Chapter 21 #2
I’m back now. Back in the shadows where I belong, watching her.
Keeping my distance. Fingers itching to close the gap.
If I stepped out right now into her line of sight, would she look at me with hate?
Disgust? Or that dead-eyed emptiness from before?
That one gutted me the most. Like I wasn’t even a person.
Doesn’t matter. I stay hidden and I keep watching.
She looks better. Stronger. There’s a lightness to her steps, a smile I haven’t seen in a long time.
But not today.
Today, she’s in a meeting with a contractor, explaining something to him, hands moving in the air, eyebrows pinched together.
But the asshole’s not even listening. I can see it from here.
Myth wasn’t wrong, this guy’s been slacking off.
Probably thinks he can squeeze a few extra bills out of her, take advantage. We’ll see about that.
I almost stop breathing when I see Griffin, that grinning fuck, walking up to her out of nowhere. All casual smiles and too-easy charm. He wraps his arm around her shoulders like he fucking does it all the time, like she’s his.
My fists clench so hard I hear the knuckles crack.. She doesn’t push him off. Doesn’t shake him away.
Fuck. I have to force air back into my lungs. Control the urge to storm over there and ram my fist through his goddamn face. Punch him straight into his next life. Wasn’t he with Temperance? Is he just spreading himself around town like Halloween candy?
When she finally steps back and his arm falls away, I can breathe again. But the burn stays.
I wait until she leaves, and of course it’s with Griffin — the asshole — in tow.
My hands are shaking when I step out of the shadows. The contractor’s lounging on some busted-ass lawn chair like he’s got nothing else to do.
He sees me moving and his eyes go wide. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling over his own legs. There’s probably murder spitting from my eyes. Good.
I stalk up to him, every step like thunder, and stop just inches away. Close enough to see the sweat bead on his forehead.
He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him the chance.
“I know what you’re thinking.” I lean in, voice like a razor. “But you’d be wrong. I’m worse than I look.”
I tap the patch on my chest, and his eyes flicker to it. Then back to me.
“Gh—Ghost?” His voice is a whispered question.
I nod slowly. “That’s right. I earned that name.
Not just because I can move without being seen.
It’s because I’m real good at turning people into ghosts.
Quick. Efficient.” I lean in closer, drop my voice to a growl.
“If the woman who hired you frowns one more time because of you, I’ll add you to my collection. Understood?”
He nods so fast I’m surprised his head doesn’t snap clean off. But it’s not enough.
“Words, fucker,” I spit, tone lethal.
“Got it. I got it,” he stammers, hands flying up in surrender.
I keep my eyes on him for a few more seconds, just to let the fear truly sink in. Then I turn and walk away. If he’s smart, he’ll take the hint. If he’s not… Well, I’ll be watching.
I’m back from another hunt. Five Verdugos gone. Seven in total. But Sombra? Nowhere in sight.
I’m losing patience. Thought I almost had him this time. One of those bastards I put in the ground gave me an address, spit it out through his broken teeth. Too bad Sombra hadn’t been there in months. The place was dead. Cold.
Fuck.
To top it all off, Adora’s sad. I can see it. I can feel it. It’s like her sadness is wired straight to my fucking soul, and it drags me down every time I catch a glimpse of her through the window.
Her little bookstore is empty, no customers. Shelves lined with untouched books. She sits behind the counter, hands folded, eyes big and misting over. It wrecks me.
Why the fuck is it empty? Why is she alone in there?
Rage boils up, violent and loud. I turn on my heel, take my ball cap off and walk away. I nod at Myth, a quick signal that I’m out. Can’t watch her like this. Can’t stand the fucking ache in my chest knowing she’s struggling and I can’t go to her. Can’t tell her it’s gonna get better.
I need to do something. Anything.
I climb into the cage borrowed from the clubhouse, shove the keys in, and the engine roars to life. But before I take off, I yank out my phone and dial Fang.
He picks up quick. “Hey, Veep.”
“The new bookstore in town. You know it?” I ask, voice clipped.
“Sure,” he trails off, confused. “It’s your girl’s place, right?”
My girl. I shove the thought down.
“Find someone and print flyers for it. Spread them all over the fucking county. I want it everywhere. Take Mindfuck, Pyro, Domino, Hades, Sketch, the prospects, I don’t give a fuck who.
Go bar to bar, club to club, coffee shop to coffee shop.
Talk up the bookstore to any chick you flirt with.
Give them bike rides, whatever the fuck you need to do. Got it?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then he laughs, amused as hell. I am not fucking amused.
“Sooo… you want us to go into marketing? Pimp ourselves out for promotion?”
“Fang…” My grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles going white.
“Yes, boss?”
“DO IT, FUCKER. NOW!”
