WRAITH (Iron Kings MC, #1) Read online

  Ashley wasn’t like any of them.

  She was pure. Untainted somehow.

  Nah, I couldn’t touch that. I couldn’t risk ruining that in her.

  I destroyed everything I touched.

  What’d gone down earlier was a case in point.

  I’d managed to compartmentalize it for a while now, everything that’d happened at that tattoo parlor, in order to stay on task, to keep focused, to ensure Ashley’s safety. But now, without the distraction of Ashley and Scott, with things quiet for the time being, it’d started to replay over and over in my head. Just like those fucking nightmares of my past sins did nearly every night.

  It’d been brutal. I’d been brutal.

  The blood.

  Their shrieks of agony.

  Their wide, lifeless eyes when I’d finished them off.

  It was a relentless detailed replay of violence, gore, and death.

  The bitch of it was that none of that shit used to even touch me before. It was the retiring that’d brought it on, that’d had it catching up to me.

  Retirement that I’d never wanted.

  The people I’d trusted most in the world had forced me from the only life I’d known.

  My own team had fucked me over and sent me on a suicide mission. I’d become a liability when I’d refused to get on board with the shift in their agenda. A shift to taking out innocents. Even for the supposed greater good, I wasn’t on board for that and I never would be. There was always another way. It was just harder, so assholes like my former team chose to cut corners instead.

  The injuries I’d sustained during the night of that brutal mission had nearly killed me and ended any chance I’d had of continuing on in the same career path. I’d been shot straight through my dominant hand. The one I dealt out the most damage with, my shooting hand. Then there’d been the bullet that’d plunged into my left side. It’d compromised my ability to move as fluidly and agilely as I once had, to react without hesitation and hinderance. The burns hadn’t helped either, some second-degree, some third-degree. They’d covered forty-percent of my body, the parts I hadn’t been able to protect with the human shield I’d used in order to survive the brutal blast that’d ripped through the building where I’d buried the traitorous, dangerous bastards alive.

  Bastards that had once been the closest people to me.

  I’d been a fool.

  I had the skills to read people extremely well, yet I hadn’t seen the evil in them, the brutal betrayal coming. I’d let the glory and excitement of becoming part of such a distinguished black ops team dull my senses. I hadn’t wanted anything to be wrong. I’d been too obsessed with the job to see straight when it came to them.

  Our Commander, Drew Hammer, had been a practiced deceiver. He’d seemed idealistic, hopeful and on the right side of things. But he’d had his own agenda. Money and power. Gradually, he’d turned the other twelve members of our team, Nemesis. It’d been named after the Greek Goddess of retribution. Talk about fitting. When he’d realized he couldn’t turn me, he’d led me into a trap during a supposed mission to apprehend a shipment of military-grade weapons that were set to fall into the wrong hands. The mission had been nothing but a front for their attempted hit on me. I’d managed to take out four of them before they’d realized I’d been lost to the monster in me and was on a non-stop rampage to punish their betrayal. That was when they’d blown the building and the remaining nine of them had later gone to ground before I could end it.

  It’d taken me months to recover.

  I’d suffered some brutal hits in my time, but nothing compared to that.

  Well, it wasn’t like I hadn’t deserved it.

  I had a fuckload of blood on my hands. The stains would never wash out.

  I’d been a monster and with the way things were going, it looked like that darkest part of me was going to come roaring back in full force.

  Thinking otherwise had just been an extreme case of wishful thinking.

  Dumbass.

  There was no peace for a man like me.

  As if the universe intended on proving that point, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

  Eyeing the call display, I tensed.

  He either had good news that’d reassure me, or extremely bad news that’d take the normal level of paranoia that came with operating as a ghost to intense new heights.

  I braced myself and snatched up my phone, swiping it quickly to answer. “Yeah?”

  I knew better than to answer with my real name, or any aliases. Just because the caller ID claimed it was someone I knew, I had no way of knowing for sure who was going to be on the other end. I’d lived a dangerous existence. Unfortunately, retiring hadn’t changed that as much as I would have liked. I still had enemies; I still had a lot of people gunning for me. If they knew I was alive, I’d never be able to stop running. I couldn’t fucking kill them all. Not without risking exposure. Hell, every fight I fought, every kill I made, risked me being outed as alive and fucking kicking.

  “It’s me,” his familiar voice answered.

  Okay. All clear. The line was secure, so there was no more worry on that front.

  Names could be exchanged. Details could be relayed.

  “How did it go?” I asked, my fingers of my free hand tightening to a white-knuckle grip around my bottle of bourbon, just shy of shattering the thing.

  “It’s done,” he confirmed.

  A shitload of tension left my body. Thank fuck.

  “Good.”

  “You all right?” he asked.

  I frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I thought you didn’t do this sort of thing anymore.”

  “I explained the situation. You know what’s between me and Scott and—”

  “I’m not talking about the actual acts. I meant the way you ended them.”

