Page 48 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

A bullet whizzes through the window, shattering the glass in an explosion of shards. It’s so fast, I barely register it before Wilder’s body slams into mine. He jerks in pain as we fly through the air, glance off the nightstand and land in a heap

“Wilder!” I scream, the weight of him pressing me into the ground, his body heavy and unmoving.

My heart lurches when I manage to roll him off me. Instinctively, I check for the wound.

He took that bullet for me! I literally felt it tear into his flesh.

Finding the entry point, I rip open his blood-soaked shirt, just below his shoulder.

Not a kill shot, but still—it’s bad. He’s unconscious already.

Not a good sign, but it could be from hitting the nightstand.

My gaze shifts to his bloody face, but I’m quickly distracted by more earsplitting gunshots, which are getting louder.

“Incoming!” Blade barks when a smoke bomb flies through the window and lands on the bed. To my utter shock, he grabs it and throws it back out through the broken glass as more bullets tear through the room.

Blade curses behind me, a sound I’m oddly getting used to. He yanks me upright, his hand gripping my arm hard enough to bruise.

“We don’t have time for this. Can you fight, or are you going to sit there crying and get yourself killed?”

“Fuck,” I snap out of it, adrenaline flooding my veins. “Do you have any weapons? How the hell did they track us?” I shout over the relentless barrage of gunfire.

Blade jerks his head toward Wild.

“Someone must’ve sold us out.”

No fucking way.

I don’t have time to argue though, as I drag Wild into an interior bathroom.

Boo, having jumped to the floor while I was falling, scampers beside us, then curls up next to Wild as if he senses I need him to stay put with the unconscious man bleeding steadily onto the tile.

There’s no time for hesitation. Whoever is shooting is still out there, the brief calm is probably them lining up another shot.

Blade crawls out to the living room. I follow, hating to leave Wild behind, but someone needs to learn an important and final lesson—I’m a predator, not prey.

He grabs a bag off the floor and leans back against an interior wall.

He reaches in, pulls out a Browning and a knife, then slides them over to me. The sound loud in the eerie silence.

I check the chamber, cycle the action, then disengage the safety.

When I glance back at my husband, a rifle, two handguns and several grenades surround him.

He’s scrambling to ready his weapons and return fire, but it’s too late.

The heavy boots on the porch announce we’ve run out of time, we’re being infiltrated.

The door bursts open, and everything happens fast—too fast. Another smoke bomb sails through the door.

Three shadowy figures step inside, guns raised, searching.

Blade doesn’t hesitate. He’s already firing and running toward the intruders, the deafening crack of his gun sending shockwaves through the air.

One down, two to go.

Not wanting to risk accidentally shooting Blade, I rush forward and to the side, slipping between his line of fire and the nearest target.

I hurl my knife toward the black-clothed figure.

It sinks into deep into their shoulder, the large man stumbles, buying us seconds, but not stopping his advance.

Blade and I move in sync, him shooting, me dodging low, grabbing the edge of the solid oak coffee table and turning it over for cover as more shots ring out.

The heat of Blade’s body registers behind me as we drive the assassins back toward the door.

He shoots. I aim, I shoot. He aims at the shadowy figures moving among the smoke from another bomb.

Another attacker staggers back as Blade and I hit him near simultaneously in the chest. He goes down, falling into the man next to him, knocking the gun he just snapped a new magazine into out of his hand to spin across the floor toward our position.

Two down. How many more are there? Did any come in the back?

The sound of my pulse in my ears is only overpowered by the explosions of bullets.

My breath comes in quick, sharp smoke-filled gasps.

Working alone is so much fucking easier.

I’m acutely aware of Wilder in the other room, unconscious and vulnerable.

If we don’t finish this guy quickly, none of us are making it out.

Blade springs from behind the table, rushing the last attacker in front of us. He catches the man’s arm mid-swing. There’s a brief struggle, but Blade’s faster, stronger, far more skilled. His fist slams into the man’s face, sending him crashing to the ground.

I’m closing in to stomp his face in, then secure him so we get the answer we need before offing the bastard. I’m still three steps away when Blade’s gun clicks, out of ammo. The assassin smirks, his hand twitching toward a knife on his belt.

“Don’t,” I growl, my voice as dangerous and deadly as me.

The man shifts his glare at me, his face twisted in pain, and stills realizing he’s outnumbered. He’s calculating my rate of advance when I break cadence and lunge, catching him by surprise as I clock him across the chin with my gun handle, knocking him out. For now, at least.

Blade pulls me back, his grip tight, as if to check if I’m still here, still breathing.

“Jesus, Kiera…”

He moves to the window, scanning for movement. Using the walls, he skirts the next window and checks before moving again to the kitchen, twitching a bright yellow curtain to check the backyard too. Confident Blade has it under control, I rush to the bathroom to check on Wild.

He lies on the floor eyes fluttering open, blood pooling on the pristine marble floor, despite Boo perching on his shoulder, putting all his weight into a blood-soaked wad of toilet paper which is stringing across the room from the roller.

My hands shake when I yank a black towel off the rail and fall to my knees.

Boo scampers away, and I press it hard against the wound, fighting a wave a nausea from fear of losing Wild.

I try to stay calm, to keep the wild terror from my eyes.

“Kiera…” Wild says with a groan. “Get out, hide… I’ll find you.”

“Shut the hell up and hold on. I’m going to fix you up. Don’t die on me. You can’t.” I order, knowing if it’s his last sunset, I won’t be able to stop it.

The dead don’t hurt you, Kiera. He’s just a good time, nothing more.

Blade grabs my shoulder, “We’ve got to go.”

I shake my head, annoyed at his break in protocol. “We need to get the bullet out.”

“No, we take him out, too,” he says, nudging me aside and pointing one of the assassin’s guns at Wild’s head.

“We’re not killing him.” I shout, jumping to my feet and pulling on his arm throwing off his aim. Blade glares at me. I glare right back, totally unimpressed with his glower.

He looks between us, frustration written all over his face.

“We can’t take him with us.”

I’d prefer to have his help, but I’ll move Wild alone if I need to. I appeal to his calculating nature

“Keep your enemies close…” I say, my voice dangerously low. “… or you don’t live to regret it.”

“He dies here, Kiera. There’s nothing to regret. Did you forget he wants to put you in prison?”

I swing the Browning up and press the barrel against Blade’s chest.

“We take him. Or you die here.”

Blade stares me down, then mutters a string of curses, eye twitching, before throwing up his hands in exasperation.

“Fine. But we need to get out of here now.”

Together, we haul Wild to his feet. He’s slipping in and out of consciousness.

We carry him between us—kidnapping the FBI agent who swore to take me down.