by Renee Rocco
Thomas: It’s a go
Thank God.
Time to leave.
I grab the thumb drive and the tactical knife. Drop the items on the bed. I tug on black utility pants and a gray T-shirt. A black hoodie completes the outfit that will, hopefully, blend me into the dark background. After hauling the backpack from the closet, I sling my arms through the straps and settle the weight on my back.
Fear and anticipation collide as I slide my wedding band set off my finger. I place the jewelry on the dresser, tempted to leave a note. Decide against it and step back. My hand is lighter without the weight. I admire the sight. This says it all. It’s a wordless and elegant fuck you to a cruel man who failed to buy my affection and respect.
I spin on the heel of my black running shoes and, with the clock ticking, take one last fortifying breath before quitting the room. My pulse races and I’m sweating beneath the laters of clothing as I move through the quiet house. Without the bustle of the staff, the mansion is eerie and foreboding despite its Mediterranean warmth. I expect David to jump out from behind a piece of furniture or shoot out from around a corner. At the very least, I’m waiting for the distinctive sound of the cock of a weapon behind me because when David’s away, I’m not the only one in the house. The controlling bastard has a guard patrol throughout the night. For my protection.
Everything is for my protection.
Except, it’s not.
It’s about control.
David has to control every aspect of my life. And that’s why I’m playing dodge-the-guard on my way to the security room. We can’t kill David if we can’t get to him. And to get to him, we have to isolate him. To isolate him, we have to annihilate everyone around him.
A wave of relief rolls over me when I reach the command center. The room is small and simple, with a desk and a single computer that runs the entire house. From here, I can also access Gomorrah’s footage—including the Coliseum’s. I don’t tamper with the security system lest I alert the on-duty guard. What I want is a copy of the Coliseum’s activity from the last month. That’s all I need to bring Marion County’s elite to its knees.
To rob David’s allies of their power.
I slip the thumb drive from my pocket and slide it into the USB port of the computer. My palms are sweaty, and my hands are trembling, but I stay focused as I move the mouse across the screen and click on the actions needed to prompt the download.
Each second is an eternity, and every sound is the guard returning to his post as the information transfers to the drive. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. A few more seconds. That’s all I need. A few more seconds to ruin a man who destroyed so many innocent lives. And then it’s done. Transfer complete. I eject the thumb drive. Pull it from the port. Tuck it into my pocket, and I tear out of the room.
I got you, asshole.
I creep toward the back door to wait for the guard’s relief to come. A glance at my watch tells me I have less than three minutes. Everything here runs on a tight schedule, with zero tolerance for tardiness or insubordination.
Pulse racing and head spinning, I slide down the wall and lean against the heavy backpack. I think about what waits for me in Mayhem. Nothing but bad memories, mostly. Wraith has an entire life there. And he’ll go back to it, and I’ll be an interloper. Someone who belongs nowhere, least of all in the Unholy’s world.
Nerves have me rechecking my watch. Two more minutes. Wraith is probably on the road heading toward the crematorium. God, if any of his fights had gone differently, David would have burned him to ash. Would have scattered his remains to the wind. Same as the fallen fighters who died before him. He would have vanished, and no one, not even me, would have known what happened to him.
Not doing this. Not dwelling on the would haves.
I nearly jump clean out of my skin at the chirp of the alarm. Shift change. The system is disarmed. That’s my signal. I pull up my hood and shoot to my feet. Haul open the back door. Close it behind me to hide my exit from the house. And I’m off running. My feet fly over the pavement. The night air is hot and sticky as I heave it into my lungs. The heavy pack slaps against my back, and I swear, the imaginary brush of every guard’s fingers across the nape of my neck is a special brand of torment as I race for the secret, secondary entrance.
Behind me, farther down the courtyard, Gomorrah is alive with activity. Guests file out of the Coliseum and vehicles roar to life. Dogs are barking, and orders are issued. But it seems as if it’s happening a thousand miles away and right at my back at the same time as I race toward freedom.
