by Renee Rocco
Three sets of eyes fry me, and I melt into myself, shame turning my blood to lava that scalds me as it flows through my veins.
Crow crosses muscular tattooed arms over his broad chest. The top of the word Unholy peeks out from above the neckline of his white T-shirt, as if I need a reminder of who he is and what he represents. “Start talking, Jamie.”
I clasp my hands in front of me to hide their tremor and tell the men everything, from Gomorrah’s conception to the night of our escape. I leave out only the intimate details concerning Wraith, and when I’m finished, I notch my chin and stare Crow right in the eye. “If you want to know what he suffered, that’s for him to tell.”
Malice stalks to the window. Jester drops on the edge of the bed. But Crow stands stoic, glaring at me. I press myself deeper in the corner despite my resolve to stand my ground, my insides a riot of nerves at being alone with these men.
When Crow finally breaks the quiet, his gruff baritone doesn’t sound as angry as his expression implies. “But it was you who got Wraith out.”
“No. I was only one person.” The words choke out past the ball of fear glued to the back of my throat. “Everyone, including Wraith, did their part to get us I out.”
“Maybe.” His eyes are a violent storm as he studies me. “But you orchestrated the escape.”
I nod, not sure where he’s going with this interrogation. “It’s practically impossible to leave Gomorrah.”
“Yet, you did.”
What David did to Wraith was only the beginning of something much worse. “We had no choice.”
“Whose idea was it to use trizapam?”
I chew the inside of my cheek, expecting a fresh blast of anger. Trizapam is dangerous. If Wraith wasn’t already swimming in noz, his body might not have been able to recover from the effects of the deadly drug. “He had to die to get past security. It was the only way.”
A muscle works in Crow’s clenched jaw. His spine is rigid. His hands are fisted, and I brace for an assault. But when none is forthcoming, and his shoulders sag, I see a world of relief in his dark eyes. “It was smart.”
“No, it was desperate,” I counter.
A million things could have gone wrong.
I’m yanked into Crow’s arms and crushed against his unyielding chest. “Thank you. We owe you a blood debt.”
“I’m owed nothing.” I push away from him and dig the thumb drive from my pants pocket. “Take it. I downloaded footage of the Coliseum’s activity. We can’t get to David as long as he controls Marion County’s most powerful. We remove them, we isolate him.”
He plucks the thumb drive from my hand. “Clever woman.”
I give him a one-shoulder shrug. “I want justice.”
A crash from the bathroom has Crow tucking the drive in his pocket and us rushing for the door. Malice gets to it first. He’s about to bust his way in, but the door opens and out billows a puff of steam to reveal a very naked Wraith standing in a sea of broken mirror. He’s a heaving spectacle of wild rage, teeth bared, and knuckles torn to hell.
It doesn’t take a genius to surmise what happened.
And the pervert I am, I can’t stop staring or prevent my jaw from dropping at the sight of Wraith in all his magnificent glory.
Good Lord. The man is impressive.
Everywhere.
I’m busy gawking, I didn’t realize Jester palmed his Glock until he sticks it back in its holster. “The fuck, Wraith?”
Malice, who shoved Crow behind him, re-holsters his pistol as well. Now that I see the weapon up close, I recognize it as a Desert Eagle. “Done throwing a tantrum?”
“You okay?” Crow pushes Malice aside.
“Look what he fucking did to me,” Wraith’s roar is filled with a heartrending mix of fury and anguish.
It’s easy to forget the dungeon didn’t have mirrors. Or that Wraith might not have given himself a once-over while on the drive home. This is his first unrestricted view of the damage done to him.
Unfortunately, I know exactly what he’s going through because I’ve been there and have shattered my fair share of mirrors.
On the bright side, there’s enough noz in Wraith’s system to stitch his knuckles together. And in time, his mind will mend, too. He’s a fighter, like me, and will come to accept this altered version of himself. This person who walked through the fires of hell and beat the devil at his own game.
What we suffered made us stronger. And therein lies the difference between someone who was victimized and someone who is a victim.
