I’m sure I can be forgiven for this tiny lie.
Jester comes up behind me and rubs my shoulders. “You’ve got to be stiff as fuck after sitting back there all day.”
We decided it was best if Wraith and I avoided the front seat and spent the entire ride hiding in the back. Not an unpleasant arrangement since it allowed us to stay lost in our private world for a little while. But reality is barreling toward us is the form of six-plus feet of intimidating Unholy.
Wraith knocks Jester away from me. “Enough with the fucking hands on her.”
Didn’t mind the massage, actually. Every muscle in my body is screaming and my back is on fire, but I’d sooner rip out my tongue than complain. Nor do I think it’s fair that Wraith and I resemble day-old roadkill, whereas Jester and Malice look fresh as daisies. True, we’ve been through it, but still. There should be some cosmic law that states no human being can look that good after spending an entire day in a car.
I grab my bag but underestimate my level of exhaustion. I stagger to the side from the weight. Instead of hitting the floor, I land in someone’s arms. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray Wraith caught me.
Or Jester.
I’ll even take Malice.
I’m not that lucky.
Because why not. I’m strewn across Crow’s arms, my dignity in shreds.
I twist around and stare up at Crow. My first impression now that I’m up close and personal with the Unholy’s president? He’s astonishingly young for someone so powerful. Surely not more than mid-thirties at most. My second thought is that he’s remarkably handsome. All defined bone structure and dark goatee. The bald head and tattoos make him all the more menacing. Or is it the lethal edge in his gray eyes? Whatever it is, one thing is abundantly clear—this man looks like he’d have no problem slitting the throat of anyone stupid enough to get on his bad side.
I summon what’s left of my pride and smile in the face of his glare. “You must be Crow.”
“And you must be Jamie.”
I suck in my lips and nod. “I am.”
Crow sets me on my feet. I back up a step, but he comes forward and politely arranges my shirt so that’s it settled back in place. Hadn’t realized it rode up when I tumbled over. “It’s good to meet you, Jamie.”
He gives me a long, hard stare, and just like that, I’m forgotten when his concern for Wraith takes precedence over everything else.
His demeanor undergoes an instant change. He grabs Wraith. It’s not one of those masculine one-handed clap-on-the-back embraces. No, this is a full-on two-armed hug. And it lasts for a long while. Crow even buries his face in Wraith’s shoulder, like he’s fighting to hold back tears.
When the moment passes, he sets Wraith at arm’s length. He gives him a once-over before leading him toward the house. “Christ, you don’t even have fucking shoes.”
“We would have stopped to buy me a pair, but I wanted to get home.”
They walk ahead, with Crow giving Wraith the quick and dirty version of six months’ worth of search efforts, and how no one wanted to believe he was dead.
Malice snatches my backpack and shoves me forward. Then he snarls when I scowl at him for manhandling me. “What? You want to stay out here all night, or do you want a shower and food?”
I release a long, drawn-out sigh. “But do you always have to be nasty?”
“Yes.”
I roll my eyes. “Good to know.” I nod at my bag slung over his shoulder. “Thank you for carrying it.”
He grunts, and I take it as his way of saying,You’re welcome.
Jester’s the last one in, and as we file through the lower level toward the stairs, I see the interior is a masculine contrast to the charming exterior. Inside is stark, with a black leather sofa, two gaming chairs, and a giant flatscreen television. There are a few motocross magazines scattered on the dark-wood coffee table and not much else. But what did I expect? Throw pillows? Knickknacks? Candles? I doubt Wraith shops at Target for cute home decor.
After a climb up the stairs, we make the short walk down the hallway to the master bedroom. The room is small and clean, and lit by a single floor lamp. I find a quiet corner and make myself one with it, doing what I do best—blend into the background. It’s hard not feel overwhelmed by four behemoth men taking up most of the space.
A glance around the room gives me zero insight into the adult version of the boy I’ve loved all of my life. It’s as dark and masculine as the downstairs, and devoid of a personal touch. It is, however, dominated by a king-sized bed I’m sure has seen more action than a porno prop. It’s like Jester said, Wraith’s an Unholy, and they’re not only infamous for their violence, they’re also brazen man-whores.
I shift my gaze to Wraith as he tugs off the hoodie and drops it on the floor. I hide my cringe at the sight of his torso. His body is a roadmap of suffering. Scars maim once-flawless flesh. Ruin his Unholy tattoo, that will now need to be touched up to fix where it looks like they tried to gouge the lettering clean out of his skin.
To me, though, Wraith is the same beautiful boy I remember from when we were sixteen. Only now he’s perfectly imperfect. The marks add to his beauty, confirming an unequaled strength and fortitude that is absolutely breathtaking.
