Page 29 of Volatile Obsessions

? Wreak Havoc - Skylar Grey ?

Phantom returned before I could retaliate.

After a week and a half or so of losing my goddamn mind, he struck again, randomly and unannounced. And let me tell you, this K fellow was ballsy. Ballsy as fuck to be exact. Smart, too.

Crafty.

Resourceful.

I hated him. No, more like loathed him with a fierce passion. Loathed him more than I did my piece of shit father. His masked face haunted me day in and day out, haunted my dreams, too. I was exhausted, constantly on edge. But mostly, I was livid.

All I wanted was to rid myself of him, but if he’d proven anything in the last few weeks, it’s that he wasn’t going anywhere.

The million dollar question was—what exactly did he want from me?

There were obvious factors of course; the money, the power. But why target me specifically? Phantom could’ve chosen anyone in the world to pick a fight with. So why me?

And why hide while he was at it?

He had balls of steel when it came to intimidation tactics, so why not just be a man, period?

Why not face me directly and tell me he wanted a cut?

I’d have said no—obviously—because there’s not a chance in hell I was going to share something I shed blood, sweat, and tears for, but he didn’t know that…

Or did he?

I’d run across the thought several times, and no matter how much I tried to convince myself it just couldn’t be, I couldn’t seem to dismiss it completely either.

Was Phantom someone I knew?

Someone I may have burned a bridge with on the way up?

Sadly, no, he wasn’t, because it couldn’t be that easy.

I still had no idea who he was, even after Vic finally did his job. All we had to go by was a location. Oh, and the infamous K signature from his note, of course. Despite the lack of an ID, though, his supposed coordinates led us to some newly restored factory along the marina.

Noir CoastDistillery.

Was this really his place?

We’re about to find out…

“Ready?” I asked Roscoe and Vic, as we stood head-on before the enemy, ready to tear the place upside down until we found him.

Oh rather, until I found him.

If anyone was going to rip him to shreds, it was me.

I smirked. He wanted to chat, right?

Well, let’s chat then, motherfucker.

Roscoe and Vic yanked open the doors for me, allowing me to run in with a handgun lodged in each hand. Machines and conversations immediately came to a screeching halt as everyone—men and women alike—stopped what they were doing, their wide, fearful eyes trained on me in all my furious glory.

It was dead silent as I peered around the room, both Vic and Roscoe right on my tail again, rifles extended.

“Who the fuck runs this shit hole?” I gritted out.

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