I’m exactly where I need to be.
34. Shadow
Ghost
Idon’t waste time on the body at my feet.
The knife is already slick in my hand when I bend down and pull the AR15 free from the puddle of blood widening around it. I slide the strap over my shoulder, the weight settling across my bare chest. A warning for anyone who’ll cross my path.
I listen.
Nothing yet. I’ll have to rely on the knife for now.
Then I move.
The door creaks just enough to make my jaw tighten, but I ease it open inch by inch, slipping out fast. The room opens into a short hallway. Concrete walls, low ceiling, exposed pipes sweating overhead.
I’m underground.
That makes sense. You don’t keep prisoners above ground if you plan on doing messy things to them.
I hug the wall and advance, bare feet silent against the cold floor. Every step is measured, every breath controlled.
At the end of the hall, I turn a corner — and nearly collide with a man coming the other way. Cartel. Black clothes. Gun slunglow. His eyes widen just enough for me to see the moment he realizes he fucked up.
I don’t give him time to scream. I drive the knife up under his jaw, hard and fast, twisting as I shove him into the wall. Bone crunches softly. His hands claw at my arms for half a second before they go slack.
I ease him down. Quiet. Clean.
Then I move again.
I reach the stairs and pause at the door, pressing my back to the wall, listening. Boots thunder overhead, then screams ring out, swallowed by gunshots — finally!
My brothers are here. No more sneaking.
I drop the knife, and my hands close around the gun instead. After a slow, deep breath and a roll of my shoulders, I shove the door open.
Two cartel men are sprinting straight toward it. They don’t even have time to raise their guns before I squeeze the trigger. The rifle bucks against my shoulder as bullets tear into them, bodies snapping back, blood spraying the floor. One goes down hard, the other stumbles two steps before collapsing face-first at my feet.
My bruised ribs protest, the pain in my muscles flares, but I step over them without slowing.
The space opens up into a massive foyer. Marble floors streaked with blood, a sweeping staircase curling up to the second floor, chandeliers swaying overhead. Smoke hangs thick in the air.
It’s fucking beautiful.
Chaos everywhere.
I move through it like the ghost I am. Earning my road name.
A cartel man pops out from behind a pillar. I put him down without breaking stride. Another dives for cover near a couch— two shots and he stops moving. I don’t aim carefully. I don’t need to. Muscle memory takes over.
I clock familiar faces as I move. Joker and Hellbat, reloading behind an overturned table. Reaper, kicking a gun away from a man who’s already bleeding out. Bones, swinging his bat with one hand while firing the gun in the other. One of Romano’s men on the balcony above, firing downward with surgical calm. Arcangelo brought his teeth. Perfect.
I cut toward the stairs, ignoring side rooms, opening doors just long enough to confirm they’re empty or full of corpses. I’m hunting now. Focused. Tunneled.
Second floor.
The hallway is wide, lined with expensive doors, thick carpets ruined by bloody footprints. I move fast, checking rooms, leaving bodies where they fall.
