Copyright © 2024 by Mindy Paige

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Edited by Jenny Sims (Editing4Indies)

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THE PHANTOM’S VICE

When the FBI’s most wanted criminal leaves his DNA at a crime scene, Brett Evangeline is sure she’s finally going to bring the masked assassin to justice. The brand-new FBI agent can’t believe her luck—both in getting assigned to this case and her findings—but what she doesn’t realize is that, in the criminal underworld of Moriton, luck does not fortune the kind or the good.

When terrible secrets come to light, Brett must reevaluate everything she thinks she knows and decide which evil is worth trusting—and the serial killer with a soft spot isn’t making things any easier for her. The crazed assassin has never desired a single thing before, and now all his sights are set on Brett. And what Ghost wants, Ghost gets.

But something bigger is at play. Something sinister. Soon, it will be up to Brett to uncover the horrible secrets the concrete jungle is hiding and bring all the criminals involved to justice. Even if it’s at the cost of her heart.

AUTHOR NOTE

This book contains explicit material that may not suitable for some people. Please read all of the following content warnings, as this is an EXTREMELY DARK romance. Your mental health matters above all else <3

For a complete list of content warnings, click here.

FOREWORD

Hello, darling.

It’s Ghost again. I’m sure by now you realize why I’m here. So did you read the content warnings?

I know, I know. You’re such a brave girl—you don’t need to read them.

But I’m telling you, it’s different this time. It’s darker. More depraved.

And I need to make sure that pretty mind stays intact. At least until I’m good and done with you. And I’m all about consent, darling.

So read those content warnings. It’s for your own good, after all.

How do I know? I’ll do you one better. I’ll tell you a secret about yourself you never even knew.

You will bow to no man. No one but a sadistic motherfucker in a mask.

We could argue about it, but we both know I’m right.

See you on the other side, darling.

Kisses,

Ghost.

PROLOGUE

I could take the shot right now. She would be dead, and then all this mess would be over with. My pulse monitor screams as my finger tightens on the trigger, but try as I might, I can't move that last millimeter.

“Fuck,” I curse, tossing my rifle to the side as I sit back on my heels. I tap the side of my mask, and my vision sharpens, homing in on the beautiful dark-haired woman in the window across the street. Her movements are subtle, and the graceful way she carries herself is damn near feline.

A beautiful black cat trying to catch her canary.

Her mouth is set in a grim line as she gestures to the whiteboard behind her—a whiteboard that just so happens to have my “face” plastered all over it.

I shouldn't have been so careless. I knew the FBI was on my heels, yet I still put my neck on the line to help Kain—the ungrateful fuck. My actions were a direct violation of all my training and of my control. I shouldn't have felt the things I did that day. I should have left him and Lillith to die.

It's what my master would have done. Without remorse.

I pause, an image of Kain and Lillith flashing in my mind. The way her face lights up when she just so much as catches a glance of him. The way her presence makes Reinhold soften.

Love… I think they’re in love.

I mull over the word, watching it tumble and flip around the vast chasm of my mind. I think I would like to experience this… this romantic love.

It’s been decades since I’ve allowed myself to desire something—much less someone. I know how dangerous it is to love. I’ve felt the consequences firsthand, and they were nearly my undoing. And that was only platonic love. Not this—this all-consuming thing I’ve seen between Kain and Lillith.

There's a bitter taste in my mouth as I watch the pretty young FBI agent hand out files to her subordinates. I have no doubt they're full of information about me. At least what scraps they've been able to learn over the decades while chasing me.

Not me. Ghost. They're trying to find the Phantom.

I have to remind myself that I am not the persona I've worn over the years. A near-impossible task when this mask feels more like my real face with every passing day.

Although, you weren't able to take the shot. Maybe there is some scrap of humanity left.

I snort at the thought. What was left of me died the day my mother sold me to the Reapers. Left me to rot, to⁠—

Nope. Not fucking going there.

I refocus on the woman across the street, at those big round eyes and pouty lips that make her seem so much less dangerous than she is. Her conservative pencil skirt and messy bun look practically demure—a fantastic defense mechanism, especially for men who can't see past the surface.

Only, she's not demure. No, Brett Evangeline is an intelligent, conniving natural disaster of a woman. Or rather, an unnatural one—like black ice on a warm summer's night.

I respect her for it, but that's not a good enough reason not to kill her. The little kitten sank her claws into the wrong mask, and I'm going to make sure she knows it. As I pack up my equipment, a stray thought pierces my mind.

There's more than one way to skin a cat. And who says we can't have a little fun before I finish the job?

PART ONE

HAUNTING

CHAPTER ONE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #1

Do not violate The Code.

“It’s better if I don’t know you. Because if I know you, someone is trying to kill you. And if that someone pays me well enough…” I dab the corners of my mouth delicately with my napkin. My chair screeches against the concrete as I stand, heaving a sigh. “I shouldn’t talk about these things over dinner. My mother always screamed for me to mind my manners, but I suppose it never stuck.”

I run my fingers over the steak knife on the fine white dining cloth. Bits of muscle and sinew cling to the serrations, and I place the napkin over it, suddenly nauseous at the sight.

“My apologies. I didn’t ask you if you wanted any,” I say, shooting a look at the gagged FBI agent in the corner of the bunker. “How rude of me, indeed.”

Blood seeps through the thick cuts across his arms and abdomen—thick rivers of red that fall to the ground with a light plop… plop… plop…

The gagged man yells something through the duct tape, bringing my attention back to him. I yank it off his mouth, taking pleasure in the way he winces painfully.

“What’s that?”

“Whatever she’s paying you, I can double⁠—”

I place the tape back over his mouth, then step back, shaking my head in disappointment. “What you fail to realize is that I am a man of principle. Taking your money would be wrong, considering I’ve already promised her you’d be dead by the ’morrow. Now, what kind of a man would I be if I went back on my word?”

The agent stares wide-eyed, and I continue, undeterred. “I would be a man much like yourself. Gagged. Tied to a chair and forced to listen to a lunatic's ravings right before he dies. So you see, I must maintain my principles. For without principles, man is nothing more than⁠—”

A gunshot rings out, and the agent slumps forward. My gaze falls to the gun in my hand, still warm from the shot I don’t remember taking.

“A beast,” I murmur, staring at the weapon a beat too long before shoving it in my waistband. A green call box blinks in the upper corner of the screen built into my mask, reminding me of the next step of the mission. Usually, I would have already called the Disposers to clean up my mess, but something stops me.

Maybe it’s because Daniel’s proclivities reminded me so much of another. Maybe it’s because I’ve finally lost my mind. Or maybe—maybe it’s because I need to make a point.

A gesture.

With my pulse monitor blaring, I step forward and haul Daniel’s lifeless body over my shoulder. A thick squelching noise accompanies the movement, but it barely registers as I float across the room, a plan forming in the depths of my depraved mind.

Like a ghost, I disappear into those shadows from which I came.

CHAPTER TWO

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #1

Some strange things are happening in Moriton. Strange and awful things.

This story was supposed to be a throwaway piece on the high crime rate in Moriton. But after what I saw last night, I no longer think so.

This is big. Bigger than me or this whole city.

I guess I should explain—last night, I made contact with a man. Only, he’s not just any man. He wore a black mask and an immaculate suit, complete with a pair of kidskin leather gloves.

His name is Maverick, and he’s a retired Phantom.

What is a Phantom? I didn’t know before tonight either.

And I kind of wish I never did.

I'm so close, I can practically feel him. The Phantom.

Many different men have worn the persona over the past century, but the bloodshed he brings has stayed consistent. The current Phantom has been a scourge on this city for over a decade—-and from the records, far more violent than all his predecessors combined. With seemingly endless resources and intelligence, the assassin has been able to evade the bureau seamlessly while carrying out his vile deeds under the cover of night.

It’s hard to sleep knowing what could be lurking in the shadows just outside your window—or rather, who—which is why I’ve been damn near obsessed with this case since it was plopped in my lap last month. And last night, I got my big break.

As I pass out the manila folders to my team, my chest buzzes with pride. Every last bit of evidence on the Phantom is neatly compiled within. All his known victims, previous associates, and photos of the masked criminal. However, none of the old evidence comes close to what was discovered at the latest crime scene.

The Phantom’s hair.

It was strange to find at the time, being that he's an overly meticulous bastard. When the hair was discovered, I was convinced he left it on purpose. To play some sick game with us. But then the lab came back with the results, and I knew—I knew that he finally made a mistake. It was his DNA, though it didn't directly match anything we had in our system. But with the help of the genetic testing database—thank the lord for ancestry.com—the markers on his DNA led us to something better. The Phantom's mother.

And she's living right here in Moriton.

"As I'm sure you all know, there's been a major break in the Phantom case.” I pause to clear my throat, a ball of anxiety replacing my pride as a dozen eyes bore into me. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Sensing my hesitation, my partner, Jim, spreads his lips in a reassuring smile, those familiar brown eyes offering me comfort from across the room. I take a deep breath in through my nose, then start again.

“Early this morning, we were able to locate Martha Gore, biological mother of the current Phantom. Jim and I will be questioning her on her son's whereabouts today. It's possible the Phantom is aware of the FBI's new information, and if we don't act fast, I’m positive Ms. Gore will disappear like all our other leads."

A murmur of assent is overshadowed by the nervous tension in the air. “I know you all might be concerned, but⁠—”

“Damn right we're concerned!” Samuel Danvers's gruff voice rings across the room from where he's sitting on his desk. His dull green eyes shift nervously to the side as I send the full weight of my glare his way. “How do you know this isn't a trap? You saw what happened to Daniel. The way he cut him up⁠—”

“I don't need to be reminded!” I snap, my heart hammering as visuals of the crime scene swarm into my mind. The gouged eyes. That horrible bloody stump of his penis, shoved so far down his throat that he⁠—

Nope. Not going there.

I let out a heavy sigh, running a shaky hand through my hair for the hundredth time this morning as I picture the deep, jagged cuts across Daniel’s forehead, spelling out that incomprehensible four letter word—pedo. More pieces of my bun fall loose with the motion, and I curse myself for ruining my updo yet again.

“You know he has to have a closed casket, right? Mrs. Knox is beside herself,” Harvey—Samuel’s partner—offers, as if that will help the situation. “If he can do something like that to a man like Daniel—the best of us—who’s to say he won’t do something worse to one of us?”

There’s another murmur of assent, and that ball of anxiety tightens.

“What happened to Daniel was a tragedy,” I say, fighting the shake of my voice as I attempt to take control of the room. “And it's also the reason we need to catch this guy. I refuse to sit by and watch him hurt one more person. I won't let him get away with what he's done. I won’t stand for it—and neither should you.” I take my time looking each team member in the eyes before finally resting back on Samuel. “Are you with me?”

Jim claps a hand on my shoulder. “I'm with you, Brett.” He puffs his chest out, giving the rest of the men his million-dollar smile. Slowly, each person repeats Jim, the next words growing more powerful and assured than the last. When it finally comes down to Samuel to say the phrase, the whole room looks at him. Watching. Waiting.

Samuel raises a hand to his scruffy jaw, scratching thoughtfully. “Ah, what the hell. You got me too, Brett. You always do.”

My body feels light as I look out at all the determined faces. Jim's hand tightens on my shoulder, and I don't miss the proud look he gives me when I address the room for the last time.

“Okay. Let's go get this fucker.”

CHAPTER THREE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #4

Do everything in your power to avoid capture.

“Is this what you do when you’re bored?” Orion’s crystal blue eyes pierce me with a glare as he paces the length of the basement. The flickering brass sconces cast shadows along the boy's face, hollowing his cheeks and highlighting the malevolence in his gaze. “What would possess you to drag his body out there for the police to find? And—leaving shit at the crime scene? A federal agent’s crime scene?”

I shrug, the thick material of my suit making the movement more difficult than it should be. I think back to the image of Daniel Knox, bloody and oozing onto the forest floor. I see that pale red fluid leaking from his punctured eye sockets as his body shudders, convulses as he fights to take air past the bloody cock shoved down his throat.

I really was going to leave him in that bunker. I had every intention to follow the Sanctum’s orders—to take the agent out quietly, then call the Disposers with the coordinates for cleanup.

It wasn’t personal. It was just a job.

Until it wasn’t.

“I have my reasons,” I say, the voice distorter in my mask causing my words to crackle eerily off the limestone walls. “Good reasons. Well, good-ish. As good as can be expected.”

Orion rolls his baby blues to the vaulted ceiling. “Right, I forgot. You’re just in-fucking-sane.”

I tilt my head, twirling the silver embossed dagger nimbly between my fingers. It helps to practice my dexterity daily, as I’m prone to bumps and nicks. The part of my brain that’s supposed to take care of sensation has never worked quite right—at least, that’s what the Sanctum doctors all said. A little too gleefully, I might add.

“Is it a trick of the light, or do I sense concern, Orion?” I ask, tiring of his incessant pacing.

Orion comes to a halt, crossing his gangly teenage arms across his chest with a glare that must have taken an impressive amount of strength to muster. “Of course I’m concerned, you geriatric fuck.”

My pulse monitor shrills. “That’s not very nice of you to say.”

“Well, I’m not very nice, am I?” Orion drops his arms up with a scowl. “I don’t like this. The Code states⁠—”

His voice is cut off by the sharp thwick of my dagger lodging into the wall next to his head. Orion cuts a glare in my direction, though his face is noticeably paler than before.

“Damn the Code,” I growl, my arms drooping to my sides as a wave of exhaustion overcomes me. I’m tired of it. Of their rules.

Orion’s eyes go wide as he whips his head around like the Madam could be listening to the blasphemy I just spewed. “Do you want a team of masks knocking down our door, Ghost? Because that’s what’s going to happen when they find out⁠—”

“Let them try.” I spread my arms wide, gesturing to the four concrete walls. “The Madam doesn’t know I have this property. And we’re too far underground for her to listen in if she did.”

Orion gives me a dubious stare. “I don’t know. I don’t like it.”

A humorless chuckle shakes my chest. “I know.” But it doesn’t matter what Orion likes or wants. Not really. Not when it’s this big, this important. “Did you find anything else on the girl?”

Orion shrugs, looking off to the side where a bucket slowly collects water from a leaking pipe. “There wasn’t much to find. Her record is spotless—not even a fucking speeding ticket. What twenty-six-year-old doesn’t have a speeding ticket?”

I step over to Orion and pull my dagger from the wall, inspecting the delicate swirls and filigrees on the handle. “Someone with more to hide than you know.”

Pocketing my knife, I float toward the rusted staircase, my mind a mess of moving pictures. Pictures of Brett Evangeline’s pretty face.

“Where are you going?” Orion demands, his footsteps ringing out close behind. I turn to face him, a wicked smile lighting my face despite the mask.

“To trap a cat.”

I insert the replica key custom made for Brett’s apartment, grinning when the lock twists without an ounce of resistance. I step inside, breathing in the undertones of Brett mingling with the air freshener. Cherry blossom.

I crinkle my nose, nauseous at the sickly sweet aroma drowning Brett’s lovely scent. I glance over at the wall plug-in—the vilest of offenders—and nearly stomp over to rip it from the outlet. Holding my breath, I storm into the bedroom and close the door, a deep sigh of relief filling my chest as the artificial smell fades away.

The ancient hardwood floors creak with each step I take toward her nightstand, which looks like it’s been handed down through generations. Little sunflowers are painted on the drawers, though most are faded and peeling with age. The brass knobs are tarnished, lacking the brilliant luster I’m sure they once possessed.

I reach forward, running my gloved fingers over the faded flowers, careful not to press too hard and add more damage. On second glance, they look like a small child painted them, and I smile as I imagine a young Brett, her brows pinched together with that concentrated look as she decorates the mahogany heirloom.

I push the image of her bright smile to the back of my mind as my fingers wrap around the top drawer handle. I tug it open, my heart leaping with delight as I take in the contents. The neon pink vibrator catches my attention first, and I pull it out of the drawer, running my hand over the bulbous head. My body shudders, and I’m vaguely aware of a tightening sensation in my lower abdomen as images of Brett race through my mind—her spread out on this mattress, legs wide and pussy bared just for me. The way her head will fall back as she presses this inside her, soaking it in her greedy juices.

“Fuck me,” I curse, placing the toy back in the drawer. I straighten, my hands darting to my zipper. My cock falls free a moment later, but when I palm it, I grow more frustrated at the lack of sensation. I stroke it gently as I reach inside, pulling a purple U-shaped device out to inspect. One end is smooth and bulbous like the first, while the other side is thicker and has some sort of belly-button-shaped apparatus toward the tip. When I press the button at the top, it fires to life, a low humming sound filling the bedroom. I press my thumb against the raised circular part, my brows shooting up as it sucks the leather of my glove inside.

My hand moves on its own, stroking faster as I piece together the way Brett would use this. What she would sound like if I pressed the little button against her clit.

A grunt falls from my lips as I come, and I look down in alarm as my seed spurts out, covering the purple toy in my hand. Like the sick fuck I am, I can’t stop, and I let my head fall back for the last few squirts, another groan falling from my parted lips.

I zip my softening cock back in my pants, never taking my eyes off the mess I made. I weigh my options for less than a second before I start rubbing my seed over the toy, making sure it covers every dip and ridge. The thought of Brett using it later has my cock hardening again, and I groan, fighting the urge to come on every one of her toys.

I probably would, but I know I’m pressed for time. Instead, I reach into the drawer and pull out the other two toys, shoving them toward the back of the bottom drawer. That eliminates her choices.

Satisfied, I straighten and slide into the bathroom to clean my gloves. An acrid odor slams into me as I enter, and I look down to the left of the toilet, where a litter box lies. I frown, realizing I haven’t seen a cat the whole time I’ve been here, but I quickly shrug it off. If he was going to cause me any trouble, he would have by now.

With a satisfied sigh, I get to work on the actual reason I came here—camera installation. I set up several around her bedroom, so if she miraculously finds one, I will have plenty of others to continue my surveillance. Once I’m satisfied I will be able to see every angle of Brett I desire, I make my way through the rest of the apartment, taking extra camouflage precautions in the bathroom, as there’s only space for one.

In thirty minutes, my job is complete. I make one last sweep around the apartment, ensuring everything is where it was when I arrived. So far, Brett’s situational awareness seems lacking, but she did receive training, so I can’t be too cautious.

Satisfied, I move to the door, but as soon as my gloved hand curls around the doorknob, something small and black flies through the air. I sidestep it just in time, and it knocks into the wall where my head would have been. Ripping my dagger from its holster, I turn and face the enemy, my years of training kicking in with deadly force. That is, until I see the monster I’m up against.

The little black cat squaring off with me is—for lack of a better phrase—uber adorable. Though it’s clearly an adult male, the shortness of its limbs—like that of a T-rex—give it the stature of a kitten. As if that wasn’t enough, the little white heart above his left eyebrow takes away from the snarl on its face.

The cat lets loose a hiss much too angry for the size of its tiny body, and I nearly lose it.

“What’s your name, tiger?”

The cat watches me with wary yellow eyes, its haunches raised as if to say I saw what you did, and I’m going to end you. I look at its neck, seeing the slim silver name tag glint in the light.

“Venom?” I double over in a fit of laughter when the little potato takes a swipe. His arms are much too short, and his claws swipe the air uselessly. “Of course your name is Venom. What else would it be?”

I straighten, holding my aching stomach as another fit threatens to take hold. I can’t believe she named it that. Or maybe I can. Brett is… like no one I’ve ever met before. Crazy, but at least she has a great sense of humor. I take another glance at her guardian puffball. And she clearly still has her humanity if she took pity on this thing.

It’s far more than I can say for myself.

My phone beeps, drawing my attention from the angry little fuzz. I pull it out, grinning from ear to ear when I see my plan is working. Looks like darling Brett is on the move.

The tracker I placed on her vehicle indicates she is moving fast down the highway toward the lower West side of Moriton. A smile tugs at my lips as I shove the phone back in my pocket, knowing exactly where she’s heading.

I guess I should pay Martha a visit, as well.

CHAPTER FOUR

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #2

Masks. Phantoms, Reapers, and Disposers.

The words have been running through my mind all week, though I’m no closer to infiltrating the mysterious crime syndicate operating out of Moriton.

Maverick told me all he could about it, and I have no reason to doubt him.

What he said so far seems to check out—the Sanctum is basically Atlantis. No one wants to talk about it, and the ones who do insist it’s some kind of conspiracy.

But I know it’s real—and I’m getting close.

Jim pulls into the driveway of Martha Gore's residence. At first glance, it looks abandoned, but the tufts of smoke billowing from the crumbling brick chimney tell me someone still calls this place home. Jim gives a disgruntled huff as he takes in the state of the front lawn. Piles of garbage and spare parts litter the barren landscape, and off to the left, a semicircle of lawn chairs is arranged around what seems to be an altar of trash. The strangest part, though, is the demented garden gnomes scattered across the lawn and front porch. Their eyes and mouths are crossed out with black Sharpie, changing their merry faces into something out of a nightmare.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Jim murmurs, letting loose a shudder as he takes in the gnome perched in the grass right beside his door. “Let’s make this quick, yeah?”

I nod, pulling on the door as a shudder of my own runs through me. There’s something in the air of this place. Like something’s just not quite right, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I decide I don’t want to figure it out. “I’m with you. We’ll get what we need and then get the hell out.”

Jim nods, testing the first step of the porch and cringing at the awful creaking coming from the termite-infested wood. “Fuck it,” he murmurs, bypassing all three stairs with his massive stride. “Come on, Brett. I’ll help you up.”

I shake my head at his outstretched palm. “I weigh less than you. I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Jim shrugs, looking a tad disappointed as he turns and knocks hard on the front door. “FBI! Open up!”

I hurry onto the landing next to Jim as a shuffling noise sounds behind the thin door. Several scrapes and clicks sound before the door is thrown open, revealing the house's owner. I have to stifle a gasp as I take in the gaunt features of a woman who’s supposed to be in her early fifties. Her skin appears to be melting off her very bones, made worse by the many sores arranged across her neck and face like a horrifying constellation of sickness.

“What do you want?” the raspy smoker's voice snarls in our direction. “Don’t you know what time it is? Some people are trying to sleep.”

It’s well past noon, but I’m certainly not going to argue with the woman. “Are you Martha Gore?” I ask, trying to keep my voice pleasant.

The woman looks suspiciously from mine to Jim’s face, then over his shoulder at the house across the street. “I told that motherfucker to leave my babies alone. You guys don’t have anything better to do than to harass an old woman?” Spit flies from her mouth the more enraged she becomes, and I have to force myself not to take a step back.

“I’m sorry… babies?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Martha throws her arms to the side, causing her braless chest to swing wildly from side to side. “Yes! My gnomies! That bastard Rick has been trying to get rid of them for the past year. WELL, IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, RICK!” she yells across the street.

Jim takes a step closer, holding his hands up in a protective stance. “Ms. Gore, we’re not here about your gnom—babies,” Jim says, quickly switching his wording at the murderous glare Martha cuts him. “We’re here about your son. Your biological, human son,” he adds, shifting his eyes toward the gnome perched on the porch rail.

At the word son, Martha’s face goes white. “Son? I don’t have a son.” She closes the door, and I stick my boot out, stopping it before she has a chance to lock us out.

“Ms. Gore, we have your hospital records. We know you gave birth to a boy at Moriton Memorial thirty-six years ago. Please, we need your help.”

At my mention of it, the woman’s gaze softens and seems to clear for a moment. In the next, the shutters come back down, and her scowl is right back in place. “Like I said, I don’t have a son. Never have, never will.”

“Ms. Gore.” Jim places his hand on the door and pulls it open with ease. “I’m afraid if you don’t comply, we’ll have to take you to the station.”

“For what?” She sneers, placing her hands on her nightgown-laden hips.

“For obstructing an investigation. Now, either we can hold you down at the station while we search the entirety of your apartment or you can let us inside, let us ask our questions, and we’ll be out of your hair.” Jim gives her his no-nonsense expression, and Martha breaks.

“Fine,” she spits, releasing the door handle and waving us inside. “Ask whatever you want.”

If I thought the outside of Martha Gore’s house was creepy, I had no idea what horrors awaited me on the inside. Piles and piles of porcelain dolls litter every corner of the house. Some are sitting on chairs, and some are strewn haphazardly across the floor as if in a fit of rage.

Martha is in the process of clearing the couch of some life-sized horrors when Jim clears his throat. “That’s okay, ma’am. We won’t be here that long.”

At his tone, Martha sighs, dropping the dolls carelessly from her arms onto the floor and shuffling toward the kitchen. “Suit yourself. Anyone want a drink?”

Before Jim or I have the chance to answer, Martha returns with a massive bottle of gin. Flicking the cap onto the ground with all the others, she takes a swig directly from the mouth of the bottle. Jim and I give each other matching looks as she plops down on her stained armchair, taking another sip as if it’s water.

“So what d’you wanna know?” she asks, her words already starting to slur.

Jim clears his throat. “When’s the last time you were in contact with your son?”

Martha shrugs, seemingly more interested in inspecting her dirt-caked fingernails—at least I hope it's dirt—than answering our questions about her son. “A while.”

“How long is a while?”

She brings a finger up and taps her chin thoughtfully. “I can’t remember.”

Jim sighs, his jaw clenching—a clear sign he’s losing his patience. “Do you know what your son has been doing this past decade?”

Martha shakes her head, her eyes taking on a glassy, disinterested sheen again. “Couldn’t care less.”

Jim huffs again, deciding to redirect his line of questioning. “Do you remember the last time you saw your son?”

As Martha takes up that same tapping motion again, my eyes wander around the room as Jim’s and Martha’s voices fade into the background. My eyes catch something gleaming on the mantel, and I cross the room in a daze.

“What are you doing? Put that down!” Martha’s screeching voice causes me to fumble the silver baby rattle, and it tinkles lightly as it crashes to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, crouching to pick it up. Martha is quicker, snatching the rattle out from under me and holding it greedily to her chest.

“You can’t just go around touching things that aren’t yours!” she spits, her eyes growing misty despite the snarl curling her lips. “Who do you think you are?”

My chest squeezes as I take in her posture. “Ms. Gore… did that rattle belong to your son?”

Her gaze clears for a beat, and she locks eyes with me, nodding her head once. “Yes,” she whispers, a tear tracking a line down her greasy cheek. “Yes, it did.”

Jim takes a step toward us, but I catch his eye and shake my head forcefully before turning back to Martha.

“Martha…” I begin, keeping my voice as soft as possible. “Do you know what happened to your son?”

She nods, her thin lips wobbling as more tears follow that first. “I didn’t want to—I mean, I didn’t know what I was doing…”

My stomach clenches as I take in that haunted gleam in her eyes. What did she do?

“I need to know what happened to him, Martha. I need your help. Please,” I whisper, my heart picking up speed. “You’re not in trouble, but I need to find him. He’s done some terrible, awful things, and we need to stop him. Do you understand?”

Martha nods, dropping her eyes to the ground.

“Will you help me?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She raises her eyes to mine, and I nearly gasp at the pain swirling in their depths. “I can’t help you because I haven’t seen my son in thirty years.” Her eyes pin me, and my stomach flips at the regret swirling in those cloudy pools.

“I sold him.”

CHAPTER FIVE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #9

You cannot trust anyone—not even your blood.

30 years ago…

“Momma?” I whimper, holding up the boo-boo for her to look at. Thick, sticky red liquid pours from my hand down my arm, but it doesn’t hurt. I’m worried because I know she’ll be mad if I spill on the carpet again.

Momma pulls the glass pipe from her thin lips, fixing me with hazy blue eyes. “Are you fucking serious, Boy?” she scoffs. “What the hell did you do to yourself now?”

I use my good hand to point toward the corner of the room. A pair of scissors lie on the floor in a puddle of the same sticky stuff coming from my hand. With despair, I realize some of it has even gotten on Momma’s present.

Forgetting about my hand, I rush back over, tracking red spots across the carpet in my haste to save the gift. When Daddy was still here, he would give Momma presents, and it always made her happy. I wanted to do it too. Wanted her to smile at me the way she would before he left.

I grab the flowers in my good hand and run back to Momma, a big smile spreading my pudgy cheeks.

“Here!” I cheer, presenting the bundle of wildflowers wrapped in twine to her proudly. “I made this for you!”

Momma looks down her nose with a scowl, jerking away from the present I worked so hard to make her. “You got blood on them. They’re ruined.”

My heart sinks, and my hand falls to my side. “I’m sorry, Momma. I didn’t mean to⁠—-”

“Yeah, you never mean to.” She interrupts, sighing as she places her pipe on the greasy coffee table. “Come on, Boy. Let’s stop the bleeding before you fuck up my carpet anymore.”

I follow Momma into the kitchen, feeling a horrible tightness in my chest.

I just wanted to do something nice for her.

She presses a rag to my hand, not bothering to be gentle. Tears well in my eyes, though it's not from pain. I don’t mean to hurt myself. I just can’t help it. I don’t even realize it’s happened until I see that awful red stuff. That awful, awful red that ruins Momma’s carpet.

“I’m sorry I’m no good, Momma,” I whisper, the tears falling freely down my dirt-stained cheeks. I want to be good.

“It’s in your genes, Boy. You can’t help it. Oh, stop that—crying won’t fix it.” She sucks her teeth, checking to make sure the blood is quelled before pulling away from me. “There. All better.”

I look down at my hand, caked with dried red and dirt. There’s a deep gash allowing me to see inside myself, and I pull the skin apart curiously, poking at the squishy pink and yellow stuff deep in my palm.

“Oh my God! Stop that!” Momma screeches, her face white as she watches my curiosity unfold.

“What’s wrong, Momma?” I ask, pulling my head up to her with my finger still deep inside the gash. “What did I do?”

“Just… stop being so fucking weird,” she grumbles, yanking my hand away from the gash with a disgusted expression. “No wonder your father left. I seriously can’t with you… I need to smoke.” She stumbles off toward the couch, leaving me without so much as a look over her shoulder.

I sit on the counter, inspecting the wound closely now that Momma won’t get mad. I just want to see what’s inside. I have to know what causes that sticky red stuff to flow.

A few minutes later, my inspection is interrupted by a knock on the front door.

“Boy! Get the door!”

I jump off the countertop, hearing—rather than feeling—something pop as I hit the ground. I look down at my legs, and notice my left ankle is sitting strangely off-center, growing in size, and purple. When I put weight on it, it crumples beneath me, and my brows come together in a frown.

That’s never happened before.

Shrugging, I hobble toward the front door, being careful not to put my full weight on my left side. I wrap my bad hand around the doorknob before I remember, and I cringe as more red stuff stains the handle.

Momma’s not going to like that.

Another knock sounds, and Momma whips her head to me. “The fuck is taking you so long? Answer it.”

I pull open the door, but all I see are two sets of legs wrapped in some fancy-looking cloth. I reach my hand forward, desperate to feel it. Like usual, nothing happens when I take the fabric between my fingers. No sensation.

“Jesus fuck. What happened to you, kid?”

I jerk my head up to the sky, frowning at the faceless strangers. Both are wearing white masks—like I’ve seen some of the neighborhood kids wear on Halloween—but I’ve never seen this exact type before. There are no features, not even eyeholes for them to see through.

I tilt my head, wondering where that voice came from, if not from a mouth.

“What do you want?” I demand, taking on a similar tone I’ve heard Momma use when she answers the door.

The blond-haired mask closest to me chuckles. “You got some fire in you, huh? Where are your parents?”

I glance behind me to where Momma lazes on the couch. I don’t know if these men mean her harm, but I’m not taking any chances. I won’t let them hurt my mom.

“She’s not here,” I lie, pulling the door farther closed so they can’t see inside. “I’m… alone. What do you want?” I repeat, mimicking her pitch perfectly this time.

The other black-haired man sniffs the air, then pins that expressionless circle on me. “I guess they have them smoking Rebound younger and younger.” He looks over my shoulder into the house. “We’re not gonna hurt her, kid. We just want to talk to her about a business proposition.”

I don’t know what the words mean, but the way he says them has my hair standing on end. “I don’t know…”

“Hey, kid, how about you and I go outside and play for a bit while my partner talks to your mom? Doesn’t that sound fun?” Suddenly, the first mask reaches forward and claps his hand on my shoulder. I don’t feel it, but I’m watching so closely I know the exact moment his hand touches me, and I jump back.

“Whoa. Easy, tiger,” the man murmurs, holding his hands up.

“Boy? What the hell is going on?” My heart hammers as Momma shuffles to the door, and I try to shove it closed. The man’s foot is quicker than me, and he pulls it back open with ease.

“Hello, ma’am. How are you doing today?”

I shake my head at Momma to warn her, but she’s not looking at me. Why won’t you look at me?

“What do you want?” she sneers, throwing open the door. “I don’t have anything your kind wants.”

“Ah, you see, that’s where you’re wrong,” the dark-haired mask says, stepping in front of the blond one who tried to talk to me originally. “You have something that could be… very valuable to us.” To my surprise, his head tilts toward me, but I have no idea what that means.

Momma seems to, though. Her eyes widen, and for the first time in years, a genuine smile tugs at her lips. “Him?”

The black-haired mask nods.

“How much?” Momma asks, her voice rising in pitch.

The man shrugs. “The Sanctum is prepared to offer you as much as you see fit for this… acquisition. They are well aware of the value, you see.”

“Value?” Momma scoffs, seems to catch herself, and steels her expression. Then she rubs her hands together, reminding me of the little brown flies buzzing around our kitchen. “A child is a very precious thing, indeed. I’m thinking… Two fifty?”

Without a beat, the mask nods. “That is acceptable.”

Momma squeals with joy, and I find my face mirroring hers in a smile. I love when she’s happy. It makes me happy. She shifts her gaze to me for the first time, and my smile droops a tad when she sneers at me.

“What about Rebound? Can you get me more? He’s a very… special boy, you see,” she says, a laugh-like tone to her voice.

Special? My heart grows wings. She called me special.

The black mask tilts his head at her for a moment as if he doesn't understand what she’s talking about. But I do. Momma just called me special! This is the best day ever!

Finally, the man nods. “A shipment will be delivered by the end of the day. It is promised.”

Momma’s gaze flicks to me for a moment before falling on the glass pipe still smoking on the table. “Okay, then…”

My hand grips the door, meaning to pull it closed. I wonder if Momma will take me for ice cream later. The last time she smiled like that, she and Daddy took me out to Big Scoops and got me the tallest⁠—

I look up, confused when Momma stops me from closing the door. She’s not looking at me, and I pull on the leg of her pants. Why won’t she look at me? I thought I was special?

She swats me away and takes a step back into the house. When I try to follow, she holds her hand up. “No. You’re going with these men, Boy. They’re going to take care of you from now o—for a while. Okay?”

Wait—WHAT?

“But Momma⁠—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” she screeches, whacking the back of my head with enough force to send my chin into my chest. “You’re going with them, and that’s final!” My lip quivers as the blond mask hands Momma a thick envelope, which she tears open greedily.

Is this because I spilled?

“All two fifty is in here?” Momma asks.

The black-haired mask nods. “As agreed.”

Momma smiles, shoving the envelope into her bra. Then she puts her hand on the middle of my back and shoves me. My body lurches forward, and I would have fallen flat on my face if it weren’t for the blond-haired mask who catches my shoulders.

I look back at Momma, desperate for her to meet my eyes. I didn’t mean to spill, Momma! I want to shout. I promise to be better! I promise I’ll be good—just, please, don’t let them take me away from you!

“Do you want to say your goodbyes?” the blond mask asks. Momma just shakes her head, still refusing to look at me.

“He’s a good boy. He’ll do as he’s told.”

NO! No, please! I’m sorry! Whatever it is I did, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise!

The blond mask tilts his head. “You realize you will not be able to contact him from this moment on? Do you not wish to say anything? Do you not wish to say goodbye?”

The black-haired mask nudges the blond one gently. “She doesn’t want to, R-57. We got what we needed. Let’s go.”

The blond one stiffens but says no more. Taking me gently by the elbow, he leads me down the porch steps. Forgetting about my ankle, I place my weight on my left leg, and another pop rings out before my body crumples to the ground.

Both of the masked men jerk, matching gasps ringing through those strange microphones as I try to stand. I look down at what they’re staring at and find the lower half of my leg at a right angle.

Huh. I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.

“Forgot to tell you—he’s defective!” Momma calls right before slamming the door on them. On me.

“Fuck, are you okay, kid?” The blond one crouches down, his hands hovering above my leg like he’s scared to touch it. “What happened?”

I shrug, not understanding why this stranger seems so concerned. “It popped earlier. I wasn’t supposed to step on it, but I forgot.”

The black-haired mask joins the blond in a crouched position, only he’s brave enough to prod me. “Does that hurt?”

I shake my head. “Momma says it should, but it never hurts.”

The men face each other, and a silent conversation seems to happen between them. Then the black-haired one faces me, and for some reason, it feels like he’s smiling.

“Madam is going to love you.”

CHAPTER SIX

BRETT

Jane Evangeline Entry #3

I’ve made contact with another Mask.

I can hardly believe my luck—though, I’m not sure yet how useful this “Reaper” will be. According to Maverick, Reapers aren’t as knowledgeable about the inner workings of the Sanctum—not like Phantoms anyway.

I’m meeting the Reaper at a bar tonight (maybe “bar” is too kind of a word for the greasy hole-in-the-wall he’s taking me to), and he’s agreed to talk to me about the Sanctum.

Maybe I’m cynical—this job will do that to you—but I can’t help but feel like this is a trap. Like I’m getting too close to the mouth of the beast, and those terrible teeth are waiting to snap. To swallow me whole.

I pray I’ll have more entries to add after tonight.

A heavy sigh brushes my lips as I pinch the bridge of my nose, desperately trying to stave off the headache that’s been pulsing behind my lids since our visit to Martha Gore. In the end, her story checked out. Thirty years ago, some strange men knocked on her door, asking if she would be interested in giving up her son for a large sum of money and a supply to support her rampant drug habit. But that’s all she knows about the people she gave her son to. No names, no identifiers we can actually use in our investigation. We’re right back to square fucking one. My veins light with rage, and I take a deep breath to get my emotions in check.

“You okay, Brett?”

Dropping my hand, I whip my head up to face Jim, an embarrassed smile tugging on my lips. “All good. Just a bitch of a headache.”

“Tell me about it,” Jim sighs, shoving a cup of coffee into my hand before pulling up a chair and plopping down. “Seriously. What kind of person sells their own kid?”

“Her kind,” I murmur, trying not to think of the terrified little boy being carted away by those awful men in masks. He must have been so scared. So confused. I wonder what happened to him. What horrors a person has to go through to make them do the things he does.

“She didn’t even give him a name. I mean, that’s enough to fuck anyone up in the head,” Jim scoffs, shaking his head.

“I guess so,” I murmur, shaking my head. “What do you think about those guys who took him—the ones in the masks? You think she was lying?”

“Maybe.” Jim shrugs, scratching his day-old stubble. “It’s not a stretch to imagine a pair of traffickers coming to her door and taking the kid, like she said. But, as for the guys being in tuxedos and white masks? And—what did she call them—Reapers?” Jim puts dramatic air quotations around the last word. “Who the fuck knows? She was high as shit when it happened. Maybe she thinks she’s really telling us what she saw that day. It wouldn’t hold up for shit in court, but…”

I nod, mulling over what little Martha was able to tell us about the men she sold her son to all those years ago. The way she lowered her voice to barely a whisper as she talked about the mysterious crime syndicate the men hailed from. The Sanctum.

Only I’ve never heard of such an organization, nor has anyone in the bureau. Maybe Jim is right. Surely, if there were any merit to what Martha Gore told us, it would align with something in our files. Maybe she was just high that day, and her deluded brain conjured images of masked men in suits hauling her son away after loading her with cash and drugs.

I think I need some of what Martha was smoking.

I groan, dropping my head back against the chair back as my head pounds. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jim leaning forward, taking a sip of the bitter black drink, seemingly inspecting my computer screen.

“Who’s that?”

I jump, having forgotten about the article I was looking at before he sat down. Shit, shit, shit.

“Nothing. Just some personal research,” I say, a little too quickly.

Jim places his warm hand over mine that’s holding the mouse, and I freeze at the sudden contact, not realizing this gives him time to see what I was searching. My skin crawls, as it always does when someone touches me, and I quickly pull my hand out from under it.

Jim frowns and tries to hide his disappointment. When I don’t say anything else, he clears his throat. “You’re doing personal research on a cold case from thirteen years ago?”

I nod, my throat suddenly too tight to speak.

“Why?”

My chest feels tight as I try to come up with a response. I don’t want to tell Jim, but what other choice do I have? I’ve been caught red-handed, and he won’t let this go.

I sigh, holding my hand to my chest protectively. “That woman is—was my mother.”

Jim frowns, leaning his face closer to the screen. “What happened?”

“She was… murdered. Well, they assume she was. There was never a body to confirm it.” No need to sugar-coat it. Jim’s seen much, much worse in his time at the bureau.

Jim balks, his brows shooting to his hairline as he stares, open-mouthed. “I had no idea, Brett. I’m so—I’m so sorry.”

I shrug, unable to meet his gaze as I close out of the tabs. “I was young, so I don’t really remember her. Rather, she wasn’t around enough to remember—being a big-shot journalist for Moriton Times kept her busy.” I don’t know why I’m telling Jim my life story, but for some reason, it just pours out of me. Like the dam has finally broken—and all it took was someone asking a simple question about my mother. “At the time of her disappearance, she was chasing a lead—something about this secret society called the Sanctum—a nasty organization, if her notes are anything to go by. She went out one night and never came back.” I sigh, closing out of the last tab and leaning back in my chair. “I was just seeing if there were any new breaks in the case. I check pretty much every week. I know it’s stupid, but I just⁠—”

“Hey, hey,” Jim murmurs, scooching slightly closer to me. “It’s okay. I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, but… shit, I’m really bad at this,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks brighten. “What I mean to say is it makes sense why you still check. If something like that happened to me…” His voice falls off again. “I’m just really sorry, Brett.”

“It’s fine,” I say, my voice a little too sharp. At the look on my partner's face, I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “Sorry, Jim. This case has just got me…”

“Worked up?” He grins, causing the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes to deepen.

“That’s putting it lightly.” My lips tip upward in a returning smile. “I wish I was more like you.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, you wouldn’t want this face. It’s awful trying to swat the women away all day.”

A genuine giggle pours from my mouth at the cheesy attempt to make me laugh. “You wish, Peterson. And you know that’s not what I meant.”

Jim rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. But you don’t want that either. I’m serious, Brett,” he adds, noticing my expression. “You genuinely care about things. About people. You don’t wanna lose that. Because once it’s gone—” He snaps his fingers, causing me to jolt. “It’s gone, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you say.” I roll my eyes with a grin. “So what’s up? Or did you just come over to talk about emotions with me?”

“Actually…” Jim’s cheeks warm as his eyes dart off to the side. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a drink.”

My mouth pops, about to shoot him down when he adds, “Purely as friends. I know your aversion to dating.”

My lips press into a thin line. “I don’t know…”

“Come on. You need to get out more, Brett. You’ve been in this city for what? Four months? Have you even gone out once?”

I frown, my gaze dropping down to my hands clenched tightly in my lap. “This case is important, Jim. I haven’t had time to⁠—”

“No, you have.” He scoffs, crossing his burly arms over his chest. “You just choose not to. You know what? Forget I asked. Enjoy the rest of your night, Brett.” He stomps off, seeming more than a little peeved.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as that damn headache comes back in full force. What he said struck a nerve in me, though I don’t want to admit it.

A groan falls from my lips, and I squeeze my eyes tight against the light as I lean back in my chair. It’s not like I don’t want to date. I want to feel the butterflies, to find a partner to go through this fuckery of life with. But every time someone touches me, I⁠—

My skin crawls just thinking about it. I hate being touched. Always have. Even my own mother would make comments about it when she was alive.

You’re like a cat. You know that, Brett? You only accept affection on your terms.

I was young, but I still remember her words. They always made me like something was wrong with me. Of course, it never made anything better. Never made me want to allow someone to touch me.

Things only got worse when she disappeared, and I was thrust into the foster system, forced into the arms of people who had no place in caring for children. I still remember my first—and, coincidentally, last—real foster family and how I was mistreated. The wife, Nancy, was bad, but nothing compared to her husband, Craig Porter.

Craig was a nasty drunk, and he liked to drink often, typically ending the night by stumbling into my room and attempting to crawl in bed with me. Of course, a swift kick to his groin and a scream was usually enough to wake Nancy, and he would always blubber, apologizing profusely and claiming he “thought this was his wife's bed.”

It worked on Nancy—not me. And she resented me for it. They both did. The fact that I could see through their carefully constructed lies bothered them, and I knew at the end of the day, they were worried my strong will would eventually be their undoing.

The night of my sixteenth birthday, Craig slipped something into my glass of water during dinner, and I woke up just in time to feel him trying to yank my pants off. I always assumed my guardian angel was perpetually fucked up, but it seems he put away the bottle for the night because as I lay there, unable to do more than slowly open and close my eyelids, Craig slumped to the floor, too drunk to stay awake.

He never got the chance to try again—meeting his demise in a mysterious hiking accident only a few days after that horrible night—but to this day, I still shy away from any physical touch. The idea of being so vulnerable again terrifies me. I much prefer the control of knowing my body is mine and mine alone. All the therapy in the world has yet to cure me of my problem, and now, here I am—a virgin in her midtwenties.

Maybe I should feel ashamed about it, but I’m content without experiencing the intimate touch of a man—or woman, for that matter. I’ve tried, but it seems gender doesn’t hold any weight in my unwillingness to be touched. But I’m okay with it. I have to be okay with it.

My phone alarm blares, breaking me from my thoughts and reminding me it’s the end of the workday. If I don’t set the thing, I’ve found I’ll stay for hours past when all the other agents head home, not even realizing it until my bladder inevitably screams at me. It wouldn’t be such an issue, but I have a hangry cat at home, and he makes me pay when his meals are late.

Grabbing my purse from my desk, I head out of the building and into the dimly lit parking garage, my mind a mess of thoughts and memories. The only thing that could cure me now is some cat snuggles.

As soon as I sit in the driver's seat of my light gray Honda, my stomach rumbles with enough force to shake the cabin, reminding me that, in addition to all the shit going on in my head, I’ve neglected to feed myself. With a sigh, I put the car into reverse, my tires squealing as I whip out of the parking garage and veer left, heading in the direction of China 1, my favorite greasy Chinese restaurant. I practically live off their chicken lo mein and fortune cookies at this point even though I’m sure my cholesterol is through the roof because of it. Aside from Venom, it’s the only thing that brings me any joy, so it’s worth the decade it’ll take off my life.

A few minutes later, I pull into the strip mall parking lot and leave the car running while I race inside. The man at the counter gives me a great big smile as soon as I push open the door and rush toward the brown paper bag waiting for me on the counter.

“Thanks, Andrew,” I chirp, reaching into my wallet and placing a twenty in the duck-shaped tip jar. “The card went through?”

“As always, Brett.” Andrew winks, tapping the bag with his weathered hands. “I put a few extra cookies in there for you. Don’t tell Mrs. Lee.”

I chuckle, sending him back a lopsided wink as I grab the bag from the counter. Andrew’s wife runs a tight ship and only allows one fortune cookie per entrée. But Andrew knows how much I love them, so he’s taken to slipping a few extra in my bag when she’s not looking. It’s also why I’ve been increasing the amount I tip each time I come in.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, giving him a quick wave before heading toward the door. “Tell Mrs. Lee I appreciate her for keeping you going so long!”

The last of Andrew’s laughter is cut off when the door closes behind me. I rush to my car, placing the bag in the passenger seat before strapping it in tight with the seat belt. It’s so hard to wait to dig in until I get home, but somehow, I find the willpower to leave it alone. As soon as I park, I yank the bag out of the seat and rush up the steps to my apartment, a wide smile on my face as I throw open the door.

“Oh, Venom! I’m home!” I call, my smile dropping when I don’t hear his telltale mew. “Venom?”

My heart picks up pace as I check the bedroom and bathroom, my pulse rising with every passing second.

“Venom!” I yell, tearing around the small apartment in full-blown mom mode. “Venom, where are you?”

Just when I’m about to lose it, munching sounds trickle in from the kitchen. Holding my hand over my heart, I step around the island and laugh at the sight before me. Venom somehow got into the bag of cat food I keep in the cabinet, and he’s having the time of his life chowing down.

“Jesus, you scared me.” Wave after wave of relief rushes through my veins as I stare down at my little black fluff ball. When I’ve calmed down enough, I grab the bag of food and tuck it carefully back into the top cabinet to the sounds of Venom’s disapproval.

“Dude, there is no way I’m letting you eat all that. You’ll literally pop.”

Venom’s yellow eyes narrow in a glare as if to say and that is my prerogative.

I roll my eyes and walk to the bedroom, throwing the bag of Chinese food down on my nightstand before changing out of my work clothes. I slide on a pair of avocado-patterned jammies and jump into bed, pulling the comforter over my lap before retrieving my book and Chinese food.

I pry open the book to the latest dog-eared page, shoveling huge mouthfuls of lo mein into my mouth as I read. And to think I would have missed this if I had gone out with Jim. I think back to what he said—how I never go out. What he wanted to say was that he thinks I’m not living, but what would he know about that anyway?

All the excitement I need comes from my job and the pages of romance books. Why would I want to add another element of it to my already stressful life?

I shake my head with a chuckle, my smile widening as Venom hops onto the bed and curls up on the pillow next to me. See, I’m not alone. Jim doesn’t know what he’s talking about

Satisfied, I finish my lo mein in peace, stopping occasionally to slip Venom a piece of chicken. When I finish the container, I place it on the nightstand and reach into the bag, my fingers curling greedily around the plastic-wrapped cookies.

I open the first one, my mouth watering at the delicate crinkling of the plastic wrapping. I snap the perfect half-moon down the center, popping the first half of the cookie into my mouth. I chew slowly, trying to guess the nature of my fortune before looking at the little slip of white paper lodged into the other half. It’s a little game I play with myself—a stupid one, I know—but it gives me a strange sense of joy when my guess is close.

Hmm. Something about love? No, career. Yeah, that’s what it is. Swallowing the first half, I tug the paper from the crease and bring it close to my eyes to read.

“Every wise person started out by asking many questions.”

Okay, not career-related. Maybe on the next one. I quickly peel open the other cookies, popping both first halves into my mouth to get to the fortunes quicker. I keep my guess the same, but the other two are no closer than the first.

“Fear and desire are two sides of the same coin.”

“Have a beautiful day.”

I’m almost one hundred percent sure those do not count as fortunes. And one of them is just pure laziness—even if it is nice to wish someone a beautiful day. I frown, throwing the papers and plastic wrappings into the bag along with the empty lo mein container.

Better luck next time, I guess. I sigh, dusting my hands off before opening my book once more, my eyes poring greedily over the passages. But even as I get lost in the story, I can’t shake the strange nagging in the back of my mind.

That someone is watching me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

GHOST

The Code: Rule #3

Remove yourself from all worldly attachments. (To disobey this rule is to welcome misery and misfortune upon yourself and others).

I tap my wrist against the wall, listening to the telltale scrape of the heavy stone as my door slides open. I flick on the entry light, squeezing my eyes against the change from the shadows. There's a rustling noise, then the familiar scrape of nails against stone before something large and fluffy barrels into my chest.

I step back to steady myself, a smile tipping my lips as Rupert, my Great Pyrenees, happily laps at my mask. Technically, I’m not supposed to own any animals—or show affection to any living thing. But the Sanctum can fuck right off with that rule.

They weren’t the ones who came across the pitiful pup, half dead in a dirty puddle on the side of the road. They didn’t see what it was like when he was strong enough to lift his head, and the first thing he did was lick my ungloved hand in thanks. I would take every one of them down before I let them take Rupert from me, and he knows it. He loves me for it.

