Wraith: A Second Chance Dark Romance (Masters of Mayhem Book 1)

by Renee Rocco

  One thought leads to another, and next thing I know, I got my hand on my junk because I’ve got a full-blown hard-on. Virgin. Holy Christ. If she were anyone else, I would already have her bent over the bed now that my dick’s come back from the dead. But this is Jamie, and I’m not doing her dirty. She’s different. Always has been. That’s why I never jumped all over her back when we were teenagers. Figured I had all the time in the world to get that wild shit out of my system before I made her my girlfriend.

  That blew up in my face.

  Needing to feel normal, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and grab my cell phone off the bedside table. I text Crow.

  Me: We need to talk

  His reply is instantaneous. Crow is always available, always working.

  Crow: Rest. We’ll talk in a few days. Nonnegotiable.

  Well, fuck. When the prez puts nonnegotiable on the end of a sentence, the discussion’s over.

  Me: Fine. A few days. That’s it.

  He pings me back in less than twenty seconds.

  Crow: You’re resting. Not talking.

  Frustrated, I slam my phone back on the table as Jamie comes out of the bathroom. She takes one look at me, and her face contorts into a frown.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head as I push off the bed. “Nothing.”

  When I walk by her, she grabs my arm. “Wraith, we’re in this together. If something happened, you need to tell me.”

  “I have to pee.” I shake out of her grip. “That’s what’s wrong.”

  How do I tell her I feel fucking useless? Like a goddamn damaged toy. Yeah, it’s been, what, less than twenty-four hours, and I can’t expect miracles. But still. Doesn’t mean there’s not a worry nagging at me that I’m never going to be right again. That a piece of me stayed behind in the dungeon, and I’m always going to be fucked up. That what Crane did to me runs deeper than scars. It’s more than memories. Worse than the monster that’s living in my head.

  That he created someone who’s a ticking time bomb.

  Someone Crow just cut off at the knees.

  Jester goes all out for breakfast. Didn’t even know the man knew how to cook. Hell, all the time he lived with me, he never even boiled a pot of water. But he’s all Gordon Ramsay and shit. Eggs. Pancakes. Bacon. Biscuits. Then he tells us to relax while he cleans up the mess.

  Pardon me while I nearly die of a heart attack right here in the kitchen considering Jester’s always been a class A slob.

  All humor aside, Jester’s sudden inner HGTV is nothing but cover after he spent the last six months fearing he lost his best friend. His brother. If this is his way of expending that pent-up emotion, I’ll leave him to it because God knows the house has never been cleaner, and I’ve never eaten a better breakfast.

  As I step outside, I recall the exact moment the last time I was in my backyard. The night before I left. Before my last MMA fight. My last night of freedom. Boys came over, and we drank around the fire pit because Jester and I finally finished building the giant wooden pergola over the picnic-style table. It was a good night, and I felt indestructible. Immortal. Next morning, I left for Pittsburgh. I beat the shit out of Ivar Larsen. Should have come home to celebrate the win with my friends.

  Simple, right?

  Wrong.

  I swallow hard and fight back the claustrophobia as the cell’s invisible walls close in on me. I’m outside. Free. In my rustic yard that Jester and I renovated last spring. We planned to start on the inside come winter, but Crane cut that plan short.

  I picked this house on Tyler Cliff for the view, and seeing Jamie framed by the backdrop of the Appalachians knocks the wind out of me. The woman is a work of art right here in my backyard.

  Thank God her hair isn’t twisted into one of those tight buns she likes so damn much. It’s tumbling down her back and blowing free from the breeze. The plain blue dress falls below her knees, but she has one of my hoodies pulled over it since there’s a chill coming off the mountains. Her bare toes have to be tiny ice cubes buried in the cold grass.

  She’s focused on the view, I doubt she realized I’m here. Most of Mayhem stretches out over the west. Beyond that are more mountains. East is Falls Creek—Order of the Rose Territory. Dense forest blocks north and south. From this vantage point, it’s like you can see the whole world, and Jamie’s staring out over that scenery, taking it all in as if she’s seeing it for the first time.

