Chapter 23 Ghost
GHOST
I WATCH FROM THE SHADOWS, MY POSITION SECURED IN THE ALLEY across from The Ruby Club.
The neon sign buzzes faintly above the entrance, casting flickering light onto the sidewalk below.
It’s Thursday, and like clockwork, Telford will be here.
The woman, elegant but not extravagant, already waits inside at their usual table.
I don’t move when the black sedan pulls up to the curb, although my heartbeat slows as I regulate my breathing. From my vantage point, I have a full view of the car, the street, the bouncers at the door, and the exit routes Telford might take if something spooks him.
The driver, a middle-aged man with squared shoulders and the posture of someone trained, steps out first, scanning the area. I count his movements. Five seconds to adjust his jacket, four more to subtly check his waistband for the concealed firearm. Then he nods once toward the passenger’s side.
Right on cue, Telford steps out.
He doesn’t waste time. Just straightens his tie, glances once up and down the street, and heads inside. He doesn’t look suspicious. Good.
I wait exactly thirty seconds, just enough time for the driver to get back in the car and settle in. Then I move.
My approach is silent. I stop beside the driver’s door, crouching just enough that I’m in his blind spot. After removing my knife from my pocket, I reach up and tap the window hard enough to make him turn his head.
The moment he does, I open the door, hook my arm around his neck, and drag him out in one fluid motion. He barely makes a sound before the pressure on his carotid artery cuts his consciousness like a switch. He slumps in my arms, and I lower him to the pavement without a sound. It’s naptime.
Once his body is hidden behind a dumpster, I slip into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors slightly while scanning the street. No one is around. The club is loud and the people inside are still preoccupied.
I settle in. And wait.
Inside, Telford will be drinking, laughing, and thinking it’s just another Thursday night.
I give him his two hours. Let him play out his routine, let him think he’s untouchable.
Then I watch as the woman leaves first, exactly on schedule.
She doesn’t look back. Neither does Telford when he exits ten minutes later, phone in hand, head down as he types out a message.
He steps toward the car. The moment his hand touches the handle, I unlock the doors. He slides in the passenger’s side, expecting his driver.
He gets me instead.
I press the muzzle of my silencer against his ribs. “Buckle up,” I murmur, shifting the car into drive. “After all, safety is very important.”
His breath catches at my mocking tone, his body going rigid. Then, slowly, Telford clicks the seat belt into place.
I pull out onto the street, before taking the preplanned route I mapped out days ago. No security cameras. No witnesses. The moment we turn the corner, we disappear.
By the time anyone realizes Telford is missing, he’ll already be begging for mercy.
The drive is silent. Telford keeps his hands folded neatly in his lap, his breathing controlled but shallow. He’s afraid. He should be.
I don’t rush. I take every turn carefully, never speeding, or doing anything that might draw unwanted attention. Meanwhile, he’s still trying to figure out his angle. Whether to beg, reason, or threaten. He stays quiet, waiting for an opportunity.
There won’t be one.
The headlights carve through the darkness as I pull onto the abandoned road. The warehouse is exactly as I left it. The same metal door. The same concrete walls stained with blood. The same place where Skinner died screaming.
I kill the engine and turn to Telford, taking in the way he stiffens when my gaze falls on him.
Whatever he sees in my eyes must be horrific.
I reach across him and yank the seat belt loose, then grab him by the collar and haul him out of the car.
His shoes scuff against the gravel, breath punching out in a sharp exhale.
Telford doesn’t fight me because he’s a strategist. He thinks he can win with his mind, but I’m a genius, so that’s not happening.
The door creaks as I shove it open, the air cold and stale. I drag him inside, guiding him to the steel chair in the center of the room. The one that still bears faint rust-colored stains.
Ah, Skinner, we had so much fun together. And now it’s your turn, Telford.
I cuff his hands behind him, securing the restraints tight before stepping back, my shadow stretching long across the floor under the dim moonlight. Telford exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders slightly, testing the give in the cuffs. There isn’t any.
I pull up a second chair, spinning it backward before straddling it, my forearms resting against the backrest. “Who sent you after Geneva Andrews?”
Telford smirks. “You think I’m going to crack that easily?”
