Wrath

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “That’s right,” Evan said. “She took me to her dingy room where she kept notes and surveillance gear. She was a cloned replicate, though. I destroyed them. Would all Faithful act the same as the clones? Some of them are just normal people working for the Syndicate.”

  “That's what we assume. But we could be wrong. We won’t know unless we follow them. At the very least, one of them might lead us back to the Syndicate’s base of operations. We know they’re working out of the city somewhere.”

  Griffin nodded grimly. “They’ve got serums and other biological weapons in production. We saw what a couple of injections did to Lilo’s ex, Doppenger. It gave him super strength, speed and even the ability to sense sin.”

  “We need to get on this right away.” Mary stepped forward. “I’ll get Tony in for a debrief.”

  “Lilo,” Parker continued. “We appreciate your offer to join Misha, but we’re going to need you on standby to feed anything we find to the networks.”

  “I thought we were doing this the right way,” Liza added. “What do you need the networks for?”

  “Sometimes the right way doesn’t work. If that happens, I want every newspaper or station in the country publishing the Bratva’s dirty laundry. Your department is full of dirty cops, Liza. We can’t be sure their crimes will go unpunished if Dimitri is captured through the proper channels.”

  “That’s why I’m going in with Misha,” she replied. “I’ll make sure he receives justice.”

  “It might not be enough. Between us, we’ve got some of the smartest minds and strongest warriors in the world. I’m done being one step behind the Syndicate.” Parker turned to Misha. “For now, you sit tight. I’m not going to be responsible for Wyatt losing his mate. If we do this, we do this right.”

  Once he was finished barking orders, he picked up a bite to eat and casually nibbled. “Oh, and before I forget, I’ve hired a security firm to protect our public establishments. They’ll be setting up shop across the street. We’ll be meeting them in a few weeks. Lilo’s kidnapping on the opening night of Hell made it glaringly clear we can’t be two people at once. We can’t be the Deadly Seven and our public identities at the same time, so for all the times we need to maintain our cover, we’ll use the firm as protection.”

  He took another nibble of his food, effectively dismissing them all.

  Lilo took Misha by the hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can stay.” She paused. “Do you want me to take you to Wyatt’s apartment, or the guest rooms?”

  Part of Misha wanted to go to Wyatt. She completely understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, she’d been right. He didn’t know her, and Misha would do anything to protect her family. If he couldn’t understand that, then their relationship was doomed before it began.

  “The guest rooms,” she said. “I think I need to give Wyatt some space.”

  Thirty

  Putting Misha back in the line of danger wasn’t sitting well. To cool down, Wyatt had retreated to the basement operations room. But after staring at the mannequin that held his Deadly Seven combat suit, a plan began to take shape in his mind. If he could work out the mechanics of the suit, then perhaps he wouldn’t need Misha’s help with Dimitri. Perhaps he could do it on his own.

  Unease squirmed in his gut, along with a grimy sense of wrath he felt above the basement HQ, perhaps in the restaurant. Someone was angry. Another wrath signature blinked into existence behind him. He turned toward the elevator entrance as it approached. When it crested the room, Wyatt jolted, surprised to see Sloan shuffling in, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

  Not who he expected, but still… she could give him a rundown of how to use the suit. “Good. You’re here. I need your help, Sloanie.”

  She paused. Blinked. For a moment, he thought perhaps her slothful sin had petrified her, but then her wrath flared so sharply that his eyes watered. His little sister’s eyes shifted from glazed vacancy to bright and vehement.

  “I need your help, Sloanie?” She repeated in a mocking tone laced with bitterness. Her blanket fell to the ground revealing the devastatingly slim body wasting away. Her sweats hung from her hips. Her camisole sagged over her shoulders. There was no meat left on her. No muscle. “I need your help? Where were you, Wyatt, when we all needed your help? Where were you when I needed your help!”

  Stunned into silence, Wyatt’s mind scrambled with the realization, all that wrath was because of him. “Sloan?”

  He stepped forward, and she backed off. “Don’t.”

