Page 11 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

Kiera

I step into the funeral home, close the door, and press my back against it. Boo nibbles on my ear, climbs down my chest, then my hips before landing on the floor and scurrying off to do Lord knows what. Certainly nothing good.

This morning was a close call. At least I kept it together when the brooding hottie brought up the serial killer fingerprints, though.

How the hell did the FBI get a picture of my wedding night?

I can’t even remember the last time I thought about that picture, let alone laid eyes on it.

And I damn well know it’s mine because the back of the picture sports a red hand-drawn heart, and I’d stupidly signed it Wraith as a gift for my…

I shake off the memories twisting my gut and pull away from the door.

Nope, not going there.

Back to my present distraction… Agent Wilder. My skin still tingles at the thought of him. I’m unredeemably fucked up, so imagining the FBI agent interrogating me—slamming me against a wall and choking me with his large hand while he fucks me hard and fast—shouldn’t be startling.

Fuck, I’m a damn deviant, but it would be one hell of a thrilling ride.

My demons wanting to fuck the hell out of him while we tear each other to shreds is too delicious, though.

He’s coming for me, and not in the fun way, so I should get the hell out of dodge, pronto.

But it’s been eight damn years since someone’s tempted me to indulge myself sexually.

Something I can’t put my finger on draws my twisted soul toward the arrogant asshole.

I’m not foolish enough to ignore the urge, even though I’ve never had good luck with men.

I’m here for a good time, not a long time, hottie.

And I’m not looking for anything more than a good time with this one.

I want to fight it, but… sex. I miss sex.

Instinctively, I know he’d handle me just right and give me exactly what every cell of my body is screaming for.

I love his edge, and the danger wrapped around him makes me want to sink my teeth into his toned body.

But that doesn’t mean he gets a free pass.

I’ll find an angle to get laid and use it to my advantage.

My phone chimes with a text as if my thoughts conjured him.

Wilder: You may have slipped away for now, but I’m an excellent hunter.

Me: Aww, you’re really sweet, tempting me with a little cat-and-mouse.

Wilder: I like a challenge but we’re more a hawk and rabbit kind of situation.

Me: Huh?

Wilder: Yeah, it’s a faster, more precise game. A ruthless, dangerous inevitability.

Me: Oh, so you think you can handle a little danger.

Wilder: It’s just another part of the job, sweetheart.

Me: You’ll have to catch me first.

Wilder: When I catch you, it’s game over.

Me: Or maybe that’s when the real fun begins.

This fucker won’t catch me. That’s for damn sure. I pull out my encrypted cell and shoot a text to Zephyr.

Me: Make sure I’m scrubbed!

Z: What do you take me for, an amateur?

Me: Just double check. And make damn sure you erase any information about my bastard husband.

Z: Why don’t you just divorce him?

Me: Why don’t you just fuck off?

High heels clack against the tile as familiar footsteps approach, so I shove each cell into a pocket of my jeans.

“I’ll arrange everything, Mrs. Gormner,” Tini says as she enters the hall, a tall woman at her side, a tissue fisted in one hand, the other wiping a stray tear dripping off her chin.

Tini raises an eyebrow as she takes in my jeans and black tank top, mess hair, and my usual no fucks given expression.

As if she can fix my hair by smoothing her own, she runs a hand over her brunette chignon.

Her usual perfectly tailored outfit wrapping her in the clean, elegant lines of high-quality fabric.

She has the timeless look of a politician’s wife.

Mrs. Gormner follows Tini’s gaze and startles, which brings on the waterworks again as she wails into her handkerchief.

Too dramatic if you ask me, but really, nobody did.

Tini scowls at me behind the mourners’ back when she guides her to the door, shutting it firmly behind her once the pitiful woman leaves.

She spins around, pinning me with a disapproving glare.

My eyebrows raise to my hairline, and I throw my arms out in frustration.

“What?”

Tini rolls her eyes and sighs—her usual attitude with me.

“You could have been kind or even helpful, Kiera.”

My face scrunches up in distaste. “To that blubbering idiot?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose as if she’s speaking with a child and just has no space left in her to deal.

“Not every person who cries over the death of a loved one is an idiot, Kiera!”

I shrug and go back to my resting bitch face. “Well, she was.”

Her tone rises two octaves as she says, “When are you going to?—”

Felix runs into the room, cutting her off. The ends of his black and white kimono robe flutter behind him before settling mid-thigh.

“Damn it, Kiera. When are you going to teach Boo to stop stealing shit?” he says, hip cocked to the side, arms crossed over his chest. “The petty thief is committing felonies in my room and has created his own Boo Boudoir out of my scarfs, boas and silks.”

“They would be misdemeanors, Fi, not felonies.”

He gasps, his hand hovering over his red lip-sticked mouth, careful not to touch it lest it smear.

“Have you seen my things? I only roll with designer, bitch!” He spins on his heel with a flourish, waving me along behind him and leaving his signature custom Le Labo scent.

When he makes it to the third step of the curving staircase, he turns around a furrow between his brows and scrunches his nose.

“By the way…” He flips his hand over, palm up, and flicks a finger up and down.

“You look like shit. Do something with all…” Both hands wave in frantic circles in front of him, before he pushes one toward me, palm out. “… that!”

I cock my head to the side, arms crossing over my ample chest, hip cocked to the side with my foot out pointed to the side, mirroring his earlier stance and attitude.

“Fuck you, Fi. You?—”

He couldn’t care less about me telling him to screw himself and spins around to resume his trek upstairs. “Follow me, your royal bitchness, you have got to see this.”

I roll my eyes at Tini and follow along to find out what fun Boo is having at Felix’s expense this time. I hold in a laugh as I slide my hands in my pockets and lean against the doorjamb of Boo’s room, settling in for the show.

