Wraith

by Joy Blood

  Done and Done.

  One hour later

  The dark surrounds us as she drops to her knees on the cold pavement. Her hands quickly find my zipper and take out my cock, not nearly hard enough, but that is what her mouth is for. She gets to work, over eager and unsatisfying. When I first started finding women to hook up with on assignment, I blamed my lack of enthusiasm on Sebastian. Thinking that maybe, on some level, I preferred men. It was one night of drunkenness and fumbling hands that lead to me kicking the guy’s teeth in that solidified I wasn’t gay. Then my thoughts landed on the girl in the basement. I started picturing her each time I was with a woman. That was my ticket.

  Hands tangled in dark hair that only goes to her shoulders, those lips wrapped around my shaft while she looked up at me with her deep brown eyes. In my thoughts, her skin wasn’t so pale form being deprived of sunlight. She wasn’t gaunt from not being fed more than twice a day. And her beautiful eyes were vibrant with life instead of dull and lifeless. She wasn’t a captive like me in my thoughts. She was as free as the woman on her knees right now, sucking me off. And me? I was free, too, and Roman was dead. Along with everyone else who lived and worked at the compound.

  Some shit just doesn’t happen.

  Two hours later

  I follow Kinkaid to a one bedroom apartment just three blocks from the bar. He staggers only slightly and I take that small nugget of information and place it at the back of my mind. He could be easy to overpower and take out but I know I shouldn’t underestimate what he can do. Even if I’m better, he still is human, and for some fucking reason they sometimes get lucky.

  He fumbles with his keys, trying to get the key in the lock to open his door, dropping them at least three times before getting it right. When his door shuts behind him, I wait. Pausing for a moment on the outside of his door, listening for any movement. Through the thin walls I hear the clanging of pipes being turned on, signaling that he is possibly taking a shower or took a piss. I chance the former and make quick work on picking the lock. It only takes a couple flicks and I’m in. The door makes a small squeak when I let it swing open. The sound of running water fills my ears and I let myself relax just a fraction of a second before stepping all the way inside.

  Click.

  Motherfucker.

  “Hands where I can see them.” Kinkaid’s voice is low, level.

  “Good actor. Got to hand it to you. I really thought you were three sheets to the wind. Good thing you didn’t drive I might have been compelled to call it in.”

  “Shut up! Turn the fuck around and put your fucking hands on your fucking head!”

  “Such language.” I smirk, doing as he says, I face the man with a gun pointed directly at my forehead. My fingers thread through each other at the base of my skull and I let out a tired sigh. “Go on, either shoot or arrest me.”

  “Who are you?” His gun is still trained on me but I catch the nit in his brows, the confusion.

  “Someone hired to kill you,” I tell him simply, there is no need for lying. I’m either fucked or dead.

  “Doyle.” Smirking I bend slightly at the middle, and because I can’t move my hands or he might just shoot me, I point my elbow at him.

  “That is the one. You have pissed off a very connected man. If I don’t finish the job he will find someone who will. Just an FYI.” I shrug.

  “Jesus,” he hisses, still not moving his gun.

  “Now, I know that you are obligated to arrest me, take me in, or hell, shoot me for breaking into your apartment. But might I propose something?” He still doesn’t talk so I take my chance to continue. “Doyle wants you dead. You don’t want to be dead. So how about I give you both what you want.”

  “The fuck?”

  “Now hear me out— Can I take my hands down? This is very uncomfortable.” He nods but holds steady with his weapon. “Thank fuck.” I take my arms down and shake them out as if I had been holding them there for a week. “Say we pull one off under Doyle’s nose. I go tell him you are dead and get my reward for killing you. Meanwhile, you get your FBI buddies to fake your death. Lay low until you are able to take him down yourself. How does that sound?” I cross my arms over my puffed-out chest because come on, that is probably the best idea ever.

  “And what the hell makes you think that will work? He has a mole in every part of the bureau. He catches wind and you and I are both dead anyway.”

  “Ah. But I’m sure you have some connections you can trust. A morgue perhaps? A John Doe that fits your description. We can work out the details.”

  “And what do you get out of all this?”

  “I don’t die.”

  “That can’t be all you want.”

  “No, but it’s a start. Now, let’s put our heads together. I only have so much time before I need to check in.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I take it the girl is still in the cell?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see.” Roman’s voice is low, steady, as if he wants to say more. The plan with Kinkaid has held steady so far. It’s been nearly five months since his apartment lit up with an electrical fire killing the poor bastard inside. Five months since Doyle paid me a fair sum for the kill and one owed favor I have yet to cash in.

  “Is there a problem with how I treat my pet?” I keep my words respectful but the last one leaves a sour taste in my mouth as it always does.

  “No problem per say. Just a little annoyed that I am footing the bill for the bitch’s room and board and all she does is sit down there and eat,” he barks standing from his desk. “I kept you around because you were useful. What does she do? Huh? You aren’t fucking her,” he snaps.

  “She is a teenager,” I spit back. My defiance grows as disgust churns in my stomach.

