Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Ghost
Iroll onto my side and stretch my arm out, looking for Phoenix.
Instead, my fingers brush against something metal and cold.
Opening my eyes, I see one of her dog tags.
I sit up, and the emptiness of the room wraps around me like a noose.
Her side of the bed is still warm. Phoenix is gone, but not for long. Or so I want to believe.
I flip the tag over and over between my fingers, the silence pressing in hard.
The tag is cold in my hand, but it burns like a brand.
She left this on purpose. She had to. Phoenix doesn’t forget things, not unless she wants you to find them.
Why did she leave this behind? Did she do it on purpose?
Is this her way of saying goodbye? Or is this spiral shit finally getting to her?
I drag myself to the bathroom, take a piss, then stand at the sink, staring into the mirror.
The man looking back at me looks older. Eyes sunken, skin sallow, stress lines etched like cracks in broken glass.
I’ve seen bodies strung up, people gutted for less than a hundred bucks.
But this? This is different. This is something I can’t cuff or shoot.
How do you stop something as supernatural as what’s happening to me? How do you defeat someone who’s dead?
I walk out of the bathroom and slide my boxers and jeans on. I check for my Glock and knives. They’re still where I left them last night before making love to Phoenix. I finish getting dressed and open the bedroom door.
I’m pissed. Not just because Phoenix left without a word, but because she didn’t trust me enough to take me with her.
What if she gets hurt while trying to be a lone wolf?
I’d never know if Vale got his slimy, dead hands on her until I saw her face next to his in the hell that plays behind my eyelids.
I wander down the hallway and into the kitchen where Kitty, Poison’s Ol’ man, and Sissy, Scissors Ol’ lady, are sitting at the old wobbly kitchen table.
They don’t say anything at first. Just sip their coffee like the world’s not on fire. Kitty’s feet are kicked up on the table, calm as ever. When he spots me, he casually hands over a mug like nothing’s wrong. I take it and lean against the counter.
He drops his boots to the floor, fixing me with those dark eyes, gold-flecked and unreadable. He isn’t big and muscular like me, but he is athletic.
His dark eyes with gold flecks bore into mine. “Look, I know you’re pissed Phoenix took off.” I scoff, but Kitty ignores me and continues. “The Non Cras ride into storms with no guarantee they’ll come back. Leaving you behind? That is the guarantee.”
Sissy chimes in quietly. “Being a Knightmare isn’t a pet name, it’s a vow. Loving a Non Cras member is hard. But in the end, once you have their heart, you have their loyalty.”
I take a sip of coffee, bitter and strong, and finally ask the question that’s been clawing at me since I woke up. “How do you handle it? Them putting themselves in danger and not asking for help?”
Kitty stands and looks me square in the eyes. “I don’t try to leash the storm. I make damn sure I’m the ground she hits first when she falls.”
“I don’t know if I can be that for her. But damn it, I want to try.
” I have nothing else to say, so I take my coffee and head out the back door, thinking over everything Kitty has said.
The sun’s just coming up, streaking the treetops gold and orange.
The bayou stirs, bugs clicking and hissing, some already tucking themselves in for the heat of the day. It’s gonna be another sticky one.
Am I Phoenix’s ground? Can I be the man she needs me to be?
Can I take the backseat without feeling like I’m losing her?
Or maybe… maybe being her Knightmare doesn’t mean standing in front of her. Maybe it means standing with her until she lets me catch her.
I sit on the creaky porch steps, boots planted in the dirt, coffee cooling in my hands. Kitty’s words still echo in my skull, crawling under my skin.
I stare out at the trees. Spanish moss hangs like ghosts from the branches. Birds chirp, bugs hum. Everything feels too damn normal.
Just as I start to think maybe silence is the answer, my phone buzzes.
Unknown Number. No one calls me anymore. Not unless it’s trouble.
I swipe to answer. “Yeah?”
Silence for a beat. “Mercer.”
I know that voice. Even after everything. Even after the way he left me to burn. “Chief,” I say, tone flat.
“I’m not supposed to be calling you.” His voice is low, strained. “But I need you to listen. The Hollow Sons, you were right. They’ve got their hooks in deeper than we thought.”
I sit up straighter. “How deep?”
“Sheriff’s Department, the local feds. Maybe even someone in the New Orleans PD. The missing-persons dump site you flagged? It’s real. They’ve got a damn burial ground out there. Burned out, buried over, but some of the bodies… they weren’t dead when they went in.”
I swallow hard, my grip tightening around the phone.
“It’s not just some cult anymore, Mercer. It’s a machine. Blackmail, trafficking, hush money. I think they’re planning something big, something public.”
“Where?” I ask, though I already feel the answer crawling up my spine.
“Carnival season,” he says. “Masquerade street party on Royal. Word is, one of the lieutenants is showing up. No name, no face, just a mask. But it’s Verge I’d bet my badge on it.”
I stand, pacing a few steps across the porch. “What aren’t you saying?”
The Chief hesitates. “You remember that old case? The Bayou Widow? The ritualistic killings we never closed?”
“Yeah.”
“It was them. All of it. Mercer… this isn’t over. It never was. And if they know you’re sniffing around.”
“They do.”
Silence. “Then watch your six. And keep that girl of yours close. She’s marked now, too.”
