Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
Arlo’s driving, one hand on the steering wheel, the other one firmly holding my thigh.
The touch is a mix between a possessive stance, protective nature, and a bit of reassurance.
The two of us are riding alone, with Kaya and Aria right behind us.
Brian is with them, too, alongside Niko and Lucas.
The goal was to take as few vehicles as possible so as to not be seen.
The two of us haven’t spoken a word in the past fifteen minutes, and for the first twenty minutes of the ride, Arlo was telling me all about the plan. My eyes are glued straight ahead of me, the plan vivid in my head, and I’m trying desperately not to show how this is all making me anxious.
I’ve got this. I have Arlo with me; it should all be fine.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Arlo asks, his tone light, almost teasing. I appreciate him trying to make me feel at ease, and comfortable, despite the situation we’re currently in.
“At this point, I feel like you can read my mind.” I clasp my hand over his on my thigh, and the warmth seeps through my skin. “But, I’ll be alright.”
“Of course you will,” Arlo responds, giving me a small side-glance, then focuses his gaze back on the road. “You’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for, butterfly. The strength you possess is something men in this world could only dream of having.”
My chest feels warmer at the words, and a smile tugs on my lips. I squeeze his hand, then take it off my thigh and bring his knuckles to my lips. I kiss them softly, and Arlo mutters something under his breath, eyes closing for a moment.
“Butterfly,” he chokes out a nervous laugh. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?” I frown, his hand dropping back to my thigh, but this time, though, he squeezes it tightly.
“Don’t turn me on right now.”
“I just kissed your knuckles, though?”
“Blair, you breathing near me is enough to get me rock-hard.”
My cheeks redden, the heat pooling in the pit of my stomach. I swallow thickly, then force myself to look away from his side profile. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, but it’s not doing much to calm myself.
Stop it, Blair. There’s no time for this.
Later, though.
“Sorry.”
He chuckles. “Don’t apologize. It’s my fault.”
“Well, no,” I point out, looking back at him. “But it doesn’t matter. What are we going to do once all of his men and Woods himself are dead?”
“Set the entire place on fire. We’re making an example out of him.”
“Good,” I breathe out.
“Could you pass me the gun from the glove compartment? We’re almost there.”
He handed me two guns before we left, and they’re safely tucked in the waistband of my pants at the back.
I nod, though I doubt he sees it, then open the compartment.
Four guns fall down next to my feet, alongside a piece of paper that’s folded.
I take the guns, place them on my lap, and unfold the paper.
“What’s this?”
The question leaves my mouth quickly, but it answers itself when I skim through the list of names.
Terry James.
Samantha Gray.
Jessica Parker.
Matthew Hastings.
Louis Prett.
Dan Smith.
Norman Payne.
These are the names of the jury that was assigned to my case. All of them voted guilty, and it was because of them being on Simmons’ payroll that I was sentenced to life in prison, with no option for bail or, later on, probation.
“You’ve been keeping tabs on them?” I ask, my hands trembling.
The memories of that day resurface. I was only eighteen.
I was sitting in the courtroom, all alone, with no friends or family, terrified.
I remember the way my body was trembling, the anxiety that filled me.
I remember all of their faces, and not a single one held an ounce of sympathy for what I’ve been through.
All they cared about was the hefty payment they received after I was found guilty.
“Of course,” Arlo responds. “I’ll kill them, too. It’s only a matter of time.”
I clear my throat, swallowing down the tears. Why does this bother me? It’s been almost a decade since I’ve been sent to prison. I should be over this. It’s in the past, and for all they care, I’m long dead by now. They can’t hurt me.
“Can we add the judge to the list, too?”
“Flip the page.”
I do as told and see the judge’s name — Matilda Johnson — written in bold, underlined in red ink. There’s a lot of basic information written out, alongside something that I doubt could be found just as easily.
“Good,” I release a breath of relief, folding the paper back and putting it in its place.
“Butterfly,” Arlo’s voice is soft, tender as always. He intertwines our fingers together, holding my hand firmly. “Everyone who dared to hurt you will die by your hand. I promise you, I’ll make it happen. The world will fear the wrath of Blair Hawke, and I’ll be the Ghost protecting you.”
“Fuck, I love you so much.”
Arlo chuckles. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, butterfly.”
He slowly parks on the side of the road, turning the engine off. He takes the guns off my lap, then opens the door. Within seconds, he’s by the passenger’s side, opening mine, unbuckling my belt, and helping me out of the vehicle.
The harsh, crisp air hits my face, sending chills down my body. Whether it’s from the nerves or the coldness, I don’t know. My eyes roam around, taking in and soaking in the surroundings.
We’re the only ones here, because Keith and Raven were dropped off so they wouldn’t be exposed. Arlo closes the door, then steps next to me. A short walk away from us is a massive house, and it resembles a mini palace. All the lights are turned on, lighting the place up like Las Vegas.
The gate is quite tall, I’d say about fifteen feet, and very wide, going around the entire property. From the drawings Arlo found, there’s a back gate, too, though much smaller and easier to get into.
