Page 2 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

Although the hunt’s over, the thrill of the kill still lingers. The memory of her smiling face and the final, lifeless photo will stay with me, though. At least until the next target, the next thrill.

Back in the employee breakroom, I swipe my coat off the hook and settle it over the camera strap in case it rains.

Boo runs up my arm, settling in his usual place on my shoulder, where he watches the world from behind my hair.

The wind picks up, carrying the scent of rain.

Wrapping my coat around Boo and me, we blend into the shadows of the night and disappear with practiced ease.

I’ve come a long way from the scared sixteen-year-old committing her first murder. A complete accident, even if it was out of necessity. A life-or-death situation that left me with a taste for the power it brought. Power I’d never tasted before.

Each kill is a work of art, a masterpiece only I can create, paying off the debt my shithead husband left me with. But with each one, I feel a little more alive.

Rain lashes across the windshield as I turn the corner, blurring the neon city lights.

The wipers working double-time against the downpour trying to blind me.

Each swipe provides a glimpse of the road ahead.

The city sounds are muted, but I still catch snippets over the obnoxious rhythmic beat of the wipers—the honk of a horn, the low hum of engines crawling through the wet streets, a distant siren wailing somewhere downtown.

It’s late, but not quite the witching hour, and this part of the city still clings to life, buzzing with energy and tension.

Two figures materialize from the darkness, darting across the road.

I slam the brakes; the car fishtailing against the wet asphalt as I curse and crank the wheel to the right to avoid unintended murder.

Heart pounding, I grip the steering wheel and glance back to see two boys around eleven or twelve, soaked and panting.

They stumble onto the sidewalk as three large men emerge from the shadows; unmistakable predators.

A wave of anger washes through me as I immediately recognize the vultures. I yank off my seat belt and step out of the car; these kids don’t stand a chance alone. Icy rain plasters my clothes to my skin and my hair to my face.

Damn it.

I left Boo sleeping peacefully at home curled up in my jacket.

I lock eyes on the soon to be dead men standing three feet away, my brows raised.

Fuck, they almost had the kids. God knows what type of shit they were about to do to them.

All three idiots freeze. I don’t have to say a word; they know their life just became questionable, how close they are to a swift and brutal end.

It takes everything I have not to beat the shit out of these fuckers, but the twins are watching us all warily and they don’t need any more ugliness in their lives or memories.

I’ll make them pay soon enough. In private.

Witnessing me annihilate people, even these low life scum, won’t help me earn their trust. I’ve been planning to help them find their way to a better life.

This isn’t the introduction I wanted to make.

“Get in!” I shout, my voice slicing through the air like a knife.

Hesitation wars with fear as they glance at one another, then scramble into the backseat.

The men stay frozen in place like a trio of kids playing red light green light.

Good. Message received. I spin on my heel and slide back into the car.

Grumbling and shaking my head with the frustration of having to walk away from a fight.

The engine roars as my foot hits the gas, and we’re off, the car jerking forward and splashing through puddles. The goons left behind like forgotten statues. In the rearview mirror, I catch glimpses of the boys, drenched and breathing hard, clutching their seats like lifelines.

I’ve seen these two around, and it does some fucked up things inside me to see them living on the streets and at such a tender age.

Asking my informants who skulk around town about the brothers, I got the gist of it.

Father unknown, even by their mom. Who recently saw her last sunset when she overdosed.

Who knows what’s happened to them while living out here the last six months. It’s all too parallel to my life.

“You two always run out in front of moving cars?” I ask, keeping my tone light as I navigate the narrow streets and turn the heater all the way up, making sure the vents are pointed toward the back.

My voice seems to cut through the tension, and one of them—the one with the rain-soaked purple t-shirt—scoffs.

“We didn’t exactly have a choice,” he mutters, glancing out the window, still wary.

The other one, wide-eyed, nods in agreement. “They were going to kill us,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

It’s raw, full of fear and something else, something jagged.

“Not on my watch,” I say, my gaze flicking between the rearview mirror and the road. I pull over near a 24-hour donut shop, the neon lights casting a hazy glow through the rain. “Coffee and donuts. Let’s go.”

I don’t wait for a response, leaving them to decide to follow or not, as I push open the door and step into the warm, inviting shop.

