Chapter 19
NINETEEN
GHOST
The warehouse sits at the far edge of the industrial yard like something that got built twenty years ago and forgotten about shortly after.
Corrugated metal siding. A loading dock light that flickers every few seconds like it’s struggling to stay alive.
A gravel lot wide enough for trucks that aren’t here tonight.
Just two beat-up SUVs parked near the front doors and a line of dark windows staring out across the empty yard.
Riot’s intel was right. Not that I ever doubted him.
My bike idles quietly behind the tree line a hundred yards away while the rest of the Iron Reapers settle into their positions in the dark.
The air smells like damp dirt and old oil drifting from the yard.
Rev crouches beside me, one knee pressed into the grass while he checks the magazine in his pistol with the kind of calm focus that comes from doing this long enough it feels like muscle memory.
“You sure this is the place?” he asks quietly, though the question sounds more like habit than doubt.
I keep my eyes on the warehouse door. “Riot confirmed it twice.”
Rev glances toward the building again, then back to me, reading my expression like he’s trying to decide just how far gone my patience is tonight.
“Four guys inside plus Voss,” he murmurs.
“Five,” I correct.
He smirks faintly. “Good thing we didn’t send you in alone.”
Behind us two more Reapers move through the brush toward the back corner of the warehouse, boots barely making a sound against the dirt.
Riot’s truck sits farther back along the road with the laptop glow faint against the windshield.
He’s already inside their security cameras. Has been for twenty minutes.
Which means every camera inside that building is looping empty footage right now.
The men inside have no idea they’re already ghosts.
Rev rolls his shoulders once and exhales slowly.
“You good?” he asks.
For a second I don’t answer.
Because the truth is I’ve been good since the moment Rae walked into that bar with blood on her lip and tried to act like it didn’t matter.
The memory flashes across my mind now without warning. Her standing there with that stubborn look in her eyes, chin tilted like she was daring anyone to make a big deal about it. Purple bruising already blooming across her cheekbone. Blood at the corner of her mouth.
Trying to brush it off like it was nothing.
My jaw tightens.
“They held her down,” I say quietly.
Rev doesn’t ask who.
He already knows.
“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes drifting back toward the warehouse. “They did.”
Silence settles between us for a few seconds, thick and heavy.
Then Rev taps my shoulder.
“Let’s go.”
We move fast.
Gravel crunches under our boots as we cross the lot, the night air cool against the back of my neck.
One of the security lights flickers above us as we pass underneath it, casting jagged shadows across the metal siding.
The loading dock door stands half closed, a rusted handle hanging loose like no one inside ever expected trouble to come knocking.
Which tells me everything I need to know about how comfortable Voss has been feeling lately.
Rev grips the handle and glances at me once.
I nod.
He pulls the door open.
The first man inside barely has time to turn his head.
My knife slides across his throat before he can reach the gun at his waist.
He drops silently against the concrete floor.
Rev steps past him immediately, scanning the warehouse floor while the other two Reapers slip in behind us. The building smells like machine grease and stale cigarettes, the air thick with dust that hasn’t been disturbed in days.
Footsteps echo from deeper inside.
“Someone’s here,” a voice calls out.
I move forward slowly.
The second man rounds the corner of a stack of crates, hand halfway to his gun when Rev’s shot cracks through the room. The man collapses before he even finishes drawing.
Two down.
The third one bolts toward the back hallway.
Bad move.
One of the Reapers intercepts him halfway there and slams him hard into the concrete wall. The impact knocks the air out of him with a wheeze before the man’s neck snaps under the Reaper’s grip.
Three.
Rev glances around the warehouse.
“That leaves Voss and one more.”
I tilt my head toward the metal stairs leading to the second floor office.
“Up there.”
We climb the stairs quietly, boots barely touching the metal steps.
Voices drift through the office door before we reach it.
“…told you that girl was trouble,” someone mutters inside.
Another voice answers.
“She’s just a bartender.”
My hand tightens around the knife.
The office door stands half open.
I push it the rest of the way with my shoulder.
Four men look up.
The first two don’t get the chance to react before gunfire cracks through the room. Rev and the others move like a machine behind me, controlled and efficient. Two bodies hit the floor.
Which leaves the man sitting behind the metal desk.
Voss.
He doesn’t panic.
He leans back slowly in his chair instead, eyes flicking across the room and taking in the bodies around him before settling on me.
“Well,” he says calmly, folding his hands together. “If it isn’t the Iron Reapers.”
