by Renee Rocco
Maybe my sudden laughter comes from a damaged place inside me. Some broken part of me that can never be put back together.
“First thing I did was take a shower. That was the first time in sixteen years—sixteen years—I didn’t have to worry if he was going to burst in the bathroom. When I was done, I put on the nicest dress I owned. Do you know why?”
Wraith shakes his head, his voice dry when he answers. “No, Jamie, I don’t.”
“I knew that would be the last time I saw you, and I wanted to look pretty.” I gaze up at the clouds floating across the sky. “I called Sheriff Warren and told him I killed my father. And then I went to school to say goodbye to you.”
Finally done, I’m spent. Emotionally bled to the bone.
And yes, cleansed.
Wraith stalks around the table to straddle the bench beside me. “You are extraordinary.”
I feel the exact opposite of extraordinary. “I’m so broken.”
“Yeah, well, you and me both.”
“What a pair we make.”
He kisses my forehead. “Yep. Two fucked-up, lunatics.”
“But you know what? Those eight years away from Mayhem weren’t all bad.”
“No?”
I shake my head, smiling as I think about the few good memories I made during those lost years. “I mean, they weren’t like, woohoo, awesome, but they weren’t terrible, either. Orlando has these tent cities where the homeless live. That’s where I met Thomas and Roger. When the noise and grime and congestion became too much, we went on a sort of retreat to Ocala National Forest. We spent a year there, living off the land. You should have seen me, hunting squirrels and raccoons. Even ate a few foxes. I hated them, but Roger liked them. I was the bootleg version of Katniss, complete with crappy aim.”
“Who’s Katniss?”
I cast him a skeptical frown. “You don’t know Katniss Everdeen?”
“Should I?”
I roll my eyes. “Never mind.”
“Come on.” Wraith lifts me off the bench.
“Where to now, Mr. Chauffeur?”
“Home.” He hauls me against him, thrusting his hips against mine. “Gotta fuck you. It’s either happening here or in our bed. Don’t think you want to go ass up in plain sight, but hey, lady’s choice.”
I give him a devilish grin and trail my finger down his torso, right down to the erection straining in his jeans. I cup him and go up on my tiptoes to whisper against his lips, “How fast can you drive?”
“Like fucking lightning.”
And damn it all if Wraith doesn’t get us back to his house and to the bedroom in record time. We’re like two kids racing past Jester, who sticks his head out of his room and groans with exaggerated feigned disgust as we stumble down the hallway. By the time we make it to the bedroom, we’re half-naked, kissing, and I realize two important facts.
One, I left my past in Apple Grove.
And two, the mountain was silent because my younger self is finally at peace.
21
Wraith
“The arrests were made.”
I lean back in the chair and exhale on a sigh, rage building behind my facade of composure. “Who?”
“Mayor. Judges. Police chief. Cops. You name the scumbag, they’ve been arrested. It’s going to be a new world order down in Marion County.” Crow flattens his palms on the table and leans forward. Satisfaction burns behind his eyes. “FBI went in and grabbed everyone except Crane. Had to cash in most of our favors for that one, but we got it done.”
Gotta love it when government corruption works in our favor.
“And Gomorrah?”
“Good and bad.” Crow grabs his phone and scrolls through his texts. “Jamie’s friend, Roger, said most of Crane’s men tucked tail and ran when the warrants started coming down. The good news is, Gomorrah’s a ghost town. Bad is that Crane killed all the captives. Shot them dead. Brothel workers, too, even the kids.”
Goddamn it.
Of course that bastard would eliminate everyone he considered a liability. Hate to admit it, but I expected nothing less from that sick fuck.
As for Gomorrah itself, I never saw outside of the Coliseum. From what Jamie told me, the grounds were a hub of activity, teeming with guards and staff. It’s what made it damn near impossible for her to leave. Why she needed a perfect storm to escape. And why she risked everything to get that intel to bring down Crane’s business associates.
