Page 41 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

I slow the video down. Highlight moments where Wild’s proximity to her looks worse than it is, then add a few distortions—things that will stick in the viewer’s subconscious like a thorn.

I amplify, distort, and alter the sound of her strained breathing to make it sound like something completely different.

My edits are flawless, subtle enough to pass any scrutiny.

Nothing too obvious, nothing anyone can pin down. Just enough to make it believable.

To make it iron clad.

The storm rages outside, lightning flashing, briefly illuminating the room in a burst of blinding white.

My heart thuds in my chest, and my skin feels tight, stretched too thin over the tension coiled inside me.

The soft click of the mouse is the only thing that breaks the silence.

Each twitch of my finger has the impact of a hammer on my skull.

The edits complete, I rewind and scrutinize the video frame by frame in its twisted, sickening ultimate form.

Wild’s face looms over Kiera, his expression cold.

The image manipulated perfectly to suggest he’s taking something from her.

It’s perfect. Horrible, but perfect. My chest tightens with a rage so intense my eye twitch becomes an unbearable flutter.

I force a slow breath out through my nose, steadying myself before I break something.

The only thing keeping me from snapping is the knowledge that at this moment on the screen, I blew his fucking car sky high.

The monitor flickers as I render the video, every pixel an accusation, every second a lie. It’s package it neatly, all the metadata scrubbed, preventing verification or tracing. I addressed every detail and secured every loose end. I can’t afford any mistakes. Not now.

Once the file is ready, I attach it to an anonymous email and type in the recipient: Sinski. Wild’s boss.

My hands hover over the keyboard for a moment, my breath shallow. I want retribution, vengeance, for him to pay the ultimate price for touching Kiera. For everything that’s happened to us both. But this is the best way. The only way to save her. That has to be enough. It’s everything.

I hit send.

The electronic whoosh of the email zinging into cyberspace is oddly satisfying, like the click of a loaded gun.

The low rumble beneath my boots is an ominous warning. I’ve been watching this place for hours—waiting, planning, and replaying what’s coming. The funeral home is quiet. Too quiet. It’s an illusion that’s about to shatter, like so many things in my life.

And then it does.

A deafening crack rings through the night, then a massive wave of heat and force that can only come from an explosion shatters the crisp night air.

It rips through the property, sending a billowing cloud of smoke and fire into the night sky.

My head pounds as I grit my teeth and wait for the shockwave to hit the house.

A split second later, the ground beneath me shudders, and the building trembles ominously.

The lights flicker in Kiera’s room. She’s in there. Safe for now.

But not for long.

She’ll come out, she’ll see the destruction—and it’ll all be over.

I can’t let that happen.

I slip through the back door Felix left open for me, moving like a shadow through the smoke already seeping into the house.

The scent of burning wood fills the air, acrid and sharp, but I block it out.

My eyes lock onto her door at the end of the hall.

It’s open just a crack. It won’t take long for her to investigate, and if she does, I lose everything.

I reach the doorway in seconds, pressing my back to the wall. She stirs inside, the thump of each booted foot hitting the floor as she dresses and mutters something to herself. There’s confusion, fear rolling off her in waves.

Good. That’ll make this easier.

She’s halfway to the door when I strike. A lethal predator coming to take what’s mine.

I lunge into the room, my fist grasping her wrist before she can react.

She gasps, eyes widening in shock, but I don’t give her a chance to scream.

My free hand clamps down over her mouth, silencing her.

I pull her body against mine, tight and close.

She thrashes wildly, but it’s no use. I have her wrapped up tight.

“Shh,” I murmur against her ear, my voice low and steady, like I’m offering comfort. “It’s me.”

Recognition flickers in her eyes for a split second, but she’s still struggling, still trying to understand. I won’t give her enough time, though.

Sorry, Love.

Before she can fight harder, I bring the syringe out, pressing it against her neck. She flinches, and I hate the flash of betrayal in her gaze. She’s asleep in moments, her body going limp in my arms.

I lower her carefully to the floor, watching her chest rise and fall, slow and steady. She’s out cold. That’s good. This part’s done. But I can’t waste time.

Adjusting her position so I can move more freely, I scoop her up, her body unnervingly light in my arms as I head toward the back door.

The house is still reverberating from the aftermath of the explosion, but it’s almost eerily quiet now.

One more piece of our lives going to hell should take longer.

Smoke clings to the air, making it harder to breathe, harder to see.

I don’t care. My only focus is getting her out of here.

The black sedan is waiting. I pop the trunk open, laying her down gently inside on the blanket before stepping back. She looks peaceful like this, as if none of this chaos touches her. As if she’s not caught in the crossfire of a war that she barely understands.

I close the trunk and take a deep breath. It’s not over yet. But she’s safe for now.

Safe with me.