Page 12 of Ghost's Revenge
Two shots center mass drop him to his knees. The third, aimed higher, ends his participation in this conversation permanently. Through the paper-thin walls, I can hear similar sounds from downstairs. Men shouting, more gunfire, then Reaper's voice cutting through the chaos.
"Target down. Blade, status?"
"Two down, but one's still breathing. Barely."
"Copy. Ghost?"
I stare down at the body at my feet, at the blood pooling on floorboards that have probably seen more violence than they were ever meant to. The red haze is starting to recede, leaving behind the familiar hollow feeling that comes after the adrenaline fades.
"One down," I report. "Clean kill."
"Good. Let's see what the survivor can tell us."
Downstairs, Blade has zip-tied a young man who looks like he's trying very hard not to bleed to death from a shoulder wound. He's conscious, alert, and scared shitless. Exactly what we need for a productive interrogation.
Reaper crouches down next to him, his voice taking on the kind of reasonable tone that's somehow more threatening than shouting.
"You are the only one alive. You understand that, right?”
The man nods, his face pale but his eyes defiant. Young and stupid, like they all are until reality sets in.
"Good. That makes this easier. Where is Charles?"
"Go fuck yourself."
The response is predictable, but it still makes my hands clench into fists. These bastards never make it easy. Never choose the path that keeps everyone breathing.
"Wrong answer." Reaper stands up and nods toward me. "My friend here has anger management issues. Gets real creative when people waste his time."
It's not entirely a lie. The red haze is creeping back, fed by memories of trafficked women. Fed by the knowledge that this man and his friends represent everything wrong with the world.
"I'm going to ask you again," Reaper continues. "And if you give me another smart-ass answer, I'm going to let Ghost here show you what he learned in Afghanistan about making people talk."
The man's defiance wavers slightly as he looks up at me, taking in my size and the scar through my eyebrow and whatever expression is currently on my face. Smart enough to recognize a predator when he sees one, at least.
"Charles is gone," he says finally. "Left yesterday. Didn't say where."
"Bullshit." The word comes out rougher than I intended, carrying more menace than is probably tactically sound. But it has the desired effect. He flinches like I'd hit him.
"Not bullshit! He got word that you were closing in, so he ran. Left us here to... to slow you down."
"Slow us down how?" Reaper asks.
The man hesitates, and I see the moment he decides cooperation is better than whatever his imagination is telling him I'll do to extract the information.
"There's another operation. Bigger than the trafficking. Charles said... said if he couldn't have Pine Haven, he'd make sure you couldn't either."
"What kind of operation?"
"I don't know specifics. Explosives, maybe. Something to hurt the people you protect." He's talking faster now, words tumbling over each other in his eagerness to cooperate. "He said you care too much about civilians. Said that makes you weak, predictable."
I exchange glances with Reaper and Blade. We all know what this means. Charles isn't just planning revenge. He's planning totarget the innocent people of Pine Haven. People like the women and children at the shelter.
People like Debbie and Tyler.
"When?" Reaper demands.
"Soon. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week. He didn't tell us details, just said to keep you busy here while he set things up."
