor Hernandez matter of factly.

  “It’s Declan Jones. Do we know who did this?” I ask Doctor Hernandez.

  “That’s a question for the police, but the general consensus is it’s gang-related.”

  I pin the good doctor with a look, and she wisely takes two steps back.

  “I’m not in a gang, I’m in a motorcycle club, an MC, that’s filled with other members who enjoy riding motorcycles,” I reply with acid dripping off every word.

  Her hand flutters to her neck. “Of course. My deepest sympathies.”

  “Keep them. This is Declan Jones. Is there paperwork I need to fill out?”

  The doctor thrusts her clipboard at me and points to the bottom of the page. I hold out my hand for a pen. She pulls one out of her top pocket, and I sign and head for the door.

  “Wait!” I stop, hand on the door handle. “What would you like us to do with the body?”

  Staring at the door, I say, “Burstow’s Funeral Directors have been notified.” I glance over my shoulder at her. “As soon as you’re done with him, they’ll pick him up.”

  Roughly, I open the door and get out of this building. I liked Declan. He was good for a laugh and handled business well. Replacing him isn’t going to be easy. They need to have the right temperament, be good-looking and know how to pick the right girls. Declan was exceptional at all of those things.