Page 17 of Wraith’s Betrayal

He headed for the door, then stopped. "Raven?"

"Yeah?"

"Anyone knocks, anyone calls, anyone shows up—even someone claiming to be maintenance or delivery—you don't open that door. You call me immediately."

Twenty minutes later, I stood at the window watching Wraith's bike disappear down the street. Phoenix had arrived exactly when Wraith said he would, parking across the street with a clear view of the building's entrance. The sight of the enforcer should have made me feel safer.

Instead, dread coiled in my stomach.

My phone buzzed again.

Baby, we need to talk. I'm staying at the Mountain View Inn. Room 237. Come alone, or things get messy.

My hands shook as I read it. Derek was here. In Pike Creek. Close enough to show up at any moment.

I called Wraith immediately.

"What's wrong?" He answered on the first ring, already knowing something had happened.

"He's here. At the Mountain View Inn." I read him the text, hearing his bike engine rev in response.

"Don't move. Don't answer the door. Phoenix sees everything from his position. I'm heading back now with Viper."

"Wraith—"

"Twenty minutes, Raven. Give me twenty minutes."

The line went dead. I paced the apartment, checking locks, peering through blinds. Phoenix hadn't moved from his spot, solid and reassuring. Tank's bike pulled up ten minutes later, parking at the other end of the street.

They were protecting me. The club barely knew me, but they were protecting me because Wraith had asked them to.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard bikes approaching. Multiple bikes. Not just Wraith and Viper, but what sounded like half the club. They didn't come to the apartment, though. The engines faded in the direction of the Mountain View Inn.

My phone rang. Wraith.

"We're handling it. Stay inside. Phoenix and Tank stay on watch."

"What are you going to do?"

"What needs to be done. Derek Martell is about to understand that Pike Creek isn't Denver. And you? You're under our protection now."

"Blade—"

"Will be told everything after this is handled. No arguments."

The line went dead again. I sat on the couch, wrapped in one of Wraith's hoodies that smelled like leather and motor oil, and waited.

An hour passed. Then two. Phoenix never moved from his spot. Tank had gotten off of his bike, leaning against it with casual alertness that said he was ready for anything.

Finally, as the sun set behind the mountains, my phone buzzed one more time. A text from an unknown number—different from Derek's.

He's gone. Flight leaves in an hour. He won't be back. - V

Viper. Short, efficient, final.

Twenty minutes later, Wraith's key turned in the lock. He stood in the doorway, knuckles bruised, a small cut on his jaw, but his eyes were calm.

"It's done."