10. Wraith
Chapter 10
Wraith
S he doesn’t see me coming.
I move—silent, precise.
One second, she’s closing in on the target.
The next, my hand is over her mouth, dragging her back flush against me, tight and unyielding.
Her body collides with mine. Soft where I’m all hard edges.
She fits against me—too well—and the realization hits low and vicious.
She smells like leather and frost—sharp, wild, alive.
And underneath it, something raw clings to her skin.
Like the way the air smells just before a storm hits.
Electric. Inevitable.
Fucking hers.
It shouldn’t gut me the way it does.
Shouldn’t sink into my skin like it’s already a part of me.
But it does .
Without warning.
Without consent.
Uninvited.
Un-fucking-stoppable.
I grit my teeth, battling the urge to do something reckless—something stupid—like bury my face in her neck and breathe her in deeper.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
For one sharp, charged second, she freezes.
Not panicked.
Not startled.
Deciding.
Whether to claw me apart?—
or lean in closer.
My fingers flex against her without thinking—barely a twitch, but it sends heat spearing straight to my cock.
Something dark unfurls in my chest.
I lean down, lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice low and lethal.
“Not yet.”
She stills.
A sharp inhale—ready to fight.
I tighten my grip just enough to remind her who has control.
Voice darker now, sharp enough to bleed.
“You can’t kill him. Not yet.”
Another breath shudders through her.
She relaxes—slightly.
And I let go.
Reluctantly. Because I hate her or want her—I’m not sure.
She turns.
Slow. Measured .
Her eyes drop to my hand—and the white paint smeared across my glove.
A flash of something sharp cuts through her expression.
Her lips part—and fury, pure and hot, spills out:
“Seriously? Do you have any idea how long this takes?”
I blink.
What the fuck is she on about?
Of all the things to be pissed about, it’s the damn face paint?
She lifts her gaze—eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
And then, a slow, razor-smile curls her lips.
Mocking. Teasing.
“You owe me.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I don’t owe her jack shit.
My jaw ticks. Hard.
“You can have the kill,” I growl, not even sure why I’m giving in to her at all. “After I get my information.”
She tilts her head, considering.
Smirks wide and wicked.
“Oh?” she purrs. “And how exactly do you plan to get that, big guy?”
Her tone is sugar-sweet?—
but her eyes?
Sharp as blades.
This is going to be a problem.
She’s a problem.
A big fucking problem.
The chains creak under Eldridge’s weight.
His arms stretch above his head, wrists locked in iron cuffs, body swaying from the overhead beam.
He should be talking by now.
Instead, he’s bleeding on the floor like a pathetic fucking martyr.
I stand over him, fists clenching and flexing, feeling the bruised pulse of my own knuckles.
I’m not sure what pisses me off more—the bastard’s silence, or the fact that two different women have been haunting my every thought like a sickness I can’t fucking shake.
Either way, Eldridge is catching the fallout.
The punch lands clean.
Right to the gut.
The man folds, wheezing, coughing blood onto the concrete.
Good.
Not enough.
I step back. Roll my shoulders. Keep it controlled. Measured.
The next hit snaps Eldridge’s head to the side.
Blood spatters in a messy arc.
I grab him by the collar—haul him up, dangling.
Yank his sweat-soaked head back so we’re eye to eye.
“Who’s funding Voss?”
No answer.
Just a blood-slicked grin and a wheeze of defiance.
I bare my teeth in something that might’ve once resembled a smile.
Not anymore.
The punch to the ribs is deliberate .
Sharp. Fucking painful.
Something cracks.
That’s for the one who won’t fucking see me.
That’s for the one who won’t fucking leave me alone.
That’s for the fact I haven’t had a second of peace since either of them crashed into my life.
I exhale—hard—shaking the blood off my knuckles.
Wishing I could shake them off as easily.
I pull a knife from my belt.
Trail the blade lazily along Eldridge’s throat.
The man flinches.
Fucking finally.
Eyes rolling, throat bobbing.
Good.
“You think silence is going to save you?” I murmur, low with the promise of death.
The blade presses harder—just enough to nick skin.
And then?—
A voice behind me.
Bright. Careless. Dangerous.
“Ooooh, he’s a stubborn one.”
I stiffen.
Jaw locking. Breath freezing. Rage ticking hotter under my skin—near boiling.
Of course.
Of fucking course she wouldn’t listen.
I told her she could watch, only if she didn’t interfere.
I should’ve known better.
She saunters closer, hands loose at her sides, hips swinging like she’s walking into a party instead of a bloodbath.
It’s probably the same to her.
She tilts her head up at Eldridge, meeting his eyes.
Mock-sympathy bleeding off her in waves.
“Poor thing,” she croons.
“Looks scared.”
Not scared enough.
She flashes a grin—one I’m starting to know means fucking chaos.
“Can I have some fun with him?” she asks.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
I should say no.
But then her eyes go all big and?—
Fuck.
Is she giving me goddamn puppy-dog eyes?
Jesus.
I should shove her away.
Finish what I started.
But instead?—
Against my better judgment, I step back and lean against the wall.
