by Renee Rocco
“Yes.”
Jester skids a hand through his hair, shoving it off his face. “Motherfucker.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Also said you put this plan together.” The growled statement comes from Malice, who’s watching the road through the windshield.
“If you knew everything David did to Wraith, you wouldn’t have left him down there, either.”
They leave me alone after that, and we settle into an uncomfortable silence. Only once we hit County Road 314 and Jester and Malice are deep in their own quiet conversation do I ease under Wraith’s blanket and stretch out beside him. It’s bold and intrusive on his space, but I don’t care. I’ve been awake for what seems like forever, and it just feels natural to lie with him.
I cover us, making a little cocoon with the blanket. It takes effort but I ignore his smell—and he does reek. Eventually, I lose myself in his warmth, and when I turn on my side with my back to him, Wraith’s heavy arm falls on top of me. He drags me against him and buries his face in my hair. I smile into the dark, wrapped in the arms of the one person who always made me feel safe.
“Jamie grew up.” Malice’s rumbling voice penetrates my sleepy mind. “With them all cozy back there, I think Wraith would have been pissed if I put a bullet in her.”
I cuddle closer to Wraith, glad they didn’t kill me, too. But I don’t have to worry about that now, because like it or not, I’m going home.
10
Wraith
It’s easy to take something as abundant as air for granted. It’s all around us. An invisible flow. Warm. Clean. And so fucking refreshing, I can’t pull enough of it into lungs starved after six excruciating months. Might as well have been six goddamn lifetimes crawling over me in a constant cycle of agony. Ended by the woman who spent the majority of the day sleeping in my arms.
The last ten hours have been exquisite torment, with each bump and curve in the road along Interstate 95 a jackhammer to my bones. I spent it drifting in and out of consciousness with Jamie nestled against me. Noz worked its magic, repairing most of the damage done during the last fight. Yeah, the ket is still in me, too, and that sucks, but it’s dulled to almost nothing, and I’m more sore than in actual pain. I’ve got faded bruises and cuts here and there, but nothing too serious. The trizapam was a bitch to come back from, but I’m past the worst of that shit, too.
What I can’t get under control is the blinding rage every time I look at Jamie. My hands itch to rip Crane’s throat out whenever I see the bruise on her cheek. Swore to myself no one was going to hurt her, but I shit the bed on that one because I couldn’t do a goddamn thing to protect her from that prick’s fists.
But I stow the fury because I’m not wasting energy on anger when revenge is waiting on the horizon. Instead, I relish the moment and drag in another lungful of fresh air. The rest stop is an oasis in a burnout city, with Virginia among the hardest hit during the war, and I swear I can smell each leaf and blade of grass growing around the parking lot.
Malice wanted to keep driving, but Jamie woke up in a fog looking like warmed-over shit. After everything she’s been through, she’s earned a few extra minutes of privacy to do whatever the hell she needs to do in the bathroom. So we stopped, and we can wait until she’s done in there.
But I didn’t miss the way the my friends watched her as she shuffled off with her backpack slung over one shoulder. Don’t blame them for appreciating the view. Not even spending the day sleeping next to my filthy body took the shine off her beauty. But she’s more than a pretty face. Jamie has a dignity to her that’s embedded into her molecular structure. And if you’re one of the lucky few, you get to glimpse the world that exists in her eyes. Back when we were kids, I spent some time in that enigmatic realm. When she left Mayhem, she took that world with her, and my life felt emptier with her gone.
But the universe gave her back to me. Or did it? I feel like I’m stuck in a fever dream. Afraid I’m going to wake up and find out that she’s nothing more than a figment of my desperate imagination.
I’ve missed Jamie friggin’ Ellis. Won’t say it to her face, but I can damn well admit it myself. And I’m scared to death I’m still stuck in the dungeon, lost in some wild mind fuck. That I’m going to wake up trapped in my cell, alone and with Jamie nothing more than the memory I’ve been clinging to for the last eight years.
