Page 12 of Dark Obsession

“Didn’t work out that way, huh?” Barnes replies.

“No dice. They went straight for the girl to get my attention.”

We enter the morgue, and it’s the cold that hits me first—sharp, sterile, and unnatural, like the air itself doesn’t belong to the living. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker, casting a sickly glow on the steel tables. The smell of disinfectant clingsto everything, masking what’s underneath but not completely erasing it.

The coroner, a thin woman with gray hair tied in a tight bun, looks up as we step in. “Let’s see what we’ve got, Doc,” Barnes says as he steps forward.

She hesitates for a second, then nods, pulling back the sheets to reveal the bodies. Three men, laid out like sacrifices. Their chests are covered in ink—tattoos that scream their affiliations louder than words ever could.

“The first two,” she starts, “late twenties, around 180 pounds, Hispanic. No identification, but their bodies suggest they’ve been through some rough situations—knife scars, bullet wounds. The third, older. Mid-thirties, same build.”

I look at the third body, recognizing him immediately. He’s the one I put down last night.

I turn to the coroner. “These tattoos… cartel?”

“Yes. All three of them. They’ve been branded, too.”

She pulls back the sheet, revealing the mark. I know it instantly. A jagged tattoo intertwined with a branded circle of flames, a symbol no one in this business forgets.

“Oscar Molina’s men.”

Barnes tenses beside me. That name carries weight. More than weight, it carries blood.

Barnes eyes the bodies, then glances at me, his face pale. “The Molina Cartel,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Ruthless, bloodthirsty as they come. But I didn’t think they’d made it up here. Not yet anyway.”

“They’re here,” I say, voice cold as steel. “And they’re not just passing through. They’re on a mission. Coming straight for me.” I run my hand through my hair.

“But Oscar’s dead. Been dead for years.”

No one says a thing, leaving me to solve the puzzle of how a ghost could be trying to kill me.

We leave the morgue, the heavy door swinging shut behind us with a soft hiss. The hallways feel smaller this time, claustrophobic as we walk. Barnes looks like he’s trying to process what all of this means, but he’ll never really understand. This is personal, and it’s far beyond his pay grade.

“Listen,” I say. “I want all the CCTV footage from last night erased. Every second that shows my people. The rest, do whatever you want with.”

Barnes stops, his face tightening. “We need that footage, Grigori. All of it. It’s crucial for our case.”

I turn to face him, the weight of my stare enough to make him shut up. “This isn’t a request, Barnes. I’m not asking for a favor.”

He gets it. His shoulders slump, resignation washing over him. He’s trapped between the law he serves and the money he takes under the table. I can see the wheels turning in his head.

“And don’t worry,” I add, “it will all work out for you. You’ll have your case and more.”

Barnes frowns, confused. “How?”

I stop walking and turn to him, letting the silence stretch for a moment before I speak. “Because I’m going to take out the Molina Cartel myself.”

Chapter 6

Grigori

“You boys better start talking unless you want a bullet to go with those beers.”

My gun is leveled at their chests.

I’ve got the two dealers cornered in the back room of a filthy dive bar. The stink of spilled beer and sweat clings to the walls, the low hum of shitty music vibrates through the floor. They’re both low-level—skinny, twitchy, the kind of guys who only know what they’re told.

One’s got a shaved head and shaky hands covered in tattoos, his eyes darting between me and the exit like he’s calculating how fast he can run. The other’s a little bigger, with greasy black hair and a face that looks like it’s been busted more than once.

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