How do I know? He does this every single time I come back. It’s the damnedest thing—it doesn't matter if it’s two minutes or two hours. He is always this happy to see my ugly mug.

“Hey, buddy,” I cheer, pulling off my gloves and giving him some of his beloved head pats. I run my fingers through his thick white fur, wishing I could feel the texture. Rupert has a beautiful coat, and Orion always says it’s soft.

“Soft…” I murmur, rubbing the long white strands between my thumb and forefinger. I like soft. It’s a much nicer word than sharp or coarse.

After licking every inch of my face, Rupert pushes off me, letting out a little boof noise and taking off in the direction of the kitchen. I follow dutifully, cocking my head as he proceeds to stand next to his empty food bowl.

“Boof!” Rupert chuffs, fixing those two different colored eyes on me. “Boof, boof!”

I cross my arms. “I know for a damn fact that Orion fed you. You can’t pull that shit on me.”

Rupert huffs, plopping his massive derriere onto the floor with a look that screams fuck you, Dad.

I roll my eyes, grabbing a few treats from the container on the counter. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Rupert’s mouth spreads into a dopey smile, his tail moving a mile an hour as I offer the bacon-wrapped morsel to him. Snatching it from my palm, he runs off to the living room to devour his prey on his dog bed in peace.

“You’re welcome!” I call after him, laughing as he lets out another disgruntled huff before promptly ignoring me. With a sigh, I make my way to my computer lab, sitting down with a huff as I click open my folder on Brett. It's not the first time I’ve looked over her files, but this is the first time I actually feel my heart stutter as I pore over the gruesome details. Reading about her fucked-up childhood always sends a swell of rage through my veins, and I end up having to stop minutes later when the urge to send my computer flying becomes too much to bear.

Taking a steadying breath, I focus, reminding myself that reacquainting myself with my obsession is necessary. When I’m sure my will is fortified, I let my eyes move across notes in her files. The first time Brett appears in the system is a month shy of her thirteenth birthday, when her mother mysteriously disappeared from the face of the earth. After a few months of trying to find her with no leads, social services knew they had to find someplace permanent for Brett to live.

Her father, Bill “Billy” Thorpe, died in a trucking accident when Brett was just an infant, and neither her parents had any relatives fit enough to take in a young child, so the foster system was the only viable option left for her. After being bounced around group homes for a few months, she finally landed with a family who seemed like they were serious about adoption. Things were fine for a year or so, but as soon as Brett entered high school, her perfect record finally started to muddy. Fights at school. Suspension after suspension, followed by bi-weekly behavioral therapist appointments. These appeared to help her for a while, but after a few months, the fights began again.

Instead of outright expelling Brett, her foster parents agreed to pull her out of school and enroll her in an online program so as not to tarnish her future reputation or hinder her access to colleges. Which seems like a fine solution—on the surface.

Delving into the records of her therapist sessions told otherwise. Even though Brett no longer had a school-appointed one, her foster mother thought she should continue with the family’s private therapist. Although she wasn’t getting into fights at school anymore, Brett found a myriad of other ways to behave badly. Getting caught sneaking in the house at all hours of the night, her eyes bloodshot and breath reeking of alcohol. Stealing money from her foster father’s wallet, getting into screaming matches with them and having a tantrum about practically every little thing—or so Nancy and Craig Porter alleged.

Based on Brett’s statements—which the therapist and Nancy stupidly wrote off—her foster father was a pedophiliac monster. Craig had been grooming her for years, waiting for the day Brett let her guard down enough to fill his sickest desires.

He never got that chance, though. Shortly after Brett’s sixteenth birthday, Craig Porter had an unfortunate hiking accident. When Craig failed to reappear after his usual Saturday hike, a missing person alert was issued. An entire search party combed the hiking trails of Moriton forest, desperately searching for Craig Porter, but after two days of nothing, the fire to find him was smothered by the knowledge that they were likely searching for a corpse.

Weeks later, an unlucky hiker came across the body on one of the main trails near the edge of the forest—despite the fact that very area had been combed over hundreds of times in the search for Craig. The police report states his body had been mangled in such a way that suggested this man endured the worst possible pain before he died. When they performed the autopsy, they found his balls in his stomach, his cock stuck down his windpipe, cutting off all oxygen—and, ultimately, the ruled cause of death.

Asphyxiation by dick. What a terrible way to go.

I skim over the rest of the files, seeing how she filed for emancipation at sixteen, found a shack in the poverty-stricken portion of Moriton with scraps she had been saving, got her GED and pulled her act together enough in community college to finish the last two years of her degree at Kantor University, the leading institution in criminal justice. A few years after graduation, she got snapped up by the Moriton branch and put under the direct guidance of Jim Peterson. A few months later, and boom… she’s assigned to one of the most restricted cases in the history of the bureau. She’s clearly capable and brilliant, but these cases usually require years of politicking and crafty brownnosing before being awarded.

Strange. Very strange…

“Ghost?”

“Hm?” I turn in my seat, Brett’s files forgotten as I eye the fresh claw marks along Orion’s forearms. “What are those from?”

“What are what from?” He tucks his arms behind his back, trying to look innocent. No attitude today… he must want something.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me I have to get you another rabies shot.”

“What? No! Of course not… well, probably not. The point is⁠—”

“Orion.”

“What?” His lips tip in a sheepish grin. “Listen, I just came to ask if you’d know where to find any live worms.”

“Every time we have a conversation, I think it’s finally going to end normally. Silly me,” I groan, holding my head in my gloved palms. “What do you need worms for?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I suppose not,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Try the Night Market. I sent my friend there once who was on a similar quest for pigeon food.”

“Thanks a million!” Orion turns, racing down the hall before I have a chance to question him any further on it. I just have to hope he hasn’t wrangled a vulture or something else equally riddled with disease.

A minute later, I hear the hatch slam closed, and I turn back to my computer, pulling up my feed on Brett’s apartment. The black-haired beauty is lazing in bed, a bag of greasy Chinese food lying on her nightside table and a book in her palms. Her brave attack cat is at the foot of the bed, staring directly at the place I’ve hidden the camera like he knows I’m watching. He rarely blinks, and those big yellow eyes are full of pure, unadulterated hatred.

What a little asshole.

I chuckle to myself, bringing my eyes back to my pretty little obsession. With her eyes trained on the page, she reaches into the bag and pulls out a fortune cookie. A few seconds go by before she dogears the page and turns her attention to the treat. She greedily rips the plastic, a little smile playing at her lips as she breaks the cookie in half. She pops the first half into her mouth as she pulls out the paper note, reading over her fortune carefully. I’m not sure what it said, but it must be something good because as soon as she’s done, she smiles and eats the second half.

Brett breaks into a little dance as she picks her book back up, and my chest squeezes with an emotion I haven’t felt in years—no, decades.

She’s going to ruin my fucking life, isn’t she?

I don’t have time to think about it because as soon as the thought forms, Brett does something even more adorable—she starts kicking her feet. Whatever she just read has her reverting to a childlike state, and I mentally kick myself for not adding audio surveillance—because dear God, I think she’s giggling.

So. Fucking. Cute.

I pull the phone within an inch of my nose, desperately trying to make out the title of this book. I have to know what she just read that made her react like that. I need to know.

The cover is innocent enough with pretty little pink and blue flowers. A romance book? I squint, trying again to read the title. The Best… Week? Seems innocent enough. With a shrug, I close out of her feed and dial Orion.

It rings a few times before the call finally clicks through, and I’m met with a slightly murderous tone. “What do you need?”

Well, that good mood lasted longer than I thought it would. “So testy,” I say with a chuckle. “I need you to get something for me, since you’re already out purchasing your… worms.”

A sigh is the only response I get.

“Fantastic. So I need you to go to that twenty-four-hour bookstore and⁠—”

“Wait. You called me up because you need a fucking book? Just order it online.”

I sigh, clenching my hand tighter around the phone. “Not just any book. The Best Week. It’s a romance, I think. And I need it tonight. It’s very important.”

Silence. “Orion?”

“Yeah. I heard you. Just debating whether it’s time to put you to pasture.”

I roll my eyes, starting to lose my patience. Fucking teenagers. “Just… get the book.”

“Yeah, whatever. Be there soon.” The line goes dead, and I roll my eyes again.

Fucking. Teenagers.

A few hours later, the scrape of the front door alerts me to Orion’s arrival. I jump up from my workbench, setting down my tools lightly before heading out to meet him. The first thing I notice is Orion’s bright red face. The second is the way he’s holding the book—pinched between a thumb and forefinger as if he expects it to come to life and bite him.

“Orion?”

Orion throws the book down on the small table by the door, casting an accusatory finger at the pretty flowery novel. “Why—why would you send me out to buy that?”

I tilt my head curiously. “It’s just a romance book, Orion.”

He shakes his head, his eyes going wide. “No, man. It’s not. It’s like… fucked-up shit in there.”

“Did something happen at the bookstore?”

Orion shakes his head, refusing to look at me. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He shuffles off, his cheeks still a bright shade of red as he mumbles something about the bookstore workers laughing at him.

I stare after him, my brows coming together. What the hell is in that book? I palm the floral cover, running my gloved thumb over one of the peonies on the corner. I bet this is… smooth. No, not smooth. Silky.

I nod proudly as I pry the book apart at the center. My eyes take in the very first passage, and I immediately snap it closed. Holy. Fuck. This is… this is sick. Out of curiosity, I open it to another chapter, only to find another passage with some depraved scenario.

Grinning, I snap the book closed and pull out my phone, tapping into Brett’s feed. I watch the book in her palms, gauging which chapter she’s on before flipping through my own copy to the same one. My eyes take in the passage greedily, my smile growing. Brett, darling… you’re a freak, aren't you?

Suddenly, she places the book down beside her and reaches into her bedside drawer, pulling out the thick pink vibrator. My heart leaps at the sight of my release caked to the walls, knowing exactly where it’s about to end up.

With one hand, she brings the vibrator below the covers, and I hiss under my breath, my grip tightening around the device as her eyes roll back. If there was ever a time for X-ray vision…

I’m frozen as I watch Brett pleasure herself, memorizing every gentle twitch of her mouth as she brings herself closer to release. Her body wiggles beneath the covers, and adrenaline rushes through my veins as I picture my bare hands on her skin.

I bet she feels sublime. Only the best-sounding sensations—silky and soft all at once.

My free hand twitches, and I bring it down to adjust my growing cock. From experience, I know if I leave it like it is, I might damage it against the zipper of my jeans.

I continue watching Brett, wishing I could experience her. Wishing I could shove my cock deep inside her and bring out those expressions myself.

Suddenly, Brett arches back into the mattress, her mouth open wide in a silent scream as her entire body quakes. I hiss, releasing the button and zipper on my jeans as the thrumming in my veins becomes too much. I palm my cock, running my hand across the length as Brett’s orgasm peaks. Though I can’t feel my hand stroking, a phantom pressure builds in my lower half, and with a few more passes, I explode all over the screen.

“Fuck,” I curse, dropping the softening organ and zipping it back into my pants. Now that the fog is clearing, I focus back on Brett, who’s lying spent staring at the ceiling, a euphoric little smile tipping the corner of her mouth. “So beautiful,” I murmur, running my thumb lovingly over the cum-smeared screen. “Such a beautiful, ferocious little thing.”

Brett swings her arm over lazily, throwing the vibrator back into its drawer before snapping the light off. The night vision switches on, and I watch the green-tinted screen with greedy eyes. Brett rolls back and forth frustratedly for half an hour before switching the light back on and reaching back into her bedside drawer. My heart jumps with anticipation, then quickly falls as she draws out a small white pill bottle. Ripping the cap off, Brett pops one in her mouth before flicking the light off, flopping back against her pillow with what looks to be a huff.

I cock my head, wondering how I missed the bottle when I was in her apartment earlier. Just the lingering scent of her in her apartment was enough to throw me off my game. Not good. Very not good.

I continue watching her like the demented fucker I am, that tightening sensation growing in my lower abdomen. She tosses for a good half hour before finally going still—so still. The kind of stillness only achieved from a powerful sedative.

Darling Brett takes sleeping pills. How convenient.

I stalk into my bedroom with a smile growing on my face, the romance book gripped tightly at my side. Flopping onto the bed, I place my phone gently onto the pillow to my right.

It’s almost like… like she’s sleeping next to me now.

I’m not sure whether that thought is depressing as fuck or just plain fucked, but I’m not spending any more time thinking about it. Keeping the phone where it is, I pry open the cover of the novel. My brows come together as I’m greeted with a list of words—words like somnophilia, bondage, and breath play.

I slam the book closed, staring hard at its innocent floral cover. Well, that’s a case for false advertisement.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I flip to a third of the way through, letting my eyes pore over the passage of dirty words and fucked-up scenarios that have me wishing I had a string of pearls to clutch.

Good God. This is fucking porn. This is porn, right?

I flip a few more pages and find myself deep in the woes of a couple on the cusp of a devastating breakup. Whoa—where the fuck did the horses come from? And now there’s a crew of bandits kidnapping her?

I flip some more, finding my smile growing the more insight I’m getting into Brett.

Darling Brett has a thing for the villain, I see…

I promptly flip back to the first page, pressing a button on the side of my mask that will make it easier to read in the dusk. The clock on my phone tells me it’s two in the morning, which is just enough time to finish this dense thing before Brett wakes to get ready for work.

And I certainly don’t want to miss shower time.

With a contented sigh, I remove my gloves, pressing one bare fingertip to the part of the screen where Brett lies. For the rest of the night, we stay like that.

Just two fucked-up peas in a pod. Reading the same fucked-up romance book.

That’s got to count for something, right?

CHAPTER EIGHT

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #4

I’m not sure what to make of what the Reaper told me tonight—then again, I suppose I should just be grateful I’m still alive.

R-57 is his name (well, the only one he would give me), and he works in “acquisitions” for the Sanctum. What that means, exactly, I don’t know (and he wouldn’t tell me, no matter how much I pried). I imagine it has something to do with trafficking, but for what (or whom), I’m not entirely sure. It has to be something truly horrible for him to want to turn against his organization, after all.

I have another meeting with him this weekend. I can only hope to come away with more answers than questions, unlike this time.

I wake in a daze, still hazy from the powerful sleeping agent coursing through my system. I hate the things, but I can’t get a wink of sleep without them—and I’ve tried everything. Nothing but prescription medicine will keep the nightmares at bay. But when you can’t sleep, you can’t dream, making life a tad meaningless but bearable.

I’m so out of it this morning that it takes me a few moments to realize I can’t breathe.

“Benom!” My muffled cry does nothing to make the chubby black cat move from his sleeping position. His belly is covering my mouth and nose, making it impossible for me to take a breath. If he doesn’t move soon, I fear I might⁠—

“Mew!” Realizing I’m awake—and, therefore, able to feed him—he jumps from my face and to the floor. I take in gasping lungfuls of precious oxygen, thanking the lord. Or rather, Venom’s love of food.

“You gotta stop doing that, Venom,” I cough, straining to sit up in bed.

A haughty glare is the only response I get. When he sees I’m not rising from the bed fast enough, he hits me with another angry mew, raking his claws against the old hardwood floors.

What a little asshole.

“I’m coming, your highness,” I mutter, throwing back the covers and stumbling toward the kitchen. I flick on the light, squinting as my eyes adjust to the change.

Venom lets out another mew and rubs up against my leg, his skinny black tail flicking happily at the tip. I reach down, scratching gently between his shoulder blades and watching for any change in temperament. Venom is very particular about where and when he’s touched—something we both have in common.

The shelter I saved him from assumed that because he didn’t like to be touched, it meant he was a bad cat—a mean cat—and determined it was a reason to euthanize him. But all he needed was someone to respect his boundaries. It took several months, but I got him to come around.

Now, we’re the best of friends. When he doesn’t accidentally kill me in my sleep, I remind myself, sending a playful glare at my little fluff ball. I grab a can of food from the cabinet and empty half into his food bowl, an action which gains me another glare from my tiny-legged cat.

I sigh, emptying the rest of the can. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Venom mews happily, then attacks the patty like the ferocious puma he is, somehow getting the food all over his muzzle and chest. I chuckle, fighting the urge to give him more scratches. One of the first things I learned about him: refrain from touching when food is in the room.

“Love you, Venom,” I murmur, waving goodbye before heading into the bedroom to get ready for work. I strip my pajamas off, tossing them into a corner before hurrying to the bathroom. I take my time, letting the water heat as I choose a song, my hips already swaying in anticipation.

I step under the stream, closing my eyes in bliss as it warms my skin—a part of me that remains achingly cold, even in the summertime. I take an extra long time washing my hair, running my hand over my skin, and pretending it’s someone else’s caressing me. I know it’s depressing as fuck, but no one has to know except for me, so it’s fine.

I’m shocked from my fantasy by the claws scraping against the bathroom door. I frown, shutting the water off so I can listen easier. Sure enough, there it is again.

Scritch… scritch… scritch…

“Venom?” I wonder, tracking water across the bathroom tile and wrenching open the door. Angry yellow eyes stare up at me, followed by a mew filled with urgency. “What’s wrong?”

I look around my bedroom, the sensation of being watched overwhelming me. Just as I’m about to chalk it up to paranoia, my eyes catch something gleaming on my nightstand.

Okay. That sure as hell wasn’t there before.

Wrapping a towel around my chest, I tiptoe into the bedroom before it occurs to me that this is my damn house. I huff, pulling my shoulders back and walking over to the strange object like the fearless, badass FBI agent I am.

Venom hisses as I close the distance, and he darts between my legs, sending me off balance. “Venom! What the hell?”

He leaps onto the mattress, barely clearing it due to the unfortunate length of his legs. Then he uses his new position to swipe at the object, causing it to bounce off the carpet and under the bed frame.

“That was so uncalled for.”

Venom howls when I get down on my hands and knees, but this time, he can’t do much to stop me from getting my hands on these… Dog tags?

I reach into my dresser, pulling out my gun and flipping off the safety. I feel slightly ridiculous with nothing but my towel as I search my apartment, but the weight of the weapon in my hands quells the majority of my anxiety.

Someone was in my home—that is a fact. Whether they still are... I shudder, thinking about what would have happened if the intruder decided to enter the bathroom where I couldn’t protect myself. Damn sleeping pills. If I wasn’t so hazy right after waking up, I might have…

I stop that line of thought. What could have happened makes no difference now. What matters is what can happen if I let my emotions gain control. If I let that fear take hold of me.

Taking a steadying breath, I do another thorough sweep of the apartment, checking all the locks only to find they’re just how I left them before I went to sleep.

The fuck?

Shaking off that irritating sensation of being watched, I lower my weapon and stomp into the bedroom with Venom hot on my heels. With sopping hair, I yank on a pair of black pants and a long-sleeved top, nearly toppling to the floor in my haste. Now that I’m clothed and feel somewhat more secure, I grab the dog tags and inspect them. I palm the hammered metal rectangles, squinting to make out the engraving through the rust and damage.

“P-1313…” I rub my thumb over the face, trying to see if there’s any other clues about who this belongs to. With a shudder, I place the tags on the table, my face paling as I notice something else glinting on the floor between the bed and nightstand. Reaching my arm through the small space, I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, the coolness of the material telling me it’s made of some kind of metal.

Straightening, I hold the business card-shaped object in my palm with a wary expression. Just like the tags, words are etched into the metal face, though this is shiny—brand new. I squint, trying to make out the words in the dim light.

I’m alive, but I don’t exist. What am I?

I frown, trying to decipher the message. I’m sick of this cryptic serial killer shit. It’s seriously inconvenient. Suddenly, the card warms in my palm. I jerk back with a yelp, tossing the red-hot card to the floor.

Double the fuck?

I’m about to lean closer to inspect it when a loud crack rings out, followed by a series of pops and fizzles as the card literally dissolves before my eyes. In a moment, there’s a small pile of ash where the metal card used to be, along with something small and white peeking out of the top.

Against my better judgment, I reach down and grab it, pulling the small piece of paper up to eye level. It’s another note, although this one is far less cryptic—and twice as creepy.

Hello, Brett darling.

I’ve heard you’ve been looking for me.

Lucky for you, I’m in the mood to play.

The rules? Don’t tell anyone about our little… correspondence.

Especially not Peterson.

Three's a crowd after all, and crowds make me want to murder people.

So what do you say, darling?

Want to play a game?

Way to make me eat my words. Kinda wish we could go back to cryptic now. I shudder, gripping the note tighter in my hand. Should I really keep this to myself? How would he even know if I told Jim, or any of the other guys for that matter?

I yelp as the piece of paper suddenly bursts into flames, and I jump back instinctually, letting the blazing paper fall to the floor. When the flames have subsided, a smaller, flame-charred piece is left behind with a seemingly different note. And this one is red. Bloodred.

P.S. I’ll know if you tell, and you’ll never be able to find me again.

Remember—stupid actions get killer consequences.

Kisses,

Ghost.

Ghost? I swallow the lump forming in my throat. So that’s what the Phantom goes by. Not very original, if you ask me…

I curse as—yet again—the little piece of paper bursts into flames. Though, this time, there’s truly nothing but ash left after the fireworks show.

“Stupid dramatic asshole,” I grumble, frowning down at all the little piles.

“Mew!” A fuzzy black paw taps at my shin, breaking me from my spell. I reach down and pull Venom to my chest before I remember his boundaries, and he goes rigid for a moment but—surprisingly—doesn’t try to claw my eyes out.

“Sorry, Venom,” I mutter, placing him delicately onto the mattress before grabbing his cat carrier from the closet. I’m not sure how the Phantom got into my apartment or why he left those tags, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving Venom alone in my apartment until I figure it out.

“We’re going on an adventure. How’s that sound?” I say, keeping my voice cheerful as I tap the inside of the carrier. To his credit, he only resists for a moment before hopping inside, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I sling the carrier over my shoulders.

I just have to pray The Pet Paradise has a spot open for boarding.

I had to go to three different establishments before I could find one that would take a cat with Venom’s temperament. It was well worth it to ensure his safety, but I was so not in the mood to receive shit from the guys for being late—especially since this was the first time in my whole damn career. That doesn’t matter, though. Any sign of a mistake, and they flock to me like vultures to a carcass.

“Brett! Do you realize what time it i—whoa. Who the fuck shit in your oats?” Samuel’s eyes go wide as he elbows Parker, calling their attention to the scowl on my face.

“Hey, guys. It’s been a bad morning. Need coffee,” I grumble, stumbling toward the break room.

“Brett? You okay?” Jim’s voice rings out to my left, and I jump, not realizing his proximity.

“Shit! You scared me,” I pant, holding a hand over my racing heart.

“I can see that.” His hazel eyes take in my expression carefully. “What’s with you? You come in here looking like a frightened doe—late, might I add. Very uncharacteristic, Evangeline.”

I pop a pod into the machine, refusing to meet his inquisitive gaze. Must not tell him. Cannot tell him. Just don’t think about the Phantom and his weird gifts and you’ll be fine. Just… think about puppies—puppies are good. Puppies don’t leave you cryptic firecracker notes or vandalize your dessert.

“Fine. You don’t want to talk? That’s great. You just sit on whatever crawled up your ass, and I won’t tell you what you missed in the meeting.”

I whip my head up, my glare already in full force. “I’m really not in the mood, Jim.”

Jim sighs, tapping his foot gently against the floor. “Always so serious. If you came out with us sometime, you might learn to loosen up.” When I don’t respond, Jim clears his throat nervously. “Right. The meeting—we got an anonymous tip last night.”

This piques my interest. “About?”

“We think we know who the Phantom’s next target is. And most importantly—where the attempt will happen.”

“And how did this ‘person’ come by this information?”

Jim shrugs, refusing to meet my eyes. “Who knows. That’s the beauty of anonymity. But the chief is taking it seriously. He wants⁠—”

“Don’t you think that’s a tad suspicious?” I interrupt. “For months, we’ve been scrounging for crumbs, and suddenly, an anonymous tip comes through with the Phantom’s next target and location?” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, right. This is bullshit.”

Jim shrugs, refusing to meet my eyes once more. “Like I was saying, the chief thinks⁠—”

“Damn what he thinks!” I say, lowering my voice so we won’t be overheard. “Damn him, Jim. This is bullshit. You know it is.”

“Maybe. But it’s all we have right now. He wants this whole Phantom mess wrapped up before the election, and he’s willing to go off any lead that comes his way. Maybe we’ll get lucky—maybe someone who works with him flipped.”

I shake my head, my chest tightening with that horrible, helpless feeling. “He doesn’t work with anyone, Jim. No Phantom ever has! Just let me talk to the chief. I can make him see reason. If I just had five minutes to explain⁠—”

“Brett, there’s nothing you can do!” Jim interrupts, his eyes alight with a frighteningly violent sheen. Seeing the look on my face, his shoulders droop, and he looks to the side. “There’s nothing we can do. Nothing but go along with the plan and hope to God it’s not what we think it is. You never know…”

“Yeah. Right.” I scoff, pulling the steaming mug of coffee from the tray and pushing past Jim, refusing to look at him. I’m late one time, and all hell decides to break loose. That checks out. “Whatever he has planned… it’s a stupid idea. Put it on the record.”

“Consider it recorded,” Jim grumbles, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I haven’t even told you the worst part.”

I freeze. “The worst part?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, his eyes trailing to the ceiling. “He wants you for security detail. Undercover.”

“How is that the worst part?” I frown. “I’ve done way worse⁠—”

“It’s a masquerade ball.”

I choke. “I’m sorry. A what?”

Jim shrugs, regarding me like he would a polar bear. “It’s the annual senator’s ball. You know how they enjoy their… extravagances. We’re expected to fit in, and that means ball gowns and masks.”

“Seriously?” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as my ever-present headache throbs. “Would it really be such a bad thing if the Phantom… you know? It’s not like any of them are stand-up citizens…”

Jim cocks a brow. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”

“Of course not.” I wave him off. “Like I said, I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“No. You said it was a bad morning. What’s going on, Brett?”

Damn you titty-twisting shitty fucking suck-at-lying mouth.

“Brett?”

Thinking quick, I manage to come up with, “Well, I was trying to spare you from the details of my crime scene I found in my underwear this morning, but since you won’t leave it alone…”

Jim scrunches up his nose as if he was delivered via stork rather than said vagina. “Gross, Brett. All you had to say was it was that time of the month.” He shakes his head, a shudder running through him as he grumbles something like, “Fucking women.”

I frown, shoving down that ball of rage trying to claw its way out of my throat. Fucking. Jim. “Are you on this weekend, too?” I ask, deciding a change of topic is needed.

“Sure am. You’ll get to see this handsome face in a tux for once.” He grins, shooting me a wink. “I already ordered my mask online—I think it’ll be a lot of fun.”

I blink. “You mean… when we’re not watching the target, right?”

Now it’s Jim’s turn to wave me off. “Right. Of course. But it’s like you said—this tip is most likely bullshit. Like the Phantom is going to take out a high-profile senator in a room full of people, right?” He chuckles, shooting me a conspiratorial wink.

My lips thin in an unconvincing smile, and I turn to grab my coffee cup. I want to tell Jim he’s wrong—that the tip wasn’t fake at all. That the Phantom left me a calling card this morning, telling me he wants to play a game.

That somewhere deep inside, I know who left that tip.

The Phantom himself.

After snagging Venom from day-boarding, I stop at my usual Chinese restaurant, snagging the bag of lo mein waiting for me on the counter. I walk to my car with a bit more pep in my step, the deliciousness inside the greasy bag wafting to my nose, tempting me.

I stay strong until I get back to my apartment, all but sprinting up the stairs and into my bedroom. After today’s shit show, I need the dopamine that can only come from a bag of greasy food and Venom snuggles.

Placing the bag onto my bedside table, I strip off my uniform and change into my favorite pair of pajamas. I giggle as I stare down at the dozens of happy little dumplings staring up at me, several of their faces faded to nothing from years of use.

Venom mews from the bed, his tiny little arm reaching out to the bag in an attempt to get inside. “Hey!” I chastise, wagging my finger at him even as he ignores me. I roll my eyes with a chuckle, sliding under the covers and reaching across Venom to grab my dinner.

My mouth waters just from the smell, and I tear into the little white container like it’s my first meal all week, offering small pieces of chicken to Venom between mouthfuls. When I get to the bottom, I sigh, leaning back and rubbing my belly contentedly.

“Now, for the best part.” I grin, reaching into the bottom of the bag and pulling out the fortune cookie. I swear, they put crack in these things, I muse, pulling apart the thin plastic wrapping.

I snap the pale yellow cookie in half, popping the first into my mouth with a little happy dance. I finger the small piece of paper sticking out of the other half, trying to guess what my fortune will be today.

Hmm. Something about money. Or wealth!

Now that my guess is in, I pull the paper from the cookie, pulling it close to my face so I can read the tiny letters. Only one word is printed, but it has the power to turn all the blood in my veins to ice. Because my “fortune” is not that at all—it’s a message. A greeting.

“Boo.”

CHAPTER NINE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #8

A Mask’s one true loyalty lies with the Sanctum.

There’s a twinge in my upper rib cage as I watch the violent temptress toss and turn in bed, unable to sleep despite the double dose of sleeping medication I saw her take. After, of course, she combed every inch of her apartment. Twice.

It’s a good thing the cameras aren’t visible to the human eye. Otherwise, darling Brett surely would have found them and removed my ability to watch her. And that would not do at all.

Another hour goes by before her brain finally gives in to the powerful sedative coursing through her bloodstream. What a stubborn little thing.

I chuckle, reaching up and tapping the side of my mask, causing the lower half to slide up, revealing my mouth and jaw. Keeping my eyes trained on Brett’s sleeping form, I slide a meticulously wrapped joint between my lips and light the end, filling my lungs with the noxious smoke.

A veil of quiet almost immediately falls over my mind, alleviating the nagging restlessness I’ve become accustomed to. My thoughts—typically so calculated and controlled—are a mess. A spiraling staircase of racing images, thoughts, and patterns—all of which lead right back to her.

“Fuck me,” I curse, letting out another puff as I check the time on the clock. I shouldn’t want her. But it's two o’clock, and I’m lonely. God, I’m worse than that. I’m aching—desperate for a taste of her. A touch.

I groan at the ceiling, unwinding my fingers from behind my head and pulling my phone from my pocket. I tap the screen, pulling up the live feed of Brett’s bedroom. The beautiful little thing is sound asleep in bed, her pretty pink lips twitching ever so slightly.

With a snarl, I stand from the bed, pocketing the device as I storm from the room. Watching her is not enough. I need to see her. Breathe the same air as her.

My mind is made up before I realize I’m at the door. Rupert raises his head from his dog bed in the hallway, his big lazy eyes wondering where the hell I’m going at this time of night. And why I have the nerve to wake him from his slumber.

“Be back soon, Rupert,” I murmur, grabbing a treat from the little table and tossing it his way. And suddenly, the old boy can’t care less about where I’m heading.

I shake my head as I grab the keys to my bike, swiftly making it out of the house and down the stairs to my bike.

Time to pay my darling a little visit.

I stand at the foot of Brett Evangeline’s bed, my body as still as a statue. A creepy, mentally unstable statue.

“You look so sad all the time. Why?” I murmur, my voice too low to wake her, even without the sleeping pills. I stalk around to the head of the bed and kneel so I’m at eye level with her.

There’s a faint scratching at the door where Venom is trying to get in, and I frown.

Little porker must have finished the whole bowl of cat food already.

I watch Brett's face closely, making sure the sound isn’t enough to wake her. She doesn’t so much as twitch, even when Venom lets out an angry little hiss. I shake my head with a little chuckle, sitting back on my heels and continuing to watch Brett. She’s so beautiful. Her face makes me want to fucking die.

Suddenly, her mouth moves downward, and frightened moans tumble from her parted lips. I tilt my head, curious. I’ve seen her nightmares unfold so many times from the screen of my phone, but this will be my first time in person.

It’s so much more… intense.

Her whimpers grow in volume as big wet tears seep from her partially closed lids, the uneven tracks shining from the gentle cast of moonlight pouring in from the skylight.

Giving my mask a gentle tap, the bottom slides up, and I lean toward her face, breathing in the subtle scent of her strawberry shampoo. Before I realize it, my tongue darts out, catching one of the salty tears before it joins the others on her pillow. I draw it back in slowly, savoring the way Brett coats my tastebuds.

This… this is better than any drug I’ve experienced. I want more. Need more.

Like the junkie I am, I reach into my jacket and pull out the small vial of Rebound that lives there. Only, it’s not the drug I need anymore. I step into the bathroom, quickly flushing the vial down the sink and cleaning it out before returning to Brett’s bedside, crouching with the bottle outstretched toward her face.

Then carefully—oh, so carefully—I fill the bottle with her tears. When it’s almost to the top, I pull back, licking any excess off the rim of the bottle before stuffing the cork in. My pupils blow as the salty taste of her coats my tongue, and I have to fight the urge to take the whole thing back like a shot.

She tastes so good. Just as good as she smells.

Pocketing the bottle of tears, I reach into my pocket and pull out my dagger, running the edge lovingly across her perfect, soft cheek. There’s something else I’m dying to taste… but I’ll have to leave that for another day.

Grabbing a thick band of hair from the back of her head, I redirect the dagger’s course, swiping its edge along the thick black strands. With a shhhck, the patch of raven hair comes loose, and I take a huge sniff of it before stuffing it into my pocket along with the bottle of tears.

I can see her, hear her, smell her, taste her… there’s just that one last sensation, and I could be filled with her. Complete. Whole.

My eyelids lower dejectedly, the desire to feel her overwhelming me. There’s a weight on my shoulders. A sinking, terrible need thrumming through my veins with every beat of my heart. I look down at my gloved hand, wishing.

If only… I start to take my glove off before I realize what I’m doing. With a sarcastic huff, I shake my head. Stupid, wretched, hopeful heart. How you always betray me. How you let me down time and time again.

I turn and step up to the door, wrapping my hand around the handle but unable to turn it. I can’t shake this—this indescribable thing inside me that’s screaming for her. It has far surpassed plain desire and even obsession. No, it’s something deeper.

I know it’s useless, I know it’s stupid, and that nothing has changed, but I still walk back to that bed, removing the glove of my left hand as I near her sleeping form. Holding my breath, I reach that disgusting, mutilated hand toward her cheek, the difference between her beauty and my monstrosity so stark that it nearly causes me to gasp.

But it doesn’t matter. I can’t stop if I want to. I have to know for sure.

I watch as my fingertip makes contact with her cheek, and I nearly scream in frustration. Nothing. Fucking NOTHING. Again.

My throat feels hot as I drop my hand from her face, a strange pressure building behind my eyes. I reach under my mask, pressing on the orbs in an attempt to offer some relief. It does nothing, and when I pull my hand out, something shiny coats them.

I tilt my head, noticing how similar the liquid is to Brett’s tears earlier. But… that can’t be. That’s impossible.

I shake my head angrily, letting out a soft scoff as I start to turn in the direction of the door. And that’s when it happens.

ZAP!

I jerk backward, my movements so flurried that I nearly trip and fall to the floor. What in the flying fuck was that? I look down at my hand—still ungloved from earlier. Then I look at the bed, where Brett’s arm is still outstretched, her fingers curling in and out in a grabbing motion, as if she’s looking for me.

Did she… did she touch me? More importantly, did I feel it?

Inching closer to that waiting hand, I allow her fingers to curl around the mutilated flesh on my palm.

ZAP!

My eyes widen in wonderment as I watch her little fingers twist with mine, the electricity flowing from her body to mine, breathing life into my long dead nerve endings. It feels… it feels…

I feel her. I look down at the hand snugly fit with mine. I really, really feel her.

I frown, unsure what to call the sensation of her hand in mine, yet desperate to give it a name. Euphoric seems far too dull for the feelings it drags out of the dark chasm of my soul.

There’s no doubt about it now. Brett Evangeline will ruin my fucking life.

CHAPTER TEN

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #5

I’m not sure how to feel about what R-57 told me tonight, though one thing is clear: my assumptions about him couldn't have been more wrong. Despite that horrifying white mask, he’s a kind man. A good man, no matter what that disgusting organization has made him to be. And what they do to those children—My God! I’m nauseous just thinking about it.

From what I gather, the Sanctum has a dedicated team of Reapers assigned to Rook acquisition—a term which just means buying young children and placing them into intensive training regimens.

The boys are sorted based on intelligence, physical capability, and mental endurance. The highest-ranking children are placed into Phantom training programs, the middle set into Reapers, and the lowest-scoring ones into the Disposer units.

R-57 said he joined his Reaper program at just six years old. And what was even more shocking was that he was the oldest boy in his unit by a year. I can’t imagine being that young, forced to train for hours in the heat. Forced to learn to forage and make your own meals. To endure horrible injuries, disease, and starvation while a cruel older Mask stands over and laughs at your pain. R-57 claims he got off easy—considering what he befalls the children who go through “Phantom” training—but I know I will have nightmares about his personal stories for years to come.

I was so overcome with sadness after he told me that I pulled him into a hug. It was stupid, but I just couldn’t bear to think of him going through life so cold, so alone.

And the craziest thing? He let me hold him. Even wrapped his arms around me and hugged me back. I know this is stupid, that I should run from him and this case. Go back home and live a quiet, safe life with my daughter. But I just can’t stop.

More than that, I don’t want to

Lemon. It’s the first thing that invades my senses as I wake, and I breathe deep, appreciating the fresh scent. A yawn tears from my mouth as I snuggle deep into my pillow, freshly laundered linens mixing heavenly with the smell of lemon cleaner.

Hold the fuck up. When’s the last time I cleaned my apartment?

My eyes spring open at the same time I launch my body toward my nightstand, wrapping my hands around my gun. My back tweaks as I wheel around, shifting the tip of the barrel in an even arc around my bedroom. What did you do now, you sick motherfucker?

Through the drug-addled fog, I begin the process of sweeping my apartment—a near daily occurrence, at this point—but like all the other times, I come up with nothing. No gifts. No creepy notes. With a sigh, I drop the weapon to my side and pad back into the bedroom.

Venom mews from the foot of the bed, licking his chops and flicking his tail lazily. Clearly, only one of us is still concerned by a strange masked man breaking into the apartment. I frown down at my—supposed—best friend, but still run my hand over his back affectionately.

“Damn. Have you been getting into the food bag again?” I wonder aloud, patting his belly. “The vet is not going to be happy with us, Venom.”

Venom narrows his eyes, swatting at my hand with one of his T-rex arms. Noted. Don’t make fun of Venom's weight.

I straighten with a sigh, looking once more around the room for clues. There’s nothing out of place—like when you stay at a hotel and come home to your room magically cleaned and straightened. Part of me wants to go into the bathroom to see if there's a fresh pile of plush white towels waiting for me. Why would the Phantom clean my apartment? And why am I all giddy inside thinking he did it for me? Like a favor. Or a gift.

Curiously, I walk into the kitchen, noting how all my dishes have been cleaned and put away. There's a fresh trash bag in the bin, and my weeks’ worth of Chinese containers and empty wine bottles are nowhere to be seen. The scent of lemon is far more potent in this room, and by the look of the floors, someone came through with a mop and probably wax.

What the actual fuck?

In a daze, I move to the bathroom, my mouth dropping to my chest at the sight before me. I was totally joking about the towels, but… there they are. Three fluffy, freshly laundered towels lay folded on the side of my tub—something that hasn’t looked so clean and white in ages—probably since before I moved into the unit. I run my hand over the top of the stack, nearly moaning at the plush texture that greets me. Better than sex. Or better than what limited experience I've had with the action. I snort, pulling away and moving back toward the bed. I plop onto the edge, my mind and body numb as I stare out at my now-spotless bedroom.

He… he cleaned my apartment. Why would he do that? I shake my head, unable to piece together the clues. Intimidation? No. Appreciation? Definitely not. A headache builds behind my lids the more I try to figure it out, and I ultimately decide he did it because he’s just fucking insane.

Insane. Yes. That makes the most sense. Way more than if he did it to be nice—or, God forbid, if he cared about me. That would be horrible. So horrible.

Wouldn’t it?

The rest of the day goes off without a hitch. I get through my paperwork before lunch, then spend the rest of the day poring over the evidence we have on the Phantom. I click through the few surveillance images we’ve managed to obtain over the past few months, scouring the background for any clues.

“What are you up to?” I murmur, zooming in on the only frontal image we have. It’s always creeped me out—the way he seems to know the camera is there. The way he seems to be looking into it, toying with whoever is on the other side. A chill runs down my spine at the sight of that soulless black mask, and I quickly click to the next slide.

Before I can stop myself, I scream.

“Brett?” Jim’s voice sounds out somewhere to my right, but I can’t move—can’t speak. All I can do is stare at that image on my screen—an image that was definitely not in the Phantom’s file yesterday.

“Brett? Brett what’s wron⁠—”

The rest of Jim’s question is cut off as the contents of my stomach make their way onto the floor. I squeeze my eyes tight as I continue to dry heave, that image burned into the back of my mind and making it difficult to breathe.

I’m vaguely aware of Jim touching my back, but I’m too out of my mind to care. Why? Why the fuck is there a picture of my mom in his file?

My body shudders, another wave of nausea overtaking me as that image flashes in my mind—her pale gray skin, those horrible, awful gashes covering the skin of her lifeless body.

Why? Why, why, why⁠—

“Jesus fuck!” Jim curses, finally discovering the photo on my screen. “What the fuck is this?”

“My…my…” I gasp, trying to speak through the vise constricting my windpipe. My mother. My poor, sweet, mutilated mother. Another heave racks my body, and Jim rubs gentle circles into my back.

Oh God, this is making it worse.

“Please don’t,” I murmur, attempting to sit up straight so he stops touching me. “I’m okay. I just⁠—”

“Jesus… is that…?” Jim’s eyes are wide as he faces me, a look of horror clear across his face. “How did you find this?”

Something in the back of my mind nags me for his choice of words, but I shake it off. I’m clearly not in my right mind if I’m starting to become paranoid of Jim.

“It was… in his file,” I gasp out, reaching toward the mouse to click out of the image. “The Phantom’s.”

Jim is faster than me, turning off the monitor before I touch the mouse. “Fuck, Brett. I can’t believe you saw… I can’t imagine what that must be like. To see her like that… this should have never happened.”

You’re telling me. For some reason, the thought has a hysterical laugh bubbling in my chest. Jim shoots me a look, clearly wondering about my mental state.

Makes two of us, buddy. I wipe the corner of my eye as my chest continues to shake, and Jim grows more concerned by the second.

“Brett? Talk to me, hon. Are you⁠—”

“I’m—fine.” I gasp, picking a spot on the floor and concentrating. “Fine. Totally fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Jim murmurs, placing a hand on my back. My skin crawls, causing my whole body to flinch and knock his hand down. “Why don’t you head home a little early? I’ll cover for you.”

“I need to find out⁠—”

“I’ll find out how this got in here,” Jim promises, seeming to know exactly what I was thinking. “You can trust me, Brett. Go home. Drink a bottle of wine to get that shit out of your head. Just…” He sweeps his gaze around the room, making sure no one is listening before lowering his voice to say, “Take it from me. I’ve been doing this a hell of a long time, and I know what seeing something like that will do to your head. Go home. I got it from here.”

I think about refusing, but then that image flashes in my mind, and a wave of nausea overcomes me yet again. Maybe it makes me weak, but I can’t seem to fight it off. And I don’t know how useful I would be to the team while I’m in this state. “Yeah. Thanks, Jim,” I murmur, giving him a small smile of thanks. “You’re right. I hate that you are, but⁠—”

“Shh,” Jim murmurs, pulling my head into his chest. I crinkle my nose as his spiced cologne assaults my senses, trying to think of anything other than the ants crawling under my skin from his touch. He wraps his strong arms around my shoulders, and my face is pushed deep into his chest. Another wave of nausea wracks me, but this time, it has nothing to do with what I saw on that screen.

I hate this. I hate this. I hate⁠—

Just when I think I’m about to scream from the contact, Jim pulls away from the one-sided embrace. Only, he leaves one of his hands on my waist.

“This might be the wrong time to bring this up, but you smell really good.” Jim chuckles, looking down with blown pupils.

Ah fuck. This is so not good.

“Thanks,” I murmur, shifting out of his grip as I stand from my chair. “I think I should take your advice now. Thanks for everything, Jim.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach those honeyed eyes. “Get some rest, Brett. You look like you need it.”

I have no doubt about that.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GHOST

The Code: Rule #6

All information is protected under The Code. If a Mask is found to be sharing their resources, they will be terminated swiftly and without trial.

My pulse monitor screams as I watch my beautiful darling toss and turn in bed. Even her sleeping pills won’t help tonight, and I know it’s because of the picture I uploaded to their system. I should feel guilty for the pain I’ve caused her, but I can’t. She had to know what they did to her mother. She has to grow to hate them just as I do, or she won’t be strong enough for what comes next.

My eyes take in each of her frenzied movements, and I absentmindedly reach a hand up under my mask to my mouth. I run my thumb across my lower lip, but there's nothing. No feeling—no fireworks—nothing like when she touched me the other night. There’s just… nothing. I sigh, dropping my hand.

I'm afraid I can’t live without her now. And I’m not sure what to do about it.

Slowly, I lean in and press my mask against the phone screen, closing my eyes and imagining I’m lying there next to her. Comforting her. I wonder what her hands would feel like on my chest, my neck, my—my face. My throat bobs at the last thought, and I snap my eyes back open, pocketing the device before stalking toward the front door.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Rupert. Hold down the fort for me, would you?”

Rupert raises his head lazily, heaving a generous sigh. “Damn, you don’t have to give me all that attitude,” I grumble, waving goodbye before slipping out of the stone fortress.

I swing my leg over my R 18 dragster, flipping up the kickstand before speeding down the narrow dirt into the mouth of the forest. My dwelling is located on the cliffs in the far north of Moriton, far away from any civilization—and even farther from the Sanctum’s headquarters.

Just the way I like it.

It takes me over an hour to make it to the outskirts of the city, and another two before I’m in the heart of the desolate concrete jungle. My chest tightens as the triangular behemoth structure of the Grand Sanctum comes into view. Taking up the entire corner of the block, the eighty-story-high behemoth towers well above the other skyscrapers in the area. Cathedral-style pillars line the diamond-plated windows of the massive double doors leading into the reception area, adding another layer of grandeur to the nauseatingly gaudy fixtures on the face of the building.

I park my bike in the alley at the back of the building, nodding a quick greeting to the armed guards standing outside the “secret” back entrance. All I’m saying is, if you want something to be a secret, you probably shouldn’t put two angry-looking linebackers in front of it.

As soon as I dismount, the guard on the left speaks. “Evening, Ghost. Madam is expecting you.”

“Isn’t she always?” I murmur, nodding a quick thanks as he holds the door open for me. “If I don’t see you later, one of you can have the dragster,” I joke, tossing the keys to the freckled guard on the right. “Keep her warm for me.”

The two guards laugh, but they don’t realize I’m being dead serious. Every interaction I have with the Madam could lead to my death—a reality I was forced to accept long ago. If she’s decided I’m no longer of use to the organization, then there’s nothing and no one who can stop me from ending up in a body bag.

That, or as food for her tigers.

I straighten, gliding through the long hallway like the color of the bloodred walls doesn’t cause my skin to crawl. I hate that color. Hate, hate, hate, ha⁠—

“R-1313. How nice of you to join us, finally.”

I twitch, having been so lost in thought I hadn’t realized I entered the main meeting room. The grand marble pillars and pretentious crown molding along the corners of the dining hall create a stuffy, suffocating air despite the size of the place. All twelve members of the Table sit in a semicircle, their hands clasped together on the table like identical, ancient robots. As always, the members are in full regalia, fine silk robes adorned with gold trim, tinkling with every slight movement due to the crystal accents hanging in rows along the hemline of their sleeves. Golden, bird-beaked masks adorn their faces, covering all but their mouths and the tiniest slit of their eyes, giving even the oldest of the members an eerie, threatening air.

“I had business to attend to.” I speak in monotone, the voice mod in my mask concealing any hint of rage there may have been. “What is this about?”

I scan the room quickly, noting how the thirteenth seat at the head of the table is vacant. Where the fuck is she?

“Boy. I was beginning to worry.”

My shoulders tense at the use of that name, but otherwise, I give her no reaction. The Madam glides around the table, her movements lithe despite the six-inch heels attached to her feet. An elaborate Venetian mask rests on her face, the curves and gold leaf embellishments covering every one of her features, save for a pair of cruel green eyes peeking through the eye slits.

Her twin white tigers, Nix and Niege, follow close at her heels, their black-tipped tails twitching menacingly as they look over the nervous faces of the Table members.

“Rest yourselves, darlings,” she coos, raking her pointed crimson nails along Niege’s back. “Mommy is safe here. Rest.”

Nix fixes me with his yellow eyes, his canines baring as if to say you’re wrong about this one. He means you harm—I know better.

Oh, if only tigers could talk. “Madam. It’s always a pleasure,” I greet, dipping my head lightly in mock respect for the ruthless queen. “I see your children are eating well, as usual.”

Madam spreads her lips—that same horrible color as her nails—and fixes me with an all-knowing stare. “Nix and Niege have always had quite the appetite, yes,” she muses, reaching down and lazily fondling Nix’s ear. “It’s a good thing I have plenty of resources at my disposal.”

Several of the men at the table cringe, unable to help their reactions as she so callously refers to the countless young men she’s killed and fed to her beasts—some of them children of the Table members. Spineless bastards. If someone did that to my kin, I would tie them upside-down and skin them from their toes. I would⁠—

“I’m sure you realize why I’ve called you down here,” Madam interjects, that same lipless smile plastered on her face. “You do know why, don’t you?”

I shrug, the movement hindered heavily by the material of my suit. “I assume it has something to do with my performance.”

Madam’s eye twitches, but otherwise, she doesn’t move. “Ah, yes. Your performance. Let’s talk about that.”

I nod, waiting for her to elaborate. That eye twitches again, and Nix lets out a low rumble from where he rests at her feet.

“Your DNA was found at Daniel Hanson’s crime scene. Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes. And it took them nowhere. I am untraceable, as the Sanctum planned.”

Madam blinks, that smile of hers growing wider. “They talked to your birth mother, Boy. They now know far more than they need to. All because you failed to⁠—”

“I followed the Code to the letter, Madam. If there was an unforeseen element I could not control, then⁠—”

“It is your JOB to control unforeseen elements!” Madam screams, her composure cracking as spit flies from her bared teeth. Niege rumbles at her feet, and Madam holds a hand in front of her face, taking a deep breath to steady herself. When she looks back up, her mask is back in place—that eerie smile in full force. “That girl—the new FBI agent. She knows too much. What are you going to do about it?”

I shrug, trying to seem uncaring even though I’m pretty sure she can hear my heart from across the room. “I plan to do nothing. It would be a waste of my time.”

“Are you really so naive to think that?”

“The girl is overzealous. If she continues to pose a problem, then I will deal with her. For now, she poses more threat to the organization dead than alive.”

Madam fixes me with a hard stare. “You know what, you’re right. Why should we waste time on such a gnat when there are bigger things to worry about? Things like your disobedience. Your faults.” Her lips widen farther, revealing the molars toward the back of her mouth. “If your abilities as a Phantom are faltering, I will have no choice but to terminate your contract, P-1313. As fond of you as I am, if you force my hand…” She takes another breath, snapping her fingers at the tigers.

The twins leap to their feet, ears pinned back and canines dripping with saliva as they hiss at me. For a moment, I think she’s going to order them to attack me, but to my surprise, she turns her attention to the Table member at her left.

“Nix. Niege. Fass.”

