Chapter Twenty-Five
Ghost
The place is alive tonight, buzzing with a kind of energy I haven’t seen in a long time. Tizzy nailed this, and I couldn’t be more proud. Lanes are full, the bar’s packed, and the sound of pins crashing to the floor is like music. It’s exactly what she envisioned for this place, and I have to admit, even begrudgingly, that she may have been right. Posting up at the bar, I am settling into conversation with Lambert and Hag…
But then he walks in.
The guy doesn’t fit. Dark clothes, hood up, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to disappear into himself. He hesitates just a little too long by the door, scanning the room like he’s sizing it up. My gut clenches. Years in the military taught me to trust that feeling.
“Two o’clock,” I murmur to Omen, who’s leaning against the bar next to me.
He doesn’t react outwardly, just shifts his eyes to follow mine. “Got him.”
Around the room, the rest of the guys pick up on it, too. It’s a subtle thing—Taz adjusts his seat to get a better view of the lanes; Caesar leans casually against the arcade wall, arms crossed, but his eyes are locked on the stranger. This isn’t our first rodeo.
The guy keeps his head down, drifting toward the arcade. He doesn’t touch a thing. No quarters in the skeeball, no interest in the pinball machines. He’s just watching. Waiting.
The minutes drag. He moves again after an hour or so, this time toward the front counter. My jaw tightens as I track him, every muscle in my body ready to spring. He lingers there, glancing back at the crowd, and then he does it—sets the black nylon backpack down on the bar.
My stomach drops.
“Omen,” I say, low and sharp.
“I see it.”
The guy slips away from the bar, heading for the door. His movements are quicker now, more deliberate. He’s trying to leave.
Omen doesn’t hesitate. “Taz, Mania. Shadow him. Parking lot.”
They move like clockwork, slipping out the side door without drawing any attention. The rest of us stay put. The backpack sits there, looking as innocent as it is deadly. And the watch on top? It’s ticking.
“Shit,” I mutter, my voice barely audible over the noise of the party.
Omen nods toward the bag. “Caesar, with me and Ghost. Crypt and Rasp, clear the bar. Quietly. Get Hag and Fossil to help if you need it.”
“Tiz will be a handful, but tell her I asked her to call Lyra and give the ROMC a rundown. Have her use Hag or Fossil’s phone… and do it far the fuck away from here,” I instruct, my hard gaze letting him know her life is in his hands, and his will be forfeit if a single hair on that firecracker’s head gets singed.
Crypt nods, already moving. He and Rasputin steer people away, using their size and Rasp’s easy charm to make it look casual. A laugh here, a hand on someone’s shoulder there, like nothing’s wrong.
Omen and I step up to the bar. I don’t need to open the bag to know what’s inside. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.
“We got time?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Not much,” Omen answers, his eyes on the watch.
“Caesar, what do you need?” I ask, as I see him reaching for the backpack.
“I need everyone out of the building. That includes you and the brothers, Prez.”
“Nope, no way. I ain't leaving you alone in the building with that thing,” I tell him.
“I can't do my job if I'm worried about…”
“I don't give a flying fuck. I will not leave one of my men alone in this building with an explosive. Everyone else can leave. I’m staying. Stop arguing, that's an order,” I say.
“Stubborn bastard,” I hear him mutter softly under his breath, making me snort. One of Caesar’s past jobs was EOD. He’s profoundly proficient in every type of explosive device you can think of. The absolute best, and I trust him with my life.
“Everyone out. Now. Omen, help Crypt and Rasp get everyone out, then lock down the property.” I can see that he wants to argue the minute I stop talking. “NOW!” I bark, and he knows what's fucking good for he because he darts off to do as I said.
Once we're alone, I turn back to Caesar, his fingers moving with practiced precision as he checks the straps.
“Think you can disarm it?” I ask, pulling up to the counter across from him.
“I’m about to find out,” he mutters, pulling out a knife and slicing through the first strap.
The clock is still ticking, every second feeling like a hammer in my chest.
Caesar peels back the flap of the bag with careful precision, exposing the contents. My stomach clenches at the sight: a mess of wires, a small circuit board, and a chunk of something wrapped in black tape that I don’t need to be an expert to know is explosive. The digital watch is rigged to the mess, counting down steadily.
3:26.
3:25.
“Shit,” Caesar breathes, his voice razor-sharp with focus.