  I chugged back some more of my bourbon. “I did what had to be done to protect my client.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “We’re not talking about this, Jesse.”

  Jesse Silver had been the voice in my ear on several intense black ops missions, my guide, basically. When I’d discovered the twisted turn the team had taken, he’d been with me on it, defected too. And since then, he continued to be invaluable to me. The guy was ex Special Forces like me and when he’d left the craziness of field missions, his hardcore computer background had him becoming a priceless overseer for guys like me. He was the one who’d helped to erase all traces of my existence so I’d been able to disappear. And with shit like this happening, me killing two guys in broad daylight in a public place, he was my go-to for the fallout too, my cleanup guy. I paid him a goddamn mint to get it done, but it was worth it to have it taken care of by the best.

  “Watch yourself, all right?” he went on. “You know better than anyone that you can’t just switch that shit on and off. It’ll take you over. Whatever your reasons—overcompensating because you’re no longer at your best due to those wounds you sustained, personal attachment to the client, or whatever the fuck—ease up.”

  Goddamn him. As usual he was right on the money. I could deny it all I wanted, but it’d do nothing. He could read things far too well for that to be a viable option. All I could do was redirect. Clearing my throat, I said in a light tone, “Be careful. It’s starting to sound like you actually care, Jesse.”

  He chuckled down the line. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Before you go, I need something else,” I spoke up before we moved to our quick, no-nonsense goodbyes.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I need intel. A full, detailed workup on all Rogues members.”

  He blew out a breath. “I’ve just cleaned up two and you’re considering adding more bodies to the pile? Are you serious? You’re risking too much, compromising your current status of—”

  “Get me the intel and I’ll make a decision from there.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Finn, I—”

  “I need you to trust me.
I know what I’m doing.”

  “You fucking well better, or this is going to go south incredibly quickly.”

  “I’m well aware of the stakes.”

  There was a lengthy pause on his end. No doubt, he was weighing his trust in me against the risks.

  “All right,” he finally said.

  “Thank you.”

  We said our goodbyes.

  And then I downed the rest of my bottle of bourbon.

  6

  ~Ashley~

  “WHAT THE HELL?”

  I shot up in bed, blinking rapidly to get a handle on my surroundings and what I was hearing.

  Pained shouts. Exclamations of utter agony.

  They rumbled through the large bedroom. The fancy bedroom with ornate, expensive furniture, a mammoth sleigh bed, an ensuite bathroom boasting a sunken bathtub. When Finn had shown me to the room, telling me it was where I’d be staying until the threat came to an end, he’d directed me to an impressively-sized closet that was full to the brim with clothes. All for me. All my size. All my style, edgy and rocker chic. He’d really done his research. I’d been so touched that he’d gone to so much trouble just to make sure I was comfortable.

  I climbed out of bed and navigated my way through the unfamiliar room in the dark, careful not to bang into anything on my way to the door.

  Throwing it open, the awful shouts amped up in volume. I took off down the second floor hallway, following the sounds, until I stood outside the door of a room that Finn had noted as the master bedroom when he’d given me a tour earlier. His room.

  I hesitated for a moment, debating whether I should just turn back around and mind my own business, instead of interfering.

  I couldn’t.

  He was obviously in pain. Just like when he’d come to the clubhouse in a disturbingly half-dead state all those months ago, I couldn’t turn a blind eye—or ear—to it. I hated witnessing people suffering. Especially, Finn, because he didn’t have anyone—no family, no friends, no significant other—to be there for him. He was all alone.

  Rapping on the door, I waited with bated breath for him to call out either a confirmation to come on in, or a dismissal, urging me to turn back around and leave him be.

  Neither occurred.

  He didn’t answer.

  The yelling continued.

  I tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked, so I opened it carefully and stepped inside.

  Fortunately, there was a lamp on, looming over by the far window, casting just enough light for me to take him in.

  Oh my God.

  He was thrashing about wildly, tangled up in the sheets of his king-size bed. His eyes were closed, but his features were twisted in pain as he continued to bellow out incoherent sentences.

  I hurried over and laid my hand on his shoulder, intending to shake him awake to stop his agony.

  But I never got that far.

  Just my slight touch had his eyes snapping open, his body going rigid in a state of intense alertness.

  I squealed as he bolted upright, grabbed my hips, and hauled me onto the bed beneath him, his body covering mine in an incapacitating hold.

  He was panting and sweating buckets.

  I looked up into glazed, confused eyes.

  “It’s me, Finn. Ashley,” I somehow managed to get out, despite being more than a little overwhelmed by the current situation. More specifically, the current position he had me in, his hard, massive body pressing into mine so forcefully.

  I watched him blink and give his head a shake.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, abruptly sitting back on his haunches. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I choked, still struggling to deal. Even though he’d pulled back, he was still sitting there straddling my hips.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. “You shouldn’t have come in here, Ashley.”

  “You were in pain. Screaming and thrashing about.”

  “And?” he snapped, harshly.

  I flinched, but blew past it, telling him, “I couldn’t let it continue.”