I let him have this moment. Let him think his rebellion is in full swing. Then I lean forward, pull out my knife, and tap it against the edge of the chair. Telford’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the tightening in his jaw.
“I don’t care how long this takes,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t care how much of you I have to remove before you start talking.”
His throat bobs. “You won’t kill me.”
I smile. “I don’t need to kill you to make you wish I had.”
Telford shifts in the chair, still feigning control. “I don’t know Dr. Andrews,” he says finally. “I was just the middleman.”
“Who hired you?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t understand how this works. I don’t ask names. I don’t take unnecessary risks. Someone gives me a job, I arrange it. That’s all.”
“That’s not all.” I drag my knife down his forearm, just enough to bite into the fabric of his sleeve. A silent warning. “Don’t play games with me.”
Telford grits his teeth. “I swear to you, I don’t know who it was. The money was wired through untraceable channels and the orders came through encrypted messages.”
“There has to be something,” I say quietly.
“There is one thing. The client didn’t want her dead right away. They wanted Dr. Andrews taken. Alive.”
I force myself not to react. “Why?”
“I don’t know. But I can guess.”
I get to my feet and grip the back of his chair to lean in, my face inches from his. “Then start guessing.”
Telford swallows, his gaze flicking to the knife still in my hand before meeting my eyes again. He chuckles, shaking his head. “If you kill me, you’ll never know. You need me, Ghost.”
Ah, my fame precedes me.
I smile. “No, Marcus. I just need what you know.”
Then I press the blade against his skin…
Hours later, Telford groans, spitting blood onto the floor, his shoulders slumping as he tries to steady his breath. His face is a train wreck with one eye already swelling shut, and his bottom lip split wide open. His expensive suit is soaked in sweat and blood. Maybe even piss.
I watch Telford. The way his chest rises and falls too fast, the way perspiration beads at his temples despite the cold. He’s terrified and in pain, which is good. That combination makes people talk.
Flipping the knife between my fingers, I click my tongue in admonishment. “You were supposed to deliver her to a black site days ago. But you didn’t. That’s a problem, isn’t it?”
Telford lets out a strained laugh, shaking his head. “You have no fucking idea. Skinner was supposed to grab her and bring her directly to me. Then, I was going to make sure the handoff to the next man went smoothly.”
I step closer, crouching in front of him to tap the knife lightly against his thigh. “Where was the meeting?”
Telford shifts again, the zip ties around his wrists tightening as he grips the arms of the chair. “I already told you, it was a black site. I—I don’t know anything else.”
I arch a brow. “Try again.”
“I swear, I don’t! I was supposed to get the exact location an hour before. That’s how these things work. No paper trails, no loose ends. They don’t trust people like me with details until the last possible second.”
It tracks. Someone at this level wouldn’t take unnecessary risks. A middleman doesn’t need to know the final destination. Just where to drop the package.
“And the contact?” I ask. “Who were you supposed to hand her to?”
“I don’t know the guy’s name. Never met him. The deal was for me to bring her and wait until I get confirmation that they have her in their possession. Then I leave, get paid, and pretend I never saw a damn thing.”
“What else?”
Telford hesitates, his good eye darting away. He licks the blood from his lips, shifting in the chair like he can somehow get away from me. “Look, I told you everything I know. You don’t need to kill me.”
“That’s cute.” I press the blade to his thigh hard enough to draw blood. Well, more blood. “You had to get something, a piece of information to identify he was the correct person. So stop with the bullshit and talk.”
He swallows, his gaze flicking toward the knife. “I don’t know his real name, all right? He’s just some mercenary who works for the same guy I do.”
“Not good enough, Telford. I think you’re holding out on me.” The fear in his eyes surges as I move the blade to his crotch. “If you don’t tell me something, your next stop is the castration station. Toot toot!”
“Okay!” he shouts, his voice pitched high, edged with panic. He shifts again, wincing as the blade digs in just a bit more. “They use code names for everything. But it’s not like they give me a directory!”
I still. “Go on.”
Telford hesitates, but the look in my eyes makes him spit it out. “Roulette.”
The word slams into me, and I can’t stop myself from reacting. I’ve heard it before. Recently. It’s the code name for a man called Dominic Carter.
One of the men who killed Geneva’s parents.