Page 70 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)
When it’s over, we’re both breathing hard, adrenaline singing through our veins. The metallic scent of blood mingles with gunpowder and his distinctive cologne. Something expensive and dangerous that makes my head swim.
“Not bad for a Fed,” he says, those stormy eyes raking over me in a way that has nothing to do with tactical assessment.
“You’re not so terrible yourself.” The words come out harsher than intended, my anger not entirely worked out. Kiera is still gone. “Tell me, does Phoenix know you’re playing house with Kiera? Something to keep you amused before you take her out?”
His expression darkens dangerously, and suddenly he’s in my space, backing me against the wall. Heat radiates from his body as he braces one arm beside my head.
“Careful, Wild. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I bare my teeth in something that’s not quite a smile. “Phoenix was clear. A petty revenge for someone who claims to care about Kiera.”
His other hand comes up to grip my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze. The touch sends electricity skittering down my spine.
“Use your fucking brains,” he growls. “You know I love Kiera. Not everything is what it seems.”
The tension between us crackles like live wire, his thumb brushing against my lower lip in what might be a threat or something else entirely. My body responds traitorously, heart hammering against my ribs as his scent overwhelms my senses.
“Kiera’s mine, I’ll protect her. Just go home to your family.”
Blade’s expression darkens deliciously. “Careful, Wild. You’re already walking a dangerous line.”
“Am I?” I straighten, ignoring the throb of protest from my shoulder. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one playing both sides. Tell me, does Phoenix know you’re fucking Kiera? Fucking me?”
He moves like a striking cobra, pinning me against the wall with his forearm across my chest. The impact forces a grunt from my lungs, but the pain just sharpens my focus on his proximity, on his dangerous heat.
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” His breath fans hot against my ear. “The perfect FBI agent, so sure of his moral high ground. But I saw how you looked at me during the fight. How your breath caught when I took down that last assassin.”
My laugh comes out raw and bitter. “Fuck off with your games. You framed me, you bastard. Had me interrogated for hours, nearly destroyed my career. And for what? Because you couldn’t handle the thought of sharing her?”
His grip tightens, body pressing closer. “I did it to protect her. You were getting too close to the truth about Wraith, about everything. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Bullshit.” I grab his shirt, but I’m not sure if I want to push him away or pull him closer. “You did it because you’re a control freak who can’t stand not holding all the cards. Just like with Phoenix, just like with?—”
His mouth crashes into mine, violent and demanding, swallowing the rest of my accusation. There’s nothing gentle about it; all teeth and anger and pent-up fury. I bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and his growl of pain vibrates through my chest.
We break apart, both breathing heavily. His pupils are blown wide, turning his eyes almost black.
“This changes nothing,” he snarls, but his hand remains fisted in my shirt.
“Not a damn thing.” I agree, the taste of copper coats my tongue. His blood or mine, I’m not sure. “I still don’t trust you.”
“Smart man.” His thumb traces the line of my jaw, the gentleness at odds with the violence thrumming between us. “But you don’t have to trust me to work with me. And right now, we both want the same thing.”
“And what’s that?” I say with a scoff.
“Me,” Sable pirouettes dramatically, “Obviously. That kiss was hot. Do it again.”
His smile is all predator, even as he rolls his eyes at his crazy friend.
“To keep Kiera safe. And burn everything else to the ground.”
Rain drips from the brim of my baseball cap as I dig, each thrust of the shovel into soggy earth punctuated by distant thunder.
The physical labor helps calm my racing thoughts, but my skin prickles with awareness.
We just took out six professional hitters, and I know damn well there’ll be more.
Still, I keep my back turned, muscles tense beneath my casual posture. Let them think I’m distracted.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Colton’s voice cuts through the drizzle, smooth as aged bourbon but twice as toxic. “Digging graves in the middle of nowhere. How very… predictable.”
I turn slowly, keeping my grip firm on the shovel. Colton stands just out of swing range, his Glock trained on my chest with the casual confidence of someone who’s already won. The sodium lights from the cabin cast harsh shadows across his face, making him look more serpentine than usual.
“Bennie, Bennie, Bennie,” he tsks, like we’re old friends sharing a joke. “Always cleaning up other people’s messes. Or did the lovebirds fly off and leave you holding the body bag?”
“You can’t finish the job, Colton,” I drawl, deliberately casual. “Should’ve left this to Zephyr. He always was better…” I let the pause stretch like pulled taffy before adding, “…at everything.”
The smirk slides off his face like ice in August. His trigger finger twitches. A tell I’ve seen a thousand times during agency training. But nothing prepares me for the white-hot explosion of pain as he shoots me in the thigh.
The silenced round makes a sound like a champagne cork, but the impact feels like being branded with lightning. My leg buckles, but I lock my knees, refusing to give let him take me down. Warm blood soaks my jeans, each heartbeat pushing out more crimson in the rain.
“Always running that smart mouth,” Colton says, voice soft with pleasure. “Just like when we were kids. Remember how Grandmother used to say I had the temperament for business, but you?” His laugh is razor sharp. “You were too… emotional.”
Copper floods my mouth. Apparently, I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek.
“Speaking of my grandmother, how’s that whole ‘favorite grandson’ campaign going? Still trying to convince her you’re not just the backup plan?”
His next shot deliberately grazes my shoulder, a love tap that sets my nerve endings screaming.
“Funny thing about backup plans,” he purrs. “Sometimes they become the main event. Especially when the star player has an unfortunate accident.”
Through the haze of pain, I catch movement in my peripheral vision - Blade, materializing from the shadows like death himself. But Colton’s too busy gloating to notice.
“You know what your problem is, Bennie?” He steps closer, gun steady despite the rain.
“You actually believe all that family bullshit. Loyalty. Honor. Legacy.” Each word drips with contempt.
“While you were playing boy scout, Zephyr and I were building something real. And once you’re gone…
” His eyes gleam with fevered ambition. “Well, let’s just say Grandmother will need a shoulder to cry on. ”
“That’s your grand plan?” I force out a laugh, keeping his attention as Blade inches closer. “Christ, you really are pathetic. Still desperate for approval after all these years.”
“Pathetic?” The word explodes from him like another bullet. “I earned this! While you were playing cop, I was building an empire! And once you’re out of the way?—”
“You’ll what?” I interrupt his spit spraying rant, my voice hard as steel. “Keep being second best? Face it, Colton. You’ll never measure up. To me, to Zephyr, to anyone. You’re just not built for it.”
His face contorts with rage as he raises the gun to my head. “You smug piece of?—”
The rest is lost in a wet gurgle as Blade’s knife opens Colton’s throat in one elegant arc. The gun drops from nerveless fingers as Blade controls his descent into the waiting grave, efficient as always.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of rain and my ragged breathing. Then Blade looks up, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my chest tight.
“You trusted me,” he says softly, almost wondering.
Blood and rain mingle at our feet as understanding passes between us. Something fundamental has shifted. We’re no longer reluctant allies, but partners in this dance of death and revenge.
“Yeah,” I manage, suddenly exhausted. “I did.”
His nod is barely perceptible, but I catch the ghost of respect and something else in his expression.
“How touching,” Sable says as she strolls up.
I’m pretty sure she was watching me take bullets all along. Sick bitch.
“For her,” Blade says simply.
“For her,” I agree.
“Seriously, just man up already.” She continues as Blade reaches an arm down to help me out of the hole. “You’re all like the three Musketeers of Terror.”
I don’t confirm or deny her assessment. Because she’s right, if our girl will still have us.
With a glance at each other, we ignore her and make our way to the car.