With my hip propped against the van, I scan the rest area. My legs are still weak as my body continues to struggle to get back to its full strength. I tug at the navy sweatpants and matching hoodie—both a size too small for my frame. But they’re clean, and there aren’t enough words in all of creation to express my gratitude at being fully clothed after wearing only pants or shorts since the night of my capture.
Don’t even get me started on how badly I want to slide my feet into socks and shoes.
The afternoon sun is a touch too bright after months of darkness because captivity is some crazy shit. Now I understand how animals feel when they’re released back into the wild. Can’t say I blame them for being skittish at first, then tear-assing to freedom once they get a taste of their surroundings. I’m like one of those animals, sniffing at the world from the edge of the open cage.
With Jester standing beside me, I take a bite of a protein bar and turn my face to the September breeze.
Malice growls as he paces in front of us. He gestures to the building a few yards away. “What the fuck is she doing in there?”
“I suspect the lady is using the facilities. Women do that occasionally,” Jester drawls.
“You’re a jerkoff,” Malice snaps.
“Ouch.” Jester throws a hand over his heart, his expression aggrieved. “You wound my tender feelings.”
Malice narrows his dark eyes. His upper lip curls into a snarl. He jerks his head at the scattering of parked cars in the lot. “And if Crane’s men roll up on us? You down for a shootout with innocents caught in the crossfire?”
Jester shrugs one shoulder. “No, but that shit is on Crane, not us.”
He’s never been one to hunt for a fight, but Jester never fought a battle he didn’t enjoy. And he’s fiercely loyal to the Unholy. We are all he has, and he may be a lovable asshole, but beneath the easygoing exterior is a man just as brutal as any other Unholy—myself included. Crane’s men catch up to us, we won’t hesitate to shoot. Anyone who ends up collateral damage is Crane’s sin, not ours.
Thing is, men like us, the Unholy, are a product of society. America went to hell, and we’re just struggling to survive while the government fights among itself. Until it gets its shit together, we gotta do what we gotta do to make it through the day.
Or, in our case, make it to Mayhem without Crane’s men gunning us down.
Right when Malice looks like he’s about to stomp his tall ass toward the bathroom, the door opens and out comes Jamie. I doubt I’ll ever tire of looking at her. And it’s not about her being gorgeous, although it helps that she’s fine as fuck. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that she’s a virgin. Yeah, she’s got issues, but what the hell? Before Crane took me, I couldn’t go a week without sticking my dick in someone, and here Jamie went twenty-four years without a man between her legs.
But her virginity is on borrowed time. It belongs to me, and once we’re in Mayhem, I’m taking what’s mine.
Well, shit. Nothing like having a raging hard-on to bring back the normal.
Outstanding.
“Finally,” Malice grunts. “Sure you don’t want to take longer? Not like we’re in a hurry.”
Malice is a nasty bastard. Old-school Italian, too. Or at least his family was before emigrating from New York to Mayhem. I wouldn’t be surprised if their blood contained oil traces from the first olive plucked from Sicily’s original branch.
“Malice,” I growl in warning.
He gives me some serious side-eye, but he backs off, and I shift my attention to Jamie. I track her hurried steps as she comes toward the van. Her hair was a wild
mess when she’d gone to the bathroom. It’s now in a neat ponytail. Her hoodie is tossed over her arm. The gray T-shirt hugs her perfect B-cups. Black utility pants mold lean legs, and her stride is long and confident, like she owns the concrete beneath her feet.
None of this is helping my current erection situation.
“I’m sorry I took so long.” There’s not a hint of remorse in her husky voice.
Jester meets her halfway. He drops an arm around her shoulders, and she stiffens. I’d wager good money that I’m the only one who notices the slight clench of her jaw. Apparently, Jamie still hates being touched. “No worries, James. I was using the time to explain to Malice that even women have to take a dump once in a while.”
I clamp my lips together to keep from laughing and wonder how the fuck Jamie doesn’t break at Jester’s remark.
Goddamn, I’ve missed my friends.
But Jamie’s not the only one with defense mechanisms. Jester’s need to fill the trip home with his special brand of sarcastic humor is, in this case, his way of dealing with the raw emotion I see every time he looks at me.
