Page 135 of Ghosted

Everyone came to see brother against brother.

Wraith versus Cutter.

Blood doesn’t count if it’s family.

That stupid fucking line is everywhere now. On posts. In texts. Whispered around campus like people are excited to watch something ugly and then pretend they didn’t know it would get ugly.

I flex my hand once, then force it still.

No stupid.

Not tonight.

Johnny wants me wild. He wants teeth and blood and witnesses. He wants every person here watching me lose control so later, when he twists the story, they already know what kind of monster to picture.

Alice was right.

I hate that she was right. Hate it more that I had to leave her there to come here, but this needed to be done. Johnny was never going to stop, and I was never going to settle with this thing between us still sitting there, rotten and unfinished.

Not after what he did to her.

After what he made her carry.

He needs to be handled.

And fuck me, I’m done pretending I’m not the kind of man built to handle him.

A guy near the lockers laughs too loud, and my eyes cut over. Two freshmen I’ve seen around the fights are leaning against the wall, counting cash, both of them talking like they matter.

“I’m telling you,” one says, “put it all on Wraith. Johnny’s blowing it off.”

The wrap stops moving between my fingers.

His friend snorts. “No way. Cutter loves attention too much.”

“Yeah, but not tonight. I heard he’s down by the pool.”

Everything in me goes cold.

Like ice sliding under my ribs.

The second guy laughs. “Doing what? Getting laps in before his own ass beating?”

“I don’t fucking know, man. Someone saw him going that way earlier. All I’m saying is, if he’s late, Wraith wins by default. Easiest money of the night.”

They keep talking, but I don’t hear the rest.

The warehouse noise drops out, piece by piece, until all that’s left is my own pulse and the words sitting in the middle of my skull.

The pool.

Johnny never cared about the cage.

Or maybe he cared just enough to make sure I did.

My hands go numb.

I stand so fast the crate scrapes backward across the concrete.