  When I come up behind her, she leans into me and rests her head against my chest. “Regret being back?”

  “Still seems surreal.” She points to a rock formation in the distance. “When we were kids, I was so jealous that you and your friends hung out there while I was stuck at home with that monster. You guys were the cool kids, and I was… I was me.”

  Satan’s Peak has always been a popular hotspot where local kids get drunk and rowdy on the weekends.

  I wrap my arms around her. “I hated that you couldn’t come.”

  I bite back a smile at her snort. “Oh yeah, right. I’m sure. Especially when you had your tongue jammed down some random girl’s throat.”

  “I won’t apologize for not being loyal to you when we weren’t a couple.”

  “Nor do I expect you to.”

  “But just so you know, I cared, Jamie.” There. I said it. Because why not? I lost everything in the dungeon, including my dignity. What more do I have to lose with this confession? “And I was pissed when you didn’t come home.”

  She stiffens, and I can practically feel the wall shoot up around her. “I don’t want to do this now.”

  I turn her around, livid at Crane’s fading signature on her cheek. “I do.”

  “Please, Wraith, no.”

  But I’m ruthless. That’s my signature. And this shit’s been a thorn in my side since the day I realized she ghosted me. “You owe me answers.”

  She shimmies out of my arms and stares out over Mayhem. “Fine. We’ll do this now. It’s simple. I didn’t call or write because I was ashamed of the details that came out during the trial. Yes, you knew most of it, but you didn’t know all of it. I’m disgusting. Unworthy, if you want the whole truth. And I didn’t come back when I turned eighteen because by then, I assumed you moved on.” She spins to face me, leaning against the fence. Every part of her is on guard, and I can’t even see the woman I woke up next to this morning. This is the cold little general who stepped from the shadows in Elite. “Do you think I wanted to come back to Mayhem and be an intruder? I mean, my God, no one wanted me, Wraith. No one. But okay, I was supposed to waltz back into town and believe you, an Unholy, had open arms waiting for me after two years. Sure, we’ll go with that, if that’s the lie you expect me to believe.”

  Unworthy.

  Jamie Ellis is many things. Bullheaded. Prideful. Defensive. But unworthy?

  Never.

  This entire fucked-up world needs to bow down to her because this woman went through it and somehow came out clean.

  “You’re an ass. You know that, right?”

  Her jaw gapes open. Hangs for a second. Snaps shut. “Pardon me?”

  “You heard me. You’re an asshole. My arms? These arms? They’ve always been open for you, but you didn’t trust me to prove that to you. No. You made a decision for both of us and cost us eight fucking years.”

  Jamie clenches that stubborn jaw and stares at the grass for a long while, her breathing erratic. If she sheds one tear—even one damn tear—I swear, I’m done. Thank God she doesn’t. When she looks up at me, her eyes may be dry, but the raw emotion in them cut me almost as deeply.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I pull her into my arms. Yeah, the same arms she didn’t think would welcome her. She’s shaking, and I kiss the top of her head. “No apologies, Runt. But you should have trusted me. Trusted us.”

  I’m not some twisted sonofabitch who’s going to crucify her now that I know why she stayed away. I mean, hell, I get it now. I might not have before my time in Gomor
rah, but I understand her reasoning now.

  Unworthy. Disgusting. Ruined.

  Yeah, I understand exactly how it feels because that’s how I see myself.

  Jamie snakes her arms around my waist. “There were times I wanted to come back so badly, Wraith. I missed you more than you can ever know.”

  See? She can’t say shit like that. Hits me in places I can’t handle being hit right now.

  Jamie’s the only woman I’ve cared about besides my mother. It’s like Fate put her in my path the day Kyle McCarter groped her. Every woman I’ve been with since the day I met her was nothing but a placeholder.

  I kiss the tip of her nose. “This is where you’ve always belonged.”

  She cups my face, and her tiny hands are so warm against my cheeks—which are finally freshly shaven with a clean, new razor—because it’s all about life’s small luxuries. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to use the footage you took from Crane to rip his world apart brick by fucking brick.” I wrap my hands around her wrists. “But first, I’m going to make you remember what it means to be Mayhem born.”