We are the former.
We will never be the latter.
Malice ushers Wraith out of the bathroom. “Move before you cut your damn feet, asshole.”
After they reject my offer to help clean the glass, I go to the kitchen to heat the pizza. With Wraith’s hand bandaged and him finally dressed in his own clothes, he and the others join me. The men devour two whole pies. I polish off two and a half slices myself. I can’t recall the last time I was this hungry. Wait, yes, I can. The day I agreed to marry David. I hadn’t eaten for days. Before that, my meal was comprised of what remained of a sandwich someone tossed in the trash.
After everyone is fed and the kitchen is cleaned, Crow and Malice head out. Since Jester lives here, he retreats to his room, and once I’m alone with Wraith, I linger awkwardly, not knowing where to put myself.
“Where am I sleeping?”
Wraith cocks a brow at my question, looking dangerously attractive in a black tank top and gray sweatpants. I bite back a smile when I notice his thick white socks. It must be cozy to have his feet stuffed in them after being barefoot for months.
“My bed, unless you want the guest room.”
Wraith’s rigid. Like he’s holding his breath while he waits for my answer. Every cell in my body demands I choose wisely, but when I open my mouth to speak, foolishness falls out. “Yours is fine.”
He releases his breath. “Go shower. I’ll meet you up there.”
Before I leave, I motion to his hand. “Promise me you’ll stop punching things. We’re out of noz.”
He shrugs. “I like to punch things.”
I tsk. “But you’re home now, so you don’t have to.”
“Doesn’t feel like I’m home.”
As if I have all the right in the world to do so, I step up on my tiptoes and brush my lips over his. “It will.”
Wraith may be home in body, but not in spirit—and I doubt he will be until David is dead.
“I need to tell you something.”
Wraith and I are in bed, with the house eerily quiet. I’ve forgotten how peaceful the Southside of Mayhem is, especially compared to the 24/7 bustle of the north end of town. Or Gomorrah, for that matter, with its guards and dogs and security lights. Here, it’s about mountains and moonlight. It reminds me of when I lived in Ocala National Forest, surrounded by nature and without a care in the world.
“I’m listening.”
And he’s stiff as a board while doing so.
“Before we left Gomorrah, I took information from David’s security system.”
“What kind of information?” His tone may be calm, but his body goes even more rigid.
“I downloaded a month’s worth of the Coliseum’s activity on a thumb drive.” I wriggle out of his arms and sit up. “You want to kill David? This is how you get to him. We use that information to wipe out every powerful person he has in his pocket. And once we have him where we want him, you do what you need to do. I already told Crow. I gave him the drive. Even he agreed that it’s a good plan.” I grab Wraith’s hands. “We got him, Wraith. We got all of them.”
His expression is hard, unreadable, and a muscle tics in his jaw. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before?”
Well, this isn’t going as planned. I assumed Wraith would be thrilled. “I’m telling you now.”
“You could have been fucking killed,” he snaps.
Up goes my chin—as do my defenses. “It’s
my life to risk.”
He bolts upright and grabs me by the jaw. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jamie. Your life is mine.”
“I’m not property.” I slap his hand away. “And I did what I did because you’ll never get to him as long as he’s surround by those assholes.” I move back, putting space between us. “But let’s say you kill him. Then what? What happens after? Evil like David’s is a hydra. Cut off one head, and two grow in its place. We can’t just cut off one. We have to rip out its heart and make sure it stays dead. To do that, we have to take out everyone who enabled and profited off Gomorrah. That’s how you get revenge.”
Wraith watches me through the moonlight filtering in through the open window. I want to shrink away and retreat under his scrutiny.
“Come here, Runt.” He holds out his arms.
My body moves forward before my mind catches up to it. I settle in his embrace and, oh, my God, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t be stupid, Wraith.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
I shift to stare up at him and stroke the chiseled planes of his face. “This is an us situation. My part is the brains. Yours is the brawn.”
“Oh, is it?”
