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

by Renee Rocco

  “He’s right, Wraith,” Dirt says. “No way you’re heading out by yourself. Tell him, Crow.”

  I step back from them, the monster raging so loud, I can barely hear past its screams. “This isn’t up for debate. You don’t know this bastard. If I don’t follow his instructions to the letter, he’ll peel the skin off her bones. And if you think I’m exaggerating, I’m not, because I was in his torture room, and he fucking did it to me.”

  For the first time since I’ve known Malice—which is, literally, all my life—I see him cringe.

  But Crow comes toward me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Like you said, you know Crane. We don’t. You say he’ll kill her if he sees us, fine. We hang back. But once you’re in, we strike. You understand me? I don’t give a fuck. You’re not a martyr, Wraith. You’re Unholy. We don’t make noble sacrifices.”

  “Damn right, I’m not noble.” My hands fist at my sides, and I bare my teeth in a snarl as the monster breaks free from its cage. “We’re gonna kill every one of those motherfuckers.”

  I slam my truck into park, kill the engine, and hop down. My feet kick up arid dirt as I stride to the camera. No one’s manning the guard tower. I don’t hear sounds of life coming from behind the concrete wall surrounding Crane’s mini metropolis. For a sickening second, I wonder if I was set up. If he didn’t purposely bring me here but have Jamie stashed elsewhere.

  As quick as the worry enters my brain is as fast as it goes. Crane would never leave his kingdom. And he wants me dead too much to send me on an empty chase. He needs me locked behind this wall and at his mercy. Where he thinks he can torture me because this is where he feels safe, the stupid bastard.

  Joke’s on him, because we’re going to take that false sense of security and shove it up his ass.

  Not gonna lie, though. Seeing the Coliseum makes me want to vomit, even though I never thought it’d it look so…ordinary. An average red-brick building. Nothing about the place alludes to the horrors inside. To what I suffered in there, and the pieces of me that stayed behind after Jamie busted me out.

  I flip the camera the finger. “I’m here, motherfucker.”

  Don’t have to wait long for the gate to slide open. There’s one of those big no-neck assholes in tactical gear waiting for me on the other side. He’s holding an AK-47 like I’m supposed to be scared. Sorry, but no. A thick brown beard covers half his face, and he’s wearing mirrored sunglasses. The guy looks like an extra in every action movie I’ve ever watched.

  “Get a load of who’s back,” he remarks. “My favorite prisoner.”

  I give him a lazy once-over. “Sorry, dude, don’t remember you.”

  The only guards I know are the ones who worked in the dungeon. This dickhead wasn’t among them.

  He glances up and down the road before grabbing me by the arm. I laugh at how easy it is to rile him as he hauls me inside Gomorrah. When I jerk out of his hold, he gets all up in my face. “You better trust and believe we’re gonna have fun with you, boy.”

  I give him my best smile. “I’m counting on it.”

  A predictable pat-down results in my weapons being confiscated. Brought them with me just in case. It’s never a good idea to head into a fight defenseless. We came strapped with enough firepower that we won’t feel losing these pistols.

  He steps back and pokes me with the tip of the AK. “Oh yeah? You eager to die?”

  I walk toward the Coliseum. Toward Jamie. “I’m going to bleed. No way around it. But it’s all good, because the endgame is that you’re all going to die with me.”

  No-Neck Douchebag glances at his weapon then back at me. “You think? Because it looks to me like we got the guns, and you got yourself recaptured.”

  I roll my lips and nod. “Looks like.”

  A quick survey of the yard shows only the diehards remained. Maybe ten guards at most. The ones so loyal to David, or so bloodthirsty, not even the threat of jail or death chased them out of Gomorrah. They’re the cockroaches too stupid to crawl back in the walls when the lights turned on.

  “Can’t believe you came alone,” he says from behind me. “We had bets on if you would be that dumb.”

  “What’d you wager?”

  “Hundred bucks that’d you come with an army and try to shoot your way in.”

  “Sorry for your lost money, my man.”

  His grunt comes complete with a shrug. “Never would have thought a timid thing like Mrs. Crane would have a pussy worth dying over.”

