Chapter Thirty-Two
GHOST
The Next Day
The warehouse is quiet when we roll in.
That’s usually a good sign.
But I still don’t trust it.
I make a slow lap around the outside before heading in, checking doors, windows, anything that looks even slightly out of place.
Inside isn’t much different. An empty floor, silent offices, shrink-wrapped pallets stacked shoulder high, forklifts parked near the loading dock, more than enough places for somebody to disappear if they wanted to.
I take the stairs anyway out of habit.
By the time I reach the catwalk overlooking the warehouse, the tension that’s been riding the base of my skull since I got here has started to ease.
From up here I can see the entire floor.
The meeting space sits exactly where we planned it, surrounded by stacks of wrapped pallets and idle forklifts, the concrete stretching away into shadows where the overhead lights don’t quite reach.
Nothing moves or catches my attention long enough to make me stop.
I rest one hand against the railing and let my eyes travel over the room one last time, more out of habit than expectation.
But something itches at the base of my skull. The kind of feeling I’ve learned never to argue with, so I keep looking exactly where I am. The fastest way to tell somebody you’ve spotted them is to look straight at them.
My eyes wander instead, over cracked concrete, rusting steel, and forgotten machinery.
Then I catch it.
A pinpoint flash, gone in the same heartbeat.
Then sunlight on glass.
It’s a fucking camera lens.
The bastard buried himself deep enough inside the pallet stacks that I can’t make out anything except the edge of the glass.
That’s all I need.
I leave the catwalk at the same steady pace. No point letting him know the hunt just changed direction, and halfway down, I cut left instead.
The rows of pallets swallow me whole, giving me cover as I circle behind him. By the time I hear the faint click of the camera shutter, I’m already close enough to reach out and grab him.
He never sees me coming.
One hand fists the back of his jacket. The other slams him face-first into the concrete, hard enough to knock the wind right out of him.
The camera skids away across the floor. “Fuck!” He twists hard beneath me, reaching for the radio clipped to his vest, but I wrench his arm up behind his back.
“You really wanna lose that shoulder?”
He freezes.
Good choice.
I strip the radio free, then the phone, dropping both into my pocket before dragging his wrists together behind him and locking the zip tie down until the plastic bites.
He grunts through clenched teeth. “You Defiance?”
I haul him upright and walk him backward until his shoulders hit a steel support with enough force to rattle it. “What gave it away?”
He spits blood onto the concrete. “You boys don’t know when to quit.”
A smile pulls at one corner of my mouth. “Nah.” I cinch another tie around the beam holding him to it. “We’re actually famous for the opposite.”
His eyes flick toward the camera lying a few feet away—big mistake.
I follow his gaze, pick it up, and scroll through the gallery.
Photos of the clubhouse parking lot, leather cuts, Sage’s vehicle, Piper on the street, and the meeting area fill the screen.
Every shot is carefully framed, building a file, building leverage.
My jaw tightens, and instinctively, I pull the memory card free.
“No…” The plea is barely more than a breath.
I look at him. “You don’t get a vote, asshole!”
The card snaps clean between my fingers. A second later, the camera follows, smashing against the concrete with a crack that echoes through the warehouse. The photographer stares at the broken camera and lets out a mocking chuckle. “Calloway’s gonna lose his shit.”
I crouch in front of him and slip my hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. He jerks instinctively. “Relax.” My fingers close around a worn leather wallet. I flip it open, thumbing past a couple of credit cards until I find what I’m looking for—a driver’s license.
I study it for a second.
Ryan Gilbert.
Thirty-four.
Henderson address.
I pull the license free, then toss the wallet back into his lap.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I don’t answer straightaway. Instead, I look at the license one more time, committing every detail to memory before I slide it into the pocket inside my leather cut. Then, I meet his eyes. “I’m learning your name.”
He lets out a short laugh, trying for confidence. “You think having my address scares me?”
“No.” A smile tugs at one corner of my mouth. “I think knowing where to start should scare you.”
The laugh dies.
Good.
I lean down, looking him square in the eyes.
“I’ll pull every social media account you’ve ever signed up for…
Facebook, Instagram, X, Reddit. The stupid forum you joined fifteen years ago and forgot existed.
Every email address, every cloud backup, every username you’ve recycled because you thought changing the number at the end made it different.
