Page 1 of Damaged

Funny thing about sunrises was they could either make a person feel joy, sadness, or nostalgia, and if Rogue had to put a feeling to the orange color bursting at the skyline visible from the balcony of his shitty one-bedroom apartment, he’d probably choose sadness.

There wasn’t much to feel joy about and nothing in his past brought up any nostalgia.

He took a long swallow of the fresh beer he’d opened. So fucking what if it was six o’clock in the morning and the city of Oxnard, California was still waking up. He should have started with coffee, but the pot was brewing on the faded yellow countertop and the beer had certainly cut the morning mustard. Not to mention, it helped with the hangover from the previous night.

Not that drinking had helped. And long after he had passed out, the nightmares had come like clockwork.

His phone buzzed insistently, and he snatched it up from the dingy kitchen counter.

Savage Markel’s name flashed on the screen, and he sighed. The Erebus assassin’s leader was a pain in his ass right now—he wasn’t ready to make a decision to go back to Erebus.

“What,” Rogue growled into the phone before taking a swallow from his beer.

“I know you haven’t decided if you want to join us again, but I have something that really needs your attention,” Savage said calmly, taking the wind out of his irritation.

The man had patience in spades. Savage had a way about him that could soothe a wild animal.

“That means get your ass to the office,” Thane’s voice came through the phone from somewhere in the same vicinity as Savage.

Thane, on the other hand, was as impatient as all hell, and Rogue smirked at the demanding tone.

“I’m not coming to the office.”

“Hush up,” Savage told Thane, his voice muffled in the phone, and then became stronger once again. “I’m not asking you to, but I need your help.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you need, and I’ll see if I can do it.”

“There is word on the streets about another young assassin and I’d like you to bring him in,” Savage said.

“Do you have a name?”

“Only a first name.”

That was fitting, Rogue thought. Solomon had beat any memory of last names out of their heads. Rogue didn’t even know if he had family out there and hadn’t done any DNA tests to check…nor would he.

The past was in the past.

“Who is it?”

“Rebel.”

A cherub face with dark curly hair and dark eyes came to mind. The boy had been seven years old and all arms and legs when he’d last seen him roughly ten years ago.

After a brief stint at Solomon’s warehouse, Rebel had been taken away. Guilt cleaved a sick feeling in his gut. He had thought the boy had ended up at one of Solomon’s other facilities.

But maybe Rebel had been sold off to Tanis. Bile coated his tongue. Solomon had supplied Tanis with a lot of boys through the years.

Thoughts of the part he had played came up like vomit and he squeezed the phone and took a quick swallow of beer before setting it aside.

Walking into the kitchen, he poured a cup of fresh black coffee and took a slow sip, forcing back thoughts of the past.

He only knew one thing for sure, it was a good god damned thing both Tanis and Solomon were already dead.

While Solomon Mercy had been diabolical by snatching children, himself included, from the streets and turning them into killers, Tanis had done much worse in Rogue’s mind. Tanis had molested the young boys who were sold to him via Solomon. Tanis had kept them in cages until they aged out and grew too old for the man’s sick, twisted cravings. From there, Rogue suspected that Tanis had either killed them or sold them.

And he was to blame. If he had only stepped up and reported Solomon, then none of this would have happened.

Tanis was dead, he reminded himself.

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