Page 6 of Damaged

Wrath placed a hand around his wrist and led him down the hallway and Rogue let him—which was very out of character for him. They reached the apartment and the door was wide open.

Pausing on one side of the open doorway, Wrath’s warm hand suddenly closed around the back of his neck, and Rogue was forced to gaze into the man’s eyes. They were almost the color of a pale sky in the dim lighting.

Being almost the same height, Rogue was able to meet the man eye to eye. Oh, he had that smidge of height, and he enjoyed it when Wrath’s head tipped up just slightly.

“You okay?” Wrath asked quietly, searching his eyes.

“I’m good,” he rasped, matching the man’s whisper, and glanced away.

Wrath slid his hand away from the hold on his neck and when Wrath pulled a Sig Sauer from a holster beneath his black leather jacket, Rogue pulled his own weapon.

Wrath entered the room and Rogue moved instinctively to cover the assassin’s flank.

And it was a very pretty flank too.

Fucking stop it, he admonished himself and instead, focused on the dark room. After Wrath deemed it clear, the man flipped on the overhead lights.

Empty food cans and soiled papers littered the floor, the furniture had to have been collected from trash bins around town, and a few chairs along with a side table and lamp were tipped over. Glass from the bulb had showered the floor in the living room.

Wrath quickly checked the one bedroom while Rogue stood guard at the open apartment door.

“It’s blood,” Wrath said, walking over to crouch down next to the ripped, broken-down couch to check out a dark stain on the floor.

“You think Rebel was attacked?” Rogue murmured and after glancing back out the door to the apartment and checking the hallway again, he came closer to check out the spot of blood.

Next to the dark stain laid a ratted rug and Wrath lifted the edge—blood had pooled beneath. “From the amount of blood, I’d say someone died here.”

“Well, shit,” Rogue muttered, tossing another glance at the door, careful to always keep an eye out.

It was a good fucking thing too because the gunman was aiming for him and Wrath. Rogue ducked, grabbed Wrath, and rolled them behind the sofa in one move. No other sound left Wrath other than a grunt on impact.

Snick.

Snick.

Bullets from the silenced handgun pierced nearby wood and an empty can rolled across the floor.

Rogue rose up and fired over the top of the couch at the doorway that now stood empty. Lunging upward, he raced to the door, swung a quick glance out, and dodged back. He’d seen the perp running down the hallway and he charged after the guy.

Taking the stairs downward, he leaped ten of them at a time, but the fucker was fast. When Rogue reached the exit to the dumpy apartment building, he paused and waited a moment before he darted a glance out.

Nothing.

And it was too fucking dark to go running around. Not that he was slow, because he was fucking fast, but if he were faster, like Fisher or Echo, he would have caught the fucker. Mostly, he drew on his physical strength, ability with weapons, and skills with his short swords instead of his speed to take perps down.

Glancing back into the apartment entrance, he expected Wrath to be on his six, but the man was nowhere to be found.

That sent him charging back up the stairs, taking them three at a time with his heart pounding. Rogue slammed into the room, knowing it was stupid, but the thought that there might have been a second gunman had him panicked.

Rounding the back of the couch, he gazed down into the pale blue eyes. They both had worn black hooded masks pulled over their heads, but it didn’t take away from Wrath’s gaze. Rogue drank in every inch of Wrath, who was lying on his back with his gun resting across his chest.

“Did you get him?” Wrath asked, the man’s lips twitching visibly through the mouth slit. But Rogue noted the pain in the man’s eyes, which was very visible in the overhead lights.

“No, it’s too dark outside.” He crouched and touched the gloved hand holding Wrath’s gun. “Can you sit up?”

“Yup.” Wrath tried for a drawl, but Rogue could tell something was not right.

Reaching out, he eased Wrath upright and then ran his hands over his shoulders, down the man’s arms, and then to the hem of his shirt. Gloved hands stopped his before he could lift the material.

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