Chapter 34
Ghost
I don’t waste time on the body at my feet.
I listen.
Nothing yet. I’ll have to rely on the knife for now.
Then I move.
The door creaks just enough to make my jaw tighten, but I ease it open inch by inch, slipping out fast. The room opens into a short hallway. Concrete walls, low ceiling, exposed pipes sweating overhead.
I’m underground.
That makes sense. You don’t keep prisoners above ground if you plan on doing messy things to them.
I hug the wall and advance, bare feet silent against the cold floor. Every step is measured, every breath controlled.
At the end of the hall, I turn a corner — and nearly collide with a man coming the other way. Cartel. Black clothes. Gun slung low. His eyes widen just enough for me to see the moment he realizes he fucked up.
I don’t give him time to scream. I drive the knife up under his jaw, hard and fast, twisting as I shove him into the wall. Bone crunches softly. His hands claw at my arms for half a second before they go slack.
I ease him down. Quiet. Clean.
Then I move again.
I reach the stairs and pause at the door, pressing my back to the wall, listening. Boots thunder overhead, then screams ring out, swallowed by gunshots — finally!
My brothers are here. No more sneaking.
I drop the knife, and my hands close around the gun instead. After a slow, deep breath and a roll of my shoulders, I shove the door open.
Two cartel men are sprinting straight toward it.
They don’t even have time to raise their guns before I squeeze the trigger.
The rifle bucks against my shoulder as bullets tear into them, bodies snapping back, blood spraying the floor.
One goes down hard, the other stumbles two steps before collapsing face-first at my feet.
My bruised ribs protest, the pain in my muscles flares, but I step over them without slowing.
The space opens up into a massive foyer. Marble floors streaked with blood, a sweeping staircase curling up to the second floor, chandeliers swaying overhead. Smoke hangs thick in the air.
It’s fucking beautiful.
Chaos everywhere.
I move through it like the ghost I am. Earning my road name.
A cartel man pops out from behind a pillar. I put him down without breaking stride. Another dives for cover near a couch — two shots and he stops moving. I don’t aim carefully. I don’t need to. Muscle memory takes over.
I clock familiar faces as I move. Joker and Hellbat, reloading behind an overturned table.
Reaper, kicking a gun away from a man who’s already bleeding out.
Bones, swinging his bat with one hand while firing the gun in the other.
One of Romano’s men on the balcony above, firing downward with surgical calm. Arcangelo brought his teeth. Perfect.
I cut toward the stairs, ignoring side rooms, opening doors just long enough to confirm they’re empty or full of corpses. I’m hunting now. Focused. Tunneled.
Second floor.
The hallway is wide, lined with expensive doors, thick carpets ruined by bloody footprints. I move fast, checking rooms, leaving bodies where they fall.
Finally, I see it. One door at the end of the hall stands half-open. Light spills out and it’s warm, almost obscene against all this violence.
I slow, open the door wider with two fingers, then step inside.
It’s a master bedroom. Massive. Tasteful. Expensive as fuck.
And right in the center of it — Sombra is on his knees. Hands bound behind his back, shirt torn, blood on his face. Head tilted just enough to show his anger, but also his fear.
Arcangelo Romano sits in a high-backed chair like he’s a king waiting for dessert. One ankle crossed over the other, a gun resting casually against Sombra’s skull.
He glances up when I enter, eyes flicking briefly to my naked, blood-soaked body, then back to Sombra like this is all perfectly normal.
“Took you long enough,” he says calmly.
Sombra watches me, eyes burning, but he keeps his mouth shut. Arcangelo nudges the gun harder against his head and huffs softly. Mocking.
“This one is very rude,” he murmurs. “Has no idea how to greet his guests.”
Then he looks at me, the deadly ice in his gaze sending a shiver down my spine.
“I told you the tracker would do its job, even with the jammers. My tech man does excellent work.”
“Yes,” I mutter, stepping forward and slipping the AR15 off my shoulder. “I never doubted that.”
I barely have time to draw a full breath before the already-open door slams into the wall and Bones storms in, Reaper right on his heels.
“This is turning into a full-blown party,” Arcangelo remarks mildly, like he’s commenting on the weather.
Bones shoots him a glare but doesn’t bite. Instead, he turns all that fire on me.
“I know you saw me out there,” he snaps. “Why the fuck didn’t you wait for backup?”
I almost roll my eyes, but think better of it.
“I had everything under control, Bones,” I murmur.
“Yeah,” Reaper chuckles, already moving toward the walk-in closet. “Except the swing of your dick. I saved your naked ass twice out there, and you didn’t even notice.”
