Wraith: A Second Chance Dark Romance (Masters of Mayhem Book 1)

by Renee Rocco

  He sticks out his hand. “Your cell phone stays with me.”

  “I know the rules, Nate.” Certain guards can bring their phones in the dungeon in case of an emergency. Visitors can’t—and that includes me. “I left mine at the house.”

  He gives me a curt nod. “Which fighter, ma’am?”

  I lift my chin, a reflexive action. “Atticus.”

  Points go to me for remembering to use Wraith’s fake name.

  Nate hesitates for a fraction of a second. “Front gate,” he says into the mic strapped to his left shoulder.

  After a brief pause, a voice returns, “Go ahead.”

  “Elite escort needed.”

  No one other than authorized personnel is allowed to roam free in the Coliseum. God only knows what other secrets David is hiding down here.

  “Affirmative.”

  “It’ll be a minute, Mrs. Crane.”

  I have no words to describe how much I loathe being called by that name. And Nate, a bear of a man, doesn’t make the wait pleasant. He stands there, geared to the teeth for an imaginary battle, making me all kinds of uncomfortable.

  “Thank you.” I turn away to look everywhere but at him.

  The man seems to want to make it impossible to ignore him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am, but I’m surprised to see you here.”

  I swing around, taken aback at his audacity. “Are you?”

  “As I said, Mrs. Crane, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way because I don’t mean any disrespect. I just didn’t peg you for the type.”

  I arch a brow and square my shoulders. “What type would that be, Nate?”

  He removes the sunglasses, and a hint of a smile plays on lips almost entirely hidden by a thick brown beard. His looking aren’t unappealing, but he’s not exactly handsome. Rather, he’s caught somewhere in the middle, with his personality tipping him over the edge into ugly. “You’re such a tidy little thing. Didn’t take you for a woman who likes it rough.”

  “Ah, I see.” I scrape a scowl over him, taking him in from the tip of his steel-toe boots to the top of his black-baseball-capped head. I suck in a breath between my teeth, then blow it out on a wistful sigh. “Guess it depends on who’s doing the roughing.”

  He takes a step toward me. Glances at the camera. Shakes his head as if second-guessing whatever it is he plans to do, then moves back to his station. “Not much surprises me, Mrs. Crane, but you sure shock the hell out of me.”

  Give me time, Nate, and I’ll hopefully shock you to death—you and everyone else who has a hand in running Gomorrah.

  And then the door opens, and out steps Roger, who looks wrong in this bleak environment. I should have never brought my friends in on my plan, but I can’t save Wraith alone. And yes, my snap decision was also a selfish one, but what’s done is done, and I can’t take it back. All we can do is move forward and make sure we pull this off with none of us getting killed in the process.

  “Ma’am.” Roger greets me with intentional formality. There’s a world of worry reflected in his warm brown eyes. It sends an icy wave of dread crashing over me.

  I offer him an equally banal smile. “Good morning, Roger.”

  “Follow me, Mrs. Crane.”

  I fall in step behind him. When I walk by Nate, the brassy bastard brushes my arm. I bite back disgust at the contact and enter the Coliseum. The weight of the building’s misery is crippling as I skirt along the edge of the arena. I blink against the overwhelming sting of bleach. David has every inch of the place sanitized following an event—a necessity in the aftermath of an event.

  Cameras watch us, so we say nothing. Instead, I keep my expression blank as we descend the corridor toward the dungeon. My shoes bang against concrete, the echo like gunfire. I can’t stop myself from thinking about the fighters who marched this hallway, not knowing if they’d make a return trip. And then I think about Wraith, and a selfish side of me rears its ugly head. It makes me want to disappear with him. Forget Gomorrah and the Coliseum. But what David is doing, and the people he’s hurting… Someone has to stop him and help them.

  Afraid of what I’ll see when I get to Elite, I remind myself that Wraith is strong. Strong enough to survive whatever torture he’s endured. He has to be because I can’t accept losing him when we’re so close to freedom.

  You never had him.

  I try to silence my conscience, but it’s persistent. A nagging voice to remind me I lost Wraith the day I decided not to return to Mayhem.