At once, the tigers leap at the man, teeth and claws bared at his jugular. He gets out half a scream before Nix clamps down on his windpipe, crushing it in a slew of blood and matter. The rest of the Table members clamor back in horror as their colleague is essentially ripped to bits. Horrible squelches and crunching noises accompany the screams littering the room, adding to the drama of the whole scene. Through it all, I catch Madam’s eye, despising that excited little sheen in her black eyes as her right-hand man is torn to shreds in front of her.

“Nix. Niege. Platz.”

In an instant, the tigers relinquish their prey, stalking back to the Madam’s feet before plopping to the ground, licking their canines the whole way.

“Good girls,” she coos, raking her nails through their bloodied fur as she gives us all that smile of hers. “Fortunately for P-1313, he remains indispensable to me. Unfortunately for Mr. Hollis…” She chuckles maniacally as she gazes toward the Table member’s remains. “Nix and Niege still needed to be fed.” She turns those beady black eyes onto me. “Remember that, Boy. If you disappoint me again.”

I nod, backing out of the room as soon as she waves me off. “Someone clean up this mess! And open a window, it’s starting to smell. We’re not animals for fuck’s sa…”

Her voice fades to nothing as I turn, traveling back down that bloodred hallway. Was that supposed to intimidate me? No. She knows that wouldn’t do the trick. It was a scare tactic, for sure—it just wasn't for me.

Perhaps there’s more turmoil within her inner circle than I knew about. It will certainly make things easy for me if she ends up killing off her Table members out of paranoia. Fewer bodies to deal with.

That’s what I’m going to tell myself, anyway.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry # 6

I’ve met with Hudson several times since my last entry—Hudson is R-57’s real name, a fact I have promised to take to the grave. I admit, our outings have turned into a bit of a social hour. I can’t help it—I know I’m supposed to be asking questions about the Sanctum, but Hudson is just so interesting. He’s seen so many places and done so many things.

I might even consider dating him if he wasn’t a ruthless killer.

But the fact of the matter is that he is, so I have to focus. I have to keep the next meeting strictly professional.

Sometimes I question my choice to become a journalist.

Surprisingly, nothing strange happens for the rest of the week. I deal with the knowledge my mother was tortured before she died by actively not thinking about it. It’s gone well so far—the only downside is I’m a little jumpier than usual. Like I’m waiting for the boogeyman to jump from every shadowed hallway and corner I come across.

But there’s nothing. No more notes or mornings waking up to the scent of lemon cleaner and freshly laundered towels. I admit, my life has been a little dull without the daily heart attacks. Not that I’m complaining—it’s just different. Or the same. I’m honestly not sure of anything anymore. Things seem so upside-down since I found the Phantom’s DNA that day.

To prove my point, my floor-length ball gown snags on the point of my heel, nearly sending me face-first into the Capitol building's stone steps. Normally, I would be snuggled up in bed with a bag of greasy Chinese food and Venom, but here I am. All dolled up for the senator’s ball.

“Oh, fuck this,” I grumble, hiking the silky navy material up to my thighs before trying the stairs again. The dress isn’t bad—I actually really enjoy the way the material hugs my curves—but I have minimal experience in heels, and I feel a little more than ridiculous stumbling into the building with all these other women who look like they came out of the womb with Barbie feet.

A woman with an emerald broach the size of a baseball shoots me a nasty sneer, and I return the favor with one of the brightest smiles I can muster. She huffs, turning to say something to her friend—possibly to talk shit about me—and I honestly don’t blame her. I don’t belong here, and there’s absolutely no hiding it. But I have a job to do, and no amount of judgment from these snooty ladies will stop me from doing just that.

Just a few hours and this will all be over. I repeat for the thousandth time tonight. Focus on the target, and everything will be fine. I breathe a sigh of relief as I get to the top of the steps, and I scan the crowd of masked faces, desperately trying to recognize Jim’s jaw in the crowd.

The Phantom could be any one of these men, and there would be no way for me to know.

I quickly shake off the thought, knowing I’m being paranoid. He wouldn’t do that. There are too many witnesses. Too many chances of being caught. No Phantom would dare take that kind of risk.

“Damn, Brett. You clean up nice.”

I whirl around, jerking my chin in the air to face a tall, brown-haired man in a gold mask. The raised filigrees along the outer edge catch the light with each slight movement. “Jim.” I smile, taking a step closer to him out of impulse. “How did you know it was me?”

Jim’s lips tip in a sarcastic smile. “You’re the only one here who would risk the embarrassment to take the stairs easier. Dead giveaway, hon.”

“Oh, shut up.” I laugh, rolling my eyes playfully. “Next time, you get to wear the heels.”

“Yeah, that’s going to happen.” Jim chuckles, placing his hand easily on my lower back. I jump at the contact and give Jim an apologetic smile when I see his face drop.

“Sorry. It’s just⁠—”

“Yeah. I know,” he grumbles, taking off toward the front doors without looking back. “Come on. I need a drink.”

I frown, following him slowly. What the hell was that? I spend little time thinking about it, because a server is thrusting a champagne flute into my hand in the next minute.

“Oh. Thank you,” I say, turning my head to give the man a small smile. He’s wearing a large black bird-shaped mask, reminiscent of the ones they used to wear during the plague. A large beak-like structure juts out, covering the upper third of his face. The only thing truly visible are his mouth and eyes. And those eyes…

I have to stifle a gasp as I take in the color of his irises. I’m not sure what to make of them—they’re the lightest blue I’ve ever seen—nearly white in color, like the color of peaked seafoam. And there’s a ring of violet around the pupil, making them appear that much more ethereal, clashing drastically with the opaque nature of the iris.

“I like your mask.” I grin, tipping my glass at the ornate headpiece.

The man tilts his head, the tray of glasses remaining eerily still as he does so. Those full lips part, revealing a set of perfectly straight white teeth. I’m sure they would look fucking fantastic biting into an apple. Or something else…

I jerk back to reality after that last thought. Am I seriously attracted to this guy's teeth? Maybe I do need to get some sleep.

I want to ask what his name is. I have a strange desire to know where he came from and how he came to work here tonight. But by the time I recover enough to ask, the server has disappeared in the crowd. Shrugging, I take a large gulp of my champagne and am pleasantly surprised to find they spared no expense on the drinks.

I take a smaller sip this time, my eyes darting around the room of unfamiliar faces. The reddened cheeks, the slanted gaits of the guest well past the two-drink limit of the event. If the Phantom actually were going to kill one of these people, he would have a pretty damn easy time doing it. Even with all the FBI sprinkled throughout the crowd.

It’s only been a few minutes, but I’m halfway through my glass by now—and feeling it. I kick myself for not remembering to eat beforehand but still take another sip. Crowds are just not my thing, and one glass of champagne won’t hurt. Just one glass to dull my nerves. That’s it.

As it turns out, one little glass is all it took to get me absolutely toasted. How do I know? Because all of a sudden, words like toasted sound hilarious to me. Seriously, just ask the coat check guy. He thinks I’m a fucking riot, I tell you.

“Whoooo!” I cheer, my face spreading in a wide grin as Mark—is it Mark?—twirls me in another circle, causing pieces of long black hair to fall from my updo. How long has it been since I’ve let loose like this? Fuck that, when’s the last time I went dancing? “Mark, this is so fun!” I giggle, taking my hand from his and pressing it against my hot cheeks. Hot. I’m so hot. Would it be rude to ask them to turn down the thermostat?

“I’m not Mark. My name’s actually Mi⁠—”

“Not-Mark? Do you know where the thermostat is?” I inquire, my tongue strangely heavy in my mouth. Like a slug. A mouth slug.

I start cackling like a hyena, and not-Mark gives me a look like he thinks I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have. Would that really be such a bad thing? Reality is so overrated.

“Um… maybe in the lower level? Do you want me to ask someone to…”

I don’t hear what not-Mark wanted to ask because as soon as he directs me to the basement, I start stumbling toward the red exit sign on the far end of the room.

Hot. So fucking hot.

I stumble down a short hallway, smacking straight into the doors to the stairwell. My arms feel like lead at my sides, but I’m able to muster the will to bring them up and force the door open. Heavy. Why is everything so heavy here? Heavy and hot. Hot and heavy.

Another giggle wracks through my chest, and I clamor down the metal steps in the dark, letting my gut guide me where I need to go. After all, not-Mark told me this was where it was, and he wouldn’t lie.

When I reach the last step, I stumble forward, barely having time to catch myself before I face-plant onto the concrete basement floor. I swing my eyes around wildly in the pitch black, holding my arms out straight and stumbling around, desperately trying to find a light switch.

Not your brightest idea, Brett. Very dim, indeed.

And now I’m talking to myself—great.

I sigh, dropping to the floor in a crisscross. “This sucks,” I mumble, resting my chin on one of my fists. “Why did I come down here?” As the words slur from my lips, my eyelids droop—as they suddenly weigh five thousand pounds.

“Why the hell am I so sleepy? I only had one-one glass of champagne,” I grumble, hiccuping in between. “And why the fuck is it so hot?”

“That would be the Molly, darling.”

I scream, scrambling back on my hands until I hit something hard. The back of my head smacks into a concrete piling, and stars spark in my eyes as I instinctively reach for my weapon.

“Fuck,” I whisper, swinging my gaze wildly around the dark. “Fuck. Fuck. Fu⁠—”

“There’s no need to be frightened. I mean you no harm.”

A shudder runs through me as his honeyed voice echoes off the stone walls. No harm? Yeah, right, buddy—because people with good intentions lurk in dark basements. I may be drunk, but I still have a working brain cell or two.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I snarl, blinking wildly in hopes my eyes will adjust to the dusk. “I’m armed, just so you know.”

A callous chuckle echoes in my head. “No, you’re not. I can practically see every inch of you in that dress.” There’s a long pause before that voice speaks again. “All I want is to talk.”

I shake my head, feeling the piling behind me for support as I stand. “Who are you?”

“Who I am is a man in a mask—and one who wishes to remain that way.”

My throat bobs as I feel behind me, praying the handrail is within reaching distance. No luck. “You-you should leave. There are a dozen federal agents upstairs. They’ll wonder where I’ve gone, and⁠—”

“The only person of any consequence to me in this building is the one standing in front of me.” He interrupts, his voice much closer than before. “Some would say the whole wretched world.”

I jump, smacking my head into that same pillar when I have nowhere else to go. Suddenly, a gloved hand wraps around my neck, using the thumb and middle finger to squeeze my jugular veins. My breath hitches as my vision swims, and a delicate heat builds in my core. This feels good—too good.

“You—”

“Shhh,” the masked man murmurs, brushing the tip of his mask against my cheek lovingly. It’s pointed and hard…almost like a bird's beak.

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “You’re the server. In the plague mask.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “You smell heavenly. Good enough to taste. To eat.” His voice drops at least an octave as he utters the last word, and every last hair on my body stands on edge. Whether in desire or terror, I’m not quite sure. “God, how I’d love to take just a little…”

“Ow! What the fuck!” I screech, jerking back to no avail. “Did you—did you just bite me?” I reach up to the crook of my neck, wincing as my fingertips make contact with the area. I pull my hand up to my eyes, and though there’s no light, when I rub my fingers together, there’s something slick. “I’m… bleeding…”

The man takes another deep breath, this one accompanied by a moan that has my knees trembling. To my surprise, he grabs my hand and forces my fingers into his mouth, where he sucks them clean, making the same euphoric noises as before.

I’m frozen in disbelief—in crazed, unadulterated desire as his tongue swirls around my digits, savoring me.

“Fuck. This is so wrong,” I moan, arching my head back as he steps forward, pressing the length of his rock-hard body against mine. “So, so wrong.”

The man doesn’t answer, just loses another infuriating chuckle. His hand reaches up, palming my breast before slipping past the thin material of my gown. His fingertips dance over my nipple, toying gently with the sensitive nub while his mouth descends on my neck. I let out a cry as his mouth covers the fresh wound, the pain of contact intensifying when he sucks at the area.

“I—what the fuck?” I yelp, stars sparking in my vision as my face is pressed roughly into the pillar to give him more access. A minute later, he yanks my head back, and his mouth crashes against mine, a metallic taste mingling on my tongue with each sweep of his.

“You taste so… so…” Instead of words, the man lets out a growl, pushing his abdomen impossibly tighter against my chest. “I’m going to die if I can’t be inside you in the next five seconds.”

Whoa, hold the fucking phone.

I shake my head like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over me, blinking desperately to clear the fog. When I’ve regained a sliver of my senses, I push against the man, needing some space before my body decides I need to do something impulsive like that again.

“I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t do that,” I murmur, suddenly grateful for the darkness so he can’t see the color of my cheeks. To reiterate my point, I push against him again.

He doesn’t budge.

“Um. Hello? You gonna let me go?”

“Not if I can fucking help it.”

Okay, I must have imagined that last part. “What did you say?”

“I said you look very beautiful tonight, Brett.”

I frown, unable to help but notice how he still hasn’t given me any space. “Um. Thank you. I—” My face pales, and a shudder runs through my body as a terrifying thought crosses my mind. “I never told you my name.”

“No, darling, you didn’t,” he whispers, brushing his lips lightly against mine. To my horror, I find myself closing my eyes and wishing he’d close the rest of the distance. “I am one of many. The many are me. Who am I?”

I jerk away, my appendages going numb. Oh my God, no. No. No. NO.

“I’m enjoying this game very much, Brett. But we’re only just beginning,” he whispers, planting soft lips against the apple of my cheek before pulling away—body and all. In the next moment, he’s gone—lost to the shadows from which he came. Leaving me to deal with my state of mind or lack thereof.

I groan, closing my eyes as I rest my head against the pillar. The room is spinning, even in the dark, behind my eyelids. It's spinning, spinning, spinning.

And I fall into oblivion.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

GHOST

The Code: Rule #4

If a Mask is captured, they must self-terminate using their allotted cyanide capsule.

Jim Peterson is not a good man. Jim Peterson is a very, very bad man—and he has his disgusting sausage fingers all over my darling Brett.

My hand tightens at my side as I glare at the pepper-haired man with his face inches from hers. I could kill him now. In the commotion, they probably wouldn’t realize it was me.

Although, this mask is pretty fucking recognizable.

I take a deep breath, forcing my gaze away from the object of my obsession and toward the corner where her colleagues Samuel Danvers and Harvey Hawking whisper. Neither of them was going to win any beauty contests, but the fluorescent lights in the basement certainly aren’t helping matters.

I’m sure they’re talking about what a great job they did earlier. Catching the Phantom was easy for them—too easy, and they’re too stupid to realize it. I scoff, my head jerking back to where Brett lies when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

She’s awake.

“Brett! Brett, are you okay?” Jim whines, a drop of spittle flying from his lip and landing on her brow. That motherfucker. I’m going to kill him just for that.

“Jim?” Her eyes crack open, and for the briefest moment, her beautiful pink lips tip in a smile.

I think my heart just burst.

That is, until I realize I’m not the object of her smile. It’s not fair. I glare through the eye slits at the back of Peterson's head, wishing I had the power to pop it open like a nasty cyst. He deserves so much worse, but I will deal with it if it means I get to watch him die horrifically.

“Brett, you won’t believe what happened!” He tries to keep his voice low, but the idiot doesn’t know how to whisper for shit. And if he did, the amplifiers in my mask would do the trick.

“What—what happened?” she slurs, her eyes scanning the room lazily. “What happened to me?”

“You were…” Jim looks away, his throat bobbing heavily. “Oh God, Brett, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how it happened.” He hangs his head, not able to look her in the eye. “You were… you were drugged.”

“I was what?” she demands, her mouth pulling down into a deadly scowl. “How?”

Jim gestures to the shattered champagne flute on the ground. “Probably your drink. We’ll find the bastard, though, Brett. I promise we’ll find the sick fuck who spiked your drink.”

Brett seems confused by this statement. “What are you talking about? It was the Phantom. He drugged me, and then he—” She stops herself, those ocean eyes jerking around the room erratically. “He’s still here, Jim. I can feel it.”

Jim looks to the side, making eyes at the EMT crouched at Brett’s head. “Brett… we caught the Phantom.”

“W–what? When?” she demands, shoving his hands from her and attempting to stand.

Jim grabs her forearm, refusing to let her shake him off this time. “Brett, calm down. We caught him about an hour ago—right after you disappeared. When I couldn’t find you, for a second, I thought…” His throat bobs, and he shakes off whatever thought ran through his head. “We’ve been looking for you for half an hour. Finally, some guy named Mike mentioned he saw you stumbling off toward the basement. That’s where we found you…”

Jim’s face is pinched in concern for the delicate little thing. It’s written all over him—in his eyes and in the way his fingertips barely hold her in place. Only Brett Evangeline is anything but delicate. And I’m the only one who seems to know it.

“That’s impossible,” Brett stutters, her mouth hanging wide open. “The Phantom was down here with me! He was the one who drugged me!”

“Brett…” Jim hesitates. “Brett, that’s impossible. We arrested the Phantom while you were down here.”

“Maybe he came back up after I passed out! Maybe⁠—”

Jim shakes his head, causing my words to die in my throat. “It wasn’t him, Brett. The real Phantom is sitting in an interrogation room as we speak.”

“But it can’t be! You have it all wrong!” By now, her shouting has called the attention of several other crowd members. “He was here! I know he was! You’ve made a mistake!”

“Brett,” Jim balks, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. I have to stop from ending his life here and now. Soon. Soon, darling.

“Pull it the fuck together, Evangeline. You are a federal agent. This kind of behavior is unacceptable.”

She shakes her head, her throat bobbing. “You’re wrong, Jim. You’re wrong.”

“You were drugged, Brett,” he whispers, his eyes shooting off to the side nervously. “You don’t know what you saw, what you heard. How the hell are you so sure it was him, anyway?”

She pins him with a hard stare. “I just know.”

Jim laughs humorously. “Oh, you just know? That’s great, Brett. Fantastic,” he sneers, pressing off his heels to stand. “Only the reality is that you don’t know what you saw. We have the real Phantom in custody right now. I thought you would be happy about that.”

“It’s not him, Jim. If you would let me explain⁠—”

“STOP IT!” he shouts, his face curling in a horribly menacing way. “Just—just fucking stop,” he breathes, his chest heaving. “Leave it alone, Brett. We caught him. We won.”

She scoffs, pushing to her feet like him and raises her chin, sending that glare full force at her partner. “You’re wrong, Jim. And I’m going to prove it.” Before he can get another word in, she turns on her heel and stomps toward the stairs, not giving him the satisfaction of a look back.

I grin as I watch her ascend, that tightness growing in my lower abdomen as I get a flash of her perfect round ass. What I wouldn’t give to be inside her… My attention shifts as I notice the rest of the curious partygoers beginning to file up the stairs after Brett. I follow suit, keeping my head dipped low like so many other staff members.

Soon. Very soon—I have no doubt about it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #7

I’m pleased to write that I was able to keep it in my pants during my meeting with Hudson tonight. I’ve learned a lot of useful information about the Sanctum—although I admit, I wish I had been able to learn more about him as well.

Hudson tells me that at the top of it all is the Madam. A woman so ruthless, so cunning, she has the world’s most highly trained killers trembling at her feet. And after the few stories Hudson detailed, I know it’s for good reason. No one knows anything about her or how she came to be in power. The system has been going on so long and is so secretive that even Phantom’s are left in the dark.

It seems that the more I find out, the more questions I have.

I hope for my next entry, I’ll have more information.

Jim offers to drive me home. We spend the dive in awkward silence, nothing but the rumble of the road and soft rock on his radio station to break the stifling quiet. As soon as we pull in front of my apartment building, a wave of nerves pours over me, and I try to ease the tension by offering Jim a smile.

“Thanks for the lift,” I say.

“Don’t mention it.” He still refuses to look at me. Ever since our argument, he’s been different. Distant. And it’s not like I can’t blame him—after all, I could have easily broken the silence on the drive back. I could have apologized, but I chose not to. Why didn’t I just apologize?

“So, um… I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Sure thing.”

I try to catch his eye, but Jim is currently looking at something fascinating on his fingernail. “Jim? Is everything okay?”

He finally meets my gaze, and I have to stop myself from flinching at the disappointment hidden in their golden depths. “Why wouldn’t it be, Brett?”

The way he says my name is like a curse, and I fight the instinct to hold my hand over my heart—the place that hurts. “You just seem… ever since our talk, you haven’t been yourself.”

Jim sighs, facing forward and placing his hands on the steering wheel. “Just drop it, Brett. And leave this Phantom stuff alone, okay?” For a moment, his eyes shoot to mine, but it’s so quick I can’t be sure it actually happened. “I don’t want to have to bury any more colleagues, okay?”

“Okay, Jim,” I whisper, giving him that same awkward smile as earlier. “I got it. Consider it dropped.”

Jim nods, more to himself than me. “Okay. Good… you need some help upstairs?”

I shake my head, one leg already out the door. “I’m good. I’ll see you at work tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course. Be safe, Brett.”

I close the door, standing like an idiot on the sidewalk and waving as Jim speeds off down the road. I look out at the dark streets, loneliness overwhelming me, weighing me down. I look up at the sky, wishing I was able to see the stars. With the remnants of Molly in my system, I bet they would look spectacular. As I gaze at the smog-covered sky, I can’t stop thinking about what Jim said after I woke up. Leave this Phantom stuff alone.

It wasn’t like Jim’s usual advice. He’s a no-nonsense kind of guy, so it’s not uncommon for him to give me guidance in the form of a stern lecture, but this was different. It was a warning.

I don’t want to bury any more colleagues.

A shiver runs through me as I recall the words he murmured under his breath—words I’m almost positive I wasn’t supposed to hear. What does Jim know that I don’t? And why is everyone so desperate to push this case under the rug?

A scuff sounds out close by, and I jerk to attention, my eyes scanning the shadows wildly for threats while I clutch my thumping heart.

“Who’s there?” I demand, taking a step back as I continue scanning. Nothing. I shake my head, turning and stomping up the steps of my apartment. I keep checking over my shoulder, the hairs on the back of my neck raised with the sensation of being watched.

I jam the key into the lock, slamming my back against the door to close it and locking it tight. I rest the back of my head against the door with a sigh as Venom makes his presence known, rubbing up against my leg with several desperate mews.

“Hi, Venom,” I murmur, reaching down to scratch the back of his neck. He presses into my touch, and a blip of happiness lights my chest. “I missed you too. Anything weird happen while I was gone?”

Venom mews, trotting off toward the bedroom as if trying to show me something. Ah fuck. That’s never good.

With a weary sigh, I follow him to the bedroom, bracing myself for whatever weird shit I’m likely to find. Only when I look around the room, the only thing out of place I see is a small white note on my nightstand.

Jesus, not again.

I throw my head back in a groan before retrieving the note, holding the thin white envelope between my thumb and forefinger like it’s a bomb—because, you know, it kind of is.

“You can do this, Brett. How bad could it be?” I murmur, peeling open the front flap with my arms outstretched as far as possible from my body. Venom mews from the bed, causing me to jerk and nearly drop the note. I shake myself, taking a few deep breaths through my nose in an attempt to pull my shit together.

Like a Band-Aid, I rip the note from the envelope, letting out a little yelp in expectation for it to blow up in my hand. It doesn’t, though, and after another couple of breaths, I let my eyes tear across the neatly typed message.

Hell of a kiss, darling.

I gasp, dropping the note though there’s no heat like before. What the—he’s mocking me?

“You dastardly bastard,” I grumble, watching the note until it inevitably bursts into flames. Hah. I’m catching on to your tricks, Phantom. I’m feeling pretty proud as I pull the red envelope from the pile of ash. That is, until I read what he wrote on the second note.

I can’t stop thinking about that little sound you made. I’ve been hard ever since.

“Ah!” I scream, jumping back as the note bursts into flames in the palm of my hand. I barely had time to read the whole message. If I were any slower, I would have missed it entirely.

Maybe that was the point.

I shudder, staring down at what used to be a letter from the Phantom. I can’t tell what his angle is. With all my training, I can’t seem to pinpoint a motive for this… this…

It occurs to me I don’t know exactly what to call this thing between us. Nor do I want to sit around and figure it out. Reaching into my nightstand drawer, I retrieve my bottle of sleeping pills and pop three in my mouth.

That should do the trick. I flick off the light, holding my arm out for Venom to snuggle up with my eyes open wide. A second later, I flick the light back on, then pull the pillow over my eyes, snuggling deep into my comforter like I would when I was a kid, when my only problems were the monsters in the dark corners of my closet.

If only someone had told me the truth—that I should have been fearful of those shadows all along.

That night, I dream of a man coming to my bedside. He kneels at my head, brushing my hair back impossibly gently with that hand made of fire. He whispers things to me—things too soft for me to hear. Yet they fill me with an unwavering sense of peace—of safety.

I let sleep curl its fingers around my drug-addled mind, allowing my senses to be filled with him. His scent, touch, and… taste. Mint, with an aftertaste of something smoky and sweet. Hardened muscles, twitching every place I allow my finger to roam. And then there’s his voice—that deep, melancholy voice that flows through me, heating my veins with a fire I’ve never known.

“Brett… Brett, I can feel you. I can’t believe I can feel you.”

But it’s not real. None of it is real, yet I have zero desire to wake from this fantasy. If I were to never wake again, this is the place I would like to rest. Eternity suddenly doesn’t seem so bad under these circumstances.

Fingers curl around my throat, and I think for one moment that this might be it. This might really be the end. Only, I don’t care. At this moment, I’m not sure if I ever did. I think—I think I’d like to finally slip into oblivion, or whatever it is that comes after death. I’ve been strong for long enough, and now I want to know what it feels like to let go.

That’s why, when the black swallows me this time, I am not afraid.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

GHOST

The Code: Rule #10

Feelings—and therefore, desires—will get you killed.

She looks like an angel when she’s sleeping.

In my years, I’ve found most people have disgusting sleeping expressions. All twisted up, slobbering, unhindered. And then there’s the snoring.

When I watch Brett sleep, I feel nothing but an intense desire to stick my cock inside her. She’s so perfect. Even the bear-like sounds coming from her lips are endearing, and I’m convinced this woman couldn’t do anything to make me dislike her.

And that is bad. Very, very bad.

I tilt my head, running the back of my ungloved index finger over her cheek. “I still can’t believe I can feel you,” I whisper, shutting my eyes as the electricity flows through me. “I will never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me.” With all the willpower I can muster, I pull away from the dark-haired siren. “Although I will try with my very last dying breath.”

I want to cry out as the electricity fades, leaving me with this terrible nothingness. It’s becoming more difficult to part from Brett the longer I know her. The days seem impossibly long, and the nights I get to sit here at her side, just feeling her… they don’t last nearly long enough.

“Soon, darling,” I murmur, pausing at the door when her whimper pierces my ears. Like a man possessed, I turn on my heels and crouch at her head, watching the way her pretty face twists into a scowl. Her hand reaches out, and I let it make contact with my face, not daring to move, even as her fingertips curl beneath the edge.

I don’t move—not even when she pries that cool metal away from my skin. I don’t breathe as she exposes my face to the moonlight, nor when her delicate fingers press along the harsh panes of my cheekbones. And—I can’t fucking help it—I moan when her fingers slide over my lips.

Her breath hitches, and for one terrible moment, I’m afraid I’ve woken her. But then her fingers continue their curious exploration, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief, shutting my eyes as her fire lights my heart. Heat courses through my body, breathing life into parts of me I hadn’t realized were there, and I have to take my hand between my teeth to stop myself from doing something reckless—something like sinking them into her again.

All of a sudden, Brett’s mouth turns down and her lips part, letting several distressed mewls escape. Her hand clenches, causing her nails to dig into my cheek, and I groan, pushing into her grip.

“It’s okay, darling. I’m here,” I whisper, leaning in so there’s only centimeters between us. “I’ll protect you from now on. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

Brett mumbles something unintelligible before yanking her hand from my cheek. I would protest except for the fact it lands on my chest—right above the spot where my heart lies. I stay eerily still, watching the tears start to leak from her closed lids.

Before I know what I’m doing, I lunge forward, watching the salty drop on the tip of my tongue. A wave of ecstasy flows through me as Brett coats my tastebuds, and I quickly remove my vial from my coat pocket. I’m running low, and I’m going to need more of her to get me through these next couple of days. Days I’ll be forced to spend away from her.

I lick the rim of the vial before stopping it and placing it in my pocket, deciding not to dwell on it. It’s only a few days, and then I’ll be back where I belong—at her side.

Steeling myself, I slip out of her apartment, closing the door gently behind me. As I take the stairs leading to the street, I scroll through my list of contacts, pressing one I haven’t in decades. One I never thought I would need to.

The line rings once. Twice. Then it clicks through, and a deep, mechanical voice echoes through the speakers.

“P-1313. It’s been a while, kid.”

“Too long, Master.” I frown as I throw my leg over my bike, wishing it were under better circumstances. “I need a favor.”

After a long pause, he says, “Ah. I was wondering when the day would come.” A deep sigh sounds out. “Just tell me what you need, and it’s done. The least I can do.”

“Thanks, Maverick,” I whisper. “Not just for this.”

“Peh. No need to thank me for that.” A deep, rattling cough breaks through the speakers. “Just glad this call came before I finally kicked the bucket. You sure like to take your time.”

“I was taught by the best. It’s the little things that get you caught, remember?”

He chuckles weakly. “Seems like a lifetime ago. I’m glad some of that shit ended up being useful.” There’s a hissing noise in the background, as if he’s taking a breath from his oxygen machine. “You know, you were the best of them, Boy. I always hoped you would be the one to end it all, but I could never be sure. I’m glad you called me.”

“It’s Ghost now,” I remind him, my skin crawling at his careless use of my dead name. “And it was inevitable. Nothing more.”

“So you say.” Another wet cough rumbles through his chest, and I can’t help but cringe. The old man really is dying. “So what do you need me to do?”

I grin to myself, thinking of the plan I’ve set in motion. “I can’t tell you over the phone, but I’ll have Orion send you the details.”

There's a weak chuckle on the other end. “Still far too paranoid, Boy.”

“I learned from the best, after all.”

26 years ago…

I gaze around the circle at the ruddy, anxious faces of my brothers. Master stands at the center of us all, the sunshine glinting menacingly off his sleek obsidian mask.

“Most people think the easiest way to slit a man’s throat is here.” His voice carries out across the clearing, interrupted only by a few hushed gasps as he holds the blade of his dagger against his carotid artery. “We went over that earlier this week. Most of you impressed me with your technique,” he says, nodding in the direction of Matt and Parker, two of the most ruthless boys in our class. “However, this next method is just as effective. If you excel, it just may save your life when we start our live sparring matches in a few months.”

He turns slowly in a circle, looking each of the Rooks in the eye. “Who wants to be my volunteer today?”

Hushed whispers break out around the circle, and I clench my hand at my side, lowering my eyes. I don’t want to attract the attention of the larger, stronger boys—and I certainly don’t want the attention of the master. I thought my mother could be cruel, but he takes it to a whole other level. Who’s to say he won’t just kill the volunteer because he feels like it? It’s clear our lives mean less than cockroaches to him.

“P-1313. Why the sour expression?”

I jerk my head up, unable to hide my glare as I face that soulless black mask. “Just my face, sir.”

“Ah. I see.” His chuckle echoes across the clearing, and I watch as several birds take flight in fear. “How about you help me out today?”

I look around at the faces of the Rooks. Half of them look relieved, while the other side looks practically murderous. They’re the ones who confuse me the most—they genuinely want to be singled out by this man. They crave violence and will jump at any chance to exact it.

They are the beasts this man wants—not me. All I’ve ever wanted was to be good. It’s what I still want, though that dream seems further from reality with each passing day in this hell.

“I wouldn’t dare take that opportunity from my brothers,” I say, holding my chin high even though I feel like melting into a puddle beneath his gaze. “Sir.”

“Hmm.” Master tilts his head, his chest shaking with a repressed chuckle. “Disobeying an order. Gutsy, P-1313.”

I bow my head, taking a step toward the edge of the forest for good measure. “I meant no offense, sir.”

“Yes. Yet here you are, offending me.” His hand splays at his side, and I swallow hard at the menacing nature of the motion. “Into the circle. Now.”

I nod, my breath picking up speed as I shuffle toward the center, stopping a few feet away from him. Master looks me up and down, a disgusted noise sounding at the back of his throat as he takes in the mangled flesh covering my extremities, at the blood and pus pooling from various open sores from the past few months of training. I’ve been expected to use my body in unfamiliar ways, handling equipment that could hurt me even if I wasn’t paying extreme attention. And because I can’t feel it, I’m constantly reopening the freshly scabbed wounds, which results in most of them becoming severely infected, like now.

“Christ, Boy. You look…” He shakes his head, steeling his shoulders. “You should take better care of your body. At this point, you are a disgrace to the Sanctum.”

I nod, sliding my hands behind my back to cover the worst of the offense. “I apologize, sir. I will do better.”

He nods. “Good.” Clearing his throat, he raises his head to address the rest of the Rooks. “P-1313 will now help me demonstrate this killing blow. Once I am done, you will pair up and practice.” He crosses his arms, his voice taking on a dead-serious tone. “If you let your partner get the best of you, I will not intervene.”

A few of the boys in line cringe, no doubt remembering the Rook we lost earlier this week during his lesson. Jimmy was his name, and he had the unfortunate experience of being paired with Matt on the day we learned the carotid slash. One minute, he was pinned beneath Matt, and the next…

I shake my head, taking a defensive stance as Master begins circling me with his knife held out. I know there’s no way in sweet hell I can stop what’s about to happen, but I can at least show some sort of self-preservation. If I just stand and let him come at me, the other Rooks will sense weakness—and though this is the last thing I want to do, I don’t have a death wish either.

The Phantom lunges at me, much too fast for me to do anything about it. Before I know what’s happening, my arms are pinned at my sides, and his leg is sweeping my feet out from under me. The back of my head slams into the dirt with a dull thunk, and stars swim in my vision as the master crawls on top of me, pinning my chest to the ground, my arms at my sides with his legs.

In a flash, the tip of the dagger is poised above my sternum, angled down and inward.

“You want to keep the blade at a twenty-three-degree angle—just shallow enough to hit the heart, but not so shallow that it hits the rib bones.”

The dagger tip is pressing into my skin, and a bead of blood pours from the small cut. My head swims from the sight of the awful, horrible red, and a wave of nausea pours over me.

Just when I think it’s all over—that he’s going to plunge that dagger into me and end it all in the name of a demonstration—he jumps up, pushing the dagger back into the holster at his waist.

“Now that you’ve all seen it, I want you to practice the technique as I demonstrated. And that means exactly how I demonstrated,” he snarls, crossing his arms. “Absolutely no killing blows today. We won’t have a Disposer until the weekend, and I don’t want to deal with the smell of a dead fucking body all week. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the Rooks parrot, the smaller boys of the group heaving sighs of relief. Today, they will be spared. I heave a breath of annoyance as I leap to my feet. No one here seems to care about what happens tomorrow, and it really irritates me.

Master gestures for me to stay in the circle. “Since P-1313 experienced the technique firsthand, he can be the first to spar. P-1314! Enter the circle.”

A boy with flaming-red hair stumbles forward, the whites of his eyes showing all the way around his bright blue irises. He’s slightly chubby, with a streak of large brown freckles across the bridge of his nose. Brenden—I think—is his name, and he looks ready to shit his pants. Most of the other Rooks are scared of me, either because of the way I look or because they’ve heard about my unique ability. But Brenden looks genuinely terrified.

I want to reassure him that I’m not like Matt—I’m not going to kill him today—but those thoughts fly out the window when Brenden grabs his knife and charges me. I sidestep him easily, a smirk tipping my lips as he trips over his own feet toward the edge of the circle.

I stand still, watching as he straightens, his chest heaving just from that short sprint. He wheels around, his face crinkled in a furious expression, the knife shaking in his chubby hand.

“Come on! What are you waiting for!” he calls, taunting me. “You scared, you candle wax freak?”

I flinch. Even though the insult is coming from someone like Brenden, the taunt aimed at the appearance of my skin never fails to strike me to the bone. I reach to my waist, pulling my own dagger out and shifting my grip so my blade is pointed downward.

Brenden sneers, though the sweat beading on his brow takes away from the menacing nature of it. He takes a deep breath, then charges me again. This time, I don’t dodge it, though. I stay still, waiting until he raises his blade in the air to strike. He brings his arm down like a guillotine, and I shoot my palm up, catching the blade in the palm of my hand. A deep, nauseating squelching noise pierces my ears as the blade pushes through the top of my hand, and I meet Brenden’s frightened gaze, an eerie smile spreading across my face.

“Boo,” I whisper, sweeping my leg under his feet like the master did to me. He falls flat on his back, his face scrunching in pain a moment before I straddle his chest, pressing the tip of my dagger into his sternum. I press lightly, just enough that no blood is actually drawn. When I see that red, I’ve been known to lose myself, and I can't afford that right now. Brenden looks innocent enough, but who’s to say what he will do when his neck is on the line?

“Excellent, P-1313.” A slow round of applause makes its way to my ears, and I grit my teeth, holding my position. His next words—so cold and careless—drive a stake through my heart. “End it,” he says. “Show us how a real Phantom deals with weakness.”

Fear grips my chest in icy claws, and I shake my head slowly, never taking my eyes off Brenden’s terrified baby blues. I thought we weren’t supposed to kill anyone today? Why is he doing this?

“I said DO IT!” Master screams, his voice cracking with the rising pitch. “Show me what you’re made of!”

I adjust my grip, pressing down just enough to draw blood. Brenden closes his eyes, resting his head back on the ground. “It’s okay,” he whispers, the tiniest smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “There was no way I was going to get through this, anyway. Better now than later, right?”

I gaze down at his hopeless expression, and my hand shakes. Slowly, I pull the blade from his throat, a loud ringing in my ears as I stand and offer my hand to Brenden. For a moment, he looks like he can’t believe it. Then he takes my hand, but he doesn’t look disgusted when my skin touches his.

“Boy, Brenden! Back in the fucking line!” Master snarls. Brenden and I jump apart, hanging our heads as we jump back in line. He paces, the swish of his coattails leaving a large cloud of dust in his wake.

He stops directly in front of me, and for the first time, I’m thankful I can’t see the expression on his face. “You,” he snarls, leaning in close so we’re nose to nose. “Mercy will get you killed one day, Boy. Remember that the next time you want to spare someone so…” he faces Brenden, his shoulders tightening. “Worthless.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as he leaves me alone, turning his anger toward the next two Rooks shuffling forward to the center of the circle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brenden mouthing something at me. And it seems a lot like “thank you.” My chest feels light as I nod, a genuine smile tipping my lips.

I think I just made a friend.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #8

Hudson stood me up tonight.

I suppose I should be irritated, but the only emotion I possess is an intense, all-consuming worry. What if the Madam found out about our correspondence? What if he’s hurt or worse?

I can’t even think about the story tonight. I’m just praying Hudson is still alive.

I don’t receive any contact with the Phantom for the rest of the week. Some small part of me has started to believe they did catch him—that he’s really sitting in a maximum-security cell awaiting his trial, and that's why I haven’t heard from him. That same part of me is also disappointed.

Not because I miss his creepy little games—no, that’s not it at all. It’s because my life has been so dull without them. I never realized how boring my life had become until last night when I opened my fortune cookie, hoping to find another message from Ghost.

Ghost. I crinkle my nose as the name sounds in my mind. That's another crazy thing I’ve started doing—referring to the Phantom by his name. Of course, it’s probably some kind of code name, but still.

It’s safe to say my mental state has seen better days.

I sigh, flipping through the thirty-thousandth stack of documents this morning. All of the TV shows make this job look so cool—don’t get me wrong, certain aspects are admittedly badass—but for the most part, my job is doing paperwork. Stacks and stacks of paperwork. I look at the clock on my phone, and another sigh threatens to break free when I see it’s only eleven. My God, will this day never end?

Placing down my pen, I stand from my chair and stretch my arms out wide, my lower back popping from being in the same hunched position for so long. Looking out, I realize almost everyone has filed out of the office for an early lunch, meaning I can continue my investigation.

After one last look to ensure no one is paying any attention to me, I head down to the archives room. As soon as I enter the mildew-scented room, a sneeze wracks through me, startling the mousy-haired woman sitting at the entry desk.

“Brett!” Marge coughs, holding a hand over her thick beaded sweater. After catching her breath, she reaches a sun-spotted hand up to her face, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. I haven’t gotten around to pulling those files you wanted.”

“That’s alright, Marge.” I smile kindly, tapping the oak desk with the tips of my fingers. “Mind if I head back there and take a look?”

Marge shrugs, her thick shoulder pads brushing the tips of her dangling gold earrings. “Suit yourself. Just be careful of some of those file cabinets. I almost had one fall on me last week.”

I nod, grateful for her lack of questions. Marge has been working the archives for longer than I’ve been alive. It’s a lonely job, and once, I asked her if it ever bothered her—being stuffed down in the basement, away from all sunlight and people. She just laughed in that deep croak of hers, like what I said was the funniest thing in the world.

“Brett,” she said. “The best people in the world are the ones on the page. As long as I have my stories and a quiet place to read them, I’ll never be lonely.”

And that’s what Marge loves most in the world—sitting down here in the dark and reading on the bureau’s dime. It’s kind of ingenious, but I would never say it out loud.

“Thanks, Marge. I won’t be long,” I promise, grabbing the key she places on the counter.

She just shrugs, raising her newest book to eye level. “Don’t matter to me. Just lock up when you’re done.”

I nod, giving her a small smile and wave even though she’s no longer paying attention. I hasten to the end of the corridor, shoving the large iron key into the lock before shoving the security doors open. I’ve been down here at least twice this week, so I know my way by heart. I duck around several file cabinets leaning precariously off-center, making sure not to step on any of the random files littered across the ground.

When I come to the section where files on the old Phantoms reside, I breathe a sigh of relief. Every time I come down, I half expect them to be gone. Vanished from the face of the earth, like so much of the evidence through the years.

Maybe these files just aren’t important—or maybe the fact that they’re on physical paper has something to do with it. I’m more inclined to believe the former, considering I’ve found diddly squat that will help me with the Phantom investigation.

Really, it’s just my Phantom investigation, considering everyone in this office is convinced the case is shut. I’ve heard they DNA-matched the guy with the hair we found at that first crime scene, which makes no sense to me. I know what I saw in that basement. I know it was the Phantom, just like I know he’s still out there, biding his time.

I sigh as I plop down on the floor, pulling open the file I was poring over yesterday until someone came down to the archives, and I had to abandon my research. Listening for any sounds like last time, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I’m truly alone.

Cracking open the file, I start reading the witness accounts of the Phantom from the eighties. A few of them mention some place called the Sanctum—apparently some mysterious organization that the Phantom hails from. Martha Gore mentioned the same place, so the coincidences are too great to be ignored by now.

Another account that interested me was from a woman named Ariel Smith. She claimed—similar to Martha—that men in white masks showed up at her door one day, offering to buy her toddler. She claims she slammed the door in their faces and called the police although no report was filed that day.

Maybe she was lying, but I don't think so. Her story is far too similar to Martha’s. She even called the white-masked men the same thing: Reapers. I shudder, contemplating the possibility that there are more men like the Phantom. That this thing goes far deeper than I could have ever imagined.

When I first got assigned to this case, I thought it would be a career maker. I thought someone at the top finally realized my potential and was giving me a chance to crack one of the biggest cases of the decade. Now, I’m starting to worry they had other motives. That they put me on this case because I'm inexperienced… because they thought I wouldn’t ask questions.

I shake that thought away. I’m probably just being paranoid. Even with the sleeping meds, my sleep has been fitful. Every morning I wake, it feels like I didn’t sleep at all, like my mind has refused to turn off even though my body has.

I heave a sigh, closing the file when a headache begins to build behind my eyes. The clock on my phone lets me know I’ve been down here for several hours already, meaning Jim is definitely wondering where I’ve been. Placing the file back on top of my stack, I rise and make my way out of the archives, locking the door just like Marge requested.

As I head out, I silently place the key on the counter, and Marge waves a hand in thanks, never taking her eyes from the page. I chuckle to myself as I take the elevator back to the main level, wishing for a moment I could be more like Marge. She seems pretty damn stress-free, and I’ve never seen dark circles under her eyes the way I do when I look into the mirror every morning.

Maybe I need a vacation.

“Brett! Where have you been?” Sure enough, Jim’s voice sounds across the room, sounding slightly peeved. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

“Sorry. I was down in the archives,” I say, shrugging nonchalantly. “No service.”

Jim scowls, crossing his arms as he pins me with an inquisitive glare. “Why were you down there? You’re supposed to be working on files from the Wade case.”

I nearly groan aloud. The Wade case is just some asshole with a medium-sized money-laundering operation. And while it’s disgraceful, the crime pales in comparison to a serial murderer running amok.

“Just some personal research.” I wave him off and take a seat at my desk. “I’ll get it done before I leave, don’t worry. Mr. Wade won’t be kept waiting.”

Jim stomps over to where I’m seated, hovering menacingly over my shoulder. “What personal research? Were you…?” He looks around to make sure no one is listening in. “Are you still looking into this Phantom shit? Haven’t you heard? The DNA matched—he’s our guy.”

“I heard,” I deadpan, refusing to say any more. I grab my pen and am about to return to my stack of paperwork when Jim slams his hand on top of mine.

“Brett,” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath tickling my neck. “You need to stop whatever you’re doing—now. You don’t know what you’re⁠—”

“Everything okay, Agent Peterson?”

Jim releases me immediately, standing straight and turning to face the chief. “Everything’s fine, sir. Just talking to my partner.”

“Ah, right.” He looks at where Jim’s hand rested just a moment ago. “Agent Evangeline. How are things with the Wade case?”

I clear my throat. “Good, sir. Just wrapping things up.”

“Good,” he murmurs, gazing back and forth between the two of us skeptically. “Well, keep up the good work, you two. Glad we got this Phantom business all sorted out.”

“Yes, sir.” Jim and I exchange glances as we parrot each other at the same time. I clear my throat once more, and say, “Absolutely, sir. Have a good one.”

“And you.” He nods, then takes his leave, his left foot shuffling slightly with each step.

I look back at Jim, who has decided he can’t even look at me now. “Jim. What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, a muscle in the side of his jaw twitching. “You just don’t know when to leave it the hell alone, do you?”

I jerk back, shocked at his outburst. “Jim, I told you, I dropped the Phantom thing. He’s been caught—end of story.”

“Then why the hell are you lurking around the archives? Explain that to me.”

Well, shit. “Personal research. I told you already.”

Jim scoffs. “I talked to Marge, Brett. She said you’ve been down there for hours poring over old Phantom files. Asking if she knows anything about the Sanctum.”

“So?” I grumble. “Like I said, it’s personal research.”

“Research that will get you killed,” Jim says, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes dart nervously around the room before he leans in, his lips hovering just above my ear. “Drop it, Brett—I mean it. Especially this Sanctum bullshit. Just… drop it, okay?”

When he pulls back, his hazel eyes have a worried look. A look that has my stomach flipping. “Okay, Jim.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’ll drop it. For you.”

“Thank you, Brett.” He smiles, some of that worry from earlier dissipating from his face. “It’s for your own good. You’ll thank me later.”

I smile despite the unease in my gut as Jim turns and heads back to his desk.

He doesn’t realize that I’ve never been good at doing things that are good for me. I’m not going to start now.

The rest of the workday goes by without incident. I refrain from looking at Jim and asking questions about the Sanctum, and in turn, he pretends I cease to exist. I’m not sure why he’s so angry that I’ve been looking into things. After all, he was the one who taught me to always look deeper.

At around six, I pack up and head out to my car. I’m often the last one to leave the office—especially when we’re not working on an active case—so I’m used to watching my surroundings when I walk to my car. The headquarters are not stationed in the nicest part of the city, and even if the sun weren’t starting to set, I would be wary of my surroundings.

Except today, I’m distracted. I can’t stop thinking about the Sanctum, and why everyone refuses to talk about it. With the way people have been acting, I’m starting to think this organization is actually real—that all the things I’ve heard are real. And if that’s the case…

I suck in a deep breath, my knees going weak at the thought of what they've been doing in Moriton for the past century. Horrible, disgusting, evil things. And no one seems to want to stop them except for me.

I’m brought out of my thoughts as a scuffing sound breaks out close behind me. I wheel around, my hand circling my service weapons holstered at my hip. I scan the dimly lit parking garage but see nothing. I start to turn back when, again, that same scccrape sounds behind me. Like someone is dragging a tire iron across the ground.

“Who’s there?” I demand, pulling the weapon from the holster and flicking off the safety. “Come out with your hands in the air!”

A high-pitched, cackling laugh reverberates off the concrete walls. “Hear that, Tate? She wants us to surrender ourselves.” His voice rises in pitch as he says the last part, mocking my voice. I take a step back, holding my gun in front of me.

“Fucking asswipe,” I grumble, scanning the shadows for the two figures. At least, I hope there are only two.

“I don’t know, Xander, she seems pretty serious. Maybe we should—I’m scared.”

Their laughter peels out, making me clench my weapon that much tighter. “I’m done playing around. Show yourselves.”

“Show yourselves.”

I whip around, my heart hammering in my ears. That was right over my shoulder. “Where the fuck are you?” I demand, backing up another step and making a wide arc with the tip of my gun. “I swear to God, if you come close, I will⁠—”

“You’ll what?”

I whirl around, my chest heaving with panicked breaths. That voice… it sounded like a fucking demon. No man sounds like that. Not unless he has… My eyes go wide. Not unless he has a voice mod like the Phantom. A laugh sounds out close behind me, and I whirl around once more.

“I think she’s figured it out, Tate,” Xander coos. His steps ring out seemingly from all around me, and I jerk this way and that, trying to find the source.

“Over here, babe.”

I fire a shot, and the bullet hits one of the concrete pilings, sending pieces of rubble flying through the air.

“Ooh. Almost got me.”

I fire another shot, and it sounds like it hits something this time. Or someone.

“Dammit. She fucking shot my pinky!” A higher-pitched voice—Tate’s—screams out, eliciting a nasty chuckle from the one called Xander.

“Nice shot! Been wanting to do that myself for a while.” He laughs at his partner's pained curses, just before the pair go deadly silent again. “You’re still going to pay for that, babe. It’s personal now.”

There is a flurry of steps, and the gun is knocked from my hand. I curse, lunging to where it skidded across the ground, but a pair of strong arms grabs me around my middle, holding me back.

“Let me go, you fuck!” I scream, sending the heel of my foot back into my captor’s knee. However, I can't get good momentum with the angle he’s holding me at, so all it does is knock him slightly off balance.

“Damn, she’s got some fight in her,” Tate chuckles, holding me to his chest with one arm while his other slips beneath my shirt. “Can’t we have some fun with her before we finish the job?”

Xander scoffs. “Do whatever you want, man, just finish her when you’re done. I’ll be over here.”

Xander’s footsteps recede into the distance, and I fight desperately against Tate’s hold. No. This cannot be happening. I am not about to be fucking raped and murdered. I’m not.

Even with all my struggling, Tate doesn’t seem to break a sweat as he pulls me to the ground. He straddles my waist, holding my arms above my head with one hand while he undoes the button of my pants.

“Get the fuck off me!” I snarl, kicking and thrashing with all my might. Tate just chuckles, leaning down to my neck where he licks me from collarbone to jaw. My skin shudders with repulsion, and I try to buck him off one last time.

Tate’s lips come close to my ear, and bile rises in my throat as his hot breath fans the shell of my ear. “You’re mine now, little one. I’m going to enjoy this sweet little pussy before I slit your throat. How’s that sound?”

I snap my eyes shut, making one last ditch effort to nail him in the balls. That’s when something warm spatters across my face. When I open my eyes, Tate is trying to breathe through the deep red gash above his Adam’s apple. A disgusting gurgling noise accompanies each labored breath as I scramble back on my hands, unable to take my eyes off the sight in front of me.

“There are faster ways to kill someone, but I wanted him to suffer for you.”