He was worried. Scared he lost his best friend. humor is how he’s coping with those emotions. I get it. I might not have before Gomorrah, but I understand it now.
“Yes, women use a bathroom for that reason. However, I was washing up and brushing my teeth.”
Jester folds himself to put his face real close to hers and inhales—loudly. “She smells all minty and fresh.”
“Took a shit. Washed a face. Same difference.” Malice jabs a finger at our vehicle. “Get in the fucking van.”
Jester gives her a playful jostle that has her bunching up her shoulders. “Forgive our large Italian friend. Think of him as an angry olive. Once he gets to know you, he’ll warm up to you. Promise.”
Jamie squirms out from beneath Jester’s arm and brushes by Malice with the grace of a queen. Malice cocks a brow and crosses his arms over his chest, watching her as she throws her backpack in the van. “It’s fine. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to see that Wraith gets home.”
“That so?” Malice’s tone is lethal.
“Yes, that’s so,” she tosses over her shoulder.
“You gonna cut and run again once we get to Mayhem?”
Jamie swings around and flings her hands in the air, a crack showing in her armor. Good. Each small fissure counts toward its destruction. “I didn’t run. I was arrested.”
Malice gets all up in her face. A normal person would back down, but Jamie holds her ground. “You tell yourself that, honey, but we know the truth.”
Jamie raises her chin and flares her nostrils, matching Malice’s scowl. “And what truth would that be?”
Malice backs away a step and gives her a one-shoulder shrug. His smirk is pure nasty. “I ain’t gonna spell it out and make it easy for you.”
My hard-on dies a tragic death as I watch them. I’d intervene, but Malice won’t hurt her. Shred her with words, absolutely. I should call him off, but I’m curious to see how far she can be pushed.
“How convenient.” She props her hands on her hips, and Malice’s expression goes dangerously dark. “You think you have me all figured out after knowing me for what, ten hours? Wow. I’m impressed. Even psychologists took longer than that to psychoanalyze me.”
Malice gives her an evil grin. “You got balls.”
“Big brass ones.” Jamie crooks her finger at him. Malice leans toward her. She rises on her tiptoes and cups her mouth, but her voice is anything but a whisper. “If you listen real hard, you can hear them bang together when I walk.”
Ever the referee, Jester steps between them. His laughter echoes across the parking lot, drawing a few glances our way. “Holy shit, what happened to the quiet girl who followed Wraith around for an entire year?”
Jamie lowers off her toes and turns to Jester. “She had to kill her father. That tends to change a person.”
“Oh damn, yeah, I can see how it would do that,” Jester agrees.
I push off the van and clamp my hand around her wrist. “You’re staying with me when we get to Mayhem.”
Her brows shoot up. “Am I?”
I stop dead and glare down at her. “Problem?”
She shakes her head. “No problem.”
“Didn’t think so.” The mention of her father woke the monster. It’s digging trenches in my brain. Clawing to get out. Got me itching for battle. My fist wants to hit something. To shatter bone. I want to hurt someone the way she was hurt. To put that suffering on someone else.
After I help Jamie in the van, I step up behind her and settle her between my legs. When I wrap my arms around her, her body relaxes against mine. My God, she’s so frail, and here I am, all bulky and shit. I’m scared one wrong move and I’ll crack her in half. But then I remember she’s sturdy. Withstood storms that would have taken out most people. If she can get knocked down and somehow stand back up all those times, she can handle a big bastard like me.
And God, she smells great.
I loosen my arms, giving her the chance to move away. “I stink. You can sit over there.”
She hunkers in against me. “I like it here if you don’t mind.”
No, I for damn sure don’t mind. I give her a little squeeze. “It’s all good.”
Malice slides in behind the wheel. “If you’re done acting like we’re not in a hurry, I’d like to get the fuck home.”
Jester climbs into the passenger seat. “Malice is on his man-struation.”
“The stress has us all punchy,” Jamie adds as an excuse.
How very diplomatic of her. “Nah, Malice is just a grumpy motherfucker.”
