Page 19 of Ghost's Angel

I hate that I'm not with my angel at her cardiologist appointment, and my expression must show it since most of the brothers are giving me a wide berth.

"The cut came in," Blade mentions casually as we head out to mount our bikes. He smirks, “Special delivery.”

I know exactly what he’s talking about. I only just ordered the cut for Mira yesterday with “Property of Ghost" emblazoned across the back. I paid triple to have it crafted and couriered here overnight. I can already picture my angel wearing it—my mark of protection and possession for the whole club—for the whole world—to see.

"Nice." Hawk whistles from behind us. "Your girl's gonna look smoking hot in leather."

My head snaps toward him, a warning growl rising in my throat.

"Easy, brother." Hawk raises his hands in surrender. "Just appreciate a beautiful woman is all. We all know she's yours."

"Then keep your appreciation to yourself," I snarl. The thought of any other man looking at my angel that way makes my trigger finger itch.

I check my phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. No texts, no calls.

“Everything's in position," Blade confirms, adjusting his kevlar. "Saint's got teams covering both warehouse exits. Cipher's monitoring security feeds."

I nod, tucking my phone away. Rash is a good guy. He’ll be a fully patched member soon. Right now, I need to focus on shutting down Kovalev's operation.

"Focus," Saint cuts in. "Movement at the south entrance."

Through my scope, I watch as a white van pulls up to the loading dock. Two thugs emerge, scanning the area before signaling the all-clear.

"Hold positions," I command over the comms. "Wait for visual confirmation."

Minutes tick by like hours. Something feels off. The normal bustle of dock activity is conspicuously absent.

"Ghost." Cipher's voice crackles through my earpiece. "I'm seeing some weird interference on the security feeds."

Before I can respond, gunfire erupts from multiple directions.

"Ambush!" Saint shouts through the comm. “They knew we were coming. Abort! I repeat, abort!”

I duck behind a shipping container as bullets ping off metal around us. "Fall back to secondary positions! Do not engage unless necessary.”

Through the chaos, I catch glimpses of the van peeling away.

"Son of a bitch," Blade curses beside me. “What the fuck was that?”

“How'd they know?" Hawk voices the question that burns in all our minds as we execute our extraction protocol.

An icy finger of dread snakes down my spine. Someone tipped them off. Had to be. Someone knew our plans.

Back at the clubhouse, tension crackles through the air as we debrief.

"They were ready and waiting for us," Saint paces, agitation evident in every movement. "Had counter-surveillance in place, multiple shooter positions pre-set."

"Only way they could've known is if someone talked," Cipher adds grimly, his laptop displaying thermal images of the ambush positions.

No one wants to say what we’re all thinking.

I study the faces of my brothers gathered around the table. These men are my chosen blood. This club is my chosen family. The thought of a traitor among us turns my stomach.

“From here on out, we lock it down until further notice,” I order. "No one outside the inner circle is privy to operations unless and until absolutely necessary. Cipher, I want every communication channel monitored."

The reminder of our failure twists like a knife. I’m not thrilled that the women we tried to save today are still in Kovalev's hands, facing the same horrors that awaited my angel if those foster parent scum had their way.

“Kovalev just made this personal,” I growl.

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