My heart tries to beat out of its cage as I look around the shadows, desperate to find where that voice is coming from. It’s deeper than Xander’s, and there’s no way Tate could speak with his throat cut. So then…

“Ghost,” I whisper, staring hard at the shadows. “Why… why…”

“I told you that I mean you no harm, Brett. It’s up to you to decide whether I’m telling the truth.” That chilling voice thunders off the walls, and goose bumps rise along my uncovered arms. “Although, considering the circumstances, you would be a bit of an idiot to think otherwise.”

Fucking. Asshole. “I’m sorry, it’s just a little hard to believe a literal serial killer means no harm.”

A disturbing chuckle crackles through that mask of his. “Still looking at things in black and white, I see. The bureau really did you a disservice, darling.”

“Stop fucking calling me that!” I snap, inching closer to my service weapon. It occurs to me I haven’t heard from Xander in a moment, and I need to be armed in case either of these assholes decides to make a move.

“If you’re worried about the Disposer, he’s been dealt with,” Ghost murmurs, taking the words from my mouth. “It’s just you and me. Darling.”

I grit my teeth, my hand closing around the handle of the gun. Disposer? Is that Xander’s title or something? “Not for long, asshole.”

“What’s that?”

“I said…” I take a deep breath, then aim the tip of the barrel at those shadows where I’m positive the voice is coming from. “Not for fucking long.”

I fire once. Twice. I listen for the sound of them hitting flesh, but to my dismay, I’m met with the telltale clang of them hitting the concrete pillars like earlier.

“You’re angry with me.”

“You’re damn right I’m angry!” I snap, firing off two more shots to the left and the right. Where the fuck is he?

“I see.”

If I didn’t know who I was talking to, I would think he sounded almost… sad. I shake away the thought, remembering the monster he is. He doesn’t feel anything. He kills people without remorse, without care. He needs to be dealt with.

And apparently, I’m the only one who can.

“Why don’t you just do it already?” I demand, shifting the tip of the barrel slightly.

“Do what?”

“Kill me. I saw how you took out those other guys—you should have no problem.” That’s it, Brett. Draw him out to the light. If you can see him, you can kill him.

There’s a pause, almost as if he’s contemplating my proposal. “No. No, I don’t think I will.”

“Why?” I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to fire blindly into the shadows. I only have a few bullets left, so I can’t waste them. “Why are you toying with me? Why don’t you just make your move already?”

A small chuckle bounces off the walls, adding more fire to my fury. “Oh, darling Brett. I already have.”

There’s a scoff at three o’clock, and I empty the chamber at the place I’m sure he’s standing. However, my bullets fail to hit home, and a second later, I know I’m alone.

He’s gone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

GHOST

The Code: Rule #12

To kill another Mask without a direct order is the highest form of treachery. Protect your brothers at all costs.

I wait until I see Brett on her home video camera to call Orion to bring the truck. I should be thinking about how I will extract information from Xander, but the only thing that preoccupies my mind is the look on Brett’s face earlier.

She hates me. Really, truly despises me. There’s an aching in my chest I haven’t felt in so long, and I don’t know what to do about it. My bottle has been licked clean, and there’s nothing left of her to calm me down and make this horrible ache go away.

A ragged cry tears from my chest, and I slump to my knees, holding my head in my hands. Why won’t she see me? If she could only understand. I don’t want to hurt her—not anymore. I need her now more than ever. The fact is so apparent, it’s sickening.

And she doesn’t fucking need me back.

I take a deep breath as screeching tires alert me to Orion’s arrival. Straightening, I glide over to the crime scene while I wait for the truck to appear. Xander’s blinding blue eyes glare with all the words the gag won’t let him. His partner—Tate, I think—lies dead at his side, ruddy brown eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

I just shake my head, a low chuckle rumbling in my chest as I stare at Xander’s bare face. I’m sure he misses his mask sorely, but he won’t need it where we’re heading.

He yells nonsense through the gag, and I sigh, reaching down to pull it from his mouth.

“What is it?” I tap my foot impatiently against the concrete. “You want to speak? Do so.”

“Rot in hell, traitorous bastard.” Xander spits at me, but his aim is off, and it flies somewhere off to my left.

How embarrassing. I sigh tiredly, putting the gag back in place. “You can’t even spit right. What kind of a Disposer are you?”

The man’s eyes shoot fire at me, and I can’t help but let out another laugh. “I can’t wait to see how long you keep that look after Orion gets to you.” For a moment, he frowns, his eyes seeming to ask, who’s Orion?

On cue, Orion's rusted blue truck pulls around the corner, aiming straight for Tate’s head. In slow motion, the massive wheel rolls over his head, sending brains and blood spewing all over Xander. Xander’s face pales, looking like he’s going to lose his lunch. He doesn’t even blink—just stares at the headless body of what used to be his partner.

“Yee-haw!” Orion whoops, holding his head out of the window like a damn dog. Jesus Christ, the kid is twisted. “Did you see me, Ghost? Damn, I wish I got that on video.”

Little fucking psychopath. “Couldn’t miss it. Now park the damn thing and help me get these bodies in the trunk.”

Orion grins like he just won the lottery, pulling up next to Xander and hopping out next to us. “You left one alive.”

I try to ignore the excited sheen in those baby blues. “Yes. I need some… information. Answers, really.”

Orion stalks toward Xander, rubbing his hands together like a greedy little fly. “We’re gonna have fun, you and I.”

Xander looks from me to the murderous glint in Orion’s eyes and seems genuinely terrified. He shakes his head wildly at me, his eyes screaming please just kill me.

I roll my eyes, jerking my chin toward the bed. Orion helps me throw Xander into the trunk, and then we toss Tate on top of him. Something about the wind resistance, Orion said. If there’s something to hold him down, there will be less drag. It’s science, man.

It doesn’t sound too plausible to me, but what the hell do I know? I’m certainly not going to argue with Orion when he gets that bloodthirsty look in his eyes. I taught him, after all. If he wanted to, I’m sure he could find some way to kill me if he put a sliver of effort into it.

It’s a good thing he’s lazy as fuck. A lazy lion, content to have someone else bring him his prey.

“Absolutely not. You are not driving,” I say, slapping Orion's hand away from the driver's side door handle. He pushes his lower lip out, and I almost want to remind him how ridiculous it looks on him. Yes, he’s a teenage boy, but he’s also a murderous, narcissistic psychopath. It’s just plain silly at this point.

“Go on. Get,” I shoo him away, rolling my eyes at the glare he sends my way. “Yee-haw motherfucker. I’m the captain of this ship.”

Orion rolls his baby blues, jumping into the passenger seat. “You’re so lame.”

“One more word, and I deal with Xander myself.”

Orion gasps, jerking back like I heavily offended him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” I glance over at Orion as I pull the truck into drive. “And put on your seat belt, for fuck’s sake.”

Orion grumbles but does as he’s told. After all, you get more with sugar than vinegar—and there’s a Xander-sized dessert waiting for him.

Sometimes, dealing with teenagers isn’t so hard.

Dealing with teenagers is fucking impossible.

“Orion, you’re not supposed to kill him before I get my information,” I remind him, placing my hand on his shoulder. Orion wheels around with a wild look in his eye, holding his bloodied knife to my throat like I taught him.

“Make one move, and I’ll gut you. Calm. Down.”

The fog in Orion’s eyes clears, and he blinks down at my dagger tip pressed against his sternum. “Shit. I didn’t realize that was there.”

I roll my eyes, pocketing my dagger as Orion lowers his arm. “That’s because you let your emotions get to you. You’re not thinking. You need to breathe. Do not let the bloodlust win.”

Orion nods, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Sorry. Let me try again?”

I look over his shoulder at Xander, barely holding on by a thread as it is. “Maybe later. He can’t go through much more.”

Orion sighs, throws down his blade, and storms from the room. I roll my eyes, picking the blade up off the ground and walking over to Xander. I crouch in front of him, looking up at the mutilated mess that remains of his face. His ears and nose have been cut off, leaving several gaping holes in place of what were once handsome features. Blood oozes from several deep gashes along his torso and extremities, and with every small movement, more red drips to the concrete floor.

“Have you had enough, Xander?” I whisper, tilting his chin up so I can look him in the eyes. He peeks through flesh swollen to thin slits, and I know—I know I’ve broken him. He heard me and the boy talking. He knows Orion will keep coming back until he’s nothing but a useless, bloody stump. His last moments will be nothing but pure agony, whereas I can offer him salvation.

I can offer him a swift death.

Xander closes his eyes and nods, his shoulders slumping inward.

“Good,” I murmur, standing back up. “Who ordered you to kill the girl?”

Even now, it looks like Xander will resist. But after another moment of thought, he sighs dejectedly. “We got the order from high up.” He raises his head, struggling to open those slits. “Madam herself.”

My heart skips, but I keep my posture rigid, refusing to show emotion to this slug. “Why? What’s so important about Brett?”

Xander throws his head back, hacking a wet, rattling laugh. “And I thought Phantoms were supposed to know everything. You guys are a bunch of frauds.”

I shake my head, clenching my fist around the hilt of my dagger. “Tell me, Xander.”

He lowers his head, a nasty smile on his mouth showcasing the bloodied stumps he has left of his teeth. “It’s because of you, Phantom.” He spits—again, missing me entirely. “She thinks you care for her, that she’s a distraction. Madam wants her gone, even if you won’t do it. Especially if you won’t do it.”

My shoulders tense. I should have realized. Why didn’t—why didn’t I notice this sooner? Of course she didn’t buy my act at our last meeting. I questioned a direct order from the Madam. No, it's worse than that. I disobeyed.

The Disposer cackles like he can read my mind. “So it’s true? You do care for her. God, that’s fucking pathetic.”

“Don’t you fucking say that,” I whisper, taking a step closer. “Don’t you dare fucking say that.”

“Why?” he mocks. “It is. You think she’s going to love you back? You think she’s going to let you of all people come near her? Touch her?” He hacks another laugh. “I’ve heard stories about you, Phantom. How your skin looks like melted candle wax from all the times you accidentally hurt yourself. How your eyes and hair are white like some Phantom freak.” Xander grins his toothless smile, what’s visible of his eyes taunting me. “She’s going to take one look at you and scream. Or, better yet, shoot you in the fucking face. I bet you’d look better like that if the stories are t⁠—”

I don’t realize I’ve slit Xander’s jugular until his head falls onto his chest and that awful red pours from the deep gash in the side of his neck.

Fuck.

I sigh, wiping the blade on Xander’s pants leg before pocketing it. I wanted to get a few more answers out of him before I did that, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. After all, he told me the main thing I needed to know.

That Brett is in danger. Horrible, awful danger.

A growl sounds deep in my chest as I storm from the room, taking the steps two at a time to get back to the main level of the house. Orion gives me a strange look as I pass by where he’s seated at the kitchen island but otherwise says nothing. As angry as Orion can get, he’s got nothing on my lifetime of hurt and anguish.

I’ve already had enough taken from me. I won’t let them have Brett.

With that thought, I jump into the truck and peel off into the mouth of the forest. Toward Brett Evangeline’s apartment.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #9

Hudson is alive! Thank God—that’s the only thought running through my mind all day. We have another meeting tonight at his apartment, and I’m contemplating telling him how I feel. I know, I know—I should be keeping things professional. But I can’t help it. And after all my worrying, it’s clear my feelings for him have slipped far past platonic.

God, I’m an idiot. How would that even work? How could I ever trust him around Brett?

On second thought, I may be keeping my feelings to myself tonight…

I wake to a gentle pressure on my thighs. Assuming it’s Venom getting comfortable, I reach my arms out, loosing a massive yawn with my eyes squeezed shut tight. I’m exhausted. I could sleep for another three weeks⁠—

“Well, that’s fucking adorable.”

“WHAT THE FUCK!” I screech, sitting straight up and nearly knocking the breakfast tray all over the bed. I would have if a pair of gloved hands hadn't grabbed it just before it toppled over.

I look straight at the masked face—a face I’ve spent countless hours staring at in a grainy image. And now he’s here. In my bedroom.

“I see that look on your face. I don't want to hear any of this ‘how did you get in my apartment?’ bullshit. The proper response when someone makes you breakfast is ‘thank you.’”

I’m dreaming, right? This has to be some fucked-up, prescription-induced hallucination.

“W-Why are you here?” I ask, cursing the way my voice trembles ever so slightly. In my defense, I didn’t expect to wake up with a serial killer at the foot of my bed.

With my heart hammering, I inch my way toward my nightstand drawer—where my loaded weapon waits for me.

The masked killer sighs as if my question irritates him. “No one has any manners anymore.”

“I’d say breaking into someone’s house is pretty bad fucking manners,” I quip, forgetting my survival instincts for a moment.

A strange, mechanical laugh answers me. “You’re mean. I like it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easy when a psychotic killer is sitting at the foot of your bed.” Almost there. Just a little farther…

“My, my. You might need another lesson or two in profiling if that’s what you think I am.”

Fucking. Asshole. Without thinking, I lunge for my weapon, flicking off the safety at the same time I take my aim, centering the barrel at the level of his forehead.

“I suggest you shut the fuck up before I put one between your eyes, asshole.”

The Phantom tilts his head, another eerie chuckle reverberating over the walls of my bedroom. “Do you really think you have it in you, darling? I’d certainly like to see you try.”

I take a breath, never letting my eyes move from that creepy black circle. Then I pull the trigger.

Click.

I look down in confusion—and, I admit, a bit of panic—at my trusty weapon that failed me for the first time. What the⁠—

“Come now, darling. Do you really think I’d spend all this time making you breakfast just to get shot in the head?” He holds up a gloved fist, and one by one, he lets the bullets—my bullets—drop to the floor. I stare at the man in horror, for once not knowing how the situation will unfold.

If I could see him, I swear he’d be smiling.

“Oops. Can't forget the one in the chamber.” He cackles, the mechanic twang causing a shudder to run down my spine. Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more horrified, the Phantom reaches up, tapping the side of his mask and causing the bottom half to slide up.

The first thing I notice is a bullet, sitting squarely in the middle of the Phantom's pink tongue. It’s only there for a moment, because in the next second, he closes his mouth and swallows the fucking bullet.

Swallows it. What a psycho.

“I—You sick motherfucker,” I whisper, my throat closing as he stalks to the head of the bed. Nice. Real threatening, Brett.

The Phantom cocks his head, the bottom half of his mask fitting back into place, covering the sharp, stubbled jaw of his. “Sick is a simple term which scarcely scratches the surface of my psychotic and sinful persona.”

I frown when he stops a few paces from me, seemingly coming no closer than that. “Fine. You’re a freak.”

“Now you’re getting warmer, darling.” He pauses, then gestures to the tray sitting on the corner of the bed. “Eat. From what I’ve seen, your nutrition intake leaves much to be desired.”

I glare at him, slightly braver now that he hasn’t tried to outright kill me. That has to count for something, right? “How about you go eat a bag of dicks instead?”

The Phantom sighs. “Are you always this irritating?”

“Excuse you. I’m a fucking delight.” If I could see his brows, I’m sure they would be in his hairline now. “What?”

“Nothing… I’m not sure how to respond to you sometimes. You make me—” He cuts off suddenly. “You’re a confusing creature, is all. Now, eat up, darling. You’ll need all your strength to survive what comes next.”

“I already said no. Fuck off.”

He sighs, hanging his head. I glimpse his snow-white hair before he raises his head, that soulless black mask seeming to pierce my soul.

“I was worried you’d say that.”

“What is that supposed to mean⁠—?”

The Phantom jumps forward, holding a cloth that reeks of chemicals up to my nose and mouth. I try to fight him off, but he’s much too strong, and the gas is too potent.

The room spins, and everything goes black.

PART TWO

POSSESSION

CHAPTER NINETEEN

GHOST

The Code: Rule #11

Friendships (within and outside of the Sanctum) are strictly prohibited.

25 years ago…

“Light’s out!” Master claps twice, and the room goes deadly silent, any sign of joy previously in the room squashed by his entrance. There’s a faint rustling as all the Rooks dutifully slide under their tweed sheets, none of the ten-year-olds daring to disobey a direct command.

It’s been five years since I entered the Academy of Phantoms. Five years since my birther—mother is a term I now refuse to use—sold me to those masked men. Men I now know to be a class of masks called Reapers.

Unlike Phantoms, Reapers specialize in security and low-profile assassination. Their training is far less intense, meaning some of them are able to retain their humanity—which makes sense when I think back to that blond Reaper and how he seemed genuinely concerned for that child’s well-being. My well-being.

I can no longer recall the fear I felt on that day when they took me in front of the Madam. The way I felt like a bug under a microscope as she had those doctors poke and prod me for hours, trying to find my weak spot. The only feeling I possess now is hate. I’m consumed by it. I want to live in it—die in it if I must. An incredibly high possibility, considering only one of us in this room will make it out alive.

I clench my hands beneath the threadbare sheet, listening for when Master eventually closes the cabin door. The room is silent for a few more minutes like we’re expecting him to come back and ensure we’re well and truly asleep.

“What a fucking killjoy, am I right?”

The room bursts into quiet chuckles as the voice of my best friend Brenden breaks the silence. I sit up, causing the bunk to rattle and sway. Brenden lets out a little yelp at the sudden motion, and I chuckle beneath my breath with the rest of the boys.

“Not cool, Ghost. Not cool,” Brenden grumbles, swinging his arm over the side and trying to smack me. I grin at the use of my new name—the name Brenden gifted me last month. I’m still getting used to it, but it certainly has a better ring to it than P-1313. Or—even worse—Boy.

“Jesus. Sounded like there was an MIT in here. You’re such a bitch, Brenden.” Randy, one of the older Rooks, chuckles like he just made the joke of the century. Madams In Training, is what he’s referring to, and though the joke is in good fun, it makes my blood boil. How dare he talk about Brenden like that? Sure, he spooks easily, but that’s no reason to make fun of my friend.

I move to stand from my bunk, but something holds me back when I try to move. I look to the side, noticing Brendan’s hand on my shoulder.

“Relax, Ghost,” he mutters, that easygoing smile of his shining dimly in the moonlight-filled room. “We’ll get him back in the circle tomorrow.”

Right. The circle. Our first real test in the program.

I shudder, looking down at my palms. They were already mutilated before I entered the program, but after five years, they’re barely recognizable compared to the hands of my classmates. The angry red scar tissue is brittle and cracked in several places, leaking pus and blood from our dagger-handling lesson this morning. I memorize the faint blue lines of my veins peeking through the near-translucent skin, wondering if I have it in me to kill somebody. If I can truly kill one of my brothers.

One of the cruelest parts of our training is the camaraderie they purposely nurture in us. The way they instill teamwork and brotherhood, only to make us kill each other in the end. I don’t understand why, but Master assures us it’s to make us the best Masks possible in order to properly serve the Sanctum.

My eyes shoot to the side where Randy and his bunkmate, Matt, whisper. I would have no problem ending one of their lives, but… I look up at Brenden, who, unaware of the war going on in my mind, gives me another one of his charismatic smiles. I could never kill Brenden. If it came down to him and me, I… I would let him live.

Brenden is the good one. With his ginger hair, bright blue eyes, and sweet personality, no one expects him to make it through the program. That’s why I’ve made it my mission to ensure he does, to protect him with my last breath. It’s the least I can do, though it pales in comparison to what he’s done for me—given me. A name of my own.

“Penny for your thoughts, Ghosty?”

I grin up at Brenden, my mind lighter just at the sight of his bright, carefree smile. “Your mom,” I say, falling into a fit of laughter as Brenden rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you. You better hope we don’t get paired up tomorrow,” he jokes with a wink.

I laugh with him, though my stomach tightens at the insinuation. I couldn’t bear to be in that circle with Brenden. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—ever hurt him.

I sigh, lying back on the straw pillow and closing my eyes. “We should get some rest,” I mutter, knocking twice on the slats above as our way of saying good night. Brenden knocks back, and I listen to the creaks and groans of the bunk as Brenden tries to get comfortable.

The rest of the brothers seem to have the same idea because soon after, a hush falls over the room—this time much more relaxed than when Master had ordered us to bed earlier.

I will sleep to take me, but like most nights, my mind refuses to turn off. I’m looking out of a train window as a thousand pictures flash in my mind, causing my heart to rush and my breath to quicken. Scattered snores fill the room now, though I’m barely aware as I run through the day my mo—the day she gave me to the Reapers. I want to know why she gave me up—what I did that was so terrible that she couldn’t live with me. I wasn’t a bad child. I was gentle and cheerful, and just wanted someone to love me.

With an angry huff, I shake off that line of thought and let the hatred swallow up every last feeling I possess. I try to bottle it up, to save it for tomorrow, but I know by the time the match takes place tomorrow, I still won’t have it in my heart to hurt my brothers.

I’m so fucking weak. I’m a failure—as a son, as a Phantom. Perhaps it will be a mercy if I’m the one to die tomorrow. If my end is swift and⁠—

“Ghost?”

I’m startled out of my dark thoughts by Brenden’s voice. He doesn’t sound normal, though. He sounds… panicked.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, reaching my hand up to his bunk. I can’t feel it, but I know Brenden has taken my hand by the way his breathing evens out. He doesn’t answer my question, but he doesn’t really need to. Even though he gives a carefree act to the others, I know that deep down, Brenden is terrified. He genuinely fears death, so much so that when we were little, I would have to talk him down from panic attacks before every lesson.

It seems tonight is no different. Brenden is still that scared little five-year-old boy, crying over the kitten he was forced to drown during initiation. Crying over the cruelty and the unfairness of it all. The reminder of the frailty of his—or any—life.

“I’ll protect you. It’s going to be okay,” I promise, tightening my hand around his. “I won’t let you die tomorrow, Brenden.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he says with a shaky chuckle. It’s a weak attempt at humor—his only real defense mechanism—but it eases my nerves, nonetheless. If he can make it through tomorrow, he can make it through whatever is yet to come.

I’ll make sure of it.

I squint against the sun beating down on the center of the circular clearing, every muscle in my body wound tight as a wire as I take in my opponent. Matt gives me a haughty smirk, those bushy blond brows wiggling tauntingly at me. I spit on the ground next to me to get rid of the acrid taste coating my mouth, my skin tingling with the aftermath of the Rebound we were dosed with during breakfast. Nasty shit.

“Remember, this is a test of your ability. As such, you have been paired with a Rook of equal fighting capabilities.” Master’s voice rings out from the center of the clearing, his voice easily heard by the six pairs of Rooks positioned around him in their respective fighting circles.

“The match ends when one of you is subdued—or dead.” He says it so matter-of-factly. Like the lives of the boys he’s spent the last five years with mean less than what he’s having for lunch.

Fucking bastard. I clench my jaw and discreetly peer around the circle, my heart dropping into my stomach when I see Master has paired Brenden with Randy. Randy weaves tauntingly at Brenden’s ashen figure, licking his lips with a malicious gleam in his eyes.

How the fuck is that a fair fight? My pulse thrums so loudly that I miss what Master says next. Brenden—I have to protect Brenden. If I don’t do something, he’ll⁠—

CRACK!

My head whips to the side, and though I feel nothing, there’s a distinct ringing in my ears that tells me Matt just clocked me in the fucking temple. I see his elbow out of the corner of my eye, and just before it hits me, I duck, sending my own fist up between Matt's legs.

“FUCK!” he squeals, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes. And that’s why you wear protection, asswipe. I should use Matt’s distraction to finish the match, but my attention is caught by Brenden, his face purpling in the crook of Randy’s elbow.

No—NO! I know Randy enough to realize he’s not letting Brenden go until he’s dead—and even long after that. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.

With no regard for what will happen to me, I sprint toward the circle’s edge, my mind on one thing alone—saving Brenden.

“What the fuck are you doing, P-1313? Your match isn’t over!” Master’s voice barely registers in my mind as I pump my legs faster. I have to save Brenden. I have to⁠—

“GET THE FUCK BACK IN THE RING!”

I don’t care what he’ll do to me for disobeying. I don’t care about anything except for my friend. He gave me my name. He gave me my name. He gave me⁠—

A horrible squelching noise emanates from the back of my thigh, and for some reason, my leg gives out from under me. I look back in alarm, noticing a thick serrated blade sticking halfway out from my leg, horrible, sticky red flowing from the injury and dripping down to the dirt.

Plop… plop… plop…

Suddenly, I’m five years old in Momma’s living room. She’s screaming at me for getting the red on her carpet again, though her voice sounds funny. Deeper. Robotic, almost. Why is she screaming like that? What is this circle she keeps talking about?

I look at the red pooling underneath me, a pit growing in my gut. I have to clean this before she notices. Momma hates color on her perfect white carpet.

Mindlessly, I start scooping the blood and dirt sludge into my palms, deaf to the clomping footsteps growing closer. Have to clean the red. Can’t let her see. My fingernails dig into the earth, my frenzy growing as more and more red joins the puddle I just swiped away. Why? Why can’t I do something right? I just want to be good—that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Why can’t I just be good for once?

“GHOST! Ghost, snap the fuck out of it!”

Ghost… that sounds familiar. I look up, instantly meeting Brenden’s icy-blue gaze. His mouth keeps moving, and he looks pale, but pale is better than purple. He must have gotten out of Randy’s death choke…

The last thought snaps me out of my trance, and there’s just enough time for me to hear Brenden yell, “DUCK!” before something silver swipes toward my neck. My instincts take over, and I fall to the side just before Matt’s blade slices into my carotid.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you, Boy?” Master yells, his voice filled with a rage I’ve never heard before. “Are you fucking slow? Get up and FIGHT!”

“Yeah, Boy. Go to your death like a man,” Matt taunts, swinging his dagger wildly at my chest. The tip clips me, and more red spills down the front of my shirt. I clench my jaw, jumping to my feet and pulling the knife from the back of my thigh. Bits of my muscle and sinew cling to its serrated edges, and I swallow down my bile as I raise the knife in a defensive position.

“That’s not my name,” I snarl, circling Matt slowly with my blade outstretched. “It’s Ghost.”

“Not what it says on your birth certificate, though, is it? You’re such a fucking loser, your mom didn’t even give you a⁠—”

Schwick.

Matt drops his dagger, his other hand reaching up to clutch his armpit where my knife is now lodged to the hilt, slicing through his radial nerve. He looks at his limp right arm with wide, alarmed eyes, not understanding why he’s unable to move it.

While he’s still in shock, I lunge forward in a crouch, grabbing his knife from the ground at his feet. Before he knows what’s happening, I bring the blade down on the top of his arch, slicing clean through tendon and bone.

An ear-piercing scream echoes across the clearing, causing some of the other Rooks to look over in alarm. As the last of his scream falls from his mouth, I reach up, pulling my blade from his shoulder and using my momentum to send it down through his other foot.

Strangled choking noises bubble from his lips as he tries to both scream and take in a breath at the same time.

“Submit,” I say, looking him dead in the eyes. He shakes his head in defiance, pathetically trying to raise his foot from the ground. I look him over, and with a disgusted huff, I turn and start walking—not running, like earlier—toward the edge of the circle. Brenden lets loose a cheerful whoop, and I smile as a couple of the other Rooks join in.

We did it. We both survived⁠—

Something hits my side, sending my body toppling to the ground. Before I have a chance to gain my bearings, Matt straddles my back, pinning me to the ground. Shit. Shit. Shit. How did he recover so quickly?

I can’t maneuver in this position. I let my guard down, thinking Matt was smart enough to realize I let him live. I could just as easily slit his throat, but I chose to deliver blows that were all nonlethal. Now, it looks like my generosity will be my undoing.

“You think you’re so special,” Matt breathes, an unhinged glint in his light green eyes accompanying the crazed smile on his face. “We’ll see how special you are when you’re fucking dea⁠—”

The last word gets cut off, and a second later, red rains from the sky, coating my head and back. There’s a soft clunk, and I crane my head to the side to see Matt’s rolling on the ground, his eyes still open wide as if in shock. My stomach flips, threatening to spew my meager breakfast all over the bloodied dirt as the master grips my arm and hauls me to my feet.

I gaze up at that faceless black circle, one single question running through my mind. Why did you save me?

As if reading my mind, the master turns to address the rest of the group. “As you all saw, the match was over, yet your former classmate thought the rules ceased to apply to him. Let this be a lesson to all who think it wise to disobey in the future.” With that, he turns from the group, his black suit tails swishing gently behind him. I watch his every move, uncertainty thrumming through my veins.

I’m not sure why, but… I think the master just spared my life.

I swing my gaze to Brenden, swirls of purple and blue already starting to sprout around his neck. He was going to let Brenden die… so why would he save me?

I have a feeling I won’t like the answer.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #10

Tonight, I met Hudson at his apartment in the city. I know, I know—how dumb can one woman be? But he was a perfect gentleman, as all Masks are trained to be—so Hudson says. After a nutritious, home-cooked lunch, Hudson and I sat on the couch, and he told me about his childhood.

To think someone so kind—so good—would be forced to do those things… After tonight, I’m more determined than ever to take down the Sanctum. They’re disgusting, horrible abominations against humanity, and they must be stopped.

God help us all if they can’t.

The only two things I know when I come to: my head feels like an elephant sat on it, and a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs are strapped to my wrists.

Wait, handcuffs? Fuzzy handcuffs?

A wave of adrenaline courses through me as I try to sit up, but the thick leather strap across my chest makes that impossible. Raising my head, I notice my legs are starfished, one ankle tied to each corner of the iron bedpost.

I shut my eyes tight and let my head fall back onto the—surprisingly—comfy pillow, focusing on taking deep, even breaths through my nose.

Calm the fuck down, Brett. Freaking out will not get you out of this mess. Just—think of puppies. Puppies are nice. Puppies don’t kidnap you and tie you to a bed in their lair. Puppies aren’t going to come in here any moment and brutally murder you…

Okay, thinking about puppies is so not helping.

I jerk as the door scrapes open, then force myself to remain as still as possible. If he thinks I’m asleep, maybe he’ll go away…

Sure enough, after a few moments, the footsteps recede, followed by the door closing. I breathe a sigh of relief, then immediately start to wiggle my wrists from the cuffs. I’ve seen several movies where they have to dislocate their thumbs to slip out of the cuffs, but I’m not exactly sure how to do that from this angle. I frown down at my hands, using the heel of my left hand to try to force the joint of my thumb of my right out of the socket.

“Please don’t do that.”

I scream, my body jerking painfully against the restraints as that distorted voice echoes off the walls. Oh shit, he never left. I’m going to fucking die.

His footsteps sound out, growing alarmingly close to the bed. “Don’t come any closer! I’ll kill you, I swear,” I snarl, hating the way my voice cracks slightly. In my defense, no amount of training could have prepared me for this kind of terror.

There’s a dip in the mattress, and I know he’s taken a seat at the foot of the bed. Is this it? Is this when I die? I always thought I would have a better death—a more noble one. Maybe in the line of duty, protecting someone else—but no. I’m going to die hog-tied to a bed with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs strapped to my wrists.

God, how embarrassing.

“Brett…” His voice is barely a whisper, and a moment later, something touches my leg.

I jerk my knee, though it does nothing to dislodge his gloved hand resting there. “Get the fuck off me, fucker! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Your vocabulary leaves much to be desired,” he murmurs, looking down at his hand for a solid minute before deciding to pull it away. “Fuck is not an adjective.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck yourself,” I snarl, irritation lighting my veins. I don’t care that he just made fun of me for saying it. He can fuckity fuck himself with a cactus.

Ghost tilts his head. “I’d much rather you do it.”

Of course he would. “Well, tough toenails, buddy,” I snip, fighting the urge to cringe after saying it. Real threatening, Brett. He’s definitely not going to stab you to death now.

I close my eyes, waiting for the pain that comes with a dagger being shoved into my rib cage, but there’s nothing. Slowly, I crack one eye open to find him still sitting at the edge of the bed, his head cocked like he’s observing some strange creature at the zoo.

“What?” I snap, wriggling uncomfortably against my restraints. Why is he looking at me like that?

Still, the Phantom refuses to speak. He just keeps staring and staring and staring. I bet he’s not even blinking under that mask—assuming he has real eyes or eyelids. I know he has a mouth and a jaw, but above that… who knows? Maybe he’s part cyborg. Maybe that’s why it’s been impossible to catch this fucker.

Stranger things have happened.

“What does that mean… tough toenails?”

I suppress the urge to laugh. I doubt psychopathic killers respond well to being made fun of. But it’s just so funny. “You’ve never heard someone say that?” He shakes his head. I sigh, wishing I could press my palms against my eyes to stave off this horrible headache.

“It’s just… it means tough luck. Like not gonna happen, buddy.” And now I’m explaining idioms to a serial killer. This day is turning out to be fantastic.

Not.

I lift my head when he doesn’t respond, noting how he hasn’t moved an inch since I last looked. He’s still sitting there, watching me.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I demand.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

He says it so matter-of-factly like he’s talking about the weather. And my stupid ass blushes. Get it together, woman. He is a violent, psychopathic criminal. I shake myself, forcing a glare onto my face. I just have to figure a way out of this mess, and then… and then…

It occurs to me there is no way in sweet hell I’m getting out of here alive. Not unless he willingly releases me. Meaning…

“What do you want?” I ask, trying to keep my voice brave. “Why am I here? What do you plan to do to me?”

It might be a trick of the light, but I swear his shoulders tense just the slightest bit. For a while, I don’t think he’s going to answer me. But then he sighs. “I don’t know,” he admits, turning his head to the side. It’s the first time he’s looked away since I woke, and it sends a chill through me for some reason.

“What do you mean you don’t know? People don’t just kidnap other people for no reason!”

He shrugs, still not looking at me. “I am no ordinary person.”

Well, normal people don’t run around in masks kidnapping federal agents, so I guess that tracks. “Are you… are you going to kill me?” This time, I do cringe as the words fall from my mouth. Great, now I’m giving him ideas. How the hell did they let my ass into the bureau?

The Phantom whips his head to me, seeming to stare into my very soul. “No. No, I don’t think I will.”

Think. Things are not looking good. “W-why not? What are you going to do with me?”

He shrugs, that faceless oval moving off to the side again. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know! That’s⁠—”

“I said I don’t know!”

I jerk, my chest heaving as that distorted voice echoes off the stone walls. A heavy sigh tears through him, and he stands from the bed, making his way toward my head.

“What are you doing? Get away from me!”

He acts as if he doesn’t hear me, reaching toward my chest and loosening the strap with a flick of his fingers. I blink, ceasing my struggle as I realize what he’s doing. He pulls a slim silver key from his breast pocket and inserts it into one of the restraints on my ankles. There’s a click as the lock comes undone, and I breathe a sigh of relief as blood flows freely to my toes.

“Thank you,” I whisper, sitting up as soon as my other ankle is free. I hold out my wrists to him, but he shakes his head.

“I do not trust you with your hands free. Besides…” His voice takes on a teasing lilt. “I like seeing you in handcuffs.”

I frown, throwing my legs over the side of the bed clumsily. The Phantom jerks his head to the far end of the room and takes off, leaving me to stumble after him.

He stops in front of a plain stone wall, and my mouth pops in a question. It dies in my throat, though, when he presses the back of his wrist to it, and a secret door slides open.

“Whoa. That’s pretty badass.”

He whips his head to me, seemingly surprised to hear me say something other than a threat. “You think so?”

I shrug awkwardly. “Sure. That, or I’m easily impressed.”

A snort sounds from that eerie black oval. “Come, Brett. Watch your step.”

He jerks his head, motioning for me to head up in front. My hackles raise, but it’s not like I have another option. Taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulder back as much as the cuffs will allow, and I ascend the stairs.

I don’t need to look back to know the Phantom is staring directly at my ass the whole way, and it fills me with a strange buzzing feeling. I shake my head. That’s it—I’ve definitely lost my marbles.

“Brett?”

I jerk, my foot sliding from the step and sending my body reeling backward. I close my eyes, waiting for the smack of my head against the steps, but there’s nothing—nothing except a warm pair of arms wrapped tightly around my waist. That strange electricity returns, emanating strongest from the places his hands rest on my hips.

“It’s okay, darling. I have you now.” His voice is so soft. So… I don’t really know the word to describe it. Reverent, maybe.

I pry my body from his grip, frowning when I’m left utterly empty by the loss of sensation. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“You have a lot of questions,” he says, ushering me up the last few steps. I’m about to point out that I have a right to be, but then I step into the main room, and all previous thoughts fly out the window.

A massive chandelier hangs from the thirty-foot vaulted ceiling, complete with hand-carved stone ornaments along each of the arched hallways. The room is cast in a gentle orange hue from the light of the chandelier bouncing off the sandstone, giving the entire space a cozy feel despite the size. A grand piano sits in the center of the room—a Steinway, by the looks of it—and stacks on stacks of sheet music are sitting on the top, their edges frayed and yellow from age. I move toward the massive instrument in a trance, running my fingertips lightly over the worn ivory keys.

It’s so quiet here that I can hear my heart beating. And if I listen closely, I swear I can hear waves crashing in the background. Curiously, I float over to the window taking up the wall on the left of the room. It’s dark outside, so I can’t see out, but the closer I get, the surer I am of what I heard earlier.

We’re by the ocean.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, listening to the waves crash against the stone cliffs. My best guess is we’re somewhere in the northern part of Moriton—possibly inside the cliffs that break off into the ocean.

I shudder, the severity of my situation hitting me tenfold. If I’m where I think I am, then there’s no possible way for me to escape. We’re deep in the wilderness, with no sign of civilization for miles. Even if I somehow managed a way out of this stone fortress, I wouldn’t know which direction to start running.

“I’m trapped,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes tight. I’m going to die here, aren't I?

“Brett?”

I jump, knocking my head against the glass with a loud thunk. I bring my hand to my forehead with a wince, then twist to face the Phantom.

“Yes?”

The Phantom shuffles his feet against the stone floor, his head slightly downcast. “Would you—would you care for a tour?”

I lower my hand, trying to make sense of him. He seems nervous… why?

“Sure.” I shrug, looking off to the side. “Sounds nice.” And maybe I’ll find some way to escape.

The Phantom nods, turning on his heels and gliding toward the hallway to the left. “Come, Brett.”

I frown but still follow at his heels, unable to help my disbelieving gaze as we walk through the grand archway. “So… who built this place?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and I cringe, thinking I might have offended him somehow. Maybe I’m not supposed to ask questions…

“I did. Well, I designed it. I had some… help with the actual infrastructure.”

Cryptic but impressive. “And where are we going now?”

“To my office.” As soon as he says it, we come to another seemingly innocent stone wall. That is, until he presses his wrist against the wall, and another secret door slides open.

Damn. I think I need one of those.

He steps through the opening, gesturing for me to follow him with a flick of his gloved hand. I do, stepping into a room that seems to be filled wall-to-wall with computer monitors. Several of them showcase black screens, but a number of them also have a live feed of people’s houses—people’s bedrooms.

I swallow, realizing he must have had a similar feed to my house. No wonder it felt like someone was watching me. He literally was.

As if sensing my thoughts, he speaks up. “Yours was one of my favorites.” He gestures nonchalantly to the wall of screens. “All of these are for business. But yours, darling…” He takes a step closer to me, clearly forgetting his earlier nervousness as he takes a deep breath. “Yours… was all for pleasure.”

I shuffle back, suddenly anxious with how close he’s gotten—and more importantly, how my body seems to be reacting to it. I want him to touch me, want to feel that strange, heated electricity coursing through my veins at the contact. It’s so different from when other people touch me. There are no crawling ants under my skin, no desire to light the area on fire to get rid of the horrible sensations.

Oh, fuck me. I have a crush on the Phantom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #13

Obtaining a mate (whether the relationship is purely sexual in nature, or otherwise) is strictly forbidden.

Brett’s face is pale. I carefully look her over, trying to figure out what caused this change in temperament. Since she woke up, she’s been many things—anxious, furious, murderous—but never truly terrified. I wonder if it’s the thing I said about the cameras, but the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s not the case. She was fine when I told her about them. It was only after, when she stepped back from me and went into her own little world.

She realized something—but what? I may never know.

“Come, Brett,” I say, waving her to follow me to the next room. It’s killing me not to be able to touch her—what I wouldn’t give to rip these gloves off and take her by the hand—but the thing Xander told me keeps running through my mind, killing any fantasy I try to conjure up.

You think she’ll let you near her? Touch her? She’s going to take one look at you and scream. Or, better yet, shoot you in the fucking face.

I shake my head, frowning at the pain those thoughts seem to cause. Except… I can’t feel pain. I don’t understand this. I don’t understand it at all.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t realize we’ve made it to the library until Brett lets out a little gasp. I look at her, noting how her perfect pink lips are spread in awe as she stares at the hundreds of titles lining the walls. I want to reach out and run my finger along them. I bet they would be so soft. So soft and smooth.

Suddenly, Brett whips her head to the side, and whatever she sees has a scream pouring from her mouth.

“What the fuck is that?” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

I look at where her eyes are trained and notice she’s staring directly at the preserved head I keep on one of the bookshelves. Makes a fantastic bookend.

“Oh, that? It’s a reminder.”

She shakes her head slowly, her face paling like it did earlier. “Of what?”

I chuckle, stepping close to her side. I lean down, placing my mouth inches from her ear. “A reminder that I’m an evil motherfucker. An adequate warning for anyone stupid enough to break in.” I shrug, a devious smile on my lips as I straighten. “And also, I just like shaking the bottle sometimes. He makes really funny faces. Watch⁠—”

I stalk over and palm the jar between my hands, turning to face her before I start shaking it. The head’s mouth flies open like he’s screaming, and a chuckle builds in my chest. That is, until I hear something that kills every ounce of joy inside. Brett screams.

I stop, cocking my head to the side as I take in her horrified expression. “Is this bothering you?”

“Yes, it’s fucking bothering me!” she screeches, taking a step back to mirror my forward one.

“Oh. My apologies. I really did think you were made of tougher stock.” I place the jar back on the bookshelf, and Brett’s face turns slightly green as she notices the new expression on the head.

“Do you not care what he did?” I ask, turning the jar slightly so it’s facing perfectly straight.

Brett just shakes her head, clutching her hands tightly. “Why should I?”

A distorted laugh echoes throughout the room. “Because, darling Brett,” I say, stalking toward her slowly. “Even you would want to give him a good shake if you knew.”

“Knew what?”

I gesture behind me at the jar. “That is my father’s head.” When she doesn’t respond, I cock my head. “That man was partially to blame for bringing me into this world. Surely you hate him now.” If you hate me, that is…

Brett scoffs, turning her head from me. “Why would I? It’s not his fault his spawn turned out to be a monster.”

I frown. “Honestly, I expected more from your deductive skills, darling Brett.”

“Would you stop calling me darling?” She seethes, whipping her head back to give me a fiery glare.

“Why?”

“Because it’s fucking creepy!”

I chuckle, stopping just in front of her. “Now you’re just trying to get me hard.”

“You’re fucking impossible,” she grumbles, shooting another nervous glance at the jar, as if the disattached head will open its eyes at any moment. “Am I to assume that guy did nothing other than ‘bring you into this world’? Because that’s fucked up, even by your standards.”

“Oh no, darling Brett. He did so much worse.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

I inspect my gloved hand. “He killed my mother.”

Brett reels back, as if this is new information to her. “But your mother is Martha Gore. She’s alive and living in the city.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. My mother is very, very much dead. She died the day my father walked out on her. What you saw was a husk of what she used to be. So full of life. Full of love—” My back straightens, and I drop my hand down to my side in military-like stillness. “But we can’t dwell on the past. We must only look up and onward.”

“You miss her,” Brett whispers, more to herself than me. “Your mom. I mean, what she used to be to you.”

I scoff. “I assure you, that useless emotion was trained out of me decades ago.”

She regards me carefully, at the way my left palm twitches slightly with my words. “You’re lying.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Your palm. It twitches whenever you lie,” she murmurs, bringing her eyes up to where mine would rest on my face.

“And who’s to say I’m not leading you on with a fake tell?” I keep my tone nonchalant despite the fact my pulse thrums.

Again, she regards me, at the way my hand goes rigid—fighting off that natural tic. “You’re right. I guess I don’t know,” she whispers even though her face screams but I do know. He can’t hide it from me.

Poor little thing. She probably thinks she still has a chance to catch me.

“So. Why exactly am I here?” she inquires for the thousandth time.

I turn from her, inspecting an old framed photo on one of the bookshelves. “Because you’re in danger.”

She balks. Then she laughs—like I just said the most hilarious thing in the world. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I’ve been fucking kidnapped by a serial killer.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see it. “Not from me, Brett. From the others.”

This, at least, gets her to stop laughing. “Others? What do you mean others?”

I jerk my gaze back to her, my tone dropping in seriousness. “Tell me, Brett darling… what do you know about the Sanctum?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #11

Today, Brett asked me why I’m never home anymore.

I couldn’t tell her the truth, no matter how much guilt I felt.

She just wouldn’t understand. How would she? She’s barely thirteen.

I have a meeting with Maverick the Phantom tonight—though I am a bit disappointed I had to cancel my plans with Hudson. He promised me it was important, and I have no reason to doubt him.

I’ll have more to write in the morning, I’m sure.

This is it. He’s finally going to tell me something about his organization. I try to school my expression, trying not to let on how interested I really am. “I know some things.” I shrug nonchalantly. “Most of the evidence has been lost or destroyed, though, so probably not much.”

Ghost nods, then turns his head toward the window, where he gazes out for a solid minute. “Yes, they do love their secrets…” He clears his throat, moving over to the bookcase and grabbing a small wooden box. He pries the lid open, pulling something small and silver out. The dog tag glints in the light as he stalks back to me, and I frown when he places it into my palm.

“This… it’s the same as the one you put in my apartment.”

He nods, manually closing my fingers around the thin piece of metal. “I wanted you to know something about me—I wanted you to understand my motives. I realize now you would have had no idea what to do with the information.”

He’s right. I’m more confused now than I was that morning. “What are you trying to tell me? What does this mean?” I ask, gesturing to my closed palm.

Ghost sighs. “You are in possession of my identity. Where I come from, it is the highest form of treason. Especially because I willingly gave it to you.”

“Okayy…”

He sucks his teeth, looking off to the side. “I wanted you to have something of mine—what few possessions I truly have. It was my way of telling you—of letting you know we are on the same side.”

This information shocks me to the core. “The same side? Of what?”

“Taking down the Sanctum, of course.”

I choke on my words, taking an involuntary step back, the dog tag clutched so tightly in my palm that my fingers turn white. “You—what?”

“You heard me, darling.”

I blink wildly, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me. “I don’t understand…”

“All will be revealed in time,” he murmurs, closing the distance between us and placing his finger under my chin, pulling my gaze back to him. “For now, all you need to know is that you are safe. Here. With me.”

I shake my head, my eyes never leaving his face. “I don’t… why should I believe you? After everything you’ve done⁠—”

“The things I have done are a direct result of the organization. They were orders—nothing more.” He pulls away from me suddenly, his shoulders turning inward. “The things I have done… I regret. I wish to stop the same from happening to other young boys and girls.”

With his last word, my face pales. “Girls? You mean, they…?”

He nods solemnly. “A few select ones are put into the Madam training program, and the rest…” He clenches his fist, body shaking with barely suppressed rage. “The rest, they sell off. I don’t think I need to detail what becomes of them.”

My stomach turns, and I fear I’m about to be physically ill. “I had no idea… I thought it was just high-profile assassinations. I had no idea about the…” I swallow, clutching my abdomen. “I had no idea about the children.”

“There is no reason you would have. The Sanctum wants the FBI to think the worst they do is assassinate shitty politicians. And the bureau is so hung up on the how, they haven’t stopped to question why. Why the Sanctum targets these men, or why they would do it at all if there’s no profit in it.”

I take a shaky breath, my eyes wide as the pieces fall into place. “It’s a diversion. They’ve created a diversion from their real motives—money.”

He nods. “No doubt there’s some money in assassinations—enough pissed-off spouses and angry fathers who want to take out the scumbags and are willing to pay top dollar to have it done. But it pales in comparison to what the Sanctum makes from their trafficking operation.”

Ghost tilts his head as he takes in my expression. “Are you okay?”

“I think I need to sit down,” I breathe, my sight starting to tunnel. Ghost leads me over to the leather couches on the far side of the library, and I plop down a second before my knees give out.

“Thank you,” I murmur, reaching under my ass and attempting to move whatever’s poking me. I pull it out, frowning down at the neon green tennis ball in my palm. Its edges are frayed as if it's been chewed on, and when I close my hand around it, the ball compresses, accompanied by a squeaking noise. Does he own a dog? The thought is nearly too preposterous to believe, yet I’m looking at what is clearly a dog’s chew toy.

As I gaze at the tennis ball, another soul-crushing thought occurs. Venom. I don’t know where he is. Oh God, my poor sweet kitten. I’m the world’s worst cat mom in the universe. I was so concerned about getting out of this situation that I haven’t spared a thought for him. I have to find a way out of here. I have to⁠—

“What’s the matter, darling?”

I stand from the couch, fully prepared to die fighting this man to have a chance at getting to Venom. “I have to go.”

“I just told you, Brett. You are not leaving. You’re safe here with me.”

“It’s not about that!” I say, raising my cuffed hands over my shoulder like a bludgeon. “I have to protect Venom.”

Ghost tilts his head but makes no move to step forward and stop me. “You don’t need to worry about Venom.”

My heart sinks. No. No, no, no. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

“What did you do to my cat, you sick motherfucker?” I snarl, the hatred in my voice surprising me. “If you laid a single finger on him, I swear to God I’ll⁠—”

“Mew!”

My eyes go wide as I glance over Ghost’s shoulder, noticing a giant white fluffy dog trotting into the room. And—more importantly—my sassy black fluffball hot on his heels.

“Venom!” I cry, unable to believe my eyes as I rush past Ghost toward the strange pair. “Venom, you’re okay!”

As soon as I’m within arm’s length, I crouch down and reach my cuffed hands toward Venom, nearly squealing in delight as he flops over and shows me his belly. He only does that when he’s really relaxed, meaning…

“Has he been taking good care of you, buddy?” I whisper, my smile widening as he purrs contentedly. After a few more scratches, he jumps up and takes off toward the couches. I shrug, turning my attention to the bear-sized dog sitting a few feet away from me.

Noticing my eyes on him, he trots over, his tongue lolling out of his mouth ever so slightly. Instinctually, I reach my hand out, running my fingers through his snow-white fur. He’s so soft. Almost as soft as Venom.

There’s a plop, and I look down in surprise to find the Great Pyrenees on his back, his legs hanging lazily in the air as he awaits belly scratches. I reach out cautiously, keeping my scratches light just in case he decides to change his tune and bite my face off. This guy could do it easily.

“What a traitor.”

I jerk my head up in surprise to find Ghost standing over us, his chest shaking lightly with a laugh. “It took me months to get him to do that for me. He must have good taste.”

I blush, hanging my head to hide it from him. Focus, woman. Remember—he is a crazed, serial-killing sociopath.

Although, he did bring Venom to his home for me. He didn’t have to do that. If he wanted me to suffer, he would have left him at my apartment—or worse. Much, much worse. He can’t be that bad if he’s taken this good care of not one but two animals. At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself.

“What’s his name?” I ask, continuing to run my fingernails across his chest.

“Rupert.”

I snort, thinking how much the name fits him. “Hey, Rupert,” I murmur, running my hands up his neck and behind his ears. Rupert opens his eyes lazily, and I notice the difference between them. He has one blue and one green eye, both equally as striking against his pure white coat.

“I like his eyes, too,” Ghost says, crouching down to join my efforts. “Though they are nowhere near as entrancing as yours.” Our hands brush for the briefest of moments, and even though his is gloved, I still blush.

I stand suddenly, the room spinning slightly from being so close to him. He even smells good. Slightly smoky with a hint of aftershave or possibly one of those made-up scents they’re always talking about in the romance books. Like sandalwood or cypress—whatever the fuck those are supposed to smell like.

