Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
GHOST
“Good. Now let’s not wa—” The first gunshot tears through the night.
Then another.
Another.
And another.
“DAD!” A scream rips through the night sky.
The sound ricochets around the concrete courtyard, each shot slamming into my chest like a fucking sledgehammer. Everything inside me stops. Storm. No. Not my baby girl. “STORM! I roar, the sound ripping from somewhere deep inside my chest before I even realise I’ve spoken.
For a heartbeat, nobody moves. Then instinct takes over.
I spin towards the entrance. “Move!” The brothers surge forward, boots pounding across the concrete.
I take one step before something catches my arm.
Star. Her fingers wrap around my wrist. Our eyes meet, and after our years together, she already knows.
She sees it; the fear, the panic, the father.
Not the President. Just a man terrified he’s about to lose his little girl.
“I’m coming,” she says, already taking a step after me.
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intended.
Her chin lifts. “Casper—”
“No.” My voice drops lower. Harder. “You stay fucking here.”
Her eyes flash with fury. “Our daughter is up there!”
“I know exactly where my daughter is!” I bark.
Every word is laced with barely controlled terror.
I step closer, cupping the side of her face for the briefest second.
“And I need to know that if...” My voice catches.
Fuck. I can’t even say it. I swallow hard.
“If this goes sideways...” I rasp, “... one day our grandkids will still have one of us.”
Pain flickers across her face. She knows what I’m saying. She hates it. So do I. She grabs the front of my kutte, her eyes filling with tears she’d never let fall. “Bring her home.”
I press my forehead against hers for half a second. “I’ll bring our baby home.” Or I’ll die trying. I don’t say the last part. I don’t need to. She already sees it in my eyes. I turn before she can argue again. “Nobody lets the ol’ ladies inside!” I bellow over my shoulder.
“Prez,” Beast starts.
“You heard me!” I snap. Then I run. Not as Ghost, President of the Black Hearts, but as Storm’s dad.
The stairwell feels endless. Every flight mocks me.
Too slow. Too fucking slow. My lungs burn, and my knees scream.
I don’t care. One hand grabs the rail, and I launch myself up the next flight, going two, sometimes three steps at a time.
Another gunshot. Closer. My heart lurches violently.
Please. Please let that not be my little girl.
The brothers thunder in front and behind me, but all I hear is the frantic pounding of my own heartbeat.
Images flash through my mind. Storm at five years old, asleep on my chest after insisting monsters couldn’t get her if Daddy was awake.
Storm learning to ride her first bike, refusing my help because she was ‘too tough’.
Storm crying in Star’s arms after her first heartbreak in high school.
Storm lying broken in bed, bruised, beaten, and barely breathing. No. Not again.
I round another landing. The apartment door comes into view.
It’s open. My blood runs cold. “Drix!” I shout.
He doesn’t answer. None of us slow. We hit the corridor at a sprint.
Then, silence. No more gunshots. No shouting, no struggle.
Nothing. The silence is worse. Far worse.
Because silence means it’s over. My hand trembles as I reach the apartment door.
For the first time in all my years as President, I’m afraid to walk into a room.
Because whatever waits on the other side will either give me my daughter back, or destroy what’s left of me.