“I clocked those two guys,” I fire back. “Saw you had them lined up. You didn’t save shit.” My eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He glances back, unimpressed. “Getting you pants. You’re going to poke an eye out with that thing.”
Asshole. Since he stayed behind as our Driftwood Chapter Prez, I barely talked to him. I forgot how fucking annoyingly practical he can be.
“Forget this,” I mutter, getting back to Sombra. A grin stretches across my face, uncontained. “My trip to hell was very nice, hijo de puta. So nice, I had to come back for you.”
“Remember our deal, Fantasma.”
Santiago’s voice makes me turn.
He steps through the doorway — and I have to do a double take when I see Mindfuck strolling in right behind him, smiling and humming. He’s wearing his cut over a fucking Santa coat, ski goggles pushed up on his forehead, a gun in one hand and a machete in the other.
What in the name of Satan.
“Perimeter’s clean,” he announces, looking at Bones. “How many rooms does this castle have? Took me forever to find you guys.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss. “What are you wearing?”
He looks down at himself, then back up, still smiling. “What? I’m doing the whole Christmas in July thing. We haven’t had a nice bloodbath in a while. This feels festive.”
The whole room goes deadly silent. I can practically hear everyone blink.
The urge to yell that it’s not July sits on my tongue, but I nip it. He’s been going downhill for months now, stuck in one of his episodes. I don’t have time to deal with his shit.
“Merry Christmas, Mindfuck,” Reaper mutters, coming out of the walk-in closet, and tossing a pair of black sweats at my face. “Tag’s still on. Cover your shame.”
I growl, but I pull them on.
“Can we get back to the problem at hand?” Santiago mutters, scanning the room like he doesn’t know what to make of any of this. Then he points at Sombra. “Finish him. Now. Here. Just like we agreed.”
Fuck.
I turn toward the fucker. He’s glaring at Santiago, muttering curses under his breath. I’d love nothing more than to keep him for days. Weeks. Break him slowly. Play with him like a cat does with its prey when its belly is already full.
But the deal was clear. He dies here — fast — and Santiago gets to watch.
I draw in a sharp breath, trying to come to terms with the way this needs to end.
“Fantasma,” Santiago says quietly, his tone laced with frustration. “You gave your word. I need to see him die.”
My grip tightens around the gun. My jaw locks. My nostrils flare.
It has to be done this way, but fuck, I don’t want to.
Bones’ hand lands on my shoulder as he leans in close, his voice dropping so low only I can hear it.
“Luca caught the woman trying to escape through the back gardens,” he murmurs. “You have that.”
Something inside me settles.
I can’t make Sombra suffer the way I want, but this isn’t over. Not even close. And out of all of them, that woman and Bowie are the ones I need to hear scream. For Adora. For every stolen year of her life.
I raise the gun and aim it at Sombra’s head. Arcangelo pushes out of his chair fast, muttering about his expensive suit and blood spatter.
Sombra’s gaze snaps back to me, full of hate and venom.
“Adoración will never forgive you when she finds out,” he sneers. “Do you even know who I am to her?”
“I know exactly who you are,” I murmur, the familiar numbness sliding into place. “The dots weren’t hard to connect once I knew where to look.”
I step closer. Lower my voice.
“And I already told you — her name’s Adora.”
The bullet lodges in his forehead before the sound of the gunshot even registers.
I stand over his body, waiting for peace, but it doesn’t come, and I know why. Because this isn’t over yet.
“The Cleaner and her team are on their way,” Arcangelo says behind me. “The bodies won’t be a problem, but judging by the photos I sent her, she’ll need to burn the house down.” A beat. “Good thing it’s isolated.”
When I turn, I find him watching Santiago with a calculating look.
“I’m guessing you’re taking over the Verdugos now.”
Santiago gives him a cautious nod.
“Good,” Arcangelo continues. “Take them over, and then take them the fuck out of here. Tolden City and its entire metro area — Willow Harbor and Driftwood included — are exclusively Romano and Vulture territory now.”
“You have a week. Any Verdugo we find in the area after that gets taken down.”
A pause. Heavy with warning.
“Understood?”
Santiago narrows his eyes, and then smiles, but it’s far from pleasant. He knows there is no other choice for him. “Understood, jefe.”
The ice in Arcangelo’s gaze doesn’t melt. “Well, this was fun. Call me when the next party starts.”
He glances at Bones, but doesn’t wait for an answer, and strides out of the room just as Bones’ phone buzzes.
“Fuck,” Bones curses, staring at the screen like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he drags a hand through his hair, fingers curling tight at the ends.