Page 23 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

The blast echoes in my ears long after the explosion fades.

I’m standing a good thirty feet away, but the heat still licks at my face, the smell of burning rubber and gasoline thick in the air.

My car—a black, nondescript sedan—is now a twisted, smoldering hulk of metal.

The shockwave still vibrates in my bones.

“Christ,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck.

That was too damn close. I don’t need to be caught with my pants down, literally or figuratively.

The locals are already swarming the scene. Red and blue lights flash in the distance, getting closer, and the wail of sirens cut through the night. I pull out my phone, thumbing through contacts with practiced ease, hitting the number I need, but hate dialing.

“Merrick,” I say as soon as he picks up. “I need you to get a team together and get your asses over to Blaque’s Funeral Home.”

His response is immediate, crisp. “Injuries?”

“No. My car’s toast, though. Need the team here now, before this turns into a fucking circus.”

“On our way. Ten minutes, tops,” Colton says.

I hang up, shoving the phone back into my pocket as the first squad car screeches to a halt near the wreckage. Two uniformed cops jump out, guns drawn, scanning the area like they expect the bomber to be standing there waving a flag.

I might have just been on the phone with the asshole, or someone he sent. He didn’t ask enough questions, though, for someone in the dark.

“Agent Wilder!” one of them shouts, recognizing me as he approaches. His partner is already calling it in, voice tight with urgency. “What the hell happened?”

“Car bomb,” I say, keeping my tone calm, controlled. “Timed perfectly. Whoever did it knew I’d be here.”

The cop glances at the smoking remains, then back at me, wide-eyed.

“You’re saying this was a hit?”

“Looks that way,” I reply.

I already see the gears turning in his head envisioning his report and the red tape that will bury me if I let the locals handle this. Bullshit I don’t have time for.

“Look,” I say, stepping closer, lowering my voice. “This isn’t just some random explosion. I need this scene locked down until my team arrives. No one else touches it, understand?”

The cop hesitates, eyes darting back to his partner. He’s young, maybe a year or two on the job, and I can see the uncertainty creeping in. “This is our jurisdiction?—”

“I know, but this is bigger than you,” I cut him off, my voice firm. “My team’s got the expertise and the clearance for this kind of threat. You want to help? Keep the perimeter secure, keep the press out, and let my people do their job.”

His jaw tightens, but he nods, stepping back. “Alright, Agent Wilder. We’ll keep it locked down.”

“Good man,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just give us some space.”

I turn away, scanning the area as more cops arrive, their flashing lights casting eerie shadows across the scene, like some sort of macabre nightclub.

The first responders set up a perimeter, yellow tape fluttering in the breeze.

I feel the weight of the glances cast at me—curious, suspicious, concerned—but I ignore them.

Focus on what matters, Wilder.

A black SUV pulls up a few minutes later, screeching to a halt just outside the cordon. The doors fly open, and the team files out. They’re dressed in plain clothes, no badges, no uniforms, but the way they move screams authority.

“Wilder,” Colton says, striding up to me, his expression all business, but I still search his eyes for a flicker of regret that I’m still alive. “Break it down for me.”

“Timed detonation, targeted at me. No immediate threat in the area, but I want a full sweep for any secondary devices. Start with the perimeter, work your way in. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

He nods, already signaling to the team. They move out in pairs, scanning the ground, checking every inch of the area for anything out of place. Colton stays with me. His eyes narrowed as he surveys the wreckage.

“Who do you think it was?” he asks, voice low.

“Could be the cocksucker who blew my cover.” I give a lazy shrug.

“It could be Wraith,” I reply, crossing my arms. “Apparently, I’ve pissed someone off enough to kill me.

But whoever it is, they’re getting bold.

This wasn’t just a warning—it was meant to take me out.

I don’t know what went wrong, though. They set the bomb off before I was in the car. ”

He glances at me, something I can’t name flickering in his eyes for just a second before he hides it behind a steely exterior.

“You’re lucky you weren’t.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” I say, shaking my head. “They fucked up, Colton. Someone knew exactly where I’d be, down to the minute.”

His jaw tightens. “We’ll find them. And when we do?—”

“When we do,” I interrupt, my voice cold, “they’ll regret missing.”