I ignore the humor in his tone and keep petting the side of his face. “Yes. You’re good at punching things, as you’ve proved, and I’m good at finding people’s weaknesses. It’s how I survived.”
Wraith runs his tongue along his lower lip, his gaze locked on mine. “Yeah? Then what’s my weakness?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He buries a hand in my hair. “Yeah, you do.”
His mouth whispers over mine, achingly gentle. He gives me all the time in the world to move away. The moon could drop out of the sky, and I wouldn’t budge from this very spot. I’m dizzy, lightheaded with exhaustion, and drunk on Wraith and freedom and the unexpected thrill of being back in Mayhem. I hate it here because of the memories, but I love it here because it’s wild and obscene.
Wraith parts my teeth with his tongue, and I open for him, my body humming to life under his touch. His hands are hot and rough, sliding over the cotton T-shirt he gave me to sleep in. I’m swimming in it, but it’s suddenly suffocating me.
And then I’m above him, his hands on my ass as he guides me over his body. He positions me so that I’m straddling him, and it’s odd and wonderful to have all his power between my legs. Offered to me for the taking. I flip my hair over my shoulder and lean down to lick a path from his neck to his earlobe, savoring the delicious taste of him. But it’s his growl that clenches my womb and sends a flood of wet heat that soaks my panties.
Wraith clamps his hands on my hips and grinds up against me. Our lips crash together, and we’re like two teenagers, kissing, grouping, unable to get close enough. But we never got to do this as kids because I was a mental wreck, and Wraith, for all his bad-boy reputation, didn’t take advantage of me. Sometimes I wish he had, because at least his touch would have kept me company during those long and lonely years. But he hadn’t, and right now, I’m grateful because it makes this moment golden. It makes it new and exciting.
He hitches up my shirt, and his hands are on my breasts, rolling my nipples between skilled fingers.
I throw back my head and lean into his touch. “More.” He sits up and takes one breast in his mouth, teasing my nipple with his tongue. I grind down on him, and frown when I notice I seem to be the only one enjoying the moment. “What’s wrong?”
Wraith rips his mouth from me with a frustrated growl. “I can’t,” he says as he lifts me off him.
A frisson of terror slides through me that David suffered his affliction on Wraith in that final torture session. “Is it…? I mean… Can you…?”
He grabs my hand and uses it to cup his flaccid penis. “Trizapam and ket are a hard-on killer.”
“Oh. Well. Oh.”
Thank. God.
“It is what it is.” He heaves out a labored breath. “Give me a day or two and I’ll be back to normal.”
He flops back on the pillow, and I go with him, tucking myself against him. It’s not like I’m missing anything, and besides, I’ve waited what feels like lifetimes to be right here in this very spot. I don’t need sex. We’re alive and safe. That’s enough for me.
“I’m sorry, Wraith, I truly am.” I trace my finger up his arm, over the delicate angel tattooed on his inner forearm. It’s a stark contrast to the masculine tattoos on the other parts of his body. “But I’m not sorry it allowed our paths to cross. Does that make me a terrible person?”
He runs a hand over my hair. “No, Jamie, it doesn’t make you a terrible person. Now go to sleep.”
Exhaustion and Wraith make for a toxic truth serum. Best I take his advice and quit while I’m ahead. “Good night, Wraith.”
“Night, Runt.”
I breathe him in and listen to the steady beat of his heart, my mind blissfully blank for the first time in ages. Gomorrah doesn’t exist. David is nothing. Not even a speck of nothing. And my father… He’s less than a speck of nothing. All that matters in this moment is being is Wraith’s arms. And as I drift off to sleep, my dreams, for once, aren’t haunted by a screaming demon saturated in liquor and drunk on rage.
12
Wraith
Feels all sorts of wrong to wake up in my bed, clean, and not in pain (healing knuckles notwithstanding). It’s probably going to take me a while to get used to being normal again. But Jamie sleeping next to me is a good start. Still doesn’t seem real, though. I have to lie here for a minute and let reality sink in because part of me can’t believe we pulled off the impossible. A miracle, actually.
And now I’m going to rip Crane’s world down around him.
