by Rina Kent
In a foolish move that’s not fit for the situation or for whatever the hell we have, I lower my head and capture her lips in a quick passionate kiss.
This woman will cause my death one day. I can see it in the distance, but I keep moving forward nonetheless.
I break away and turn to leave, buttoning the shirt on the way out.
“Julian?”
“Yes?” I pause at the entrance and cast a glance over my shoulder at the ethereal view sitting on the bed. My bed.
Elle’s eyes fill with fear, pure and untamed. I think it’s about the attack, but her words undo me.
“Don’t get hurt.”
I smile. “I told you, Firefly. You’ll never get rid of me.”
She smiles back. Although uncertain, I take that as my fuel and storm out.
A few guards already surround the safe house. They’re here for me, but it’s not myself that I’m concerned about.
“Protect her with your lives.” I meet all their gazes, face stone cold to let the point sink in. Then I run to the front where the gunshots are coming from.
The girls’ compound. Fuck.
Gun pointed ahead, I climb through a window and into the club’s ground floor. It’s dark and dim inside, even though it’s the early morning hours. The curtains are closed. Good call. Snipers are the last thing we need.
I check the lifts. They’re all blocked. Good.
Mist or Shadow must’ve done this.
The gunshots still for a minute. Footsteps sound on the way to the stairs. To the girls’ rooms. I jump four steps at a time and hide in the corner. Two men, one bulky and the other lean appear at the base of the stairs. Better take answers from the one who would be easier to subdue. I shoot the bulky man in the forehead. He falls backwards with a thud.
The lean one shoots. I lunge forward and the shot scratches my bicep. I kick him in the diaphragm. He squeaks in pain and I take the chance to twist his wrist. The gun falls and a crack sounds in his bones.
“Who sent you?” I grit out with my gun to his head.
He tries to punch me with his other hand but stops when I dig the barrel into his temple.
“You have exactly ten seconds to tell me who sent you.”
“President Joe!” He groans, but it sounds fake. It’s too easy. Too convenient. My instinct says this is all a setup.
I tighten my hold on his broken wrist, but my tone comes out calm. “What does President Joe wear when he’s in a meeting with his men?”
He appears surprised for a second. “... what?”
“President Joe wears something very specific when he meets his men. If you don’t know it, then how can you be one of his men?”
“It’s the red bowtie.”
“Wrong answer. He always wears the bowtie. How the fuck would I know what he wears when I’m not one of his men?” My fingers move up his arm, then I twist. He screams in pain as I say with a neutral tone. “Now, tell me.” I tighten my hold until a bone pops. “Who fucking sent you?”
“All right!” He cries, face reddening. “It’s – ”
A shot wheezes by my ear and straight to the man’s forehead. His eyes widen and turn to nothingness as he turns limp.
I release him and whirl around. A shadow runs out of sight up the stairs. I jump behind him, adrenaline kicking in my limbs.
As soon as I reach the second floor, the cries and whimpers of the girls filter through the walls.
No sight of any shadow.
In front of the office, Mist has a dead man’s head locked under her arm, knees on his back. Her face is stone cold and she’s wearing a sleeping robe, but she still manages to say in a calm, soothing tone, “Don’t worry, girls. Everything will be fine.”
A man appears right behind her. I shoot him in the fucking head. Another shot lodges through his chest. I look to my side. Shadow stands in the doorway, wearing only shorts. His eyes flicker between robotic and rage-filled.
Still, there’s no sign of the one who shot the man I questioned.
“This floor is clear.” Mist kicks the dead man in her hand. He falls to his face with a thud. She wipes her bloodied hands in the dead man’s T-shirt and heads to the source of the crying. She must’ve gathered them in one room. “I need to stay with the girls.”
“Anyone checked on Kyle?” I ask, already moving towards the stairs.
“Been there.” Shadow scratches his temple with the barrel of his gun. “He’s still in slumber like Sleeping fucking Beauty.”
