Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
GHOST
I force myself to leave Wild while Alessio is still inside.
The promise that I’ll see him later makes it easier to let him out of my sight.
Easier, but not easy, and I think if I hadn’t spent the last seven years getting used to denying myself the things I crave, I wouldn’t be able to do it at all.
I wish I knew what I was like before. Have I always been this prone to addiction or did the abuse I suffered at the Reapers’ hands make me this way?
The answer wouldn’t change anything, but the question lingers in my mind anyway as I make my way outside, leaving the lights and noise of the club behind, the smell of cheap cologne and sweat lingering in my nose even after I drag in a few breaths of fresh air.
Who I used to be is just as much of a mystery as the face I can’t put a name to.
Maybe that’s why he keeps haunting my dreams. Whoever he is, he knows a version of me I never will.
It might be better if I never meet him again.
The person I am now would probably horrify him, disgust him, maybe even break his heart.
There’s no way he could understand the darkness that lives in me now.
I might not know anything about who I used to be, but I’m sure I wasn’t always like this.
I’m not in any hurry to get to Alessio’s.
No, that’s a lie. I am in a hurry, but I force myself not to rush straight there.
He won’t be home yet anyway, and if I don’t get a handle on the things I’m feeling, I’m bound to blow it.
Whatever he said to me last night, whatever needs and deep-seated desperation it unlocked, I need to remember my main focus.
The Reapers need to be dealt with, every last one of them, and I can’t let my guard down with Alessio until I know where the Morettis stand.
I take the long way down West Hamilton; a street that’s lined with dive bars and well known for trouble.
It’s not the Reapers’ main stomping ground, but they buzz around every once in a while, like flies around garbage.
I step over a broken bottle in the middle of the sidewalk and ignore a scantily clad woman who smiles at me and offers me blow.
“Either kind,” she clarifies with a wink.
I can’t help but think about the upper-middle-class yuppies who live a handful of blocks away and say shit like “we live in the most peaceful time in human history” while sipping overpriced lattes.
They don’t come down this way. They’ve never seen an underaged prostitute or someone ODing on the sidewalk.
What’s it like to live your life in a bubble like that, so sure that bad things only happen to bad people?
I stop on the corner to wait for the light, tugging a butterscotch out of my pocket and popping it into my mouth while I’m at it.
There’s a bus stop just on the other side of the street, and there’s a boy who can’t be more than sixteen sitting on the graffitied bench with his hands in his hoodie pockets, a nervous scowl on his face and a bounce in his knee.
Out of the corner of my eye I see the crosswalk light change, but I’m rooted in place.
He doesn’t belong on this street. He doesn’t belong anywhere near the kind of shit that happens here.
The door to the bar right behind him swings open and my blood runs cold as two men step out.
They’re large and rough looking, one of them with a shaggy beard and the other sporting tattoos that crawl all the way up his neck and cover his bald head, both of them with Sleepless Reaper patches on their leather vests.
My fists clench and my heart stutters to a stop for just a second before breaking into a gallop.
Maybe they won’t notice the kid.
Walk right by, I try my damnedest to command them telepathically, as if that has any hope of changing what’s about to happen.
It’s like watching a National Geographic special.
You know that the baby gazelle drinking from the watering hole is about to get dragged under by the crocodile that’s swimming closer and closer, but the gazelle doesn’t see it and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
Except I can stop it, and I fucking will.
I crunch down hard on the candy between my teeth and shove my hand into the pocket of my leather jacket to make sure I have my mask on me.
I do. I always do. My pistol is loaded and handy too, tucked away until I’m ready for it.
The bearded Reaper spots the kid first, slowing his steps, the predatory glint in his eyes visible even from across the street, even in the fucking dark, I can see his attention latch onto his prey.
He slaps his buddy’s arm to get his attention, and they move in on their unsuspecting victim without a word spoken to each other.