  I want to kill him for referring to Jamie by that fucking name.

  “It’s a matter of principle.” I stow my temper and struggle not to rip out this asshole’s throat. “Crane took something from me, and now I’m going to take something from him.”

  “Oh yeah? What are you going to take from him, Atticus?”

  The name crawls over every nerve like razor blades. “Every-fucking-thing.”

  We get to the entrance of the Coliseum. “Good luck with that.”

  He pulls a key from the retractable ring attached to his belt and opens the door. Familiar smells waft around me as my vision adjusts from sunlight to darkness. I glance to the left, and all the air leaves my lungs. The cage stands in the center of the arena, surrounded by empty rows of chairs ten deep. So different without the horde of bodies desperate for carnage and cheering for death.

  Sweat beads on my upper lip and my pulse quickens as my mind transports me back to all nine Fight Nights when I was marched up from the dungeon and paraded through the crowd. For a second, I’m locked inside the cage and forced to murder my way out, covered in blood and grateful to be alive even as I was saturated in guilt.

  “Bet you miss it.” No-Neck still has the AK jammed against my spine. “The rush of taking a man’s life. Of being the one to walk out of the cage.”

  I turn away from the arena and toward the door that leads to the dungeon. No-Neck pulls another key and unlocks another door. I breathe in a wave of stale air and walk down the corridor. Can’t let him see my desperation. But holy fuck, I am desperate. More desperate than I’ve ever been in my life.

  When we reach the bars, I’m shocked they’re unlocked. I know everyone’s dead, but it’s…weird…to see the prison so open.

  “Was it you who pulled the trigger?”

  “Someone had to do it,” he admits.

  “Even the kids?”

  His smirk says it all.

  Piece of fucking shit.

  I push my way inside the Hub, and reality is a train that hits me at maximum speed. All the agony and degradation. Hunger and thirst. The collision should shatter me. Leave me rubble on the floor. But I’m too arrogant to break—and as long as Jamie’s life is connected to mine, I owe it to her to keep my stubborn ass together and stay alive long enough to make her a widow.

  “Crane.” My roar echoes throughout the deserted dungeon.

  The groan of hinges sounds a moment later when the door to Elite swings open and out steps the man I came ti kill. Can’t help but notice the prick looks worse for the wear.

  Crane runs a hand over his hair to smooth it back. “Finally.”

  I shrug. “Traffic.”

  “Nate, I doubt our guest came alone,” Crane says to No-Neck. “Go outside and position everyone by the gate. Shoot anything that approaches.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nate says before retreating the way we came.

  Crane would never leave himself alone with me, and sure enough, Lyle is hovering in the doorway of Elite with an AK trained on me.

  The dickhead waves hello. “Nice to have you back, Atticus.”

  “Aw, hello, you little coward. I’ve been looking forward to killing you.”

  Lyle’s nostrils flare, and for a fraction of a second, I swear he might pull the trigger, but Crane steps between us.

  “Now, now, boys. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, we have a reunion celebration. Come.” Crane gestures at Elite. “After you, Wraith.”

  At least he’s not calling me by that stu
pid name he gave me. And then I’m shoving past him, and I’m back in the stifling unit. First thing I see is Owen standing in the corner with a semiautomatic leveled at me. If it was just Lyle with a weapon, I’d have a chance at disarming the asshole and shooting both him and Crane and ending this right here, right now. Two armed men is a game changer.

  Fuuuck.

  Second thing I notice is Jamie curled in a ball on the filthy mattress. She’s wearing only a shirt and panties, with her hair a tangled mess that’s covering her face.

  Christ.

  She’s alive and intact, and my heart jackhammers as a hundred bad scenarios play out in my head on why her pants are on the floor and not on her body. Then I imagine exactly how I’m going to cut Crane’s dick off if he hurt her.

  No, not Crane. Jamie said he was raped as a kid and apparently left mutilated. He’d have had his little pets, Lyle and Own, do his dirty work for him. It’s their dicks I’ll sever clean off if they hurt her.

  Oh, fuck, please don’t let them have done that to her.

