Chapter Three
I t was just after dark by the time Rogue parked his old, beat up F150 curbside in Northridge.
The place where Rebel was supposedly holed up in sat on the edge of North Ridge—in a dumpy apartment building that looked on the verge of being abandoned. Or hell, maybe it already was. Rogue didn’t know nor did he care. He just wanted to find the kid, have a conversation, and then get the hell out of there.
The familiar roar of that sexy Ducati reached his ears, and he gave an internal groan but made himself stay still. He’d reached the walkway of the apartment and from there had had a birds-eye view of the sexy as all fuck assassin. Wrath took off his helmet, shook out his blond hair, and stepped over the seat. The helmet was placed on the seat before the man glanced around, spotted him, and walked toward him.
Wrath should have come with a warning label or maybe a law that said touch at your own risk.
Fuck, he huffed out an annoyed breath.
He was losing it.
That swagger was hell on his nerves.
Steel blue eyes caught and held his across the distance, and that piercing gaze wouldn’t let go of him no matter how much Rogue wanted to look away.
Wrath was forty-one years old; he knew because he’d asked Justice. That was older than him by a good nine years.
It wasn’t really all that many years when he thought about how fit Wrath was. Oh, and the man was one ripped motherfucker. They could have passed for the same age to onlookers. Where Wrath was sleekly muscled, he, on the other hand, was thicker and more muscular and considered stocky.
He could have bench-pressed Wrath if he wanted to, he needed to remind himself of that. Wrath would do well to steer clear of him.
“Daydreaming?” Wrath’s smooth voice whispered near his ear and Rogue closed his eyes when the familiar feeling of lust swept down his spine.
Yes. He’d been caught daydreaming, damn it. …otherwise, how would Wrath have gotten this close and why was the man so close?
“No,” he lied, edging away, and pulled his weapon to check the clip. “You ready?”
“Born ready.” The corner of Wrath’s lip quirked, and Rogue had the insane urge to kiss the fucker into submission. But he wasn’t sure it would turn out that way…he just might be the one on his knees.
Would that be a bad thing?
Hell fucking yes it would be.
So much for his “cold shoulder” idea.
He swallowed back his groan of annoyance, scowled instead, and stalked down the cringey, filthy hallway to the stairs.
Rogue took the stairwell upward to the third floor all the while aware of Wrath silently following.
Like an ever-present shadow.
Like a silent protector.
Like a man waiting.
Butterflies swarmed Rogue’s gut and he almost stepped on the junkie passed out in the upper hallway. It was only Wrath’s hand beneath his elbow that kept him from stumbling.
“Thanks,” he muttered, slowly pulling away, but Wrath stepped closer, crowding nearer, so close that the man’s chest brushed the back of his arm.
“Don’t mention it.” Wrath’s voice came from near his ear, and Rogue feared jerking away or making any sudden movements.
Assassins didn’t move quickly in unfamiliar situations. Well, at least he didn’t. Rogue didn’t know about any other assassins because even though he’d worked for Erebus in the past, he’d always worked alone.
He was a loner.
Don’t let anyone get close.
Wrath placed a hand around his wrist and led him down the hallway and Rogue let him—which was very out of character for him. They reached the apartment and the door was wide open.
Pausing on one side of the open doorway, Wrath’s warm hand suddenly closed around the back of his neck, and Rogue was forced to gaze into the man’s eyes. They were almost the color of a pale sky in the dim lighting.
Being almost the same height, Rogue was able to meet the man eye to eye. Oh, he had that smidge of height, and he enjoyed it when Wrath’s head tipped up just slightly.
“You okay?” Wrath asked quietly, searching his eyes.
“I’m good,” he rasped, matching the man’s whisper, and glanced away.
Wrath slid his hand away from the hold on his neck and when Wrath pulled a Sig Sauer from a holster beneath his black leather jacket, Rogue pulled his own weapon.
Wrath entered the room and Rogue moved instinctively to cover the assassin’s flank.
And it was a very pretty flank too.
Fucking stop it, he admonished himself and instead, focused on the dark room. After Wrath deemed it clear, the man flipped on the overhead lights.
Empty food cans and soiled papers littered the floor, the furniture had to have been collected from trash bins around town, and a few chairs along with a side table and lamp were tipped over. Glass from the bulb had showered the floor in the living room.
Wrath quickly checked the one bedroom while Rogue stood guard at the open apartment door.
“It’s blood,” Wrath said, walking over to crouch down next to the ripped, broken-down couch to check out a dark stain on the floor.
“You think Rebel was attacked?” Rogue murmured and after glancing back out the door to the apartment and checking the hallway again, he came closer to check out the spot of blood.