Needing to get my emotions in check, I turn from him and walk toward the bookcase on the wall opposite of us. I stop a few feet from the towering shelves, pretending to inspect the section of anatomy textbooks at my eye level. Something gleaming catches the corner of my eye, and I turn my attention to a small gold-rimmed picture frame sitting on the shelf to my right. I reach for it, brushing my fingertips lightly along the gold-plated edges before palming it.

“You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”

I jump, nearly dropping the picture frame as Ghost’s mechanical voice rings out just above my right ear. “Shit! You scared me,” I huff, holding my hand to my chest while I place the frame back on the shelf.

Ghost reaches out, snatching the picture frame to his chest. “You may look, but please don’t touch,” he murmurs, placing it in the same spot it was before. After looking at it for a moment, he reaches out with an index finger, adjusting it ever so slightly so it’s at a perfect forty-five-degree angle. Then he runs his gloved thumb gently over one of the glasses covering the portrait.

“I need some air. I’ll be back,” he mutters, gliding over to the archway after one last longing glance at the photo. “Don’t touch anything.”

I flinch as the scrape of a door makes its way to me, and I curl my arms around my torso as goose bumps rise along my skin. When I’m positive he’s not coming back, I step over to the bookcase and pick up the frame, careful not to make any noise as I pull the weathered photo from its frame. There’s a reason he didn’t want me handling it. I need to know why—what he’s hiding.

The worn photo pictures two boys—no older than ten years of age—with their arms wrapped around one another, matching grins spreading their cold-flushed cheeks. The one on the left holds a mischievous, all-knowing twinkle in his eye, with hair the color of the snow topping the mountain peaks in the background, his pale irises matching the gray skies above. The one on the right is his polar opposite, with an innocent smile and a smattering of freckles over his nose, which plays adorably with his bright baby blues and the carrot-red hair popping out from his hood.

I wonder why he’s held on to this for so long—who the boys in the photograph are. It clearly held some meaning to him. I just have to figure out what. After thinking for a moment, it hits me like a ton of bricks. I am in possession of the only known photo of the Phantom. The only problem is, I’m not sure which boy's face belongs to him. I’m assuming it’s not the one with carrot-red hair, but you never know.

I do know one thing, though.

I need to get out of here and show this photo to someone.

It takes me a good half an hour of searching the lair before I realize that Ghost has left the premises. I guess that scrape of stone I heard earlier meant he literally went to get some air. Which is good news for me because now I have time to figure a way out of this stone hell.

The first thing I try is the other two hallways branching off the main room. However, just like the library and computer room, I need one of Ghost wrist thingies to gain access. The next room I search is the basement, seeing as that door is still wide open, but there’s no exit there, either.

I’m just about to give up hope when I notice Rupert standing in front of the stone wall opposite the windows. He paws at the stone, and I frown, moving toward him slowly so as not to spook him.

“Do you know where the door is?” I ask. Rupert wags his tail slightly but does nothing else to indicate there is a door here.

And then I see it.

About four feet off the floor, there’s a slight divot in the stone, like something has touched that exact spot thousands of times. I look down at Rupert, who paws at the stone with a little whine. He shakes, causing his collar to jingle lightly, and my eyes catch the glint of his silver dog tag. Only, it doesn’t look like a regular name tag. It’s thicker—bulkier—as if there’s something inside it.

No. There’s no way.

Still, I reach down to Rupert's neck, unlocking his thick collar with slow, even movements. When he doesn’t try to maul me, I breathe a sigh of relief, and, to test it out, I press the tag to the place a keyhole would be on my handcuffs. To my immense surprise, the cuffs spring open as soon as the bone-shaped tag nears the metal. I straighten with a smile and press the dog tag to that divot in the stone.

I half expect nothing to happen—no one is that lucky. But I know I've done it when that telltale scrape of stone fills the air. I found a way out.

“Fuck yes!” I cheer, pumping my fist in the air while Rupert gives me a judging stare. I roll my eyes, turning from the door and racing to the library to find Venom. I scoop him into my arms, thanking the stars he remains calm as I race back to the exit.

Rupert cocks his head as I race out of the door, but he doesn’t try to follow. He almost looks sad, but I know that’s just a trick of the light. And anyway, I can’t think about that now. I have to get the fuck out of here before Ghost gets back.

Mindlessly, I race toward an opening in the tree line. The ground beneath me looks worn, and I quickly veer off the path in case he comes looking for me. It’s clear some kind of vehicle has traveled this way many times before, and as long as I stay off the actual road, I can follow it to civilization.

Hopefully, I remind myself, clutching Venom tight to my chest as I crash through the brush. Venom mews in fright, trying to squirm out of my grip, but I just hold him tighter as I continue racing through the woods. Branches and twigs snap at my face and bare arms, but I barrel through, numb to the pain. I have to get to the main road. If I can get there, I can flag down another car.

I’m not sure how long I keep going like that, but by the time I see the crest of a road in the distance, the sun is well past setting. I nearly trip over a root in my haste to reach the road, causing Venom to let out a distressed hiss. I console him while I run, watching my steps carefully until I’m only a few yards from the asphalt.

I look both ways down the two-lane highway, my heart thundering in my ears as I wait for a car to come around the bend. Please. Please, please, plea⁠—

I race out into the road, holding Venom with one arm while I wave the other above my head like a madwoman. The rusted navy truck screeches to a halt a couple of yards away, and I race over to the driver’s side, probably looking like a crack addict.

“Please, I need help!” I cry, hoping they can hear me through the thick, tinted windows.

The man—no, boy—in the driver's seat rolls down the window, his brows pinched together in a frown. He can’t be more than sixteen, but I’ll take whatever help I can get.

“Is there a problem?”

“I’m Federal Agent Evangeline, and I need your help,” I whisper-shout, shooting a hurried look over my shoulder as if the masked Phantom will appear any moment. “Can you please take me into town? Or just give me your cell phone so I can call for backup.”

The boy drags his phone from his pocket, but instead of handing it to me, he shows me the screen with a shrug. “No service out here. I’m heading into town right now. You and your… friend are more than welcome to ride with if you⁠—”

Before he has the chance to finish, I yank open the door and hop into the passenger seat, strapping the seat belt around my waist firmly.

“I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea what I’ve been through,” I sigh, settling into my seat with Venom before smiling at the teenage boy. He’s a good-looking kid with jet-black hair and the most striking pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. However, the eerie smile playing on his mouth gives me the heebie-jeebies. But that could just be lingering paranoia from being fucking kidnapped.

“Looks like I came at just the right time, then,” he says, his face frozen in that creepy-ass smile. “Do you want to tell me what happened, Brett?”

“I honestly can’t disclose the details to civilians. But I will tell you—” I freeze, a horrifying realization hitting me. I didn’t tell him my first name.

“You took something that didn’t belong to you. Didn’t you?” he asks, that same eerie smile on his face.

The photograph is heavy in my pocket. “What did you say?”

“You really shouldn’t accept rides from strange men, especially in these parts,” the boy says, shooting me a smirk that has nothing but malice behind it. “Ghost doesn’t appreciate it when you disobey his orders, Brett.”

Something sharp pokes into the side of my neck, and then everything goes black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #5

No information pertaining to the Sanctum shall be shared (with a civilian or lower-ranking Mask)

I flip the bacon, listening to the satisfying sizzle as I take a deep breath in. I fucking love the smell of bacon in the evening. I smile to myself, moving over to the scrambled eggs cooking on low on the other burner. I give them a gentle stir, listening for the telltale footsteps that will tell me when Brett has woken. She’s been sleeping all day—likely due to the excess sedative Orion gave her—and the sun is just setting behind the cliffs, casting the kitchen in a warm orange hue.

I can’t believe I almost lost her last night. I frown, nearly burning the eggs when I forget I’m supposed to be stirring. I sigh, pulling the pan from the heat before turning back to the bacon. If Orion hadn’t found her when he did, I…

I can’t think about that now. I shake my head, getting rid of those negative thoughts. I need to focus. Brett will be up any moment now.

As if on cue, there’s a shuffle emanating from the doorway. I turn to face her, my smile hidden by the thick metal mask on my face. Brett stands in the doorway, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. My chest lights up as I rest my gaze on her, noting the way her hair gleams in the evening light.

She looks lovely.

“Hello, Brett. You’re just in time for dinner.”

She bites her lip, lowering her head slightly. “Eggs and bacon for dinner?” When I don’t answer, she clears her throat. “Yesterday… I didn’t mean to offend you by running away⁠—”

“It’s quite understandable,” I say, using a fork to plop the bacon onto a platter. “You were thinking of your duties as a federal agent. However, I must also think of my duties, which is why you’re back here.” I cast a look at where she’s still standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Regrettably, Rupert had to have his collar altered.”

She grimaces, taking two small steps into the kitchen while gazing around. “You didn’t show me this room yesterday.”

“I was planning to.”

“Right,” she murmurs, her eyes dropping to the floor. “So who was that? The guy who… picked me up?”

“Orion.” I plop two more pieces of bacon onto the platter. “He is my… apprentice.”

“Oh.”

I glance over, noting how she is now sitting at the table, looking out at the windows overlooking the sea.

“This place is really pretty in the evening,” she murmurs, twiddling her fingers on the tabletop.

“I’m pleased you like it.” I place the last of the bacon on the platter, then stalk over to the table, placing the platter directly in front of her. Brett looks up, her eyes going wide as they rest on my hand—my ungloved hand.

I jerk, nearly dropping the plate onto the floor in my haste to remove the disgusting thing from her sight. Placing the platter on the opposite end of the table, I race back to the stove where I stupidly took my gloves off to make her breakfast.

“My apologies,” I say, slipping the leather gloves back over the mutilated flesh. “I hope that didn’t spoil your appetite.”

Brett shakes her head, a small frown between her eyebrows. When she doesn’t say anything else, I float back to the table, taking a seat directly next to her.

Brett scootches as far as she can from me, and I’m filled with a sickening feeling. She hates me. No, she’s disgusted by me, just like Xander said she would be.

I stay silent for a long time, waiting for her to say something. Finally, she reaches forward, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth. She leans back in my chair as she chews, regarding me with an inquisitive gaze.

“You brought me back. Why?”

I scoff, shaking my head slightly. How could she still be asking me that? “Because you’re safe here,” I say, crossing my arms as I lean back in my seat. I want to add with me, but I doubt that would go over well with what happened yesterday.

“Oh.” She bites her lip again, gazing at the bacon like she wants another piece. I grab the plate, shoving it directly in front of her.

“Eat up,” I murmur, leaning closer and breathing her scent in deep. “You need your strength.”

“You keep saying that,” she whispers, popping another piece of bacon into her mouth without looking at me.

I tilt my head, trying to read her expression. Her cheeks are flushed, and she seems antsy, like sitting next to me is causing some sort of electric reaction in her body. I reach over, placing my hand on her thigh. To my surprise, she doesn't pull away.

“Brett, I…” I can’t finish that sentence. What would I even say to her? That I’m completely, utterly enchanted by her? That she makes me lose control? That she’s occupied my every last thought for the past three months? No, that wouldn’t do at all.

“What is it?” She turns her head to face me, putting her nose inches away from mine. My breath catches as I stare into her beautiful ocean eyes, the urge to pull her into my chest almost too strong to fight.

She leans in, her beautiful lashes fluttering. It almost looks like she’s going to kiss⁠—

“Sorry,” she murmurs, her cheeks heating as she leans back in her seat. “I don’t… I don’t know what I was doing.”

NO! No, no, no, no, NO! Don’t you dare shut down on me now. Not now. Not when I finally⁠—

“Where's the restroom?” she asks, the chair scraping behind her as she stands.

One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Splat. There goes my heart on the pavement. DOA.

“Down the hall,” I say, gesturing to the left in a grand sweeping motion. “If you need assistance, I’d be more than happy to⁠—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

I wait until she disappears down the hall before pulling up the feed to my bathroom. It’s wrong—I know that—but I can’t stop looking at her. When I do, I’m consumed by that terrible nothingness. Without her, I’m a soulless black hole, but with her…

I shake my head. There is no with her. Brett hates me. A small part of me screams that I can change her mind, but I quickly squash it. Thoughts like that will get me killed. Or worse.

I watch Brett as she passes the door to the bathroom, and I get to my feet, moving toward the room she’s heading to. The library.

When I get there, Brett stands in front of the bookcase with the picture of me and Brenden, her fingers running lightly over the glass like they did yesterday. I’m not sure why she’s so curious about the photo—could it be because she can’t imagine me as a child? As anything but a ruthless, merciless killer in a mask?

“Who is he?”

Brett’s voice rings out, and it’s my turn to jump. I didn’t realize she knew I was here.

As if she heard my thoughts, Brett smirks. “Your aftershave. I smelled it as soon as you got close. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me…”

For some reason, I don’t think I was supposed to hear that last part. “You’re enamored with the photo.” It’s not a question, but Brett answers anyway.

“I just… it’s so weird to think of you like that.” She looks at me, her lips tipped upward in a sarcastic smile. “With friends, you know.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but her words are like a knife to the heart. Or, at least, what I assume it would feel like. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had one. You’re not far off in your assumptions about me.”

She nods, her brows pulling together in a frown as she turns back to the photo. “So which one’s you? Please tell me you bleach your hair now.”

I shake my head, walking over and standing at her side, my eyes taking in the same young smiling faces. “No. I’m afraid not.”

She reaches out, touching the face of the boy with white hair. When I look at this picture, I see nothing but pain and heartache. I wonder what Brett sees when she looks at it. If she sees a monster or just a little boy crying out for help.

I suppose it doesn’t matter, anyhow. “His name was Brenden,” I say, surprised at the pain in my voice. “He was… my best friend.”

Brett’s mouth turns down, and she turns her head to look at me. “What happened to him?”

I frown at her question, a crushing weight sitting on my chest as I face her, the memories tearing through my mind like a hurricane.

“He died.”

20 years ago…

I lie in bed, staring up at the bottom of Brenden’s bunk. The Rook’s quarters are a lot quieter these days—too quiet, considering this place used to be the one area of solace in the program. An area of camaraderie, a place of safety.

Now, there’s none of that.

Just last week, I had to hold a knife to Devon’s throat to get him to let Brenden out of his chokehold. Now that just a few of us are left in the program, the stronger boys have taken to picking off the weaker ones. The kinder ones. Ones like Brenden.

I sigh, closing my eyes against the morning sun streaming through the windows. In a few hours, we will be in the circle, and I’ll have to pray Brenden can hold his own against his sparring partner. I know I won’t have the luxury of being paired with him—once, Master tried it, and all we did was jokingly hit each other. Since that day, he’s paired us with the other boys so I can’t protect him.

Some part of me thinks he wants Brenden dead. I’ve heard him whispering about how he’s holding back my “potential,” but I don’t understand why he would think that. Brenden is the only reason I keep going. He’s the reason I wake up and decide to fight every day.

The morning bell breaks me out of my thoughts, and I silently sit up, shoving my feet into my shoes slower than normal.

“You ready, Ghosty?”

I jerk my head up, noticing Brenden’s hand on my shoulder and a wide grin spreading his freckled cheeks. While puberty had me shooting up and leaning out, Brenden experienced the opposite. He’s still that same chubby, freckled boy he was five years ago. Nothing has changed.

It makes me worry about the outcome of today’s match.

I look around our quarters, noting how the other Rooks are shooting Brenden bloodthirsty looks. They want their chance with him today—want the opportunity to thin the pool that much more.

After all, only one of us is making it through this alive. I just always hoped it would come down to Brenden and me, so I could make sure he lives. I owe it to him.

“Why the long face?” Brenden asks, nudging my shoulder with his. “Come on, man. You can’t spend your life worrying. Either we live today or we don’t. It’s all up to fate, man.”

I shake my head, unable to meet his gaze. “You’re wrong, Brenden.”

His smile drops slightly as I shove him off, finishing tying up my boots. I straighten, shooting the other boys a glare as I lead Brenden out of the cabin. He follows at my heels, refusing to say a word.

Brenden is far too willing to accept the cards life handed him. But I won’t. I throw them back in life’s face and spit on them, then I’ll make my own destiny. At least, that’s what I would do in another life. A life where I don’t have to fight my brothers to the death.

The other Rooks and I stand in line at the outer edge of the circles, Brenden close at my side. I lean over, nudging him with my shoulder and offering him a small smile. He returns it, though he looks slightly paler than he did earlier.

Master’s footsteps have me standing up straight, squaring my face and shoulders forward like he taught us. He walks past the six of us, pausing in front of Brenden to look him up and down disapprovingly.

“P-1314. I’m never not surprised to see you still standing here.”

A couple of the boys snicker, and my fist tightens at my side as I resist the urge to wheel my fist into Master’s face. I doubt I could get more than one surprise hit in, but my death would be worth it to see the shock on his face.

Brenden’s shoulders tighten, but he doesn’t say a word. Master scoffs, turning to address the rest of us.

“Today’s match is a fight to the death.” His distorted voice echoes across the clearing, and several birds take flight to get away from the horrid sound. His chest shakes with a chuckle, and he turns that black oval toward me, pinning me with a stare. Like he knows something I don’t, and he’s going to enjoy watching me suffer.

“First match of the day,” he says, spreading his arms wide. “Boy and Brenden.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #12

I saw Maverick’s face.

I honestly can’t believe it, even as I’m writing.

He said it was an act of trust—that he believes in me and my mission to help him take down the Sanctum. Apparently, it goes against the most important rule of his code, but I kind of stopped listening after that because I was too mesmerized by his face. He is easily the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on—no, seriously, Hollywood really fucking missed out on this one.

I have butterflies right now just thinking about his million-watt smile. But I shouldn’t feel that way, not when I still have this nagging urge to jump Hudson’s bones.

Thinking about it now, I might just ask Hudson to remove his mask the next time I see him. After all, Maverick trusted me enough, and we’ve only met a few times.

It should be no problem for Hudson.

“How did he die?” I ask, running my fingers over the picture once more. They both seem so happy in this photo. To know what becomes of them… it’s terribly sad, that’s for damn sure.

For a long time, Ghost is silent. Then his shoulders tense, and he turns from the picture. “I don’t really like talking about Brenden,” he murmurs, moving toward the exit. He crooks his gloved fingers over his shoulder, gesturing for me to follow.

“Come, Brett.”

I frown. I’m not a fucking dog. But still, I’m curious as to what he was just thinking about. So when he disappears down the hall, I follow. I have to run to catch up with his long strides, and by the time he stops in front of the stone wall, I’m out of breath.

“Where… are we going?” I ask between heaving breaths, my hands planted on my knees to give me some relief. Fuck cardio, man.

Ghost tips his head with a chuckle, seeming to enjoy the fact I’m so out of shape. “Why don’t I show you?” He presses his wrist against the wall, and the stone slides open, revealing one of the most magnificent bathrooms I’ve ever laid eyes on.

The entire room is cast from floor to ceiling in huge slabs of dark, natural textured stone, and though the room is massive, the gentle orange glow of the light against the tiles gives it an incredibly cozy feel. My eyes scan the bathroom, and I’m halfway through admiring the rainforest spout in the walk-in shower when I catch sight of the bathtub.

It is easily one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and my muscles ache with the need to climb inside. The massive sinking tub is made entirely of shimmering black porcelain, which dances in the light with every slight shift on my eyes. Intricately carved bronze legs hold the tub in the air, matching the small golden handles hanging at various places around the rim. I trace my fingers over the golden loops, trying to figure out what they would be for. There's no way someone could lift this tub, and if they tried, the thin handles would surely snap off.

I jerk when Ghost’s hand touches my waist, a burst of guilt overcoming me when he shuffles away, his head bent low.

“Do you like it?” He asks, gesturing to the heavenly tub. I nod eagerly, ready to ask him if I could use it when he says, “You’ve had a rough two days. I figured you might like to take a bath.”

Score!

“I will help you.”

Wait—what the fuck?

“I beg your most exquisite pardon?” I ask, taking an involuntary step back when his face whips toward me. “You absolutely will not be doing that.”

Ghost stalks closer, each of his steps matching mine until my back is pressed against the stone wall. He places his hand to the right of my head, leaning that mask in until it brushes my nose. I stare into that black, soulless oval, feeling like I’m about to fall in.

“Why not?”

My brain swims, and I desperately try to recall what we were talking about. “I… because!”

“Because why?”

“Dear Lord, because you can’t. Society frowns on letting random strangers help you shower—especially ones who kill people. Oh, and let’s not forget about the kidnapping situation.” Ghost tilts his head, seeming to process my words before taking a step back, and I can finally breathe. “Thank you,” I murmur, holding a hand to my pounding heart. I look around the bathroom, realizing I have no idea where any of the soap or towels are. “Um… I hate to ask this since I was kind of a bitch to you a minute ago, but… where do you keep your towels?”

To my surprise, a chuckle shakes Ghost's chest. “I will get you everything you need.” He’s halfway across the room before he stops, turning his head over his shoulder. “Before you say it—I realize you are capable of doing it. But it would make me… happy to do this for you.”

His words make my head spin, and there’s nothing I can do except nod as he glides around the room, pulling various bottles and tinctures from the mahogany cabinets. While he’s busy, I step over to the tub, a small smile pulling at my lips as I turn the hot water on. I hold my hand under the water, adjusting the cold and hot knobs a few times to get the temperature just right.

When I look up, I’m surprised to see Ghost staring at me—or rather, where my hand is resting under the water.

“Everything okay?” I ask, chills going down my spine at the eerie stillness he can maintain.

He nods, shaking out of his trance before gliding over to me. He places at least eight different bottles on a small table at the side of the tub, and to my surprise, they’re the same brands as the one I use at home.

What a coincidence—oh. I frown, palming the same bottle of ginger and vanilla conditioner I have in my apartment. I pop open the cap and bring it to my nose, a wave of relaxation taking over me as I breathe in the familiar scent.

It’s kind of sweet that he did this, actually. It shows that he was thinking about me, taking notes of the things that I like.

Yeah, because he’s a manipulative killer. Focus, woman.

I shake my head, turning to give Ghost a meek smile as my anxiety peaks. “Thank you for this.” I shake the bottle for good measure, hoping he can’t see the terror hiding in my eyes. “You got the extra shine and gloss version, too. My favorite.”

Ghost nods, pulling a towel from the cabinet and placing it on the floor beside the tub. “No little detail will slip past me when it comes to you, Brett. I have memorized the smallest twitch your lips make in your sleep, so knowing your favorite conditioner is hardly impressive.”

Yet it’s pretty damn impressive to me. Or highly disturbing—I still haven’t figured out how to feel about it yet.

When Ghost turns and steps out of the bathroom, I decide I don’t want to think about it. After stripping out of my clothes, I place one leg into the tub, leaning my head back with a moan as the warm water laps at my tired muscles. I sink down to my neck in the tub, resting my eyes for a moment and letting the heat work its way through the knots in my back.

This—this is heaven.

I spend far too long in the tub, scrubbing and soaking until my palms are pruned. It’s a difficult decision to hop out, but by this point, the water is barely lukewarm, and soon it will start to be unpleasant anyway. I sigh, stepping onto the tile and wrapping the plush white towel around my chest.

The moment it is secured, Ghost bursts through the door, his gloved hand clenched tightly around the doorknob. His head shifts as he takes in my dripping form, his shoulders shaking slightly from some unknown emotion.

“I… have prepared the bed for you.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I tilt my head, reaching up to wring out my hair into the back. The side of my neck is exposed with the motion, and I watch Ghost’s throat bob in a thick gulp.

“How was your bath?”

I sigh happily, my lips tipping up with a teasing smile. “Practically orgasmic.”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say because as soon as the last syllable passes my lips, Ghost is in front of me, his gloved hands wrapped around my shoulders. His chest is heaving, and when I glance down, I can’t help but notice the sizable tent in his pants.

“Ghost? What are you—Ah!” A squeal echoes off the walls as Ghost slings me over his shoulder. My head nearly smacks into his lower back, and I have to use my hands to prop myself up, my face heating with mortification as a gust of air hits my bare pussy.

“Put me down!” I demand, thumping my fist against his back. Ghost doesn’t react, moving us silently into the bedroom. He places me gently on the mattress, and my hands move to grab the towel around my chest before it falls off.

“What the fuck was that for?”

Ghost has the nerve to shrug. I’m about to demand answers when he crouches between my spread legs, putting his mask within inches of my core. My face heats as he takes a deep breath. I would pull away, but the sight of his trembling body has me frozen in place.

“Fuck, Brett. I—” With a growl, he pushes away from me, straightening with what seems to be an incredible amount of effort. “I can’t seem to help myself around you.”

That seems a bit of an understatement.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, surprised at how his words cause warmth to spread through my body. To distract myself from the traitorous feelings, I look around the room, scanning my surroundings like I’ve been taught.

“This is your bedroom?” I ask, noting the various weapons and screens lining the walls. It looks a lot like the computer room, although these screens are all turned off. I’m currently sitting on a bed so large it could eat a king-sized one, with the most intricately carved wooden headboard I’ve ever laid eyes on. Several large dressers line the walls, and my curiosity demands to know what’s in the locked drawers at the top of the golden one closest to the bed.

What secrets are you hiding in there, Phantom?

“Do you like it?” Ghost asks, gesturing to the grand room. I have to admit—it is beautiful, especially during the day with the sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the back wall.

“It’s… stunning,” I murmur, hanging my head. “Why do you keep asking if I like it?”

“Your comfort is the utmost priority to me. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet.”

I twist my fingers in my lap, feeling the weight of his stare on my face. “Right. Well—” I cut off as the mattress dips, and I jerk my head up to see Ghost crawling in next to me.

“Um, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Keeping you safe,” Ghost says, not missing a beat as he pulls me into his chest. “I will stay up and keep watch.”

“Can’t you do that—I don’t know—from the couch or something?” I see a leather armchair in the corner, and it looks comfy enough.

Ghost shakes his head against me. “No. I prefer to be close like this.”

“Of course you do.” I sigh, allowing my muscles to relax despite the leather gloves gripping my waist. His touch causes a swarm of butterflies to take flight in my belly, sending pulse waves of electricity to the tips of my fingers and toes. I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to convince myself that it’s not real—that I’m dreaming or in a coma, and this is nothing more than some fucked-up, drug-induced hallucination.

Anything would be better than the alternative—that I truly do have a crush on Ghost. But no, that would be crazy. Like playing Russian roulette with an AK-47 crazy.

And I am not crazy.

However, as my eyelids become heavy and I start to drift, it occurs to me how comfortable I am tucked under his chin like this. It feels right—like this murderous villain is the piece I’ve been missing my whole life.

Maybe I’m a little more fucked up than I realized.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #18

Fornication muddles the mind and is strictly forbidden.

Brett’s head is on my chest.

I can’t believe my luck. I thought for sure I wouldn’t get to touch her anymore tonight by the way she was acting before she fell asleep. But almost immediately after she drifted off, her subconscious started looking for me. She reached out for me—for me—and then she rolled over, nestling deep against my side.

Brett Evangeline’s head is on my chest. I can die happy now.

I pull her tighter into me, breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo as I tuck her head beneath my chin. This… is heaven. I glare at the morning light streaming in through the window, knowing it means Brett will awaken soon. Soon, I will have to let her go—give her space.

Space. I frown as the word bounces around the chasm of my mind. Space is the last thing I want from Brett. If I could, I would sew her inside me so she would never have to leave. So she would always be safe.

Brett’s face begins twitching, and my heart drops, knowing it won’t be long now. I pull her impossibly closer, wishing I could make the seconds stretch. Wishing I could control time so I could have just a few more hours like this with her.

Brett’s eyes crack open, and I wait for my heart-shattering reality to kick in. However, she surprises me by gifting me a small smile, her beautiful lashes fluttering enticingly.

“Good morning, darling,” I whisper, wanting so badly to place my lips against her forehead. If only this horrible mask wasn’t in the way.

“Good-good morning,” she stutters, lowering her eyes but still not pulling away. “Um… how long have I been like this?”

“All night.” My face breaks into a grin as I remember the hours I stayed up, reveling in the electricity passing from her body to mine.

“Oh.” She raises her head to look at me, that little smirk still playing at the corner of my mouth. “I thought I felt something poking me.”

I chuckle, though it dies in my chest when she moves to sit up. No. Not yet. Please stay. Just for a little longer, just until I have enough of you to survive the day. Shaking those embarrassing thoughts away, I join her, my back spasming as I sit up.

Brett smiles at me, tucking a strand of midnight hair behind her ear. Then she looks down, and her entire demeanor changes.

“Oh fuck.”

“What is it?” I demand, reaching for her. She jerks back, pulling the sheet up to her chest with a face as pale as snow.

Now I’m freaking out. I yank the sheet off her in one fell swoop—and then I see it. Red. So much red coming from my darling.

I jump out of bed, running over to Brett’s side and holding her face between my hands, checking her for injuries. “Brett! Talk to me, darling. What hurts?”

How could I have let this happen? How did this happen? If she’s really, truly hurt, I don’t know what I’ll do with my⁠—

My thoughts come to a halt as Brett’s lips part, letting out a small laugh.

“This is no laughing matter, Brett!” I curse, checking the back of her head. Did she hit it? Is that why she’s acting this way?

“G-Ghost, stop. I’m fi-fine,” she says, her laughter causing her words to break. “It’s… I’m not hurt.”

“You’re bleeding!” I insist, jerking my chin toward the massive blood stain on the sheets. Brett laughs harder, and I pull my brows together, trying to piece the clues together. And then—and then it hits me. It’s that time of the month.

My face is on fire as I loosen my grip on Brett, slowly standing from the bed. “I apologize. When I saw the blood, I was not in my right mind. I thought—” I thought you were hurt. I thought I was going to lose you. “Here. Let me help you clean off.”

“No!” She jerks back, refusing to look at me. “Sorry. I just mean… I can do it by myself.”

I shake my head, reaching for her again. “I have heard this time of a woman’s cycle is most painful. I would like to help—to ease your discomfort.”

Brett crinkles her nose but ultimately lets me pick her up from the bed. I hold her gently against my chest as I walk to the bathroom, running a hand soothingly over her hair the whole way. I hate the fact she could be in pain right now. I want to take it all away—would gladly feel all of her hurt if I had the capacity. But, alas, I am just a man.

I adjust my grip on her to hold her with one arm, using the other to turn the faucet on. I look from Brett to the water filling the tub, a wave of anxiety overcoming me. I do not know if the water will be too hot…but I also do not want to ask her to do anything while she is hurting.

“What’s up?”

I look down at Brett, noting the little smile at the corner of her mouth. “I am… trying to make sure the water is not too warm.”

Brett frowns like she can’t understand. “Just hold your hand under it—duh.”

I shake my head. “That will not work. I cannot sense temperature.”

“Oh.” She looks up at me, a deep eleven between her brows. “You never told me that.”

“I did not think it was important.”

Brett sighs, reaching an arm out toward the water. I grab her hand, pulling it back to my chest. “Brett, you are in pain. I do not want to ask this of you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not a vegetable, Ghost. I have a period every month. I can put my hand under the water.”

“But it might be too hot⁠—”

I’m cut off as Brett shoots her arm out, testing the water. She smiles up at me, a glimmer in her pale blue eyes. “Feels great. Wanna put me down now?” I shake my head, and Brett’s nose crinkles. “Well, I’m sure as shit not letting you give me a bath. Especially not now.”

Her eyes drop as if she is embarrassed. I place a finger under her chin, pulling her face back up to mine. “You should not feel shame for your body's natural functions. It would make me happy if you let me help you. Just for today.”

Brett looks dubious but eventually nods her confirmation. “Fine. Let's get this over with.”

I place her gently on the edge of the tub, listening as the water laps at the walls of the porcelain. Running the edge of her top between my thumb and forefinger, I look into her eyes, asking my silent question. She nods again, and I lift her shirt over her head. My eyes take in Brett’s full breasts greedily, trying to find the willpower to refrain from touching her.

My heart beating erratically, I reach around her, pulling the towel from her body with trembling fingers. I swallow hard as I glimpse her perfect chest, full breasts begging to be held and toyed with. Her nipples harden, begging to be licked, and it takes everything in me not to rip my mask off and take her into my mouth.

“Oh, Brett,” I whisper, my eyes roaming and memorizing every inch of her. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m bloated,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. “And these things? They hurt like a motherfucker.”

A growl sounds low in my chest, and I take a step forward so I’m situated between her thighs. My palm works its way around her throat, and a gasp pours from Brett’s mouth when I give a little squeeze.

“Never talk bad about yourself in my presence. Are we clear?”

Brett blinks, her face purpling slightly as her oxygen is cut off. Her mouth parts, and her lips move into a yes, quelling some of the rage burning in my lungs. I release her, stretching my hand out at my side as Brett heaves in gulping breaths.

“Jesus. I thought you were supposed to be nice to me on my period.”

“Oh, darling,” I whisper, my hands trailing down to the waistband of her pants. “I’m never nice.” I rip her pants from her, smiling as the rip of fabric echoes off the tiled walls.

Brett gasps, looking down at her bare thighs. Streaks of red mar her beautiful skin, covering most of her inner thighs. I take a deep breath, my pupils blowing as the metallic scent of Brett invades my senses. Fighting the animalistic desires, I peel off her lacy black thong, then place her gently into the tub.

Brett lets out a satisfied sigh as the water envelops her, easing her muscles and hopefully taking away some of that pain pinched between her brows. Her blood mixes with the water, turning it a pale shade of yellow, and I watch Brett’s cheeks slowly change color.

“Sorry, I⁠—”

A growl tumbles from my lips, and Brett’s words cut off, her thighs squirming together uncomfortably. “Right. Never mind.”

“Good girl,” I murmur, placing a kiss on top of her head as I get up to grab a washcloth. When I crouch at her side again, I fist my gloved hand at the back of her head, lowering her delicately into the water.

“Ghost, what are you⁠—”

“Shh. This will feel good,” I murmur, letting her back up and squeezing a good amount of shampoo into my hand. Brett looks over at me, seemingly confused by something.

“Why don’t you take your gloves off? It can’t feel good to wear soaking wet gloves all day.”

I shrug, working the shampoo into Brett’s scalp. Her eyes close, and she lets out a little moan when I work my way around to her temples, and my heart leaps with joy. I made that noise. I made her feel good.

“Well?”

I jerk, nearly having forgotten she asked me a question. I guess a shrug didn’t suffice. “I cannot feel it, but you are right—it is not good for my skin to sit in wet gloves all day. But I would rather do it this way—for your comfort.”

“My comfort?”

“Yes,” I say, lowering her head back into the water to rinse away the shampoo. The black tendrils splay out like I dumped a bottle of ink into the water, and I’m caught off guard by how beautiful it looks like this. I don’t think there’s a single thing about her that I won’t find enchanting. “My skin is… unseemly. I do not wish for you to feel it against yours.”

Brett hangs her head back, those ocean eyes staring directly into my soul. “Show them to me.”

I shake my head, reaching for the bottle of conditioner. Brett grabs my arm, stopping me with a glare. “This is ridiculous. Just take your damn gloves off.”

“No.”

Brett sighs, rolling her eyes. “Fucking men, I swear.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re stubborn. And slightly stupid.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and my heart falls when I can’t look at her any longer.

“If I take my gloves off… will you stop sitting like that?” I ask, slightly desperate.

“Like what?” She looks down at her arms, and her mouth pops. “Oh. Um, yes. But only if you take your gloves off.” To drive her point home, she squeezes her arms tighter around her.

I sigh, rinsing the leather off in the water before removing them. I look down at the raw, mutilated flesh, my stomach turning. I look away, reaching for the bottle of conditioner blindly. Again, Brett grabs my arm to stop me. Only this time, she brings my hand closer to her face.

I flinch, my heart beating erratically. She’ll take one look at you and scream. Or better yet, shoot you in the fucking face. I guess I should be thankful there are no weapons in the bathroom.

Brett inspects my hand with a curious gaze, twisting and turning the appendage as if she’s looking at a rare jewel and not some massacred hand. Then—oh God—she presses her lips to my knuckle.

ZAP!

I reel back, my eyes wide as I hold my hand to my chest. That was… intense.

Brett frowns. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

I can’t speak, so I just shake my head. This time, Brett allows me to grab the bottle of conditioner, and she remains silent as I work the substance into her long hair. It’s only when I’m dipping her back to rinse it out that she speaks again.

“Why did you pull away, then?”

I freeze, blinking down at that inquisitive gaze. “I…” For some reason, I can’t say it. I pulled back because I felt you. You are the only thing I can. “It just surprised me.”

“Oh.” Her mouth turns down into a frown, and my chest squeezes.

“I… cannot normally feel things. Pain or temperature. But when you kissed me just then…” I turn away, unable to face her as I say the next part. “It’s like I stuck my finger in a light socket. Every time you touch me, I feel it. Lightning—but pleasant lightning. Like all my nerve endings are firing at once.”

She doesn’t speak for a long while, and when I can’t take it anymore, I face her. She doesn’t look scared or freaked out like I expected. She looks… fascinated.

“So… you’re telling me I’m the only thing you can feel?”

I nod. “Precisely.”

Her smile widens. “That’s pretty fucking cool. I’m basically, like, a superhero or something.” She falls into a fit of laughter, and I can’t help but join her. That sound is infectious, and now that I’ve heard it, I don’t want her to ever stop.

My body is light as I grab the washcloth and begin washing her body. I go slowly, savoring each dip and curve of her delicious frame. She’s not thin by any stretch of the imagination, and it makes me want to sink my teeth into her, to grab fistfuls of her as I shove my cock deep inside her. She’s fucking perfect.

When I start washing down her abdomen, Brett’s body tightens. I look at her in alarm, worried I might have pressed too hard on a sensitive area. But when I catch a glimpse of her face, she’s biting her lip, her eyes downcast and cheeks flaming.

“Brett? Are you okay?”

She nods, wriggling her thighs together as I continue my journey down. “Yes,” she says, slightly breathless. “I’m perfect.”

I shrug, returning my focus to the washcloth. I push it between her folds, making sure to clean every nook and crevice of her body. Brett’s breath picks up pace the longer I go, and for the life of me, I can’t imagine why.

When I look at her this time, there’s a sheen in her eyes I’ve never seen, and it makes my lower abdomen tighten. “Brett…?”

Dropping the washcloth, I run my fingers through her folds, exploring the parts of her I haven’t had a chance to up until now. My index swirls around her hole, and when I dip the tip in ever so slightly, a breathy moan pours from Brett’s mouth.

“Ghost… not… not there.”

I frown, pushing the digit farther inside, wondering how much of me she can take. I know enough about a woman’s anatomy to know where everything is located, but I’ve never had this opportunity to explore it before. Much less with someone like Brett.

A gentle thrum of electricity flows all around my finger, and when her walls contract around me, I actually feel it.

“Holy shit,” I murmur, hooking my fingers against the rougher, spongier area along her front walls. That feels really good. Like a stress ball. I continue toying with that spot, loving the different sounds the varying pressure points elicit from Brett. When her moans grow louder, I pick up my pace, hitting her favorite spot relentlessly.

Brett hangs her head back, an ear-shattering cry falling from her parted lips. Her walls collapse around my fingers like they’re holding me hostage, and Brett’s entire body begins convulsing. I jerk back in alarm, removing my hand before I lunge for her head, palming it gently between my hands as I look over her face. She’s flushed, and her breathing is ragged, but she doesn’t seem to be in any pain. In fact, she looks almost euphoric.

“Holy… holy fuck,” she murmurs, her eyes drooping closed. “I think you just made me come.”

I reach into the water, pulling her soaking body out of the water and against my chest, far from worried about the state of my suit. I look down at the precious creature in my arms, unable to understand how I got so lucky.

Her teeth chatter, and I blink in alarm. “What is wrong?”

“C-cold,” she murmurs, burying her face into my shirt. I grab a towel from the rack and fold it around her before moving into the bedroom, where it will most likely be warmer with the sun streaming in through the window.

I place Brett onto the armchair opposite the bed, wrapping the towel securely around her shoulders and rubbing them, hoping the friction will provide an extra layer of warmth.

“Stay there,” I order, pointing a finger her way. “Don’t move.”

“Yes, sir.”

My heart jumps, but I say nothing of the effect those two little words had on me as I strip the bed. I put the soiled sheets into the laundry room, then return to the bedroom with a fresh set. Once the bed is made, I walk back to Brett, picking her up from the chair and placing her squarely at the foot of the mattress, where I continue my furious rubbing.

“Is this helping?” I ask, praying I’m doing more good than harm. Brett says nothing, just grins up at me, blue eyes twinkling.

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’...” she murmurs, her eyes dipping below my belt. They widen at the same time she takes her lip into her mouth, biting down hard. “Oh wow.”

“Hmm?” I follow her gaze to the sizable bulge in my pants, and I turn from her. “My apologies. I didn’t realize…”

My brows shoot up as Brett twists me back toward her by the loop of my belt, her eyes taking on that lustful sheen once more. She looks up beneath her lashes, and my heart stops for a full two seconds.

“Can you… can you feel this?” She reaches a hand out, running the tip of her finger along the zipper. I close my eyes, tilting my head back as a gentle thrum of electricity builds in the area.

“Yes,” I choke. “But just barely.”

“Oh.”

I wait for her to say something else, but the only sound in the room is her undoing my zipper. My blood turns to lava, and I buck forward involuntarily, desperate to feel her on that part of me.

Brett works my cock out, then sits back, her mouth open wide as she takes in its size.

“Jesus fuck,” she murmurs, reaching out and wrapping her hand around the tip of my cock. I hiss through my teeth as red-hot electricity crackles in my veins, and I buck forward again, causing her hand to shift along its length.

“You’re going to kill me, Brett,” I groan, moving my hips back and forth so she’s stroking me. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

“I… I’m not doing anything…”

I growl, pushing her shoulders back so she falls against the mattress with a plunk. Everything in me cries out as her hand leaves me, desperate to be wrapped in her again. However, all of those thoughts fly out the window as her knees fall open, revealing her beautiful pink pussy. I lick my lips, literally salivating as I take in every perfect inch of her. I want to taste her. No, I need to taste her.

I lunge forward, holding her chest down with one arm while I dip my head low, stopping inches from her dripping slit so I can breathe her in. Brett’s delicious scent mingles with something metallic, causing drool to pool from the side of my mouth. She’s going to kill me. I swear to God one of these days my heart is going to stop just from looking at her.

“Brett.” Her name pours from my mouth like a prayer, and before I realize what I’m doing, the bottom half of my mask slides up, revealing my parted lips and desperate tongue. I lean forward, lapping against her pulsing pink nub at the apex of her cunt.

Her entire body shudders, and a moan peals from her mouth before she seems to realize what’s happening, and she tries to wriggle away.

“Ghost,” she whimpers, placing her hands on my head and attempting to shove me off her. “I-I’m on my period.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something to me?” I growl, lashing my tongue against her clit.

“G-Ghost. Wait,” Brett whines, bucking her hips as I plant the tip of my tongue on that sensitive nub. “I’m—gross.”

My hand leaves her chest and grips her throat, and she lets out a little whine at the pressure. Easing up, I nuzzle her cunt with my nose, placing delicate kisses along her soft, perfect skin. I trail my kisses up her abdomen, to her chest and neck, stopping at her earlobe to give it a nip. Goose bumps raise along Brett’s skin, and I sense that tightening between my legs as she throws her head back in a moan.

A malicious grin lights my face as I tighten my hand, listening with glee as Brett’s moans are cut off. Taking her lobe between my teeth, I bite down hard enough to draw blood. The poor little thing tries to squeal, but my palm closing around her windpipe makes that impossible.

“If you ever call yourself ‘gross’ again, I will cut you ear to ear. Do you understand me, darling?”

Brett nods feverishly, her chest rising and falling with increasing speed.

“Good girl. Now, tell me the name of the man who made you feel that way,” I murmur, sliding a finger along her cheek. She feels so perfect I could die.

“N-no one! I just⁠—”

I squeeze tighter, cutting off her perfect, hoarse voice. “You’re lying. But that’s okay.” My lips spread in a dark grin, and I revel in the way it causes her eyes to widen. I love seeing those perfect whites. “I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

Letting go of the grip on her neck, I lower my mouth back down to her pussy, taking one last deep breath in before pressing my mouth to her. I lap at her cunt like a starved man, savoring the metallic taste of Brett on my tongue. My pupils blow as she overwhelms me, and for a moment, I have to fight to remember how to breathe.

God, it’s better than I imagined.

I lose track of time—between the symphony of her moans and the intoxicating taste coating my tongue, I doubt I would be able to remember my name if someone asked. I lick every inch of her until she’s writhing, and even then, I don’t stop.

At some point, Brett’s hands return to my skull, and I’m vaguely aware of a primal growl filling the room as she tries to push me off.

“Ghost, please,” she whimpers, her hips bucking wildly. “It-it’s too sensitive.”

Painstakingly, I pull my tongue back into my mouth and raise my head, meeting Brett’s flustered gaze head-on. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair—usually so glossy and smooth—looks like it’s been through a category 3 hurricane.

How the fuck is it possible for this woman to be hotter? It’s really not fair.

Her chest heaves, and my mouth waters as I get a good look at her perfect, peaked nipples. If her clit is too sensitive… I wonder if she’ll let me play with something else.

“I see that smile. Keep it in your pants,” she mutters, her head slumping back onto the pillow. “You wore me out. I need a damn nap now.”

A satisfied sound rumbles low in my chest, and I flick my tongue against her clit one last time before climbing to the head of the bed.

“Ah! Hey!” she squeals, burying her face behind her hair as I scoop her into my lap. “What are you doing?”

“Aftercare is important, Brett. I’m surprised you don’t know this,” I say, running soothing circles along her back and hips. In a moment of insanity, I press my lips to her hair like I did this morning. I freeze, expecting her to pull away—-or possibly deck me in the jaw—but she does neither. Letting out a satisfied humming noise, Brett snuggles deeper into me, going so far as to press her lips to my chest in return.

Several minutes pass before her breathing evens out, and I adjust my body slowly so we’re lying down. In her sleep, she reaches out, holding her body close to mine, and electric fire spreads wherever her little hands touch.

Brett. Darling, indescribable Brett.

Her name echoes throughout my mind as I follow her into the darkness. And it is the warmest embrace I have ever known.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry#13

I made a huge mistake asking Hudson to remove his mask. As soon as the words passed my lips, he fell into a fit of rage, smashing his fist through walls and breaking all the plates in his kitchen.

Then he turned on me.

No, no! He didn’t hit me—though I admit, his fist did come pretty close when he slammed it through the wall next to my temple.

But I know Hudson. He is kind and gentle. His reaction was merely a product of his upbringing, not who he is on the inside. It’s really the Sanctum’s fault for his outburst, and the sooner I take them down, the better.

I wake a few hours later to something hard poking me in the back. I look over my shoulder, my body tensing as my nose brushes the cool black metal of Ghost’s mask.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. What have I done?

I try to lift his arm off my shoulder, but it’s heavier than it looks, and ultimately, my efforts are for naught. I huff, trying to wiggle out from underneath instead, but Ghost tightens his grip, almost as if his subconscious knows I’m trying to escape.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is the opposite of good.

I lay my head back, forced to look up at the ceiling as I listen to Ghost snore next to me. My mind is a mess of colors, feelings, and sensations, all twisting together in a tangled ball of fuckedupness.

I let the Phantom eat me out. Not just that, but I fucking liked it. The way his tongue worked against me, the highs of pleasure I’ve never thought were possible…

And the fact he didn’t care that I was bleeding… I’m just not going to think about that part. If I do, I might realize that was the hottest part of all—and that would make me insane. Certifiably, lock-her-up-and-throw-away-the-key insane.

As long as I don’t think about it, it should be fine. I can go back to hating this man with every fiber of my being, and things will return to normal.

A small part of me screams that I crossed that line about a mile back, but I dutifully ignore it. The alternative is too messed up to consider.

“Did you enjoy your nap, darling?”

I jump, frowning as his fucked-up chuckle sounds out next to my ear. The lower half of his mask presses against my temple—almost as if he’s giving me a kiss—and my cheeks flame.

It also doesn’t help that the python in his pants poked me again as he said it.

“Yes. Thanks,” I murmur, fire coursing through my veins as he adjusts his grip, cupping one of my breasts in his massive palm. “What are you doing?”

“Just feeling you,” he murmurs, nuzzling that cold metal against my neck. “It’s never enough. I want to be in your skin, Brett.”

Welp, here’s to hoping that’s just an exaggeration. Although, with the way he’s gripping me now, it seems like he might actually be serious. I gulp, forcing the thought from my mind.

Ghost takes a deep breath, followed by a low, growling moan as he flicks his thumb over my nipple. “I love these.” His voice shudders from his voice mod, the low, scratching tone giving it a demon-esque quality. My body quivers, though it’s not from fright. Lord help me, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I sure as shit don’t want to stop feeling this… this…

My mind goes blank as Ghost rolls on top of me, and I realize he’s still in a full suit. I tug at his jacket, desperate to see the rest of him, but Ghost shakes his head.

“Why not?” I whine, shoving my bottom lip toward him. Ghost’s mask slides up, and before I know what’s happening, he lunges forward, capturing my lip between his teeth.

I let out a squeak as he bites down, eliciting a deep, rumbling moan from him.

“I love when you cry for me, darling.” His tongue darts out, licking the small injury. “Those little sounds you make get me so fucking hard. Feel.” He grabs my hand, placing it directly on the straining bulge in his pants.

“Ah, fuck,” he curses, leaning his head back and letting me get a good look at his large, bobbing Adam’s apple. “Fuck, please don’t stop. Please. Please, touch me.”

My chest constricts at his insistence. The fact that this man is begging me for anything seems surreal. It’s why, as soon as he says it, I reach out, releasing his cock from its confines.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, his abdomen shuddering as I lean forward, taking the thick length in my hand. One hand is not enough to envelop him fully, but I try my best, running my hand slowly from the tip to base. Ghost lets out a choked noise, lowering his head so he can watch what I’m doing to him.

“That feels…” His voice cuts off as another strangled moan pours from his mouth. The next thing I know, Ghost is between my thighs, his cock straining toward my center. A drop of precum is pooling at the tip, and I flick it off with my thumb before raising it to my mouth. I plop the digit between my lips, rolling my eyes back with a moan as the taste of him coats my tongue.

“My God, Brett,” he chokes. His hips buck forward, yet his cock doesn’t touch me. From the way his mouth is twisted, it must be taking an incredible amount of willpower.

“I can’t wait to fill you,” he groans. “I want to hear the sound you make when my cock enters you for the first time. I want to fucking split you, to ruin you for any other man. I’m going to take everything, Brett. Everything you are, and what’s left after that, too.”

He dips his head to my breast, taking my nipple between his teeth and giving it a gentle nip. I cry out, jerking back instinctually—but this only makes him bite harder.

“Ah, fuck!” I scream, my head falling back as waves of pain and pleasure flow from the area.

“Shh.” He releases his jaw just in time to lap at the affected area, soothing the liquid fire pulsing from my nipple. “You like the pain, Brett. Look how your body craves it—cries for it.” He reaches down, running his fingers through my dripping folds. It’s then that I realize I still have nothing down there to stop the flow, and I try to squeeze my thighs together, a wave of mortification overwhelming me.

Ghost growls, seemingly displeased with the change in me. He grips my knees, prying them open so they slam into the mattress. “Do not,” he snarls, leaning his face in so were nose to nose. “Ever, close yourself off from me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I nod, a small mewl tumbling from my lips at the infuriated rumble in his chest.

“Yes, what?”

I frown, not quite understanding until I remember what I called him the other day. Oh, no way in hell! That was a joke!

He reaches up, curling his fingers around my neck and squeezing hard. “Yes, what, darling?”

Black spots form in my sight as my oxygen is cut off, and I know I’m not winning this fight. “Yes, sir.”

