“You bikers are all fucking cowards,” she snaps, then storms toward the kitchen without another word.
“What is going on?” I ask, letting the broom slip from my fingers.
“Italian problems,” Domino says mildly, already pulling out his phone as it buzzes.
He starts typing, and my heart tightens.
Is it Ghost? He said two days. Tomorrow is two days.
“What happened?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
Domino looks up immediately. His expression softens.
“I can’t tell you, Princess,” he says calmly. “Club business.”
Not fucking acceptable. Ghost’s tracker dot hasn’t moved in an hour. I snatch the broom back up and point it at Domino. His eyebrows jump.
“I took all of Fang’s cash at poker for you, Domino. You owe me a fucking marker,” I growl, heat building in my chest. “I don’t care about your stupid club business. Just tell me if Ghost is alive. Or injured.”
I shake the broom.
“Now!”
“Stop threatening me with that stick,” he growls back, offended. “He’s fine. He knows what he’s doing. They all do. This isn’t their first rodeo.”
Yeah, but will that be enough? The thought makes me drop in the nearest chair.
Ghost
I come back to myself in fragments. Weight first, then pain. Fuck, my head is pounding. I try to move, but my shoulders scream in protest. There’s the slam of a door, and then angry voices bleed into the haze around me, muffled and warped, slipping away before I can make sense of them.
My mouth is dry, my tongue sluggish, my lungs struggling like they forgot how to breathe. What the hell is happening? Where am I?
I force my eyes open, blink through the fog. The world tilts in and out of focus, but eventually everything sharpens. Andjust like that, memory slams home — I’m in the hands of the Verdugos. Santiago did his part.
Metal cuffs bite into my wrists, stretched high above my head. I’m hanging there, the chain looped over a ceiling hook like I’m a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse.
Aaand I’m naked. Fucking perfect.
“—a Vulture,pinche pendejo!” an angry voice snarls, shrill enough to stab straight through my skull. “You’re telling me Santiago just happened to capture a Vulture? No leather vest, but the club tattoo intact? And he didn’t bother telling us who he had?”
“He just said he caught this guy while he was trying to snatch one of his men. That he’s the one who’s been killing our runners,” another voice answers. “And you sent word to all the Captains that you wanted to interrogate him yourself.”
An angry hiss whips the air, and then the first voice snarls again. “Mierda!I know what thatperrosaid. But he wouldn’t overlook information this important.”
I wince and keep one eye cracked open, taking in the room. There are white tiles everywhere — the walls, the floor. Easy to clean blood off, I guess. My clothes are torn to pieces at my feet.
There are three men inside, but my focus locks on the angry one.
Tall, well-built, mid-fifties, not a streak of white in his dark hair. Dark blue jeans. White button-down shirt.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
Sombra.
“Take Jose and Alejandro,” he snaps. “This is tied to the girl. You’re going after her tomorrow.”
Hot, immediate anger surges, forcing me to breathe through it.Calm down.
