Page 22 of The Beautiful Dead

I sheathed my blade with a quick, deliberate motion, then took a step back, the distance between us growing again, but the tension hanging thick in the air.

The chill of the night settled around us, but the heat from our exchange still burned, coiling in the pit of my stomach. I turned on my heel, my boots clicking on the ground as I walked away, but not without one last glance over my shoulder.

He didn’t chase. He didn’t scream.

He stayed.

And that… was the most dangerous thing about him.

CHAPTER 5

DOMINO

My Ninja H2R sliced through the rain-slicked streets, the roar of the engine reverberating off the towering buildings as I carved my way through the maze of Marlow Heights. The city blurred past me in streaks of neon and shadow, but my mind was locked onto one thing—him.

The guy from Denny’s. Those piercing blue eyes and that wild black hair with the unusual white patch at the front were burned into my memory, lingering every time I closed mine.

I couldn’t shake him. Couldn’t silence the way he had looked at me, unflinching and steady, even after watching me rip the life from a man with my bare hands. He hadn’t recoiled. Hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t even hesitated when he held my switchblade, dripping with fresh blood.

Instead, he had breathed it in. Enamored. Curious. Something more, darker, something I understood.

The streets were deserted at this hour, stripped of the mindless masses that usually filled them. I preferred it that way. People were either assets or annoyances, just playthings for leverage or power. I had no use for them.

But him?

He was different. He had sparked something inside me—unfamiliar and dangerous. It coiled in my chest, sharp and insatiable, a hunger I had only ever felt when I was watching the light fade from someone’s eyes.

I needed to know more.

The underground parking garage swallowed me whole, the sound of my bike amplified by the unyielding concrete as I pulled into my designated space. The rain clung to me, dripping from my hair, sliding down my cold skin.

My pulse thrummed as a plan took shape, twisting in my mind. One person could get me what I wanted. I pulled my phone from my pocket as I strode toward the elevator. It rang once before a low moan echoed through the receiver.

“Ghost,” I said, voice edged with impatience. “Meet me at my apartment in five. I don’t care what you’re doing—end it.”

After a long pause, he said a single word. “Boss.”

The line went dead. My hand clenched around my phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure as the steel doors slid open. I stepped inside, the mirrored walls reflecting my image, a darkness swirled in my eyes. Controlled. Dangerous.

My apartment spanned the entire top floor of Vesper Tower—a calculated move. The tallest building in the city, offering me unrestricted 360-degree views of Marlow Heights. From here, I could see everything. Control everything. And no one could touch me. It was a far cry from my father’s fortified compound on the outskirts of the city that he used as his base of operations. He hid behind his walls and armed guards, whereas I preferred to hide in plain sight.

The DeMarcos wore a legitimate face, a carefully constructed mask of wealth and enterprise. The casinos, the real estate empire, the exclusive clubs—money laundered clean while the real business thrived in the shadows.

Nothing happened in this city without my knowledge.

And yet, he had slipped through.

I stepped off the elevator, muscles wound tight, my blood still humming with that strange, restless edge. The city stretched out beyond the rain-streaked glass, a sea of flickering lights and endless night. But I wasn’t looking at the view. I was thinking about him.

His steady breath. His unwavering stare. The way his pulse had thrummed beneath my fingertips—not with fear, but something else entirely. I tore off my jacket and threw it onto the couch, an act very unlike me, rolling my shoulders to shake the tension. It didn’t help.

What was it about him? I didn’t get curious about people. They were tools. Obstacles. Corpses. He was none of those. And yet, he had twisted his way into my thoughts, insidious and lingering like smoke. I had walked away. I should have forgotten him the second I turned my back.

But I hadn’t.

The elevator doors slid open again. Ghost strode in like he owned the place, rolling his neck, irritation flickering in his eyes. I had interrupted something. I didn’t care; his life was mine, and he knew it.

“Find out who he is,” I ordered. Ghost didn’t blink. He never asked who—just waited, expectant. “The guy from Denny’s.”

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