“Come here, Boo,” Tini says, coming into the room, holding the stem of a martini glass in her hand.

I look behind me, almost expecting a stacked, shirtless butler or a woman in a hot French maid outfit, holding a tray. But that’s why we call Justine ‘Tini’. When she’s not working, there’s a martini glass in her hand, and they seem to appear from out of thin air.

Our relationship began five years ago when I first moved into the funeral home where she’s been a long-time employee.

Boo scampers over to her, scrambling up her designer pant suited leg and into her waiting arms. She nuzzles his head, her sleek updo losing strands as he rubs his face against it while she coos at him.

He turns his little black and white snout toward Fi and hisses.

Felix’s reply is a tight-lipped stare silently begging Boo to, as he usually says, ‘just try him’ .

“Honey, my last name Malachi may mean ‘an angel’ but I fell so hard from Heaven, I became a demon. So, don’t try me!” he hisses back, a finger wagging at Boo.

He glances to the side, his jaw dropping open.

Bending over, he snatches his Barbara Streisand wig off the floor.

Which leads to him flashing me when his robe rides up his back.

And gives me a prime view of perfectly rounded, tanned ass cheeks on full display, his twig and berries tucked into a red thong, tuck-tape sticking out on one side.

Tini’s eyes widen and her brows lift. “On that note, I’m out,” she says to Fi’s backside. She turns and flounces out, murmuring to Boo, completely over the drama.

“Fi, it’s been a long night and an even longer day. I’m going to take a shower and get to work. Will you place a coffee order and have the twins pick it up?”

“Yeah, hooker, you were out all night.” His bottom lip juts out. “And you left me behind. You promised the next time you went out; I could come with-uh,” he whines, dragging the last word out. “The boys are gone already, so for that, you go get our coffee. I’ll call it in.”

“You know what I was doing last night, and it wasn’t partying! They stuck me in a tiny room while the FBI…” I enunciate each letter. “… interrogated me, Fi. I really want a shower before I have to get to work,” I growl with a stomp of my foot.

“Well, I was up all night dealing with the clean-up crew! Oscar didn’t even bother to call out from work! Ugh, the nerve. I had to scramble…” He eyes me up and down, cocks his head, and sneers. “Just get the coffee.”

He pushes past me out of the room, and I’m left staring at a mountain of mine and Fi’s belongings Boo grifted to turn his room into a Drag Queen’s dream dressing room. He even swindled Fi’s jars of glitter, tracking it around and leaving little glittery ferret paw prints everywhere.

Shaking my head, I stomp after Felix. “No-uh.” It’s my turn to whine, and like Felix, I drag out the word.

“You know I hate people.” Fi scoffs, and I amend my words.

“Other than you, the twins, and Tini. People suck and if I can’t kill them for their stupidity, then it’s best for all involved if I stay away from humans. ”

“Nope, uh-uh,” Fi says, shaking his head, blond curls bobbing with the movement. “You’re going and maybe next time you’ll think twice about partying without me.”

Yeah, if only that was the case. Fucking FBI.

“Ugh, Fine! But don’t blame me if this gets bloody, Fi.”

“Whatever. And take the wannabe Queen Maleficent Monroe with you.”

The line at Necromancer Nibbles & Coffee is ridiculous. I wait for our order—certain Fi told them to prepare it as slowly as possible—doing my best to hide in a shadowed corner, but people still bump into me, then continue as if it never happened.

Relief rushes through me when a harried barista calls out, “Kiera.”

I navigate the crowd and just before I make it to the counter, a well-dressed woman somewhere in her thirties snags it, then heads toward the door.

I know it’s mine because my name’s scrawled on both cups.

And across two of the paper bags holding food, she swiped too.

The barista calls after her, trying to tell her she took the wrong order, but she’s in her own world.

I step in front of her, forcing the oblivious bitch to look at me. She startles, spilling the coffee she pulled from the carrier down the front of her smart outfit.

She screams and before I know it, I’m pulling my neurotoxin lipstick out of my purse.

“Yeah… you just spilled my coffee all over yourself,” I say with a laugh. “Fucking Karma, huh? She’s a bitch.”

I apply the lipstick. Seriously considering giving her the kiss of death as her face scrunches up.

“No, you’re a bitch. You made me spill my coffee all over myself and now you’re going to replace it.”

I take a deep breath, fighting for calm, but it’s not a trait I’m known for when dealing with self-righteous morons.

“Is your name Kiera too, or did you just decide to take my shit?”

“No, she said Katy. Deal with it.”

My fingers curl into fists at my sides. But the barista saves the idiot’s life.

“Kiera, don’t worry, I’m remaking your order now.” She looks at the sputtering red-faced woman who’s dancing closer to death than she realizes. “Your order isn’t ready yet. You’ll hear me call out Katy when it is.”

Katy squawks and sputters indignantly about how customer service has gone to shit, but no one is sympathetic since she’s making everyone late.

After waiting five more long minutes, which are like being in the penalty box of a hockey game serving time for a crime I didn’t commit, I give the barista twice the usual tip and stalk out, eyeballing the coffee-stained idiot who’s scrolling through her phone.

I saw her pull into the parking lot when I was walking inside and casually stroll over to her shiny, black Range Rover.

On my way, I scan the ground for the perfect rock and when I find it, walk around her vehicle, digging it into the paint to leave my mark.

I resist the urge to turn toward the huge front window of the coffee shop and give her a one-finger salute. She’ll get the message soon enough.

Boo skitters down my arm, clambers off my leg, and runs over to her tire. Backing up, he pisses the whole time, chuckling—or in the ferret world, dooking—with his little ferret smile.

“And that’s why you’re my best friend, Boo.”