One car parks behind us, followed by a black mini-truck. From the car, Kaya, Aria, Lucas, and Niko emerge, all looking serious. Brian walks to the trunk, shuffling through it and pulling out a big duffle bag, then setting it on the ground.
“Here’s all the weapons,” Brian says, opening the duffle bag. “Take your pick.”
“Oh, I like this one.” Kaya’s the first one to grab something from the inside, pulling out and revealing two very sharp knives that resemble daggers. They’re long, pointy, and look like the smallest contact to flesh would be able to leave a long-lasting scar.
Aria whisks out two guns, the first ones that she touched, then makes sure they’re good to be used. Arlo’s eyes follow her every movement, trying to scope out her true feelings.
She’s attending therapy regularly but acts like nothing happened.
Arlo’s worried about the fact she’s adamant on being a part of this, despite having school, her volleyball practice and games, and a social life girls her age tend to have.
And, especially, the fact that she acts like her suicide attempt was no big deal.
My attention shifts to the men leaving the trunk. All are dressed in pitch-black, matching clothes, with masks on their faces. I can’t tell who is who, which is probably a good thing.
“Alright,” Arlo starts talking while the rest of the people are grabbing their weapons.
Once they’re done, Brian takes the duffle bag and shoves it back in the trunk of the car.
“Keith left the back gate open for us. Raven’s on the roof, and when I give the signal, he’ll shoot everyone on the outside.
However, we don’t know the exact number of people on the inside. Be prepared for the worst.”
“Do we have an estimate?” Lucas asks, glancing at the house.
“Roughly about twenty to thirty people. Wood’s is very paranoid I’ll come and kill him, so he’s probably heavily guarded at all times.”
“His paranoia is correct, though,” Aria mutters, then straightens up. “Alright. I’m with Kaya and Brian.”
Arlo nods. “Blair’s with me. Jewel, step forward.”
One of the masked people — the cutest and shortest one — steps forward.
“You’re with Cove. You two are equally insane, so this should be fine. The rest split into two. One to attack, the other to defend if needed.”
It takes these people less than two minutes to take formation. Arlo’s looking at each person, his eyes showing no emotion. Seeing him go from sweet and tender to the future boss of an illegal assassination organization is… well, an experience, to say the least.
“Good,” Arlo says, just as his phone buzzes. He doesn’t take it out of his pocket, nor does he look away for a moment. Instead, he lifts his chin. “Go.”
Everyone starts running toward the back gate, their figures disappearing into the distance while Arlo and I remain standing by the vehicles. The air blows the small hairs that fell out of my braids out of my face, my eyes closing for a moment.
“Let’s go, butterfly. Let’s not keep Woods waiting.”
The moment we approach the gate, we’re met with chaos. Bullets flying left and right, bodies dropping every moment. Arlo’s body is shielding me from the direct line of fire, my hand tightly wrapped around the gun.
“Stay close to me, butterfly,” he instructs, his voice firm.
He lets go of my other hand, and I take a deep intake of breath. I can’t keep my eyes off him as he rushes forward into the house.
My feet are carrying me as fast as possible, trying to keep up with his long stride. I’m frozen in the spot, and the way he moves has me falling in love with him all over again.
He’s holding a gun in each hand, looking straight ahead but shooting left and right. He hits every man that he spots, some from closer range. Blood splatters all over his dark clothes, some drops landing on his face and hair, the white strands slowly getting the dark, crimson tint.
My heart is beating rapidly in my chest as I stare in awe.
Oh, so this is why they call him the Ghost.
Bodies of the enemies are falling down left and right, all dying instantly. The bullets hit right between their eyes or straight into their chest. The deaths are quick, easy, and clean. It’s like he’s a completely different person.
No wonder New York fears this man more than the boogeyman. He is the monster I’ve been waiting for all my life. The kind to kill everyone for me, all while wrapping his bloody hands around me, protecting me from all the harm.
Arlo De Santis is the king of fear, and I’ll become the queen he needs.
His eyes are widened, a dark, twisted smirk on his lips. He doesn’t blink, taking life after life. The blood continues to splash and splatter, and the longer I’m watching him do what he was trained for, the more I love him.
I shouldn’t feel like this.
This kind of life was exactly what I used to want to run away from.
Yet, right now, all I want to do is stay.
I’ll stay by Arlo’s side through all the trials and tribulations. Until all of our enemies are dead, until we’ve gotten revenge for all of our loved ones — until we’ve risen to the top.
A man starts approaching from the right, and I spot him right on time.
My hand is raised, and the bullet leaving the barrel echoes in my ears.
He falls to his knees, looking down at the wound on his stomach.
I don’t stop there and fire another round of shots until his limp body slumps down, the blood coating the marble tiles beneath him.
There’s no use in denying it anymore.
I became a part of this life the moment I killed my mother and stepfather. There’s no going back. It’s too late for redemption, and taking this man’s life means nothing to me. I became the villain of the circumstances, and I’m embracing it.
After all, Paul Simmons will be next.
And I won’t go easy on him.