Page 44 of Damaged

“I don’t know what is going through that boy’s head,” Real said.

“You’ve got to remember he was with Tanis for years,” Rogue reminded Real.

And Tanis had fucked Boston up really bad. If Rogue had known that Tanis was still alive and fucking boys, he would have crushed the fucker with his bare hands. But he’d been told by Solomon that Tanis was dead, so the fucker got away with sexually abusing boys for years.

“I need you to bring Boston home,” Real said, bringing him back from his dark thoughts.

“I will.”

“Thank you. I owe you.” Real ended the call.

And while Rogue wouldn’t wish this on Boston, he was glad that it hadn’t been Azrael up there. The thought of the shit storm that would have caused made him shudder. He wanted no part of whatever was going on between Real and Azrael. It was a known fact around their circle—nobody fucked with Azrael unless they wanted death.

As far as Rogue knew and from what Fisher had told him, Real felt responsible for Azrael. To Rogue, that was as good as putting in a claim on somebody. Once a person took responsibility for another, then that was that.

Rogue got off the freeway to get a fresh cup of coffee and gas at a chain station before he got back on the road.

It was eleven hours later when he made it to the town of Redding. He flipped on the windshield wipers to knock off the drizzle. The weather in March could get fucking cold so he had packed a set of warm clothing along with a heavy wool coat.

He picked up his phone and with a smirk, he reread the petulant message that Wrath sent a few hours ago.

Wrath: You should have woken me up.

Rogue: You needed sleep.

Wrath: So did you.

He couldn’t argue with the man’s reasoning. Before he once again tucked his phone away, he shot Jagger a message saying he’d arrived in Redding.

His phone buzzed in the next moment with a message along with the address where Boston was.

Jagger: You can stay in the house if you need to and the keys to the house and barn are on the right front tire of an old green Ford pickup. Nobody is in the house. The boy is holed up in the barn.

It was after dark when Rogue arrived at the property and he drove down the muddy dirt road around eight o’clock that evening. He killed the headlights and eased down the potholed dirt and gravel road at a snail’s pace, mostly because the mud became thick in some places.

He stopped about half a mile from the house where he found a carved out section in the muddy road and slowly pulled his truck into the tight space as far as possible. Only when he heard the tree branches scraping the side did he stop and kill the engine.

He also shot Jagger a text telling the guy that he had reached the property.

He deliberately stayed as far back as possible to scope out the place. For a split second, he thought about getting a room for the night and finding Boston in the morning, but figured the boy was probably scared out of his mind.

His phone buzzed with an incoming text from Wrath, and he couldn’t help but smile when the man’s name flashed on his locked screen. The text messages didn’t come at the same time every day, but they were always consistent.

He frowned at the message.

I found Rebel. I need to take care of some things here so I may not be at the ranch at the time we agreed, but I will be there.

What was keeping them apart this time? Perhaps it was fate interfering.

That didn’t surprise him…Wrath was a good man, while he was not. And fate was probably pissed.

Rogue knew that Wrath wanted him, that had been hard not to miss over the past several weeks, but Wrath wanted a relationship with him beyond hanging out and having sex.

And he couldn’t do it.

He wasn’t worth Wrath’s time. He was damaged goods, and the beautiful blond assassin could do so much better. Hell, he couldn’t even sleep comfortably and knew that kept Wrath from getting quality rest.

Perhaps he would let fate have its way.

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