Momentum drives me forward and I smack into the gate, my body vibrating with epinephrine. My fingers tremble as I punch in the security code. David believes he’s crafty, but once I got to know him, I realized he’s not as complex as he thinks. It was easy to decipher his password. All I had to do was figure out what he loved most.
Gomorrah.
He told me the date he broke ground on his kingdom.
Boom.
I had his security code.
The lock surrenders its hold, and the door pops open. I squeeze through and relock it before I’m back on the move, racing through Ocala National Forest. I dart around towering pines. Mud sucks at my shoes. Branches smack me and snag my hair. The dark doesn’t slow my progress, but when I hear the crunch of foliage behind me, I skid to a stop. Whirl. Palm the knife, and…
Nothing.
Must have been an animal because I don’t see a person. Or people. Zero movement. Nor do I have a bullet in me. So, for now, I’m still good to go. But I stay on panic alert. It’s too dark to see much with only the moonlight filtering in through the canopy of trees. I keep my knife at the ready as I pick my way through the forest, heading toward the road. It’s easy to get turned around, but that won’t happen because I lived here before Gomorrah owned this area. Thomas, Roger, and I needed a break from the filth and congestion of the city. We spent over a year in this forest, and I know every pine, every river, every wet marsh. We were happy, makeshift siblings, living off the land like modern frontier folk until I ruined everything by returning to Orlando.
That’s where I ran into David, and everything went to hell.
And then I see it—Roger’s blue sedan sitting on the side of Highway 42. I let out a choked cry of relief and break into a dead sprint.
He already has the door open when I reach the car. “What took you so long?”
I struggle to catch my breath as I shove the knife in my pocket. “Seriously?”.
He slams the car into drive and takes off like a bullet but then slows to blend in with the other cars driving away from Gomorrah. “I was worried.”
I slide off the backpack before yanking on my seat belt. “Did we do it? Is he out?”
Roger nods. “Yeah. But there was a hiccup. Thomas will explain when they get there. Relax, Jamie. He’s safe. They’re on their way.” And then he notices my face. “What the hell?”
I duck my head and glance away. “A parting gift from my soon-to-be-deceased -husband.”
Roger rakes a hand through his thick blond hair. “Wraith is going to be pissed.”
I push the hood off my head then wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs. “Wraith has more important things to be pissed about, don’t you think? Besides it doesn’t matter. We’re free. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be sleeping under a Mayhem moon.”
Roger rolls his eyes. “Don’t go getting dramatic on me, Jamie.”
“I think I’ve earned the right to wax poetic.” Adrenaline’s a bitch and has me shaking so badly, my teeth are literally chattering. I rub my hands together and focus on the road. “You should be coming with us.”
He rolls his lips and shakes his head. “What sort of man would I be if I walked away when there’s still work to be done?”
“A smart one.”
He reaches over to smooth a hand over my hair. “I’ll be fine, and I’m not going ghost on you. I’ll keep in contact. And Thomas will be in Spring Hill. If anythin
g goes sideways, he has my back, so it’s not like I’ll be alone.”
I swallow hard, but everything’s rushing around inside me. My heart’s pumping too hard. My brain’s buzzing. I’m lightheaded. Like, the last two years are slamming into me all at once. “This is a bad idea. You should both just come to Mayhem.”
He shakes his head, his expression grim. “We’ve been over this. Someone needs to know what’s happening in Gomorrah, and Thomas won’t leave his family. But let’s say he does get them to Mayhem. David will know he had something to do with the escape. He’ll figure out Thomas’s connection to me, and I’ll be in a world of shit.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I just want you both with me.”
“And we will be,” he promises. “When this is over. Whether it’s in Mayhem or somewhere else, we’ll be together like we were before…”
“Before I screwed up and married David,” I finish for him.
“Yep,” he agrees with a laugh. “Before you acted like a normal human being and trusted someone you thought was a decent person who offered you a chance at a good life.”
