Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
GRAYSON
I pocket the keys and pull my bandanna higher over my scars. The night air carries a bite that wasn’t there as sharply last week. Full winter is about to set in. Most of the shops along Main Street are already dark, their owners home for dinner or drinks at The Lodge.
Movement across the street catches my eye—a tall figure pacing under the streetlight, phone pressed to his ear. Ryder Greythorn. Even without the light illuminating his face, I’d know that swagger anywhere. Some things don’t change, even after years and thousands of miles.
I step back into the shadows of the store’s entrance, instinct taking over before conscious thought. The lights inside are off, the display window between us. He can’t see me, but I can hear him. His voice carries in the quiet night, loud and careless.
“—told you it wouldn’t work. These backwoods idiots don’t understand real estate values.” Ryder laughs, the sound grating against my ears. “Thompson turned down fifty grand for that shithole coffee shop. Said it was worth twice that.”
He pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end.
“Yeah, well, he won’t be so proud in a few weeks. He’ll be begging us to take it off his hands for twenty-five.” Another laugh. “Trust me. This is going exactly according to plan.”
My jaw tightens. The Mountain Mug has been in Thompson’s family for three generations. His daughter works there while putting herself through college.
Ryder starts walking, still talking. Decision time. Follow and learn more, or head home and pretend I didn’t hear anything? The question answers itself as my feet move, tracking Ryder at a distance. Some instincts don’t fade.
He heads down Main Street toward The Lodge, phone still at his ear. I maintain distance, using the shadows between streetlights as cover. It’s almost embarrassingly easy—Ryder’s not paying attention to his surroundings, too wrapped up in his conversation.
“Everything has been set in motion, so it’s only a matter of time now.
Once everything finally goes public, property values will tank.
” He turns off the main road onto the path that leads behind The Lodge, into the wooded area where they host summer barbecues.
“Then we swoop in, buy everything for pennies, and finally turn this town into something worth more than the dirt it’s sitting in. ”
What the fuck is he talking about?
The trees swallow us both, the sounds of the small town fading behind. Ryder’s voice grows harder to hear as the path narrows, forcing me to close the gap between us. Pine needles cushion my footsteps, but a twig snaps under my boot.
Ryder stops talking mid-sentence.
I freeze, becoming part of the darkness. An old skill, rusty but not forgotten.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then Ryder sighs audibly.
“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone. Then, without turning around: “You know, Ghost, small town life has made you soft. Your skills aren’t what they used to be.”
Shit.
No point in hiding now. I step forward, letting the moonlight filtering through the branches reveal my presence.
I cross my arms over my chest and stand a little taller. I doubt Ryder plans to get physical out here, but I want him to know I’m ready for it. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying the winter air.”
Ryder pockets his phone with a smirk, demeanor relaxed. “You think I can’t feel when someone’s watching me? We spent eighteen months in the same ranger unit, Ghost. Your tricks are my tricks.”
I grunt in acknowledgment. I’m not exactly happy with the reminder that Ryder and I used to be friends, close enough that we joined the military together in a program that ensured we’d stay together through training.
But we’d walked away from our service with very different perspectives than when we started.
“So,” Ryder spreads his hands, the gesture theatrical in the dim light. “If you’re out here to kick my ass, I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I won’t make it easy.”
“Not interested in a fight.” The words come out clipped. “Just want to know why you’re back in town.”
Ryder sighs, sounding almost sad. “You know, if the Grayson Lambe I served with had asked me that, I’d have told him everything. That guy—I could count on him to do the right thing.”
“I haven’t changed.”
“Haven’t you?” Ryder gestures at my face, at the bandanna covering my scars. “Because that guy wouldn’t hide behind a mask. That guy looked death in the face and laughed.”
“That guy was an idiot who thought violence solved problems.”
“That guy was a warrior.” Ryder’s voice hardens. “A fucking legend. The Ghost who could move through enemy territory unseen. The marksman who never missed. The guy who pulled me out of that firefight in Kandahar when everyone else had written me off.”
The memories flash unbidden—blood and dust and the copper taste of fear. Ryder’s leg mangled by shrapnel. The weight of him as I dragged him to safety. The sound of his screams.
“That was a different life.”
“Was it?” Ryder steps closer. “Because I remember it like yesterday. You and me, back to back, surrounded by hostiles. You said something then—what was it? For the meek to inherit the earth, the strong have to ensure they survive in it.”
“And a lot of people died because of that philosophy.”
“Someone always dies in war, Ghost. The question is whether you’re the one doing the killing or the one getting killed.” He shakes his head. “I chose my side. Looks like you’ve forgotten that you did the exact same thing.”
“What are you doing here, Ryder?” I ask again, ignoring the bait.
A smile spreads across his face—the same smile he wore before missions, all teeth and no warmth. “Taking advantage of a business opportunity.”
“These are good people. They don’t deserve whatever you’re planning.”
“Deserve?” Ryder laughs, the sound echoing between the trees. “Nobody gets what they deserve, Ghost. You get whatever you can keep others from taking. That’s how the world works.”
“Not here.”
“Especially here.” His eyes gleam in the darkness. “This little fantasy world you’ve built yourself—the quiet storekeeper in the quaint mountain town? It’s not real. And it won’t be here for much longer.”
My hands clench at my sides. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” Ryder steps back, creating distance between us. “For old times’ sake, I’ll give you some advice: get out of this town while you can.”
The question comes out as a growl. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning. From one brother-in-arms to another.” He turns away, heading deeper into the woods. “I saved your life once, Ghost. Don’t expect me to do it again. You don’t want to be on the bad side of the people I work for.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Who are you working for?”
Ryder just whistles some tuneless melody as he saunters away.
I could follow him. Could force answers from him with methods I swore I’d never use again. The temptation burns like acid in my throat.
Instead, I watch him disappear among the trees, his last words hanging in the air between us.
Whatever Ryder is planning, it’s bigger than lowball real estate offers to serve his business interests. Ryder is a lot of terrible things, but a liar isn’t one of them. I believe him when he says that the town is at risk.
The question is what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.