Chapter 38 - August
Ihear the wheezing before I see the blood.
My pulse spikes so hard, it makes my ears ring.
I don’t need to see his face to identify the source.
The cadence of the sound is one I’ve heard too many times.
Panic dragging the breath thin and ragged.
Why is Grayson out of the bunker? Why did he leave Kate alone and unprotected? Unless…
Body alert, my muscles coil tight. I dump the cheesecake box on the top of the lockers without a second thought. My hands find one of three guns I carry, the safety flicked off before my brain finishes the warning.
Light on my feet, I pick up my pace, navigating the halls. I round a corner, and air leaves my lungs. My best friend lies on the floor, red spreading under one shoulder like a fucking angel of death. Neck wound from a bullet. Shallow. Katar’s gun lies abandoned a few feet away.
Heart climbing into my throat, my knees slam the ground. “Stay with me, Gray. Don’t you fucking check out on me.” I press two shaking fingers to his throat, the thumping under me erratic. “Don’t you fucking check out on me.”
His bloodshot eyes flick open. “You gonna kiss me too, Sleeping Beauty?” he croaks, his voice full of crushed glass.
My chest unlocks enough for air to scrape in my mouth.
A huff of relief breaks loose, half laugh, half growl.
“I’ll turn you into a frog.” The joke’s flimsy, but without it, the cracks will show.
I keep a finger on his pulse while I lift him into a seated position, because I don’t trust myself counting the beat.
“Are you hit elsewhere besides the neck?”
“Kevlar saved me.” He’s trembling, clammy, breath sawing in and out, one hand clamped over his wound. I can’t tell if his pallor is blood loss, or if he’s spiraling.
The sight pulls me back to every other time I’ve found him like this.
I crawl around him on my knees, tug his dress shirt open, and check for other damage.
His Kevlar vest bears two dents. I pop his chest straps, lift the edges, and peel back his shirt.
Bruises on his back where he took two hits.
Evidence of every dollar well spent on self-protection. Proof of how close he came.
“You’ll live.” I clap him on the opposite shoulder, gentle enough to not break him.
“You good to stand?” I lean forward and collect Katar’s weapon before Grayson trips on it.
“Yeah.” Grayson wobbles to his feet.
I steady him with a hand to his arm. “What the hell are you doing out here? Where’s Kate?”
He grunts and winces. “Proximity alarms went off, and we evacuated. They… took her.”
My ears ring. My vision tunnels to the point of Grayson’s face and the blood on his neck.
“How’d they find us?” My voice is stripped bare.
He doesn’t answer fast enough. My brain’s already filling in the blanks. Blackthorn’s men. Her wrists bound. Mouth gagged. That wild terrified look in her eyes. Cold fear rushes my system, readying me to cut someone for it.
I don’t need Grayson to spell it out. I know the sequence. Alarms, chaos, his panic spiking before he can catch his breath. He’s already got the noose of guilt tightening around his neck. I don’t twist it.
“We need to find her.” My voice is sharp like the metallic ping of the bullets that left holes in the cinderblock to the right. “Can you track her?”
I loaded a tracking app on her phone and added a backup GPS in the circuitry for this very possibility. Placed another tracker under the amethyst of her ring. Provided Blackthorn’s men didn’t toss either of them out, we have a chance to save her before they hurt her.
“Yeah.” Grayson blinks away the last edges of his anxiety.
I shuck off my jacket and shirt, securing the cotton on the wound. “First priority—stop the bleeding. Second—track her and save her. Got it?”
He nods, and I slide an arm under his shoulder, forcing his legs to do their job, getting him back to the bunker.
The steel door slams shut like a vault closing.
The sound grips my chest. I drop him into his seat and grab the med kit.
He grunts as he peels off his ruined clothing, the wet mess making a sodden slap on the cold concrete.
I remove all the first aid equipment. Scissors, gauze, blood clotting powder, saline rinse, and tape. I funnel my focus into stemming the blood and letting my friend do his thing. I can’t afford to lose him too.
Jaw clenched, he stabs each key, fighting back the shock circling at the edge of his mind.
Phone cradled between my shoulder and neck, I patch through a warning to Katar. “Unicorn’s been taken. Stand by for orders.”
“Roger that.” His neck cracks loud enough to pass as a gunshot.
He ends the call, and I lower my phone to Grayson’s desk.
