Page 12 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

Blade

M y two-week-old wound throbs as I settle back into the plush seat of Esther’s private jet—probably one of many—as the flight attendant hands me a rocks glass with several fingers of my favorite whiskey.

I sure as fuck need it, to handle returning to my childhood home where memories and nightmares live around every corner.

“We’ll arrive in Seattle at five-forty-five, Mr. Reznik.

Be prepared for rain and low winds.” I give her a curt nod.

Distracted, but not enough that I miss her look of interest. I give her a cool look, but she’s not deterred.

“If you need anything, all you have to do is call out.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder.

“My name’s Breanna,” she says, but I’ve already tuned her out as I stare into the horizon.

Red, pink and orange highlight the clouds as the last of the sun’s rays shine through the glass.

I swirl the amber liquid in front of me, watching as it coats the custom Edo Kiriko tumbler before taking a long, healthy swallow.

The steady hum of the engine is white noise as the smoky flavor mixes with the vanilla notes at the back of my tongue.

The whiskey soothes my tastebuds but does nothing to calm my anger.

Shock still colors my emotions. I swore I’d never willingly go back to the US.

It’s a gut punch to even think about returning to where we were married.

When I found out what she had done to me…

to us, I couldn’t keep enough distance between us.

It was the first and only lesson I needed about cleaning up my own messes.

Now, here I am eight years later, returning to the scene of her crime.

Hopefully she will have moved on. If not, well, I don’t have to see her.

My job is to find Wraith, kill him, then go home with a shit ton more money in my bank account.

Not that I need money, but with the price on Wraith’s head, I could afford my own private island.

Solving Umber’s problems isn’t what will make my return to the States satisfying though.

My happiness will come from killing whomever my wife is fucking these days.

The only good thing that would come from her being in our old stomping grounds would be not having to make a side trip for my revenge.

My cock swells with the images flashing in my head.

A shocked man’s face melting, limbs sailing through the air—piece by piece—blood, hot and wet, splashing across my face.

I can’t wait to blow up their world. Literally.

Though I know she’s not capable of it, I hope she believes she loves him.

She deserves to have her heart crushed so badly it’s something she can never come back from.

And when it’s done, I’ll leave her a message so she knows it’s because of me.

That I took him from her. I was the last person he saw.

Her husband, the bastard who snuffed the light in her lover’s eyes.

I’ll just be balancing the scales for her destruction of my heart and life.

My conversation with the dick of an agent runs through my mind on repeat.

The envelope rings and I stare at Phoenix, my eyes narrowing. This dirty agent can fuck all the way off.

“I’m not going back to the US, dammit,” I say with a growl.

She doesn’t reply, instead watching me as one would a wild animal on the loose. She’s expecting me to tell the asshole to fuck off and when he gets there to fuck off from there too and then fuck off some more.

Using the voice distorter app so kindly added to all Umber issued phones, I answer on the tenth ring with a grunt.

“Shadow,” he says, using a voice distorter as well.

“Dirt bag.”

Nothing worse than a dirty cop. Or in this case, FBI agent.

“Look, I don’t want to work with you either. We’ve been searching for Wraith for five years; too long to have you take my kill.”

“Mm,” I growl into the phone. “What’s taken you so long? If you can’t close the deal, the kill isn’t yours.”

“Fuck you,” he says without pause.

“You’re not my type. Proposition someone else.”

“Funny. Your code name should be Clown, not Shadow.” I let the comment hang in the air, bored with this incompetent jackass.

Just make your request already so I can tell you to figure it out yourself.

I’m not taking the job or cleaning up whatever colossal mess you’ve made douchecanoe.

With a frustrated sigh, he continues, “Though I haven’t been able to find Wraith, I have his name, and I know his associates.

“Romantic relationships?” I ask just to see if he has anything useful.

“Not really. An old lover, but she’s been tight lipped.” He replies, suddenly on edge. “We’re working on getting intel from her. But she’s moved on.”

Just the word lover brings Kiera to mind again. My Kiera had nothing to her name until I gave her mine… she took it, my heart, and everything else and ran.

“You said you have Wraith’s name. Why are you chasing ghosts of his past lovers?”

“Because she’s the best lead we have. Claims she hasn’t had contact with him in years and doesn’t want any now. But she can’t deny being married to him even if she claims not to know Blade Reznik is Wraith.”

