Page 22 of Damaged

Rogue squinted at Wrath.

“I can help.”

“No,” Rogue said, his voice sounding like a gravelly growl and he cleared his throat.

Wrath pursed his lips in a pretty pout and Rogue was reminded once again of their kiss.

Fuck me.

“Stay behind and so help me God, if you get hurt, I’ll…” Rogue left the rest of that sentence alone and headed into the darkened hallway where he’d taken out the lighting.

All too aware of the sexy blond following him.

With a smirk, Wrath followed Rogue into the black gaping hallway.

What he hadn’t expected was for the big assassin to stop in his tracks, causing him to smack into Rogue’s muscled back. Wrath face-planted into the back of the man’s head.

Instead of jerking away, Wrath pressed his forehead into the back of Rogue’s hood-covered neck, placed his hands flat on the man’s upper back, and waited.

Rogue seemed to be frozen in place and that worked for Wrath. He’d stay like that all-damned night or until they got caught.

Rogue’s hand had reached back around and caught him as if to save him from stumbling.

It was a very telling move, and he wondered if Rogue realized how possessive and protective he was of him.

The assassin thought himself cold and uncaring but to him, everything about Rogue was just the opposite.

He just had to get him to see it in himself.

Someday, that would happen.

He had to believe that someday, Rogue would believe in himself.

“You good?” The words were growled and sent butterflies into his gut and reminded him that they’d kissed, and he wanted another.

“Mmm,” he agreed, not moving.

What? It felt good leaning against Rogue, drinking in the man’s scent, warmth, and hardness.

“Wrath,” Rogue muttered, and Wrath wanted to snicker, but he refrained.

Lifting his head, he reluctantly slid his hands away and stepped back.

Now was not the time for another kiss. He was the older of them and here he was acting like a horny teenager—on a job no less.

Sliding into assassin mode was easy for him, he’d been doing it for years.

“Let’s move,” Wrath murmured and stepped around Rogue, only to be stopped with a hand wrapped around his bicep.

He slanted Rogue a quick glance, but could not discern anything because just like him, the assassin wore a hooded mask. Not even Rogue’s eyes were visible because of nighttime and that was a shame—they were really nice eyes.

“Follow me,” the man ordered gruffly and because he loved watching Rogue in action, he acquiesced.

Tony and Doug sat on their knees with their hands resting on their laps. Neither of the two men had fought them.

It was only when Rogue listed out their crimes in that graveled voice that they started to sweat.

“It was only that one time,” Doug sniffled, and Tony looked away, guilt written all over the fucker’s face.

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