“What are we looking at?” I ask, keeping my tone steady despite my pulse trying to break the sound barrier.
“Homemade, but not amateur. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.” He pulls a multi-tool from his pocket and starts carefully separating wires. “Give me space. You see anything weird, you pull me back.”
I nod, stepping back, my eyes scanning the now-empty room. The door behind us stays closed, and the sound of the confused and frustrated crowd rolls through to us, muffled but oblivious.
Time crawls as Caesar works, sweat beading on his forehead despite the AC. His hands are steady, every move deliberate, every cut precise.
2:15.
2:14.
“Crypt?” I ask quietly, glancing toward the parking lot, knowing he has some experience in this field, leaning more toward the homegrown variety.
“Not a help now,” Caesar says, not looking up.
1:45.
Caesar pauses, his knife hovering over a bright red wire. “This is it,” he mutters, half to himself.
“You sure?”
“Nope.” His lips twitch in what might pass for a smile in a less dire moment. “But if I’m wrong, we won’t have time to argue about it.”
I nod once. “Do it.”
He snips the wire.
The world holds its breath.
The clock stops.
0:56.
“Done,” Caesar says, exhaling hard, his shoulders sagging as he closes the multi-tool and sits back on his heels.
I let out a breath I am pretty sure I’ve been holding for damn near five minutes at this point. “You’re a goddamn magician.”
“More like lucky.” He stands, grabbing the bag and tucking the disarmed device under his arm. “Let’s get this somewhere safe before anyone starts asking questions.”
The bag under his arm vibrates and plays what sounds like a bad 8-bit version of some children's song. Caesar hollers and drops the bag, stepping away quickly. We both stare at it in horror as the song gets louder and louder until, with the last notes, the bag gives a final shake, and a puff of red smoke and glitter pops from the device's guts.
“What the actual fuck ?” Caesar exclaims, looking down at the glitter-covered bag like it betrayed it. Honestly, I can’t blame him. After the stress of the last few minutes, I would pull out my piece and fill this thing with holes if I had it on me.
“Fuck if I know. Let’s get it downstairs and debrief the others before someone comes looking,” I growl, snatching the offending glittery mass up between two fingers and carrying it gingerly in front of me as I storm down into the clubhouse below and through to the war room.
“Well… what the fuck was it? Don't keep us waiting,” Rasp grits out as we enter, and I can see the stress and worry on his face. Rasp, Omen, and Fossil are already here waiting for us, just like I expected them to be. I may not have known exactly who would be here, but they know the drill.
“It wasn't a bomb,” I tell the group, throwing the offending lump into the center of the table. As the bag flops onto the hard surface, the guts of what we assumed was an actual bomb tumble out, revealing a parcel in the bottom of the bag. Caesar, his emotions still running high from the stress of the situation, grabs the parcel from the bag and roughly tears into it. Caesar pulls what looks like a circus monkey toy out of the parcel. It's one of those old fucking creepy monkeys playing with those loud symbols, wind-up toys.
“The fucker rigged up a damn convincing device. Fooled the fuck outta me until the damn thing started playing fuckin’ music and shot glitter and smoke all the fuck over. The building’s clear and safe. I need a fucking sandwich after all this,” Caesar says, irritated.
It's been a long fucking day, and this was just the icing on the cake. How in the hell am I supposed to make this up to my woman? I look around when I hear a commotion behind us, and see Tizzy, Crypt, and the twins push their way into the room. The light that's normally in her eyes is dim, and she looks so lost. How the hell did I fuck up so badly? Walking over to her, I pull her into my arms.
“I’m so sorry, Bunny. I promise I’ll find a way to make this up to you,” I whisper into her big, beautiful hair.
“Make this up to me?” she asks, pulling back and looking up at me, confused. “You think I'm upset about the opening? Wasn’t drawing out the jokers who have been tryin’ to mess with us the whole point of all this hubbub?” Now it's my turn to look confused.
“I’m just upset I didn’t catch on sooner and let anyone know. Now I feel like I screwed up, and we missed our chance,” she says with big tears welling her eyes.
“Never blame yourself for some stupid coward fuck playing games with your life and your safety. Nothing is your fault, Bunny. Do you get me?” I ask. No one has the right to make her feel this way, especially some fucked up psycho who thinks he gets to play with me and mine.
“I get you, Big Papa,” she says.
