Page 40 of Make Them Bleed
Inside, I hear him. Footsteps. A chair scrape. The faint rustle of plastic, then the soft click of a modulator. When the door opens, Ghostface fills the frame, tall and careful, the scream smiling at me like an inside joke that’s about to become a confession.
“Juno,” he says, voice deep and altered. “You made it.”
I smile back—sweet as a knife. “Of course I did,” I purr, stepping past him, letting my shoulder brush his chest. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
And suddenly, I can’t wait to see how well the man I think I’m falling for lies when I’m staring straight into his mask and calling him darling.
Time to see how good Arrow Finn is under pressure.
Time to see how good I am at playing with fire.
16
Arrow
Juno walks into the loft like she owns the place—which, in a way, she does. The room changes shape around her; screens feel brighter, cables fall into line. It’s the same space as it’s always been—ink-and-metal air, router lights pulsing like fireflies—but her energy is…different. Calmer, but sharpened. Cat-slow, not jittery. There’s a new current under her movements that I can’t read.
I log it and pretend not to. We’ve both had no sleep, and I chalk it up to an adrenaline hangover from the Delphine.
“Morning, Ghost,” she says, and there’s a playful shade inGhostthat prickles the back of my neck. She drops her bag on the desk, slides into the chair beside mine. “Ready to make some billionaires cry?”
I settle back in my chair, her knee brushing mine, and say, “Let’s do it.”
Her mouth tips like she’s hiding a secret. “Thought you’d say that.”
We get to work. I throw Valentino and Gray on the left monitor—stills Render ripped from rooftop footage, time stamps burned in the corners. On the center screen, I’ve spelled out a clean timeline: five equal crypto payouts on Arby’s death night. Shell accounts tied to Gracewood’s side ventures. The new formula launch meant to wash the brand. On the right, Ozzy’s scrape of Valentino’s public calendar:7:30 a.m. Marina Club – Breakfast with Grayand a noon block labeledGracewood – Compliance Prep.
“Breakfast meeting in two hours,” I say. “Marina Club does private rooms. If we can plant ears in the ceiling grid…”
“Or we sit at the next table and pretend to be a couple breaking up quietly,” she says, too fast, eyes flicking to the mask and away. “I mean, if you’d take the mask off.”
I shake my head. “We’ll scout. No contact.”
We slide into a rhythm. She scans sponsorship contracts for breach language, and I drill into HOLO-BURST’s vendor map and find three LLCs with the same Wyoming address. Every once in a while I spot her studying me, and I chalk it up to the way we left things unsaid between us.
I mean, I got her off, and then it’s like we’re right back to business. Should I bring it up? No, I don’t think I should.
On mute, my phone buzzes with team texts.
Ozzy: Knight’s Surge Reserve is basically sugar jet fuel. Also my tongue is blue.
Knight: Rooftop bartender says Valentino stiffed tip. Classic.
Render: I’ve got a line on Gracewood’s travel desk. Gray loves a 6 a.m. tee time; Pilates on Thursdays. Human, not monster.
Gage drops two more stills of Valentino—one with a phone to his ear, one mid-laugh that makes my fists ache.
Juno leans back, head tipped against the chair, watching me type. “How many people are in your little ghost army? Or are there more I haven’t met yet?” she asks, light, like she’s asking how many playlists I’ve made for coding.
“You’ve met all of them,” I say.
“How much do they know?” Her tone is careful. “About me. About this.”
“They know what they need to know,” I answer. I’m lying through my teeth. Juno knows my friends. Very well.
She considers me for a long beat, eyes dark. “You always this…controlled?”
“Only when chaos stands in front of me,” I say, and watch heat bloom along her cheekbones.