A breath leaves me. The door to Mist’s office clicks open. I point my gun.
Flame saunters outside, his dark ginger hair and beard are dishevelled. His expression is detached as he yawns. He fumbles in his pocket and sticks a cigarette in his mouth. “Can’t anyone get some sleep in this place?”
My gaze looms over him as I finger the trigger. He’s been getting on my nerves lately. No idea why. He just does.
“Look for anyone we can question in case –” I’m cut off by a commotion coming from the stairs that lead to the third floor. Where Kyle stays.
I sprint forward and so does Shadow. Even Flame follows, a gun in hand, the cigarette still hanging from his mouth.
A man is screaming. The sound is so guttural and tortured. But he’s not Kyle. A tall man, brawny with no muscles, stumbles down the stairs. Scar is on his back with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and arm around his collarbone.
The reason of his screams is because she’s stabbing his back with a knife over and over again.
His hands fling back, trying to shake her off. Well, good fucking luck with that. She’s like a parasite when killing.
She raises her knife to stab his neck.
I lunge towards them. “Scar, don’t!”
She does. Blood splashes from his neck like a fountain and splatters all over her face and clothes.
The red smudges my shirt, too. Droplets of hot liquid mar my face.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I shake my head. Not the time to get caught in Omega’s effect.
Scar releases the man and jumps backwards. He falls down the stairs. His shaking hands go to his neck, but it’s too late. He won’t live.
I run and crouch in front of his face. “Who sent you?”
His lips move, but he says nothing.
“Who?” I shout.
“Fuck... you...” he croaks in a thick Russian accent before his body goes limp.
Bloody hell. I didn’t get anything from him.
Something nags at me about the whole thing. He’s Russian. Not that it should mean anything, but I don’t like it.
Kyle and I had a few hits for the Russian mafia in the US – probably why people here believe Ghost is a Russian spy – but I don’t think they would send anyone after my business.
I brought Vladimir over. If anything, we’re collaborating with them.
But again, I could be reading too much into this. Just because the dead scum sounded Russian doesn’t mean he has ties with the mafia.
“The fuck, Scar? I’ve got blood all over me.” Flame’s eyes fill with annoyance as he glares at the top of Scar’s hair and throws his bloodied cigarette away. The blonde strands are now dyed red with blood. She’s so short in front of Flame, but there’s a whole lot of crazy in that tiny body.
“Oops.” She grins, and it looks monstrous with the blood forming rivulets on her face and soaking her shirt and shorts. Today it reads, ‘Fuck Doll.’
Flame shakes his head and heads to the office. “Stop being so noisy.”
“We could’ve questioned him.” It’s my turn to glare at Scar.
“Who told him to come into my room and ruin my meditation time?” She huffs then narrows her eyes on a gash in her shirt. “I’m injured.”
“You want a medal for that?” Shadow rolls his eyes. Due to Scar’s gruesome kill, his entire chest is shining with blood, but unlike Flame – or me – he doesn’t give two fucks about it. I doubt he’s even no
ticed it.
“A weakling like him.” Scar motions at the dead man. “Shouldn’t be able to injure me. I’m losing time and my reflexes shut down sometimes. Does it happen to you?”
Shadow and I shake our heads. Then, Shadow grins with mischief. “You’re probably turning into an old hag like Mist. Baby face doesn’t mean baby age, Doll.”
“Fuck you, arsehole.” She storms off to her room.
“Not interested, Doll!” he shouts after her. “Crazy doesn’t turn me on.”
Speaking of who’s driving me crazy. I retrieve my phone and dial Elle. The first ring isn’t even over before she answers.
“Julian? Is that you? Are you okay?” Her words tumble over each other so fast, I barely make them out.
A strange sensation that’s so freakishly similar to warmth fills me. No one has ever been worried about me before. “I’m fine. You?”
“Totally okay. No one came over. I’m just huddled in our room.”
Our. Fuck me. She said our room, not your room.