And then we’re off up Interstate 95, putting more miles between us and Florida.
“Despite being a tyrant who makes my decisions for me, how are you feeling?” Jamie’s words are an intimate whisper.
“Better.”
She wriggles in my arms, positioning herself to face me. Her hand comes up toward my forehead. “You aren’t warm.”
“No shit.” I dodge her touch. “I’m fine.”
“God, Wraith, I was just checking.”
When she reaches for me again, I lace my fingers through hers and pin her hand at her side. “Fucking stop.”
“Don’t be stubborn.”
“Don’t play doctor.”
“Pardon me for being concerned.” Pantera’s “Cemetery Gates” whispers from the speakers. Malice and Jester might as well be a million miles away, with Jamie and me lost in our own world. “I’ve missed you.”
Fuck.
If I were standing, those three words would have put me on my knees.
I want to say it back because I have missed her. Missed her too fucking much. I spent years driving myself crazy waiting for her to come home. Malice’s aggression toward her has nothing to do with her being Crane’s wife, and everything to do with my friends pulling me out of my funk after her Houdini act wrecked me. But, after what I just survived, all that bullshit is water under the proverbial bridge. From this point on, there’s before Gomorrah and after Gomorrah. And the before years are a faded memory, lived by someone who no longer exists. He’s not dead, just no longer alive—if that makes any sense. That man, that guy, he’s not me anymore. Can’t be me because the suffering I endured did something to my brain, to the structure of my soul, that can’t be undone.
Still, I can’t say to back to her. The words die in my throat.
But I do say, “You don’t have to stay with me.”
Because I won’t hold her captive—for obvious reasons.
“I know.”
I’m staring at Jamie’s mouth, and as I lower my head for a taste of her lips…
…Jester, the talky bastard, swivels around and folds his arms over the back of his seat. “So, James, tell me, other than murdering the fuck out of your father and marrying a psychotic douchebag, what’s your story?”
Jamie adjusts her position to face him. “I don’t have
a story.”
“Yeah, you do,” Jester insists. “We all got one.”
“Fine.” She may look relaxed, but I feel her tension. “You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”
I hope she doesn’t think that’ll shut him up. Jester is an open book who’ll give anyone graphic details about everything from the sex he had last night to the murder he committed a week ago. He just doesn’t give a shit.
“Not a problem. Birthday’s December twelfth, and yes, I got the shaft every year with the birthday-Christmas-combo gifts. Father was Phil. Mother was Ruth. No siblings. After having me, my parents gave up having kids. Guess I was too much for them. I met these two pricks in kindergarten. Raised hell with them as a kid, as you know. Had a crush on you, I think it was in ninth grade. Remember when I said I’d be your first kiss? It was right around that time. Became an Unholy at eighteen. Parents were killed in a car accident a year later. Got promoted to enforcer at twenty-two. Favorite hobbies are fucking, fighting, drinking, and tearing up the dirt on my ATV…not always in that order. Favorite movie is The Notebook, because seriously Allie and Noah. O.M.G. Amirite? Favorite color is red because blood. Favorite holiday is my birthday. That’s it, James. That’s me.”
“You left out that you’re an asshole,” Malice drawls.
Jester unfolds his arms and jabs his index finger at Malice. “That too.”
“Your turn, James. And don’t pussy out.”
“I never pussy out.” Jamie’s voice is steel. “But you know most of it. My mother left when I was three. My father was the town drunk. It was an open secret that he beat me. One day, I got tired of the abuse and fought back. After my acquittal, I stayed with my grandmother. When that arrangement didn’t work out, she sent me to Orlando where I lived with my aunt. I left at eighteen. Traveled around central Florida, living on the streets, mostly, but worked odd jobs and had a few apartments here and there. I was homeless when I agreed to married David. I don’t have a favorite hobby, but I’ve always wanted to go riding with you guys. I’m a huge movie geek, with Avengers: Infinity War topping the list. My favorite color is the sunrise. I don’t have a favorite holiday. And that’s it. That’s my story.”
