Ghost
“What do you mean?” Buck said quietly into the radio.
Static crackled hard across the airwaves. “We lost power for thirty seconds,” Reaper answered. “When backup kicked on, her room was empty.”
“She’s gone,” Buck said roughly.
“They took her!” Buck shouted, pointing into the dark woods.
“Probably.” Ghost kept his grip firm, particularly for fear that Buck would just take off on him if he let go. “Which means charging in blind like a fucking animal won’t help her.”
Buck looked one second away from breaking something, but Ghost stepped closer instead of backing down. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “If they grabbed her alive, it means they still need her breathing.”
Buck’s breathing roughened. Ghost saw the logic hit him beneath the rage. “She’s useful to them,” Ghost continued. “Which buys us some time.”
“Not enough time,” Buck whispered.
“No,” Ghost agreed honestly. “But it gives us enough time to think about our next move.” Buck dragged a hand through his hair violently before shoving Ghost away and pacing through the snow, and Ghost let him, because Buck needed movement right now or somebody was going to die.
The wind howled across the ridge, and finally, Buck stopped moving. “They cut the power at the clubhouse.”
Ghost nodded. “It means somebody knew the compound layout.”
“Exactly,” Buck said. He looked back toward the destroyed watch post. “They had inside help.” The words settled ugly between them. Ghost hated how much sense it made. The Vultures knew too much—the rotations, the watch points, and Wren’s room. But worst of all—they knew about him and Buck.
SHE CHOSE BOTH.
Ghost lit another cigarette with shaking fingers, not from fear, but from fury, because somebody had watched Wren long enough to see the way she looked at them tonight. That thought made something possessive and vicious rise inside him, and now he understood Buck’s problem.
“You know what kills me?” Ghost muttered darkly.
Buck looked over at him, silently watching him.
“She was starting to relax around us,” Buck said.
The memory hit hard of Wren curled beneath Buck’s blanket upstairs and how her hand slipped into Buck’s and his, just before they left.
The tiny smile she gave Ghost when he teased her like she was finally starting to feel safe.
Ghost exhaled smoke hard through his nose. “And we fucking failed her by leaving her alone at the clubhouse.”
Buck crossed the distance between them instantly. “No.” The raw force in his voice startled Ghost slightly. Buck grabbed the front of Ghost’s kutte hard. “Don’t say that.” Ghost stared at him, and God, he was beautiful. Snow collected in Buck’s dark hair while rage and fear battled behind his eyes.
“You hear me?” Buck growled. “She’s still alive.” Ghost swallowed what he was about to say because Buck needed to believe that right now just as much as he needed oxygen to keep breathing.
“She’s alive,” Ghost agreed quietly. Buck finally released him and stepped back.
Neither man spoke for a long moment before Ghost asked the question hanging between them both. “What if they hurt her?” Buck’s expression changed instantly, and Ghost regretted the words immediately—not because they weren’t valid, but because the look on Buck’s face was pure murder.
“They won’t fucking touch her,” Buck said softly.
“You don’t know that,” Ghost challenged.
Buck stepped closer again, slowly. “Yes. I do.” Ghost frowned as Buck’s eyes drifted toward the forest. “Wren’s smart.
Hell, she’s too smart for her own damn good.
” His voice roughened. “Whatever they’re building out here?
Whatever trafficking routes they’re hiding?
” He looked back at Ghost. “She’s useful to them in some way, and that will keep her safe. ”
Ghost hated that Buck was right. “She’s got to be terrified.
” Buck closed his eyes briefly, and for the first time since the radio call, Ghost saw it crack through the rage.
Buck was just as afraid as he was. It was real fear, but not for himself.
He was afraid for Wren, and Ghost felt the exact same way.
Buck laughed once bitterly. “I should’ve stayed with her.”
Ghost’s chest tightened. “No,” he breathed. “You were right; we had to leave to protect her.”
“I just left her,” Buck whispered.