  “Kill the cameras and open Gate One for Mrs. Crane,” Roger calls out to Control when we arrive at the first barrier. The bars slide open, the creak loud in the insulated dungeon.

  I note the red indicator lights on the surrounding cameras die, and I fall in step beside Roger as we enter the Hub.

  “What happened to your mouth?” he whispers.

  “David.”

  “That sonofabitch.” He shakes his head. “Prepare yourself.”

  I pull in a hard breath and do my best to present a picture of cool indifference. When we reach Elite and he opens the door, I stifle a gag as a mixture of noxious odors smacks me full in the face. They thicken the air, a tangible entity I have to squint past as I peer into the cell

  My heart dies in my chest. I can feel it crumble to dust. But I force it back to life because now isn’t the time for weakness. Now is the time to remember who the hell I am. I’m the girl who survived a childhood of abuse, slew a monster to gain her freedom, and made it through almost six years living on the street. I don’t wither in the face of adversity. Not then, and I damn well owe it to Wraith not to break now.

  Behind me, Roger locks us inside Elite. Wraith doesn’t so much as twitch at the slam of the door. I grab the bars, curling my fingers around the iron to keep myself upright as a wave of dizziness washes over me.

  Roger grabs me. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I shake him off. “How long has he been like this?”

  “Long enough.”

  I swallow down a wave of nausea and let go of the bars. “Please open the cell.”

  Roger pulls at the retractable key ring and unlocks the door. “He’s going to be okay, Jamie.”

  I haven’t cried in… God, I can’t remember the last time I shed a tear. But standing there, seeing Wraith prone on that filthy mattress, his beautiful body mutilated, I’m dangerously close to hysterics.

  I shove past Roger and run in and drop to my knees beside the metal bed. Wraith’s head is turned toward me. His face is purple and swollen and crusted with blood. I want to put my hands on him and take away his injuries. Take his pain into myself. But the slightest touch to his ruined flesh will be a new torture, I know. Instead, I stroke his hair, smoothing my palm over the tangled strands.

  There’s not an inch of Wraith’s body that’s not damaged, with chunks torn away. His back is shredded. Some of his fingers are contorted at grotesque angles, with a few of the nails ripped off. And what’s around his mouth? I’m going to be sick. Wraith’s lips were sewn closed, and what I’m looking at are tiny holes left behind where the needle was shoved through the meat. Then I notice crusted cavities pock his shoulders and legs. The twisted circles are…messy.

  “David used a drill on him.” My voice doesn’t like my mine. It belongs to a tormented stranger.

  “Crane likes power tools.” Roger’s quiet statement evokes a horrific visual.

  Oh, God.

  I want to scream until my throat bleeds. Cry until I’ve wept my last tear. Punch the walls, and not stop until I see daylight. Carry Wraith out myself, all the way back to Mayhem, where David can’t ever hurt him again.

  I do none of those things because I’m just as much a prisoner as Wraith. All I can do is hide my guilt and shame behind a wall of false composure because that’s all I have in this life. All that’s truly mine. My dignity. The one thing no one was able to steal from me.

  “How much noz was he given?”

  “Enough,” Roger assures me.


  I whip my head in his direction and fry him with a glare. “How much is enough, Roger?”

  “As much as his body was able to absorb.”

  I run my gaze over Wraith’s back. “He’ll need more.”

  Roger steps into the cell and kneels beside me. “Wraith’s a warrior. He’s going to get through this, and we’ll get him home.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  I do, but this day will be etched on his body and mind for the rest of his life.

  “Yes,” I hiss.

  But it doesn’t make it easier to see him suffer. I’m strong, too, but pain is pain, and it hurts just as much regardless of our resilience.

  We still bleed when we’re cut.

  And if we’re cut too deep…

  Roger puts a hand on my shoulder, but the touch gives me zero comfort. “If I’ve learned nothing else about him in the time I’ve been here, it’s that he’s a stubborn bastard. He’ll live so that he can come back and kill Crane for doing this to him.”

  “David has earned his death.”

  “Got that right.”