The aroma of burned coffee and frying dough mixes with disinfectant─ a familiar, oddly comforting blend.

Reaching the speckled counter, I order coffee and a dozen assorted doughnuts, then glance back.

The twins are just inside the door, dressed in old worn tees and jeans, shivering and dripping on the worn linoleum floor.

“What’ll it be?” I ask, gesturing to the menu as I dig out a few bills. They exchange glances, surprise flashing in their eyes before they both shrug.

“Just…coffee. Black,” he says, trying to sound tough, but can’t quite mask the tremor in his voice.

“And something to eat?” I prompt, catching the way his eyes dart toward the pastries on display.

His boyish face turns bright red, and he glances at the box of donuts the cashier just sat down on the counter.

“Oh,” I say, realization hitting me. “That’s all for me.

You two can order whatever you want. I’m buying. ”

They hesitate, but eventually, they each mumble a choice.

I triple their order, switching out the coffee for hot chocolate with extra whipped cream.

They aren’t coffee drinkers, not yet anyhow.

We sit at a table directly under the heating vent.

The three of us sigh when the warmth hits us.

I hand them their cups, the warmth from the hot beverage steaming up in the frosty night air.

I take a sip of my coffee; the warmth seeps through me, grounding me.

“So,” I start, setting the cup down, “who were those guys?”

The blue shirt boy—Cassius, I think he mumbled earlier—stares into his cup. “They…they work for someone we owe money to. We thought we could handle it, but…”

His voice trails off, and his hands tremble slightly as he takes a sip of the coffee, trying to mask his unease.

“You didn’t know what you were getting into,” I finish for him, careful to keep my voice soft.

The purple shirt boy—Crue—snorts. “Does it look like we know anything?” He shoots me a glare, defiant, like a stray dog daring me to come closer. “Not like there were many other options.”

I nod, understanding. I’ve been there. “What are you gonna do now?”

They exchange a look that’s all too familiar. They don’t have a clue. Neither did I. They’re cornered, but living on pride and bravado.

“Look,” I say, my voice softer now, “if you’re looking for a way out, I might have something for you.”

They both look at me, wary but curious. Crue raises an eyebrow.

I pull a napkin from the dispenser and scribble down the address of the funeral home and my number. “I work there. It’s not much, but it’s honest work. Nobody would think to look for you there.”

“What, you run some kind of charity?”

“Not exactly,” I reply with a smirk. “I work at a funeral home. Pay’s okay. It’s clean work, and no one would think to look for you there.”

Crue’s eyes widen. “A funeral home?”

I shrug. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s better than getting

d down by lowlifes every night.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and I let them sit with it, watching as the rain continues a relentless assault on the window which needs reframing. A shiver runs down my spine, and I realize I’m still soaked. I shake my head, grinning at the absurdity of the situation.

“Think about it,” I say, sliding the napkin across the table, standing up and tossing my coffee cup into the trash. “You could use the work, and I could use a couple of extra hands. If you’re interested, be there tomorrow. Call if you need directions.”

Cassius takes the napkin, staring at it as though it’s something precious, then tucks it into his pocket. He meets my gaze, and I see something shift in his eyes. Something like hope, or maybe just relief.

“We’ll think about it,” he says, his tone carefully neutral.

“Good,” I reply, giving them both a nod. “And one more thing. Stick together. There aren’t many people out there who’ll have your back.”

Cassius smiles faintly, and for a second, he looks like any other kid, not someone who’s had to claw his way through the gutters.

“Thanks…uh, what’s your name?”

I smile, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Kiera.”

As I walk back to my car, I glance over my shoulder one last time, watching as they huddle together, the glow from inside the donut shop casting long shadows. They’re rough around the edges, but there’s a spark of resilience in them.

I barely restrain myself from going back inside and inviting them home with me. They’d surely refuse, and it would only make them more suspicious of my motives.

But my heart is heavy and there are moments like this, in the quiet of night, when hopelessness threatens to consume me. No amount of hot coffee and charity can erase the darkness of my soul. When the faces of my victims haunt my dreams, I wonder if I’m any better than the monsters I hunt.

But then I remember… I stopped caring long ago.