I just hope time doesn’t run out on us.
Joker’s engine snarls, yanking me back to the now. The drop is close. I gather up every thought of Marigold and lock it all behind a steel door in my mind.
Whatever waits ahead demands every piece of me.
Tonight, Ghost brings his own crew for the first time, shifting the balance. Unknowns everywhere. I want eyes on everything. Body language, positioning, who stands where relative to Ghost, who moves when he moves. The unease from our first meeting still clings to me, and I refuse to step into this with anything less than razor-sharp instincts.
Ghost doesn't make us wait this time.
He and his crew are stationed around the yawning open space of the ports, leaning against their blacked-out vehicles like shadows waiting for the sun to go down. A few of them stand at high alert flanking Ghost. They're the kind of men who don't just pull triggers, they enjoy it. These men are his tops.
Joker, Pope, Malice, Savior, Pretty Boy, and I climb from our bikes. We keep our movements fluid and our bodies loose, the universal language forwe’re here for business, not a funeral. But everyone’s calculating, tension crackling in the air until Ghost finally breaks it by stepping forward.
“Gentlemen,” he greets, his chin dipping in a nod that’s technically respectful but feels like a threat.
His eyes still hold that eerie, bottomless emptiness as they sweep over us. I’ve seen a lot of shit in this life. I’ve looked intothe eyes of men who were dying and men who were doing the killing, but I’ve never seen a void this visible. It’s like staring into a grave that hasn't been filled yet. Scary shit.
“Ghost,” Pope says, his voice a low rumble. “I hope your trip here was successful. We’ve mapped out the routes so this is done cleanly.” He holds his hand out to Joker, who passes over a fresh map. Pope hands it to Ghost. “You and your men study this. If you need to send scouts ahead, do it now.”
While Ghost and his lieutenants bend their heads over the paper, I let my gaze wander over the rest of his crew. There’s been a persistent, jagged itch under my skin since the second I kicked my kickstand down. Is it a smart move to pull my phone and start snapping discreet pictures of these assholes? Probably not. One wrong move and the fragile peace shatters. Still, my gut says this is our only shot at learning who these people really are.
I catch one man toward the back staring right at me. He has the same hollowed-out look as his boss. No malice, no anger, just a flat, predatory curiosity. The same wrongness I felt in Ghost is a goddamn contagion in his crew. I’m hoping the facial recognition Cypher built can tell us if these are phantoms or just monsters in nice clothes.
Ghost folds the map with slow, deliberate precision and tucks it into his jacket. “The routes and notes are acceptable. We do not need to send scouts. I trust that you men do not want a war. I am sure we all have better things to do. You need my product, I enjoy your cash. There is no need for nonsense.”
“Joker and I will lead,” Pope says, laying out the formation like he’s playing chess. “You follow with whoever you want behind you. Tomcat and Malice fall in next, then the rest of your men, with Savior and Pretty Boy as the tail gunners. At the next drop, we fall back, and the next escort takes over until the final hand-off. That’s where your journey ends.”
Ghost’s smile is razor-thin and icy, a mockery of warmth. “Disappointing. I was hoping to eat at your charming diner... maybe sample some of those temptingtreats.”
There he goes again. That cryptic, needle-sharp bullshit that puts me on a hair-trigger. My fingers tingle, itching for the grip of my pistol. Pope feels it too. I see his hand drop, his fingers almost caressing the handle of the axe hanging at his side.
Pope tilts his head, returning the cold smile. “I’m sure you’ll find something on the way home. Hey, tell me... what’s your favorite nursery rhyme?”
Ghost’s eye twitches. It's a microscopic flinch, but I see it. It’s the first sign that he might actually be leery of my President.
Pope chuckles, catching the reaction. “Naw, never mind. I need something new to sing to my kids, but no time for that now.” He waves a hand as if he’s brushing away a fly. “Let’s just hit the road, yeah?”
Ghost gives a sharp, two-fingered hand signal, and his men melt into their vehicles like shadows returning to the dark. He gives Pope one last, unreadable nod before climbing into the driver’s seat of the lead SUV. The glass is so tinted it’s like looking into a black hole.
“Keep your heads on a swivel,” Pope says, his voice low and dangerous as we mount our bikes. “I didn’t spot any tails, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have people of his own following us in the tree line.”
“I grabbed photos of everyone there,” I tell him, tapping my pocket where my phone is stashed. “Cypher can run them through the program. Hopefully, he can put names to these voids.”
“Good call. Ride safe, brothers.”
The ride to the first drop goes off without a single hiccup, which is… surprising. Unsettling, even. Ghost gave us his word, but trust is a currency we don't spend lightly with strangers.
Butcher, Cyanide, Gavel, and D-Bag are waiting at the exchange, every muscle tense. Their heads swivel nonstop, eyes locked on the black SUVs like wolves sizing up a rival pack.
While Pope briefs the new escort, I pull my phone. I fire the photos off to Cypher with a one-word instruction:Identify.Then, I hit up Munch. My gut is a knot of tension until his reply flashes across the screen—a candid shot of Marigold at the diner, laughing with a local. She looks vibrant. She looks safe. My chest finally loosens enough to let me take a real breath.
Now that I’ve truly had her, letting her out of my sight feels like losing a limb. It was hard enough when she was just a maybe, but now? It’s fucking excruciating.
Pope walks back toward Savior and me, cutting off any chance I had to send her a personal text. “We’re heading back toward the clubhouse,” he grunts. “We need to be the eyes on the street as the product rolls in. Everything’s been too quiet. I want to make sure Ghost or his men don't try to slip into the city limits. I don’t like the way he keeps mentioning Nauti Nibbles.”
“You and me both, brother,” I growl. “I know what obsession looks like, and I’m not digging that he’s got one for the place my woman works.”
“He doesn’t seem like a stupid man,” Pope says, his eyes flashing with a cold, manic light. “Let’s hope he stays that way. Because if he crosses that line, Precious won’t mind giving him a tiny kiss. Just a nick or two. My axe is thirsty, Tomcat. I'm sure of it.”