As if realising what she just said, Elle goes completely quiet. I can almost feel her stiffen.
Before she can ruin it, I say, “I’ll take care of a few things then return.”
“Yeah, sure. Not like I have anywhere to go.”
A smile is playing on my lips as I hang up. She’s strangely the only thing that keeps me afloat in this chaos. Even if she drives me fucking crazy with her stubbornness.
Shadow is tilting his head to the side, watching me with a scowl. “Don’t you think you’re trusting her too much?”
“What?”
He fingers his gun. “There’s a nagging feeling like I know her.”
“And I shouldn’t trust her because of that?”
He’s toe-to-toe with me in a second. His face is cold, but he speaks in a levelled tone. “You shouldn’t trust her because she’s suspicious as hell. One of the lads caught her eavesdropping near the control room the other day. She followed me yesterday and she’s too close to Scar. No one gets close to the level of Scar’s crazy without a deal in between. And before you say it, I know you asked Scar to keep an eye on her, but Scar doesn’t do things just because you ask her. She always has an ulterior fucking motive.”
My shoulders tense. The only reason I’m not punching Shadow in the nose is because we go way back. “If you consider yourself my mate, you will never talk about Elle that way again.”
“What way? I’m stating facts.” He lifts a shoulder. “Whether you believe them or you’re too blinded to see them is up to you, mate.”
“Shadow...”
“No. I don’t fucking care what you think, Ghost. If she endangers your life in any way, I will break her bloody neck.”
Fucking Shadow. If it weren’t for his loyalty to me, I would’ve gutted him for even thinking about hurting Elle.
I suck in a breath and motion outside. “Come on. Let’s see if there’s anyone left to question.”
There’s no one. They were either killed or they escaped.
I’m all bloodied – mostly thanks to Scar, and the gash in my bicep keeps pulsing with pain.
Shadow gives me two pills, and I drown them with a glass of scotch.
Shadow and I are personally guarding Kyle’s room. My friend is fussing with a first aid box while drinking from straight from a bottle of scotch. I throw my weight beside him on the sofa across from Kyle’s bed.
He’s lying on his stomach, skin pale and lids closed. There’s a barcode on his shoulder, his identification tattoo designed for the second generation; a way to differentiate them from us. Kyle has number 130. That’s 130 children kidnapped into The Pit to form the second generation and the number continues to shoot up.
The sheet covers Kyle’s lower half. A bandage is wrapped around the middle of his back where he’s been shot.
Aaron Rhodes, one of my second generation disciples who studied medicine, said the shot isn’t serious. There’s no danger on Kyle’s life, but he still hasn’t woken the fuck up.
The worst part is that I haven’t found whoever did this to him.
My shoulders tense and pain throbs in my bicep, but I snatch the bottle of scotch from Shadow and pour another drink.
“Hey, I was drinking from that.” He grumbles.
He’s about to say something else, but he’s cut off when the door opens and Mist saunters inside. A tired look covers her features, but she already changed out of her bloodied robe and into a simple black dress – to not scare the girls, I’m sure.
She sits on the edge of Kyle’s bed and casts a glance at him before facing me. “The girls are terrified. I barely calmed them down.”
“You managed to do that with a makeup-free face?” Shadow mocks. “How did they recognise you with all those wrinkles?”
“Shut up, filth.” She meets my gaze. “What the hell was that attack all about?”
“President Joe asking for his death, that’s what.” Shadow throws a bunch of cleaners and bandages my way. I doubt he even knows what they’re for.
“It’s not President Joe.” I unbutton my shirt and remove it. The cloth rubs against the wound, and I grunt. Dried blood covers the injury, but it looks worse than it actually is. I don’t even need stitches.
“What do you mean it’s not President Joe?” Shadow doesn’t even attempt to wipe the blood off his torso.
I pour alcohol over the wound. My jaw clenches at the burn. I think about not cleaning it altogether but since Elle would give me hell, I do a quick work of wiping the alcohol with cotton. “The attackers are mercenaries, not gangsters.”