He nods, and we both turn back to the wreckage. The flames are out now, but this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The wrecker rolls by with my car on the flatbed, headed to headquarters for evaluation.

All that’s left at the scene are the ashes and charred earth.

Kiera summons her director of operations, Felix Malachi, and I send him to speak with my partner, Colton, but he’s unable to give them any information of worth through all the drama and hysterics.

Felix needs to work on his acting skills.

But Colton’s buying it, fucking moron, and it keeps him away from Kiera.

She’s working with my team, going through the house and the surrounding buildings, searching for anything suspect.

Eventually, the circus dies down as the first responders and then my team leave.

Kiera had told me she was going to clean up and to come see her before I took off.

I’m only going to knock because Mr. Malachi is inside, otherwise I would tear up those stairs and catch her in her bedroom.

My dick hardens as the visuals from earlier flash before my eyes.

I raise my hand to knock on the door, but it swings inward and away from my fist. Kiera steps out onto the porch, damp hair pulled back from her soot-free washed face.

As she pulls the door closed behind her, her gaze shifts back and forth, scanning the area.

“All finished here?” she asks in a disinterested tone, avoiding my eyes.

What the hell?

I squint and look more closely at her guarded face.

What happened in the last few hours that turned my Heathen into…

whatever this is? Yeah, someone blew my car up, but she took it all in stride when most would have reacted.

Now the dust has settled, the woman who begged me to fuck her has disappeared like smoke from the explosion in the wind.

“For now,” I say, running scenarios through my head as to what the fuck is going on. I grasp her shoulder, needing to touch her, feel her close to me. The raw instinct to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off somewhere private, riding me hard. “Are you okay?”

She rolls her lips between her teeth, still not looking at me. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Then it hits me.

“What are the chances your husband did this? Are bombs in Wraith’s repertoire?”

Now she looks at me, a frown marring her beautiful face.

“How the hell would I know? You’re the dirty FBI agent!”

I take a step back in shock.

What the hell did she just say?

She’s right, but how could she know? I give her a skeptical look and hope my silence prods her into revealing how she came to that conclusion.

Has Kiera been lying when she says she isn’t in touch with Wraith? What are the chances Colton didn’t blow up my car? Was it Wraith?

The silence hangs heavy in the air. But I can do this all day regardless of how exhausted I am. Kiera fidgets with her phone, looking like she’s trying to make a life-changing decision. Her spine straightens, and she gives me a cold, hard stare.

Okay then, decision made, and it doesn’t look like it’ll be in my favor, whatever it is.

“I want to show you something on my phone,” she blurts out.

I nod, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She angles it toward me, the volume loud enough I hear her screaming my name. And not fucking Bennie.

Mine.

A smile curves my lips and again, I resist the urge to throw her over my shoulder to disappear and keep her forever.

“That was wicked fun, yeah? I say we do it again, and soon.”

I reach for her to do exactly what the caveman in me wants when she says, “It’s proof.”

My eyebrows raise, my forehead wrinkling with the movement. “Proof of what?”

She scoffs at me for my apparent ignorance. “Proof that you’re dirty.”

I waggle my brows at her with a laugh. “Damn right I’m dirty and you loved every minute. Begged me for more if memory serves?”

“Proof that when you should be working a case, you’re fucking the suspect’s wife.”

I throw my head back and laugh, a deep belly laugh. Her audacity impresses me. Not quite as much as it pisses me off that she’s trying to play fucking games, though.

“You’re blackmailing me?” I ask, amused and incredulous. She doesn’t answer as she busies herself with turning the volume down on our sexcapade. I let out another chuckle and give her a wicked smile. “You go ahead and do that, Heathen,”

Her jaw drops open, and a less fun strangled noise whiffles out of her.

Leaving her to whatever crazy thoughts she has running through her pretty head, I step off the porch amble toward the new car Sinski approved for me and had dropped off an hour ago. When I get to the middle of the street, I turn around and shake my head at her, unable to suppress a grin.

She’s clueless about how connected I am. And the FBI is the least powerful of them.

“Blackmail, fucking adorable. Heathen suits you.”