Page 8 of Damaged

Rogue had manhandled him over that couch like he had weighed nothing. Sexy as fuck, but yeah, his knife wound was bleeding and that sucked.

Wrath smirked. He couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried.

Coming to a stop at the edge of his driveway, Wrath punched the code for the garage door on his phone app. After the wide door rolled up, he pulled the vehicle into his garage.

The roar of the Ducati following behind him made him smile.

Rogue looked sexy as hell straddling his bike and Wrath wondered how the man would look straddling his cock…or vice versa.

Time would tell, because they would have their day…or year…or hopefully, a lifetime.

Wrath pulled the truck to a stop in his three-car garage and got out to point out a place inside where Rogue could park themotorcycle. The man pulled in, turned the key, and stepped from the bike.

Wrath met Rogue halfway and pointed to the backdoor.

“I’ll just be heading out,” the wary assassin said gruffly.

“Oh…okay,” he rasped, and pressed a hand to his side, hunching over a bit.

Rogue quickly snapped to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist before guiding him to the house door.

Wrath punched in the short security code on the access panel, and Rogue turned the knob to open the door.

Wrath leaned against Rogue and as they stepped inside the cool interior of his home, he slapped the garage door opener and kicked the door shut with his boot before once again hunching over in Rogue’s grip.

Okay, he was milking it a bit and had turned into a regular sap over the guy, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t going to miss a chance to have the guy in his home.

Right where he wanted him.

“Where to?” Rogue grumbled when they stepped inside.

“The bedroom,” Wrath suggested, and Rogue rolled his eyes.

Was that a tiny smile quirking the corner of the guy’s mouth?

Rogue guided him to the couch and gently lowered him down.

Wrath leaned back and rested his head on the back of the couch, gazing up at the man towering over him.

Rogue…damn, the man was an enigma. A mixture of ice and fire. When he moved, it was all coiled power with an underlying hint of danger. It was clear Rogue didn’t feel comfortable in his home. Those cold gray eyes kept looking around.

There was a permanent hint of pain in the man’s gaze that had taken Wrath a long time to figure out. It was like Rogue was still trying to figure out what the fuck life was all about and was scared of what that might mean.

Wrath swallowed hard at what the man had gone through. Rogue had been taken at the age of six or seven—if he remembered correctly—and subjected to a sick mother fucker for most of his life.

Now that Solomon was dead, Rogue appeared to be drifting, and Wrath wanted to be the man’s anchor if he would let him.

However, getting past the fact that Rogue was fighting a fucked up past that came with a healthy dose of guilt was going to be the biggest challenge.

“Need anything?” Rogue’s voice tugged him from his thoughts and Wrath found the man frowning down at him.

“Some water, thanks.” He had to keep this casual, otherwise he would spook Rogue and that was the last thing he wanted.

Rogue glanced around, spotted the massive kitchen across the room, and stalked toward it.

Wrath watched the man, drinking in every inch. When Rogue returned and handed him a water bottle, Wrath twisted off the cap.

“You can have one.”

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