“Much better.” He releases his grip, only for it to travel back down between my legs. I squirm but don’t dare shut my legs before. I watch his cock strain toward me, but Ghost never gives in to whatever urges he’s feeling. A part of me wishes he would, but that’s the crazed part of my brain, I’m sure.

After a few more minutes of pleasuring me, Ghost pulls away, his mouth a thin line. With a swoosh, his mask closes back in place, and I try to ignore the flood of disappointment that comes with it. He zips his rock-hard cock back into his pants, the motion seeming uncomfortable.

Maybe he thought about last night, and now he thinks I’m gross. Hell, I probably am⁠—

“If you are thinking negative thoughts about yourself, I suggest you stop. I had to pull away because…”

Because he wasn’t going to be able to hold back anymore. The reality of the situation hits me like a bucket of ice water, and I glance up meekly, biting my lip. “Okay, no more negative thoughts. Although… I do feel a little gross right now. Is there any chance you have sanitary products?”

Ghost tilts his head. “That is one of my oversights. I’ll have Orion drop them off within the hour.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I’m not too sure how happy I am to see the kid that dragged me back here, but I guess I can forgive him if he’ll bring me tampons. “And… I probably need another shower.”

Ghost tenses, his head moving ever so slightly as he takes in my body. “I can help with that.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Uh-huh. I’m sure you can.”

After another shower—and, though I hate to admit it, one or two more orgasms—Ghost exits the shower to grab my supplies from where Orion apparently left them while we were busy. When he returns with the box of tampons, I nearly squeal with joy. That is, until he insists on putting it in for me.

I’m finding out that I’m down for a lot of things, but my God, is there no line this man won’t cross?

After much disagreement, Ghost eventually lets me do it myself—though I swear, if I could see his face, he’d be pouting.

The sicko.

Tampon in place, I step into the bedroom where Ghost waits with a towel, ready to wipe off the residual drops from the shower. His hands travel slowly over my shoulders and neck before traveling south, where he lingers between my legs though he just spent well over an hour exploring me. My whole body is pruned and exhausted, but he seems like he’d like nothing better than to take me back to the bedroom and spend the rest of the day touching my body.

I admit, the orgasms are helping with the light cramps I’ve been experiencing since I woke. And he hasn’t said a single thing about the blood—like he doesn’t realize it's there—so I guess I’m just going to enjoy it.

Until I find a way out of this place, that is. Though I’ve definitely started to warm to the Phantom, I haven’t forgotten my mission. I’m still a federal agent, and a few lousy orgasms aren’t going to stop me from hauling this guy away in cuffs. I just have to get on his good side, get him to trust me, and then I’ll finish the mission.

Yeah, right. What a load of shit.

I know it’s a lie as soon as I say it, but I can’t come to terms with what it means. Am I actually falling for Ghost? The idea seems preposterous, yet…

Yet you let him make you come. Multiple times.

I almost groan aloud, notice Ghost's face trained on mine, and hold it back. I shift my gaze, looking anywhere except that black oval, desperate for him to stop looking through me like that. Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

A shiver runs through me, but then my eyes catch something rectangular on top of his dresser, and my mouth pops in surprise.

“You read romance books?” I squint my eyes, and–-sure enough—I recognize the title on the spine. The Best Week. That’s so funny, I was reading that before he kidnapped me…

“Ghost…?” I look up at him, but his head is trained on my core, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side. “Earth to Ghost.”

“It’s given me many ideas,” he murmurs, stepping between my thighs and pressing his hardening cock against my core. “I can show you if you’d like.”

I squirm against him, wishing I could open my mouth and tell him, yes, that is exactly what I would like. But no. I need to stay strong. I need to remember my ultimate goal. Taking down the Sanctum.

Luckily, I don’t have to say anything because the rumble of my stomach is the perfect answer. Immediately, Ghost steps back, holding out his bare hand for me to take.

“You’re hungry. Let me feed you.”

For some reason, this makes me blush. Yes, he’s tried to cook for me before, but considering I thought he was trying to poison me, I never got to appreciate the sentiment. I could be wrong about Ghost—Stockholm syndrome will have you thinking some whack-ass things—but my gut tells me he really isn’t going to harm me. In fact, I believe the opposite—that he will do everything in his power to protect me.

He put himself in danger for me when he took out those other masked men, and his actions here at the lair only serve to strengthen my assumption. That Ghost wants to protect me—take care of me, even.

When I place my hand into his and let him lead me into the kitchen, I’m not afraid. When he pulls out a barstool and helps me up, I get a fuzzy warm feeling deep in my gut. If I don’t think about the person doing these things for me, it almost feels… good.

“What would you like for dinner, darling?” he asks, bending to retrieve a pan from one of the lower cabinets.

This is so fucking surreal. I look around the massive kitchen at the fresh produce lining the island. “Kraft Mac and Cheese?”

Ghost whips his head toward me. “Is that really all you would like?”

I shrug, my heart leaping into action as he fixes me with that faceless mask. “Um… If you have it, that is. I could also do, like, cheese cubes and crackers.”

“There is no nutritional value in cheese cubes and crackers, Brett,” Ghost says, his voice slightly aghast. “Much less in boxed mac and cheese. This will not do.”

I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. “Listen, buddy. Boxed mac and cheese got me through most of my adult life. Don’t knock it.”

Ghost shakes his head, pulling open the fridge and pulling out a myriad of ingredients. “I will make you chicken lo mein. I have seen you eat that many times. At least that has some protein.” He grumbles the last part under his breath, and I have to stifle my giggle.

Ghost begins chopping vegetables, staring intently at his hands the whole time he does it. I’m so enamored by his concentration that I don’t realize I’m staring until he whips his head up, meeting my gaze head-on.

“Is something the matter?” he asks, returning his gaze to his hands as he makes another chop.

I mull over the thoughts running through my mind, debating whether I should tell him. “No. I was just thinking how hot you look when you’re cooking for me.”

A choking noise leaves Ghost’s throat, and he whips his head up again. “I—what did you⁠—”

“Holy shit!” I screech, holding a hand over my mouth as I stare down at Ghost’s hand. Thick crimson liquid pours from his hand, pooling onto the countertop and coating the vibrant veggies in that same dark shade. “Ghost, your hand!”

He’s still looking at my face, unmoving. After a moment or two, he visibly shakes, then turns his eyes to where my finger is outstretched, pointing in horror.

“Shit.” He lets out a heavy sigh, placing the knife down before grabbing a dishcloth and pressing it to the wound. Bright red coats the cloth in minutes, and Ghost lets out another irritated sigh while I watch on, frozen.

“You… I’m so sorry,” I whisper, a tremor of guilt shooting down to my bones. “I didn’t realize you had to look to stop that from happening.” I’m the worst. I knew what those words would do to him, yet I still teased him.

Remembering I have legs, I hop up from the barstool and race around the island, taking Ghost’s wrapped hand between mine.

“Here,” I murmur, pulling him toward the sink. “We have to clean it so it doesn’t get infected. Then I’ll bandage it for you. I’m no doctor, but I’ll try my best,” I promise, pulling the cloth away to get a better look at the cut. Immediately, thick red begins pooling from the wound, and I hiss through my teeth. It’s deep. Probably going to need stitches.

“I’m so sorry, Ghost,” I whisper, tears pricking the corner of my eyes even though he’s the one who’s hurt. “I never would have said that if I knew⁠—”

“Please… please don’t say that,” he murmurs, turning his face from mine. “I would rather go through this than to never hear you say those sweet words.”

My pulse spikes, and I have to focus on taking even breaths as I start to wash his hand under the sink. I take a dime size of soap into my palm, gently rubbing the streaked blood from the rest of his hand. I know he can’t feel anything, but it would still feel wrong if I started going to town with the cleaning. Though he can’t feel pain, his skin is still sensitive and needs to be treated as such.

Ghost watches my movements, his body rigid. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

I shrug. “Because the world is not.” I pull his hand from the water, grabbing a fresh cloth and pressing it to the wound to quell the bleeding. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

Ghost points under the sink. “All over the house. But I do have one right here. As you’ve seen why.”

I wince, wracked with guilt at knowing I’m the cause of this injury, even if he says he doesn’t care. Pushing the guilt aside, I place the kit on the counter, my mouth going wide as I take in the myriad of equipment stuffed inside. This is not a normal first-aid kit. It almost looks like a mini crash cart.

“Sutures should be at the top, along with the bandages.” Ghost nods toward a small rectangular package dressed in nondescript white paper. “They’re already threaded, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Right. Gotcha.” I pull out the pack, and I’m in the process of opening it when Ghost pulls it from my fingers.

“As much as I would love for you to do this, I have much more experience, darling.” As if to prove his point, he pulls out a suture with one hand and begins threading the needle into his skin. Within minutes, he has a ladder of perfectly straight stitches running along the length of the wound, which he ties off and cuts with his teeth.

“Damn. Guess you do know what you’re doing,” I say, digging into the box for the aforementioned bandages. My fingers curl around the large cotton wrap, and I hold it against my chest when he attempts to pull this from me as well.

“Not a chance. I know how to wrap a wrist. Put it here,” I say, holding out a hand expectantly. Ghost sighs but still places his hand in mine, and I wrap the wound. The real reason I want to do it is because I fear he will be too rough with the wound. I know he’s done this thousands of times by the state of his hands, but it also looks like he’s given zero care to his skin’s comfort.

Once I’m done with the wrap, I place my lips gently against his knuckles, holding his hand tight when he tries to flinch back reflexively.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmurs, pushing into the embrace now that the initial shock is over. “You’re a goddess, Brett.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I mumble, my cheeks flaming. I release his hand, turning to close the first-aid kit and place it back under the sink.

When I straighten, Ghost is looking at the countertop, his shoulders shaking. “Ghost?” I ask, stepping up next to him. “You okay?” I reach out, but as soon as my fingertips touch his shoulder, he reels back.

He places his head in his palms, his chest heaving as shudders wrack his entire body. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it.”

I frown at his tone. I’ve never heard anything like it before. He sounds… tortured. I look at where his gaze is trained and find he’s staring at the vegetables, now coated with his blood. Dinner. He’s upset because he thinks he ruined dinner for me.

“Ghost, it’s okay,” I murmur, approaching slowly like you would a spooked horse. “We can make something else for dinner. Everything is oka⁠—”

“I ruin everything,” he whispers, that same cracked voice echoing off the walls. “I just want to be good. Why can’t I do something good?”

Okay, something is seriously wrong. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” I whisper, placing my hand carefully on his cheek. When he doesn’t try to jerk away from me, I slowly slide my arms around his shoulders, hugging his head into my chest. He shudders, but he lets me hold him, and after a few minutes, his breathing evens.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “I got you. Everything’s okay now.”

His chest shakes slightly as he wraps his arms around my waist, pushing his face into me. “I’m sorry, Brett. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I thought I could⁠—”

“Ghost, it’s okay,” I tell him, Grabbing his mask between my hands and pulling his face up. “Tell me—did someone die?” He shakes his head slowly. Though I know masks can’t have expressions, I would bet money that he’s frowning right now. “Okay… are me, you, Rupert, and Venom okay?”

He nods, his breathing slowing further. “Yes.”

“Then I don’t see what the big issue is.” I grin at him playfully before swooping in and pressing my lips to his mask. “See? If everything was ruined, I wouldn’t do that, now would I?”

Finally, Ghost straightens, still keeping his arms wrapped around me. His body still quakes, but it’s so much better than it was a few minutes ago—like he’s finally in his right mind again.

“I apologize,” he murmurs, turning his face down to look at me. “Sometimes I… forget where I am.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Not for that,” I whisper, pressing my cheek to his chest. My heart cracks thinking about where he went just a moment ago—about what caused him to react so strongly to a little blood on some vegetables. A moment later, rage takes the place of my sorrow, aimed entirely at the person who would abuse him in such a way. Suddenly, I wish I had access to my gun and their name. I would deal with them accordingly.

The thought shocks me, and I pull back from Ghost with wide eyes. What the fuck? That’s not me. I’m not a killer.

“Brett? What’s wrong?”

“Ah, nothing.” I shake my head, then try to give him a convincing smile.

“You’re a terrible liar, Brett.”

I sigh, crossing my arms and dropping my eyes to the floor. “I’m just hangry, that’s all. Any chance you get delivery around here?”

Ghost chuckles, the sound causing my mood to brighten. “Not a single one. Luckily, I think I have something better.”

He swoops over to the freezer, pulling out a slim cardboard box. He places it on the counter happily, waiting for my response. I look down at the package, noting the large, smiling dumpling on the front.

“I’ve never had soup dumplings before. Let’s give them a try.”

I expect Ghost to chuck the box into the microwave as soon as I say it, but to my surprise, he doesn’t move. I look over, my brows raised at the tenseness in his shoulders.

“You… have never had soup dumplings? How could this be?” He seems aghast at this information, and I can’t help but laugh. “I will rectify this immediately.”

Ghost makes quick work of the dumplings, returning from the microwave with the small plastic tray and a large soup spoon. “Here,” he says, placing the spoon in my hand. “It’s best to eat them in one bite.”

I shrug, picking one of the dumplings up and popping it in my mouth. Immediately, a burst of flavors coats my tongue, and I moan as I swallow the bite.

“My God… I’ve really been missing out.”

“Indeed,” Ghost murmurs, pushing the plastic tray closer to me. “They are all for you.”

I turn my head, narrowing my eyes. “What about you?”

“I only have one box left. I would much rather you ate it.”

I shake my head with a sigh, picking up another dumpling on the spoon and shoving it toward his mouth—or rather, where his mouth is under that mask.

“Open,” I command, shoving the tip of the spoon closer for good measure. “I’m not going to sit here and eat the entire tray in front of you. That’s hella rude, so open.”

Ghost grumbles, but a moment later, the bottom half of his mask slides up, revealing his stubbled jaw and full, pink lips. In a moment of insanity, I consider reaching up and planting mine on his, but luckily, it passes.

I press the spoon against his bottom lip, and he opens, taking the dumpling. He makes a contented noise as he chews, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily as he swallows it down.

Jesus, I must be really fucked in the head if the sight of him eating is sexy to me.

“Want another?” I ask, lowering the spoon to the tray. Ghost shakes his head, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“It would make me much happier to see you eat something,” he murmurs, burying his face in my neck. His lips are still exposed, so he takes the opportunity to trail punishing kisses along the crook of my neck.

I have to focus on chewing so I don’t accidentally choke on the rest of the dumplings, and I nearly breathe a sigh of relief once the tray is empty. Finally, I can focus on Ghost’s lips⁠—

He pulls away from me, and I want to scream in frustration. Why does he always pull away? Doesn’t he realize that I like what he’s doing to me?

I turn my head, noting how his hand is covering his crotch, desperately trying to cover it from my view. Oh shit. That’s why.

My face flames, and just when I think I can’t get any more embarrassed, Ghost’s apprentice waltzes into the kitchen.

“Ah, damn. Am I interrupting something?” His dark brows wiggle suggestively, and I have to turn my head to hide my mortification.

“If you keep making her uncomfortable, I will skin you alive.”

I look up at Ghost, his shoulders shaking lightly from thinly contained rage. Instinctively, I reach out and press a hand to his chest, and he seems to calm down slightly.

“You’re no fucking fun,” Orion whines, stepping over to the freezer and grabbing a box of taquitos. “Plus, I’d like to see you try, old man.”

I slap my hand over my mouth as a giggle threatens to break free, and I cast my head down as Ghost whips his face to mine. “What? It was funny.”

“Pleased I could be the butt of everyone’s jokes this evening,” he grumbles, though I swear I can detect a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Hah! You said butt.” Orion keels over, his hands on his knees to keep him somewhat upright. “Loserrrr.”

If I could see his face, I’m sure Ghost would be rolling his eyes. “Fucking teenagers, I swear.” He steps closer to me, hauling me tightly to his side. “And what did I tell you about that garbage?” Ghost nods at the box of taquitos in Orion’s hands. “If you want to be a Reaper, you need⁠—”

“A proper diet for the mind and body. Yeah, yeah, whatever. These taste way better than those shitty smoothies you’re always trying to pass off on me. I’m here for a good time, not a long time.” This time, I giggle, which pleases Orion and equally pisses off the scary Phantom at my side. “See? She gets it!”

Ghost huffs, mumbling something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “Now it’s two against one… fantastic.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

GHOST

The Code: Rule #6

No information gained in the field shall be shared unless explicitly ordered by the Sanctum.

I scowl as the microwave beeps, the scent of greasy freezer-burned taquitos wafting to my nose and making me slightly nauseous. Orion skips toward the microwave, wiggling his brows as he sets the steaming plate in front of Brett. She squeals, clapping her hands together excitedly before shoving one in her mouth.

“Ah! Hot!” She curses, waving a hand at her open mouth to give her some relief. My fist tightens at my side, and I consider how crazy it would look if I took a bat to the microwave.

It hurt Brett. My Brett. It will pay.

Orion chuckles, popping two rolls into his mouth while smirking at Brett. “Weak shit, Brett. You gotta build up your mouth strength.”

“Mouth strength?” she asks, her mouth popping with indignation. “That’s not even a thing!”

“If it wasn’t a thing, then how come I can do this?” Orion grabs three more taquitos and swallows them down without so much as flinching.

Brett shakes her head, her shoulder shaking with a giggle. “You’re a monster.”

“Yup, that’s the word on the street.” Orion winks, grabbing a taquito and throwing it to Rupert, who’s waiting diligently at his feet. The little black cat sitting in his lap lets out an angry mew, and Orion sighs before breaking off a small piece to give to him.

“I still can’t believe he lets you pet him,” Brett murmurs, resting her chin in her hands as she stares lovingly at her cat.

“That’s Snow White for you,” I say, chuckling at the murderous glare Orion sends my way. “Strays love him. I’m always coming home to some roadkill-wannabe being nursed back to health. It’s endearing, really.”

“I do not!” Orion grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Oh, yeah? Want to tell Brett about the crow sitting in your room?”

“That’s different! He can’t fly anymore. He needs me.”

I sigh, leaning back in my chair with a glance at Brett. “You see what I have to deal with?”

She giggles, reaching over and giving Rupert some scratches behind his ears. “I think it’s sweet. Everyone needs help sometimes, right? Does the crow have a name?”

At this, Orion brightens. “Yes! His name is Bacchus. He’s literally so cool. Sometimes, he’ll find me coins and shit from outside, and⁠—”

“And Orion is not supposed to have an animal.” I interrupt, crossing my arms. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You have Rupert! Why can’t I have a pet?” Orion grumbles, crossing his own arms to mimic Ghost.

“Because. It’s for the animals' safety.”

Orion’s eyes glaze over, and he pounds his fist on the table, sending his glass falling to the side, spilling water across the table and floor. “I won’t hurt him, I promise!”

I groan, shaking my head slowly. “Orion⁠—”

“No. Fuck you!” he yells, shoving away from the table and standing. “You don’t know! Bacchus is the only one who makes me feel better about what I… what I…”

I see the rage clouding his eyes, and I know I need to stop this now. “Orion. It’s okay. You can keep… Bacchus. At least until he can fly again.” Brett reaches under the table and squeezes my leg, and I have to stop from leaping into the air as the electricity thrums beneath my skin. “Does that sound fair?”

Orion’s eyes clear, and he plops back down in his seat with a nod. “Yeah. I guess…”

I nod, satisfied. “Good. Now, I wanted to talk to you about the information you’ve gathered.” Orion shoots a nervous look at Brett, and I wave him off. “Anything you found out can be said in front of Brett. She is trustworthy.”

He nods, dropping his eyes to his hands resting in his lap. “I just… I don’t want to scare her.”

This piques Brett’s interest. “What? Don’t want to scare me with what?”

He shrugs, refusing to look at either of us. “I’ve heard… rumors.”

“Out with it, kid,” I growl, my fist tightening at my side as I run through the possibilities.

He sighs, jerking his chin toward Brett. “They’re looking for her. The FBI, and the Sanctum. She even has one of the lower-ranking MCs out on the streets, looking for info—the Hounds, I think?” Orion sighs, running a hand across his face. “And that’s not the half of it. They’re looking for you, Ghost. Madam—she doesn’t trust you anymore. She’s starting to suspect that you’ve flipped.”

Fucking motherfuck. This is so not good.

“And? What do they know?” I demand, gritting my teeth as my heart picks up pace. “Do they know Brett is with me?”

“They suspect it,” Orion says, shooting an apologetic smile toward Brett. “I guess you’re pretty glad to be here with us, huh?”

Brett grumbles something I can’t quite make out, but my mind is too far from it to think about it for long. Madam suspects me, which means my plan is officially in motion now. I thought I had a few more months to work out the kinks, but… There’s no other option now. She’s coming for me, and I have to hit her before that happens.

It’s the only way any of us will make it out of this alive.

After cleaning up dinner, Brett, Orion, and I retire to the living room with the pets. A large flat-screen TV hangs opposite the massive leather L-shaped sofa, and it turns on as soon as Brett plops onto the sofa.

“Whoa. That’s kind of cool,” Brett murmurs, taking the remote Orion thrusts at her while Venom snuggles onto her lap. I go to take the seat next to her, but Rupert has other plans. Before I so much as bend my knees, he hauls his furry ass onto the leather cushion, placing his large white head in the small space Venom left unoccupied on her lap.

Damn traitor. I give Rupert a few scratches on his head before stepping around the coffee table to sit on her other side. Orion notices what I mean to do and gives me a wicked smile before sliding into the seat I planned to occupy.

“I call next to Brett!” he announces, wrapping his arms around her shoulders playfully. “She’s way more fun than your dusty ass.”

Brett flinches as he makes contact, and a murderous rage pulses through my veins. “Orion…” My voice rumbles across the space, and Rupert and Venom raise their heads, noticing the change in my demeanor. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“You’re no fun.” Orion sighs but drops his arms, clearly blind to the danger he just put himself in. I don’t care that he’s my apprentice. He will not make her uncomfortable. There’s already one of us who does that enough.

Brett looks at me, shaking her head silently, and I take the hint. “What would you two like to watch?” Brett looks at Orion, who has a mischievous smirk on his mouth. Oh no. I know that fucking look.

“Brett. Have you ever seen Team America World Police?” She shakes her head, and I know my fate is sealed.

An hour later, Orion’s feet are resting on my lap with his head toward Brett, a bowl of popcorn sitting squarely on the cushions between them. The last sixty minutes of my life have been absolute torture—and I actually mean it when I say that shit. For 3600 seconds, I have been forced to look at the most abominable cinema product ever created. And this isn’t even the first time I’ve done this with Orion.

I watch the expressionless puppets on screen, desperate for something with which to gouge my eyes out. The only tools available are the soft, fluffy black cat in my lap, and it doesn’t seem like he wants to help me out with those claws of his at the moment. He’s been happily passed out since the opening credits started rolling, yet I’ve been forced to be conscious during this white torture movie night.

Goddammit. That is hands-down the least funny, revolting piece of trash film I have ever⁠—

I’m brought out of my thoughts as Brett’s laughter fills the room, loud and clear. Like the angels singing from the heavens, those sounds coming from her parted lips fill my ears, my lungs, and my veins. I’m suddenly full of life, full of light. For the first time in years, I want to laugh, as well.

Fuck, I love this movie.

“Why are the puppets fucking? I’m in a fever dream, right?” Brett cackles, popping another fistful of popcorn into her mouth. “This whole movie is so fucking wrong.”

Orion shakes his head, unable to speak as his own wave of laughter takes over him. “God only knows. But whichever creative genius came up with it needs to be shot. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Brett shakes her head, another giggle pouring from her mouth. “It’s… something else.” Her eyes lock on my face, and my heart skips a beat at the tiny smile frozen at the corner of her mouth. My God, she gets more beautiful each time I look at her.

I clear my throat, causing Venom to stretch and leap from my lap. I take the opportunity to stretch my legs, grabbing the empty bowl of popcorn as I pass Orion and Brett on the couch.

I’m popping a fresh bag of buttered kernels into the microwave when a noise rings out behind me, and I reel around with my knife drawn. Brett takes a step back, her ocean eyes wide and hands in the air.

“Whoa. Don’t stab me. I come in peace.”

I shove the dagger into the holster, my chest pinching with shame. “Is everything okay out there? Orion didn’t⁠—”

“No, he’s fine.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t know how, but he just passed out a few minutes after you left. Like in the middle of a sentence.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, he does that. Stays awake for days, then crashes when his body can’t take it anymore.”

Brett nods, twisting her fingers together tightly and looking off to the side. She wants to say something, but she won’t. Why?

“Is… there something you want to talk about?”

It might be the light coming from the microwave, but I swear her face flushes. “I just came to see if you’re okay.”

I nod, my chest squeezing as the light dances like firelight across her cheeks. So fucking beautiful. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“I don’t know… you just seem off.”

“Off?” I lean my forearms against the marble countertop, a coy smile lifting my lips. “How very descriptive of you.”

Brett rolls her eyes with a huff, her hair flying out behind her as she turns on her heel. “You know what? Never mind. If you’re going to be an asshole⁠—”

“You’re right,” I say, causing her to halt and turn back toward me. “You’re right, I-I am off. I’m…worried. It’s something I haven’t felt in quite some time, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Brett steps closer, taking a seat on a barstool on the opposite side of the island. “You can talk to me about it, you know. Only if you want,” she adds hastily. “I know how you like to keep your secrets.”

“Oh, you think I keep secrets?”

“No. I know you keep them. You wouldn’t have gotten to this point in your life if you hadn’t. Now, either spill or tell me to fuck off. Your move, Ghost.”

I sigh, allowing my shoulders to slump as I hang my head. My eyes find a spot in the marble where the white and black veins converge seamlessly, and I focus hard on that point. I have to focus on something other than the beautiful siren in my kitchen to stop me from going mad.

“I’m worried about you,” I admit, my voice raw even with the voice mod. “I’m worried I’ve done all this for nothing. That you or Orion will be hurt because of my actions—my desires.” I clench my fist, wishing I could feel the bite of nails into my palm or something—anything—to take away this horrible nothingness.

Then like an angel, she’s at my side. Electricity thrums from my wrist where her lovely hand rests, rubbing gentle circles around the inch of exposed skin.

“Is there something I can do?” she asks, her voice so gentle and caring, I’m worried I’m dreaming again. “I want to help. Tell me what I can do.”

Wordlessly, I turn to her, memorizing every inch of her lovely heart-shaped face. My hands slide up her arms, curling around her shoulders and pulling her toward me. Brett doesn’t resist, her face heating the slightest shade of pink as her chest brushes mine.

“You’ve already done so much, darling,” I whisper, resisting the urge to crush her against me and steal another kiss. I would, but I’m worried this time will crack me wide open, and no amount of stitches will be able to piece me back together. I’m already so close to the edge, looking for a reason to fall into her. I just need that last little nudge, and I won’t be able to hold back.

Suddenly, Brett presses on her tiptoes and plants her lips squarely against my mask. I close my eyes, imagining the feel of her against me, of her taste consuming me and driving me mad. It’s almost enough to satisfy me.

A moment later, she’s gone, halfway across the room to the door. I’m about to call out to her when she gets to the doorway, but she stops the words in my throat as she turns her head, eyebrows raised with an expectant expression.

“Well? Are you coming to bed or not?”

She doesn’t need to ask twice.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #14

Something happened tonight. Something I can’t tell anyone, so I’m writing it here.

Hudson and I made love tonight.

Granted, he kept his mask on, and it kept smacking me in the forehead every time he thrust forward, but overall, it wasn’t terrible.

He even got me off at the end—though it took quite a bit of coaxing for some reason. I just couldn’t stop picturing Maverick’s face and hearing Maverick’s voice. Wishing Maverick was inside me.

And that is part of my shame. Because not only was I kicked out immediately after Hudson came, but I felt like I deserved it because I was thinking of another man.

I’m supposed to meet Maverick tomorrow for breakfast at his apartment, but I may call and cancel.

After all, one Mask making me feel like shit is more than enough.

For the next week, things are pretty quiet. I spend most days in bed, catching up on the hours of sleep I’ve missed over the years. When I’m not unconscious or choking down whichever nutritious meal Ghost cooks—then snacking on freezer food later with Orion—I spend my time in the library with Ghost, sitting silently and reading.

I’ve tried to bring up the Sanctum multiple times, but he always finds a way to change the subject—be it dragging me to the bedroom or calling Orion in to distract me—so I haven’t gotten any closer to my end goal. I am learning a lot, though. For example, I never realized the amount of violence a person could harbor until the other night when Ghost took a sledgehammer to the microwave oven. A sledgehammer.

At the time it happened, I was busy tonguing the side of my cheek that I burned from a hasty bite of a microwaved taquito and damn near bit my tongue off when the first hit rang out. By the time I could calm him down, the poor thing was beaten to a pulp, and Ghost was a heaving mess, screaming about stupid, hazardous inventions. Orion tried to tell me it was technically my fault—that Ghost went into a fit because I burned my mouth on something I heated in the microwave—but it was too preposterous to think about, so I just chalked it up to him being a lunatic.

Although, it’s not all bad. The caring side I’ve seen in Ghost this past week has softened me to him. Even if his actions are perplexing at times, I realize now that it’s always been in my best interest. And not just to me—to Venom, too. He’s been so kind to us both, and it makes no sense.

I’m trying to stay strong—to remember my mission, and the reason I started trying to get on Ghost’s good side. To gain intel and then to escape when he least expects it. It’s not like I can stay here forever. I’m playing house with a murderous lunatic, and the thought of throwing my life away to be his anything is too much to think about.

Although I will miss the orgasms. Desperately. And the snuggles. And breakfast in bed. And the orgasms. That is another thing I’ve allowed to happen too frequently. Ghost’s head between my legs is like a drug—one I can’t get enough of.

I’m brought out of my thoughts as a hint of aftershave makes its way to my nose, and I turn my head, catching sight of Ghost at the doorway to the balcony. I discovered the balcony a few days ago, and it’s been one of my favorite places to sit and think. It’s extremely calming listening to the waves crash against the rocks, knowing I’m too high for the elements to reach, to touch.

“When you weren’t in the library, I figured this is where you’d be,” Ghost murmurs, leaning effortlessly against the doorframe. “I worried when you weren’t in bed when I woke.”

I smile, gesturing for him to sit in the unoccupied patio chair next to me. He obliges, floating to the seat and reaching over, placing his hand on top of mine. I rub my thumb over the back of his ungloved wrist, my chest squeezing at the sounds my touch is able to elicit from the unyielding Phantom at my side.

“I will never get enough of this,” he announces, turning that black oval toward me. “I will never get enough of you, Brett.”

I blush, turning my eyes down to my lap and picking at my cuticle. “I know.” I know, and I feel the same way. But I can’t tell him that. I can never admit that if I have any chance of escaping in one piece. I’m worried I’ve given too much of my soul to him already, that the vise is wrapped too tightly around me to ever get away. I don’t even think I want to anymore.

“I would like to take you somewhere if that is okay.”

I whip my head up, wishing I could see the face behind that soulless black oval. “Where?”

Ghost stands, holding his hand out for me to take. “It’s better if I show you.”

I wrap my arms tighter around Ghost’s waist, tucking my face into the back of his jacket as the wind whips my exposed skin, sending chills across my body. We’ve been racing through the forest on Ghost’s motorcycle at speeds I never thought possible, crashing through the thicket and following trails that look like they haven’t seen a pair of tires in decades.

I’m thankful Ghost is such a skilled rider. If not, we surely would have crashed or fallen off the side of the cliff hidden by the dense underbrush. When we finally pull to a stop in a small circular clearing, it takes a bit of willpower to pull my arms from Ghost. He’s so warm, and where this place is situated, the breeze blows heavily from the sea, the cold salty air chilling me to the bone.

I dismount, curling my arms around me for extra warmth as Ghost turns the bike off and taking a moment to inspect my surroundings. We’re standing in a perfectly circular clearing, thick stands of eucalyptus lining the perimeter and hiding the area from view. The ground is carved into several smaller circles, placed around the clearing like the numbers on a clock, meaning there are twelve in total, with a small, untouched space in the center.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out what they would be used for, but by the way Ghost is staring out with his fist clenched, I know this place holds some form of value to him.

“What is this place?” I ask, catching sight of a dilapidated cabin hiding just beyond the tree line. It looks ancient, with a crumbling roof and rotted wood siding falling off in chunks. This whole place is suffocating, like something bad is in the air. Something horrible happened here.

The thought enters my mind so forcefully, I know it to be true. Something tragic occurred here—possibly more than one something—and from the way Ghost is standing, I’m positive it had something to do with him.

“Come, Brett,” he murmurs, gripping my wrist and pulling me toward the cabin. I follow dutifully, stopping only when he pauses to unlock the door. To my surprise, he holds his wrist to the door like he would in his house, and the lock clicks open. As soon as I step inside, a wave of mold and dust floods my senses, and I pull back to let out a sneeze.

Twelve bunk beds line the walls of the small room, some with old sleeping pads, others barren, the iron frame rusted and falling to pieces. Ghost steps over to the bunk in the far-right corner of the room—the one right next to a disgusting wash basin—and gestures to the bottom half.

“This is where I slept for most of my childhood. This is where I was raised.”

I look around at the crumbling foundation, a wave of sadness pouring over me as I imagine a young Ghost scared and alone in this strange, cold place. “Why are you showing me this?”

He hangs his head, his chest heaving erratically as he grips the iron frame of the bunk. “I don’t—I don’t really know. I think I wanted you to understand me. Where I came from. Why I do the things I do.” He looks toward the small, circular window, his shoulders slumping. “I never wanted to be this way. I never wanted—” He stops with a shaky intake of breath. “I never wanted to be evil. I thought—I thought maybe you would understand if you saw. If you knew.”

“Knew what?” I demand, throwing my hands up. “I don’t know anything. You won’t talk about the Sanctum or where you came from. When you do talk, it’s mixed with cryptic riddles I’ll never be able to figure out. You want me to understand? Fine. Tell me something real.”

Ghost shakes his head, never looking away from that window. “I don’t—it is not so easy for me.”

“I realize that,” I whisper, taking a cautious step toward him. “But you’re going to have to. If you want me to understand you, then tell me what happened here; that’s so important. Tell me why you brought me here. Tell me something, dammit!”

Ghost goes still. For a moment, he’s so still I think he might have turned to stone. But then he speaks, and his voice is like nothing I’ve heard before. It’s raw, painful. Real.

“If you knew, you’d never look at me the same. You’d never—” Whatever he was going to say, I’ll never know. Ghost sighs, holding his masked face in his hands. “You want to know what they did to me? How they broke me—turned me into this… this soulless monster?” He raises his head, his shoulders tense. “Fine. But first, I’ll need to tell you about Brenden.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #2

Do not remove your mask. Do not allow another to remove your mask.

20 years ago…

Gravel crunches beneath my boots as I step into the center of the circle, my eyes trained on the terrified baby blues of my best friend. I shake my head ever so slightly, letting him know I have no intention of harming him, even now. In response, he lets out a breath, and a little bit of color returns to his cheeks.

“This match ends when one of you is dead—and not a moment sooner,” Master calls out, pinning me with his faceless mask. “Treat this as you would a mission. It is either your life or the other man’s. May the best Rook survive.”

Master claps his hands, and Brenden and I circle each other, nothing but our fists bared. I try to catch Brenden’s eye so I can communicate with him—tell him I’ll find a way out of this. There’s no way Master will kill us both—the Code prohibits such senseless killing this late in the training cycle—so if we just don’t fight, we will be fine.

I try to catch his eye, but Brenden refuses to look at me. His chest heaves like he just ran a marathon, and a thick bead of sweat breaks out along his hairline. I look down at his fists, noticing for the first time that Brenden has his dagger clenched tightly in his right fist.

I frown. I could have sworn we were both fighting with fists, but maybe Brenden wants to make it realistic. I grin, trying yet again to catch his eye to tell him I understand his plan. Shrugging, I pull my own dagger out, wielding it loosely with the blade held upward like in the movies. It’s useless when fighting in this close range, but it looks much cooler.

“Quit flirting with each other and fight!” Master bellows, shocking me so much I nearly fumble my dagger. Brenden uses my distraction to his advantage and charges forward, his dagger poised to strike my liver. At the last moment, I step out of the blade’s trajectory, using Brenden’s momentum against him as I swipe my leg under his feet, causing him to crash to the ground like a giant felled tree.

Before he can recover, I straddle his chest, pinning his arms to his sides with my calves like Master had done to me so many moons ago. Just like then, my dagger finds its home at the base of Brenden’s sternum, the tip of my blade pointed up toward his heart.

Brenden’s eyes go wide—like he thinks I may genuinely kill him—and he desperately bucks, trying to unseat me. I don’t move, and my muscles hold taut as I try to catch his eye to relay my intentions. When he still refuses to meet my eye, I speak out.

“Submit,” I say, pulling the blade back slightly when Brenden takes a heaving breath.

“That is NOT allowed!” Master screams, his voice cracking with rage. “Kill him now, Boy!”

I look down at Brenden. At that horrified sheen in his eyes. “I-I can’t,” I whisper, my arms shaking.

“How dare you!” Master screams, spit flying as his face purples from rage. “Do it! That’s an order, Boy. The match is over—end it!”

My hands shake on the handle, but I have no intention to move that blade. Brenden looks up with those wide, worried baby blues, and my eyes scream what I’ve been trying to say all along. That I will never, ever hurt him. Not if they hurt me, if they kill me. We’re getting out of here together. There is no other option.

“I can’t,” I say, louder this time. I toss the blade to the side, standing up from Brendan and offering him my hand. “I won’t.”

Master watches the situation, his body eerily still as he watches Brenden dust off. I give my friend a grin and a pat on the shoulder before turning away and walking to the edge of the circle. Just before my foot makes it past the line, my body crumples to the ground.

Utterly confused, I turn my head in time to see Brenden, a triumphant grin spreading his freckled cheeks as he rips the dagger from my spine. The dagger he thrust into me.

I look down at the tip of the blade, at the rubies pilling, falling to the soil with a weak thunk…thunk…thunk.

“You,” I whisper, a strange, cold numbness creeping into my mind. “You.”

“Sorry, brother. It was you or me.”

“I was… protecting you,” I choke, a coppery taste coating my mouth and tongue. “I’ve always… protected you.”

“Maybe you should have looked a little closer at what you thought you were protecting,” he sneers, brandishing that knife in a steady hand. So, so steady. Steadier than mine ever was.

“Brenden,” I whisper, pleading with him with my eyes. “Don’t… don’t do this. We can still make it out together, just like we promised.”

“We both knew that was a lie,” he murmurs, glancing at the weapon in his hand. “It always came down to this. You were just never ready. You never came to terms with it.” His eyes are hardened with hate as he glances back at me. “I did.”

“Brenden, please don’t—” But I never get to finish my plea because just as I do, Brenden swings that blade at me, aiming for the artery in my neck. My reflexes take over, and I grab the blade before it has a chance to connect with something vital. The edge digs so deep into my palm, and blood flows, slicking my grip and sending that awful deep red running down my arm.

But I don’t feel it. I don’t feel a thing. No pain, no sorrow. Just… nothing. I’m not quite sure how, but suddenly, I’m on top of him again, pinning his chest to the ground with that blade pressed into the center of his neck. My blood pools onto his chest, but still, I feel nothing. No remorse, no guilt. Nothing.

“Wait, Ghost,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking!”

I look down at the nameless face, expecting to feel something from the cries pouring from his mouth. But I don’t feel anything. I am nothing—a phantom—just like they wanted.

“Ghost!” he cries, tears streaming down those ruddy cheeks. “Please! I know you don’t want to kill me! I know you care about me⁠—”

“Care? About you?” My voice is foreign to my ears. Cold and robotic. “A worthless pile of garbage like you?”

My blade pierces his throat, stabbing straight through to the earth below. A horrible squelching sound emanates from the wound as he tries to suck in a breath, drowning in the blood filling his windpipe.

“It’s not personal, brother,” I whisper, my knuckles white on the handle of the dagger. “I had to take out the trash.”

I watch the light go out of Brenden’s eyes, waiting to feel something. Sadness, remorse, any of it. But I am numb as I look into the lifeless eyes of my best friend. So, so incredibly numb. I hang my head, glancing down at my palms.

Red. Awful, disgusting red—-covering my hands, seeping into the earth beneath my knees. Slippery, metallic, deep dark red seeping from the knife lodged in my friend’s carotid.

“Fucking finally! I was wondering when that bitch would finally die.”

It’s the voice of one of the remaining Rooks, though it sounds distorted to my ears. Like I’m underwater, and I can’t seem to raise my head above the waves.

I straighten, my eyes gazing around the clearing. Two targets on my right at three and two. One directly to my left and another at eleven o'clock.

My hand grips the dagger at my waist, and with my eyes trained on the Rooks to my right, I jam my blade into the side of the Rook at my left.

One one thousand.

Thick, wet gurgles replace his laughter, and I rip the blade from his throat, using my momentum to lunge toward the Rooks on my right. My blade swipes the carotid of the one closest to me, and as he falls, I jerk my knee between the other’s legs, jabbing my blade through his eye socket when his body curls forward on instinct.

Two one thousand.

The last Rook races toward me, his face curled in rage as he brandishes his weapon out toward me. I bend my knees slightly, flicking my blade toward him with a lazy smirk. The satisfying squelch of steel lodging into his windpipe tells me my weapon hit home.

His body hits the ground on three one thousand, and at the exact moment, I mime an explosion with my hands, never taking my eyes off Master, who watches, frozen in place. With a deep, unsettling laugh, I step toward the fallen Rook, pulling my knife from his throat and wiping it off on his shirt before straightening.

“This is what you wanted, right?” I ask, wondering if he’s aware of the piece of soul he’s permanently ripped from my body. If he’s aware of the monster he’s created. “THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED!”

Without a word, Master turns on his heel, gesturing for me to follow him. “Come, Boy. We have much work to do.”

And though I’m consumed by nothing but hatred, If I could see his face, I bet Master would be grinning from ear to ear.

I tell Brett everything. How I was taken by Reapers that fateful day more than thirty years ago, how I spent my life training to be the perfect assassin for the Sanctum. How I learned that to care for someone means destruction. How to sleep, eat, and breathe the job I’d been trained for. How I had no other option, no other choice.

I explain why I killed that FBI agent all those weeks ago. That he was secretly taking bribes from the Sanctum and using the money to fulfill his sick desires. How he ended up taking too much one time, and how I was tasked with disposing of him. The only thing I don’t explain is why I left him in such a similar fashion to her foster father.

I tell her about Orion and the day I found him, scared and alone at just five years old in some crack house, crying over the body of his mom, the needle still sticking out of her arm from her overdose. I tell her how I decided to take him in, and how I’ve hidden him from the Sanctum all these years, secretly training him to infiltrate the organization. I tell her about Madam and her terrifying twin tigers. I talk of her malevolence, the wickedness that lives inside her, infecting everything and everyone around her.

I tell her everything—all the horrifying things I’ve witnessed and done, down to the smallest detail. The people I’ve killed, hurt, or maimed. The people I’ve let down. The children—oh God, the poor children—who have fallen prey to her rule while I’ve been biding my time. By the end, she’s shaking and pale, refusing to look me in the face. For a moment, I think I’ve lost her. That I’ve gone too far this time, and she won’t be able to unsee the monster I’ve become.

But then she lifts her head, and my heart stops at the pain swirling in her beautiful blue eyes. Every thought leaves my mind—every want, feeling, and need—until it’s just us. Brett and me, two fucked-up peas in a pod. And she’s looking at me like she finally understands. This pain I’m witnessing is not because of the things I’ve done but rather the things that have been done to me.

She steps toward me, stopping when we’re barely a breath apart. Her hands reach up to my face—to my mask—and I jerk back before her fingers can so much as brush the cool metal. Hurt flashes in her eyes, and her mouth twists up in a wry, all-knowing smile.

“You can’t hide behind it forever, Ghost.”

I jerk, holding a hand to my chest as my heart threatens to beat out of its cage. Lord, how she can burn down my walls with a single sentence. And I’m the fool who’s willingly dousing himself in kerosene to feel her fire. Relishing the burn.

“Brett, I think I’m falling in l⁠—”

I don’t get to finish that statement because as soon as that last word falls from my lips, Brett’s hands curl around the edges of my mask, attempting to pry it from my face. My chest seizes, and this time, I can’t remember how to take oxygen into my lungs. She’s… she’s…

I don’t fight. I don’t so much as protest when she pulls the awful black metal from my face. All that training, all that dedication, all those years of torture down the drain because of Brett. The only problem is… it’s the most freeing thing in all thirty-five years of my worthless existence.

Goddamn Brett motherfucking Evangeline.

A soft gasp pours from her lips as my mask is fully removed, and I take her wrist in my hand, looking down at the futuristic contraption that’s been plastered to my face for the past two decades. I can’t believe I let her take off my⁠—

My line of thought is cut off as Brett’s hands find my face, and my eyes close in bliss as warm tingles spread throughout my body. Her fingertips are so gentle as they explore the planes of my face. The sharp angles of my cheekbones and jaw. The little scar on my lower lip I got from my first fight. The crooked twist of my nose bridge from too many devastating blows. The arch of my thick yet pale brows that perfectly match the color of my snow-white hair. Brett takes her time, her brows pinched as she discovers every dip, crest, and bubble of the minuscule scars lining my face like constellations. Like imperfections.

My eyes fly open as her fingertips prod around my eye sockets, and for the first time, I see Brett’s eyes with my own. They’re more dazzling than I could have imagined. All of her is. I stare into her ocean-colored eyes, mesmerized by the thin green circle around her pupil that I hadn’t noticed with the mask.

“They’re purple…” she whispers, her eyes locked in on the strange violet hue of my irises. “They’re… beautiful.”

Her mouth is slightly parted as she holds my gaze, and before I know what I’m doing, I dip down and press my lips to hers. Lightning passes between us as she deepens the kiss, throwing her arms around my neck and parting her lips. My tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, delving inside her briefly and moaning as the taste of her floods every sense I have. And this is just from a fucking kiss.

Brett moans softly as I take her lip between my teeth, careful not to bite too hard like before. It’s just so hard when all I want to do is sink my teeth deep into her flesh. She’s so fucking delectable, so soft and smooth and lovely and warm and—fuck. I’m ruined for her, putty in her perfect little hands, and she doesn’t even realize it. But she will.

“Brett,” I growl, pulling her into another deep kiss. “Brett, I’m obsessed with you.”

“I know,” she whispers, a devilish grin breaking our kiss. I bring my palm down hard on her ass, and she has to bite her lip from letting out a scream. When I look at her face, her eyes are slightly hooded, and she drags her chest achingly slowly down my abdomen.

“What are you-you doing?” I groan, throwing my head back as her fingers start working my belt. “Fuck, Brett.”

“You talk way too much, you know that?” she grumbles, pulling my pants down to my knees. My cock springs to attention, and she attempts to wrap her hand around the length, frowning when her fingers can’t quite touch. I groan as her hand slides down my length, my entire body lighting on fire from the slight movement.

“Jesus, you’re huge,” she murmurs, shifting it side to side slightly. My ego swells to the size of the house as her mouth widens. I refuse to move, to blink as she pushes her pretty pink tongue out, licking the precum off the tip of my cock. I nearly come undone when she moans at the taste.

My legs shudder as she wraps her lips around me, taking my cock to the back of her throat. Her eyes widen at the third she still has to fit inside, and I chuckle, resting my hand on top of her head and shoving her forward. Brett gags and attempts to pull back, but I shove forward with my palm, pushing my cock past the tight ring at the back of her throat.

Tears form in Brett’s eyes as her lips brush the skin at the base of my cock, and a spark of glee lights my chest at the sight of her purpling face.

“You pushed too far, darling. Now look at you—sobbing on my cock.” I let go of her head, and she reels back, coughing and gasping in precious lungfuls of oxygen. Before she has time to recover, I grab the back of her hair and haul her back up, positioning her mouth at the height of my cock. I suppose it’s stupid. She could easily bite my fucking cock off if she wanted to, but something tells me she won’t. That she wants to be treated this way—gets off on it, even.

“Open,” I command, gripping her jaw and squeezing hard until she complies. Her eyes shoot blue fire as her mouth wraps around my cock, but she doesn’t fight. I push on the back of her head gently, coaxing her to take me deeper and deeper on her own. Ropes of saliva drip from my cock to the floor, accompanied by wet sucking sounds from Brett that send me over the edge.

Fisting her raven hair, I push her head all the way onto my cock, deaf to her gurgles of struggle, or her hands pressing against my hips. Adding the other hand to her head, I hold her in place as I throw my head back, a wave of ecstasy flowing through my veins as my cock pulses thick ropes of cum down her throat. A few seconds later, I pull my cock from Brett’s mouth, and she falls to the side, her eyes hooded and face purple.

“Shit. Brett!” I rush forward, pulling her into my chest and turning her face side to side, checking for any sign of injury. “Fuck. What did I do?” To my surprise, a coy little smile pulls at her lips. Something like satisfaction.

But no, that can’t be. She would never… would she?

“Brett, fucking talk to me,” I murmur, my tone more an order than a request. “Are you okay?”

“Mmm,” she murmurs, rolling her head to the side and pressing her lips to my chest. “You smell really good, by the way.”

A chuckle rumbles in my chest as I press my lips to her head. I’m pulling away when it occurs that I’m not wearing my mask, and panic grips my chest. Careful not to jostle Brett, I swoop to the floor and grab my mask, holding it up to my face to fit it back in place.

“Please don’t.”

I freeze, looking down at Brett with wide eyes. “You… don’t want me to wear the mask?”

She shakes her head slightly, raking her fingers down my chest. “Not really. At least, not for a while.” She bites her lip, and it occurs to me what she means.

I lean down, nipping her ear lightly and sending shivers down her neck. “As you wish, my darling.” With her giggle echoing in my mind, I race toward my bike, suddenly starving for a taste of Brett.

After all, it’s only polite to return the favor.

CHAPTER THIRTY

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #14

I’m literally horrible.

Let me explain—I kissed Maverick today.

I couldn’t help it! He was in the middle of detailing how Phantoms acquire and sell information for the Sanctum when I just jumped his bones. I didn’t even have to ask for him to take his mask off—he did it willingly. And when I tried to take it further, he slid my hands away and said we had all the time in the world. That we should take it slow.

Now, I’m thinking about the mysterious dark-haired assassin when I should be thinking about how to use the information Maverick gave me.

But I can’t. I’ll work on a plan tomorrow, but tonight, I have a date with my vibrator.

As soon as we pull up at the lair, Ghost whisks me into his arms and hurries down the stone steps, knocking his elbow hard against the wall as he veers left toward the bedroom. I yelp, pressing my face into his chest as he steps into the primary bedroom, wriggling my thighs together as a wave of doubt pours over me.

Am I really going to do this? With Ghost? I look at him under my lashes, at the ravenous sheen in his eyes, the way his jaw twitches deliciously at every slight move I make against him. I realize if I think about it, I’ll find a way to talk myself out of it. And I don’t want to do that anymore—not ever again. I want him. I want Ghost inside me, to take me and make me feel the way only he can. If I don’t give in to the desire now, I know I will regret it for the rest of my life.

But not this. Not Ghost. I will never regret those things.

“Brett,” Ghost chokes out, my name falling off his tongue like a sacred prayer. “Brett, I need you.”

“I need you, too,” I whisper, trailing my hand down his abdomen and stopping at his waistband, slipping the tips of my finger just below the fabric. He shudders, throwing his head back as a strangled noise escapes his throat.

“You’re killing me. Slowly, every damn day—and I’ve never been fucking happier.” He laughs, laying me down gently on the bed. “But now I’m going to give you some of the torture you’ve dealt me. I know this is your first time—” He holds his hand up when my mouth pops, about to disagree on impulse. “Your first time with a real cock,” he adds.