  Roger moves to wait for me outside the cell, near the door to give me privacy. I turn back to Wraith and finally release the pain I’ve held in for years. Decades. My silent sobs bring steady tears that slip down flushed cheeks. I lean forward and lay my forehead against Wraith’s shoulder, willing us to be a thousand miles away from here. Somewhere safe. Someplace we can reset time and start over. Where we can make the world disappear and sit beneath our tree and—

  “Don’t cry.”

  My head snaps up, and I slap away my tears. “For you, Unholy? Never.”

  Wraith’s eyes are hooded, glassy, and unfocused. “You’re real?”

  His voice is brittle and raw, like winter leaves. I give him a weak smile and smooth his hair away from his swollen face. “Yes, Wraith, I’m real.”

  “Thomas gave me morphine.” His eyes slide shut, and his arm drops off the mattress. He reaches for me, and I curl my hand around his, carefully. So very carefully, afraid I’ll further injure him. “Feels like a dream.”

  “You’re not dreaming. I’m here with you. Can you feel me holding your hand?”

  His tongue darts out and leaves a wet trail over his bottom lip. “Yeah.”

  I wipe away the blood that runs from his ear down his neck. “What did they do to you?”

  It’s a rhetorical question, one I haven’t realized I said aloud until Wraith rasps out an answer released on a sigh. “Everything.”

  His breathing shallows and his body relaxes. I stay as I am until I’m sure he’s asleep before placing a feathery kiss on his damp cheek.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

  Sorry for so many things.

  “This coming Fight Night is his last match.” Roger’s remark draws my attention away from Wraith.

  I slam my brows together. “I don’t understand.”

  “Lyle and Owen said David wants to keep him for only torture purposes after the next fight. If it’s true, we have to get him out or he’s dead for sure.” All the blood drains out of me at the implication of Roger’s announcement. Oh my God. We still have giant obstacles to overcome. Giant, but not impossible. He adds, “Lyle also said David is leaving for Las Vegas right after the last fight.”

  And of course, my husband wouldn’t tell me until last minute because that’s how it is between us. Only reason I knew in advance about Miami is because it was a business trip. But one that’s strictly for pleasure? I’m not always privy to that information until he’s practically out the door.

  “Perfect.” I pop up onto my feet, my brain kicking into overdrive. I pace the cell. “That’s when we leave.”

  Roger fiddles with his keys, and I can almost see the gears moving as he sorts it out. “It can be done, but there’s still that missing piece.”

  “The driver.”

  “The driver,” he repeats with a cringe.

  I glance at Wraith, then back at Roger. The solution is staring at us right in the face. I hold out my hand. “Do you have it?”

  He nods and plucks his cell from a pocket of his tactical vest and hands it to me. He glances at his watch. “If they see it, I’m dead, Jamie.”

  We’re all dead.

  Roger and Thomas aren’t high enough on the pecking order to bring in phones, so God only know how he manages to smuggle his cell in. And honestly? I don’t want to know because it’ll only add one more worry to my list, and right now, I’m already a wreck.

  I turn to Wraith. “Wake up.” I hate doing this to him, but I don’t have time for compassion. “I need a phone number. Someone you trust to get us to Mayhem.” Nothing. I try again, giving him a gentle stroke on the back of his head. “Wraith, you need to wake up now.”

  Again, nothing.

  “Jamie.” Roger warns.

  I lean close to Wraith’s ear. “I need you awake. Just for a moment. Please. Give me a phone number. Someone you trust.”

  Wraith cracks open an eye. “Us.”

  The word is a barely audible growl.

  “Yes, Wraith, us. I’m leaving with you.”

  He rattles out the name Jester, along with a number that I punch into the phone. His body relaxes again. Thank God. I don’t want him awake longer than necessary. Lord knows he’s suffered enough.

  Roger again glances at the door. “Hurry up.”

  “You’re not helping,” I snap, and tap the green call button. The phone rings three times before a sleepy male voice growls through the earpiece.

  “The fuck? You have five seconds to tell me why the hell you’re calling me so early in the goddamn morning.”

  “Is this Jester?”

  “Absolutely, sweetheart, who’s this?”

  “My name is Jamie Ellis. I’m a friend of—”

  “Who?”