  “Have you ever had yourself some virgin pussy? Good stuff. Don’t know what you’re missing,” he tuts crossing his arms over his chest. They barely reach one another because of his pot belly. “Tell you what, you move the bitch from the room into your apartment. Give her a job, maybe fuck her a little and I will overlook the fact that she is living here rent free.”

  “You said she was mine. Mine to do with as I please—”

  “What I fucking please, is for you to realize your place and do as I say! Now get the fuck out. The girl gets a job or I’m giving her to Trenton!” he yells into my face before backing away to situate himself behind his desk once again. I don’t give him anymore of my anger. Instead I stomp my way down the hall and the stairs to her door and swing it open. Her startled gasp greets me as she jolts from the bed and tries to cover herself with her blanket.

  “Up. Let’s go,” I order, waiting only second before grabbing her up and out of the bed. I don’t touch her hair though. It has gotten much longer since I shaved it away, nearly past her shoulders now. She doesn’t say a word as I lead her through the halls and outside where she freezes in the daylight, nearly dropping to the ground. Her hands shoot up over her eyes to block out the bright light. Cursing myself for being so stupid, I pick her up into my arms and carry her the rest of the way to my apartment. Pushing away the fact she has her head nestled in the crook of my arm, shielding her face from the harsh light. Swinging the door open I drop her down onto her feet and make my way past her inside. “Here,” I grab a pair of sunglasses and place them over her eyes, “I forgot how bright the sun can be after so long underground,” I tell her apologetically and start to leave.

  “Thank you,” her small voice calls out as I step out of the apartment.

  “You can take my bed for now. Make yourself useful and clean. The laundry room is downstairs,” I growl closing the door behind me.

  This is going to be such a cluster fuck.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It took me days to get my eyes adjusted to the light. I didn’t even chance leaving the apartment because I couldn’t see. Instead, I took advantage of the food in the refrigerator and the cupboards, being sure to leave enough so it didn’t seem as i
f I were eating him out of house and home. Not that he would care, I rarely saw him. Each day I would wake to the apartment door slamming shut. Each night I would fall asleep after I heard him come back through the door. He was avoiding me. I’m not stupid, nor did I care. I had more important things to worry about. Like how I was going to get out of here. Now that I am no longer locked underground in a room with no way out, I’m going to take advantage of that, too. I just need to regain control of my eyes before I can.

  With each trip to and from the laundry room, I watch the routines of the guards out of the corner of my eye the. I take different trips, being sure to clock them every hour of every day. It took me a while to figure out their patterns since I could only appear to be doing my job. But now at exactly five thirty, nearly three weeks after being brought up from underground, I take my chance and slip out of the apartment and down the steps toward the break in the shift. It’s meal time and right now everyone is heading to the mess hall—which I learned is right next to the apartment complex—so I have only seven minutes before the replacement guards who ate at five to get there. It’s still light outside but the sun is starting to set, making it that much harder to see, but for me it’s a godsend. The darkness is my ally. The more straining it is on their eyes, the better chance I have at getting this right.

  Step by step I make my way past the buildings, counting in my head the seconds as they turn into minutes. With the fence I need to climb in sight, I start walking faster, ready to get a jump start at climbing when a voice jolts my body and sends chills down my spine. “You don’t want to do that.” The husky sound isn’t new to me.

  “Please. I just want to go home,” I whimper, knowing already I more than likely have no home to go to. My dad is dead.

  “No going back now. Come on,” he gestures with his hand for me to follow, “hurry up before someone sees you and I have to punish you,” he tells me before walking back the way I came, not waiting to see if I will follow. For a moment, I don’t. I almost speed up my process to climb the fence but the noise of the replacement guards assaults my ears and I whip around to follow close behind my owner. “Stay close.” I catch his words but they don’t register quick enough because we are being stopped by none other than Trenton.

  “Taking your dog out for a walk?” He laughs while his eyes linger on me a little too long. I don’t have much for clothes but what I do have barely covers my body. A small tank top and short cropped shorts. At least the weather isn’t cold, otherwise I would freeze to death.

  “Showing her the training area.” I glance back the way we came and notice a flat pad surrounded by training equipment, with a tall wall-less shed over the top.

  “Give her any lessons?” Trenton’s gaze—as it always does—drags along my body assaulting me with the leering look that penetrates my skin, leaving me with an icky dirty feeling I want to wash off. “I sure as fuck would teach her a thing or two.”

  “Some other time,” my owner growls, clearly irritated by Trenton but doesn’t say a word, and reaches out grabbing my arm to pull me back to the apartment.

  Once inside he instantly let’s go, as if my skin spontaneously ignited and burnt him. “Don’t leave this apartment unless you are doing laundry. It isn’t safe,” he snaps making me jerk back from the abruptness.

  “I’m sorry, please. Don’t punish me. I promise I won—”

  “I’m not going to fucking punish you.” He scrubs his face in frustration, both of his hands gliding along his cheeks slightly smattered with facial hair. I find myself wondering if the hair would be soft or prickly. “Just, don’t try to run away again. I can’t promise that next time you won’t get seen. Tonight, was a close call. If Trenton had seen what you were doing…”

  “I won’t. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry,” I tell him honestly. Something in the way he speaks makes me think he is just as much as a prisoner here as I am.