  It’s a promise and a threat.

  A warning of exquisite pleasure and the sweetest pain she’ll ever crave.

  And maybe, once Crane’s dead and I’ve torn his world apart, I can find peace somewhere buried beneath the rubble. Because if I can’t, I’m afraid the monster that hitched a ride out of Gomorrah will come out to play. If that happens, I might not be able to lock it back inside its cage, and it’ll destroy everything in its path—including Jamie.

  She lets out a husky gasp when I grab her ass and lift her, forcing her to wrap her legs around my waist. God, she’s so light, she might as well weigh nothing. Some hearty meals and few infamous Unholy barbecues will put meat on her bones for sure.

  I carry her through the house, ignoring Jester, who’s in the living room cursing into a headset while playing the latest Call of Duty. I take her up to the bedroom, and when I toss her on the bed, she tries to shimmy off. Yeah, no. I’m not having any of her bullshit.

  “According to Crow, I’m on bed rest.”

  Her brows slam into a frown. “Okay, so rest.”

  “No fun if I’m alone.”

  She jerks a chin toward the television. “So, let’s watch a movie.”

  I grab her ankles and drag her to the foot of the mattress. “I’d rather eat your pussy.”

  “Oh my God, Wraith, no.”

  I mimic her shocked gasp. “Oh my God, Jamie, yes.”

  Before she can stop me, I already have her panties off. But she’s quick, and she’s determined. But I’m faster and more persistent.

  “You can’t.”

  “Why, is it poisonous?”

  Her cheeks are so red, her entire face looks like it’s going to burst into flames. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “It’s a pussy, Jamie. Every woman’s got one.” I inch her dress up her slender thighs, my fingers grazing over scars as I move up her creamy skin. She yanks the durable material back into place, and I roll my eyes. She chews the inside of her cheek. I blow out a frustrated sigh. “Do you really want me to stop?”

  “Yes. No.” If she keeps chewing her cheek, she’s going to eat a hole right through her face. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell you what,” I say with forced diplomacy because the things I’m willing to do for Jamie are nothing I’d do for any other woman on the face of the earth. “You lie back and relax. If I do something you don’t like, pull my hair. No, wait, you’ll probably pull my hair if I’m doing something you like. Try raising your hand, like when you’re at the dentist.”

  “How will you know if my hand is raised?”

  I lift a devious brow at her question. “Trust me, Runt, I’ll be watching you the entire time.”

  Well, her face doesn’t burst into flames, but it does turn an even more furious shade of red. She nods and drops backward, her spine so stiff, I’m shocked it doesn’t crack when it collides with the mattress. “Okay.”

  Okay.

  Back to hitching up her dress…

  In my peripheral, I see her hands fist in the blanket as I scrape my cheek up her inner thigh. God, her skin is soft. She smells good, too. Not of honeysuckle like when I first saw her after nearly a decade, but of soap and something that belongs only to her. And when I reach my destination, I see my imagination didn’t—couldn’t—do her justice. Jamie is perfection in its purest form. Beautiful and delicate all over, and when I lower my head and run my tongue along her slit, she lets out a soft sigh and arches her back.

  It’s the hottest sight I’ve ever seen.

  And she doesn’t raise her hand.

  Not to be weird about it, but if moonlight had a flavor, it’d taste like Jamie. Like something wild and enigmatic. I’m good at my game, and I use my entire mouth to pull breathy moans from her as she writhes on the bed and tugs at the sheets. And when I give a gentle suck on her clit, she digs her hands in my hair and whispers my name like it’s gospel.

  I tease her opening with my finger, and she stiffens. I don’t push farther, expecting her to raise her hand, but Jamie has fortitude, and the tension eases out of her.

  Thank God.

  I’ve imagined having her exactly like this a million times, and nothing short of the planet tilting off its axis can pull me away.

  I coat my finger with her juices, savoring the stretch as I slide into her. Her body sucks me in and her muscles contract around me. Christ, it might as well be my dick in her, that’s how hard I get. All the blood pumps to my shaft and flows to the tip, swelling me to the point of pain. I’m about a second away from ripping off my sweatpants and burying myself balls deep in her, but I remind myself that I want to make this nice for her.