” His jaw tightens. “I’ll wreck your credit so badly you’ll spend the next decade wondering why nobody will approve a loan.
New cards? Declined. Mortgage? Declined.
Car finance?” I shrug. “Well, you get it.”
His eyes stay locked on mine now.
He’s finally listening.
“I’ll make sure your name starts appearing in places you don’t want it. Employment checks, background reports, watchlists that don’t quite stop you living…” I tilt my head, “…they just make every part of your life harder.”
His breathing has changed.
He is finally working out this isn’t a bluff.
“You’ve got an Alexa.” The words leave my mouth so casually they almost sound like an observation.
His forehead creases. “How did you?”
“You look like the kind of guy who likes convenience.” I shrug. “Smart lights too.”
He doesn’t answer.
The way his pupils blow just a fraction tells me I guessed right.
“I’ll have your own house keeping you awake.” I let that settle. “Random alarms at three in the morning, music you didn’t ask for, shopping lists you never made, doors unlocking, lights turning on, your thermostat changing while you’re asleep. I mean… no one likes a hot house at night.”
His face has lost what little color it had.
“You’ll spend months blaming software updates before you finally accept somebody’s inside.
” I lean forward until we’re almost eye level.
“And every morning, before you even pour your first coffee, you’ll wonder if today is the day I decide to remind you I’m still there. ”
He swallows hard.
“I’ll find your parents…” Another pause.
“Your brothers, sisters, friends.” His eyes flick away for the first time.
“I’ll send them little reminders. Not enough to get arrested.
” I smile. “I’m smarter than that.” My voice stays conversational.
“Just enough that they start asking questions…” Another pause for effect.
“They’ll wonder why strangers keep sending them photographs.
AI images of you in the most compromising positions.
” His breathing catches. “They’ll wonder why people start whispering your name.
” I glance at the shattered camera lying across the concrete.
“They’ll wonder why nobody wants to be associated with Ryan Gilbert anymore. ”
Silence fills the warehouse.
The only sound is the hum of the lights overhead.
“You spent weeks hiding behind a lens, thinking you were untouchable.” I stand, dusting my hands together.
“You thought terrifying my woman was just another job.” I look down at him.
“You picked the wrong club. You picked the wrong woman.” I stand taller, puffing out my chest. “Because she is mine!” The words hang there between us.
“And now…” I reach down, patting the pocket where his driver’s license sits.
“I know exactly who you are.” I hold his gaze.
“You’ll forget about tonight eventually…
” a slight smile pulls at my mouth, “… but I won’t. ”
For the first time since I laid eyes on him, I see it.
Not panic or bravado, the slow, sinking realization that this didn’t end the way he’d planned.
He came here to watch us.
Instead, I’ve spent the last five minutes memorizing him.
I leave him zip-tied to the steel support and start walking. The sound of my boots echoes through the warehouse behind me, but I don’t look back.
Ryan Gilbert’s face is already burned into my memory, his address sitting in my pocket, a dozen different ways to ruin his life lining themselves up in my head before I even reach the stairs.
Good.
He earned every one of them.
By the time I step back onto the warehouse floor, the satisfaction has already given way to something else.
The camera wasn’t here by accident.
Neither was Ryan.
Calloway knew about this meeting early enough to get a photographer inside two hours before anyone arrived.
Which means he isn’t walking in blind.
He’s still collecting leverage.
Still planning for the version of tonight where things don’t go his way.
I glance back once toward the catwalk before heading for the meeting space.
The urge to tell Sin hits hard.
I let it pass, not because he shouldn’t know, but because I need another minute with it first. Another minute to work out what I missed, some time to decide whether this changes the plan or proves Calloway’s more dangerous than we gave him credit for.
Either way…
Tonight just got a whole lot more interesting.
Sin walks in first, Nitro, Koa, and Bear spreading out behind him while Slate and Static come through the east entrance.
He catches my expression immediately. “Talk.”
I let out a huff. “Had a visitor.”
One eyebrow lifts. “Who?”
I fold my arms across my chest and tilt my head toward the crates. “Photographer.”
His jaw tightens. “Where?”
“Currently zip-tied to a beam.”
Sin rubs at his beard with a soft nod. “Right… camera?”
I raise my brow. “Smashed.”
“Memory card?”