Chapter Six
T he room swam into view and Wrath groaned at the brightness from the morning sun shining through the blinds.
A hand brushed the hair from his cheek and Wrath blinked his eyes open again.
Finding Rogue hovering over him was like winning the lottery.
“Hey,” he rasped, sounding like a frog.
“Hey back,” the assassin whispered.
“How long have I been out of it?” He glanced around the pristine white hospital room and then back to Rogue.
“Close to four days.”
“Shit. Does Justice know I’m here?” Wrath didn’t want his brother worrying about him.
“No.”
“Does Savage?”
“No.” Rogue’s eyes glittered like storm clouds.
“Not a fan of Savage?” His lips twitched.
“I would never share your business.” Rogue practically growled the words, and Wrath caught the man’s hand before it could slip away.
Linking their fingers together, he stared into Rogue’s eyes.
“Thank you.”
“I should beat your ass.”
Okay…those words were certainly a surprise and not like Rogue at all.
“You can try, but I guarantee yours will be handed back to you,” he hissed right back and Rogue smirked.
“You think?”
“I know.” Wrath made sure he glared.
“You’re as weak as a kitten,” the man’s low voice rumbled.
“I don’t need to be strong to knock you on your ass.”
Rogue huffed and humor gleamed in the man’s eyes. Laughter was something Wrath rarely ever saw in Rogue’s eyes or on his face and it took his breath away.
Damn, he was a sap for this man.
“You stayed,” he reminded Rogue.
“So?”
“Now you’re mine.”
A muscle ticked in the man’s jaw and those sexy eyes narrowed. Dark hair fell over the man’s forehead and Wrath squeezed their linked fingers.
When Rogue opened his mouth to take a breath and probably spew that he wasn’t any good for him, Wrath cut the man off with a wave of his hand.
The next moment, the nurse and doctor entered the room.
“When can I be discharged?” Wrath asked, tightening his grip on Rogue’s fingers when the man tried to tug them away.
After checking his vitals, the doctor glanced over a clipboard and then at him.
“Let’s see if we can get you out of here this afternoon. And take it easy with the wakeboarding.”
Wake…what?
Wrath squinted, but the doctor and nurse were already leaving the room. He turned to Rogue, who was looking a bit sheepish.
“Wakeboarding?” Wrath said with a huff of laughter and Rogue shrugged. “You did good.”
Rogue looked away, but Wrath caught the slight flush on his cheeks. He smoothed his thumb over the top of Rogue’s where their hands were still linked together.
“I’m sure that Savage reached out to you.”
“He did.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you were on a job, and I’d have you contact him.”
“What job would I be on that Savage wouldn’t know about?”
“A personal one.”
Wrath chuckled, he was sure to catch flak from Savage when he returned, but right then, he didn’t give a shit.
The only thing that mattered was that Rogue hadn’t left his side.
That was saying something.
That was huge in his book.
And he was going to take advantage of it for as long as he could.
Forever if possible.
For the rest of the day, Rogue wandered in and out of his hospital room.
The doctor returned and suggested he stay another night and Wrath didn’t argue. One reason was because he wanted to spend more time with Rogue and the other was that he felt weak. Not weak like a kitten or anything like Rogue had teased him, but he knew full well he wasn’t up to his former strength.
He might as well bite the bullet and call Savage.
Rogue had gone to the cafeteria a few moments ago and Wrath lifted his phone to make the call.
“Private business?” Savage growled into the phone.
Wrath smirked, then sighed and admitted the truth. “I got injured on a job.”
A hush settled over the phone and then Savage’s voice grew gentle. “I won’t ask what happened, because I know that was a fluke.”
His boss’ confidence in him brought a smile to his lips. “It was a mishap that will not happen again.”
“I expect it won’t. So, I’ll take you off the roster until you tell me otherwise. Just be sure you handle the other thing I need.”
“No doctor’s note?” Wrath teased.
“Don’t tempt me,” Savage warred right back, but Wrath heard the humor lacing the man’s deep tone.
Normally, Savage was…well, savage. He didn’t banter or tease and when they ended the call, Wrath was left wondering about the slight change.
Later that night, a shadow hovered just outside of his hospital door and Wrath’s hand settled around the Sig Sauer P360 that Rogue had tucked beneath his pillow the day before.
Once he caught sight of who appeared in the doorway, he released his grip and gestured the boy to come closer.
Like a cautious wild animal, Azrael approached the bed. The young man’s head was on a permanent swivel, checking the room for danger. Wrath got it. Azrael had been raised by a madman. The boy had been physically and sexually abused to the point that Wrath feared for Azrael’s sanity.
