I could have walked through the fire and burned without fear. Because he was there. In front of me.
He jumped up, blood now smearing his perfect suit. His white blond hair was messed and unkempt. On his face was a snarl. In his hand was a revolver.
Suddenly, a gun was pressed to my neck. I paused.
Six guards surrounded me, all of their guns aimed at my face.
Gideon smiled.
“You little punk,” he sneered. “What are you going to do now, Hawthorne?”
“What I should have done years ago, Gideon.” I said, my voice calm.
“I have you surrounded. The police, the military are here. You are fucked.” He stepped forward, leaning over me. “Just like your father.”
“Am I?” I asked calmly.
Something unseen moved around the guards. One was hit from the side. Another’s face exploded with blood.
My grin broadened.
It was almost funny watching the men scramble as they tried to see who was attacking them.
Phantom really was a killing machine.
Gideon followed the carnage, his face draining of colour. “What—”
I moved. I wrenched the gun from his hand and had it pressed to his face in moments.
“Oopsy. Got your gun.”
The last guard hit the ground by my feet. I felt a familiar presence step up beside me. Power pressed against my senses—cold, precise, lethal.
Gideon froze, like he had seen a ghost.
“No…” He took a step back.
“About time you showed up, Phantom.” I said. I gestured behind me. “You remember Gideon, of course?”
Phantom sneered beside me. “Oh, we go way back.”
My grin was nasty. I enjoyed watching the colour seep from Gideon’s face.
“Where have you been anyway?”
“Sorry, was a little busy trying to clean up your mess, as usual.” Phantom replied.
“You know I always appreciate your help.”
“Of course. You would be dead without me.”
I smiled. I nodded to the approaching forces.
“Ours or theirs?”
“Ours.”
“Well, look at that,” I said to Gideon