  “I need to take a shower. Can I trust you won’t run off while I do?” I nod my head then speak the word yes when he stares a little bit longer. “Good. Get something to eat then go to bed,” he instructs and turns to walk away. Just as he starts down the hall, I stop him.

  “What do I call you? What’s your name?” He pauses, his back bunched with tension underneath his black tee shirt. He doesn’t answer right away maybe wrestling with himself on whether or not to answer so I give him something first. “I’m Lara.” The sigh he lets out at the sound of my name doesn’t go unnoticed nor does the slight turn for me to see the side of his face. The darkness under his eyes has since gone from the first time I laid eyes on him. No longer looking like he’s at death’s door, he now has the aura of death in a different way. I stand there, eyes locked on his, waiting for him to tell me his name.

  “Steven.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  How I could think telling her my name would be a good idea is beyond me. Lara. Her fucking name coming from those lips—beautiful. I knew she had to have a beautiful name. I caught onto her little trick of learning the routines of the guards two weeks ago. Very clever really, but not clever enough for me not to figure out. It was only a matter of time before she tried it. And I had been right about the time she would try. Fuck, if I hadn’t been the one to find her— I can’t even think of the possibilities of what could have happened. Just the thought of it turns my stomach.

  I let my fist fly into my opponent’s face, the flesh on flesh making a sickening smack sends a thrill of satisfaction through me. Hit after hit my dick grows, getting off on the pain I’m inflicting. I’m going to need an extra-long shower, maybe a little hand to cock combat, too.

  The walk back to the apartment is quick. I don’t stop in the mess hall to grab food, content on making my own, a luxury I can afford now that I have a sizable bank account. The favor Doyle still owes me is tucked safely in the back of my mind and when I’m in need of that favor, I won’t hesitate to cash it in. Until then, I make due.

  Stepping inside, I see Lara standing at the kitchen table folding my laundry and want to hit myself again because I forgot to send a list with my town-runner. The girl needs clothes in a bad f’en way. The memory of the way Trenton was eyeing her up the other night still makes me raw with anger. I wanted to rip his eyes from their sockets and make him eat them. “What size are you?” I ask, grabbing a pen and paper from the drawer and tossing it to her. “Write it down and anything else you might need. Chick shit and all that,” I snap, immediately scolding myself for being a dick. She doesn’t deserve it but I also can’t give her reason to get too close or give Roman another reason to do his bidding. But really, I’m only fooling myself when it comes to her. If Roman were to come into this room at this very second and put a gun to her head I would probably do whatever it is he said just to make sure she kept breathing.

  “I don’t—”

  “Whatever you want. I’ll have someone go into town to get it for you. Write it, I’m taking a shower.” I don’t let her speak anymore before stomping off to the shower in need of a release. The was surge I felt earlier has intensified now that I have seen her, talked to her. Shit, I am so fucked.

  Chapter Thirty

  “So, tell me, tiger. Where is it you call home?” I ask, trying to make small talk. It is mid-day now and the storm outside is not showing any signs of letting up. Maybe whoever is out there will be buried under ten feet of snow and nature will have done her part by helping my ass out this time around. Maybe.

  “I don’t have a home. What about you? Besides this cabin, where is it you call home?” Now that is a loaded question. Where is my home? Definitely not the place I was raised as a slave then later used as a torture device.

  “Guess we have that one in common. How about your name?”

  “Don’t have one of those either,” she says, depressing me further. This girl is a buzzkill.

  “You know I have had better conversations with the mouse that likes to sneak around and steal crumbs off the countertop.”

  “So talk to
him,” she snaps crossing her arms over her chest, effectively pushing her tits further up. She needs to wear a baggier shirt.

  “Well I would but, you see, I sort of killed him last time he showed his face. Little bastard took off with my last cookie, and I love my sweets,” I tell her with a smirk but still get nothing. “Seriously, sweetheart, you could at least give a little chuckle. You’re like talking to an icicle.”

  “Thirty-two,” she says on a sigh after a bout of silence. From her spot by the hot stove she walks to the kitchen area, absently staring outside the small crack that isn’t covering the window.

  “Thirty-two?” the hell is thirty-two supposed to be? How many people she has killed, because I have her beat and then some.

  “As far as I know, I’m thirty-two years old.” Well shit. As far as she knows? I leave that part of her sentence alone and just accept the information, giving her mine in return.

  “Well then, as far as I know, I’m forty. Dark or milk chocolate?”

  “What?” She turns my way, caught off by my question.

  “Milk or dark? It’s a simple question.”

  “Dark. Knife or gun?” She raises a brow as if challenging me to answer.

  “Depends on the situation. I prefer knife, but when it needs to be quick and less messy, I go for the bullet to the back of the head.” She nods in agreement, stepping closer to where I’m perched on the bed.

  “How would you kill me?”