I find it ironic that we needed the law on our side to take him out.
Rotten raps his knuckles on the table. “What’s the move, Wraith?”
I trace my fingers in the grooves dug into the wood. Every Unholy carves their name in the table that dominates this meeting room. It’s a piece of living history. A testimony to the men who’ve bled for Mayhem. “Full attack.”
Crow, who’s at the head of the table, nods. Rotten is at his right. Voodoo is on his left. Where we sit is dictated by rank. Next to Voodoo is Malice, then Jester, Havoc, and me as the four chief enforcers. Discord is at the end, hanging on every word because nothing makes him happier than the prospect of spilling blood.
Opposite us is Dirt, the Unholy’s secretary. Next to him is our treasurer, Rebel. Last is Preacher, the gang’s chaplain—who is anything but our spiritual advisor as his title deceptively implies. He’s our liaison in the event of an arrest.
Every chaplain earns the name Preacher when they take the position. He asks, “How soon can we get to Florida?”
Rotten lets out a gruff laugh. “How soon do you want to leave?”
“Yesterday,” I growl.
“Before Crane bolts,” Malice adds.
I shake my head, having learned a thing or two about the man during my time in the dungeon. “Nah, coward won’t run. He’s nothing outside of Gomorrah.”
“He has to know we’re coming for him,” Rebel reasons.
“Of course he does,” I agree. “He’s counting on it.”
Jester leans forward and folds his arms on the table. “From what you’ve told me, Wraith, the bastard isn’t suicidal.”
“No, but he wants to finish the job he started in his torture chamber.”
“And Crane thinks he can take out all of us to get to you?” Voodoo asks incredulously.
“He built himself a kingdom. Practically struts around in a goddamn crown. You think the man has his head on straight?”
“Good point,” Voodoo agrees.
“Obviously, we’re all in agreement that this motherfucker has to die, no two ways about it,” Dirt says. With his braided, graying beard and facial tattoos, he’s old-school Unholy. He not only grew up with my father, but he was also there when Rusty was murdered. He was the one who put a bullet in the Berserker’s head who killed my old man. “But we have to know what we’re heading into, son. Need not remind you that what you say in this room stays in this room, but I’m saying it anyway.”
This meeting chamber is sacred, reserved only for senior members. Stays locked at all times. Soundproof. Swept for bugs before every meeting. If something doesn’t stay in this room, we have a rat, and it’s easy to track the snitch.
Or, as we call him, a dead man walking.
Crow gives me a barely perceivable nod, and I flood the room with the details of my captivity, starting with the night of my fight in Pittsburgh and ending with the escape. Through it all, Dirt turns a sickly shade of white. Rebel sinks low in his chair like a weight is sitting on his shoulders. Voodoo leans forward with head bowed and eyes closed, as if he can shut out the visual my words paint. Rotten is breathing slow and steady, but his jaw is clenched, and he keeps swallowing down whatever bad taste my story leaves in his mouth. Preacher leans back, his hands folded on the table, his brows pinched in a miserable frown.
My friends already know what happened, and even they look physically ill. Shit, I’m disgusted listening to myself talk about ket and the torture chamber and the cage again. But Crow sits there stoic as always, a true leader.
/>
When I’m finished laying it out in gory fucking detail, Rotten’s face is all sorts of confused. “We know how this Crane sonofabitch took you. What’s missing is the why, son.”
“He wanted Wraith because our boy’s a fighter,” Rebel says.
Rotten scrubs a hand over his bearded face. “No offense to Wraith’s skill, but there’s gotta be countless fighters between Pennsylvania and Florida Crane could have grabbed. Why him? Why travel over a thousand miles for one particular man? Especially one from the same town where his wife was raised. Too coincidental if you ask me.”
“You implying Jamie had something to do with it?” Malice’s accusation is quiet but cracks louder than thunder.