“You trusted the guys in the compound to protect her,” Ghost insisted.
Buck looked unconvinced. Ghost grabbed the back of Buck’s neck roughly before he could spiral further.
“Listen to me, brother.” Buck’s eyes snapped to his.
“This ain’t on you.” The words came out harder than Ghost intended because, deep down, Ghost blamed himself, too.
They both should’ve known something was wrong.
They both should’ve stayed. They should’ve put her between them and never let her out of reach.
Ghost exhaled slowly. “We’ll get her back,” he promised. Buck stared at him for half a heartbeat and then nodded. Ghost smirked faintly despite everything. “There’s my emotionally constipated boyfriend.”
Buck looked horrified. “Do not call me that.”
“Too late,” Ghost whispered.
“We are literally in the middle of someone kidnapping our woman, and you’re making jokes,” Buck grumbled.
“And you’re still hot when you threaten to murder someone.” Ghost shrugged. “See, we're both good at multitasking.” A rough sound escaped Buck somewhere between a laugh and a curse. That worked for Ghost because he needed him breathing instead of drowning in rage.
The radio crackled again, and Reaper’s voice exploded through static. “We found something in her room.”
Buck grabbed the radio instantly. “What did you find?” he shouted.
“A note, and you guys need to get back here, fast,” Reaper said.
Ghost hated silence—especially this kind.
It was the kind thick with fear and rage and the realization that somebody had slipped through King's territory like a damn ghost and stolen something precious right out from under them.
The SUV fishtailed through the snow as Buck tore down the ridge road toward the compound at speeds that would've killed a less experienced driver.
Ghost gripped the dashboard with one hand and the overhead handle with the other.
“You crash this thing before we get to her, and I’m haunting you forever,” Ghost threatened. Buck ignored him completely. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were focused dead ahead. Murder was radiating off him in waves.
Ghost had spent years watching Buck carry the weight of entire chapters without breaking.
The man survived winters that buried lesser men alive.
He’d taken bullets, knives, betrayal, and loss without ever really falling apart.
But this thing with Wren wrecked him in less than a week.
Ghost understood the feeling now, and that was the problem.
The compound gates appeared through the storm twenty minutes later, floodlights cutting through the snow while armed Kings patrolled the perimeter with rifles.
Buck barely waited for the SUV to stop before climbing out, and Ghost followed him immediately.
The clubhouse felt wrong. Everyone was tense and way too quiet.
There was no laughter, no one was smoking, and men stood watch near windows and doors like soldiers preparing for a siege.
Reaper met them at the entrance, his face grim.
“We found the note in her room. I left it up there for you.” Buck stormed upstairs without another word, and Ghost followed close behind.
Wren’s bedroom door stood open, and the second Ghost stepped inside; fury hit him hard enough to blur his vision.
The room had been trashed, the mattress overturned, drawers ripped open, and glass shattered across the floor beneath the frozen window.
Buck stopped dead in the center of the destruction, and Ghost watched him take it in slowly. The bed where Wren sat between them earlier, the blanket she’d wrapped around herself, and the shirt that she left folded over the chair were all gone. Just like her.
Reaper handed Buck a folded piece of paper from the dresser. Buck opened it with steady hands, and Ghost hated that more than Buck’s yelling. Ghost could handle his anger, but this wasn’t like Buck.
“What’s it say?” Ghost asked. Buck stared at the note for three full seconds before handing it over. Ghost read it once, and then again.
Your pretty little doctor wanted to save people. Now she gets to join them. Bring the route maps to Blackwater Ridge tomorrow night. Come alone, or we start shipping pieces of her back to you in boxes.
Ghost went cold. “She never had the maps,” he muttered.
Buck’s expression remained unreadable. “Doesn’t matter.” The handwriting underneath the message caught Ghost’s attention next. It was familiar. “What?” Buck asked immediately.
Ghost lifted the note closer to the light. “I’ve seen this handwriting before,” he admitted.
Reaper looked over at him. “Where?”
