Page 62 of Damaged

“See ya,” Winter said and jumped behind the wheel.

When he had left the boys, they’d been huddled together as if they feared being apart. He figured Boston and Rebel had history, but he wasn’t sure what kind. Maybe he was wrong. Right then, Rebel was in the passenger seat and Boston was stretched out in the back.

“Did you kill Smalls?” Boston’s voice came softly.

“No, he got away,” Winter said.

“I’m going to kill that fucker,” Rebel hissed under his breath.

And watching the teenager right then, Winter didn’t doubt Rebel’s abilities, but the last thing they needed was for Rebel to run off half-cocked.

Winter tossed a glance over his shoulder at Boston, who was lying with an ice pack pressed to his head.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” Boston lowered the icepack. “Is Rogue okay?”

“I don’t know,” Winter said honestly. “But if it’s at all possible, Wrath won’t let him die.”

“Sometimes, people die…even if we don’t want them to,” Rebel grumbled, gazing out the passenger side window.

“Yeah,” Boston agreed. “It’s better not to care.”

And as young as Rebel and Boston were, Winter couldn’t argue with their philosophy.

It was a creed he lived by.

Never get too close to anyone.

Wrath sat in one of the hard-ass plastic chairs staring at the blood beneath his fingernails.

Although he had washed his face and hands in the hospital restroom, traces of Rogue’s blood stayed on his skin.

Rogue had been in surgery for almost two hours at that point, and the time had crawled.

Justice shifted in the chair next to him and draped an arm around his shoulders. Next to Justice sat Fisher scrolling through his phone. Ice and Echo had called and said they were on their way.

“Drink this,” Crow said and pressed a hot cup of coffee into his hands.

Wrath blinked up at the guy and found both Rebel and Boston as well.

“Weren’t you two with Winter?” Wrath asked with a frown.

“We made him bring us here,” Boston whispered.

They all still looked like shit, and it was clear that none of them had slept.

“You guys should go home and get cleaned up,” Wrath said, his voice sounding like gravel. He held the cup between both hands and took a sip.

“No,” Rebel said and sat cross-legged in the chair next to him.

Wrath looked at Crow in surrender and sipped at the hot brew in the cup.

A commotion down the hallway drew his gaze.

The former Secretary of Defense was walking toward them. Dave was dressed in a black power suit that reeked of money and fit his powerful shoulders. The bodyguards surrounding Dave were all on high alert. Wrath could tell by the way they moved. Like a pack of wild animals surrounding and guarding their leader to the death if need be.

Even at the age of sixty-one, Dave was a force to be reckoned with and Wrath wouldn’t bet on anyone who took on Dave.

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