  “But…”

  “Screw you, Wyatt. You know, maybe Sara was right. Maybe you really are a dumbass.”

  He narrowed his eyes. Really? But then her bravado collapsed. Tears overflowed from her eyes. “You used to cook for me. I confided in you. You were the only one who knew what I was really going through, and you just left! You left!”

  Wyatt winced. While he’d been running around the country, stewing in his own anger and hatred, his sister was slowly fading away. Fuck, he’d been selfish. He’d been so caught up with his own miserable life that he’d never stopped to consider he should have been helping his family too.

  She sat down on a stool next to the operations table and looked at her feet. For fuck’s sake she wasn’t even wearing shoes. He couldn’t make up for his dumbassery, but he could comfort her and make amends. He went to her and enveloped her skinny frame, hugging tight. She didn’t try to resist, just sat there, bone weary.

  “I’m sorry,” he said into her hair. “I thought you were dating someone. I assumed it was all fine.”

  “Never assume, bras.”

  “I know. It makes an ass out of—”

  “—You and me.”

  They laughed half-heartedly. It was a Flintism. Something he used to say to them when they were younger. Apparently, he’d made an assumption growing up, and it cost people lives.

  “It wasn’t fine,” Sloan sobbed, wiping her eyes. “And I only dated that loser because I couldn’t be bothered saying no.”

  “You’re right. You needed me, and I wasn’t there.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” Wyatt replied. “I was too bullheaded to admit it then, but heartache is heartache. It hurts everyone. I’m sorry he stood you up, Sloan.”

  She leaned into Wyatt and sobbed, her arms finally moving around his body and clutching tight. He ran his hand down her head, muttering soft words to her. A few years ago, the same time Wyatt had been dealing with the betrayal of Sara, Sloan had suffered her own betrayal. A man she’d fallen in love with, her best friend she’d only known from a distance, had agreed to meet in real life. There was a time when all Sloan talked about was her Max. Someone as quirky, as vibrant, and as energetic as she once used to be. They’d spent hours playing online games together, hours chatting online, hours video calling… years falling in love.

  At the time, Sloan and Wyatt were the only ones in the family in a relationship. They’d been happy. Wyatt had to give Sara that. For a little while, he’d been happy, and that happiness had bled through to his relationship with his youngest sister. The two of them had bonded, had each other’s backs when the rest of the siblings expressed their skepticism for love.

  And then Sara had died. The Deadly Seven were blamed for the explosion that killed others. Sloan’s man never turned up to meet her, and she was convinced it was because he believed the news reports, that he’d discovered Sloan’s true identity and decided she wasn’t worth it—that she was evil. For two years, Sloan and Wyatt shared in each other’s misery. When Wyatt left, he had no idea he’d been the one holding Sloan together.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my mistakes, it’s accepting help from the ones who love you. If I had done that in the first place, instead of leaving, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” His throat tightened when he thought of Evan’s persistence about Sara’s true nature, his unwavering faith in Wyatt, despite Wyatt tre
ating him like trash. Fuck, he owed Evan a lot. “So, I’m giving you my help whether you want it or not.”

  Sloan pulled away from his embrace and looked up at him with suspicion. “You’re not going to make me run laps around the block and record my times on a spreadsheet are you?”

  “Let me guess, Griffin?” A smirk lifted his lips as she nodded. “No. But I am going to start cooking our weekly family dinners again.”

  “Really? You’re going back to work at Heaven?”

  “No. But I’m sure they’ll let me borrow the kitchen for a bit, and if not, we can have dinner at one of our apartments. Hell, we’ve got a dozen kitchens I can use in this building.”

  She gave him a small smile, wiping her nose with her wrist. “I’d like that, bras.”

  “Can you show me these new suits?”

  “Yeah, but you gotta try it on.”

  Each battle suit used to have a different colored trim in the leather piping, that’s how they could tell each other apart. But now, each suit was the same dusty gray—the color of shadow.

