There are times when Wraith’s scars catch me off-guard. They’re a punch to the backs of my knees, and it’s a fight to remain on my feet and act as if everything is right in the world when all I can think about is my best friend having suffered six months in that fucking dungeon.
When we got to Florida and that van pulled up to the crematorium, Malice and I didn’t know what to expect. But there was Wraith, smuggled out in a body bag, drugged almost to the point of death. Too many things could have gone wrong that night, but they didn’t. Can’t lie, though, I still wake up sometimes, in the middle of the night, sweat-soaked from nightmares after what I witnessed in that fucking place.
“So, my brother from another egg, what film does Jamie have for us tonight?” If I don’t change the subject, I’ll get angry. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s ugly.
I may play the clown, but there’s no need to poke a sleeping demon.
“The People Under the Stairs.” He shoves away from the counter. “Better not keep her waiting.”
“Hell no. Jamie scares me. Especially since, you know.” I motion to my stomach. “You put your devil spawn in her.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Watch it. You’re talking about my daughter.”
“I’m talking about my niece, whom I’m already ridiculously in love with, so back the fuck down.”
Wraith stalks his grumpy ass toward the living room. “Being my kid’s uncle is the one thing I believe you’ll take seriously.”
I slap a hand over my heart and gasp with exaggerated (and false) outrage. “I take many things seriously.”
“Name one,” he demands without breaking his stride.
I’m about to name quite a few things actually, starting with my position with the Unholy, when my cell phone rings. “What’s up, Crow?”
“Ferryman needs you.” The edge in his voice sets off a warning alarm in my head.
My gaze locks on Wraith, whose brows crash together as he glares at me in question. “I’m at Wraith’s.”
“No shit.”
Everyone knows I come here every Tuesday for Jamie’s family movie night.
“I’m bringing him?”
“Yes.” There’s a short, tense pause. “We’ve trapped another roach.”
Awesome. Time to go to work.
“Understood.”
Prez hangs up, and I slip the phone back in my jeans pocket. “Movie night is over. Ferryman caught a dealer at Last Call.”
“Fuck.” Wraith is already in motion, heading toward the living room. “We’ll take your Wrangler.” He apologizes to Jamie for having to cut the night short.
She follows him back into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
He runs his hands down her arms, ending with his fingers curled around hers. “Gotta go to work.”
She grabs Wraith by his black T-shirt and gives it a hard tug. “Be careful.” Then she stabs a finger at me. “Both of you.”
I give her a playful wink. “Yes, ma’am.”
Wraith kisses her long and hard. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“And I love everyone, but can we fucking leave now?”
Wraith glares at me as if I’m supposed to be intimidated as he storms past me. I grab my keys from the counter and follow him out. My obnoxiously yellow Wrangler (hella yella, to be exact) stands out like a sore thumb behind his black Ford Raptor. With Jamie driving now, she has her own car. She wanted something big and loud. Wraith wanted her in something safe. They compromised, with her zipping around Mayhem in a white Jeep Grand Cherokee. I see it parked outside Mayhem’s public library three days a week, where she works, ironically, with Olivia Decker.
