WRAITH (Iron Kings MC, #1)

It’s starting to sound like you actually care, Jesse.”
He chuckled down the line. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Before you go, I need something else,” I spoke up before we moved to our quick, no-nonsense goodbyes.
“I’m listening.”
“I need intel. A full, detailed workup on all Rogues members.”
He blew out a breath. “I’ve just cleaned up two and you’re considering adding more bodies to the pile? Are you serious? You’re risking too much, compromising your current status of—”
“Get me the intel and I’ll make a decision from there.”
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Finn, I—”
“I need you to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“You fucking well better, or this is going to go south incredibly quickly.”
“I’m well aware of the stakes.”
There was a lengthy pause on his end. No doubt, he was weighing his trust in me against the risks.
“All right,” he finally said.
“Thank you.”
We said our goodbyes.
And then I downed the rest of my bottle of bourbon.

6
~Ashley~
 
“WHAT THE HELL?”
I shot up in bed, blinking rapidly to get a handle on my surroundings and what I was hearing.
Pained shouts. Exclamations of utter agony.
They rumbled through the large bedroom. The fancy bedroom with ornate, expensive furniture, a mammoth sleigh bed, an ensuite bathroom boasting a sunken bathtub. When Finn had shown me to the room, telling me it was where I’d be staying until the threat came to an end, he’d directed me to an impressively-sized closet that was full to the brim with clothes. All for me. All my size. All my style, edgy and rocker chic. He’d really done his research. I’d been so touched that he’d gone to so much trouble just to make sure I was comfortable.
I climbed out of bed and navigated my way through the unfamiliar room in the dark, careful not to bang into anything on my way to the door.
Throwing it open, the awful shouts amped up in volume. I took off down the second floor hallway, following the sounds, until I stood outside the door of a room that Finn had noted as the master bedroom when he’d given me a tour earlier. His room.
I hesitated for a moment, debating whether I should just turn back around and mind my own business, instead of interfering.
I couldn’t.
He was obviously in pain. Just like when he’d come to the clubhouse in a disturbingly half-dead state all those months ago, I couldn’t turn a blind eye—or ear—to it. I hated witnessing people suffering. Especially, Finn, because he didn’t have anyone—no family, no friends, no significant other—to be there for him. He was all alone.
Rapping on the door, I waited with bated breath for him to call out either a confirmation to come on in, or a dismissal, urging me to turn back around and leave him be.
Neither occurred.
He didn’t answer.
The yelling continued.
I tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked, so I opened it carefully and stepped inside.
Fortunately, there was a lamp on, looming over by the far window, casting just enough light for me to take him in.
Oh my God.
He was thrashing about wildly, tangled up in the sheets of his king-size bed. His eyes were closed, but his features were twisted in pain as he continued to bellow out incoherent sentences.
I hurried over and laid my hand on his shoulder, intending to shake him awake to stop his agony.
But I never got that far.
Just my slight touch had his eyes snapping open, his body going rigid in a state of intense alertness.
I squealed as he bolted upright, grabbed my hips, and hauled me onto the bed beneath him, his body covering mine in an incapacitating hold.
He was panting and sweating buckets.
I looked up into glazed, confused eyes.
“It’s me, Finn. Ashley,” I somehow managed to get out, despite being more than a little overwhelmed by the current situation. More specifically, the current position he had me in, his hard, massive body pressing into mine so forcefully.
I watched him blink and give his head a shake.
“Fuck,” he muttered, abruptly sitting back on his haunches. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I choked, still struggling to deal. Even though he’d pulled back, he was still sitting there straddling my hips.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “You shouldn’t have come in here, Ashley.”
“You were in pain. Screaming and thrashing about.”
“And?” he snapped, harshly.
I flinched, but blew past it, telling him, “I couldn’t let it continue.”
He frowned down at me. It took him a moment to respond. “Why?”
“I care about you.”
I bit my lip and looked away, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t him and the unnerving sensation of being in such close proximity to a man I’d been crushing on for so long.
The desire I felt for him was surging out of control with every second he remained straddling me. My pussy wept just at having him so close. My nipples were so hard that I could feel them pushing against the thin fabric of my gray tank top. I shifted my legs restlessly, my silky pajama pants brushing against his bare legs. Oh God. In all the commotion, I hadn’t actually taken him in. He was bare-chested, those ripped muscles of his on full display. My gaze flicked lower and an audible gasp escaped me before I could stop it when I saw the tent in his boxers.
“Just morning wood, sweetheart. It doesn’t mean anything bad.”
Anything bad? That was the last thing I’d been thinking.
“I’m not worried,” I assured him, fighting to keep my breathing steady, even as my heart jackhammered in my chest.
He moved to get off me, but I grabbed his hand, stopping him.
“Ashley?” he said, warily.
“Are you really okay?” I pressed. “That was one hell of a nightmare you were having.”
“Part of life,” he answered, evasively.
“Is it PTSD?”
“Look, I—”
“My dad has a good mental health doctor on call who’s treated several of his boys. He can hook you up, get you help.”
He startled me then as he suddenly climbed off me with a grunt.
The next thing I knew, he was lifting me off his bed, then placing his