  See? I’m not a complete savage.

  I can deal with a raging hard-on for a few more minutes because I’m not some fumbling teenager eating a girl for the first time. But I’m not going to lie. This is Jamie in my bed, and that makes all the difference in the world. Even kissing is new all over again because she’s on a separate plane of existence than every other woman.

  When the pressure in my dick becomes too painful to bear, I shove my hand in my pants and stroke my shaft as I work Jamie with my mouth. I brace her legs on my shoulders, and watch, fascinated as fuck, as she takes her pleasure.

  Her entire lower back arches off the bed, and her lips part on a moan. She squeezes her eyes shut, and she gasps my name. Damn it all if I’m not full-on jerking off as her climax hits her. My own orgasm rides me, tightening my balls and pulling at every muscle in my body. Holy shit, I can’t hold it back. I stroke my dick and squeeze the head, imagining it’s the sweet slide of her body, as I come all over myself.

  I yank my hand out of my pants and wipe my mouth on my arm before flipping Jamie’s dress down. “I made a mess.”

  Jamie leans up on her elbows, dazed and adorable. “So did I.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “Thank you.”

  I grunt out a laugh. “You’re welcome.” When I turn to walk to the bathroom, I’m pelted from behind by a pillow. I spin around to find Jamie looking as innocent as the day is long. “It’s unsportsmanlike behavior to attack your opponent when his back is turned.”

  She has the audacity to smirk. “I’m from Mayhem, remember? We make our own rules.”

  I proceed to the bathroom, saying as I stroll away, “Suddenly she’s from Mayhem.”

  “I never denied being from Mayhem,” she clarifies. “I just never liked it here.”

  Once I’m cleaned up and in a fresh pair of sweatpants, I join her on the bed. “Seemed to have liked it here fine a few minutes ago.”

  There goes that blush on her cheeks again. Makes her freckles pop. “That was different. I was distracted by my first orgasm.”

  “First, huh?”

  If that isn’t an ego boost, nothing is.

  “Yep.” Can’t miss the mischievous gleam in Jamie’s eyes. Gives me
a glimpse of who she’ll be once I get her to come out from behind her defenses.

  I play with the silken strands of her hair. “Won’t be the last.”

  Jamie kisses my cheek, her lips soft and warm, and for the first time since Jester opened the van’s doors, I feel like I’m home. “Do me a favor?”

  “Anything, Runt.”

  “Next time you come, I want to get you there.”

  Well, shit.

  Guess what they say is true. You can take the person out of Mayhem, but you can’t take Mayhem out of the person.

  13

  Wraith

  “What happened that night?”

  I’m suffocated, pacing Crow’s office in the back of Sanctum. The wood-paneled walls press in on me. Should have done this from home, but I insisted we meet here. Had to have a change of scenery. Needed to get out of the house. Not that I didn’t enjoy indulging Jamie in (re)watching every Marvel movie ever filmed (she was pissed when she realized Gamora and Gomorrah are homonyms), but it’s time to get to work because I’m balancing no the razor’s edge of crazy.

  I rub the nape of my neck, with Crow’s question bringing me back to the night Crane took me. “The prick grabbed me after the Pittsburgh fight. The bitch I brought back to my hotel roofied my beer. She let Crane’s men in the room. I was still semiconscious when they killed her. Can’t say it wasn’t satisfying to see them slit her throat. Blacked out after that and woke up chained in a concrete cell.”

  Crow leans back in the brown leather chair. He stretches his legs out in front of him, his composed appearance deceiving. Behind the calm exterior beats the heart of a warlord. I’ve seen this man spill blood like it’s nothing. He’s brutal, but he’s honorable to those who earn his trust. It’s why he inherited the Unholy after Moody was killed, execution-style, by a renegade Berserker.

  “We tore Pittsburgh apart, Wraith. There wasn’t a trace of you anywhere.”

  I stop pacing and plant my hands on the top of his polished oak desk. “Crane’s a master at making people disappear.”