“Back the fuck down, boy,” Rotten says. “That girl risked her life to get Wraith home. That’s not what I’m saying. But this whole situation stinks of a jealous husband.”
He’s not wrong. Rotten is merely saying aloud what’s been a splinter in the back of my brain since the day Jamie showed up in my cell.
“No doubt.” Jester slaps me on the back. “And after hearing the way Wraith got Jamie praying to God for the last few of nights, I’d be jealous as fuck if I were her husband.”
Malice punches Jester in the arm.
“What?” Jester rubs his arm. “Alls I’m saying is you try living with these two. Ever since they did the deed, it’s been impossible to get anything done. I’ve had to go to unbelievable lengths to eavesdrop. Kept the television real low. Held a glass up to the wall. You’d think they’d do the polite thing and leave the door open a crack to allow a brother a look-see, but no. Selfish, both of them.”
“For fuck’s sake, someone shut him up,” Crow snaps, but he’s smiling, and the room feels lighter. Thank God, because it took a lot to unload the details of the dungeon to a room full of people—even though I consider these people family. “But seriously, Wraith, that’s how you want this handled? Full force?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I confirm without hesitation. “You immobilize what’s left of his guards, but no one touches Crane except me. That prick is mine.”
Crow nods. “All in favor?” He’s met with a chorus of unanimous “ayes” around the table. He bangs an old, weathered gavel on an equally battered sounding board. “Ayes have it. We go in. Full force. Rotten, put it together. Twenty men. We’re on the road in forty-eight hours. Preacher, you hang back to oversee Mayhem. Meeting adjourned.”
“I’m on it.” Rotten is already up and striding out the door.
It’s not easy to organize an invasion that far from Mayhem. But the Unholy have an edge on other gangs. We’re professional. Coordinated. Methodical. A militarized criminal organization with connections that put Crane’s to shame. But even with our advantage, it would have been foolish to hit Gomorrah guns out without doing it the smart way. Jamie’s way. We wouldn’t have gotten past the front gate. My only regret was having to rely on the law to do their thing first since it resulted in the slaughter of those prisoners.
No way am I telling Jamie they’re dead until this is over. That woman suffered enough. I want her to enjoy her happiness a little while longer before I dump this on her.
Preacher comes around to talk to Crow. “Wish I was going with you, but I thank you for trusting me with Mayhem’s protection.”
Crow nods, having handed Preacher a tremendous honor. “I’d rather have you with us, but I need someone to cover the town.”
“No worries. You go wipe that stain off the map, and I’ll take care of Mayhem.”
“I know you will, brother.” Crow claps Preacher on the back. Then he walks over to me. “You good?”
The monster scratches at my skull, its sinister wails a deafening echo in my head. “Once this prick is dead, I will be, yeah.”
“Good. Go home. We got this.”
I stand and stretch to my full height. “You sure?”
“Wraith, go home.” He glances around the room. “Be back tomorrow for a weapons pickup.”
“Thank you, Crow.”
His brow slam together. “For what?”
“This. Everything.”
“Fuck you.” He shoves me toward the door. “You don’t thank me for this.” He gestures to the activity as everyone is up and moving and planning. “This is what we do. We’re Unholy. We’re family. Fuck with one of us, fuck with all of us. Now go home and spend today with your woman. She’s been through it, too, and this fight is as much hers as it is yours.”
Six months of pain and misery fill me up to where it’s seeping out of every pore of my body. Beyond words, I nod and leave the meeting room and march my ass out of Sanctum. I race home to a domestic vision that forces the monster back in its cage.
Jamie’s washing dishes when I walk in the kitchen. Startled, she spins around, hands soapy, her haunting eyes cut through like they always do. “What’s wrong?”
We’re going to war with your murdering prick of a husband.
But those words die a quick death in my throat.
“You’re wearing clothes is what’s wrong.”
