Chapter Seventeen #2
I catch one man toward the back staring right at me.
He has the same hollowed-out look as his boss.
No malice, no anger, just a flat, predatory curiosity.
The same wrongness I felt in Ghost is a goddamn contagion in his crew.
I’m hoping the facial recognition Cypher built can tell us if these are phantoms or just monsters in nice clothes.
Ghost folds the map with slow, deliberate precision and tucks it into his jacket.
“The routes and notes are acceptable. We do not need to send scouts. I trust that you men do not want a war. I am sure we all have better things to do. You need my product, I enjoy your cash. There is no need for nonsense.”
“Joker and I will lead,” Pope says, laying out the formation like he’s playing chess.
“You follow with whoever you want behind you. Tomcat and Malice fall in next, then the rest of your men, with Savior and Pretty Boy as the tail gunners. At the next drop, we fall back, and the next escort takes over until the final hand-off. That’s where your journey ends. ”
Ghost’s smile is razor-thin and icy, a mockery of warmth. “Disappointing. I was hoping to eat at your charming diner... maybe sample some of those tempting treats.”
There he goes again. That cryptic, needle-sharp bullshit that puts me on a hair-trigger. My fingers tingle, itching for the grip of my pistol. Pope feels it too. I see his hand drop, his fingers almost caressing the handle of the axe hanging at his side.
Pope tilts his head, returning the cold smile. “I’m sure you’ll find something on the way home. Hey, tell me... what’s your favorite nursery rhyme?”
Ghost’s eye twitches. It's a microscopic flinch, but I see it. It’s the first sign that he might actually be leery of my President.
Pope chuckles, catching the reaction. “Naw, never mind. I need something new to sing to my kids, but no time for that now.” He waves a hand as if he’s brushing away a fly. “Let’s just hit the road, yeah?”
Ghost gives a sharp, two-fingered hand signal, and his men melt into their vehicles like shadows returning to the dark. He gives Pope one last, unreadable nod before climbing into the driver’s seat of the lead SUV. The glass is so tinted it’s like looking into a black hole.
“Keep your heads on a swivel,” Pope says, his voice low and dangerous as we mount our bikes. “I didn’t spot any tails, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have people of his own following us in the tree line.”
“I grabbed photos of everyone there,” I tell him, tapping my pocket where my phone is stashed. “Cypher can run them through the program. Hopefully, he can put names to these voids.”
“Good call. Ride safe, brothers.”
The ride to the first drop goes off without a single hiccup, which is… surprising. Unsettling, even. Ghost gave us his word, but trust is a currency we don't spend lightly with strangers.
Butcher, Cyanide, Gavel, and D-Bag are waiting at the exchange, every muscle tense. Their heads swivel nonstop, eyes locked on the black SUVs like wolves sizing up a rival pack.
While Pope briefs the new escort, I pull my phone.
I fire the photos off to Cypher with a one-word instruction: Identify.
Then, I hit up Munch. My gut is a knot of tension until his reply flashes across the screen—a candid shot of Marigold at the diner, laughing with a local.
She looks vibrant. She looks safe. My chest finally loosens enough to let me take a real breath.
Now that I’ve truly had her, letting her out of my sight feels like losing a limb. It was hard enough when she was just a maybe, but now? It’s fucking excruciating.
Pope walks back toward Savior and me, cutting off any chance I had to send her a personal text.
“We’re heading back toward the clubhouse,” he grunts.
“We need to be the eyes on the street as the product rolls in. Everything’s been too quiet.
I want to make sure Ghost or his men don't try to slip into the city limits. I don’t like the way he keeps mentioning Nauti Nibbles. ”
“You and me both, brother,” I growl. “I know what obsession looks like, and I’m not digging that he’s got one for the place my woman works.”
“He doesn’t seem like a stupid man,” Pope says, his eyes flashing with a cold, manic light. “Let’s hope he stays that way. Because if he crosses that line, Precious won’t mind giving him a tiny kiss. Just a nick or two. My axe is thirsty, Tomcat. I'm sure of it.”
He flashes me a wild, unhinged grin before firing up his bike. Maniac.
As we roll out and the convoy snakes toward the city, something slithers up my spine. Cold and slick, it coils around my throat like invisible wire, squeezing until I can’t breathe. I choke in a gasp, knuckles whitening on the bars.
Then, just as quickly, the pressure vanishes.
A warning.
I don't know yet what it's pointing at. But my gut doesn't speak up for nothing, and right now it's loud and churning and certain that something is already in motion that I haven't seen yet.
I push the throttle and keep my eyes open.