  “My beautiful wife.” He runs his tongue along his lower lip. He tracks my gaze to her jeans and tsks. “It’s not what you think. I’ve been saving that for when you got here.” Then to Lyle, “Wake her up.”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  Lyle slings the AK over his shoulder. “With pleasure, boss.”

  He pulls the baton from its sheath, and I stiffen in anticipation of the crack against the bars. Jamie gasps and bolts upright, slamming her hands over her ears. She rocks back and forth, moaning in misery.

  Lyle cackles and steps back, the baton still in his hand.

  Everything in me rebels when I recognize her suffering. “You gave her ket, you motherfucker.”

  “I had to.” Crane curls his hands around the bars. “My wife orchestrated your escape.” He jerks his chin at her. “This is the consequence of that decision.”

  Every part of me is vibrating with fury as I drag my gaze from Jamie and give Crane my full attention. My grin is downright deadly as I take his measure. “I’m really going to killing you.”

  “You won’t have the chance to kill me. Your people will come, and my men will gun them down. And while the Unholy are up there dying, you’ll be down here being tortured to death while Lyle rapes my wife. Then I’m going to kill Jamie and walk out of here and disappear.”

  “Just like that?”

  He gives me a slow nod. “Just like that.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.”

  Lyle nails me in the back of the head with the baton. Momentum drives me forward, and I ricochet off the bars. Instinct has me turning on him, but he grabs and spins his AK, aiming it at me.

  “Try it. Go on. Come at me and see what happens.”

  I grunt out a nasty laugh. “Crane won’t let you shoot me.”

  “Not in a vital organ,” Crane corrects smoothly.

  “Wraith.”

  Jamie’s husky whisper stops me cold. I turn to see her sitting on the edge of the bed. She’s so small, her feet dangle above the floor.

  “I’m here, Jamie.”

  She hiccups on a breath when she tries to stand. Wavers, but steadies herself. Only she can move with such grace and look that damn proud under these circumstances. She shuffles toward the bars and curls her fingers around them. Her eyes are glassy, dazed, and so fucking sad. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “All in, remember?”

  A tear slips down her ashen cheek. “Ket hurts.”

  Those two simple words slice me down to my soul. “I know, Runt.”

  “Lyle. Owen,” Crane barks. “Take him to the room.”

  Shit.

  Panic overrules pride, coiling inside me as two semiautomatics leveled at me put an end to my fight before it begins.

  They lead us out of Elite and through the empty Hub, with Crane pulling Jamie behind us. We march the familiar path toward the torture room, and I battle back the icy fingers of dread tearing at my soul. I mean, Christ, I’m only fucking human, and as we trudge down the dark hallway, I’m sweating and fighting back violent tremors. My gut is twisted in a knot because I know what will happen once we get inside that goddamn room.

  “Prepare for a show, Jamie,” Crane says conversationally. “I’ve never seen anyone take pain the way Wraith does. It’s magnificent.”

  “You’re a monster.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper.

  “Obviously,” he agrees. “But I’m also the one with all the power.”

  “For now,” she remarks.

  “Always,” he counters.

  We reach our destination, and Owen flicks on the light. It stinks of bleach, and fuck me the spigot still drips.

  “Same as you left it, right, Atticus?” Lyle shoves me toward the restraints.

  I drag in a shallow breath, lightheaded as I pass the table with its grisly array of tools. “Come on, little man, you know I love it in here.”

  Crane flings Jamie inside. She stumbles but recovers, and as she does, she sweeps a horrified gaze over the chamber. Her hand flies to her mouth, and for one heartrending moment, she’s unguarded. Horrified. But she recovers and ducks behind her defenses, and when she faces Crane, she’s a portrait of chilling disdain.

  She’s shaking, and from experience, I know it’s from the ket because it can’t be because she’s cold. It’s excruciatingly hot in here. Her body is still be wracked with pain, and I need to put all that pain on Crane for what he’s making her suffer.

  “Stand over there, wife, and if you get in the way, or make a scene, I will kill him. Do you understand?”

  Jamie licks her lips and nods, the movement jerky. She darts her gaze from Crane to me. I give her a wink and a false reassuring smile. She shifts her attention back to him, her chin raised. “My father was the worst part of my life until I met you. You’re disgusting.”