I flood my friend’s wound with antiseptic rinse, and he sucks in air like I’ve poured acid on him.
The bullet sliced a shallow layer of skin.
My fingers move with methodical precision, dropping powder on the wound, and stitching him closed in quick loops.
Nothing pretty, just enough to stop him bleeding.
“You’re shaking.” Grayson brings up a map and zooms in on the location. A circle throbs outwards like a water ripple.
“Adrenaline.” The words taste like rust. I finish the bandage wrap and tug to test if it’s on firm.
Every second ticks past like a countdown. I need to get to Kate and ensure her safety. My eyes dart to the empty chair she occupied less than an hour ago. The ghost of her shampoo fills my senses. I’ll tear out Blackthorn’s throat.
Grayson turns to face me, face drawn and defeated as he delivers the bad news. “They threw out her phone and handbag, and we’ve lost signal.”
Fuck. I press my knuckles into the edge of the bench until pain clarifies into purpose. “Track whoever took her via traffic cameras. We can’t give up.”
His fingers hover over the keyboard. “What if there’s another way?”
“How?” I pace along the edge of his desk.
He shifts the monitor in my direction. “We stop being shadows and make you the most public man in Shadow Lake.” He swallows, but not before I catch it. The fear for me underneath it. “We hit the national feed. We go on record. Your name and face. Declare war the proper way.”
I stare into the small, unblinking eye. Every rule I made to keep us alive flashes back at me. I built this network, brick by brick, sleepless night after night, to expose the monsters in the dark. Not to blow it all up in one flare. Anonymity is what kept my small team and me alive.
I huff out a bitter laugh. “You want me to burn our anonymity?”
“Be the hero, August,” he urges. “Show those fuckers you’ll set yourself alight to save her.”
“That’s fucking suicide.” My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth.
He looks at me. Really looks at me. No bullshit. No jokes. “You love her, and this might be the last thing she hears.” The words land like the cold press of a gun barrel to the back of my skull. “Escalate the war for her.”
The walls of the bunker close in on me, crushing me with the weight of all our work. Collateral damage is expected in war—we knew the risk going into this and accepted it. All the sacrifice, our families, friends, lives, the men and women who placed their trust in me to stay hidden.
None of it matters if she doesn’t come back.
She started the conflict within me, and I won’t let that mean nothing.
I can’t shake the truth that I love her.
Always have. Every second I sit here and debate with my best friend is another second she’s alone with them and scared.
My Glitter Bomb will not become a casualty, and I will fucking burn the world down for her to shine brighter.
Let my face be the one they see as the flames surround them and raze their empire to the ground.
“Can you reach her father?” I choke out. “Maybe he can intervene? Start an internal war.”
A goal we’ve been aiming for since the beginning. In-fighting leading to them devouring themselves like the cancer they are. Minimal casualties for us. A clean victory. Except, nothing’s clean anymore. Everything became messy the moment she commented on Katar’s goddamn thirst trap video.
“Good idea, princess.” Grayson pushes up from the bench, grimacing as he reaches for the controls.
I catch his shoulder. “Tell me what you need. I’ll set it up, frog prince. Meanwhile, I need you to find me a drop location for her with multiple exits so they can’t trap us when I retrieve her.”
He snorts and reels off a list of equipment, pointing to it when I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about.
We point the camera at a concrete wall and shield our servers, cables, and computers from view.
When we’ve put together what we need, Grayson drops back into his chair, touching his bandage.
Before we start, I grab the charcoal face paint that Katar smears over his face, a signal for his dark side. I paint my eyes and lips black. This is my camouflage. My war paint. I’m the fucking ghost in their shadows.
I reach into my drawer that holds the poker hand I swore not to show until we were ready or as a last resort.
That time has come. We need distractions.
Public outrage. Demands for arrests. Make it virtually impossible for every Roman to fucking breathe, let alone conduct business.
The weight of the USB drive is heavier than it should be.
It contains all the data we’ve collected—fraud, financial crimes, racketeering, bribery, and more.
I drop it on Grayson’s desk. “Drop it all, ready for release.”
“WikiLeaks drop?" Grayson grins. Julian Assange is one of his heroes.
I nod and clap him on his unwounded shoulder.
“Sit.” Grayson motions at me. “I want to do a sound check.” He enters a few more commands. “Say something, princess, then we’re going live nationally and right to Charles Huntington and Blackthorn’s phone.”
