Chapter Twenty-Two
Since we captured and executed the man Damon sent to ambush me, things have been entirely too quiet on his front.
Well, relatively speaking, anyway. He’s no longer dropping cryptic threats directly onto my doorstep, but he’s shifted his focus to systematically attacking the club’s operations.
Hitting them in ways that might actually cripple a lesser organization if the Saint's Outlaws weren't so damn good at rebuilding under fire.
The club has been tearing the city apart looking for him, but they haven’t had a single shred of luck yet.
Ghost is completely in the wind, refusing to return any of their official business calls.
Which is just terrible business etiquette, if you ask me.
How can you expect to have multi-million-dollar port dealings if no one can even get a hold of you?
I will truly never understand some people.
But I know better than to think he’s giving up. This eerie quiet is just a toxic part of Damon’s masterful psychological game. What better way to keep someone always on edge and constantly looking over their shoulder than to suddenly fade into the shadows when they’re expecting an all-out war?
Oh, he’s not gone.
Nope.
Damon doesn’t do losing. So, no. He hasn’t fled the country. He’s just waiting patiently for the absolute perfect moment to strike. Damon has always been an expert at the long game, and that cold-blooded patience is precisely what makes him so goddamn dangerous.
I didn’t lie to Tomcat, though, when I told him I’m completely tired of playing the victim. Damon has kept me on the run, looking over my shoulder for far too long. I refuse to hide in a cage anymore. Even if that means intentionally using myself as live bait to finally draw him out of his hole.
Sure, Tomcat will be absolutely furious when he finds out. He’ll probably throw me over his knee and spank me or something. Which, let's be honest, isn’t actually a deterrent at all, but I digress.
Is it a smart plan? Nope.
Will I do it anyway? Absolutely. Probably. One hundred percent.
I let out a low growl under my breath and aggressively push my foot against the floorboards to make my porch swing move faster. A tiny wild rabbit comes prancing casually into the front yard, its little ears twitching as it nibbles on the green grass.
What a cute little pet that would be.
Though, on second thought, maybe it’s not the smartest idea to adopt a pet right now. You know, just in case Damon actually manages to kill me this time around.
Where was I? Right. Tomcat.
He’s going to be livid, but he has to understand that I have to protect him. I actually know what we're dealing with when it comes to Damon’s specific brand of sickness. Tomcat doesn’t. I’ve put a bullet in Damon before. I can absolutely do it again.
But I can’t kill a ghost if he refuses to show his face.
I can literally feel him out there somewhere in the city right now, watching, waiting, breathing in the ocean air.
Last night, the bastard crossed a line. So much so that it's physically impossible for me to stay quiet anymore. Impossible for me not to actively seek him out. The horrific message he carved into the body of that poor tourist down at the marina was meant entirely for me. I know it. He knows it. Hell, the entire club knows it. It’s the exact reason why Tomcat has had a rotating detail of heavy muscle on me around the clock while he and the rest of the brothers are out there tearing Coral Cay apart by the seams looking for him.
I lazily eye the two big Outlaws currently patrolling the perimeter of my property, trying to mathematically calculate exactly how I’m going to escape them.
It won’t be easy, but easy is incredibly boring anyway.
It’s always much more fun when the risk of getting caught is higher.
I honestly kind of miss the intense adrenaline rush of stalking my lover through the night.
I might just have to do that to Tomcat again for pure fun once I get rid of Damon for good.
A sudden itch tickles the bridge of my nose, and I deliberately raise my hand to scratch it using my middle finger.
Just in case Damon is watching right now. You really never know.
One of the club brothers crosses in front of my porch again. His sharp eyes cut to me, then aggressively sweep our surroundings for threats before he continues his slow pace down the perimeter.
I could always just spike a couple of refreshing drinks with some fast-acting sedatives and hand them out.
No, Marigold. Bad girl.
That would probably be highly frowned upon by the club, and then the guys might not like me anymore. They just wouldn't understand that I’m only drugging them for their own protection.
I let out a heavy sigh, dropping my chin into my palm and kicking my feet against the floorboards to keep the porch swing moving. Seriously, who knew it would be this difficult to find creative ways to sneak past bikers literally roaming around my house?