  I’m already on the attack when Crane’s hand connects with Jamie’s face. But the AKs come up and nail me to the spot. The slap snaps her head to the side, but she stands her ground and wipes the blood from her mouth.

  “Once you’re dead, you’ll be forgotten before your body is even cold.” Her voice is almost unrecognizable. Pure frost. The remark almost an afterthought as she walks to the corner of the room.

  But I know my Jamie. I see her subtle tells as she settles the mask of indifference over her features. There’s a fire burning in her eyes if anyone knew to look beyond the green to the blaze of gold behind it. But I also see the color is gone from her complexion, and her plush lips are compressed to a hard line. She’s terrified, and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do to comfort her because my whole world is about to go to shit.

  “For months, I imagined killing you slow,” I tell Crane. “I wanted to take my time. Savor it. You know? But nah. You’re not worth it. I’m going to end you quick, like tossing out the trash.”

  A vein pops in his forehead and he turns a furious shade of red. “Take off your shoes.”

  I follow Crane’s command but do it good and slow, buying as much time as possible.

  “On your knees, asshole,” Owen demands.

  Just like old times.

  I kneel, and Owen fastens the restraints to my wrists and ankles. Soon as I’m locked in place, Jamie dashes across the room and wraps her arms around me. And God, her touch feels so fucking good.

  “Don’t do this,” she rasps.

  “Get up.” Crane grabs her by the shirt and hauls her away.

  She yanks out of his hold and runs back to me. Cups my face, her hands cold and shaking. “I love you.”

  Her lips brush mine a second before Crane tosses her across the room.

  “See, you keep doing shit like that, and it’s like you want me to make your death messy,” I say.

  Crane’s laughter has a hysterical edge. “You’re the one on his knees, so I’d say you aren’t in the position to do much of anything other than bleed.”

  “For now.”

  Jamie pushes to h
er feet. She’s unstable as she struggles with the aftereffects of ket. If the drug was still active, she’d be in too much agony to stand, so at least the worst is over for her. Thank fucking God.

  “Lyle, please make sure Mrs. Crane behaves.”

  Lyle slings his weapon over his shoulder and wraps his arms around Jamie. “My pleasure, boss.”

  She puts up a fight, but a curt shake of my head ends her struggle. I can’t concentrate on my battle if I’m distracted by hers. Thankfully, she understands what’s unspoken and tucks herself back behind her wall. I know she does this because she folds her hands in front of her and mottles the skin over her knuckles. But as long as she’s not locked in a fight with Lyle, I can focus on not screaming like a bitch no matter what Crane throws at me.

  Owen keeps the gun on me, because what the fuck am I going to do strapped to the floor and hunched over like an animal?

  Crane saunters to the instrument table, picking at what’s there with a methodical leisure I’m sure is meant as an added element of torment. And yeah, it’s working. In spades. He selects a knife and walks back to me and, with a single swipe, opens a gash over my Unholy lettering.

  “How I hate this fucking tattoo,” he hisses.

  I choke back the pain and say through gritted teeth, “That’s because you know you could never earn it.”

  He slashes the tattoo again. “It represents trash.”

  A third pass of the blade rains blood down my torso.

  Crane returns to the table for a new weapon. In the pause, I avoid a glance at Jamie, but I hear her, the hushed whimpers more brutal than the blade that carved my flesh.

  This time, Crane comes with the whip. Outstanding. This should be fun. He instructs Owen to cut off my shirt. The kid’s fumbling hands snip at the T-shirt with scissors until the material falls away in pieces.

  When Owen finishes the task, Crane positions himself behind me and unravels the leather with a resonating crack. He, unfortunately, has a talent for tearing chunks of meat away from muscle and bone, and my bladder clenches in anticipation of the lick of the whip against flesh.

  “David, don’t. Please.”

  I close my eyes at Jamie’s ragged plea. My breathing is erratic, but I’m still in perfect control. Hopefully, the Unholy are handling shit topside and can stop this before Crane takes this too far. You know, like flays me. Or kills me. Because I’d hate to die right when I finally have Jamie back. And I really don’t want to suffer too long in this room again after having endured six fucking months in here.