  “Jamie Ellis,” I repeat slowly. “I’m a friend of Wraith’s.”

  “A friend of Wraith’s? What the fuck…? Oh shit. Wait. Jamie Ellis. I remember you. You’re the chick who murdered her father. How the hell did you get my number?”

  “Is this Luke?”

  It’s an educated guess. Wraith and Luke were best friends. Of course they’d still be thick as thieves.

  “Holy shit, girl, no one’s called me that in years, but hell yeah, it’s me. How you doing?”

  “I’ve been better.” Now for the bomb. “I’m with Wraith.”

  The line goes quiet. Too quiet. I move the phone away and check the screen to see if the call went dead.

  It didn’t.

  “Jester?”

  “The fuck you mean, you’re with Wraith?” There’s a commotion on the other end. “Wait. Give me a second.” I hear a few muttered curses. A female voice begging him to return to bed. Jester telling the woman to go back to sleep. A faucet turning on, followed by a splash of water. All in maybe the span of a minute max, but it feels more like an hour. Then, “Start over, because there’s no way you said you’re with Wraith.”

  I take a deep, fortifying breath. David may be scary, but the Unholy are terrifying. Currently, I’m caught between both. Not a good place to be. At all.

  “Jester, I need you to listen to me, and I need you to remain calm because Wraith’s life depends on level heads and quick action.”

  “Don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’re from Mayhem, sweetheart, so you know you’re fucking with the wrong people.”

  “I’m not the one fucking with you. I’m the one trying to help him.”

  Jester volleys a barrage of questions at me. All justified, of course, but none I can answer right this minute given the time constraint. “There’s no time for details. I’m sorry. All I can tell you is, Wraith’s hurt, it’s bad, and we need your help to get him home.”

  “Where is he?” Jester demands, the question full of fury—and an underlying promise of retribution.

  “Florida. And that’s all I’m telling you until I know you won’t do anythin
g stupid that will get us killed.”

  “You’re going to tell me where he is—”

  “Jester, please listen to me,” I plead.

  “Not sure how good your memory is, but the Unholy protect our own.”

  “We don’t have time for this.” Frustration has my nerves tied in a knot. “Wraith was tortured, and it’s going to happen again, and again, and again, until he’s dead. So, either we do this the smart way and we get him home, or we do this your way and you get us killed. Your choice. You have twenty seconds to decide. I’ll wait.”

  There’s a ten-second pause before Jester asks, “Wraith was tortured?”

  “Yes. And it’s not the first time, so please listen to me.” Compassion replaces frustration because I know this man loves his friend. Still, he needs to understand the situation. “We have to get him out of here, but we can’t do that without help.”

  “What do you need from me?” His voice is gruff.

  “To act with your mind and not your temper. We have a small window of opportunity a week from Friday. Will you help us?”

  “Of course. We can mobilize—”

  “You can’t come with an army. If they see you coming, he’s dead. We have to sneak him out.” I say to Roger, “Never mind. This won’t work.”

  “Phone.” Wraith’s awake, barely, and holding out his hand. I put Jester on speaker and hold the cell near Wraith’s mouth. “It’s me,” he slurs past swollen lips.

  “Holy fuck. Wraith. We’ve been tearing shit up looking for you. Almost went to war with the Berserkers thinking they killed you and buried your body in the mountains.”

  “Can’t talk. Come get us. Just you.”

  Wraith drifts back into unconsciousness.

  I remove Jester from speakerphone and put the cell to my ear. “Was that clear?”

  “Yeah. Crow’s gonna be pissed.”

  I assume Crow is the current president of the Unholy. “That’s your problem, not mine. Can you—just you—be in Florida next Friday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank you.” My relief is palpable. If timed right, David will be on his way to Las Vegas and the guards will be preoccupied with Fight Night. There will be cars coming and going throughout the night, giving us perfect cover. David’s private entrance, one only a select few are aware exists, will be vulnerable for a brief window right after the main event ends. “No public transportation, so we’ll have to drive. Wraith will be hurt and unconscious. I want him comfortable. We’ll need a van or a truck. Something to accommodate his size.”