Next to the dark stain laid a ratted rug and Wrath lifted the edge—blood had pooled beneath. “From the amount of blood, I’d say someone died here.”
“Well, shit,” Rogue muttered, tossing another glance at the door, careful to always keep an eye out.
It was a good fucking thing too because the gunman was aiming for him and Wrath. Rogue ducked, grabbed Wrath, and rolled them behind the sofa in one move. No other sound left Wrath other than a grunt on impact.
Snick.
Snick.
Bullets from the silenced handgun pierced nearby wood and an empty can rolled across the floor.
Rogue rose up and fired over the top of the couch at the doorway that now stood empty. Lunging upward, he raced to the door, swung a quick glance out, and dodged back. He’d seen the perp running down the hallway and he charged after the guy.
Taking the stairs downward, he leaped ten of them at a time, but the fucker was fast. When Rogue reached the exit to the dumpy apartment building, he paused and waited a moment before he darted a glance out.
Nothing.
And it was too fucking dark to go running around. Not that he was slow, because he was fucking fast, but if he were faster, like Fisher or Echo, he would have caught the fucker. Mostly, he drew on his physical strength, ability with weapons, and skills with his short swords instead of his speed to take perps down.
Glancing back into the apartment entrance, he expected Wrath to be on his six, but the man was nowhere to be found.
That sent him charging back up the stairs, taking them three at a time with his heart pounding. Rogue slammed into the room, knowing it was stupid, but the thought that there might have been a second gunman had him panicked.
Rounding the back of the couch, he gazed down into the pale blue eyes. They both had worn black hooded masks pulled over their heads, but it didn’t take away from Wrath’s gaze. Rogue drank in every inch of Wrath, who was lying on his back with his gun resting across his chest.
“Did you get him?” Wrath asked, the man’s lips twitching visibly through the mouth slit. But Rogue noted the pain in the man’s eyes, which was very visible in the overhead lights.
“No, it’s too dark outside.” He crouched and touched the gloved hand holding Wrath’s gun. “Can you sit up?”
“Yup.” Wrath tried for a drawl, but Rogue could tell something was not right.
Reaching out, he eased Wrath upright and then ran his hands over his shoulders, down the man’s arms, and then to the hem of his shirt. Gloved hands stopped his before he could lift the material.
“Did you get shot?” He kept the panic from his voice only by sheer will.
“No,” Wrath rasped with a wry smile, but at his insistent tug on the shirt, the man finally released his grip.
Rogue rolled the material upward and the white bandage beneath was bright red with blood. His gaze flicked up to Wrath’s and he squinted.
This looked like a recent injury. When Wrath grimaced and looked away, Rogue said fuck it in his head and lifted the man in his arms.
“I can walk!” Wrath gasped.
“Keep your voice down,” Rogue growled and stalked from the room.
“Rogue,” Wrath hissed when they reached the top of the stairs, “put me down.”
With a sigh, Rogue let Wrath’s legs slide down and feet touch the floor of the hallway. His arm went around the man’s waist to keep him steady—although Wrath was already pretty steady. Wrath grabbed the hand railing to the stairs and Rogue finally stepped away.
“Should we call the cleaners?” he asked, watching Wrath closely as they took the stairs downward.
“No, I wouldn’t get us involved in whatever went down here.”
That made sense. Whatever happened prior in that room, Erebus was not a part of.
They reached outside and walked along the cracked and cratered sidewalk until they reached their vehicles.
“I’ll drive you home.” Rogue gestured to his beat-up truck.
With widened eyes, Wrath gazed at Rogue and then to his Ducati parked behind the pickup.
Rogue got it.
Wrath didn’t want to leave such an expensive bike there on the street at night, but there was no way in hell the man could safely drive that thing with the reopened injury.
But then...was it really any of his business?
He’d been acting like a possessive Neanderthal all night and that wasn’t like him at all. He didn’t get into anyone’s business, and that kept his life simple and uncomplicated.
Wrath chewed his lip, gazing at him and then the bike.
“How about I drive the bike back to your place and you follow me in my truck?” Rogue suggested, expecting to be shut down fast.
This had to be the last time he helped Wrath.
He couldn’t let himself be swayed into any type of relationship with the guy no matter what that piercing blue gaze suggested.
He was no good for anyone. He had to remind himself of that.
He’d betrayed his friends, he’d betrayed innocents. He’d completely bought into Solomon’s lies.
He was the last person who deserved a happy ending.
Rogue clenched his fists and when Wrath held out the keys without hesitation, he couldn’t hide his start of surprise.
Well, shit.
Wrath trusted him with his bike.
That shit was serious.