  He frowned down at me. It took him a moment to respond. “Why?”

  “I care about you.”

  I bit my lip and looked away, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t him and the unnerving sensation of being in such close proximity to a man I’d been crushing on for so long.

  The desire I felt for him was surging out of control with every second he remained straddling me. My pussy wept just at having him so close. My nipples were so hard that I could feel them pushing against the thin fabric of my gray tank top. I shifted my legs restlessly, my silky pajama pants brushing against his bare legs. Oh God. In all the commotion, I hadn’t actually taken him in. He was bare-chested, those ripped muscles of his on full display. My gaze flicked lower and an audible gasp escaped me before I could stop it when I saw the tent in his boxers.

  “Just morning wood, sweetheart. It doesn’t mean anything bad.”

  Anything bad? That was the last thing I’d been thinking.

  “I’m not worried,” I assured him, fighting to keep my breathing steady, even as my heart jackhammered in my chest.

  He moved to get off me, but I grabbed his hand, stopping him.

  “Ashley?” he said, warily.

  “Are you really okay?” I pressed. “That was one hell of a nightmare you were having.”

  “Part of life,” he answered, evasively.

  “Is it PTSD?”

  “Look, I—”

  “My dad has a good mental health doctor on call who’s treated several of his boys. He can hook you up, get you help.”

  He startled me then as he suddenly climbed off me with a grunt.

  The next thing I knew, he was lifting me off his bed, then placing his hand to the small of my back and ushering me toward the door. “You need to go.”

  I jerked from his hold and spun around to face him. “Finn, I’m just trying to—”

  “I know exactly what you’re trying to do and you shouldn’t.”

  “I shouldn’t help you?”

  “You shouldn’t care. Not about a man like me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t deserve it and I can’t reciprocate. You’ve got a good heart and that doesn’t belong anywhere near a brutal bastard like me.”

  His words were painful to hear, the way he spoke about himself so harshly, the utter defeat there.

  Ignoring his self-deprecating warnings, I stepped up close and cupped his face in my hands. He hissed and tensed at my touch, but he looked too shocked by it to actually do, or say, a thing about it.

  “What made you this way?”

  He flinched at my question. “Too much,” he croaked out, averting his eyes.

  Gently, I guided his face back to me. He looked wary, unsure of himself. I’d never seen him this way before.

  “You need to talk about it, get it off your chest.”

  His expression hardened. “Never.”

  “When you came to the clubhouse, you weren’t just suffering physically. I saw it. I saw your mental anguish. You were hurting and alone.” I stroked my thumb over his cheek. “And you still are. You need to let someone in, Finn.”

  He grasped my hands, easing them off his face, holding them between us. “I’m your protection detail.”

  “You’re more than that to me. I thought you picked up on that at the clubhouse.”

  He released me abruptly and turned away. “You need to go,” he grunted. “Now, Ashley.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t push me here. Go back to your room.”

  “No.”

  “Fuck.”

  The next thing I knew, he was growling and lunging at me.

  My breath whooshed from my lungs as my back hit the door, just narrowly avoiding the metal doorknob. His eyes locked with mine briefly, but oh-so-intensely.

  And then he dipped his head, his lips smothering mine.

  I barely had a chance to acclimate to it when he swept his
tongue over my bottom lip, demanding entry with an arousing insistence.

  I parted my lips, opening for him.

  He tasted me like a man starved, his experienced tongue gliding smoothly, sensually, along mine, making me moan out.

  My knees had turned to jelly, my body trembling. I grasped his biceps for support.

  His large hands grabbed hold of my ass, jerking me hard against him. A sexy rumble sounded in his throat as he kneaded my cheeks and ground his rock-hard dick against me, angling himself perfectly to rub right against my clit.

  Sparks of pleasure shot through me.

  I squirmed in his hold, my breath coming in harsh pants, forcing me to break from the kiss so I could gulp in much-needed air.

  His hands dropped from my ass all of sudden.

  I felt him fumbling behind me.

  The door opened and he eased me aside so he could open it fully.

  “Go,” he rasped.

  “What?” I cried, completely confused by his sudden turnabout. “Are you serious?”

  He turned his head, refusing to look at me as he told me, “Get away from me.”

  “But I—”

  “Go!” he thundered.

  I jumped, adrenaline shooting down my spine.

  Stumbling in my haste and my sex-dazed state, I clutched the door frame for support as I pushed myself out of the room.

  I gave it a hard kick, before hurrying down the hall.

  My mind was awhirl.

  I was stunned, mortified, and shaken.

  I really hadn’t expected that when I’d stumbled into his room.

  It had just… happened.

  And I had no idea what to do with it.

  7

  ~Wraith~

  PUNISHING PRESSURE.

  Scathing heat.

  It was exactly what I needed right now.

  The shower water raining down on my skin gave me the bite of pain that I craved, that jarring effect that helped me to obtain a sharp focus on the immediate, to pull me from other thoughts plaguing my overburdened mind.