I drop into the black plastic classroom chair, and it complains under my weight. A harsh glare forces me to squint. Grayson is a silhouette against it, his expression swallowed by the brightness. The only clear thing is the pinprick of red cutting through. My cue to record my message.
“My name is August Kelly,” I say, voice gravel.
Grayson winds his finger, signaling for me to keep going.
Suddenly the bunker is our war playground.
“I’m a former detective with the Shadow Lake Police Department, who uncovered the rot spreading throughout our city.” Each word tastes like the melted metal of a bullet and gunpowder.
I keep going for her, hoping to God she hears this, and knows I’m coming for her. Whatever it takes.
“You’ve been told your city is run by mayors, judges, and law enforcement.
That’s the surface story. The truth is uglier.
” I let that settle in with a beat. “There’s a council that’s never been on a ballot or elected.
That’s never been in a headline as they control them.
Except for the work of Sally-Anne Walters.
Not familiar with her work? Check out her testimonial on YouTube and the blog of Kate Williams.”
Somewhere in the city, Blackthorn is either grinning or breaking a glass against a wall. I put my boot on his throat and apply more pressure.
“This city is run by seven unelected rulers, hidden behind boardrooms, dividing this city like an empire. “I don’t blink. Don’t stop.
Kate’s life depends on this. “They call themselves the Romans. Each sect controls a pillar of society. You’ve never heard of them because they pay to keep it secret. ”
I go through them all, one by fucking one.
Jupiter rules the banks, finances, construction, and airlines. The head of the snake with its hand on every dollar. They launder money through charities.
Neptune owns the ports and the seas. Every shipment in and out, legal or not, is taxed by them. Even the mafia lost their docks to Neptune’s grip, and they’re not happy about it.
Pluto leads the underworld. They’re the Romans’ enforcers, dealing in blood and shadows, assassins, bribes, brothels, and black-market vice. They use Neptune to ship their drugs into the city and run it through hospitals.
Mars wears the badge and commands the police, prisons, the judicial system that never rules in your favor, but rather theirs. Laws protect them, not us.
Mercury speaks through your screens. Media, news, and propaganda. Words in your mouth before you think them.
Venus dresses it up, operating beauty, medicine, and health. Everything you put in your body, on your hair, or skin. Fucking poison.
Saturn feeds you food from their agriculture supply. Old money and power.
I lean forward and brace my elbows on my knees. “Every part of your life from the pills in your cabinet to the news on your feed is theirs. It’s choking this city and needs to be eliminated.”
I look away from the blaring red light to Grayson’s outline. Cue for him to load the data we’ve accumulated. He clicks on a key. Enter. His monitors flicker with reports, files, and photos bridging the connections.
“The proof is on your screen,” I refer to the sample Grayson chose to reveal on screen. “Names, dates, times, transactions. Every rotten root you’ve been told is untouchable.”
Grayson flicks a finger through the stream of light.
Time to cut off Blackthorn’s airway.
“This is a message for Preston Blackthorn, heir of Order Mars.” I hold my voice as steady as I can with her life hanging in the balance.
“You took someone from me tonight. A woman who’s done nothing wrong but shine a light in places the Romans wanted left dark.
Kate Williams, illegitimate daughter of Charles Huntington, came to me three years ago to report an assault by Blackthorn and he covered it up.
Stalked, harassed, and threatened her and me as the detective assigned to her case. ”
My pulse jackhammers in fear of pulling this off, because it can backfire so spectacularly.
I point at the camera. “You better Think Twice, Blackthorn. If Kate isn’t released, unharmed, in the next thirty minutes and left at the address displayed on the screen, the rest of the drive will hit every headline, inbox, and feed, from here to Timbuk-fucking-tu. And I won’t stop there.”
The lens eats me alive. My face is a weapon. Eyebrows slashed into a brutal line. Lips set hard and merciless. Blue eyes colder from the black paint. I look like something unholy crawled out of the dark to deliver the message.
Grayson motions to wind up.
“I’m coming for you, Preston Blackthorn.
This is war. I Drove All Night. Her father, Charles Huntington, is coming for you too.
” I add the last bit to spread confusion between Order members.
Let’s see if they turn on him, or if he’s got the balls to intervene again.
“Because that’s The Power of Love, assholes. ”