The eighteen-year-old held a book in his hands. It was the one he’d lent Azrael a week ago. The boy was a voracious reader.
“So, what did you think of that one?”
The book in question was a mystery romance by a popular author and the couple got together in the end.
“I didn’t like the ending.” Azrael tipped his chin up, fire spat from his dark eyes, and Wrath laughed.
“Ow.” He grimaced and pressed a hand to his side.
Concern flashed in the younger man’s eyes. “You okay?”
“Yes, why didn’t you like the ending.”
“There are no happily ever afters.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s fiction. Real life is cruel and shitty and something to endure,” Azrael said with conviction and gazed toward the window where the night sky was encroaching. The boy moved like a dancer, light on his feet, over to the glass to gaze beyond. Even in profile, Azrael was beautiful. His loose hair fell to the middle of his back. And like a dancer, Azrael had the body of one.
Azrael was one of Erebus’s assassins.
The boy looked the part of an assassin but was also highly skilled. With the ability to get in and out of places and with his looks, the marks never saw him coming.
When Azrael had been rescued from Solomon at the age of seventeen, the boy had already killed his fair share of people. Azrael had had to cool it for a few months while adjusting at Dave’s, which meant no hit jobs until he turned eighteen. Which had come and gone.
Wrath knew that Azrael had been taught the same skills as Rogue, Echo, and Fisher, but Rogue told him Solomon had refused to teach Azrael swords—saying he didn’t want the boy injured. Wrath could picture that; Solomon had probably feared Azrael would turn on him.
So now, Rogue was the lucky, or maybe that was unlucky, one to get the job of training.
Lucky because Azrael was a natural-born killer, but unlucky because the boy had no fucking fear at all.
None. And that meant Azrael had placed no value on his own life.
“What kind of ending would you have given that book?” Wrath asked to snap Azrael out of whatever was going on in his head.
“One where the bad guys die and the killer lives happily alone.”
“What about the woman who loves him?”
“She’ll find another,” Azrael muttered. “They always do.”
“That’s not true. Sometimes people never find love and happiness.”
“What’s so special about love and happiness? It’s all lies.” The boy clenched his hands around the book and then stalked over to place it firmly on the empty food tray. “I want to read something that’s true.”
“True crime?” Wrath scowled. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Azrael said hotly. “It’s who I am.”
Rogue booted open the partially opened door and strode inside carrying a tray laden with all kinds of food from the cafeteria.
“It’s not who you are,” Rogue told the boy. “It’s what you do. It’s your job.”
“It’s still a crime,” Azrael snapped back, and Wrath couldn’t argue with that.
What they did was considered a crime to some, but also a saving grace to others.
Rogue apparently couldn’t argue with Azrael’s point either because the big man grimaced and placed the tray on top of the book lying on the empty table.
Wrath snatched up a plastic-wrapped roast beef sandwich and Rogue snagged a tuna salad one and tossed it to Azrael before tearing the wrapping off a ham and cheese.
“Three different kinds?” Wrath lifted a brow, tore off the wrapper, and took a big bite.
“I didn’t know what you liked.” They both ignored Azrael and after a moment, the boy tore open the sandwich and devoured the food. That was a very good thing because it looked like Azrael hadn’t eaten in a while.
“So, what’s the plan tonight?” Azrael came closer and sat on the edge of his hospital bed. On the opposite side of the bed, Rogue had settled into a chair.
“He’s not ready,” Rogue said around a bit of food and jerked his chin toward Wrath.
“I know that. But we can plan,” Azrael insisted.
“You don’t seem surprised that Azrael is here and talking about work,” Wrath told Rogue, eyeing the man closely.
“I know things.” Rogue handed Azrael a juice and then took the third one and Wrath suddenly realized that there were three of everything.
“Then you know that Savage appointed me as Azrael’s mentor?”
“I do.”
“He has an ‘in’ you know,” Azrael snickered around another bite, then chugged some juice.
“In?”
“Yeah. He knows Echo and Fisher. Get it?”
Wrath’s mouth opened with surprise before he snapped it close and took a hasty swallow of his own juice.
“Did you ask your friends about me?”
Rogue flushed and glanced away. Even white teeth savagely tore into the ham and cheese sandwich and for some reason, Wrath wanted to laugh.
But he didn’t. He held the joy inside for now. No way did he want Rogue bolting.
“Okay then. Rogue, you give Azrael lessons in short swords since you’re an expert and I’ll find some literature he can study on human anatomy.”
“What?” Rogue’s stormy gray eyes snapped to him. “No way. I’m not in this.”
“I’m injured, it makes sense for you to help me.”
Rogue stared at him mutely and Wrath softened his voice.
“I need you to help me.”