I throw the phone across the room in disbelieving rage.

This inept moron has everything all wrong.

My only past lover from this place is my wife.

Now I have to sort his shit in the last place on Earth I want to be.

As much as I’d like to see her suffer, I have much more lasting revenge planned than jail time for a relationship that never mattered to her.

The red fades from my vision, leaving an eye twitch behind when Breanna returns with another whiskey to replace my empty drink, bringing me back to the present.

I take another gulp, but it only tightens the knots in my gut.

The rage attacks I’ve spent the last eight years controlling are burning through me hotter than ever…

I fight to ground myself in the present, to focus on what’s around me until my blood is no longer boiling.

What color is the carpet? Flint gray. Are the lights bright or hued?

Fucking pretentious recessed pale beige.

What does the seat beneath me feel like?

My fingers have gone numb. Swallow, breathe, inhale, exhale.

I make myself sip rather than shoot my drink.

When the liquid sloshes as my hands shake, I take a large gulp of the fiery stuff instead and force myself to think critically.

This fucker thinks I’m Wraith. Who in the fuck is trying to set me up using my former life?

A bark of incredulous laughter forces its way past the simmering rage in my throat. He was fucking talking to me as Shadow and believing I’m Wraith—the asshole has no idea which way is up. My laughter grows, and I shake my head in disgust. This dirty agent is some kind of special.

Whoever Wraith really is must be toying with this fucking idiot. At my expense. They’ll both die slowly for putting me through hell.

I grin at the welcome mat in front of the door.

Anyone’s welcome to come in. They just won’t make it out again.

I’d had this chalet built in the middle of the woods and included floor to ceiling windows looking out over a small man-made lake.

It was supposed to be our vacation home.

But when she fucked me over, I turned it into a very upscale storage locker for my untraceable weapons stash.

After hours of packing an array of weapons into crates, and loading them safely onto a truck, I toggle the lift-gate into place, sealing them in.

Next to the porch, I grab the can of gasoline to accomplish what I’ve been dreaming about while packing.

I won’t murder the cheating bitch. It’s more fitting for her to suffer as I destroy her world as thoroughly as she destroyed mine.

I’ll burn down any lingering tokens of love I stupidly provided her, starting with this cabin.

I’ll watch every damn one disappear into smoke as if it never existed, except for the house I built for us a few towns over.

The family home I envisioned miniature Kiera running around in.

A beautiful backyard I designed and landscaped for festive holidays and parties.

The place we were meant to build the family—the life—neither of us had.

That dream doesn’t exist. Maybe it never did, since she used me to escape her shitty life.

Lied to me. Played me for a chump. The thought of wrapping my hands around her throat and squeezing until she begs for my mercy has my dick hard again.

I’m going to kill her lover, and kidnap her. Killing her is too easy. I’ll torture her in all the ways she tortured me and remind her every minute that karma has come for her.

I scatter trails of gasoline over the floor, through the kitchen, and up the stairs.

The sharp, acrid scent of fuel fills the air, stinging my nostrils and making my eyes water.

As I reach the second floor, the smell of old wood and dust blends in, creating a nauseating cocktail.

I grab another canister and start all over again, dousing the second and third floors, the pungent odor clinging to my clothes and skin.

My pulse quickens, knowing I’m leaving a trail of destruction in my wake when I leave this place.

Next stop, the city house. I’ll fuck every thought of the actual Kiera out of my system. I’ll fuck in every room. Day and night, for days at a time. Singles, couples, multiple people at once. And if they all have blonde hair and amber eyes, even better.

Though that hasn’t worked for me in the past.

I dismiss the ridiculous thought, more determined than ever to get over her.

Grabbing the duffle bag by the front door, I sling it over my shoulder as I step out onto the porch.

The ghosts of what could have been beckoning me to turn around and stare at the beautiful chalet one last time.

My lip curls in disgust at the sentimental idea.

Fuck that.

With a growl, I walk thirty meters with my eyes fixed on the truck before tossing the grenade over my shoulder. A wicked smile I’ve been told is sexy curves my lips when I hear a thump on the living room floor. Did I need the gasoline? No, but it made me feel better.

Once I’m standing next to the truck, I turn to watch as a piece of my past blows the fuck up.

Eight years’ worth of therapy in eight explosive seconds.