Page 11 of Ghost's Revenge
Later, after Tyler's asleep and the shelter has settled into its evening quiet, I find myself standing by the kitchen window, looking out at the street where Derek's motorcycle was parked this morning. The space is empty now, but somehow I can still feel his presence, still hear the patient tone of his voice as he coached Tyler through throwing a baseball.
Some men are dangerous because they don't know how to love. Others are dangerous because they love too much, too hard.
Maria's words circle through my mind as I watch the streetlights flicker on, casting long shadows across the pavement. I think about the way Derek moved around Tyler, the genuine pride in his voice when he praised my son's progress. I think about the way he looked at me through the screen door, asking permission before making any promises.
For the first time since we arrived at the shelter, Tyler fell asleep without asking when we were going home. Without asking if hisdaddy was going to find us. Without the usual fears that keep both of us awake most nights.
Maybe that should worry me. Maybe I should be concerned that my son is already getting attached to a man who could disappear from our lives as quickly as he entered it.
But right now, all I can think about is the sound of Tyler's laughter echoing across the yard, and the way Derek's face softened when he heard it.
Maybe some risks are worth taking.
Maybe some people are worth trusting.
Maybe we both deserve to have someone who thinks teaching a little boy to play baseball is the most important thing they could be doing on a Tuesday morning.
Chapter 5 - Ghost
The house sits in darkness like a cancerous growth on the outskirts of Pine Haven, all boarded windows and rotting siding. Intelligence says three Vultures MC are holed up inside, waiting for reinforcements that'll never come because we intercepted their communications twelve hours ago. What they're actually waiting for is us.
Five AM and the world is still painted in shades of black and gray, the kind of pre-dawn quiet that makes every sound feel amplified. I check my sidearm one more time, muscle memory from a thousand missions in a dozen different countries where dawn meant violence and violence meant staying alive.
"Thermal shows three heat signatures," Blade whispers through the comm, his voice barely audible even to me standing ten feet away. "Two on the ground floor, one upstairs. No movement in the past twenty minutes."
Reaper's response crackles in my earpiece. "Could be sleeping. Could be waiting for us to think they're sleeping." He pauses. "Either way, we go in quiet. Take them alive if possible. We need information about Charles's next move."
If possible. That's the part that makes my jaw clench, makes the familiar darkness start to unfurl in my chest. I want these bastards breathing so they can tell us where their boss is hiding, but part of me, the part that remembers what they did to those trafficked women, what they're still doing to women just like them, wants them to give me a reason to forget about taking prisoners.
"Ghost, you take the back door. Blade, front. I'll go through the window on the east side." Reaper's voice is calm, professional. He's switched into president mode, the part of him thatcan compartmentalize everything, including his own need for revenge, for the good of the mission.
I wish I had that kind of control.
The back door is a joke. Rotting wood frame and a lock that probably hasn't worked since the Clinton administration. I could put my boot through it without breaking stride, but that would announce our presence to everyone within a three-block radius. Instead, I work the lock with tools that would make a career criminal jealous, the pins falling into place with soft clicks that sound like gunshots in the pre-dawn stillness.
Inside, the house smells like mold and fear and something else. Cigarettes and alcohol and the particular stench that comes from men who've been living rough for too long. The floorboards creak under my boots despite my best efforts to move quietly. This place is falling apart from the inside out, just like everything else these Vultures MC touch.
Through my earpiece, I hear Reaper's whispered update: "In position. Two tangos in what looks like a living room, both conscious, both armed. One's watching the front door."
"Copy that," Blade responds. "I can see them through the window. On your mark."
I move through what used to be a kitchen, stepping carefully around debris that could give away my position. The stairs to the second floor are directly ahead, and I can hear movement up there: footsteps that tell me the third man is awake and alert.
My hands are steady as I start up the stairs, each step planned and executed with the kind of precision that comes from twenty years of sneaking up on people who want to kill you. But underneath the tactical focus, something else is stirring. The familiar red haze that creeps in around the edges of my vision when violence becomes inevitable.
I think about Tyler's laugh yesterday, the way his face lit up when he caught that baseball. Think about Debbie watching from the window, the way she smiled when she thought no one was looking. Think about what these men represent. The kind of violence that destroys families, that leaves children without mothers and mothers without hope.
The darkness purrs in response, feeding on my righteous anger.
"Ready," I whisper into my comm as I reach the top of the stairs. The hallway stretches ahead of me, doors on either side and what looks like a bathroom at the far end. Light seeps under one door, that's where my target is waiting.
"On three," Reaper's voice comes through crystal clear. "One... two..."
The world explodes into motion.
I kick the door open and roll left as automatic weapon fire tears chunks out of the doorframe where my head would have been. The man inside is young, maybe twenty-five, with the kind of hollow eyes that come from a life spent doing terrible things to innocent people. He's good, Better than I expected, but he's also panicked and firing wild.
I am neither panicked nor wild.