  “Yours is the one with the black fukumen,” Sloan explained, pointing to the cabinet, revealing a black scarf around the mannequin’s neck. She went to hers. “Mine is yellow.”

  Right. After he stripped to his boxers, he relieved the mannequin of his suit and put it on. It was too big.

  Sloan, now also swimming in her suit, sighed. “I haven’t been fitted for mine either.”

  Both of them looked ridiculous. The gray arms hung past their wrists. The fabric at the legs gathered around their ankles. Catching his reflection in a mirror behind the glass cabinets, Wyatt could see that, fitted right, the suit would look wicked with its Deadly Seven emblem on the breast pocket. He began to remove the surprisingly light-weight suit when a big, laborious sigh came from the direction of the workshop. Neither of them had noticed Flint arrive, but he’d been tinkering with a gadget. He unfolded himself from his bench and lumbered over. Humor bounced in his eyes as he looked down at them from over his worker’s spectacles.

  “Sloan,” he said. “If you had been paying attention when Parker completed the demonstration last week, you would have known that the fit is self-adjusting. Here.” He tapped the round logo emblem on Wyatt’s chest. “AIMI, Flint here.”

  “Good afternoon, Flint,” came AIMI’s voice from somewhere in the hood around Wyatt’s neck.

  “Lift that over your head and you’ll hear her better. There’s an earpiece attachment,” Flint said, and then addressed AIMI. “Adjust Wyatt’s suit to fit.”

  “Adjusting now.”

  Immediately, air blew out of Wyatt’s arms and legs as the suit shrank around his limbs, stretching and contouring his frame like a second skin. When it was complete, he checked his reflection. Amazing.

  “Now you know, Sloan,” Flint said. “You can’t complain about your suit not fitting anymore.”

  “Damn Parker,” she muttered, adjusting her suit.

  “Where do we put our weapons?” Wyatt asked.

  Once again, Flint gave an amused look their way as he handed his screwdriver to Wyatt. “AIMI, Flint here again.”

  “Hello again, Flint.”

  “Wyatt’s holding a weapon he wants synced with the suit. Please instruct him on how to do this.”

  “Wyatt, are you listening?”

  Wyatt’s brows lifted. “Yes, AIMI.”

  “Good. Hold the weapon to the suit for three-seconds.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “Yes.”

  Wyatt pressed the screwdriver to his sleeve.

  “Syncing now. Three, two, one. Your weapon is synced. You may let go.”

  He did, and the screwdriver stayed put. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “This is incredible. But do we have to sync every time we need it to stay?”

  “No. Just once,” AIMI replied. “Pull with a firm grip, and the suit suction will release. Hold it back there and it will stay.”

  Wyatt pulled the screwdriver, and it came off. He pressed it again, and it held. Wow. He turned to Sloan, and she smiled back.

  “Who came up with this?”

  “Actually,” Flint said, retrieving his screwdriver and walking back to the bench. “The base code for that operation was Sloan’s.”

  “It was?” She seemed as surprised as Wyatt. “I don’t remember.”

  “That’s because you didn’t finish it.”

  “Oh.”

  “See?” Wyatt punched his sister lightly on the arm. “You’ve been doing better than you think.”

  A small smile tipped his way. “So… Misha, hey?”

  He fiddled with his sleeve.

  “Yeah, Misha.”

  “She’s the one?”

  He nodded. “I should probably go and find her.”

  “You should probably give her space, bras.”

  His gaze snapped up. “What?”

  “Well, you were a bit of an alpha-hole before. Maybe let her chill with her girl for a bit.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He nodded. He was still pissed about her volunteering to go back to The Kremlin. In his mind, there was no other solution, but to keep Misha locked up in this place, safe. And that wasn’t right. “I think we need some space.”

  Thirty-One

  A week later, Misha still lived in the guest apartment at Lazarus House. Parker had forbidden her to open yoga classes, and her family were still on an all-expense paid vacation to an unknown location. Wyatt had tried to soften the fact that she was in a virtual prison by delivering her a box of belongings he’d collected from her city apartment. She should be grateful for the help, but the overwhelming sense of helplessness grew inside her.