Arms crossed.
“Be my guest.”
Because if she’s going to perform,
I might as well watch the show.
Eldridge wheezes.
Slumps against the chains.
Blood slicks his jaw, pooling under his chin.
Still trying to hold on.
Still stupid enough to think he has a choice.
I adjust my footing and get comfortable against the wall, recross my arms, settling in for the theatrics .
Silent. Amused. Waiting.
She hums to herself—something light, almost playful—as she circles the chair.
“You know,” she muses, tapping her chin like she’s deciding on a snack,
“I think you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Eldridge’s one good eye narrows.
His split lip trembles.
“You’re… both fucking crazy,” he rasps.
She gasps.
Mock horror.
“Did you hear that?” she stage-whispers.
“He thinks we’re craaazy,” she sings as she twirls.
Loose and graceful, stopping right in front of him.
Lifting up on her toes as high as she can so that her face is inches from his.
“You’re not wrong,” she purrs.
“But that’s—not—gonna—save—you, sweetheart,” she says, tapping his nose with each word.
Her hand drifts lower.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Mock-gentle.
Slides down his bloodstained shirt, past the broken ribs, straight to his lap.
Eldridge stiffens.
Real fear flickers across his ruined face.
Jesus Christ. Not this again.
“Talk,” she says sweetly, palm pressing down.
He grits his teeth .
Says nothing.
Her smile widens.
“Suit yourself.”
She grabs.
Hard.
Eldridge lets out a strangled sound—half-scream, half-whimper.
His entire body jerks against the chains, legs kicking out helplessly.
I tilt my head slightly and cringe.
Well. It’s effective. I’ll give her that.
She hums, tightening her grip, nails digging in like little knives.
“Aww. Does that hurt?” she coos.
He tries to pull away—desperate to be free of her.
“Tell me who’s backing Voss,” she sing-songs, twisting her wrist,
“or I swear I’ll make you a soprano.”
Eldridge gasps, a raw, rattling sound.
His mouth opens. Closes.
No words.
Bad choice.
Her hand tightens again.
Another brutal twist.
He screams. The sound has definitely gone up an octave or two.
Blood spits from his lips.
His legs spasm.
I watch, almost detached.
Maybe a little impressed.
Maybe a little… grateful it’s not my dick in her grip.
Which is a strange thing to think .
She finally lets go—gives him a soft, condescending pat on the cheek—then wipes her hand off on his shirt like he’s trash.
Glances at me with a grin that reminds me of the Cheshire Cat.
“There,” she says, beaming.
“I softened him up for you.”
Eldridge collapses forward, chest heaving, defeated.
I push off the wall, stride forward, grab the bastard’s jaw, and yank his head up.
“Name.” My voice low—cold enough to freeze marrow.
Eldridge’s mouth works uselessly for a second?—
—then finally, broken and bleeding, he gasps,
“Leviathan.”
Silence.
I blink once.
She snorts. Loud enough to make Eldridge flinch.
“Real original,” she says, voice dripping mockery.
I scrub the blood off my knuckles, unimpressed.
“Dead men love calling themselves gods,” I mutter. “Makes the fall harder.”
My expression hardens.
A lead.
Not the endgame, but close enough.
He lets Eldridge slump sideways, broken and gasping for air.
I got what I came for, sort of.
But I don't move.
I watch her instead.
She stands there, blood-streaked and smiling, the white paint on her face cracking.
Beautiful.
Chaotic.
Deadly.
A fucking problem.
And the real show?
It’s about to begin.
Eldridge breathes in ragged gasps, body sagging against the chains in relief.
Beaten. Bloody. Broken.
I wipe my bloody knuckles on his shirt and glance at her.
“All yours,” I say.
Eldridge stiffens. Panic flickers across his face.
“Wait—wait, I’ll tell you everything!” he blurts out, coughing blood. “I swear—I don’t know who he is. No one does. He’s impossible to find. He hides himself. Every transfer. Every drop. Every move is through shell companies, dead accounts, ghost wires—he’s not just a name. He’s nothing. He’s… a fucking myth.”
I cock my head, studying him like he’s a particularly pathetic insect.
“So what you’re saying,” I murmur, voice low and even, “is you know jack shit.”
He nods frantically.
“Leviathan. That’s all they call him. Leviathan. That’s it, I swear.”
I roll my jaw, cracking the tension there.
“Nothing’s impossible for me,” I say, voice dropping into a promise. “Maybe annoyingly complicated. But not impossible.”
I step back, arms folding again.
“Have fun. ”
Eldridge whimpers.
She hums under her breath—something soft and sweet, almost childlike—as she stoops to pick something off the filthy floor.
A shard of glass catches the dim light, flashing sharp across her blood-smeared face.
I lean back against the wall, arms crossed again, smirking.
I could stop her.
But why would I do that?
The glass turns lazily in her fingers as she saunters back to Eldridge’s side.
Loose. Unhurried.
Like she’s choosing the opening note to a symphony of screams.
“You know,” she muses, twirling the shard between her fingers, “death doesn’t have to be boring.”