I wriggle my thighs together, lowering my eyes until Ghost’s hand cups it, forcing my gaze back up to him. “I need you to tell me this is what you want. When I take you, I won’t be able to hold back. I’m not going to be gentle—your pain makes me fucking hard. I’m not going to be sweet, and I’m not going to stop until you’re so full of me, you’ll be throwing up my fucking seed.” He crouches over me, his minty breath warm against my ear. “So you tell me, darling. How fucked up are you willing to go?”

My throat is sandpaper as I swallow, unable to look away from the maniac glint in the pale, cruel eyes. Eyes only I get to see—eyes looking like they want nothing more than to stare at my naked body all day long.

“All the way,” I whisper, twisting my fingers in his hair and pulling him down to me. He doesn’t fight it, taking the kiss deeper till I’m gasping for air I don’t want. When he pulls back, my lips are swollen and bruised but aching for more. When I try to pull him back down, he shakes his head, sitting back and working the buttons on his shirt.

He never takes his eyes off me, those pale orbs glinting in the golden glow of the setting sun through the window. “I can’t wait to break you, darling.”

I whimper, unable to move under the weight of his hungry stare. When he gets to the last button, he rips his arms from the sleeves, tossing the shirt off to the side while I admire him. Dark black designs cover every inch of his torso, winding all the way up his neck, stopping just below the line of where his collar would rest. Truly, the only thing uncovered is his face and hands, the skin on the latter most likely far too thin to handle a needle and ink. Five small white half-moon scars are around the inside of his left pectoral—brand marks. I think about asking him what they’re from, but a line of script just above his heart catches my attention.

It’s backward and in Latin, but I still vaguely recognize the quote from a medieval literature class I took in college, where we had to read passages from Dante’s Divine Comedy. Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

His eyes rake over my body with a hunger I’ve never known to exist, his tongue darting out briefly as he notices me admiring his swirls of ink. “Soon, I’ll put one on you, darling.”

I jerk back, my eyes wide as he gazes down with that hungry smile. “Wh-what?”

“My mark,” he murmurs, tracing a small circle between my breasts. “Right here.”

I swallow, my word dying in my throat at the expression on his face. “I love that look. So fucking cute and terrified. It gets me so hard.” As if to demonstrate this, Ghost unzips his pants, letting his cock fall free. My eyes widen as I take him in for the second time today, still wondering how I was able to fit him in my throat.

“Are you ready, darling?” he coos, fisting his cock and rubbing it up and down my slit. My chest heaves as waves of electricity shoot from my core, drowning all rational thought.

“Yes,” I whimper, shifting my hips down to try to get him inside me faster. He was right—I’ve never had a “real” cock, but if I can take my big purple rabbit with no problem, I’m sure I can handle him.

My eyes widen as he thrusts inside me, and a strangled cry gets lodged in my windpipe. Tears spring to my eyes as Ghost moves in me, his long, torturous strokes pulling several more strangled whimpers from me. I pull my head up so I can look down at him fucking me and instantly regret it. He’s not even all the way in.

I rest my head back with a scream, my fingernails digging into my palms as I try desperately to adjust to his size.

“Shh. Take all this fucking cock. Breathe through the pain… That’s it. What a good. Fucking. Girl.” I scream as he punctuates each word with a thrust, and my eyes roll to the back of my head as black spots swarm in my vision.

Just when I think I’m a goner, a gentle thrumming spreads from my core, warming my skin. I’m suddenly hot—too hot—and it feels like the room is spinning. My mind is fuzzy and clear and swirling all at the same time, and when I open my eyes, bright white stars spark in front of my eyes. Lightning strikes, and my head falls back with a cry that shakes the walls as my body convulses around Ghost's cock.

“Fuck, yes. Come on my cock, Brett. Soak me, fucking drown me,” Ghost rasps, thrusting viciously as my orgasm wracks through me. My ears are ringing as I come to. The only sensation I’m aware of is the wave of pleasure building in my core already.

“Oh fuck,” I whimper, closing my eyes tight as my walls clench him.

“Fuck no. Eyes open and on me, darling,” Ghost orders, lifting my eyelid with his thumb and keeping it up. “You keep looking at me as you come. I want to see that pretty little light die as you become a mindless wet hole for me.”

Despite the spark of anger his words bring, I follow his command. He reaches down between our bodies, his fingers finding my clit and playing me like he learned all those nights ago. He pinches the sensitive nub between his fingers and the painful shock has me coming undone. Another scream pours from my mouth as I come around him, those stars turning to a kaleidoscope of pleasure as he works my clit gently through my orgasm.

“Fuck. You soaked me, darling.” I lift my head weakly at the raptured tone in my voice, finding Ghost's eyes resting squarely on my pussy—or the puddle I made on the mattress.

A wave of shame pours over me, and I try to wriggle away. Ghost growls low in his throat, prying my thighs open and diving down to my core. I whimper as he cleans me thoroughly, teasing that soft tongue through my folds until I’m quivering for him again. When he raises his head, his mouth shines with my cum, and a wave of heat pulses from my core.

“I’ll never get over the way you taste,” he groans, rolling his tongue around in his mouth as his eyes roll back. “I can’t wait to taste you when my cum is mixed with yours.”

His words shock my one working brain cell back into reality. “Ghost. I—no. You can’t⁠—”

But he’s already lining up at my core and thrusting back in, and my words get lost as his cock fills me past the point of comfort. A few more strokes, and I relax into him, some nagging voice in the back of my mind reminding me I forgot something important.

“I’m going to fill you so deep, your pretty pink cunt will be weeping with me for days,” he growls, his thrusts coming faster and more erratic.

I rake my nails down his chest as another wave of pleasure flows through me, shaking my head at his words for some unknown reason. “Wait, Ghost⁠—”

His hips slam against mine, and my eyes go wide as his cock throbs deep inside me. A groan pours from his mouth as he empties his seed into me, and I try to shuffle back unsuccessfully. Ghost grips my hips, seemingly wanting to get every last drop in. Even when his cock begins to soften, he keeps it inside to stop it from dripping out, despite my best efforts to run off to the bathroom.

“Ghost!” I yelp, my mouth wide with shock. “Ghost, I’m not on any⁠—”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenched as his body shudders with the last wave of his orgasm. “No. I-I cannot… I cannot give anyone children.”

Oh. “Oh…”

“I should have told you, but I couldn’t wait.” Another groan pours from his lips as he slips out of me.

“Yeah, that would have been helpful—” My voice is cut off as Ghost dips down, planting his mouth squarely over my dripping cunt.

“Fuck,” he curses, taking a deep breath before lashing his tongue out, sampling the new taste. “You taste so good with my seed dripping out of you.”

My face heats, and I wiggle back as he nudges my clit, sending shock waves down to my toes. “Ah! Sensitive!”

“I’m well aware,” he murmurs, continuing to enjoy my pussy. “I told you I wasn’t going to be able to stop.”

As my body convulses around his tongue, I try my best to lean back and let him work his magic. And—sure enough—within another half hour, I’m on my way to another one.

If I knew this was what I was missing, I wouldn’t have held out for so long.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #14

Masks shall be terminated at the age of forty, regardless of fitness.

I flip the bacon, listening to the satisfying sizzle of the fat against the hot frying pan. I breathe deep, trying to ignore the claustrophobic sensation my mask brings. After yesterday, I’m not sure where Brett and I stand. Things were fine until we went to bed—and she let me touch her again, then hold her while she slept. But this morning, when I rose, she had this faraway look in her eye, and not even morning cuddles from Rupert and Venom would take it away.

So now I’m trying the next best thing—food.

I just pray I didn’t fuck things up. I’m not sure what I did, but knowing me, I don’t have to be conscious of it for me to make a mistake. Especially when it comes to Brett. I can’t seem to think straight around her. Just the sight of her and I’m a puddle at her feet.

It doesn’t make what I have to do any easier. But no matter how I feel for Brett, I can’t stop. Too much is riding on my plan—too many lives. I will just have to keep her safe until then and find a way to do so after. Which could be tricky, considering there’s a large chance I’ll be dead.

I sigh, transferring a few pieces to a paper towel-lined plate. Her taste still swirls on my tongue, and I’m hesitant to eat any of this for fear I’ll never experience it again. My brain is a mess, and my nerves are shot, but as soon as I catch a whiff of her sweet scent, all of it fades away.

I turn my head, my chest squeezing at the little smirk playing on the corner of her mouth. She’s dressed in one of my button-ups, the sleeves so long they cover her hands, leaving only her long, toned legs bare. My mouth waters as I take in every perfect inch of her, the smell of burning bacon in the background the last thing on my mind.

Must have her. Now.

I don’t realize I’m in front of her until her gasp rings out, and I come to with my hand under her shirt, my fingers in the middle of a hard pinch to her budding nipple.

“Ghost,” she moans. My name rolling off her tongue makes me come undone. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever known—more comforting than rain on a tin roof during a hot summer night and as soothing as the waves lapping against the rocks of the Moriton cliffs. For I am up here, safe, with Brett Evangeline—the sweetest, most darling woman on the face of this earth.

And she’s letting me hold her.

“Brett,” I whisper, leaning down and pressing my face into the crook of her neck. She gasps as the cool metal of my mask touches her skin, and in the next moment, her fingertips are prying at the sides.

“You put it back on,” she murmurs, a pout in her voice. “I was hoping you’d leave it off after…”

I straighten, cupping her face with my palms and staring into her beautiful blue pools. “I wish I could, darling. But Orion will be around soon, and I cannot risk it.”

She nods, that faraway look returning. Never mind, I want to say. I will take it off—will do anything to bring back that smile.

But just when my mouth is opening to say the words, the scrape of the front door sounds out. Brett gives me a sad knowing smile before pressing up on the balls of her feet and kissing my mask where my cheek would be.

“Well shit. Don’t stop on my account.”

A low growl sounds out as Brett backs away, her cheeks flushed and her eyes downcast. “Must you always show up at the worst moments?”

“It’s my specialty.” Orion smirks, waggling his thick brows at Brett. “He loves it.”

I sigh, reaching an arm out to haul Brett against my side. “That is up for debate. Anything at the apartment?” Orion nods, handing a stack of mail to me. Brett looks up at me, her eyebrows scrunched in a question. “I have an apartment in the city, where the Sanctum believes me to be living right now,” I say, fanning the mail and plucking one with a gold embossed seal. “The bastards can’t help themselves. They like to pretend they’re so secretive, yet they send me mail that looks like this.” I shake my head with a scoff, ripping the envelope open. My eyes scan the words, a stone hardening in my gut as I realize what they mean.

P-1313,

You are formally invited to the Sanctum headquarters on May 23, 9:00 p.m.

Signed,

George Bartholomew, Head Table member.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and pocket the note, facing a concerned Orion. “They want to speak with me. Tonight.”

Brett’s eyes go wide. “You’re not going, though, right?”

I shrug, unable to look into her eyes for the first time all morning. “I must. Anything else could pose a threat to you and Orion. If I go tonight, I may die. However, if I don’t, they will comb the entire continent trying to find me. Eventually, they will, and I will not risk your lives like that. I can’t.”

Brett shakes her head, a defiant sheen in her eyes. “Ghost, no. You can’t. I don’t care what happens to me. Risking your life like that is fucking stupid!” She looks at Orion desperately. “Tell him! Tell him that he shouldn’t go.”

Orion shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets with a disgruntled expression. “He already knows what I think. It doesn’t matter.”

Brett opens and closes her mouth, her earlier desperation replaced by outrage. “Fine! Then I’ll just camp out by the door. Or I’ll follow you and give you backup. You’re absolutely not going there alone,” she declares, hands on her hips.

I sigh, cupping her cheek with my palm. “Oh, Brett. You really are so fucking adorable.”

Her eyes go wide at the same time Orion tosses me a syringe, a world of betrayal shining behind her eyes as I plunge the substance into the side of her neck.

“You… you can’t…” Her eyelids grow heavy, and I hold her weight in my arms as she goes under. She mumbles something else right before she goes unconscious, but I can’t tell what it is. And it doesn’t matter, anyhow.

“I’m sorry, darling,” I whisper, brushing strands of her raven hair out of her eyes. “But I can, and I will. For you—for your safety—I will do anything.”

I hand Brett off to Orion carefully, then grab my dagger and suit jacket from the kitchen counter, giving him a nod of thanks as he carries her to the couch.

“Take care of her and the animals if I don’t come back?” I ask, my wrist already tapping against the stone wall.

Orion nods, his baby blues screaming all the words he won’t say. That he doesn’t want to lose me. That he needs me to come back. “Just… be careful, Ghost,” he murmurs, taking a seat in the armchair next to the couch to watch over Brett until she wakes. “I’m worried she’ll kill me if you end up dead.”

“I love you too, kid,” I whisper, sliding out of the house. “I really hope you know that.”

I stand in the massive meeting room, breathing through my mouth so the sickly smell of Madam’s perfume doesn’t make me vomit all over the Persian rug of the meeting hall. Her cruel green eyes are barely visible through the slits of her grand venetian mask, but I can tell they are full of malice.

And it’s all pointed in my direction.

Madam clasps her hands on the table, the clicking of her nails mingling with the low rumble of Nix and Niege at her feet.

“The young FBI agent is missing,” Madam announces, speaking for the first time since I entered the room. The toe of her heel taps the floor, making a dull thunk thunk thunk on the carpet.

I shrug, making sure to keep my shoulders loose. “So?”

Her foot ceases tapping. “Two of my Disposers are missing as well.”

I keep my body still—so still, I’m sure she’s somehow learned to turn me to stone with those cruel green eyes showing through the slits of her elaborate gold mask. She stands from the table abruptly, her chair making an awful scraping sound as she does so.

“Do you have nothing to say, Phantom?” She utters the last word like a curse. When I glance down, I notice her long red talons digging into the palm of her hand.

“Did you check the computer lab? Perhaps they were playing with forks and light sockets again.”

Pearls of red bead on the tips of her talons, sliding down the elongated point and landing with a plop on the Persian rug. “I do not find you funny, Phantom. Tell me—where are Tate and Xander? What have you done to them?”

“First-name basis, I see. A couple of your playthings, then? Have you ever stopped to consider the possibility that maybe they ran away? Idiot children are known to do these things, you know.”

This comment earns me several low chuckles from the Table members, all of which are quickly stifled as the Madam’s shoulders tense.

She grinds her teeth, her full red lips disappearing as her mouth pulls down in a grimace. “I know you had something to do with it. I’m no fool, Phantom.”

“Maybe not. Yet here I am. Here you are on a lovely Sunday afternoon, wasting all of our time. If you’re so worried about your little dolls, I suggest looking at the smug-faced crowd behind you. The evil that comes from within hurts the deepest, Madam.”

I bow and turn on my heel, deaf to the low rumble of Nix and Niege. They’re desperate to give chase at the Madam’s command. I know she won’t, though. I know what I said gave her something else to think about. The Madams are so cloistered in the bubble the Table crafts for them—so safe in the way of thinking they were taught from childhood—that they never consider suspecting the ones closest to them. She’ll turn to interrogating the Table members before she makes her move against a Phantom. It’s the smart thing to do.

But when she’s done, and she realizes that I sent her around in circles…

Well, I just have to hope I can set my plan in motion before that happens.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #15

It’s been weeks, and I haven’t heard from Maverick.

I have, however, heard from—and seen—Hudson. I know, I know. I should give him up. After all, there’s no more information I can get out of him. He’s no more help to me or to Maverick.

But Maverick isn’t here, and Hudson is.

Part of me thinks Maverick disappeared on purpose. That the kiss became too personal, and he realized what a bad idea involving me was.

I’m still holding out hope, though. Because without him, my story is all dried up.

In my downtime, I’ve been spending more and more time with Hudson. I often spend the nights at his place, waking in the warm embrace of his arms. He explained that the first time was his nerves kicking in—that he would normally have held me just like this instead of kicking me out so rudely.

Most nights, we sit up talking—or rather, I’m talking and he’s listening—and it feels so good to feel heard. I’ve shared all of my findings on the Sanctum with him, and he seems thrilled that I’ve made so much progress.

He’s even invited me on a weekend trip up north to see his ski lodge. I’m trying not to see too much into it, but I think he wants to make things official.

Now, the only thing I’ll have to figure out is getting an overnight sitter for Brett.

It’s been a week, and Ghost still won’t talk about what happened in that meeting. When I woke up after getting stabbed in the neck, I was pissed, ready to raise hell if I didn’t get some answers. But then, I saw the tiredness in his shoulders. Later that night, when he allowed me to remove his mask, I just couldn’t ask him about it. A few days later, I got up the courage and have been asking every day since, but despite my efforts, he still won’t tell me why he seems so damn… sad.

Sad is the word I came up with a few days ago when we sat in the library, our noses in matching books—he insisted. During a particularly dull chapter, I looked up to see him poring over the pages, those strange violet-rimmed eyes hungrily jumping from word to word. Only, the sheen you usually see in a living person’s gaze wasn't there. At that moment, when he thought I wasn’t looking, he let down that mask and let me see the real him.

And that’s another thing I’ve learned about Ghost. Even though he allows me to remove his mask when it’s the two of us, he never lets down the one he wears beneath it, the one that’s more than skin deep. Not until moments like these, when he’s utterly at peace, can I see the tortured soul screaming beneath. The hatred.

I groan aloud, causing Ghost to whip his head toward me, a worried look pinched between his brows.

“Brett? Are you hurting?”

“Not at all.” I shift on the bed, propping my head up with an arm while I look at him. The mornings when I get to catch slivers of his real self are my favorite part of the day. It slips through the cracks of his waking consciousness and brightens his eyes with a strange youthfulness, adding light to the shadows that normally reside there. He’s… he’s beautiful.

I used to find it strange to hear others refer to a man as beautiful, but looking at Ghost now, I finally understand what they were talking about. He’s so striking that it almost hurts to look at him. It’s against the laws of nature—someone so magnetic shouldn’t be allowed to exist on this earth. Yet here he is, holding me hostage in his lair by the sea.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like to die?”

Ghost bursts out laughing, one hand clutching his abdomen and his head thrown back. “Good morning to you, too, darling.”

“I’m serious,” I grumble, smacking his bare chest lightly with my palm. I run my fingers lightly over the whorls of pink scar tissue, then press my lips to the area I just hit. Ghost shudders from the touch, and his arms snake around my back, pulling me flush against his chest. I jerk my head up to look at him, my brows set in a deep frown. “Don’t you ever think about it?”

“Sweet, darling Brett. The sun is barely up.” He presses his lips to my forehead, a deep groan falling from his lips as he breathes me in.

I smack his chest again, shooting a glare up at him. “I’m not sweet.”

Ghost answers with a chuckle, his abdomen tightening against me. “Maybe not by societal standards, but I find you sweet.”

“I think your perspective is a little fucked.”

Another laugh. God, he sounds so sexy like that. And holy shit—are those dimples? I’m only a woman. I can only be so strong for so long.

Ghost nuzzles the top of my head with his chin, shaking lightly with the aftermath of his laughter. “Perhaps. But you like that about me, sweet Brett.”

I roll my eyes, earning me a hand slap on my ass. “The only time I’ll be okay with you calling me sweet is if you’re on your deathbed or something. And even then, would you really lie to me like that?”

Ghost shakes with a laugh he holds inside, his pale eyes bright as he gazes down at me. “You’re such a strange little thing, Brett Evangeline. I’m honored that the fates allowed me to come into your life.”

My chest squeezes with some all-consuming emotion, and I break our eye contact as the tingles in my fingertips turn to numbness. “So… about that whole dying thing. Thoughts?”

Ghost shakes his head, a strange little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Persistent thing.” He grips me even harder, holding my head to him with his chin. “I think that when my time comes, I will enter the nothingness happily, knowing I had this time here with you.”

Oh shit.

My face heats, and I’m grateful Ghost can’t see my face right now. If he could, he would see right through me, see the lies I’m hiding behind. As he’s gazing at me, another question enters my mind. Something I’ve often wondered but never felt brave enough until this moment to ask.

“What is it that you feel when I touch you?” I ask, running my fingertips lazily over each crest and dip of the scar tissue on his hand.

“I think it would be better if I showed you.”

He gets up reluctantly, frowning at the loss of touch. He stalks over to the golden dresser on the far wall, pressing his wrist to a small compartment in the very top drawer. When he turns back to me, he’s gripping a thick, elongated glass wand in his hand, paired with a devious smirk.

“Wh-what’s that?” I breathe, staring wide-eyed at the strange bulbous tip.

He presses a button on the side that has the device whirring to life, the purple neon glow casting dark shadows along Ghost’s face.

“It’s a violet wand,” he rasps, raking his eyes over my body as he stalks closer. “I’m going to give you a taste of the electricity I feel every time you touch me.”

He stops when his thighs hit the foot of the mattress, staring down with an electric sheen in his pale eyes. “Turn around. Face down. I want that pretty pink pussy spread for me.”

I swallow hard, turning my head sideways and pressing my cheek against the mattress as I shift my ass in the air. A wave of embarrassment flows through me as a cold gust brushes my bare pussy, but it’s quickly replaced by pleasure as Ghost presses his tongue to me. He laps me greedily as a moan pours from my mouth, urging him on further. Just as I’m getting there, he pulls away, and I can’t help the whine that fills the room.

“Shh,” he murmurs, placing soft kisses along my lower spine. “If you keep being a brat, I’ll shove the wand down your throat instead of your pussy. Understand?”

I nod, a squeak falling from my lips as he smacks his palm hard against my ass. “Good girl. Now, just relax.”

My legs quiver in anticipation as that buzzing sound grows louder. He brings the wand close enough to raise the hair on the back of my thigh but pulls away just before it makes contact with my skin. He repeats this process until I’m a dripping, desperate mess—the small dark puddle on the sheets below me serving as a testament.

“Just—just do it already,” I rasp, going so far as to push my ass back toward the wand, desperate to have a taste of the pain.

In answer, Ghost brings his palm down several more times on my ass, the tireless slaps mixing with my cries and drowning out the buzzing of the wand. I take in a gasping breath when he finally ceases, my eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure and pain flow from the swollen, aching skin. I’m so lost in the feeling that I nearly scream when he touches the wand to the back of my thigh.

Hot, fluttering tingles radiate from the place the tip touches, causing the surrounding muscles to spasm in a wonderful, pulsating wave of pain and pleasure. I don’t get to appreciate it for long, though, because as soon as my pussy spasms, Ghost pulls the wand away. I cry out at the loss of sensation, shoving my hips back in a demanding motion.

“P-please,” I gasp, gyrating my hips shamelessly in an attempt to coax him back. “Please. I want more.”

“Such a greedy little thing,” he murmurs, placing the tip millimeters from my skin in that torturous way of his. “I would have bound you before I started if I knew you were going to be this insatiable.”

“Please, Ghost!” I beg, turning my head to look at him with wide, pleading eyes. This was a mistake—three more resounding slaps accompany my whimpers, and I fight the urge to reach back and nurse my aching ass.

“You are mine, Brett,” he growls, pressing the wand lightly to my skin and sending throbbing waves to and from my core. “You are mine to play with, mine to pleasure. Mine to torture,” he snarls, sliding the tip of the wand through my folds. I scream at the intense throbbing, sucking sensation, so unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. My pussy quivers, contracting in time to the waves of pleasure flowing from that strange neon wand.

“Fuck!” I cry, arching my head back toward the ceiling as the pleasure crests, sending tendrils of electricity through my veins, licking every muscle and pleasure point in my body.

“That’s it, darling. Fucking come for me. Show me what a desperate little slut you are for pain.” Ghost moves the wand up, pressing it against my asshole, and I come undone. My legs give out from under me as the most intense orgasm of my life courses through me. Stars spark behind my eyes as that prickling, buzzing sensation spreads to my fingertips, heating my skin everywhere that electric fire touches.

“Fuck. Me.” I lie sprawled on the mattress, quivering slightly as the aftermath courses through me.

“Gladly,” Ghost murmurs, crouching behind me and pressing against my ass. A zipper undoing fills the room, and a moment later, the head of Ghost’s cock pushes against my entrance. I try to shift back, but Ghost puts a hand on my back, holding me down to the mattress. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

A whimper tumbles from my lips as he works his head between my folds, using his hand to coat the rest of his length in my arousal. I gasp as he pushes inside me, filling me so completely that my eyes water.

I cry out as he moves in me, rubbing against my walls in all the right ways. He lets out a choking noise, his body quivering from the effort to go slow. I’m about to tell him it’s okay when that same buzzing from earlier fills the room, and like Pavlov’s dog, my pussy drips at the sound.

“I think I found someone’s favorite new toy,” Ghost murmurs, running the wand in a delicate circle eight around my ass. My muscles quiver from the sensation, and paired with Ghost’s cock in my pussy, it’s almost too much to bear. My eyes roll back as another orgasm builds, and I hold on desperately to the feeling, wishing I could live on the edge of this euphoria for the rest of my life.

Ghost presses the wand to my puckered asshole, and I cry out, my body trying and failing to clench against the intrusion. My muscles slacken, quivering around the gentle flow of electricity delivered to the area, and the bulbous tip slips inside me.

A deep, suckling sensation spreads deep inside me, licking each one of my nerve ends and sending my eyes to the back of my skull. It's a pleasure I’ve never known, a high that could never be replicated. At least, I think that until Ghost slips his arm under my stomach and places a thinner-tipped wand against my clit.

I’m not sure where it came from, but I’m not going to complain—not when the most earth-shattering euphoria is currently running through my veins. Ghost moves steadily in me, keeping his strokes long and agonizingly slow as the wands thrum in time, sending heavenly tingles down my spine.

“You take my cock so well, Brett.” Ghost leans down, nipping my shoulder. “You’re so beautiful like this. Drooling, mindless, begging for a taste of the pleasure only I can give you.” He angles his hips up, and when he thrusts into me the next time, the head of his cock presses in a spot that has my toes curling. He finds that spot again and again until I can’t remember my own name. All I am is a woman who wants to come on Ghost’s cock, and I can’t fucking stop.

“That’s a good girl. Fucking soak me, Brett,” Ghost whispers, his hips picking up pace as my walls collapse around him. A scream pours from my lips as my body convulses, every thought, feeling, and desire lost to the pleasure cresting in my veins.

“Fuck, Brett. You’re going to make me come,” Ghost groans, pumping in and out of me erratically with his head thrown back. His abs strain, glistening sweat coating his skin and bringing out the deep divots of his muscles.

With one last thrust, his hips meet mine, and his cock throbs deep in me. “Oh fuck, Brett,” Ghost groans, staring me deep in the eyes as he empties every last drop in me. When we’ve both come down, he holds my face in his palms, pressing delicate kisses across my cheekbones as his cock softens inside me.

“You’re the best drug I ever had, Brett,” Ghost murmurs, leaning down and nibbling my bottom lip. “I’m a junkie. I can’t live without you now.”

I laugh, slapping a hand weakly against his shoulder. He grabs my wrist, bringing the back of my hand to his lips and placing a kiss there. My eyelids lower as a lazy smile breaks across my face, and the responsive smirk on his squeezes my heart.

“You love kissing me.” It’s not a question, but Ghost nods gravely all the same.

“It is one of my favorite things.”

“One of.”

His eyes light with a devious glint. “I’m more than willing to go for a third round if you want me to remind you of the other.”

I giggle, swatting him again when he leans down and takes my earlobe between his teeth. Ghost lets out a growl, raking his teeth against my skin as he pulls away. “I literally don’t think I would survive another round tonight,” I say, looking down at his already hardening cock. Though it looks like that only applies to one of us.

“I can be patient,” Ghost says, though the pout on his face doesn’t seem like he’s too happy about it. I laugh, patting the mattress next to me and climbing into his lap when he takes a seat at the head of the bed. I close my eyes, satisfied hums falling from my lips as Ghost runs his fingers through my hair, de-knotting and massaging my scalp.

“Rest, darling,” he murmurs, placing a kiss against my forehead. “I’ll keep you safe.”

I nod against him, sleep already curling its fingers into me. As I drift off, I swear Ghost says something else—something like I always will.

But when I think back to it later, I’m sure it must have been a dream.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #20

Love is a useless emotion. It must be carved out, or it will get you killed.

The next day, Brett, Orion, and I do our usual breakfast routine—although, this time, Orion and Brett insist on frozen egg and sausage breakfast sandwiches. When I tried to remind them I still hadn’t replaced the microwave, Orion got this shit-eating grin on his face and raced into the living room before returning with a brand-new one, still in the box.

I may have huffed and puffed while eating greasy croissant-and-mystery-meat sandwiches, but when I saw the grin on Brett’s face, I started to enjoy them. I’m starting to realize it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. As long as it’s with her, I’m happy.

Happy… is that really what I am?

I shake my head, closing the romance book and glancing up at Brett. She’s so engrossed with the story that she hasn’t noticed I’m looking at her. Orion left shortly after we finished our meal this morning, so it’s just the two of us in the library—in the house.

Except for the two fluff balls curled around Brett’s feet and lap. I reach my hand out, curling my fingers at Rupert to try to entice him with some scratches. He opens his eyes for half a second before sighing, shifting his head farther onto Brett’s feet.

Honestly, I can't blame the boy. I’d choose her over me any day, too.

“What are you thinking about?”

I look up at Brett’s midnight eyes shining playfully, a small smirk twisting her pretty pink lips. Such soft, kissable lips. Lips I want to kiss, to wrap around my cock.

I shake the last thought away. I’ve had her so many times today alone, and I don’t know how much more her pussy can take. A small amount of blood covered my cock the last time I was finished with her, and it wasn’t because of her period. Brett said it was a small tear. Though it barely calmed me down, I was relieved of some of the guilt when she told me it’s a common occurrence, especially for women who have rough sex as often as we have been.

Brett snaps her book closed, breaking me out of my thoughts and reminding me I never answered her question. “I’m sorry. What did you ask, darling?”

Brett’s cheeks heat the slightest hint of pink, and she gets up from her armchair and glides over to me. My heart squeezes as she plops her perfect soft ass into my lap, and I have to physically hold back my groan when she rubs against my cock.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” I murmur, wrapping my arm around her waist and squeezing her to my chest. “What did I do for this honor?”

“Just thought I could be more persuasive from this position,” she coos, wriggling intentionally against my hardening cock. “What were you thinking about a moment ago?”

“Honestly? Fuck if I know,” I groan, leaning my head back as she runs a single finger down my chest. “I think your plan is backfiring.”

“Maybe.” She grins devilishly, dipping that finger into my waistband. “Unless that wasn’t my real mission.”

“Darling, as much as I’m dying to fill you again, you need to rest.” She gives me a pout, and I squeeze her ass hard until it drops. “Good girl. As I was saying, you need to rest, or it will only get worse.”

“You’re no fun,” she groans, crossing her arms.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. I even bought a new toy for you.”

This brightens her disposition. She bats her lashes, shifting her chest into me with a newfound confidence. “Really? What kind?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” I murmur, then lift my mask and place a lingering kiss on her soft lips. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Brett raises her brows but still hops from my lap and follows me out of the library. If I’m honest, I should have done this long ago. But I was worried—worried it would change how she felt about me. Worried she would never come to care for me the way she seems to. Worried she would never trust me.

But the more I’ve thought about it these past few weeks, the more I realize hiding this from her is more detrimental than showing her ever could be. After all, the thing I’m about to give her belongs to her. I’ve only been its guardian. It was always meant to be in Brett’s possession.

We stalk through the hall, and I stop at the wall just to the left of the entrance to the bedroom. I place my wrist on the stone just below my knee, and a smaller, secret compartment creaks open. Brett’s gasp fills the space, but I can barely hear it because of the blood rushing in my ears.

This is it. I’m finally going to do it.

I swallow hard as I stand, the faded leather notebook a thousand pounds in my hand. I dust off the front of it, too scared to look at Brett’s expression—too frightened to answer the questions she will have.

Questions about my kind—about me.

Because in this little notebook are the details of every horrible thing the Sanctum has done. Every vile, demented act is described in excruciating detail. And not just that, but warnings. To never trust my kind—to never, ever fall for one.

In my hands is Brett’s mother’s notebook. It was entrusted to me by my former master thirteen years ago and has been in my care ever since. But now… now I must return it to its rightful owner. She deserves it. Deserves the closure, the facts. More than anything, she deserves to know about me, about what I’ve done. And after she knows everything, she can make her decision. To hate me—like she should—or to trust me.

My hand shakes ever so slightly as I place the book into Brett’s palm, closing her slim fingers around it. “This is yours,” I whisper. “I… it should have been given to you from the start. But I couldn’t—” I swallow the cracked word, unable to look away no matter how much I want to. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you. I was worried you would never…”

“Is this what I think it is?” Brett whispers, running a finger over the cracked leather. “How did you… why do you have this?”

My heart cracks at the hint of betrayal growing in Brett’s gaze, but I can’t stop. She has to know. “It was entrusted to me many years ago. My old master—Maverick—he knew your mother. He cared for her, though he couldn’t stop what they did to her. He saved this, knowing it could be used to bring down the organization someday.”

“Did he—did he kill her?” Brett asks, tears welling in her beautiful blues. “Is he the one who tortured her—” Her voice cracks, and her head falls.

“No, darling,” I murmur, wishing I could take away all this pain. “No. It was—it’ll be easier to understand if you read it.” I gesture to the notebook in her tiny white hand. “I’m so sorry, Brett.”

“For what?” she whispers, her whole body starting to shake. “For demanding I trust you, all the while you were hiding this from me?” She holds up the book, her mouth pulled down in a frown. “How am I supposed to do that now? You’ve been lying to me!”

“I had to⁠—”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” she snaps, her glare faltering as she takes in my dejected expression. She pulls up her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You know, trust is kind of a two-way street here. If you had the same courtesy for me, you would have shown me this.” She shakes her head, those tears falling freely. “This is my mom. I haven’t had anything—anything to remember her by. And after the hundreds of times I’ve asked you for information, you have been sitting on this! How am I supposed to feel about that?”

“I was trying to keep you safe!” I raise my voice, causing Brett to flinch. Guilt thrums through my veins at the frightened look in her eyes, and for the first time since I’ve seen it, it brings me no joy. “I was only protecting you.”

“I don’t need protection!” she yells, throwing her hands in the air. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a fucking federal agent! I’ve been taking care of myself since I was thirteen, and doing a damn good job of it, too! You can’t keep me locked away like this forever, Ghost. There will always be dangers—that’s fucking life for you. But to do this—to intentionally keep me in the dark—it’s like you think I’m some kind of helpless child.”

“That’s not—” The words die in my throat at the look on her face. Somewhere deep down, I know her words hold truth. I have been keeping her in the dark for fears of my own that had nothing to do with her or her actions. I just can’t help it. I’m so scared something will take her away from me that I’ve been playing fate. Controlling everything down to the last-minute detail, keeping her happy, ignorant, and pliable in the palm of my hand.

Only, I forgot Brett is not so easily controlled. You can’t catch a hurricane in a jar any easier than you can make her do what you want. I’ve been so content playing a fantasy with her that I’ve forgotten who Brett is at her core. A conniving, intelligent, natural disaster of a woman.

“Brett, I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out to her face. She lets me touch her, but the softness I'm used to seeing in her eyes is no longer there. “Please, tell me what to do to make it better.”

“Ghost—” She stops to wipe a tear away angrily. “Everything is okay. I’m just—I need to process this. I’m mad at you, yes… but I’m mostly just emotional about this.” She holds up the notebook, unable to look at it. “Would it be okay if I had a little time alone to read it over?”

I nod, a million tons lifting from my chest as she presses on the balls of her feet to kiss my mask. “Thank you,” she whispers, giving me a sad smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

It kills me to watch her walk away from me toward the bedroom, knowing I won’t be joining her this time. The only thing that makes me feel better is the fact she said everything was okay—meaning we’re still okay.

I sigh, my shoulders slumping as I walk to the front door and press my wrist to the wall. I’ll give her some space. Hopefully, by the time I come back, she’ll have forgiven me a little.

It’s all I can pray for at this point.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #17

I have made a horrible mistake

I lie on the mattress, holding my mom’s notebook above my head. Waves of guilt pour over me as I think back to my conversation with Ghost. It killed me to say the things I did—to watch his shoulders droop and hear his sad tone—but I couldn’t just let it go. He hid something major from me, and I need to process how that makes me feel.

The fucked-up part is I was really, truly starting to trust him. A psychopathic, lunatic serial killer in a mask. I sigh, shaking my head at those vile thoughts. I’ve realized Ghost has a lot more to him. He has a sweet side that he only shows the people he loves. So much, it almost redeems the horrible things he’s done.

I pull the notebook open with a sigh. I heard the front door scrape a few minutes ago, meaning I’ll be alone for a while to pore over the pages of scribble. I flip through the first couple of pages, finding only contact numbers and random names. When I get to the middle, though, my eyes go wide, and I greedily take in entry seventeen.

I flip back a few pages, starting at the very beginning of the entries. There’s so much about the Sanctum that it makes my head spin, but what I find next nearly sends me to the floor.

She was in love—with a Mask. Not just any Mask—a high-level Reaper by the sounds of it. I think back to the night Ghost saved me in the garage—about the men in white masks he called Reapers. I had assumed correctly that night—Reapers are a type of Mask, though not nearly as highly trained as Phantoms, which explains why Ghost had no trouble taking them out.

When I get to note seventeen, my fingers shake as I turn the page, not wanting to see and desperately needing to know how her story unfolds.

Jane Evangeline: Entry #18

Brett, baby girl. If this ever finds its way to you, I’m so so sorry. Mommy made a mistake, and I’m afraid it’s cost me my life. I’ve barricaded myself in the bathroom of Hudson's ski lodge, but the ax he’s wielding will surely break down the door eventually.

The whole trip up here was a trick. I looked too deeply, found out too much, and now he’s going to kill me for it.

Brett, if you ever come across a masked man, DO NOT TRUST HIM. No matter how sweet he seems or how much he cares for you, RUN. Run fast, and don’t look back.

They are master manipulators—a fact I found out too late—and only serve one thing.

The Sanctum.

I was too blind to realize his loyalty always lay with them. That even if he wanted to be a good man, his programming would not allow it.

Even as I sit here, waiting for the ax to break through the door, a part of me still cares for him. Still wants to help him.

That’s how bad they can get you.

Brett—I was a shitty mother. You deserved so much better, and I wish I could write out all the ways I would make it up to you. But the fact is, in a few minutes, he’s going to burst through that door, and I am going to die.

I will never get to take you prom dress shopping. I will never get to see the smile on your face when you get married. Will never get to hold your hair when you cry, or nurse you through your first heartbreak. For that, and so much more, I’m sorry. And I hope you can forgive me.

But if I can give you one last piece of advice, it’s to never, ever trust a man in a mask. No matter how good he makes you feel.

I love you, sweet girl. Goodbye.

I flip violently through the rest of the book, trying to find something—anything else. But there’s nothing. Nothing but a few splatters of blood toward the end of the pages.

No. This can’t be all. It can’t.

My stomach churns as images of her body, bloody, beaten, and limp swim through my mind. I remember the picture on my laptop I saw all those weeks ago at what became of my poor mother. What he did to her.

I look down at the little brown book, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. This is why he didn’t want me to see this. He saw her warning and knew it would have an effect on me.

Well, it did. And the fact he lied to me about it only makes me more suspicious. If something like that could happen to my mom…

I shake my head. No—no, that’s not Ghost. I’ve seen him. I know who he is, and I know he would never harm me. My mom chose the wrong man, and in the back of my mind, I secretly wonder what would have happened if she had chosen Maverick.

As I look down at her scrawled words, I realize what I have to do. As much as I’ve come to adore Ghost, I know he’s so protective of me, he won’t let me do what needs to be done. This needs to be taken to the FBI, and I know if I tell Ghost he’ll just drug me and tie me to the bed in the basement or something.

My legs are over the side of the bed before I realize I’ve made up my mind.

I need to escape.

I scramble throughout the whole house, trying to find something that looks like it would unlock the door. I’m sure it’s some sort of magnetic locking device, but for the life of me, I can’t find a single thing that would work.

I’m about to call it quits—maybe this is the universe telling me escaping is a horrible idea—but then Venom’s insistent mew breaks out to my left. I raise my head from my hands, noticing Venom perched on the shelf next to the Ghost’s father’s head.

“Venom! Get away from that thing!” I cry, trying to shoo him away from the horrible abomination. Venom’s yellow eyes narrow, and he reaches a little paw out and nudges the side of the heavy jar.

“Venom! Don’t you dare!”

But he does dare. In slow motion, the jar slides from the shelf and falls to the ground. My mouth opens wide in horror, knowing there’s nothing I can do but watch as glass and murky, acrid-smelling liquid splatter all across the floor.

I hold my hand to my mouth, closing my eyes from the sight of the bloated head rolling across the ground. It hits the edge of the cabinet with a dull thunk, and I have to breathe through my mouth to stop myself from vomiting.

As if things weren’t bad enough, Venom jumps down to the ground and makes a beeline for the head, careful to step around the puddle of disgustingness.

“Oh please, no,” I moan, placing my hands on my knees as my stomach turns over. “Venom, why?”

He lets out an irritated mew, plopping his fluffy butt on the ground next to the head. When I don’t move, he looses several more calls and a hiss, the latter of which finally gets my attention. Against everything inside me screaming not to, I step over toward that hideous pale head, keeping my eyes trained to a spot just above so I don’t have to look directly at it.

Venom howls, reaching a paw out and swatting the back of the head. I screech, reaching down and attempting to scoop him up away from that thing, but he easily escapes me.

“Meow!” Venom circles the head, his haunches raised.

“What the fuck is up with you?” I wonder, trying and failing again to grab him.

Venom raises his paw and swats at a spot just below that head’s ear, and that’s when I finally notice it. A tiny bulge in the skin, just like the one on Ghost’s wrist.

Well, that’s one place to keep a spare key.

It occurs to me that this is the one place Ghost knew I wouldn’t search. Except he forgot that Venom is always watching.

“Good boy,” I coo, reaching down to scratch his head. Venom chirps, brushing against my ankles before waddling toward the exit. A job well done.

I shake my head with a chuckle, then focus on the problem lying on the floor. The last thing I want to do is touch this, but it’s not like I have another choice. With a sigh, I head into the kitchen and grab a small paring knife. My knuckles are white around the handle when I finally return to the head, and I fight to swallow the rising bile in my throat.

“You got this, Brett,” I whisper aloud. “It’s just a head. A hacked-off, embalmed head. It’s totally fine.” I crouch, piercing the skin with the tip of the blade as my stomach flips. I make a vertical cut across the lump and pop the little chip out with shaking fingers like a pimple.

It flies out of the skin, skidding across the floor and stopping with a tink on the far wall. Dropping the knife, I scuttle over and pinch the small pea-sized key between my thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck yes!” I cheer, nearly dropping the tiny gray thing in my excitement. I rush toward the front door, placing my ear to the stone for a moment to listen for Ghost’s footsteps. When no sound answers, I place the bead to the small divot in the wall, my heart skipping as the stone door scrapes open.

Just as I’m about to leave, the scrape of nails against the floorboards calls my attention, and I look behind me to find Rupert, his big, lazy eyes pinning me with an accusatory stare.

“I’ll be back, I promise,” I say, my heart squeezing as Rupert looks behind me for Ghost. “He’s not coming with. But I swear, it’s for a good reason.”

As Rupert’s sad face disappears behind the closing door, my gut screams at me, telling me this is a bad idea. But it’s a little too late to listen to reason now.

Miraculously, the key I found works for Ghost’s truck, too—which is good, considering I hadn’t thought that far ahead. After driving much too slowly down the winding wilderness roads, I finally make it to the main highway, then gun it the rest of the way into the city.

An hour later, I’m pulling into the driveway of Jim’s house. I’d been here a few times in the past for cookouts and coworker bonding sessions—something Jim liked to call them, though I’m pretty sure it was just an excuse for the guys to get together and get drunk off cheap beer. At the time, I hated the obligation, but now I’m thankful because there’s no way I would go to the station to talk to him. In his world, I’ve been missing for the past month, and I’m sure the bureau would not take kindly to me just showing up out of nowhere and refusing to answer their questions.

I hope he doesn’t freak out and call the police. I cringe at the thought as I pull the keys from the ignition and race up to Jim’s front door. The sun is already below the horizon, meaning Jim is home from work. I just have to hope he listens to me.

I raise my fist, ready to pound on his beige front door, but something stops me. Shaking off that strange, nagging feeling, I knock three times, then listen for the sound of nearing footsteps. The lock clicks open, and the door is thrust open, revealing a wide-eyed, rumpled-looking Jim. His thinning brown hair is tousled like he’s been running his hands through it constantly, and the dark circles under his eyes tell me he hasn’t been sleeping much lately, which would explain the fact he hasn’t quite gotten the buttons to match up on his shirt.

“Hi, Jim.”

“Brett,” he whispers, looking like he’s seen a ghost. Oh, if only you knew what I’ve been through…

“Before you freak out, I’m oka—” My explanation is cut off as Jim lunges forward, wrapping his arms around me in a massive bear hug. My feet leave the ground as a squeal falls from my open mouth, and my skin immediately breaks out in a swarm of fire ants where his hands rest on my bare shoulders. “J-Jim… I’m okay, I swear.”

He holds me to him like he doesn’t hear me, his body shuddering enough to concern me. “Jim?”

“Just…” He sighs, pressing his face into my hair. “Just let me fucking hug you, woman. I thought you were…” He swallows hard, not needing to finish the sentence for me to understand. He thought I was dead. They all thought I was dead.

A wave of guilt pours over me as reality crashes into me. How could I have just been living my life, having a grand old time while people here worried about me? And by the look on Jim’s face, he’s not angry. Just so, so relieved.

“Brett, you have no idea how glad I am you’re here,” he whispers, finally loosening his grip after a few more minutes of the torturous hug. “Come inside. Tell me everything.”

Another ball of guilt punches me in the stomach as I follow Jim inside, a metallic taste coating my tongue as I take my bottom lip between my teeth. As bad as I feel, I can’t tell Jim everything. If he knew what I did about Ghost, there’s no way he would let him stay free. He doesn’t know him like I do and doesn’t understand a fraction of the things happening in this city. I just have to pray that what I can tell him will be enough.

I plop onto Jim’s dark leather sofa, the scent of cigar smoke wafting up my nose and making me sneeze. Jim smiles apologetically, taking the armchair opposite me and leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

“So… where were you? No, wait—first, tell me what happened.”

“Well…” I twist my fingers in my lap, unable to look Jim in the eye. “I was taken.”

Jim shakes his head, his jaw tight. “They didn’t…? Did they?”

Realizing he’s asking if I was raped, I finally look up with wide eyes. “Wha—no! Of course not.” Because it was completely consensual, and the best damn thing to ever happen to me. But Jim can’t know that. I take a deep breath before continuing. “Nothing bad happened to me. I was just… unable to get away.”

“You were fucking kidnapped, Brett. Something bad did happen to you.” Jim clenches his fist, looking like he’d like nothing more than to send it through the face of the person who did this to me. “Who was it?”

“I can’t—I don’t know,” I say, a little too quickly. Jim’s eyes narrow, and he leans in closer.

“Brett, you can tell me. No one is going to hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here.”

“You’re not listening,” I sigh, bringing my fingers up to massage my temples. “He didn’t hurt me. He took care of me. Kept me safe.”

“And that’s the Stockholm syndrome talking,” Jim says, his voice much softer than it was before. “Brett, honey, you were there for a long time. I know you think they’re not a bad person, but they are. Just tell me what they look like—that’s it. I can pull a task team together by tomorrow morning, and we’ll find⁠—”

“Jim, stop!” I stand from the couch, my chest heaving in frustration. “This… person is not the bad guy. He told me things about the city—about the Sanctum. They’re real, Jim.”

He shakes his head, standing slowly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Brett.”

“Yes, I do!” I cry, reaching into my pocket and wrapping my fingers around Mom’s notebook. “I can prove it—look! My mom was looking into them too over a decade ago. That’s why she was killed, Jim. She found out too much, and the Sanctum had her murdered. You have to help me, you have to… Jim?”

Jim hangs his head, his shoulders tense. I can’t see his expression, but something in the air of the room makes my words die in my throat. Something sinister.

“You just couldn’t leave it the fuck alone, could you?”

I take an involuntary step back, only to smack straight into the couch. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You just couldn’t stop looking at the Sanctum.” He raises his head, and the malice in his hazel eyes knocks the breath from my lungs. “I told you I didn't want to bury any more colleagues. Now look what you’ve made me do.”

My body moves before I know what I’m doing, but I barely get one step toward the front door before Jim’s hands wrap around my throat. My feet leave the ground, and I thrash in his grip, but I can’t kick him from his position behind me.

“You should have left well enough alone, Brett. What a shame,” he snarls, his tone indicating he doesn’t find anything shameful about what he’s about to do to me.

Black spots line my vision as I claw at his wrists, but none of my efforts seem to affect him. My heart beats once, twice, and then the room goes dark.

And when the black swallows me this time, I am very, very afraid.

PART THREE

EXORCISM

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

GHOST

I stayed away for longer than I should have. My mistake is wholly apparent as soon as I step through the front door to find Rupert alert and standing in front of the entrance. It’s so different from his usual behavior that I go on high alert and proceed to check the house for anything amiss. When I step into the computer lab and find my father’s head lying on the floor, I know she’s gone.

My knees buckle as I struggle to breathe—the air in this house is no longer filled with delicate notes of Brett, but of acrid formaldehyde and death. I reach up to my face, prying the mask away with shaking fingers as I slide to the floor, my lungs still refusing to work.

She’s gone. Gone, gone, gone.

There’s a massive black cavity where my heart used to be, shooting tendrils of pain down to the marrow of my bones. It’s a deep ache, and if given the chance, I’d open my rib cage and claw out that cancerous part causing all this hurt. Rupert places his head in my lap with a whine, and I run my fingers through his fur, desperate to feel something—anything—-other than this pain.

I raise my head, fixing my eyes on the window and focusing on taking deep, even breaths. I’ve lost my mind—I know I have. And if I don’t find a way to dissociate from this sensation, I won’t ever be able to come back. My mind will fracture, splinter into a million tiny pieces, and I won’t have the will to glue them back together. Not again. Never again.

Something small and black catches the corner of my eye by the desk. It shoots across the room faster than I can blink, and I stay perfectly still when it lunges for me, sinking its claws deep in the front of my jacket.

“Venom,” I breathe, reaching a shaking hand down to his head, hoping a few appeasing pets will be enough to get him to release me. Venom lowers his ears, pointy white canines bared as he looses a mighty hiss. What are you doing here? He seems to say. And what the fuck have you done with my mom?

I gaze down at the ferocious fuzzball, my hazy mind desperately trying to piece things together. Brett left Venom here—something she would never do if she was leaving for good. She loves the little asshole more than life itself, and the fact he’s here means she intended to come back. To come home.

Just as the ache in my chest begins to subside, I have the most horrible realization: she went to show someone the notebook. And if I know Brett, it’s the only person she mildly trusts apart from me—Jim Peterson.

In less than a minute, I have Rupert's Kevlar dog vest strapped tight, the saddle bags loaded down with all the ammunition and tools I’ll need. The things necessary to save Brett’s life.

“Come on, Rupert,” I call, fitting my mask into place before racing out the front door with the massive white dog hot at my heels. There’s a murderous gleam in his eyes as he jumps into the car, amplified by the slight snarl pulling his lips up, baring his throat-rippers to the world. I press my wrist to the dash, and the engine roars to life as I pull up the location of Peterson’s house. As I peel off into the mouth of the forest, there’s only one thing on my mind.

God-fucking-dammit, Brett. You better be alive by the time I make it there.

