Page 13 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)
Kiera
T he scent of leather and expensive cologne hangs in the air, mingling with the faint tang of bourbon from the glass on the table. I move silently through the penthouse. The city lights flicker through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a dim, shifting glow across the room.
The corrupt politician sprawls on the sleek black couch, completely oblivious to my presence.
His tie is pulled loose, the top button of his shirt undone, exposing a smooth, tanned throat.
I follow the motion of his chest, rising and falling with the peaceful rhythm of sleep.
His breathing is steady, unaware, trusting—unlike the vulnerable women he took advantage of with his greed.
The syringe is cool in my hand, the needle thin and sharp, already filled with the clear, deadly potassium chloride. It will stop his heart in less than a minute, leave him sunk into his cushy resting place here in his designer penthouse, as though he simply drifted off and never woke up.
I step closer, and the smell of bourbon intensifies. He stirs slightly, a small frown creasing his brow, but he doesn’t wake. My gloved fingers brush against the soft skin of his neck as I tilt his head gently to the side.
He murmurs a garbled word but remains deep in slumber. The rich scent of his cologne lingers as I lean closer and pierce the flesh in an undetectable place, the ultra-thin needle sliding in smooth as butter.
He doesn’t stir, doesn’t even flinch as I depress the plunger, the potassium chloride flooding his bloodstream. The solution races through his veins and reaches his heart within seconds. His breathing hitches, a brief, involuntary spasm, then ceases completely.
I withdraw the needle, watching as his chest remains still, the life draining from his body in eerie silence.
The room smells the same as before, but there’s a sense of finality that wasn’t there moments ago.
I recap the needle and slip the syringe back into my bag, taking one last look at the man as I prepare my Polaroid and capture him for my collection.
The city lights continue to move outside the window, unaware of the death that just occurred within these walls. I turn, leaving the scent of leather and cologne behind as I slip away into the night, leaving the penthouse and its now-permanent resident behind.
My stomach growls as if I hadn’t eaten my weight in food a few hours ago, sending my mind to drift back to the beginning.
I wasn’t always Wraith. He gave me that name.
Because I was thin as a wraith. He was right, but I didn’t have any choice.
Back then, I scavenged for food to survive, to escape the pain in my gut.
Then I had to escape the pain of the tragic life my mom and stepfather trapped me in, and I married the bastard.
At sixteen, he was my white knight. I couldn’t see past my need to get away,
The thread-bare rough texture of the only white dress I could find for our ceremony, a symbol of my desperation.
It wasn’t beautiful; it was necessary. If only being his hadn’t seemed fated too, then the pain of losing our wedding picture on that fateful night wouldn’t still haunt me.
I wouldn’t still be fighting the confusion and hurt of his abandonment.
It’s almost fitting that I have to hurt and end the life of others to pay off his debt, in the wake of the pain he left behind—taking my hope for a happy life with him.
But that was a long time ago, before I welcomed the darkness that surrounded me; learned to use it as a weapon.
Before Blade incinerated everything I thought I knew about the world and our relationship.
Before he turned me into a hunter. The chilly night air bites at my skin, a stark reminder of the path I’ve chosen, bringing me back to the present.
I pull my coat tighter around me as the wind howls louder.
The city is mine, its dark corners and hidden alleys my sanctuary ever since the night I took my life back.
Any thought of love and happiness once again turned to desperation and survival.
As I walk through the empty streets, I can’t stop the rush of memories of even earlier, darker times from flooding my mind.
The way my stepfather touched, let others touch me.
Sometimes I still wake in the middle of the night covered in sweat, a scream trembling on my lips, the feel of thick, dirt covered fingers on my skin.
To this day, the smell of Drakkar Noir makes my stomach clench and bile creep up into my throat.
The first time I killed, it was out of necessity. A life-or-death situation that left me with a taste for the power it brought. I was young, na?ve, and desperate. But that night changed everything.
Though my plan was to head home, I find myself striding down the alley where I killed Richard. My hand rests on the dirty wall
I remember the look in my stepfather’s eyes as he realized what was happening.
The fear, the desperation he felt, made me high on power.
And why wouldn’t it? After the shit I went through as a child, it was intoxicating to turn the tables on my tormentor.
He must have still been watching me, because the moment he heard Blade was gone, he stupidly thought he held power over me.
But I’d promised myself he would never touch me again.
Even if the only true promises in the world were the ones I made to myself, I was determined to move past the fear and pain and make him pay.