Ghost’s stomach twisted slowly. No fucking way. He stared at the slanted lettering again and at the small symbol drawn beneath the message—three slashes through a circle, but the middle curve was slightly crooked, and recognition slammed into him instantly.
“Eli,” Ghost breathed.
Buck went still. “What did you just say?”
Ghost looked up slowly. “That’s Eli Mercer’s handwriting.” The room fell silent. Reaper cursed viciously under his breath, and Buck’s face hardened into something terrifying.
Eli Mercer was a former King’s Prospect. He had disappeared six months ago after getting caught skimming money from southern supply runs. Buck had voted against killing him back then, figuring exile was punishment enough. Apparently, that mercy came back to bite them in the ass.
“He sold us out,” Reaper growled.
Ghost nodded grimly. “Looks that way.” Buck walked toward the shattered window slowly, snow blowing through the broken glass around him. Ghost knew that posture, and he knew the silence. Buck was about three seconds away from becoming genuinely dangerous.
“She was here alone,” Buck said quietly. Ghost swallowed hard. The thought hit like a knife to his chest. The idea of Wren in the dark, fighting for her life, while possibly calling for them. Christ, she had to be terrified.
Ghost dragged a hand through his hair violently.
“There’s blood.” Buck spun instantly, and Ghost pointed toward the edge of the broken window frame.
There were tiny smears of blood on the wood.
It wasn’t much but enough to worry him. Buck crossed the room fast and touched the stain with two fingers.
When he looked back up at Ghost, murder lived behind his eyes.
“She fought them,” Buck growled.
“Of course she did,” Ghost said softly.
Buck laughed once without humor. “Stubborn little thing.” The affection in the words nearly gutted Ghost because Buck already loved her. Maybe neither of them had said it yet, but Ghost heard it anyway, and deep down, he knew he was falling for her, too.
Reaper stepped toward them carefully. “What’s the play?”
Buck’s attention never left the bloodstain near the window. “They want maps.”
“We don’t have the full routes documented,” Reaper pointed out.
Ghost’s stomach tightened suddenly. “Yes, we do.” Both men looked at him, and Ghost cursed under his breath. “Wren’s research,” he said as though that would explain everything. “She’s had the maps this whole time and didn’t know it.”
Buck frowned, and Ghost moved toward the overturned desk and started ripping through scattered papers. “Her wolf collar tracking logs.” He looked up grimly. “She mapped movement patterns already. She just didn’t realize what she was mapping.”
Reaper went pale. “Jesus.”
Ghost found the folder half-hidden beneath the dresser.
It was empty. Fuck. “They took it,” he muttered.
Buck closed his eyes briefly because he knew that meant that the Vultures now had proof of every trafficking corridor hidden through protected land.
And Wren was the only person smart enough to fully decode it.
Buck turned slowly toward Ghost. “We end this tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question but a promise.
Ghost nodded immediately. He felt no fear or hesitation because there wasn’t a version of this story where they let Wren disappear into the north.
Not after tonight, and not after she reached for both of them like they were worth trusting.
Buck grabbed Ghost suddenly and yanked him close enough that their foreheads nearly touched. Ghost blinked once in surprise. “Bring her back with me,” Buck said roughly. Emotion cracked through the words hard enough to hurt, and Ghost’s chest tightened painfully.
“Brother—” he whispered.
“I mean it.” Buck’s voice dropped lower. “Whatever happens tomorrow, we bring her home.”
Ghost stared at him for half a heartbeat, and then he nodded.
“Together.” Buck exhaled shakily, and before Ghost could think better of it, he grabbed the back of Buck’s neck and kissed him—hard and desperate.
All fear and anger and grief tangled together.
Buck froze for a second before kissing him back just as fiercely.
Reaper made a deeply uncomfortable sound somewhere near the door, but neither of them cared because Wren was out there somewhere, frightened and alone, and both of them had finally realized they’d burn the world down to get her back.