With a flick of my wrist, I gesture to him and I. “And look where it got us.”
But our conversation abruptly ends because Blessed Souls Crematorium comes into view.
“There.” Roger points to a black utility van parked behind the white building.
The ordinary-looking work vehicle, a rental by its appearance, sits silent sentry, engine off, lights killed, in the building’s otherwise empty parking lot. The driver’s door opens, and out pours an older, taller, muscular, and very intimidating version of the boy who’d once vowed to be my first kiss.
He wasn’t.
The honor belongs to Wraith the day of my arrest.
I suspect Luke earned the name Jester because from what I remember of him, he was a comedian. Always had everyone laughing with his wicked humor and inappropriate remarks. I see none of that boy now as he stalks toward the sedan. The flop of golden-brown hair does nothing to soften his lethal edge as he closes the distance between us. It takes every ounce of courage not to cower in the seat as over six feet of all-American arrogance yanks open the passenger door and pulls me out of the car.
Jester gives me the once-over, his amber eyes missing nothing. “Look at Jamie Ellis all growed up and pretty as fuck.” But then he grabs my chin and examines my bruised face, his frown terrifying. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I pull out of his grasp.
I’m grateful for the distraction when the passenger door opens and out climbs a second man. Never mind. That man can get right back in the truck, thank you very much.
He’s taller than Jester. Probably taller than Wraith. Not as muscular, though—but I haven’t seen many men with a physique as built as Wraith’s. And this man oozes danger. He sends a chill skidding up my spine that hits every nerve along the way. Like he’d have no problem killing Roger and me if one of us so much as sneezed in his direction.
There’s also something vaguely familiar about his face, but the dark goatee is throwing me off. Or maybe it’s the pistol he’s pointing at me that’s making it difficult to focus on anything other than the weapon gripped in his tattooed hands. The left reads Mayhem. The right, Forever.
Jester rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Malice, with the gun?”
“Precaution.” Malice’s voice is as foreboding as the rest of him. A slow, deep rumble that barely dents the quiet.
“Don’t you hurt her,” Roger hisses as he scrambles out of the car.
“Aw, we got us a hero.” Jester places his hands over his heart and bats his eyelashes. “How sweet.”
“Down, hero.” Malice uses his weapon to force Roger to his knees and presses the muzzle to his temple.
“No.” The word is torn from me in a desperate plea as I shove Roger back and put myself between the two men. “Please stop. Wraith is on his way. There’s no need for this.”
Every part of me is numb with worry at the zillion things that can go wrong before we reach Mayhem. The last thing we need is chaos now.
But I catch the faint glow of headlights in my peripheral and relief almost knocks me off balance. Jester must see the light too, because he wraps an arm around me, and if I’m not mistaking his hold, it’s oddly protective. His other hand moves to the Glock holstered at his shoulder. He drags me toward the edge of the lot, hiding us in the shadows. Malice does the same with Roger until the four of us are out of sight.
Anticipation and fear twist around each other, and without realizing it, I clamp a hand on Jester’s arm to hold myself steady.
He hugs me closer, his crisp, woodsy scent reminding me of something beautifully untamed. “I got you.”
For some insane reason, I’m comforted by his gruff reassurance.
The nondescript transport truck the guards use to shuttle the bodies to the crematorium speeds closer. “It’s them. It’s Wraith.”
“You sure?” Jester whispers.
“Positive.”
My bedroom has a direct view of the garage. Once I found out the truck’s purpose, I couldn’t stomach the sight of it.
Thomas parks near Jester’s van and leans his upper body out of the window. He scans the lot, sees the vehicles and not us and whispers my name.
Jester shoves me. “Go on.”
No need to prompt me twice. I run to Thomas. He opens the door and jumps down from the truck.
I throw my arms around his neck. “We did it.” I’m breathless with adrenaline as I pull away from him. “How is he?”
