I cover us, making a little cocoon with the blanket. It takes effort but I ignore his smell—and he does reek. Eventually, I lose myself in his warmth, and when I turn on my side with my back to him, Wraith’s heavy arm falls on top of me. He drags me against him and buries his face in my hair. I smile into the dark, wrapped in the arms of the one person who always made me feel safe.
“Jamie grew up.” Malice’s rumbling voice penetrates my sleepy mind. “With them all cozy back there, I think Wraith would have been pissed if I put a bullet in her.”
I cuddle closer to Wraith, glad they didn’t kill me, too. But I don’t have to worry about that now, because like it or not, I’m going home.
10
Wraith
It’s easy to take something as abundant as air for granted. It’s all around us. An invisible flow. Warm. Clean. And so fucking refreshing, I can’t pull enough of it into lungs starved after six excruciating months. Might as well have been six goddamn lifetimes crawling over me in a constant cycle of agony. Ended by the woman who spent the majority of the day sleeping in my arms.
The last ten hours have been exquisite torment, with each bump and curve in the road along Interstate 95 a jackhammer to my bones. I spent it drifting in and out of consciousness with Jamie nestled against me. Noz worked its magic, repairing most of the damage done during the last fight. Yeah, the ket is still in me, too, and that sucks, but it’s dulled to almost nothing, and I’m more sore than in actual pain. I’ve got faded bruises and cuts here and there, but nothing too serious. The trizapam was a bitch to come back from, but I’m past the worst of that shit, too.
What I can’t get under control is the blinding rage every time I look at Jamie. My hands itch to rip Crane’s throat out whenever I see the bruise on her cheek. Swore to myself no one was going to hurt her, but I shit the bed on that one because I couldn’t do a goddamn thing to protect her from that prick’s fists.
But I stow the fury because I’m not wasting energy on anger when revenge is waiting on the horizon. Instead, I relish the moment and drag in another lungful of fresh air. The rest stop is an oasis in a burnout city, with Virginia among the hardest hit during the war, and I swear I can smell each leaf and blade of grass growing around the parking lot.
Malice wanted to keep driving, but Jamie woke up in a fog looking like warmed-over shit. After everything she’s been through, she’s earned a few extra minutes of privacy to do whatever the hell she needs to do in the bathroom. So we stopped, and we can wait until she’s done in there.
But I didn’t miss the way the my friends watched her as she shuffled off with her backpack slung over one shoulder. Don’t blame them for appreciating the view. Not even spending the day sleeping next to my filthy body took the shine off her beauty. But she’s more than a pretty face. Jamie has a dignity to her that’s embedded into her molecular structure. And if you’re one of the lucky few, you get to glimpse the world that exists in her eyes. Back when we were kids, I spent some time in that enigmatic realm. When she left Mayhem, she took that world with her, and my life felt emptier with her gone.
But the universe gave her back to me. Or did it? I feel like I’m stuck in a fever dream. Afraid I’m going to wake up and find out that she’s nothing more than a figment of my desperate imagination. Because I’ve missed her. I’m not too proud to admit that yeah, I’ve missed Jamie friggin’ Ellis. Won’t say it to her face, but I can damn well whisper that fact inside the privacy of my mind. And I’m scared to death I’m still stuck in the dungeon, lost in some wild mind fuck. That I’m going to wake up trapped in my cell, alone and with Jamie nothing more than the memory I’ve been clinging to for the last eight years.
With my hip propped against the van, I scan the rest area. My legs are still weak as my body continues to struggle to get back to its full strength. I tug at the navy sweatpants and matching hoodie—both a size too small for my frame. But they’re clean, and there aren’t enough words in all of creation to express my gratitude at being fully clothed after wearing only pants or shorts since the night of my capture.
Don’t even get me started on how badly I want to slide my feet into socks and shoes.
The afternoon sun is a touch too bright after months of darkness because captivity is some crazy shit. Now I understand how animals feel when they’re released back into the wild. Can’t say I blame them for being skittish at first, then tear-assing to freedom once they get a taste of their surroundings. I’m like one of those animals, sniffing at the world from the edge of the open cage.
With Jester standing beside me, I take a bite of a protein bar and turn my face to the September breeze.
Malice growls as he paces in front of us. He gestures to the building a few yards away. “What the fuck is she doing in there?”
“I suspect the lady is using the facilities. Women do that occasionally,” Jester drawls.
“You’re a jerkoff,” Malice snaps.
“Ouch.” Jester throws a hand over his heart, his expression aggrieved. “You wound my tender feelings.”
Malice narrows his dark eyes. His upper lip curls into a snarl. He jerks his head at the scattering of parked cars in the lot. “And if Crane’s men roll up on us? You down for a shootout with innocents caught in the crossfire?”
Jester shrugs one shoulder. “No, but that shit’s on Crane, not us.”
He’s never been one to hunt for a fight, but Jester never fought a battle he didn’t enjoy. And he’s fiercely loyal to the Unholy. We’re all he has, and he may be a loveable asshole, but beneath the easygoing exterior is a man just as brutal as any other Unholy—myself included. Crane’s men catch up to us, we won’t hesitate to shoot. Anyone who ends up collateral damage is Crane’s sin, not ours.
Thing is, men like us, the Unholy, are a product of society. America went to hell, and we’re all struggling to survive while the government fights among itself. Until it gets its shit together, we gotta do what we gotta do to make it through the day.
Or, in our case, make it to Mayhem without Crane’s men gunning us down.
Right when Malice looks like he’s about to stomp his tall ass toward the bathroom, the door opens and out comes Jamie. I doubt I’ll ever tire of looking at her. And it’s more than her being gorgeous, although it helps that she’s fine as fuck. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that she’s a virgin. Yeah, she’s got issues, but what the hell? Before Crane took me, I couldn’t go a week without sticking my dick in someone, and here Jamie went twenty-four years without a man between her legs.
But her virginity is on borrowed time.
Well, shit. Nothing like having a raging hard-on to bring back the normal.
Outstanding.
“Finally,” Malice grunts. “Sure you don’t want to take longer? Not like we’re in a hurry.”