  As instructed by Parker, she’d contacted Dimitri and explained her fake situation. Dimitri was suspicious, and at first had threatened her life, but she’d expected that. She also expected the second time she called and he threatened her, but the thing was, he kept taking her calls. After the third and fourth time, she finally got him to agree to a meeting at the club.

  Now, it was the morning before the big meeting, and Misha had just showered and dressed. There was nothing else to do but wait and pore miserably over the items Wyatt had delivered days ago.

  She sat at the table, staring at a photograph of her mother and father embracing. They were so happy together. She probably romanticized things, but she rarely remembered them arguing. A vague memory popped into her mind of bath time when Misha was young. Her mother was giving a speech about how, being a girl, she had to respect herself, and that no decent man should ask her to do things she wasn’t comfortable with. Looking back, Misha had always assumed it was the obligatory stranger-danger speech, but now, she thought maybe her mother had been in a tough relationship before her father. She was too young to pick up all the signs, but she had picked up enough.

  As far as Misha knew, her parents were the loves of each other’s lives. After her mother died, her father had never re-married, or even dated. But for the years they had together, their love had burned like the sun, warming everyone in their orbit.

  Her stomach clenched, reminding her she’d not eaten breakfast. God, she’d kill for a walk down to her favorite coffee shop. But today was the day. She had to stay out of sight. Her nerves were on edge and she was feeling sick in the stomach at the thought of seeing Dimitri again. She knew she’d convinced everyone that she had what it took to get back into his good books, but deep inside, doubt had set in. Dimitri was unpredictable. She used to think she knew his motive—that he wanted her in his control, but there was a very good chance Wyatt was right, and Dimitri would kill her on the spot.

  Thinking of Wyatt caused another layer of apprehension to coat her insides. Wyatt had checked on her every morning at nine, and every morning he’d asked her not to do what she planned to do. When she’d held her ground, he’d left.

  She should be okay with his avoidance of her, but after they’d made love in the rain, and he brought the heat of the sun, Misha had dropped her guard
. She’d fallen for him. So hard. It had been good—maybe too good.

  Misha put the picture frame down.

  God. What issues must she have if her relationships lasted no longer than a day?

  A lump formed in her throat for the millionth time that week. Misha pushed thoughts of Wyatt from her mind and set to work on the mystery location of her family. It was a fun puzzle she could focus on. Since her phone was still in her locker at the club, Wyatt had called them for her. They weren’t allowed to disclose their location to anyone. Griffin had said it was safer that way, but their absence left a gaping hole in her life.

  She should take solace in the fact her family sounded happy. Her grandparents were still playing their perpetual card game. Her father told her he’d been relaxing by a pool, enjoying the first vacation of his life, reading a book of all things. Roksana was reluctant at first—she’d missed a rehearsal but, apparently, being in day spa heaven with Ciocia sorted that out.

  Alek was another case. He had texted Wyatt his frustration at not being allowed to help Misha out. As the kid grew up, he was taking on more of a protector role. His self-defense lessons had given him the spark. Part of Misha was relieved he was old enough and capable of taking on more responsibility, but another part was terrified. He was her baby brother. Mostly deaf, mute, and still at school. He already hero worshipped Wyatt. What would happen if he learned Wyatt’s true identity? He’d want to join the team.

  No way.

  A sharp rap at the door had her jolting out of her seat. A glance at the clock in the kitchen told her it was that time again. Nine o’clock. Wyatt time. She took a deep breath, steeled herself and went to open the door. Sure enough, standing in the hallway, looking as devastatingly handsome as the first day she’d met him, was Wyatt. Ebony dark hair, cobalt eyes, tight gray T-shirt stretching over flexing muscles as he lifted two bags of groceries. Misha blinked, surprised. This was the first morning he’d brought something other than his dark mood.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.” Weirdly, he closed his eyes and inhaled. On the exhale, his shoulders relaxed, and he opened his eyes. Lifting the bags, he said, “Peace offering.”