“How do you think?” Thomas looks over my head. “Sorry it took so long. David wanted to videoconference with Doc before he released the body. And now you have to go. David’s coming back. You need to be gone.”
God, I’m scared. Like when I was a kid, and my father was on his way home from work. I have that same sinking feeling in my stomach. But three sets of footsteps come up behind me, and I stow the unsettling sensation.
Malice levels his weapon at Thomas. “Where’s Wraith?”
“You can point that thing at me all night, but I’m not the enemy. He’s here.” Thomas leads us around to the back of the van. “I unzipped the bag, but I couldn’t get him out by myself.”
“The fuck?” Malice growls.
“You know we didn’t do this,” Thomas says, but Malice isn’t listening.
Jester’s eyes narrow on the sickening sight of Wraith barely alive and lying in a body bag. Malice, meanwhile, is threatening to decorate the dirt with our brains. But Jester snaps out of his stupor and orders me to get in the back of the van. I go without argument because the people with the guns make the rules—and with David on his way back to Gomorrah, we need to get on the road now.
I watch the flurry of activity, relieved when Jester talks Malice out of shooting my friends. Roger rushes to his car to retrieve my backpack and a stack of blankets and a pillow. While I set up a makeshift bed, Jester and Malice free Wraith from the body bag. It’s a slow process, given Wraith’s size and the toll trizapam has taken on his body. At one point, they have to stop when he vomits blood, but they finally get him settled on the blankets, with Thomas administering him one last dose of noz.
“That’s about all he can absorb. I couldn’t smuggle out another syringe.” Thomas hands me a stuffed backpack. “But that should be all he needs.”
“Thank you.” I take the bag and set it next to mine. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Yes, you could have.” He gives me a reassuring smile, almost fatherly even though he’s not that much older than me. “I packed him some clothes. They probably won’t fit, but they’ll get him to Mayhem. There’s soap. Toothbrushes. Toothpaste. A few protein bars…” Thomas drags in a breath, taking a second to collect himself. “You take care, Jamie.”
I grab his hand. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I know.” He pulls his hands free. “You gotta go.”
Then Roger steps up to say goodbye. “Be careful. I�
�ll see you when this is over.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s you I worry about.”
“I’m always careful,” he promises with a wink.
The pit in my stomach tells me I’ll never see my friends alive again.
I can’t watch them walk away. Instead, I focus on Wraith. He’s unconscious, which is a good thing, and he’ll likely stay this way for most of the trip. Coming back from trizapam is a slow and painful process, but it’s the last ordeal he’ll have to endure.
Malice rides shotgun, with Jester driving first shift. I hope for quiet, but I’m not that lucky. “Start talking, sweetheart, or I break bones until I get answers.”
Now that he’s not pointing a gun at me, I remember him. Malice also went to Neil deGrasse Tyson High—Mayhem certainly had high hopes for its youth when it named its high school after the renowned astrophysicist. Back then, though, Malice was still Anthony Moretti, and he wasn’t violent. In fact, he was one of the decent guys. Life, apparently, turned him into an asshole.
What a shame.
“It’s going to be a long trip if you’re going to threaten me the entire way.”
Jester throws a jab that catches Malice on the arm. “Be nice.”
Malice cocks a brow at his friend. “We’re defending outsiders?”
“She’s Mayhem, and look at her face. Someone hit her.”
Malice hoists his enormous body to the back of the van. I scurry away, but he grabs me and examines my cheek. “Who did this?”
I try to twist out of his hold, but his hand is a vise on my chin. “David.”
He grunts then glances at Wraith. “Same prick who did this to my friend.”
It’s not a question and I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”
Malice releases me and lumbers back to the passenger seat. I crawl over to Wraith and sit cross-legged beside him. I haven’t seen him since the day after his torture, and all I want to do is snuggle against him and shut out the world.
“That guy Thomas,” Jester says to me. “Him and me, we’ve been talking. He said Wraith has been on ket the entire time. That true?”