When it was over, and life had drained from the eyes that starred in my worst nightmares, I felt a sense of control I had never known before.
It was addictive, and I knew I couldn’t stop at my mother’s husband.
She had to pay too for what she let him do to me.
The cops thought it was just another overdose, and I let them.
Fucking pieces of shit didn’t deserve to live.
Wild: Can’t stop thinking about you. Tell me, what’s a guy gotta do to get under that beautifully chaotic skin of yours? Or should I start by letting you under mine?
Me: Be careful, get too close, and you might just end up loving the madness.
Wild : I’m here for all your madness
Me : Maybe I’ll give you a little peek…
Wild: I’ve always had a taste for adventure. Something tells me you’re the craziest ride I’ll ever have.
Me: LMFAO
Wild: Let’s see what happens when the good guy stops playing by the rules. I bet we make quite the explosive pair.
Me: Rules are so boring, don’tcha think.
Wild: Nothing would be boring if I was doing it with you.
He’s been very careful not to mention Wraith in his messages. It has me waiting for the other shoe to drop, though. I can’t decide if he’s just trying to get close to me for information, or, if he’s really just that eager to get into my pants.
I hope it’s the latter. Motion in my peripheral vision gets my attention and I turn to see a twin coming in from the backyard.
The new T-shirt he’s sporting fits him far better than the one I met him in.
The shopping trip with Fi paid off. Crue and Cassius seem happy with their new clothes.
They hold their head higher since they’ve been with us.
They smile and laugh, act like fourteen-year-olds, rather than miniature adults.
My goal is to get them into school and a stable home.
I’ve been researching boarding schools. First, though, I need to get them comfortable with the idea.
Hell, I’m still getting comfortable with the idea.
What right do I have to take over these kids’ lives?
A law-abiding adult would send them to social services.
But I just can’t stomach the thought of putting them in a fucked-up system.
It may be the legal solution but it sure as hell isn’t a responsible one, not for teenagers.
For now, they’re adjusting well enough. If I push them too hard, they’ll disappear.
I still can’t convince them to sleep in the house with us, but they eat all their meals here.
Lately they’ve been staying close, pitching a tent at the edge of the property.
I’m taking the baby steps as a huge win.
“Hey Crue,” I say, not glancing up from my phone.
He stops on his way to the kitchen and stares at me. I slowly raise my head to see what his deal is.
Surprise lights his face as he says, “How do you know I’m Crue?” He turns to face me and crosses his thin arms over his chest. “We’re identical. I could be Cassius.”
“Nope,” I pop the p. “You carry yourselves differently. Your aura is unique. And you prefer purple while Cassius prefers blue,” I finish while nodding my chin at his purple shirt.
His defenses drop, and he gifts me with a genuine smile. “You’re the only person who can tell. Not even our mom could tell us apart.”
The light in his eyes fades and he loses the smile at the mention of his mother, who succumbed to drugs.
Every part of me aches for the smile to come back and never leave again.
I can’t believe how much these kids affect me.
There’s nothing more I want in this world than to help them have the happiest life imaginable.
The life I never had. I want all their dreams to come true and plan to give them the tools to make that happen.
I chuckle to get his eyes back on me, my lips curving in a conspiratorial smirk.
“It really pisses off Fi that he can’t tell you two apart.”
His smile matches mine, and a mischievous twinkle lights his eyes. “We mess with him all the time, too. Even if he gets it right, we tell him he’s wrong. It’s hysterical.”
He laughs so hard, he’s bent over with his mirth, unable to stand straight.
“Where ya headed, kid?”
He calms down and leans against the wall. “Tini ordered her signature martini.”
My brows raise. “When did she teach you her secret recipe? And she has you handling alcohol?”
He quirks an eyebrow back at me. “Come on, Kiera, we’ve dealt with way worse on the streets. We may only be fourteen, but we’re grown-ass men.”
My jaw drops, but I quickly close it. He has a point, but grown-ass men? Not quite.
“Okay, then, I’m going to hang with the dead for the rest of the day.” I stick my tongue out at him. “They don’t have attitude.”
“The dead don’t have anything, anymore, Kiera. What do you do down there with them all the time, anyway? Some weird cult, shit?”
“I prep their bodies for their funeral. Make them pretty, after their final sunset, so their loved ones can say goodbye.”
He nods. “So, you’re a mortician?”
“Eh, I prefer undertaker.”
I wink and give him an evil laugh and slip out of the back slider to head for the building just past the cemetery that holds the basement, where I spend most of my days.