Right on cue, my phone vibrates in my pocket, Tomcat’s name flashing across the screen. I snap the line open before the first ring can even finish.
“Oh, my goddess. Finally! I am so completely bored. Did you find him yet?”
His deep, gravelly chuckle brushes along my senses, sending an instant, delicious shiver straight up my spine. “No, baby. Fucker is hidden deep.”
“He’s always been a literal worm. Burrowing deep underground until it’s time for him to surface and do some shady shit.”
“We’ll find him eventually, Goldie. This is our goddamn city.
We just have to pin down whichever hole he’s chosen to camp out in.
” There’s the rowdy sound of laughing, heavy rock music, and beer bottles clinking together in the background.
“Gonna let the guys out front know you’re about to head over to the clubhouse so they can get ready to lead and tail you. ”
“Wait, can I ride my bike?”
“I’d prefer it. It’ll get you here quicker. Need to fucking see you, little shadow. It’s been entirely too long.”
I snicker, a warm feeling blooming in my chest. “Axton, it’s literally just been this morning.”
“Like I said,” his voice drops into that rough, possessive register that melts my insides, “too fucking long.”
One of these days, I am going to take a selfie the exact second he speaks to me like that, just to prove to the world that those stupid, cartoon hearts actually float above my head when he makes me swoon.
“Fine,” I sigh dramatically. “I guess I can grace you with my breathtaking beauty.”
He huffs a dark laugh. “‘Preciate it, baby. Don’t forget your leathers. Fucking love you.”
“Fucking love you, too.”
It doesn’t take me long to gear up, and then I’m practically skipping out to the garage where my girl sits waiting.
The guys are already mounted up and idling in my driveway the second I back the bike out into the sunlight.
I haven’t met Storm and King many times yet, so I’m not quite as familiar with them as I am with the rest of the inner circle.
They’re always around the compound, but they lean on the quiet side, so I’ve just spent less time speaking to them over the others.
Storm flips up his visor, looking at me seriously. “I’ll ride front, King will take the rear. Tomcat warned us how you like to speed off and drop your tail. I’m asking you to please not do that today, Marigold. It’ll make it a hell of a lot harder to protect you if shit goes sideways.”
“Understood,” I reply, sliding my full-face helmet on and clicking the strap.
The coastal scenery flies past us in a blur of blue and grey as we cruise through the city .
Storm leads us through a series of winding backroads to clear our tails before smoothly guiding us back onto the main highway.
I’m completely enjoying the absolute peace of the asphalt and the wind against my chest when, without a single second of warning, the entire world explodes into a violent supernova and turns completely upside down.
My head smacks the unforgiving pavement with a sickening thud, my vision blinking in and out as my body violently skids and tumbles along the rough road.
There are sharp, distorted sounds echoing all around me, but the thick lining of my helmet muffles the chaos so badly that I can’t hear anything clearly.
I know the basic medical rules. I know I shouldn’t remove the lid until I’m absolutely sure my neck isn't broken, but the panic overrides my logic.
I need to know what the hell is happening.
My head pounds with a vicious, blinding agony the second I yank the helmet off my skull.
Deafening gunfire instantly erupts around me, the sharp crack of automatic weapons filling the air. Three men are aggressively advancing, pouring lead toward Storm. He’s already down behind his dropped bike, doing everything in his power to hold them off, his weapon firing back.
I frantically search the asphalt for King, my heart hammering against my ribs, but I don’t see him at first through the smoke. Then, something lying motionless near the twisted metal rubble in the middle of the road snags my attention, and the breath catches completely in my throat.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
I desperately try to push myself up to stand, but my legs are shaking, completely refusing to work correctly under the adrenaline shock.
I won't let him just lie out there in the open by himself.
I can help him. I know I can. I just have to find a way to crawl across the asphalt to get to him without getting hit by the crossfire.
So, I do the only thing that’s possible for me right now.
I dig my elbows into the rough asphalt and begin crawling my way over to King.
Storm must notice exactly where I’m heading through the chaos, because he kicks his defense into overdrive, doing everything in his power to draw the crossfire away and keep anyone from coming after me.