He is, in the truest sense of the word, remarkable.
Wraith heaves out a heavy sigh and scrubs a hand over his stubbled face. “I stink.”
Jester’s laughter breaks the tension. “Fuck yeah, you do. Had to suffer that stank for eighteen goddamn hours.”
Wraith peers around the room. “Where’s Jamie?”
“I’m here,” I say from my unassuming spot in the corner.
His gaze finds me, but he says nothing. Simply stares at me for a silent eternity then turns to Crow. “Thanks for keeping everyone away.”
“Not a problem.” Crow nods at Wraith’s chest. “Figured you wanted privacy.”
Wraith shuffles over to the black dresser and pulls out clothes. I watch how his friends track him. Crow’s jaw is locked, his eyes hard and angry. Malice looks downright hostile. His gaze flicks over me, and I want to become one with the drywall.
Only once Wraith is in the bathroom does Crow drag a hand over his smoothly shaven head and hiss out a string of curses.
Malice drops a hand on his shoulder. “No shit.”
Jester jerks his chin at me. “From what her friend told us, the worst of it was right before she got him out of there.”
Three sets of eyes fry me, and I melt into myself, shame turning my blood to lava that scalds me as it flows through my veins.
Crow crosses muscular tattooed arms over his broad chest. The top of the wordUnholypeeks out from above the neckline of his white T-shirt, as if I need a reminder of who he is and what he represents. “Start talking, Jamie.”
I clasp my hands in front of me to hide their tremor and tell the men everything, from Gomorrah’s conception to the night of our escape. I leave out only the intimate details concerning Wraith, and when I’m finished, I notch my chin and stare Crow right in the eye. “If you want to know what he suffered, that’s for him to tell.”
Malice stalks to the window. Jester drops on the edge of the bed. But Crow stands stoic, glaring at me. I press myself deeper in the corner despite my resolve to stand my ground, my insides a riot of nerves at being alone with these men.
When Crow finally breaks the quiet, his gruff baritone doesn’t sound as angry as his expression implies. “But itwasyou who got Wraith out.”
“No. I was only person.” The words choke out past the ball of fear glued to the back of my throat. “Everyone, including Wraith, did their part to get him and I out.”
“Maybe.” His eyes are a violent storm as he studies me. “But you orchestrated the escape.”
I nod, not sure where he’s going with this interrogation. “It’s practically impossible to leave Gomorrah.”
“Yet, you did.”
What David did to Wraith was only the beginning of something much worse. “We had no choice.”
“Whose idea was it to use trizapam?”
I chew the inside of my cheek, expecting a fresh blast of anger. Trizapam’s no joke. If Wraith wasn’t already swimming in noz, his body might not have been able to recover from the effects of the dangerous drug. “He had to die to get past security. It was the only way.”
A muscle works in Crow’s clenched jaw. His spine is rigid. His hands are fisted, and I brace for an assault. But when none is forthcoming, and his shoulders sag, I see a world of relief in his dark eyes. “It was smart.”
“No, it was desperate,” I counter.
A million things could have gone wrong.
I’m yanked into Crow’s arms and crushed against his unyielding chest. “Thank you. We owe you a blood debt.”
“I’m owed nothing.” I push away from him and dig the thumb drive from my pants pocket. “Take it. I downloaded footage of the Coliseum’s activity. We can’t get to David as long as he controls Marion County’s most powerful. We remove them, we isolate him.”
He plucks the thumb drive from my hand. “Clever woman.”
I give him a one-shoulder shrug. “I want justice.”