The chief hangs up before I can say anything else. I lower the phone, my heart hammering in my chest.
The sound starts low. Just a hum in the distance, but I know what it is before the porch boards even tremble beneath my boots.
Multiple motorcycles are coming in fast and hot. The bayou quiets like it knows better than to get in their way.
I stand, phone still warm in my pocket, coffee forgotten.
The Non Cras pull in like ghosts, dragging the storm with them. Dust rising, engines idling down one by one.
Phoenix is first off her bike, helmet in hand, jaw clenched. Scissors and Wendigo follow close behind. Gypsy’s already yanking her pack off and heading straight toward the side room with her laptop.
Poison’s eyes meet Kitty’s. Just a flicker of a look, and he’s moving to intercept her with a hand on her lower back.
Phoenix doesn’t look at me. Not right away. Her hands are bloody. Not enough to mean hers, but enough to know something went sideways.
“We got the kid,” she speaks softly, still not meeting my eyes. Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been yelling or crying. I can’t tell which. “But it wasn’t clean.”
I nod once. That’s all she gives me, and it’s all I need. I know what that means in their world.
Gypsy’s voice calls from inside. “MV sent an encrypted file, and I cracked it.”
The whole crew shifts in unison.
“Lieutenant is confirmed,” she says. “Masquerade street fest. Carnival night.”
She swivels her laptop so Phoenix and Poison can see. “MV says: Bring eyes. Stay in the light.”
I look over at Phoenix. She’s finally looking at me now. Her eyes are sharp, guarded, and exhausted.
“You up for a little recon?” I ask her, tone light but heart heavy.
Her stare cuts through the mask I try to wear. “Only if you can blend in, Mercer.”
“You saying I don’t look good in a mask?”
“You look better out of one,” she shoots back, but her lips twitch, almost a smile. And just like that, I know we’ll be ok.
The table’s covered in maps, burner phones, empty mugs, and blood-stained gloves. No one sits. Everyone stands ready to move, even while standing still.
I clear my throat, and all eyes shift to me. “My old Chief called this morning,” I say. “Said the Hollow Sons are connected to a man named Elias Verge. Former Army Psy Ops was rumored to be dead three years ago. He’s alive. And he’s recruiting.”
Poison doesn’t blink. She just leans over the map, dragging a scarred fingertip across the coast. “Is that why he was sniffing around the docks?”
“He’s building something,” I say. “Something that looks like a cult but walks like a paramilitary.”
Scissors crosses her arms. “So we break it before it marches.”
Gypsy nods toward her laptop. “Got chatter on the textile plant north of Chalmette. Abandoned for years, but signal pings say it’s been visited three nights in a row.”
“Let’s split up,” Poison says. Her tone is sharp, final. “Wendigo, Viper, take the docks. If Verge’s people are moving shipments, I want eyes on crates and faces.”
“Scissors, Gypsy, hit the textile plant quietly. No rounds unless fired on first.”
She turns to Phoenix. “You and Ghost get masked up. You’re doing carnival recon. No hero shit unless it finds you first.”
Phoenix meets my eyes, then nods at Poison. “Understood.”
“And stay in the light,” Gypsy reminds us. “MV wasn’t kidding. Every Hollow Son operation ends the same. Someone disappears in the dark.”
I grab the masquerade flyer Gypsy hands over. The bright colors, dancing masks, and fake joy give me a headache.
Phoenix brushes past me on her way to grab her gear, her voice low enough only I can hear. “Better pick a good mask, Mercer.”
“Why?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Because tonight, we’re just another couple trying not to die.”
The sky’s turning the color of bruised peaches by the time we’re back inside. Gypsy lays out the plan like she’s reading a script she didn’t write but already memorized.
“Festival starts at sundown. It’s going to be loud and masked. No cameras are allowed, so I’ve got no pattern. Perfect place to disappear or spot someone who’s trying not to be.”
She slides us a burner with a few images. They’re grainy surveillances of a man with Hollow Sons ink and a silver raven ring. Our target.
Poison leans over her shoulder. “You’re just a couple on vacation. Drunk on beads and overpriced rum. Keep your eyes open and make sure you’re not tailed.”
Phoenix doesn’t flinch. “Got it.”
I just nod, jaw tight. Phoenix is already in motion, pulling on leather pants, sliding a blade into the sheath at her thigh like it’s second nature. Her mask is sleek silver with black feathers at the temple, sharp as the woman behind it.
Kitty walks in, tosses me a mask. It’s matte black, simple. Elegant. I raise an eyebrow. He just smirks. “Don’t lose her, Mercer. You won’t get a second shot.”
Phoenix walks past me, braiding her hair with brutal efficiency. “You done standing there looking like a cardboard cutout?”
I pull on the shirt Gypsy picked out. It’s black, tailored to fit me. I roll up the sleeves. Phoenix gives me a once slow up and down, then says nothing. The look in her eyes says everything.
We mount her bike and she kicks it into gear like it insulted her mother. I slide on behind her, hands brushing her hips before settling at her waist.
Her voice drifts back, dry and dangerous. “Try not to enjoy it too much.”
I lean in close, mouth near her ear. “Too late.”
She doesn’t say a word, but I can feel her smile through the leather and smoke as we roar into the night.