“So?” Mist is folding her arms under her chest. “He could’ve hired mercenaries.”
“He wouldn’t,” I say. “President Joe is all about profit. He’s smart enough to not antagonise me when the factory’s shares are at stake.”
“Johnny would,” Shadow says.
I bandage the wound, and it’s actually painful. It’s pulsing too much for a mere graze. We don’t feel much pain when on Omega. The knot in my chest loosens a little. This means that the drug is almost out of my system.
“Johnny doesn’t have the money to hire so many mercenaries,” I say. “And he’s not stupid enough to attack us in our compound. Besides...”
“Besides?” Shadow asks while Mist looks at me expectedly.
Besides, someone shot the mercenary I was questioning. On purpose, so he wouldn’t talk. And they didn’t shoot me. The ones who appeared where the shooter disappeared are the closest two people I’ve ever had.
Mist and Shadow. One of them could’ve shot him.
I close my eyes. I don’t even want to consider that option. But add this to Hades’ call, and it’s clear as fuck that we have a traitor on the inside.
One of mine. One of my fucking family.
“Ghost?” Shadow waves a hand in front of my face.
My lids open and I stand. Alcohol and whatever meds Shadow has given me are making my head light.
“We will let President Joe believe that we suspect him. I’m using this to make him agree to a share in the factory and possible ownership.”
“And leave Elle alone,” Mist clips out.
“Yes.” I glare. “She’s mine.” I meet both of their gazes. “You both better get that in your heads. If anyone threatens her, they will have a personal problem with me. Understand?”
I don’t wait for their responses and stride out of the room.
No idea how I got to the safe house, but I somehow manage to wobble my way through. All I keep thinking about is that I need to see Elle’s face and touch her so all this chaos will somehow fade away.
My closest mates could be traitors. It’s a worse blow than Diablo’s death or Hades’ hell or Omega’s robotic state.
This could ruin everything I’ve been building. Decades of companionship. An alternative family.
Every-fucking-thing.
I don’t want to think about Shadow and Mist as traitors. And I won’t. Not without proof.
Peace falls over me. One thought remains in my hazy brain; I need inside her. Then, everything will turn for the better.
I carry Elle to the bed and lower her to the mattress. When I see what she’s wearing, my head spins – and it’s not because of the meds. My shirt. Out of all clothes, Elle’s wearing my fucking shirt.
She couldn’t look any prettier.
I grunt as I rip it off her. The buttons fly everywhere.
She chuckles. “Do you have a problem with clothes or something?”
“On you. Fuck right, I do.”
Her cheeks tint in crimson and I kiss it all. The innocence, the cuteness, the strength of this fucking woman. She deserves to be out there in a normal world with a normal life, but she’s not. And won’t be. I’m tarnishing her. I know I am. I’ve been in the dark for too long, I can’t help feeding off her light. I can’t think of any possible scenario where I would ever let her go.
I’m still hazy, but I manage to sink into her warmth. She starts doing those little noises that drive me fucking nuts and make me thrust into her like a lunatic. Once she moans my name, I’m right there with her.
My arms tighten around her as we lie facing each other, gazing at one another with so much intensity, it’s almost more intimate than sex itself. What’s going on in that head of hers?
“You will never betray me, Firefly?” I don’t know why it came out as a question. It was supposed to be a statement and all she has to say is ‘Yes, Julian’. Because the thought of her betrayal is too painful to even consider. Not after the whole mess with Shadow and Mist.
She stiffens a little. My mind goes on alert.
The bright blue of her eyes softens and she palms my cheek and smiles. “I won’t.”
I’m still uncertain, unable to let that little stiffening go. But when she buries her face in my chest and whispers, her words strike me, no matter how much she repeats them.
“I’m yours, Julian.”
I kiss the top of her head and surprise the hell out of myself when I say, “And I’m yours, Firefly.”
