Page 85 of The Phantom's Vice

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

BRETT

My windpipe feelslike someone stuck a serrated blade down it and twirled it around a couple of hundred times. My head is no better—like an overweight elephant currently sits on my brain, making the four concrete walls around me swim. A metallic smell zests the air, mingling with a heavy smell of rot and death that causes my lungs to seize.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Jim’s cold voice makes its way to my ears, and I blink several times to clear the fog.Why am I tied up? Why is Jim here? Where is Ghost?

The last thought sends a lightning bolt down my spine, and I snap my head up—my arms and legs are tethered to the chair legs, with my bare stomach flat on the seat—so it’s really the only thingIcanmove.

“Jim? What are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep the fear from my voice. Fear will get me killed. It will muddle my brain and turn it to mush. I cannotbe afraid if I’m going to find a way out of this.

“What I should have done long ago,” he murmurs, stepping out of the shadows. “You look quite lovely tied up like that.”

“Fuck you, sicko.” I spit on his fancy leather loafers, earning me a slap to the face. My head rings as the white-hot pain radiates from my cheek, and I desperately try to blink away the added fuzziness.

“Oh, Brett. I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this. I really like you, you know.”

“So then stop this. Let me go. I know you’re a good person on the inside, Jim. You’ve been nothing but kind to me?—”

“Of course I was, you sniveling little brat,” he snarls, kicking the toe of his boot against the chair leg. “You were supposed to go along with it all. Butno—Little Miss Evangeline justhadto keep digging. Kept asking the wrong questions, looking into the wrong people.”

I shake my head, my mind swimming as I try to devise a way to make him see reason. “What was I supposed to do? It was myjobto ask questions andfind out the truth. I know you’re the same way, Jim. You want to do good, I know you do. Whatever they have on you, we can work it out! I can help you! We want the same thing at the end of the day!”

“God, you really are fucking dull,” Jim rolls his eyes, a nasty sneer twisting his normally handsome features. “We donotwant the same things. I want the Sanctum to keep sending me paychecks, and you want to stop all that. So you see, Brett, you really do have to go.”

My head hurts as I look up at Jim’s cruel eyes—eyes that once held so much care for me. Was it all a lie? Iseverythinga lie?

“Please, don’t do this,” I whisper, treacherous tears welling in the corners of my eyes. “I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

“Maybe not,” Jim says, a shrug accompanying his flippant tone. “But it is what must be done. You were just too damn curious—and curiosityalwayskills the cat.” Jim walks over to a rusted table, picking up one of the many bladed instruments lining the small silver tray. “I’ll make it quick. Watching someone suffer brings me no pleasure at all.”

“How different we are, Peterson.” The mechanicalvoice echoing from the shadows causes my heart to take flight.

Ghost.

“You’ve taken something that does not belong to you,” Ghost says, his steps like gunshots against the concrete floor as he stalks closer. “You’ve taken something ofmine.”

Jim whips his head around, trying to locate the source of the voice that seems to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Who the fuck are you?”

“A shadow. A nightmare. The unholy thing that goes bump in the night. Neither flesh, blood, nor idea.” A flash of dark steel catches my eye off to the left, and I have no doubt he’s looking right at me. Ghost steps into the light, all six foot eight of him towering in the small basement like some unholy omen. He swings that black oval toward Jim, who flinches under the weight of his anger. “I am a man in a mask. And I will be the last thing your living eyes see.”

Jim takes a step back, his eyes wide as he takes in the Phantom. To his credit, none of the bravery from before remains. Clearly, he knows what he’s up against, and it’s causing him to cower.

“Any morequestionsfor me, Jim?” Ghost asks, his head tipping slightly to the side as he watches Jimreach behind him for a weapon. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Fuck you,” Jim snarls, wielding a large serrated blade like it will help his cause. “I’m taking youdown, Phantom. I can see the Madam’s face when I tell her I killed both of you.” Jim nods, his hazel eyes wide and showcasing the growing madness within. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be praised! I’ll be a hero! I’ll be?—”

A thunderous growl fills the space, cutting off the rest of Jim’s ramblings. Before either of us knows what’s going on, something large and white flies at Jim from his left. He tries to turn the knife at the oncoming foe but is not nearly quick enough. The blade clatters to the floor as Rupert latches those great, slobbering jaws onto Jim’s wrist, causing acrackto fill the room.

Jim screams bloody murder as his knees buckle from the pain, but Rupert is just getting started. Letting go of Jim’s useless, bloodied wrist, he goes for his neck, snapping those powerful jaws around his jugular before Jim can blink.

“No, Rupert!” Ghost orders, stepping over and grabbing the handle at the back of Rupert's black vest. “We’re leaving him alive—for now.”

Jim looks relieved for exactly one second beforeGhost takes his dagger from his pocket. He raises it high, slamming the hilt down on Jim’s temple hard enough to knock him out cold. When Jim slumps to the side, Ghost straightens and rushes over to me, crouching and taking my head in his palms.

“Brett, darling,”he whispers, yanking his mask from his face to look me over more closely. “Brett, are you okay? Did he touch you? Are you bleeding?—”

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