Page 24 of Psychological War

I never cared about females. They were a good fuck, but once I was done, they had to leave. I never allowed them to stay over, and I never let them touch. It was always from the back. Top rule, no kissing. Absolutely no kissing.

“Who is Ghost?” I demanded standing a few feet in front of him.

Instead of answering me he tried his best to spit at me. I couldn’t help the chuckle slipping out when it landed on his chin. Without a second thought I grabbed the hammer and slammed it into his kneecap.

He wasn’t walking out of here anyway. Thomas threw his head back shouting in pain.

“Who is it?” I asked again.

Nothing.

His other kneecap was blown.

“Who?”

Nothing.

Cocking my head to the side, I looked over at the table where my tools were placed, laying out waiting for me. Deciding on what to pick up I smiled when I saw Beauty, my favorite. Picking up my favorite hatchet that yes, I’ve named Beauty, I turned around, and Thomas’s eyes widened.

“Which hand do you use the most?”

I could see in that moment when he knew I was no longer playing games with him. His body was shaking already but now he was jerking against the chains and chair, hoping somehow that he would break free of them.

“P-please don’t!” he begged. “I'LL TELL YOU!”

Too late, I lost my patience. I brought the hatchet down on his right hand.

Clean cut.

His hand was now laying on the floor, and he was crying in pain, thrashing around, blood coating the ground.

I smiled.

“Who's Ghost?” I kept my voice level. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to say anything again.

“He’s a story, he’s not real. Not until you mess with someone they deem important. I do-don’t know wh-who they truly are. They they li-live in the dark…” his words became faint. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself. I shouldn’t have chopped his hand off. He lost too much blood. And I hadn’t gotten anything from him.

Everyone believed this Ghost was a monster, someone in the darkness that killed at random. I didn’t know what to actually believe. Dimitri was the only other one who didn’t believe this story, but everyone else seemed to think Ghost played a part.

It didn’t make sense on why he would go after the Cartel and kill most of them, as well as go after the Italian.

Rolling my shoulder I pulled my phone out, sending a text to the cleanup crew. I headed out to my truck, ready to see my kitten. I just needed to see her.

12

Salem

Icanfeeleyeson me again. The hair on my arms prickled as I sat up on the couch. The TV was playingBones, subtitles on, volume off. I couldn’t hear anything, I never did. But I could feel someone's eyes. They always watched me while I was home. It was never while I was out, stalking my own men. But at home I could feel them.

Standing up, I headed straight forward into the kitchen. The oven light was on. I couldn’t see anything that was out of place, but the feeling of someone in my house was strong. Reaching behind the fridge I grabbed hold of one of the guns strapped there. I knew the magazine was full, but that still didn’t stop me from checking. Flipping the safety off, I kept my eyes aware of any movement.

Searching each room, I cleared them, leaving my bedroom last. Taking a steady breath, keeping my gun aimed, I opened the door. My eyes immediately felt the massive build in front of my window. Their hands reached for the window, trying to open it to sneak out.

“Who are you?” My voice was rough and raspy. They bowed their heads as if getting caught hadn't even crossed their mind. I don’t know how they got past my cameras, or without tripping the wire around each window and door. But they had.

“I won’t ask again. Who. Are. You,” I snapped. Losing my patience.

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