Page 17 of Property of Max
He’d threatened my family. My club. If I didn’t keep feeding him, he’d destroy everything. I even offered him every single penny I own. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, but he said no. That wasn’t the type of payment he wanted.
In hindsight, I should’ve gone to Spike. Should’ve trusted him, trustedthem.But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Then Riley and Asher came into our lives. Now we had something precious to protect, and there was no way in hell I was going to let Spike’s new family become targets of an enemy the Shadow’s didn’t even know they had. The risk was too high. So instead, I went under.
It should’ve taken years to get in close. But Muerte welcomed me almost immediately when I told him I’d had to leave the Shadows or die. Idiot thought I was a gift dropped in his lap.
The deeper I got, the clearer it became…Muerte might’ve been the face of Los Fantasmas, but he wasn’t the one pulling the strings.
And that’s when everything really started to unravel.
I needed to figure out who was really in charge. Who was responsible for the horrors Los Fantasmas always left behind?
Muerte dealt in drugs, weapons, and money. That much everyone knew. But the whispers were that his partner was worse. Same trades, only bigger, bloodier. His main grab was skin. Muerte would lure tourists down into Mexico, make them vanish, and his partner would profit.
The idiot was a barrel of information when he wanted to brag, but when it came to his partner’s name, he clamped his mouth shut. Always.
But in the end, it didn’t matter. The truth came out. The Shadows got their hands on him. And Bones…cold, brutal Bones…carved the information out of him.
Literally.
Tank was the one who actually put him down. I’ll admit, I’m still sore they didn’t let me have my turn at the bastard. But dead is dead. The result was the same.
Except it wasn’t. Not for me. Because Muerte’s death didn’t give me back what I lost. Didn’t erase the stain on my cut. Didn’t quiet the voice in my head that says maybe I don’t deserve to wear it anymore.
And, once Spike speaks his truth…maybe I won’t be.
“Word just got to me that he’s been replaced,” Spike says, his voice calm but carrying the weight of a gavel.
For a second, I just stare. Not shocked at the news, but at the fact that this wasn’t the verdict I’d braced for. I’d been ready for the blow that would cut me loose for good. Instead, Spike leans back in his chair, broad arms crossed, the scars on his knuckles stark against his tan skin, his dark eyes steady on me.
“I’m surprised it took them this long,” I admit, clearing my throat, trying to shake off the jolt of relief. “It was only a matter of time before Los Fantasmas started tearing each other apart to see who would be the next leader.”
“That’s the thing,” Spike says, his tone flat, unreadable. “It’s not just anyone… Foster?”
Leaning forward, Foster slides a tablet across the desk toward me.
I lower my eyes, and a photo fills the screen. A man in a tailored suit, gold cufflinks catching the light, dark hair slicked back with too much precision. Rugged, self-assured. Latetwenties, early thirties at most. He’s got the kind of face that says he doesn’t just walk into a room…heownsit.
“Who is this?” I ask, frowning.
“That’s Damián Cortez,” Tank growls, arms crossed over his chest.
The name slams into me. Damián Cortez. The ghost behind the Ghosts. The name Bones carved out of Muerte with his bare hands.
“What is he… thirty-three?” My voice scrapes. “He’s too young to be lording over an entire cartel. Especially one as big as Los Fantasmas.”
“Thirty,” Foster corrects.
I shake my head. “How the hell is he in charge of anything?”
“His grandpa was the founder of Los Fantasmas,” Spike says, leaning forward now, his dark eyes sharp. “His old man got clipped ten years ago. Grandpa groomed him to take over.”
“He’s a fucking monster,” Tank mutters from the wall, his jaw tight. “Worse than his grandfather ever dreamed.”
“How do we even know this?” I ask, though I already have a guess.
Foster pulls the tablet back with a smirk, his fingers dancing over the screen. “Let’s just say I’ve got me some magic fingers.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, though my chest twists.