There’s a curse, muffled through the speaker. I don’t wait to hear the rest. I end the call and slam the gear into drive, peeling out of the parking space.
I head straight for the clubhouse. The second I’m through the door, my eyes laser onto Domino, sitting at the bar. The moment he sees me, he straightens up, eyes going wide.
Yeah, I probably look unhinged. I feel it.
I stomp over, slap a wad of cash on the bar in front of him. He stares at it, then back at me. His eyebrows climb all the way to his fucking hairline.
“You like reading chick crap, Domino,” I say, voice flat.
His eyes narrow. “Umm… yes?” It’s more of a question than an answer.
I nod to the cash. “There’s a bookstore in town. Sells your favorite shit. Go buy some.”
“Oh, fuck yeah!” He grins wide, grabbing the stack of bills. “It’s open already? I’ve been waiting for that.” He pockets the money without hesitation. “Thanks for the deposit. I’ll make sure to buy something real dirty in your honor.”
“I don’t need the details,” I mutter, turning on my heel and stalking to my room.
Two hours later, I’m sitting in front of my laptop, staring at the screen like it’s going to fucking bite me.
I take a deep breath, hit the “Join” button, and wait for the video call to connect.
I’m heading back out tonight, but before that, I’ve got this…
thing to do. Online therapy session. Fifth try.
Mama found another guy. The last four were bullshit.
Quacks. She keeps insisting on this shit and I can’t say no to her.
The video flickers on. A bald, clean-cut, middle-aged man appears on the screen. He’s got a fake ass smile plastered on his face.
“Hello, Dominic. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Turner.”
“Ghost,” I say, voice flat.
He blinks. Looks down at his notes, shuffles some papers. “What?”
“My name. It’s Ghost.”
His face goes blank for a second, then he shakes his head, forcing a smile back. “Well, it’s better to use your real name during therapy. Helps with the—”
I tune him out. He’s talking bullshit and I’m not listening. This one’s a flop, too.
I wait until he pauses, looks at me for some kind of response.
“I don’t like you,” I say, voice even, and end the call.
The screen goes dark. Silence. Fuck. Mama’s going to be so disappointed. But she’ll keep on trying, I just know it.
The months pass by in a blur. I’m careful with my hunting. Careful enough not to rattle the cartel's cage too much, at least not yet. But I know it’s coming. That moment when I’ll have to stop hiding in the shadows and start cracking skulls in broad daylight. I’ll have to get loud.
For now, I’ve been silent enough to keep them guessing. Keep them off balance. I know they’re sniffing around the disappearances. Last night’s victim spilled that much before I sent him off. But they don’t know what to make of it. Not yet.
But fuck, it’s too slow. I’m clawing for scraps of information and Sombra’s a… well, a goddamn ghost! Moving too fast. No pattern. No trail. I’m not close enough.
And in the meantime, I need to keep myself from drowning inside the darkness that clouds my mind every minute of every fucking day.
That numbness? It never left. It made itself at home and took over me completely.
I’ve rejected seven therapists so far. Mama’s getting pissed.
Frustrated. She doesn’t do well with frustration.
But I can’t bring myself to give a shit.
How the fuck am I supposed to talk to someone who looks like they’d shit themselves if I even hint at what I did inside those prison walls?
They’re all the same. Polished. Perfect. Asking the same bullshit questions.
Why are you here? Because I’m clearly fucked up, asshole. Stupid fucking question.
I’m shadowing my next target, watching him stumble out of a bar, when my phone vibrates. I yank it out, thumb swiping the screen. And my heart drops to my fucking feet.
Myth: Snake attack. Safe. Clubhouse.
I don’t stop to think. I ride through the night, straight to the clubhouse, panic coiling around my spine. Six hours later, it’s still dark outside. I barely throw the bike into park before I’m inside, stalking through the common room. Myth is waiting. He nods once, and points me toward my room.
My legs move on their own, not missing a step. I don’t breathe until I’m inside, door shut behind me, and I finally see her.
She’s sleeping. Breathing. Safe. I sag against the door in relief.
I don’t move from my spot. I watch her sleep for hours, my back glued to the wood like it’s the only thing holding me up.
The panic fades, but the numbness crawls back in.
Roots itself back inside my bones. I welcome it.
I need it. Because I know what’s coming.
She won’t want me here. She’ll ignore me again.
Or maybe this time she’ll cuss me out. Throw venom my way.
And I’ll deserve all of it. I’ll take all of it.
Because even if I tried to, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to leave this room.
When morning comes and her hazel eyes lock on me — seeing me for the first time in months, not looking straight through me — I already feel like I died a thousand deaths.
My throat locks up, but I force the words out anyway.
“Hello, Adora,” I say, voice deceptively calm, ready for whatever she throws my way.
Her punishment. Her rage. I’ll take it all.