But not today. Because first, I’m going to enjoy being home. In my bed. With a woman I’ve missed like my right fucking kidney for eight goddamn years.
With the late morning sun spilling over us, I roll over and see the top of Jamie’s head. The rest of her is tucked beneath the blanket. I lift the gray sheets and black comforter and see she’s curled into a tight ball, with my T-shirt too big on her tiny frame. She flips over in a tangle of hair and said shirt rides high enough to give me a nice view of her giant blue underwear, which are about the furthest thing from sexy I’ve ever seen. Doesn’t matter. Jamie could be wrapped in a burlap sack, and she’d shine brighter than a quasar.
She reminds me of whiskey and smoke, and with the drugs slowly leaving my system, my dick is finally starting to come back from the dead. It’d be too easy to drag those ugly panties down her legs and press my—
“Wraith, what are you doing?”
I dart my gaze up her body and give her a guilty grin. “Imagining what it’s going to feel like to fuck you.”
Never let it be said that Wraith Shaw doesn’t speak what’s on his mind.
Jamie snatches the blanket out of my hand before swiping the tangled hair off her face. “Pervert.”
And yeah, that, too.
The bruise on her cheek wakes the monster, but I beat it back into its cage because not today, motherfucker.
“You’re half naked in my bed, Jamie. I think that’s call for a little perversion.”
I shake my healing hand when the godawful sensation of thousand needles and pins shoots to the rapidly healing knuckles. Stupid of me to punch the mirror but getting an eyeful of myself was…shocking. I may not be vain, but holy shit, doesn’t mean I was prepared to see the extent of what Crane did to me. But whatever. It is what it is. I can’t undo the damage, but I can kill him nice and slow. Make it hurt. Make his death last for a damn long time as payment for the new me he created.
Jamie, though, isn’t looking at the scars. She’s too busy studying my tattoos. “The grim reaper, huh?”
On instinct, my hand moves to my right shoulder. The drill marred the design after the last torture session. Not too bad, but like my Unholy tat, the reaper will need to be fixed where they fucked up the artwork. If it’s po
ssible. Not sure if the ink will take where the skin is scarred.
“Fitting, no?” I ask with a shrug.
I never had a problem killing people.
I do have a big problem murdering innocent people.
She trails a finger over the delicate female angel that takes up most of the real estate on my right forearm. “Contradictory to the other ones.”
A half-sleeve of skulls covers my left forearm. Above it, on my inner biceps, reads Mayhem Forever. And then, of course, is Unholy bigger than life across my pecs. But the angel reminded me of a specific person who disappeared on me like a fart on the fucking wind.
I shrug. “Saw it. Wanted it. Got it.”
“It’s not very manly. Weren’t you worried people would tease you?”
I look at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “Seriously, Jamie?”
She leans away and takes my measure—all six foot three and 220 pounds of me. Her laugh/snort is adorable. “No, I don’t suppose anyone would.”
I rip the pillow out from behind my head and whack her with it. “Fuck no, they wouldn’t.” She fends off the attack and kicks me under the blanket. “Oh, so you’re going in for the sneak attack.” But her tiny foot catches me in the side, and I’m still sore from whatever the trizapam did to me. I bite back a hiss as a shock of pain runs up my rib cage. “I concede, Runt. You win.”
She huffs and slaps the blanket down around her legs. “I may have launched a sneak attack, but you struck first.”
“Gotta be on your toes around me.” I kiss the side of her head. “Hungry?”
Jamie tucks her hair behind her ear. “Starving.”
“Go use the bathroom first.”
“You sure?”
I give her a gentle shove. “Yeah, go. Not ready to give up lying on a clean mattress.” Fuuuck. I have to watch what I say because she looks like I punched her right in the gut. “Didn’t mean it like that, Jamie. Go use the bathroom.”
“Okay.” She looks all sorts of miserable as she slides off the bed.
I admire the view of her tight ass as she hurries across the room. Jamie may be five foot nothing, but her legs are long and lean. Everything about her fits her frame, making for a prime package.