I step fully into the room and close the door behind me.
The office suddenly feels smaller.
“You know why I’m here,” I tell him.
Voss tilts his head slightly.
“Business?”
I walk toward the desk.
“You hit the wrong woman.”
His mouth curves into a faint smile.
“That bartender?”
The word lands like gasoline on a fire.
“She came looking for you,” I say.
“And she found me.”
His tone is casual.
Like we’re discussing a parking ticket.
“You had your men hold her down.”
He shrugs.
“She walked into my warehouse swinging.”
“You split her lip.”
He leans forward on the desk.
“Maybe she should’ve stayed home.”
The room goes very quiet.
I reach across the desk and grab the front of his shirt, dragging him halfway over the metal surface.
Papers scatter to the floor.
“Wrong answer.”
Voss’s grin falters slightly when the knife presses under his jaw.
“You gonna kill me over some girl?” he asks.
“She’s not some girl.”
His eyes narrow.
“Oh?”
I lean closer until he can see exactly how serious I am.
“She’s mine.”
The realization flickers across his face.
“You’re serious.”
“You touched what’s mine,” I say quietly. “That was your first mistake.”
The knife presses harder.
“You had your men hold her down.”
His breathing tightens.
“That was your second.”
I tilt the blade slightly so he feels it.
“And you made her bleed.”
Voss swallows.
“You think killing me changes anything?”
“No.”
The knife moves.
Fast.
Voss never finishes the sentence he started.
His body collapses back into the chair.
Behind me Rev steps into the doorway.
“That the last one?”
I wipe the blade on Voss’s shirt.
“Yeah.”
Rev looks around the office.
“Well,” he mutters. “That solves that problem.”
Cleanup takes the next hour.
Bodies get loaded into the trucks. Shell casings disappear. Every surface gets wiped down until the warehouse looks empty again.
By the time we’re done the place looks like nothing happened.
Which is exactly how we like it.
Perdition is loud when we walk in.
Music shakes the floor while half the club crowd fills the bar and dance floor. The smell of whiskey, sweat, and cheap perfume hangs in the air.
Rev claps my shoulder.
“First round’s on you.”
I head for the bar.
The bartender slides a glass of bourbon toward me without asking.
“Long night?” he asks.
“You could say that.”
I take a sip.
The burn barely registers.
Rev and the others settle at a nearby table, already arguing about something I’m not listening to.
For the first time all night my brain starts slowing down.
Then a familiar voice slides in beside me.
“Well look who it is.”
I glance sideways.
Amber.
Blonde. Loud. And someone I slept with a few times months ago when I felt like killing time.
She slides onto the stool next to me like she owns it.
“Haven’t seen you around lately,” she says, resting her elbow on the bar.
“Been busy.”
Her fingers brush my arm. “Are you busy tonight?”
I pull my arm away.
“Yeah.”
She pouts slightly.
“Your loss.”
“Probably.”
Amber rolls her eyes and drifts toward the dance floor.
Rev chuckles from behind me.
“You’re slipping, Ghost.”
“Not interested.”
“Not even a little?”
I shake my head.
Because every time my mind drifts tonight…
It goes back to Rae sitting on that couch with her dogs piled all over her.
The way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
The way she tried to push me away even though everything between us felt right.
Rev studies my expression. “Still thinking about the farm girl?”
“Yeah.”
He grins. “You’re screwed.”
“Probably.”
But I’m not smiling. I stand up and toss cash on the counter.
“Where are you going?” Rev asks.
“Home.”
“You just got here.”
“Yeah.”
Outside the club the night air feels colder than it did earlier, the kind of chill that settles across the pavement and sinks through the leather of my cut while the low rumble of my bike comes to life beneath me.
I swing a leg over the seat and settle my hands on the grips, letting the engine idle while my mind drifts somewhere far from Perdition’s neon lights and the laughter spilling out of the doorway behind me.
Somewhere between walking into that warehouse and standing here now, something inside me clicked into place with a clarity that leaves no room for doubt.
Rae Wilder thinks she pushed me away. She thinks that week on her farm was just time passing, something temporary that was bound to end the moment real life stepped back in.
But she’s wrong. Dead wrong. Because whatever started growing between us didn’t disappear when I walked out her door.
If anything, the distance only made it clearer.
One way or another, I’m going to prove it to her.
Even if it takes every stubborn ounce of patience I’ve got. Even if it takes forever.