Page 5 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

The black, wrought-iron gates of the estate open for me.

The comfort of coming home washes through me as I navigate the tree laden path, easing to a stop on the side of the circular driveway and park my red BMW-I7.

Bodyguards meander around the property, AKs slung over their shoulders, nodding to me as I pass them.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I pass through the double front doors and meet Peterson in the foyer.

Two years. Two years of living like a criminal, playing the part of a Hell Hound, when I should have been here. Should have been learning the family business instead of pretending to serve justice.

He bows his head to me, holding out a hand for my bag and jacket.

"Sir, it's good to have you home. I'll see your things up to your rooms."

I clap him on the back, happy to be back after so long away living like a damn beggar.

"Thank you, Peterson. It's good to be here." I glance around the foyer, then up the two-sided stairs that meet at the middle landing overlooking the entryway. "Where will I find Grandmother?"

Where I'll have to explain why I'm still pretending to be an FBI agent. Why I haven't quit the Bureau yet like she's been pressuring me to do for years.

"She's in the drawing room. I've already prepared the tea.

" Peterson notices my shudder at the thought of having to drink the vile stuff.

He notices everything, should have been an FBI agent, or maybe CIA.

Hell, he probably was, or more likely, an assassin for Umber.

The corner of his mouth lifts, his version of a smile.

"Your preferred coffee awaits you, sir," he says with a hint of a chuckle under his stately tone, then slips away on silent feet.

Coffee. Real coffee, not the swill I've been drinking in biker bars for two years. Real life, not the charade I've been living.

I make my way past marble statues and portraits of long dead family members, venturing into Grandmother's lair—or, as she calls it, the receiving room.

She sits upon her favorite wingback Broque chair like a queen upon a throne, her silver hair swept back into a twist, the strategically placed lighting making it shine.

An elegant sea-foam green dress graces her slight form.

Her eyes light up and a small smile crosses her lips, the only sign of her love for me, before she turns back into the stone-faced, undisputed leader of the Umber conglomerate.

The woman who raised me. Who made me into what I am. Who expects me to choose family over everything else—including the career that's defined me for over two decades.

"Bennet, you've finally come home. It's long overdue."

Her voice is brittle, the weight of expectation hanging like a noose around my neck. I bend low and place a kiss on her papery cheek, cold as a forgotten grave.

Home. Is this home? Or is home the badge in my jacket, the oath I swore, the life I built outside these walls?

"Not this again, grandmother. You know I had a job to do," I say, settling into the stiff wingback chair beside her that is more elegant than comfortable. Just like my grandmother.

A job. The Hell Hounds operation. But that's not what she means. She means my real job. The one that's kept me away from Umber, from my obligations to the family.

The air is stifling, heavy with the stench of control and expectations. Nothing ever changes.

"Well, I had to make sure we take care of the mess you left unfinished two years ago.

I brought Colton into the fold." My brows raise in surprise and my jaw clenches in horror.

Knowing well my feelings for the sniveling fucker, she quickly distracts me.

"You've no need to work, Bennet. Why do you insist on debasing yourself with such. .. trivialities?"

Trivialities. Twenty-three years of federal service. Dozens of commendations. Cases that put monsters behind bars. All trivialities to her.

She sneers, her disdain twisting her lips into something uglier than time could ever carve.

A dark laugh rumbles from my chest. Her eyes narrow at the sound, although she'd never admit I've gotten to her.

But I am her knife in the dark. She made me what I am—someone who can move between worlds, who can access information she needs, who can eliminate problems the Bureau creates for Umber. I've been serving both masters for years without even realizing it.

"Perhaps because it's what you set in motion all those years ago. I've merely become your knife in the dark." I challenge, in a tone very few would dare use.

She's right though, it's been far too long.

Too long since I've been here, fully here, focused on family instead of pretending to serve justice. Too long since I've admitted what I really am.

Grandmother sniffs, pulling me from my thoughts, her pride too thick to crack, but I see it—the faint flicker of uncertainty beneath her iron facade.

"Two years, Bennet. You disappeared into that... underworld playing the common criminal. It's far beneath you. Look at your unkempt hair and are those real tattoos? Get rid of them."

Playing the common criminal. While carrying a federal badge. The irony isn't lost on me. I've been living a lie for so long I'm not sure which identity is real anymore.

She's always known about my tattoos and always ignored them until I went undercover.

