by Renee Rocco
He once remarked how time stood still in the dungeon. He wasn’t wrong. I don’t know if I’ve been here for an hour or a day. God, how could I have been so stupid? I should have realized I was being set up the moment I saw Thomas. But shock won over sense, and I threw open the door, and I was in Thomas’s arms, hugging my friend in relief that he was alive and in Mayhem. My mind had a moment to register the pinch of the needle before I sank into an abyss. I woke up in Wraith’s cell with no memory of the plane ride that brought me back to Gomorrah. Nor have I seen David or a guard since I opened my eyes and found myself in this hell.
I keep assuring myself that Wraith will know I didn’t leave on my own volition. That I didn’t panic and run. He’ll come for me, and when he does, he’ll have the Unholy with him. My husband may be cruel. Evil. But he’s not a force of nature. The Unholy are a storm, and they will decimate Gomorrah, and David along with it.
Angry muffled voices resonate from the Hub. Sweating, I slide to the edge of the metal bed frame, my bare toes grazing the floor. My jeans and long-sleeved, boho-style shirt are ideal for an autumn Pennsylvania day. Not for the sweltering dungeon heat. I was waiting for Jester to finish his shower so he could to drive me to Sanctum. Ava, Tempest, and Sadie were already there preparing lunch while the men loaded the trucks with enough weaponry to level a small city. But Thomas ambushed me, and well, here I am, shoeless and alone, and at the unmistakable rattle of keys, I swear to God, my heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest.
I can’t regulate my breathing, and I grasp for a calm that’s out of reach when the lock clicks and turns. Rusted hinges creak. I’m lightheaded and numb because I know exactly who will walk through the door.
David stalks into Elite less polished than when I last saw him. The shine is off his diamond. He’s not quite as smug. His hair is out of place, and the gray suit is a bit wrinkled. His charcoal shoes are dull. He’s a desperate and defeated man who refuses to accept his loss with dignity.
No, David is not a man.
He’s a rabid animal that we backed into a corner. Unfortunately, those are the most dangerous types of beasts.
His blue eyes meet mine, and it takes everything I have not to shiver under his icy scrutiny.
“Hello, wife.” His voice hits me like an arctic blast.
I curl my fingers around the edge of the mattress to keep them from trembling. “Hello, David.”
“Look at you.” His upper lip lifts in a sneer. “At least you’re out of your usual rags.”
I give him a sweetest smile. “I wore the rags for your benefit.”
His laughter vibrates off the concrete walls. “I see your stint in Mayhem didn’t curb your scathing charm.”
“It was smart to use Thomas. I didn’t see that coming.” I give him a sarcastic thumbs-up. “Kudos to you. Did you kill him?”
I keep the question light, masking the sting of Thomas’s betrayal. Truth is, I’m devastated.
David strides into the cell and leans against the wall opposite me. “Do you care?”
Do I?
If I’m honest, there’s a ruthless side to me that doesn’t after what he’s done. Thomas had every opportunity to bring his family to Mayhem. He chose to keep them in Spring Hill, and that foolishness brought us to this moment. If that makes me a terrible person, so be it.
“How did you realize he was the mole?”
David’s shrug is one of perfectly practiced carelessness. “He broke by the third stroke of the whip.”
“I see.” Being whipped hurts, but only three lashes? Wow. “You didn’t answer the question, David. Is Thomas dead?”
“Not yet, but he will be.” He shoves off the wall and walks toward me. I stare straight ahead. I’d rather gaze into a bucket of shit than look at this man. But he’s not someone who’ll be ignored. He comes to stand directly in front of me. Snatches my face and tilts his head, examining me like I’m a specimen in a lab. “You look different.”
I shake out of his hold. “It’s called happy, David. You’re surprised you’ve never seen this expression on my face?”
He casts a glance around the tiny, square cell. “Where did happiness get you?”
“One minute spent with Wraith was worth whatever you’re going to do to me.” The slap stings, but I lick away the blood from the corner of my mouth. “You can’t hurt me.”
