Page 4 of Wraith’s Betrayal

CHAPTER 2

RAVEN

Wraith's apartment smelled like leather and coffee, with something underneath that was purely him. Nothing like the cologne-drenched disaster of my ex's place in Denver. I set my duffel bag down in what would be my room for the next couple weeks, trying not to think about how the space already felt safer than anywhere I'd lived in the past year.

"Bathroom's across the hall," Wraith said from the doorway, careful to maintain distance. Like he'd been doing since Blade dropped me off an hour ago with strict instructions to "behave herself" that made me want to throw something at my brother's thick skull.

I was twenty-eight years old. But to Blade, I'd always be his baby sister who needed protecting from the big bad world. Especially from men like the ones in his MC.

Especially from men like Wraith Cooper.

The memory slammed into me—walking into that clubhouse three days ago, scanning the room for my brother, and then seeing him. Wraith. Sitting at the bar with his laptop, completely absorbed until he looked up and our eyes met. No other way to describe it. One second I was Raven Beckett, unemployed and temporarily homeless, the next I was someone else entirely—someone who belonged to the quiet, dangerous man staring at me like I was salvation and damnation rolled into one.

Before Blade's embarrassing declaration, before the growled threats to his brothers, before everything got complicated, there had been that perfect moment of recognition. Pure, uncomplicated want.

It wasn't just his looks, though God knows the man was devastating in that quiet, intense way. Dark hair cut short, revealing the sharp angles of his face. Those shoulders that filled out his thermal shirt perfectly, the kind of build that came from actual work, not gym mirrors. The scars on his hands that spoke of violence and survival.

It was the way he'd looked at me. Like I was something precious and dangerous all at once. Like he wanted to memorize every curve, every breath, every heartbeat. Like he already knew exactly how I'd fit against him, under him, around him.

Then Blade had opened his mouth and ruined everything.

"You hungry?" Wraith's voice pulled me back to the present. He'd moved away from the door, giving me space. Always giving me space. "I was going to order from Buck's."

"The bar has food?"

"Best wings in Pike Creek. Though Bea would fight anyone who said her diner doesn't own that title."

I followed him to the living room. He kept furniture between us—the coffee table, the arm of the couch, careful barriers that said he was fighting the same pull I felt.

"Any preferences?" He scrolled through his phone, still not making direct eye contact.

"Surprise me."

His thumb paused on the screen. He looked up, and for a second, raw heat flared before he shuttered it. "Dangerous words."

"I like danger."

The air thickened between us. Wrong thing to say when I was living in his space, dependent on his kindness. When my brother would literally murder him for touching me. But I'd been good for so long. Playing it safe with Derek, following all his rules, being the perfect girlfriend, and he'd still⁠—

"Half mild, half hot?" Wraith asked, voice rougher than before.

"All hot."

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Woman after my own heart."

My pulse jumped at the phrase. He placed the order, then retreated to the kitchen, pulling two beers from the fridge. The apartment was small enough that I could watch him move—economical, controlled, like he was hyperaware of his body in space. Military training, probably.

"What exactly do you do for the club?" I settled on his couch. The leather dipped in one spot—his spot, where he probably sat every night alone before I invaded his space.

"Keep the books, track shipments, maintain records that keep us legitimate." He handed me a beer, careful not to let our fingers brush. That deliberate avoidance made me want to touch him more. "Make sure our transport business stays clean on paper. Also handle security for anything digital—keeping the wrong people from finding what they shouldn't."

"Legal stuff?"

"Completely. We run a legitimate transport business. I keep the digital side clean and efficient."

"And the non-legal stuff?"

His eyes found mine, held. "What makes you think there's non-legal stuff?"