I can't hold in a dismissive snort, but she stubbornly tries to ignore the red glowing eyes that stand out on my hand.

I admire the crisp lines of the wolf's head, teeth bared and bloody.

The three-D effect making the snout appear to extend my skin into a snout.

The wolf. Predator. Killer. That's what I really am, underneath the federal badge and the oath of office. That's what she made me.

"Now that's over, you must come back to me. I want you to run Umber. Play your part in the family."

Run Umber. Leave the FBI completely. No more pretending to serve justice when I'm really serving her. No more walking the line between federal agent and family loyalty.

Her hand waves dismissively—her perfume scents the air with the movement—as though everything I've done, everything I've worked hard to become, is nothing more than a tiresome distraction from my obligation to her.

I choke down the venom building at the back of my throat, coating the words to remind her I've toed her line my entire life.

My hand tightens around the ridiculous delicate porcelain teacup, holding my lukewarm coffee until my knuckles turn white.

The bitter coffee in the fragile vessel is a symbol of the mismatch between what Grandmother wants for my life and my own ambitions.

My own ambitions. What are they, really? Finding Wraith? Or finding the woman who's consumed my thoughts for months? Serving justice? Or serving the family that raised me?

What I want right now is to find Wraith and take him out. And once he's gone, his wife— she's mine.

Mine.

Kiera. The investigation that's driven me for months. The woman who's made me question everything I thought I knew about myself. The case that's made me realize I'm not the agent I thought I was.

"You don't understand, Bennet. You need to work exclusively at Umber because we have a mole.

I think the Wraith you were searching for before going undercover could be the mole.

" She pauses and when I stay silent, she frowns and persists.

"You're one of the three people I trust, Bennie.

I want you to work with my Shadow to find and eliminate this troublesome Wraith. "

What the hell?

Wraith. The killer I've been hunting for the Bureau. The investigation that's consumed me. And now Grandmother wants me to hunt him for Umber too. The case that's already making me question which side I'm really on.

I carefully school my features, not wanting to reveal my surprise that she's interested in the target of my current FBI investigation.

She's the strongest woman I know, and she doesn't often ask for help.

Who the fuck is this Shadow? How did someone I've never heard of become part of her inner circle?

It's intriguing, but I won't abandon my job, not when I'm so close to winning.

My obsession isn't just a game, it's what keeps me sane in a world of lies and manipulation.

Obsession. That's what this is. Not justice. Not duty. Obsession with a case, with a killer, with a woman who might be connected to both. The kind of obsession that has no place in federal law enforcement.

And I sure as hell won't be sharing the one lead I have with Colton, the FBI, or Umber.

My lead. Kiera. The woman who's made me compromise everything I thought I believed in. The woman I've been protecting without even realizing it.

"I work alone, Grandmother. And I'm not leaving the FBI. Their resources are too valuable."

Too valuable for what? For finding Wraith? Or for protecting Kiera from whatever Grandmother and Umber have planned?

She glares at me, letting the silence convey her ire. Everyone does her bidding unquestioningly. Except me. The rain pelting the windows, and the crackle of the fireplace sound loud in the quiet room.

Everyone except me. The grandson who's supposed to be her heir, her successor. The one who's been playing federal agent when I should have been learning to run a criminal empire.

"Again, you misunderstand me, Bennet. I'm not asking."

Not asking. Commanding. The way she's commanded me my entire life. The way she commanded me to go undercover, to use my federal position to serve Umber's interests. The way she's commanding me to abandon the only legitimate identity I have left.

"Yes, Grandmother. I'll work on an exit strategy," I say, offering a smile that's more forced than the smoke I blew up Cerberus' ass about loyalty to the Hell Hounds.

Exit strategy. From the FBI. From the career that's defined me for over two decades. From the last pretense that I'm one of the good guys.

She narrows her eyes, "Don't take too long. My patience is at an end."

Her patience. Twenty-three years of patience while I've played federal agent. While I've pretended to serve justice instead of family. While I've built a life outside these walls, outside her control.

She's powerful, terrifying even—but I've learned well from her. I'll play the obedient grandson.

For now.

Until I figure out what I really want. Until I decide who I really am. Agent Wilder, who serves justice and upholds the law? Or Bennet Wilder, heir to a criminal empire and grandson to one of the most dangerous women in the world?

Until I figure out what Kiera means to all of this. And what I'm willing to sacrifice for her.