“Oh no, Jamie, you’re wrong.” He stalks to the door and calls for Owen. I can’t hear what they say, but the guard’s snort resonates as he retreats through the Hub.
David comes back inside the cell and kneels in front of me. He drags a finger down my cheek as he gazes deep into my eyes. I resist the urge to kick him in the face. “First, I’m going to hurt you in the heart. Then I’m going to hurt your body.” He stretches to his full height and clamps a hand around my throat. “And before I kill you, I’m going to tear out your soul.”
Oh God.
I slap his hand away and leap to my feet. “Do it. Do it now, David, because you don’t scare me. You will never scare me, and that’s why you can never hurt me.”
But I’m lying, because I’m terrified.
The door swings open, and in stomps Owen tugging Thomas behind him. My stomach twists and lurches, and maybe I’m not as heartless as I want to believe because I hear the word no rip from my throat as I spring toward David. But his laughter fills the cell as he shoves me back on the bed.
He tsks at me. “I thought I couldn’t hurt you.”
Thomas can’t look at me, and I think it has nothing to do with his swollen eyes and everything to do with the shame he must feel over his betrayal. But it doesn’t matter. Not now. He did what he did, and I can’t hate him. Not when I see what he’s suffered. He’s beat to hell with his hands zip tied. Wholly defeated, he’s beat to hell and barely stand.
“You can,” I rush out. “You can hurt me. Okay? Let him go.”
David yanks him forward, forcing Thomas to stumble toward him. “No, that’s not going to happen.”
I shoot to the edge of the mattress, but wisely stay seated. “Please. There’s no need for this. You don’t need to hurt him more. You’ve won.”
He positions Thomas in front of him, and I hitch in a breath as dread sinks its claws deep into me. “That’s the beauty of building a kingdom. Need has nothing to do with it. I can do anything I want. I am God here.”
David slips a slick, tactical knife from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. I shoot to my feet but I’m too slow. He jabs the blade in Thomas’s neck. My fingers graze air as I lunge for them. I land at David’s feet, with Thomas hitting the floor beside me. My friend clutches his neck, blood seeping between his fingers. With wide eyes, he stares at me, and I can’t fight the tears as a hundred wonderful memories trip over themselves as I remember the time we spent as a family.
Prone on the floor, I reach out, my fingertips stopping short a few inches from him. But I don’t dare move because I’m so afraid of the monster looming over me. “I’m so sorry.”
For pulling you into my shitshow of a life.
For bringing you into my plan to break Wraith out of Gomorrah.
For forcing you to decide between me and your family.
And for the second time in my life, I watch someone bleed out on a floor. My father was the first, and this time, it’s not relief I feel or even indifference. David was right. This tore away a piece of my heart.
David points to Thomas, a sneer lifting his lips. “Get that out of here.”
Owen drags Thomas’s body out of Elite, and I stare after the trail of blood that’s left in their wake. But the nightmare continues. David hauls me to my feet and traces a finger down my face. Along the curve of my jaw. Over my collarbone. All the while keeping his gaze locked on mine. There’s nothing but hate and the promise of pain in the depth of his eyes.
“It didn’t have to be this way.” His voice is velvet lies. “I wanted you to be my queen. To rule Gomorrah at my side. I wanted you to love me.”
>
My laugh is bitter. “You’re insane.”
David’s hand shoots out and slams around my throat, cutting off my air. I lift my chin, giving him better access. Better I push him to kill me now than suffer what’s ahead. Cowardly of me? Absolutely. I’m not Wraith. I can’t survive the torture he’s endured. Homelessness, an abusive father, ridicule—yes. David’s special brand of pain? No. I would rather him strangle me and get the deed done now.
With me dead, Wraith, the not-so Prince Charming of this story, can kill the evil king. The good people of Marion County can rebuild their land once David is gone. And the damaged princess can finally find peace. The tale might not end with a happily ever after, but it will have to do because this isn’t a fairy tale. It’s actual life, and reality sucks most of the time. Especially when a woman’s sadistic husband has his hand around her throat and is slowly squeezing the life out of her.