They don’t need words; they’ve made this exact play so many times it must be muscle memory by now.
They take a seat on the bench on either side of the kid, and I have to force myself to stand still, not to draw any attention just yet or give them any reason to think I give a shit what they’re up to.
I’m just a guy standing on a street corner, minding my own business.
I can’t hear them from here, but I know in my bones what they’re saying.
A memory I didn’t know still lived in the depths of my brain is suddenly shaken loose, and it plays in my mind in fucking 4K resolution.
I was only a few years older than that kid looks, lost in the wrong part of the city, too cocky and sure of myself to admit that I could possibly be in any danger.
I hadn’t lived in Wildcliff long, maybe a few months, but just being out from under my parents’ thumbs, living in the city alone made me feel like I was street smart and worldly.
I wasn’t scared the way he is, but I should have been.
I wandered into a bar and I noticed him immediately.
He was older, a little bit charming, and he offered to buy me a drink.
I didn’t see through his act at the time, and from the way I can see the kid across the street starting to relax and smile just a little, I know he doesn’t see it either.
A couple of drinks and an hour or so of the man feeding my ego, telling me how mature I was for my age, how brave I was for being in Wildcliff all alone.
By the time he invited me back to his place to party, I didn’t hesitate.
I’d never done any drugs harder than weed before, but I wasn’t about to turn down his offer to smoke some meth, not at the risk of him thinking I wasn’t mature and brave.
It doesn’t take anywhere close to an hour for these two Reapers to flatter the kid. Probably closer to two minutes before he stands up and starts to follow them down the street in the same direction I was already headed.
Alessio is still in the back of my mind, but he’ll have to wait. I have more important things to take care of before I crawl through his window again.
I count to ten to give them just enough of a head start that they won’t notice me following them before I cross the street, not bothering to wait for the light.
A car slams on its brakes and blares its horn at me, but I barely notice it.
I pull my mask onto the top of my head, so it sits like a beanie for now, ready for me to tug it down to obscure my face if and when I need to, and I follow.
The Sleepless Reapers think they’re the baddest predators in this jungle, but what I lack in numbers I make up for with stealth and persistence.
I shake off the lingering hold of the memory I was just lost in and remember something important.
They’re not the crocodile at the watering hole, I am.
They’re the lions—flashy, obvious, too cocky for their own good.
They don’t even see me lurking under the water, drawing closer and closer while they’re focused on their baby gazelle.
Enjoy your last few minutes of feeling invincible before you feel my teeth.
ALESSIO
As much as I’m dying to call a car and haul ass back to my apartment to wait for Spettro, part of me is feeling just a little bit petty about the way he left last night.
I decide to walk instead, take my time. My window is already unlatched, so he’s free to climb through and wait for me.
And if he ends up annoyed or frustrated that he has to sit around with his dick in his hand waiting for me to get home, if he decides I deserve some kind of punishment for it, that’s fine with me.
A little smile tugs on my lips and heat starts to simmer in my gut as I turn down West Hamilton to take the long way back to my apartment.
I may live in a penthouse with a security guard in the lobby, but some part of me definitely recognizes streets like this as home.
Just because the Morettis know how to make a damn good profit doesn’t make us any better than most of the criminals and lowlifes in this city.
Smarter maybe, but not better. Except for the Sleepless Reapers.
There’s a special place in hell for them.
But the rest of them? The dope dealers and the prostitutes, guys like Spettro who make a living taking shit that doesn’t belong to them?
They’re not bad, they’re just desperate people doing what they have to so they can get by.
A couple of drag queens stumble out of the bar a few feet ahead of me and start taking swings at each other, so I cross the street to stay out of that mess.
I don’t need to be anywhere near it when they realize the six-inch platform heels they’re wearing would make excellent weapons.
A bus hisses to a stop up ahead. The doors swing open, but nobody gets out.
Smart choice this time of night, honestly.
There’s nothing but trouble to find out here after midnight.