She spins once on the balls of her feet, playful and graceful and lethal all at once.
“Sometimes,” she says, voice dipping lower, “it can be… beautiful.”
The first slash is slow.
A delicate line across his cheek.
Blood wells up, slick and red, and Eldridge jerks in the chains.
He knows he’s not making it out of here alive. I can see it in his eyes.
Hopeless. Defeated.
She giggles—delighted.
She dances around him, hips swaying, the glass catching the light with every flick of her wrist.
Slash. Drag. Slice.
A wrist.
A forearm.
A shoulder.
Each cut shallow. Perfect.
Death by a thousand sharp kisses.
Eldridge gasps, breath hitching between broken sobs.
His body twitches.
She moves with him like they’re partners in some macabre waltz.
“Don’t stop now,” she coos, slicing another line across his ribs.
“We’re just getting to the good part.”
Blood spatters in delicate arcs, painting the air between them.
It isn’t murder.
It’s fucking performance art.
And her?
She’s always the star of the show.
I watch, jaw tight, heart hammering a brutal rhythm against my ribs.
Someone normal would feel disgusted.
Someone normal would feel anything but this.
But I’m not normal. Heat curls low in my gut, sharp and ravenous.
She’s a nightmare wrapped in blood and cracked paint.
And I want her more with every slash of blood she creates.
She twirls again, arms lifted, laughing as crimson ribbons through the air behind her.
And then?—
She starts singing.
Light. Mocking. Perfectly fucking insane .
Perfectly her.
“Oh bayyyby, bayyyby…” she croons, her voice carrying softly across the room.
Another flick of the glass, slicing a shallow cut across Eldridge’s thigh.
“How was I supposed to know…” she sings, dragging the shard along his ribs.
“That something wasn’t riiiiight here?”
Her voice lilts, floating over Eldridge’s choked sobs like a cruel lullaby.
My fists clench at my sides.
Not to stop her. No.
To stop myself from grabbing her and fucking her against the nearest surface.
She crouches low, leaning in so close her breath stirs his bloody hair.
“I shouldn’t have let you goooo…” she whispers, the glass slides slow and reverent over his skin.
“And now you’re out of siiiiight, yeah…”
Eldridge gurgles, choking on his own blood.
She straightens, beaming down at him like a queen admiring a ruined knight.
“Show me… how you want it to be…” she sings, soft and sweet.
And then?—
Like a dancer closing her final act?—
She slits his throat.
One clean, beautiful pull.
Blood spills fast, hot and bright, pouring down his chest.
Eldridge convulses once.
Twice.
And then sags, dead, against the cuffs.
She steps back, breathing hard.
Chest rising and falling in sharp, eager pulls.
Blood runs down her arms.
Spatters her clothes.
Slicks the corners of her mouth.
She turns toward me, takes a slow dramatic bow, all while smiling like a maniac.
She swipes her thumb through the blood on her cheek.
Licks it clean.
And winks.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she purrs.
“You could’ve stopped me.”
My pulse ticks dangerously.
The air between us hums, thick with violence—and something worse.
I push off the wall, stepping into her space.
“Who said I wanted to?”
She doesn’t retreat.
Of course she doesn’t.
Just cocks her head to the side.
Her grin turns wicked and something burns behind her hazel eyes.
She lifts a hand, trailing her bloody fingers down my chest.
Featherlight. Teasing.
Like she’s branding me.
She leans into me.
Her mouth ghosts near my ear.
Her voice drops, breath warm against my ear. My skin prickles .
“Tag,” she whispers, “you’re it.”
The words slither under my skin.
Curl around my ribs.
Sink fucking teeth into me.
And just like that?—
She spins away.
Laughing.
Singing.
Skipping out of the warehouse, blood dripping in her wake.
“My loneliness is killing me,” she croons, disappearing into the shadows.
“And I… I must confess… I still believe…”
I watch her go, every muscle pulled tight enough to snap.
The blood pools wider beneath Eldridge’s body.
The stink of copper and death fills the air.
I drag a slow, ragged breath through my teeth.
I don’t move.
I stand there. Shadows creeping longer around me—staring at the empty doorway where she vanished.
I grit my teeth, hand flexing at my side, craving violence.
Or her.
I can’t tell which.
Maybe both.
Maybe always.
She’s a fucking problem.
Wild. Untamed. Unapologetic.
And the worst part?
I don’t want to fucking stop her.
I want to chase her .
Catch her.
Want to see what happens when two monsters finally stop pretending they’re human.
I exhale hard.
Drag my fingers through my hair, tugging sharp at the roots.
The rhythm of blood dripping slows. Each drip thickens the puddle on the floor.
And all I can think about?
How fucking alive she looked.
She moves like something that belongs to the dark.
Born from it.
Made by it.
Just like me.
Maybe that’s why I can’t look away.
I turn and leave Eldridge’s body to drain and cool.
The game’s changed.
The stakes are higher.
Because next time?
I’m not letting her walk away with just a wink and a goddamn song.
I exhale one last time, sharp and vicious.
Then disappear into the dark.
Next time, little demon?—
I’ll give you something to sing about.