“Mama Tiz, you didn’t screw anything up, anyway. We got the fucker, no one blew up, and the townsfolk have a pretty fuckin cool new story to tell. Wins all around,” Taz says with a stupid grin.
Tizzy just laughs at that, and I can’t help but send up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever may be listening that my woman can roll with all our crazy punches.
“While I’d love to hear more about the shenanigans you boys are all planning now, how about ya’ll fill me in in the morning. I’m bushed and just don’t have the patience to listen to any of it tonight,” Tizzy admits, looking up at me with eyes that beg me to take her to bed.
Unable to deny my woman a thing, I ask Omen and Caesar to finish the debrief with the rest of the men while I take Tizzy to our room.
“Why don't you take a nap, Bunny,” I suggest, closing the door behind us.
“You gonna take one with me?” she asks, shimming out of her heels and skin-tight jeans. Fuck, she's so damn tempting.
“I’ll join you before long, baby. Just got to take care of some business first.”
She pouts, but I can tell she understands what I’ve got to do next. She climbs in bed, and I throw the covers over her, giving her one last kiss. Leaving our room quietly, I turn and make my way down the hall past the now-empty war room, through the garage hanger, and through another coded door into a space I haven’t shown Tizzy yet. The cells.
Walking into the room, I notice that most men are already here. Only Crypt is missing, but that’s not surprising. Blood isn’t his thing, and he has plenty to do on the tech side of all of this, beefing up our security and combing any and all surveillance we might have on this fucker.
I’m not surprised by what I see when I enter the room. This isn't our first rodeo, and I can damn sure guarantee it ain't going to be our last. The fucker is pinned to the wall by shackles that are welded into the walls.
“What do we have here?” Taz says, pushing off the far wall where he and Mania were leaning. Mania quickly mimics the move. None of the rest of us are surprised by the sudden change in their demeanor.
The thing with those two is that they are the constant class clowns, the life of the party, and they never take anything seriously. Never. I’ve actually seen the fuckers skipping and tossing grenades in the middle of a mother fucking war zone. I’m not exaggerating. However, there is one notable exception to the rule. The interrogation room. There is no joking here. Taz and Mania are cool, calm, collected, and, most of all, completely batshit crazy and utterly unpredictable during these sessions. But the worst part… completely stoic. This, right here, is why they are the enforcers.
“Time to get this show on the road,” Mania says calmly. Taz gives him a chin nod.
“I don't know anything! Look, I don't know who any of you guys are. Please, just let me go,” the fucker speaks up, his voice shaking so bad his teeth are clattering.
“You brought a ticking fucking package right into my front door, and you know nothing? You expect me to believe that dick head?” I nearly shout. This fucker could have endangered my family. I don't take this shit lightly, and someone will fucking pay.
“I swear it wasn't ticking when he gave it to me,” he cries.
“Gave it to you?” Mania asks, holding up a pair of weed clippers. Taz is beside him with a blowtorch, testing the fire.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” the guy says, going pale as he watches the two. “Please let me go. I was only delivering the package.”
“Who gave you the package?” Taz asks, walking slowly up to him.
“I don't know. We didn't exchange names. The guy gave me two hundred dollars and told me where to drop it off. He said it was for the grand opening. I didn't know, man. I didn't know!” He pleads with us, and as I look at Taz and Mania, I know they are thinking the same thing. This guy is telling the truth. This isn't our guy.
“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the wall before turning back to the room. “Get a description of the guy. Get Crypt on cameras. Find out where and when they met, and I want all the cameras in a two-mile radius. I want every fucking detail,” I demand before turning and heading back through the door.
Tonight and this interrogation have had me thinking of who this fucker might be. The few times Tizzy has mentioned her home life and the information I gathered while trying to learn more about her has made me wonder… what if her past has finally caught up with her?
This fucker is slimy, and it's really starting to get to me. What's worse is he's wasting time I could be spending with my fucking woman. Right now, that's exactly what I plan on doing—grabbing onto my woman and holding her tight until it's time to deal with a new day. I’ll talk to her about my suspicions later and form a plan. I think it's time I take a ride out to her old stomping grounds. See what I find there and make sure it stays in the backward ass town.
One way or another, though, I will end this. No one is taking my bunny from me. This mission feels like my entire world is on the line, and I’ll be damned if I let someone shatter us.