Um, no. To hell with that crap.
This damaged princess isn’t giving up.
My father couldn’t destroy me. Life didn’t crush me. I’ll be damned if I lie down and die for this piece of shit. If it’s my time to go, at least I’ll go out fighting.
Unwilling to give up on myself, I punch wildly. Slapping at David. Claw at him. Try everything to pry his fingers from around my neck. And when his pinky finger is about to give, I laugh maniacally right before the snap of the bone.
He howls and leaps backward, cradling his hand against his chest. Damnit, though. I really wanted to break the finger. “You fucking bitch.”
I hock a mouthful of spit at his feet. “Try that shit again, and see what happens, asshole.”
David bellows for Lyle, and when the door swings open, in struts the younger man, who reminds me of someone right out the movie Point Break—the original, with Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze. Not the crappy remake. His whole surfer dude appearance hides a sinister soul.
“Hello, Mrs. Crane.” Lyle’s smooth greeting sends a shiver of dread up my spine.
“Honest question, Lyle,” I grit out as he enters the microscopic cell. “Do you believe you’re going to make it out of this alive?”
He comes to stand beside David, doing a perfect imitation of my husband’s stance. “Yes, ma’am, I do. We’re going to wipe Atticus and his little gang of thugs off the map. Ain’t that right, boss?”
David nods at his lackey. “Yes, Lyle, that’s exactly right.”
“His name is Wraith,” I correct. “And his little gang used footage I downloaded from the house’s security system to get all of David’s rich friends arrested. All except for him. Because that’s the pull they have with men more powerful than your Mr. Mighty Boss Man here.”
“Shut your mouth,” David hisses.
I expect the punch and brace for it when it comes. Still, I stumble backward, and when David instructs Lyle to hold me, I fight like my life depends on it.
Because it does.
Lyle grabs me from behind and wraps his arms around me. “It’s all good, Mrs. Crane. I got you.”
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
“I’ll tell,” I shout out the desperate threat.
David purses his lips and nods. And then a slow smile spreads across his face. “He knows, Jamie. Don’t you, Lyle?”
“Sure do, boss,” Lyle says from behind me.
“I can’t rape you, but I promise that if you don’t behave, I’ll have Lyle fuck you until this,” he grabs me between my legs. “Is as damaged as mine. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” I rasp, damn near choking on terror.
David withdraws a syringe, and my mouth runs dry. I’ll be damned if I give these men my fear. I secure my defenses and hunker down behind my wall to hide my panic as I watch him pull off the protective cap that covers the needle.
They broke Wraith, and they will break me. It’s a matter of when and how.
“She’s shaking so bad, boss.” There’s a sick delight in Lyle’s voice.
David inches closer. “I can see that, Lyle.”
Odd how I sat in the company of killers and never saw such vicious joy until now, on the face of a man people once considered an upstanding citizen. A respected businessman. The reality of David Crane is that he’s a monster, and if I die in this hellhole, I’ll go to my grave knowing I did my part to show the world the evil behind the mask.
David grabs my face to hold my head steady. The needle pierces my neck in a pinch that’s followed by a warm wave. It hits my core and clenches my womb, awakening that empty pressure only Wraith can ease. I arch my back and press against the body behind me as a throaty moan rises from deep inside me.
“It only feels good for a moment.” David’s breath tickles my ear, his voice close but distant at the same time. Like a muted voice from a fading dream.
The arms around me loosen, and I stumble backward on the bed. My limbs are heavy and my head is wonderfully fuzzy, like when I was drunk. It’s too hot. Hotter than before. An oven blast and I’m tugging at my jeans. Tearing them off and tossing them away. I lie on that filthy mattress in the practical black cotton panties Wraith promised to rip off my body, but he never got the chance to because—
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
The pain hits swift and hard. A million shards of glass shredding my nerves. I hitch in a breath, and it hurts my lungs. Like I inhaled gasoline and swallowed a lit match. There’s laughter above me. All around me. The sound is ice picks jammed in my ears. Feels as if my teeth have been ripped out and every nerve is exposed. And when I try to scream, the agony steals my voice and renders me immobile. I’m trapped in my body, with my mind wide awake to endure an endless tidal wave of suffering.