There’s that smile that never fails to drive me absolutely insane. One brow lifts as she takes in my jeans and hoodie. “So are you.”
I tug off my shirt. “Your turn.”
She shuts off the water and dries her hands. When I thread my fingers through hers, I let her lead me up the stairs, appreciating the fine view of her in a pale pink maxi dress. It’s the polar opposite from the dull shit Jamie wore just a few days ago. It’s impressive to see she’s stopped trying to make herself disappear.
As if that were possible.
Jamie has always been a supernova. She’s got a light in her, and whenever I’m with her, I can’t see anything else. Like the rest of the world fades and all that’s left is her. It was like that when we were kids. It happened again when I saw her sitting front row in the arena in that white dress. And she made the dungeon disappear when she stepped out of the shadows and all I saw was her.
Her.
Beautiful. Stunning. Amazing. Her.
My Jamie.
When we get to the bedroom, she releases my hand, and I close the door. More than likely, Jester will stay at Sanctum for the rest of the day, but in case that asshole comes home, I don’t want him standing in the doorway watching us.
And he will watch. Because he’s Jester, and that’s what that nosy bastard does.
Not that I care, but Jamie does, and so the door gets shut. Locked, too.
She’s already sliding off her dress, and holy shit, I can’t not laugh.
“I see you brought the sexy today.”
Leave it to her to give me an exaggerated wink and a dramatic toss of her hair. “That’s right. Nothing but the best for my man.”
God, how I adore this woman—even in that industrial beige bra. The same one she wore the day she walked home in the rain, and I practically mauled her in the hallway. “Did you bring Bertha to the party?”
She lifts her chin imperiously. “I dare you to find out.”
“You really don’t want to issue a challenge to an Unholy.”
I slice the distance between us and hiss out a breath when she trails her fingers down my torso to cup my dick. “I repeat, I dare you to find out, Unholy.”
Oh, she’s playing dirty ball.
Good to know.
With her dress riding on her hips, I slide it down her legs until it pools at her bare feet. I kneel between her legs, and yep, she’s wearing my favorite ugly panties. I snap the heavy-duty elastic waistband, and she yelps. “Shame I’m gonna rip these off you.”
“Good thing I bought more.”
I trace a single finger along her slit, my ego getting one hell of a boost that she’s already soaked through the material, and I haven’t even touched her yet.
“But you have to wait your turn.” There’s a devilish gleam in her eyes when she forces me to stand. “I want to play first.”
Well, shit. Score one for Jamie.
She doesn’t
play dirty. She goes all in for nasty.
I kick off my shoes and I toss aside my pants. Jamie, unpracticed and remarkable, takes her time with my dick. The other women I’ve been with made it like a competition. Who can suck my cock the hardest. The deepest. Who could be porn-star perfect in their performance. Not her. She’s not about the show. She’s not rushing toward an imaginary finish line. Jamie makes it about my pleasure as she tongues my shaft and head. Teases the underside of my dick. She alternates between sucking hard enough to snatch my soul clean out through the tip of my cock and breathy pulls that have me digging my hands in her hair to hold her head steady so I can, literally, fuck her mouth.
Yeah, no.
Jamie, in total control of me, smacks my hands away. She’s having too much fun to let me take over. It’s all good. I’ll let her win this one because soon as she’s done, she’s mine.
And I don’t plan on showing her an ounce of mercy.
She may play nasty, but I play filthy.
Only when I’m about to come does she finally let me haul her to her feet. True to my word, I rip Bertha off her body and toss the ruined underwear aside. Not positive, but I think I hear a thud when they hit the floor. I’ve been around more than my fair share of pussies. Never paid attention to any of them. They were holes. Something warm and wet to stick my dick in to get myself off. I wasn’t an asshole to the person the pussy was attached to, but I wasn’t exactly the nicest person either. And I rarely double dipped. The pussy had to be extraordinary, or I had to be seriously bored to go back for seconds.
It was never the former.