There’s a shuffling of feet. A low conversation between David and Lyle. Then the younger man is gone, and it’s David and me. He kneels beside the bed and trails a finger over my bottom lip. I can’t hold back my cry, the simple touch more than I can bear.
The scream rips from me, reverberating off the walls.
“I do love you, Jamie.” Each touch of David’s hands is methodical. Meant to hurt me. “Your death will be my deepest regret.”
I watch him go, relieved he’s gone. Terrified to be alone. I claw at the mattress, remembering that Wraith had laid in this same spot for six months. He suffered exactly as I am now. If he had done it, I can do it. I’ll take it second by second. I remind myself to breathe, tell myself that my skin is not melting off the bone. That my fingernails aren’t being ripped away. And that my nerves aren’t being torn to shreds. It’s synthetic pain. None of it real. The problem is, the agony is so extreme, it forces out logic and leaves nothing but mindless suffering in its wake.
24
Wraith
“This is a mistake.” Crow tracks my movements as I slap the loaded magazine in the Desert Eagle.
“Don’t give a fuck.”
“Yeah, well I do.”
“I don’t.” I shove the semiautomatic pistol in the shoulder holster strapped over my black T-shirt. “Discussion’s over.”
The Unholy descended on the grubby motel off Highway 42 over an hour ago, just after sunrise. Took us eighteen hours to get here. Damn traffic. Didn’t help that each truck we drove down in is hauling an arsenal. We had to keep close to the speed limit to stay off the radar while still making somewhat decent time. But we’re here, strung out from the drive, and so close to Jamie, I can feel her like an electric current.
“This is suicide, Wraith.” Jester’s cute if he thinks he’s going to talk logic at me.
Yeah, no. I left my rationale in Mayhem. I’m running on revenge. Crane’s going to do what he’s going to do. Only reason I’m complying with his bullshit is to buy time. Make him think I’m desperate enough to believe that if I give him what he wants—me—he’ll let Jamie live. He’s counting on me being too stupid to realize that he plans on killing us both.
Surprise, asshole. I’m not the dumb mountain hillbilly you think I am.
Nor is David the slick mastermind he believes he
is. He’s as transparent as glass. But as long as he has Jamie, he holds the upper hand. That means I have to play by his rules until I can get close enough to rip out his fucking heart—even if I have to do it while taking my last breath.
I shrug and grab a TAC knife out of my bag and tuck it into the sheath strapped around my ankle. “Don’t care.”
Crow clamps a hand around my wrist. “Fucking stop, Wraith.”
I drop my arms and blow out a loud, frustrated sigh and turn my entire body to face him. “What? Because every minute I waste doing this with you is one more minute Jamie’s alone with that psychotic sonofabitch. So, what the fuck do you want? Me to do it your way and have him slit her throat and toss her body over the wall? Or play it his way, and at least I might get her out in one goddamn piece.”
“One-way ticket, is that it, asshole?” Malice’s quiet growl draws my attention to where he’s standing, arms crossed over his bare chest, in the open doorway of his motel room.
His dark hair is wet and shadowing his face. Half-dressed in black jeans and boots, he’s watching me with rage in his eyes.
Every cum-stained room faces the parking lot, and we threw enough money at the owner of the two-story, pastel-painted motel to flip on the no vacancy sign for the next few days. Said owner is on a temporary—and involuntary—supervised vacation in one of his rooms to prevent a warning being sent to a particular sadistic psychopath.
“If one of us has to die today, it won’t be her.” My tone dares Malice to fight me.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he storms into his room and comes back out tugging a black shirt over his head. Once it’s on, he jabs a hand through his hair, shoving the wet strands off his face. He looks as tired as the rest of us after the nonstop drive. “How about neither of you die today, because if you think we’re letting you go alone, you’ve lost your goddamn mind.”