This whole city burns if you’re not.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

BRETT

My windpipe feels like someone stuck a serrated blade down it and twirled it around a couple of hundred times. My head is no better—like an overweight elephant currently sits on my brain, making the four concrete walls around me swim. A metallic smell zests the air, mingling with a heavy smell of rot and death that causes my lungs to seize.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Jim’s cold voice makes its way to my ears, and I blink several times to clear the fog. Why am I tied up? Why is Jim here? Where is Ghost?

The last thought sends a lightning bolt down my spine, and I snap my head up—my arms and legs are tethered to the chair legs, with my bare stomach flat on the seat—so it’s really the only thing I can move.

“Jim? What are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep the fear from my voice. Fear will get me killed. It will muddle my brain and turn it to mush. I can not be afraid if I’m going to find a way out of this.

“What I should have done long ago,” he murmurs, stepping out of the shadows. “You look quite lovely tied up like that.”

“Fuck you, sicko.” I spit on his fancy leather loafers, earning me a slap to the face. My head rings as the white-hot pain radiates from my cheek, and I desperately try to blink away the added fuzziness.

“Oh, Brett. I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this. I really like you, you know.”

“So then stop this. Let me go. I know you’re a good person on the inside, Jim. You’ve been nothing but kind to me⁠—”

“Of course I was, you sniveling little brat,” he snarls, kicking the toe of his boot against the chair leg. “You were supposed to go along with it all. But no—Little Miss Evangeline just had to keep digging. Kept asking the wrong questions, looking into the wrong people.”

I shake my head, my mind swimming as I try to devise a way to make him see reason. “What was I supposed to do? It was my job to ask questions and find out the truth. I know you’re the same way, Jim. You want to do good, I know you do. Whatever they have on you, we can work it out! I can help you! We want the same thing at the end of the day!”

“God, you really are fucking dull,” Jim rolls his eyes, a nasty sneer twisting his normally handsome features. “We do not want the same things. I want the Sanctum to keep sending me paychecks, and you want to stop all that. So you see, Brett, you really do have to go.”

My head hurts as I look up at Jim’s cruel eyes—eyes that once held so much care for me. Was it all a lie? Is everything a lie?

“Please, don’t do this,” I whisper, treacherous tears welling in the corners of my eyes. “I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

“Maybe not,” Jim says, a shrug accompanying his flippant tone. “But it is what must be done. You were just too damn curious—and curiosity always kills the cat.” Jim walks over to a rusted table, picking up one of the many bladed instruments lining the small silver tray. “I’ll make it quick. Watching someone suffer brings me no pleasure at all.”

“How different we are, Peterson.” The mechanical voice echoing from the shadows causes my heart to take flight.

Ghost.

“You’ve taken something that does not belong to you,” Ghost says, his steps like gunshots against the concrete floor as he stalks closer. “You’ve taken something of mine.”

Jim whips his head around, trying to locate the source of the voice that seems to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Who the fuck are you?”

“A shadow. A nightmare. The unholy thing that goes bump in the night. Neither flesh, blood, nor idea.” A flash of dark steel catches my eye off to the left, and I have no doubt he’s looking right at me. Ghost steps into the light, all six foot eight of him towering in the small basement like some unholy omen. He swings that black oval toward Jim, who flinches under the weight of his anger. “I am a man in a mask. And I will be the last thing your living eyes see.”

Jim takes a step back, his eyes wide as he takes in the Phantom. To his credit, none of the bravery from before remains. Clearly, he knows what he’s up against, and it’s causing him to cower.

“Any more questions for me, Jim?” Ghost asks, his head tipping slightly to the side as he watches Jim reach behind him for a weapon. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Fuck you,” Jim snarls, wielding a large serrated blade like it will help his cause. “I’m taking you down, Phantom. I can see the Madam’s face when I tell her I killed both of you.” Jim nods, his hazel eyes wide and showcasing the growing madness within. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be praised! I’ll be a hero! I’ll be⁠—”

A thunderous growl fills the space, cutting off the rest of Jim’s ramblings. Before either of us knows what’s going on, something large and white flies at Jim from his left. He tries to turn the knife at the oncoming foe but is not nearly quick enough. The blade clatters to the floor as Rupert latches those great, slobbering jaws onto Jim’s wrist, causing a crack to fill the room.

Jim screams bloody murder as his knees buckle from the pain, but Rupert is just getting started. Letting go of Jim’s useless, bloodied wrist, he goes for his neck, snapping those powerful jaws around his jugular before Jim can blink.

“No, Rupert!” Ghost orders, stepping over and grabbing the handle at the back of Rupert's black vest. “We’re leaving him alive—for now.”

Jim looks relieved for exactly one second before Ghost takes his dagger from his pocket. He raises it high, slamming the hilt down on Jim’s temple hard enough to knock him out cold. When Jim slumps to the side, Ghost straightens and rushes over to me, crouching and taking my head in his palms.

“Brett, darling,” he whispers, yanking his mask from his face to look me over more closely. “Brett, are you okay? Did he touch you? Are you bleeding⁠—”

“Ghost.”

His body freezes as he looks into my eyes, those pale orbs searching mine for any sign of discomfort. “You came for me.”

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair back off my forehead. “How could I do anything else?”

“But I ran away. I went when you told me⁠—”

“Shh,” he coos, placing his lips on my forehead. “You were trying to help. It was my fault. I had suspicions about Jim and didn’t share them with you. This is my fault, Brett.”

“But…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he growls, tightening his fist at the back of my head. “If you really want to make it up to me, I want only one thing.”

My eyes go wide, and I look over at Jim’s seemingly lifeless body, some inherent part of me knowing exactly what’s about to happen.. “Wha—we can’t! He’s literally right fucking there.”

“And?” Ghost murmurs, trailing his thumb lightly down my face. “Seeing you all tied up and helpless like this makes me fucking hard. And knowing he’s sitting there, waiting for me to kill him—” Ghost’s voice is cut off as a loud groan pours from his mouth. “My fucking God.”

There’s a faint rustling noise followed by Ghost’s zipper, and the head of his cock brushes my entrance, sliding forward to brush the bundle of nerves at my apex before returning to my opening. My pussy floods as that low hum of electricity spreads from my core, muddling my mind and heating my blood.

I cry out as Ghost thrusts into me, helpless to do anything but close my eyes against the sight of an unconscious, bloodied Jim. It’s so fucking wrong, so depraved, yet—it just makes it that much hotter. And that sick little part of me I try to hide from the light loves it. Craves it.

“Look at him, darling,” Ghost growls, his hips slapping my ass with each powerful thrust. “I bet he’s wanted to do this to you ever since he laid eyes on you. I bet he’s dreamed about your pretty little cunt every night for months, just dying to get you like this.”

His strokes slow as he leans his face close to my ear, his breath ragged with the effort to hold back. “But you’re mine, now. Aren’t you?”

I nod, unable to speak past the desperate lump in my throat. Ghost reaches back and slaps my ass hard enough for me to see stars, only to deliver three more without giving me pause for breath.

“This is your punishment, darling. Maybe you’ll think twice about running away next time,” he snarls, the beast inside winning the fight as he reaches up to wrap his palm around my throat. He squeezes at either side of my neck, cutting off the blood flow to my brain and causing the room to spin. The ropes strain against my skin as I arch back, my mind a mess of colors and sensations I’ve never noticed before. Swirls of red and pink and bright, bright white sparking behind my lids in the most beautiful aurora.

My walls tighten around Ghost’s cock as I come, the volume of my moans causing Jim to stir from his heaped position on the floor. My face heats as he cracks an eye open, his mouth going wide as he watches Ghost slam into me from behind. I buck against the restraints, but it does absolutely nothing—and the fact that Jim is watching makes Ghost go harder.

“Fuck, Brett,” Ghost groans, slamming his cock against that sensitive spot at the back of my walls. “Look at him. Look how fucking pathetic he is—forced to watch you get fucked. Forced to watch you come, to get filled with my seed.”

Jim makes some sort of mumbling noise and tries to push his upper half from the floor, only to fall over to the side from his massive concussion. He twists and writhes, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to gain his bearings. Eventually, he just slumps back, his eyes bright with jealousy as he watches Ghost fuck me.

“What a good little cock whore,” Ghost breathes, slamming mercilessly against my back walls. “Come for me, darling. Show him how pretty you are when you’re coming on my cock.”

On cue, my walls tighten around him and red-hot fire courses through my veins. My head arches back as my body convulses against the ropes, Ghost’s merciless pounding drawing out my pleasure and sending me to a new high.

When the room stops spinning, I notice Jim in a half crouch, his mouth slightly parted as he gazes at my face. Ghost pumps once, twice more, and slams his hips against me as his cock throbs, dumping his seed into the deepest parts of me.

“Fuck, darling,” Ghost groans, his body shuddering against me as the last of his pleasure leaves him. “What a good fucking girl.”

“H-how dare you!” Jim thunders, a mad gleam in his eye as he lunges toward us. Ghost doesn’t pull out of me, just reaches for his dagger and sends it through Jim’s outstretched hand with a flick of his wrist. Jim’s scream echoes throughout the small room, mixing with the low, mechanical sound of Ghost’s laughter.

Ghost leans over me, pressing his masked cheek into the crook of my neck and breathing deeply. “I love the way you smell with my cum inside you. Like your body is begging to be bred by me.”

My face flames as Ghost runs his gloved hand through my folds, using two fingers to push his release back inside me. He nuzzles the side of my face as he holds them there, a low, satisfied hum emanating from the voice box in his mask.

“G-Ghost,” I whimper, my skin hot and ragged from rope burn. “Ghost, we have to⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up and let me enjoy you,” Ghost growls, curling his fingers against the spot he knows drives me mad. “The worm can wait.”

My eyes dart to Jim, who is currently passed out again from the stab wound, and I let out a snort at the sight. A small pool of blood trickles from the wound with Ghost’s dagger lodged squarely in the center. Asshole can’t even stay conscious long enough to pull it out. What a loser.

“Hmm,” Ghost murmurs, pulling his hand from me and placing his slicked fingers between my lips. “Suck,” he orders. “Don’t waste a fucking drop.” I do, rolling my tongue around his fingers as the salty, sweet taste fills my mouth. “Good girl,” he murmurs, pulling his hand from my mouth when he’s satisfied. He straightens, pulling his pants back on before delicately undoing the ropes holding me in place.

It takes a few minutes, but when the bindings release, I breathe a sigh of relief, stretching my fingers as blood rushes back to my extremities. “Damn, that feels good,” I moan, dropping my head back as the cool air soothes the rope burn along my arms and calves.

Ghost pulls me into his arms, nuzzling the top of my head and caressing every inch of exposed skin. He moves toward the basement stairs, and I look up with an alarmed look.

“What about Jim?” I ask, daring a look back. He’s still passed out on the floor, that pool of blood growing larger by the minute.

“I’ll take care of him,” Ghost promises, taking the steps two at a time back to the main level. “But first, I need to make sure you’re safe.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

GHOST

After securing Brett in the passenger seat of the truck, I head back into the basement where Jim is crawling on his belly toward the torture table. I scoff, rolling my eyes as I stalk toward the useless lump of human refuse. His eyes scream for mercy as I reach into my jacket pocket, then harden with resolve as I plunge the sedative into his vein. In a few moments, his eyes roll to the back of his head, and I grunt in disgust as I sling his body over my shoulder.

The truck bed dips as I throw Jim’s body inside, and Brett looks back in alarm. I give her a little waggle of my fingers, then secure the tarp over Jim’s body.

Brett’s hand finds mine as I pull the truck out onto the main road, her dark blue pools filled with worry as she sneaks little peeks at my profile. She wants to know my plan and why I’m taking Jim with us. Truthfully, there’s only one reason. Usually, I would kill him here and be done with it, but he hurt Brett. My Brett.

For that, I’m going to make his death nice and slow.

Drip… drip… drip…

Jim’s eyelids twitch as his brain fights to regain consciousness, the steady drip of water on his forehead the catalyst.

While he fights against the sedative coursing through his system, I take a moment to admire my handiwork. Jim is currently tied to a chair with his head tilted back, the contraption above him slowly dripping ice water onto his forehead. It’s a form of white torture—and though it’s not painful, it does have the capacity to drive someone mad.

“Wh… where am I?” Jim’s mouth fumbles around the words, wounding like he has a wad of marbles stuffed in his cheeks. He attempts to raise his head, but the thick leather strap across his eyes makes that an impossibility.

“H-hello?”

An eerie cackle rings across the stone walls of my torture room, the sounds reverberating through Jim’s bones and causing him to shake.

“Oh God, oh God,” he whispers, straining desperately against the restraints holding his wrists and legs to the chair. “Please, God, help me.”

“Your God can’t find you down here,” that horrible voice spits, venom lacing every punctuated syllable. “And if he could, he would praise me for what I am about to do.”

“NO! Please, don’t!” Jim gasps, his chest heaving as that slow drip… drip… drip… continues. “P-please. I’ll do anything!”

“It’s too late.” I stalk across the room, stopping at the head of the apparatus and twisting a little knob toward the top. The electric heater fires to life, and in a few minutes, scalding water drips onto Jim’s forehead.

His screams fill the room, raising the hair on my arms as satisfaction courses through me.

Yes. This is better. This feels right.

“Stop!” Jim begs, his face beet red from screaming. Little blisters are forming on his forehead from the boiling drops, growing larger and more painful looking by the second. “Please, stop!”

I reach down to the spout, turning the dial slightly to make the stream faster. “I haven’t forgotten that night you spit on my darling Brett. I have spent many nights awake, pondering the ways I would like to make you pay,” I muse.

“Wh-what the fuck are you talking about? I never⁠—”

“At the masquerade ball,” I growl. Jim’s screams are drowned out as a heavy flow of boiling water pours onto his face, covering his eyes and splashing into his nose and mouth.

Choked, animal-like screams pour from Jim’s blistered mouth, the skin around his lips blackened and oozing like a piece of seared mahi. I want to keep the stream going until he’s an unrecognizable lump of flesh, but I know if he takes any more, he’ll drown in his own lungs.

With a sigh, I turn off the faucet, earning a choked gasp from Jim as his raw skin is exposed to the air. Not much better, is it, buddy?

Deaf to the sounds of his pain, I undo the straps holding Jim’s torso and head to the chair, then work on the bindings on his arms and legs. As soon as he’s free, he slumps to the floor in convulsions of agony, in far too much pain to fight me off—or to stop what’s going to happen next.

Stalking over to my torture table, I grab my scalpel and a thick ball of rope, pocketing the sharp object before returning to Jim and tying the rope around his ankles. He tries to wriggle away, but all he ends up doing is smacking his face against the rough stone floor.

“Goddammit, Jim. That’s going to leave a stain.” I roll my eyes as I stand, grabbing the end of the rope and feeding it into the steel lever system attached to the ceiling. I press the red button on the side of the machine, and Jim’s body is slowly raised into the air. He screams as the blood rushes to his face, pooling through the open wounds and onto the floor.

Drip… drip… drip…

The sound makes me sick, and I pull out the scalpel and walk over to Jim, whose head now dangles a foot from the floor. Crouching down, I twirl the blade in front of his eyes, letting him get a good look at the tool that will bring his agony for the next hour or so.

“Are you ready, Jim?”

Jim shakes his head uselessly, flinching when I bring the blade within an inch of his eyeball. With a cackle, I straighten, bringing the tip of my blade toward the skin on Jim’s ankles.

“Tell me, Jim. Do you have any experience with skinning?”

He shakes his head, useless screeching noises bubbling from his blistered lips. I sigh, adjusting my grip so the blade is at the correct angle. “It’s quite an interesting form of torture. You see, when a person is upside-down, the blood rushes to their upper body—toward important things like the brain, lungs, and heart. If done properly, a person can live through the entirety of a skinning. Although, in my experience, most people die around the time I get to the face…” I look down at Jim’s terrified eyes, a smile growing on my face.

“But not all.”

By the time I’m through with Jim, my body is spent. I trudge up the steep stone steps toward the main floor, my conscience weighing heavily on me. When Jim fails to report back, the Madam is sure to know I’ve turned against her. And that means war.

I glance down at my gloved hands, slightly brown by the amount of blood coating the leather. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to live a different life—a quiet life. But the possibility seemed so out of my reach, I never dared to dream. I’ve lived my entire life shoving my emotions down, doing whatever was asked of me at the cost of my own humanity. I never knew I had the capacity to love—the capacity to care before. Before Brett.

Now, I know I’ll do anything for a sliver of a chance of a life with her. I’ll burn down this city—hell, I’ll reduce the entire earth to a smoking pile of rubble if it means I can have her. Smell her. Taste her.

Touch her.

I blink away the thoughts as Orion’s inquisitive blue eyes meet mine, a brow cocked in a silent question.

“It’s done.” I sigh, moving closer. “He put up a hell of a fight.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t let me help,” Orion says, kicking his toe against the ground with a pout. “You know I love skinnings.”

“You say that, but you lack the patience for them,” I grumble, moving in the direction of the bathroom. “Is Brett awake?”

“Nope. Passed out with Venom and Rupert in your bed.” He wriggles his brows, an infuriating smirk on his face. “Should I bring out my headphones?”

“Do what you wish,” I mumble. “Just don’t bother her. She’s had a long day.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

I chuckle, stepping into the bathroom and catching a look at my bloodied suit in the mirror. Streaks of red coat my forearms and chest, with some splatters managing to find their way onto my mask. The fine silk encasing my shoulders looks rumpled, and there are several busted seams around the jacket lining.

A deep sigh heaves my chest as I strip down, tossing the clothes into a pile in the corner of the room. No sense in saving them. No amount of dry-cleaning bill can get the stains out of those. I shake my head at the loss of a good suit and am about to step into the shower when the door creaking makes its way to my ears.

I look behind me, and my heart jumps as Brett’s sapphire eyes meet mine. There’s a tiny little smile playing at the corner of her mouth, and when I move my gaze to where hers is pointed, my cock jumps to attention.

“Did you have a good nap?” I ask, my voice hoarse. Brett is wearing nothing but one of my sleeping shirts, the hem stopping just above her knees and baring her delicious legs.

“Kind of,” she says, her voice soft as she steps into the bathroom and locks the door. “I kept thinking about what was happening, and I…”

My chest squeezes. “I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you. It was never my intention⁠—”

“No, not that,” she murmurs, looking up through her lashes. “I kept thinking about how… hot it was.”

“Hot?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ve never had someone, like… torture a man for me. It’s kind of nice.”

I chuckle, dipping my forehead down to rest on hers. “You’re not upset about your partner?”

“What? The asshole that tried to kill me? Fuck him,” she growls, looking up inquisitively as my chest shakes with laughter.

“Good. It would certainly make things more difficult if you were pissed at me.”

“How so?” she asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Last night… with Jim… Madam knows now that I’m not on her side. She’s going to be after us for the rest of our lives—until I can find some way to end her first.”

“And?”

“And… I have elicited the help of someone. If I had any other choice, I would not involve him, but…” I sigh, standing from the bed and turning to face Brett. “I need someone with inside knowledge of the Sanctum headquarters. Someone who worked as the personal guard of the Madam.”

She sits up straight, pulling the sheet up to cover her chest, “Who?”

As soon as she says it, the front door scrapes open. Rupert jumps up from his position by the door, letting out two sharp barks with his ears pinned back. It’s such unusual behavior from the teddy bear that Brett goes on high alert, clutching the sheet to her like a lifeline.

I simply sigh, securing his mask to my face after one last, defeated glance.

“I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

BRETT

After pulling on a comfy gray sweatpants set, Ghost takes my hand and leads me out to the living room, Rupert, and Venom close at my heels. There’s a faint melody in the air, growing louder the closer we get to the room. The sonnet bounces hauntingly against the stone walls, heightening my sense of unease as the tune slows to a solemn crawl.

We step into the massive circular room, and my eyes latch onto the suited stranger sitting at the grand piano. Long, bony fingers dance across the ivory keys, drawing the haunting tones that have a shiver running down my spine. He doesn’t seem to notice we’ve entered as he plays, but when I go to take a step toward him, Ghost shoots an arm out, keeping me in place.

I look up at him, but he just gives me a shake of his head before returning his hand to the clasped position in front of him, waiting dutifully for the song to end. It seems like hours before the last note rings out, and by the time the man lifts his fingers from the keys, another eternity.

The man spins to face us, and I take a gasping breath as that faceless black mask comes into view. A mask just like Ghost’s.

“You—You’re…” I point a shaky finger at the masked man, my mind reeling. “You’re⁠—”

“A Phantom,” he says, standing from the bench and gliding toward us. The way he moves makes it seem like he’s walking through water, utterly controlled and silent. “Well, a retired one. The Sanctum only allows so many to be active at a time. For security purposes,” he adds, turning his mask onto Ghost. “Is it true? Are you really planning to take them out?”

Ghost nods, his hand flexing slightly. “Yes. I am.”

The man goes utterly still, that black oval pinned on Ghost’s face. Then to my surprise, a boisterous chuckle echoes off the walls.

“I knew you were crazy, but I didn’t think you were actually insane.” The man shakes his head. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. Even when you were an asshole bed-wetter.”

Ghost snarls, taking a menacing step forward. “Will you help me or not?”

He shrugs, seemingly unaffected by the murderous tone in Ghost’s voice. “I would not be here if I wasn’t.”

“Ghost? Who is this?” I whisper, trying to keep my voice as low as possible.

“My name is Maverick,” he says, stepping forward and sticking his hand out to me. Before I can take it, Ghost pulls me back, slapping his hand away quicker than I can blink. “Jesus, Boy. What’s with you?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Ghost murmurs, wrapping an arm protectively around my waist. “And don’t touch her.”

Maverick holds his hands up. “Just trying to be friendly, Boy.”

A wave of anger crests in my veins as this stranger mockingly uses Ghost’s old name. Knowing what I do about his childhood, it makes me sick. It makes me furious. It makes me want to hurt⁠—

“Ow! What in the heavens was that for?” Maverick chokes out, his palms reaching down to cup his crotch. I look down in surprise at my leg lowering to the floor from where I just kneed him. I didn’t realize I did that…

Before I can respond, Ghost steps in front of me, crouched low with a hand on his dagger. “Don’t even think about⁠—”

“Relax,” Maverick chokes, straightening slowly. “I won’t retaliate. Just surprised she managed to get one in on me.”

Ghost turns his head to face me. “That’s my fucking girl.”

My cheeks flame as I press my face into Ghost’s back, thankful for the barrier so Maverick can’t see the effect he has on me. Because that would be embarrassing…

Maverick chuckles, seeming to already forget the injury. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Jane used to bust my balls, too.”

At the mention of my mother’s name, I freeze. “Wait—you’re Maverick? Like, the Maverick from my mom’s notes?”

Maverick’s shoulders tense, and his face turns to the side. “Yes. I knew your mother well. She was taken from this earth far too soon.”

Ghost steps to the side, feeding his arm around my waist and pushing me forward gently. “I think you two should talk for a while… alone,” he adds at my wide-eyed look. “We can plan the attack later… I know you have questions about your mom, Brett. Maverick is the only one who can answer them for you.”

I swallow hard, giving Ghost a resolute nod before turning my attention to the masked man across from me. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, his hand flexing lightly at his side. Ghost stares hard at the motion, then floats toward the kitchen. I watch his back until he disappears around the corner, the ball of anxiety in my gut growing now that me and the strange masked man are truly alone.

“You have her eyes.”

The tone is his voice is so sad, so full of regret, that it causes my chest to pinch. “I’ve… it’s been a while since I’ve heard that.”

He nods, his hand flexing again. “I imagine so. Jane did not keep company with many people. The ones she did are no longer in this world—unable to make such a connection.”

I pick at a stray thread hanging from my sweatpants, lost for words. Ghost wanted me to talk to Maverick—for closure, probably—but now when I’m faced with the opportunity, all of my words, my feelings seem to have dried up.

Maverick takes a cautious step toward me. “I know it must be hard for you to talk about her. It has been years for me, yet, the memory of her death cuts just as deep as the day it happened. I wish I…” he pauses, his gaze following the light streaming in through the main window. “I wish I could have carved a spot in this world for her.”

“I read some of her journal entries,” I whisper, taking a slow step forward. “It was easy to see you cared for her.”

Almost imperceptibly, Maverick nods, all his earlier bravado vanishing at the mention of her. “I loved her.” I expect him to elaborate, but he says no more about it.

“Did you know about Hudson? Did you know…?” Did you know she loved him, instead?

Another nod. “I was willing to live with it. But when I discovered his treachery… how he sold her out. What they did to her…” He shakes his head, as if to cast away the memory of her lifeless, disfigured body. “I spent the next month tracking down every last bastard involved, saving Hudson for last. He was hiding out, knowing I was going to end him for what he did to Jane. Without Ghost’s help, I probably would not have found him⁠—”

“Wait… Ghost helped you?”

Maverick nods tersely. “My apprentice back then. He tracked Hudson to his hideout in the Moriton forest, then held him down for several hours as I…” Maverick clears his throat. “As I enacted the same pain he had caused Jane.”

Maverick steps toward the piano, running his fingers over the keys lovingly. “Jane loved to listen to me play. She would slip off into this expression… this little smile that only ever came out when I played for her. In Hudson’s final moments, when he begged for mercy… it was that smile I saw in my mind. That laugh of hers filled my head.”

He turns to me, dragging his fingers from the keys as if the motion pains him. “And when it was all over, I thought of the piece of her that still remained in this world. I thought of her daughter, of the pain she was feeling—ten-fold whatever I was going through. I knew what would happen to you if you were left alone in this world, in this city that devours any scrap of goodness. I sent my apprentice to do what I could not. I had him watch you—keep you safe.”

I reel from the information, the knowledge that Ghost has been so closely tied to my life this entire time. He’s been defending me, lurking in the shadows like the guardian angel from hell. I think back to my foster father, at the night he tried to attack me. His failure, and the strange turn of events after that ended in his murder.

I gasp as the puzzle pieces align, at the realization that it was Ghost who saved me that night, who left his mutilated body in the woods for all to see. For me to see.

“All this time… it was him? You?”

Maverick nods, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “Jane was not around to protect you from the monsters of the world, so someone had to,” he murmurs, turning to face the window once more, as if the blue of the sky offers him some comfort. “I am sorry you lost her, Brett. Of everything that has happened, I most regret that this world took your mother from you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whisper, reaching a hand up to clutch my chest. “It was the Sanctum⁠—”

“I worked for the Sanctum,” he interrupts, his voice soft. “I could have… I could have saved her, if only I had opened my eyes. If only I realized…” he looks away again, his chest heaving. “They want to quash every good thing in this world. Every ounce of joy. To profit off the collective misery of the world.” Maverick takes a deep breath, his hand spasming at his side. “They took her from me. From you. From every person she could have helped. They took her, and they butchered her. The most beautiful, delicate flower, crushed to sludge under the Sanctum’s golden boot.”

Maverick’s body trembles with the memory of the horrors the organization has exacted. At what they will continue to do if left unchecked. “These reasons and more are why I’ve agreed to help Ghost. I may be older—slower—than I was in my prime, but I will use my last breath to avenge what they’ve destroyed. To protect what is left. I must.”

I take a shaking breath, unable to believe what he’s telling me. This man—this Phantom—loved my mother so much, he’s willing to give his life for the mere memory of her. It seems too preposterous to believe, yet… here I am. In love with one, myself. I shake the thought away. I’m not in love with Ghost. That would be… well, that would be crazy. I care for him, of course, but I’m not in love with him. I can’t be. Can I?

“I want to help. In any way I can,” I say, a wave of resolve coursing through my veins. “I’m a quick shot, and I’m not afraid to do what needs to be done to these fuckers. Plus, it seems like you two could use the extra body.”

Maverick tenses at the proposition. “I do not want you anywhere near the Sanctum. If your mother knew what you were doing she’d⁠—”

“Probably be damned proud of me,” I interrupt, pulling my shoulders back. “She gave her life trying to expose them. As much as you want to avenge her, I want her death to mean something. It means nothing if I sit back and let her legacy—her story—die.”

“I would never let that happen, Brett,” Maverick says, his hand outstretched toward my shoulder. Just before he makes contact, he yanks it back to his chest. Clears his throat. “Her legacy is you. This entire thing is happening to keep you safe.”

I shake my head, a wave of bitterness cresting. “I don’t need to be kept safe. I need to do something.”

Maverick pauses for a moment that seems to stretch into eternity. Then, he shakes his head, a sad little chuckle accompanying the movement. “So much like your mother.”

He looses a breath, angling his body toward the kitchen. “I have to go speak with Ghost, now. It was… it was a true pleasure speaking with you, Brett.” Sparing one last glance my way, he turns and floats toward the kitchen, effectively ending our conversation. Leaving me alone with this growing pit of anxiety. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with the knowledge that I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

And I think that’s the most terrifying thing of all.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

GHOST

I crouch low, running my fingers through Rupert’s fur as I wait for Maverick and Brett to finish their conversation. A few minutes later, Rupert raises his head from the kitchen tile, a low rumble building in his throat as he glares at something over my shoulder.

“How did it go?” I ask, not bothering to move from my position.

“As well as can be expected,” Maverick sighs, stepping around the island and stopping a few feet from Rupert and I. “She wants to help.”

“I know.”

Maverick leans against the counter, crossing slender arms across his chest. “What do you plan to do to stop her?”

“I have an idea.”

“Ah, yes. You and these brilliant ‘ideas’. Like, storming the Sanctum in a one-man suicide mission.”

“I'm not alone,” I huff. “I have you. And hopefully one more after tomorrow.”

“But not Brett?”

I shake my head, my chest seizing at the thought of any form of harm coming to her. “She would be a great asset. But…”

“But you cannot focus when she is around.”

I hang my head, too ashamed to speak. “I cannot. I would get us all killed.”

“I see,” he murmurs, shoving a hand through his graying hair. “She will never forgive you.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve come to terms with it?”

I straighten, pinning Maverick with a hard stare as my fist tightens at my side. “I’m making it so the world has a place for someone like her. Someone good. Someone…” I shake my head. “There is no other way. The gauntlet has fallen, Maverick. It’s too late for anything else. The Madam knows I am against her, and we have to strike now.”

Maverick’s chest heaves with a sigh, and he pushes off the counter, stepping forward until our chest’s are inches apart. “You cannot cage a wild thing, Ghost. You cannot bottle the wind any more than you can protect her in this little bubble you’ve created. I have tried—and failed. I would hate to see you repeat my mistakes.”

I shake my head, unable to let his words hit home. “I… I have to try.”

Maverick tilts his head, seeming to look through me. “Very well. I will wait to hear from you.” With a small bow, he turns and floats from the room, not bothering to spare another glance. The door scrapes closed a minute later, signaling his departure. I let out a breath as I lean my forearms on the counter, the weight of our conversation hitting me like a semi.

“Ghost?”

I jerk my head up, my chest squeezing at the deep frown situated between Brett’s brows. She looks so, so worried, and I know it’s all because of me. Of what I’ve dragged her into.

“Hello, darling,” I murmur, holding my arms out for her to step into. She obliges, pressing her cheek deep into my chest as a satisfied sigh passes her lips. I pull my mask off and place it onto the counter before drawing my lips to the top of her head, drawing in deep lungfuls of Brett’s intoxicating scent.

I know she wants to talk about what Maverick said. Know she wants to talk about the plan to take down the Sanctum—and, more importantly, how she fits into it. But right now, I don’t want to think about any of it. I don’t want to think about anything other than the beautiful, marvelous creature in my arms. I don’t want to know anything other than her touch, her breath, the sound of her voice as she comes on my cock.

So, before she can get a word out, I throw her over my shoulder and whisk her into the bedroom. Tonight, I need my fill of Brett. Tonight, I need more of her than I’ve ever taken before.

Because I don’t know when I’ll have the chance again.

The next morning, Brett’s head is nestled against my chest, and I’m counting her breaths as I watch the clock tick closer to seven. I need to exact the final step of my plan today, but I don’t want to leave this room. As soon as I do, the spell will be broken, and the shitty reality I’ve put us in will all come crashing down.

I look down at the gorgeous sleeping woman in my arms, counting her beautiful long lashes for the third time since she’s fallen asleep. 1,342. Same as last time. I’m not sure why I keep checking, but something tells me that if I don’t pay attention at this moment, it will pass me by. If I don’t stop and savor the beautiful creature that is Brett, who knows when I will get the chance again.

I’ve decided to let her believe I’m letting her storm the Sanctum with me. If I let on about my real plan for Brett, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep her safe. The second she thinks she’s about to be caged, she’ll disappear, never to be caught again.

I cannot let that happen. Not in this life, at least.

As the last thought pasees, Brett stirs in my arms, half-lidded eyes gazing up with a sleepy smile. “Morning, handsome.”

My heart soars, and I lean down to press my lips to her forehead, earning me a contented sigh.“I love the color of your eyes first thing in the morning. Such a deep, endless blue,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. I press my lips to the space between her brows, flattening out the deep crease there. “Why the frown, darling?”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes filled with concern. “I’m… I’m worried about you. About us. What Maverick said about the Santctum⁠—”

“There is nothing to worry for when it comes to us,” I whisper, pulling back to look into her eyes once more.

“Even with Maverick’s help… what if something happens to you? What if you…” she doesn’t continue, unable to speak the question thats on both of our minds.

What if I die?

Brett’s eyes widen as my chuckle rings out. I shake my head, cupping her delicate cheek in my palm. “Death has tried, and failed before to tear us apart,” I whisper. “No, darling—my soul is tied to yours, I’m sure of it. I feel it when I touch you… that unbreakable, unfathomable recognition. It took me thirty-six years to find you this time, but I have no doubt in others, I have had you for longer. I would find you anywhere, my darling. I have, and I will again.” I look deep into her eyes, my thumb tracing delicate swirls across her cheekbone. “All I ask is that you trust me.”

She swallows thickly, but still gives me a small nod. “I trust you.”

“Good,” I murmur, I sigh, gripping her even tighter. Brett shudders slightly against me, and I pull her into me, contemplating my next words. “Because we’re going to meet someone else today. Someone who will help us.”

Brett looks up at me, her eyes wide and worried. “Who?”

I smile, running a thumb delicately over her cheek to ease that worried look. “Someone we can trust. His name is Reinhold Hellfyre—although most people call him Kain.”

CHAPTER FORTY

BRETT

We make our way out of the house to the sounds of Rupert and Venom protests. Ghost turns and gives Rupert a few scratches, pointing at the bowl of untouched food he laid there a few minutes ago.

“I promise I’ll be back, boy. Keep your brother out of trouble for a few hours, okay?”

Rupert huffs, turning slowly and curling up in his dog bed by the front door. Venom sees his opportunity and curls into the small crevice near Rupert's belly, his little paws making biscuits in his dense white fur. I giggle at the sight but allow Ghost to lead me out of the house with his hand on the small of my back.

I hop into the passenger seat of the blue truck, squeezing my knees together as Ghost starts up the engine and pulls out onto the small trail leading into the mouth of the forest. He takes small glances at me, the cool metal of his mask glinting each time with the afternoon light.

“Something’s on your mind.”

It’s not a question, but I still nod, worrying my bottom lip. “You said he’s the head of the Hellfyre Motorcycle club? Well, I’ve heard stories about those guys—I can’t help it if I’m a little anxious to meet one.”

“Reinhold will not harm you,” Ghost promises, reaching a gloved hand over and resting it on my knee. Goose bumps rise along my skin, eliciting a deep chuckle from Ghost. I chose to wear jean shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt for our outing, and now I think I should have opted for something with a little more skin coverage. I can’t think straight when he’s running his hands on me, and by the looks of him, he has no intention to stop.

“How the hell are you so sure?” I demand.

“Because he owes me a favor.”

I look over at Ghost, sure that if I could see his face, he’d be smiling.

Hell, I’d bet my life on it.

After an hour of winding through the deep underbrush of the forest, Ghost pulls through an opening between two cypress tree trunks, and the land opens into a large circular clearing. At the far end sits a strange-looking triangular cabin lined the entire way around with rose bushes. Pink, orange, and red doilies stand out against the dark green leaves, adding a touch of vibrance to the otherwise dreary-looking cabin.

“Holy shit. Is that a greenhouse?” I ask, my mouth falling open at the massive glass structure about fifty meters from the house. “And a fucking pigeon coop? Where the hell are we?”

“Reinhold’s house,” Ghost murmurs, squeezing my knee lightly as he stops in front of the large oak steps leading up to… well, there’s no door in sight, so at the moment, it looks like they lead up to a blank wall. But when Ghost leads me up and presses his wrist to the wall, I know that there’s a hidden entrance here like at Ghost’s house.

The wall splits, and scraping fills the air as the door to the house opens. I look at Ghost with wide eyes, but he just chuckles and steps inside. “Ghost,” I whisper, following close at his heels as we step into the large living area. “Ghost, we can’t just walk into his house. What if⁠—”

“He knows we’re coming,” Ghost says, stepping across the wooden floorboards toward a door at the right of the room. “Plus, I was the one who installed that entrance for him—I have the master key. I can come and go as I please.”

I sigh, following him as he presses his wrist to the door, eliciting a clicking noise as the lock slides open. “It’s still rude.”

“Rude-schmude.” Ghost waves a hand in the air. “Reinhold and I are friends. I’m sure he’ll just be happy to see me.”

As soon as Ghost pushes the door open, a large crystal ashtray shatters against the wall next to Ghost’s head. Pieces of crystal clatter to the floor as a growl fills the room, followed by an impossibly deep male voice.

“What the fuck, Ghost? I told you to stop breaking into my house!”

Ghost sighs, stepping fully into the room. I look around him, my eyes locking onto the huge black shadow sitting behind a mahogany desk. After a few seconds, I realize the massive thing is, in fact, a man. And a pissed-off one, at that.

When Ghost sees I don’t follow, he waves a hand at me, seemingly unfazed by the hulking figure who just tried to kill him. “It’s not technically breaking in when you have the key, Reinhold.”

The shadow curses, slamming a hand down on the large mahogany desk, his face hidden by the shadows in the windowless room. “Stop calling me that.”

“No need for a hissy fit,” Ghost tuts, wrapping a hand around my waist and hauling me to his side. “It’s unbecoming when there are guests present.”

As if noticing I’m here for the first time, the man stands from his desk, his hulking shoulders going rigid. “Brett. Right?”

“Yes,” I say, pulling my shoulders back to appear brave despite the shake in my knees.

Suddenly, the figure steps out from behind the desk into the light, and I can’t stop the horrified gasp that escapes me. The beast before me is like no man I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot of fucked-up things and people, but he is actually, genuinely terrifying.

My throat is like sandpaper as I swallow, and I lower my gaze so as not to look him directly in the eyes. Or, eye, I suppose. If he has another one, I can’t see it past the thick metal mask covering the right half of his face.

“It’s nice to meet you, Brett,” he says, sticking out a massive, tattooed hand for me to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

My hand drowns in his as he gives it a rough shake, and I pull it to my chest when he releases me. “You have?”

He nods. “Ghost is my… friend,” he says, scowling as he utters the last word. “He told me I could trust you. So I am.”

“That’s… nice of him,” I say, my heart threatening to burst from my rib cage like a tiny, frightened bird. If he wanted to, he could crush my head like a grape. Or flick me across the room with his pinky. You better be fucking right, Ghost, or I swear I’ll come back and haunt your ass when he kills me.

Kain gives another nonchalant shrug. I watch him carefully as he strides toward the desk, then plops down in the leather armchair. His mouth still holds the scowl from earlier, making him look far more imposing than should be physically possible.

He pins me with that one silver eye, and I start picking at the cuticle on my thumb.

“So now that the introductions are over, we can get down to business,” Ghost says, clapping his hands together. “We need your help.”

“As you said on the phone,” Kain grumbles, his gaze shooting toward a photo on his desk, angled just enough so I can see the person in the frame. At the center of the photo is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, her smile set in a wide grin as she shows off her engagement ring.

“Who’s that?” I ask, cutting off whatever snarky comment Ghost was about to reply with.

“Lillith.”

“Oh,” I say, a little smile tugging at my lips. The thought of this brute settling down with someone is almost cute. “Is she your wife?” I ask, noting the gold band resting on his ring finger.

Kain gives it a twirl, his face still set in that stony expression. “She’s my everything.”

Ghost takes a breath to say something else, and I shove my elbow into his ribs.

“I’m sure she feels very… safe with you around,” I say, cutting a look at Ghost that says, don’t you dare say anything.

He nods thoughtfully. “I hope so.”

“Kain?” A voice like tinkling wind chimes fills the office, washing over me and filling me with a strange sense of calm. I look at the MC leader, finding the voice seems to have the same effect on him. I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time as an FBI agent, but nothing could have prepared me for what I would see next. Kain—the great, scary beast—smiles.

“Hello, flower,” he murmurs, his face morphing in front of my eyes. Even his voice is different, like a massive weight has been lifted from his chest just by her being in the room. “I missed you.”

“I was only gone for a few minutes.” The woman—Lillith, I presume—giggles, practically skipping over to where Kain is now standing. She gives him a quick kiss on the lips, and then—-to my utter surprise—lifts his mask and places her lips against the mutilated flesh beneath.

Well, now I know why he wears the mask. Ouch.

“Are you Lillith?” I ask, feeling strangely inadequate in her presence. There’s something in the way she moves—something enchanting—and there’s no wonder why she was the woman to melt this man's heart. “We were just talking about you.”

“Only bad things, I hope,” she giggles, pressing her cheek into the center of Kain’s chest. A pant of jealousy rings through me. Not about them, but about what they have. I wonder what it’s like to have someone love the worst parts of you.

“You’re Brett? Ghost won’t shut up about you,” Lillith says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“I—yes,” I murmur. Everyone seems to be in the loop but me. “We’re… working together.”

At the mention of it, Lillith’s face becomes stony. “You’re helping him with that Sanctum business? I fucking hate those people⁠—”

“Flower,” Kain’s growl is a warning, but Lillith just waves him off.

She’s not afraid of shit. I like her. “Do you deal with the Sanctum regularly?” I ask, shooting a nervous glance at the hulking man behind her.

“Not often. But enough.” Lillith’s face sours at the thought. “Ever since we absorbed the Serpents⁠—”

“Serpents?” I ask, needing some clarification.

Lilith gives an apologetic smile. “They were the Hellfyre’s rival club until last year. We took out the leaders and absorbed the rest of the willing members. They had strong ties to the Sanctum, and when Kain tried telling them he wouldn’t continue working with them…” She cuts a sorrowful glance up at him. “They… killed a couple of the young recruits. Strung them up from the bathroom ceiling for us to find. Headless,” she adds, a shiver running through her as she relives the memory. “Now, there’s always these guys in masks showing up to the clubhouse, threatening Kain if he doesn’t pay his dues on time.” Lilith shakes her head, an angry little scowl on her face. “They’re evil. Which is why, when Ghost called, I told Kain he had to help.”

“And we’re still not sure if I’m going to,” Kain reminds her, holding her possessively close to him. “I will not risk your safety.”

Gee, doesn’t that sound like someone I know?

Lillith and I exchange exasperated looks, followed by giggles as the men try to figure out what it means.

“I’ll be fine, Kain,” Lillith grumbles, placing a delicate hand on his chest. “You know you have to help Ghost. You have to stop them, Kain.”

Kain sighs, rolling his good eye to the ceiling. “As you wish, flower.”

Lillith squeals, clapping her hands together with a beaming white smile as she faces us. “See? I told you he would help!”

Ghost nods in gratitude. “I appreciate your efforts, Lillith. Why, he seems more and more like a real person every day. So much better than that hulking beast I knew just a few months ago⁠—”

“Watch it,” Kain growls, cutting Ghost a murderous glare. “I can still rescind the offer, you know.”

“Ah, but you never go back on your promises. It’s something we have in common.” Ghost waves him off. “And I’m looking to cash in.”

Kain huffs, leaning back in his seat and taking Lillith with him. “What do you need?”

“What every great villain needs—a sidekick.”

Kain takes a sharp breath, his biceps flexing as he holds in his irritation. “And what will this sidekick be required to do?”

Ghost shrugs nonchalantly, pretending to inspect the leather covering his fingernails. “Oh, you know… infiltration, cover fire, murder… the list goes on.”

Kain pins him with a hard stare. “You’re not actually that stupid, are you?”

“Of course I am. Why else would I be here?”

I look between the two men, my brows pinched together in worry. “Ghost? What’s he talking about?”

“He’s planning to take out the Madam,” Lillith whispers, her eyes wide with fright. “Ghost… no.”

“Yes,” he says, taking an even step forward. “The Sanctum works much like a beehive—the queen at the top, making sure all the little workers fall in line. But take the queen out, and the hive goes berserk.” Ghost squares his shoulders. “Don’t you see? There’s no use trying to do anything else. If the queen lives, the hive goes on. Even if we killed all the Table members, she would have them replaced within the hour. No, we have to kill the Madam. We must kill the Madam. It’s the only way.”

Kain and Lillith nod like they understand. Meanwhile, it feels like someone has their fist wrapped around my heart. How on earth is he going to accomplish his plan? And with only me and Kain for backup? The Madam must have a hundred masks working for her, ready to throw down their lives to protect her. One man can’t possibly take on all that.

“We must take our leave now,” Ghost says, sliding his hand around the small of my back. “I’ll message you the details in a day or so.”

When we make it to the doorway, Ghost stops, his shoulders tensing. “Reinhold, I haven’t said it yet, but thank you. You really are a good friend.”

A low chuckle pours from Kain’s throat. “So you keep saying. Try not to get yourself killed before we storm the headquarters, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ghost murmurs, his steps slow as he leads me from the house. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

GHOST

That evening, Brett, Orion, and I sit at the kitchen table, a swath of greasy snacks and frozen foods spread across the mahogany like a feast for a family of raccoons. I crinkle my nose in mock disgust as Brett and Orion shovel the cardboard food into their mouths between excitable conversation, a strange emotion pinching my heart at the sight.

They’re happy. Truly, wonderfully happy.

The thought is strange, considering the war waging in the depths of my mind. Neither of them knows it, but this might be the last time all three of us are here, eating together.

Laughing together.

Brett stops mid-laugh to send me a casual wink, leading me to think the pair were sharing some joke at my expense. But I don’t mind. Not in the slightest. Not at all, if it causes that lovely smile to grace her face.

My chair screeches as I stand from the table, my eyes pinned on Brett’s flushed cheeks. “Orion, it’s time for bed,” I murmur, never taking my eyes off Brett.

She swallows hard as Orion shoves back from the table, snatching the plate of half-eaten taquitos with a roll of his eyes. “Gross. I know what that look’s for.”

I shoot a glare at his back as Brett falls into a fit of giggles. Giggles that quickly cut off as I turn my hungry gaze to her. I take two steps in her direction, a devious smile lighting my face as I easily haul her over my shoulder.

I whisk Brett into the bedroom, filling the insatiable desire that runs through my veins. I run my hands over every dip and curve of her body, memorizing the way her body shudders at each one of my gentle caresses, the way it jerks with each violent strike. Her moans mix delectably with heaving breaths, shuddering waves of pleasure that flow to every part of her, warming her skin.

Hours later, when I’ve had my fill of her, when every part of me is so deeply entwined with hers, I lie with her head on my chest, running my fingers delicately through her raven hair. Wishing. Hoping. Praying for one more day.

Brett’s eyelashes flutter gently against my chest as she reaches out in an attempt to pull me impossibly closer. I’ve never witnessed a more perfect creature—not in all my travels, in all the people I’ve seen. It hurts to know that I will have to leave her soon, but it’s a necessary pain.

None of this has gone the way I planned it, yet… I find myself unable to regret a single instance. I know she’ll be angry at the end of this—maybe she’ll even hate me—but there is no other way. And God, do I wish there were.

Forcing a blanket of quiet over my mind, I close my eyes and focus on taking deep, even breaths. The scent of Brett helps but not enough, and for a long while, I’m sure sleep will evade me tonight. But then Brett snuggles into my side, and suddenly, the weight on my shoulders doesn’t seem so bad.

That night, I dream of a blood-drenched castle, the golden walls dripping with sticky red life. I dream of a woman beautiful and good, her hair as dark as a raven’s wings. The glow of the moon casts a shimmering blue hue across her skin, giving her a haunting, ethereal quality.

I cannot see her face, but something inside tells me one look from her and I will fracture. Splinter. All of me, reduced to jagged shards of obsidian in her palms, sprinkled on the dirt beneath her feet.

She turns, and I am right.

I am hers.

Bow-shaped lips part in a grin, and the sentiment shoots to her dazzling blue eyes. Come with me, she seems to say. Stay with me.

I open my mouth to speak and find it sewed shut, the thread a glossy red hue that matches the river running down my chin. I want to, I try to scream. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.

The woman’s smile drops, and a sadness replaces the playful glint from moments ago. She looks over her shoulder, her eyes seeing more than just the building covered in red. And that sadness grows.

Suddenly, the woman jerks, her mouth opening with a silent scream as the tip of a silver dagger appears in the center of her chest. A swirl of black smoke appears behind the woman, growing from a whisper to a dense fog in moments. And as the life dims from the woman’s beautiful blue gaze, another appears behind her, hand wrapped around the dagger piercing the beautiful woman’s heart.

And it is the Madam’s cruel green gaze that pierces my soul. The same one I see the moment I wake, heart pounding and clutching Brett to my chest like my embrace alone can prevent what I just witnessed. What will be a reality if I don’t act.

For the next few hours, I lie in bed counting Brett’s breaths, watching the way her lips twitch as she falls from one dream to the next. For the next few hours, I memorize the way she feels in my arms, the weight of her against my chest. I count her lashes, the freckles across her nose, and follow each dip and curve of her spine until I know how many millimeters are between each vertebra. But when the dawn light peeks through the curtains, and Brett begins to stir, I know it’s not enough—will never be enough—except it has to be.

Because today, I am going to die.

The morning goes by as usual, with Brett suspecting nothing of my plans. Even Rupert and Venom are on their best behavior, allowing Brett to relax for the first time since I’ve known her. That evening, Brett and I are sitting in the library. She’s reading, and I’m watching the way her lips twitch at every funny piece of dialogue. I try to lengthen the seconds between her blinks, wishing I could live in this space with her forever. The last moments of peace before the battle, the quiet before the storm we’re about to face. I don’t know how many more of these moments I will get, and I regret not savoring the previous ones as much as I am now.

“You’re not reading your book.”

Brett’s melodious voice startles me from my thoughts, and I offer her a small smile. “I like to watch you read. Far more interesting.”

Brett crinkles her nose, waving me away as she picks up on the paragraph she left off on. I stand from my armchair and glide toward her, prying the book from her hands and snapping it closed.

“Hey! I didn’t leave a bookmark!”

“I remember where you’re at, darling,” I murmur, placing the book onto the side table and hoisting Brett into my arms. My hands explore the soft skin of her shoulders, traveling over her collarbone and cupping her full breast. Brett moans as I take her nipple between my fingers and twist, and I capture her with my mouth.

“So beautiful,” I murmur, nipping her bottom lip before nursing it with my tongue. Brett’s breath catches as I throw her over my shoulder and head out of the library, a protective hand on her ass to keep her in place.

Brett rakes her nails up my spine, and I shiver as electricity shoots through my veins, causing my cock to jump. I rush into the bedroom, wasting no time tossing Brett onto the mattress and climbing on top of her. Her chest rises and falls with increasing speed, and she takes her lower lip between her teeth, letting it out slow and teasing me.

“Fuck, darling,” I murmur, palming my cock as that hooded look does something strange to my head. “I love when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’d do anything to have my cock inside you,” I murmur, reaching up to the top corner of the mattress and pulling out the first of four restraints. Brett licks her lips greedily as she hoists her arm up to make it easier for me to strap her in, and an appreciative hum sounds in my chest. Once her wrists are secure, I move down to her ankles, pulling the straps extra tight so she’s stretched just to the point of discomfort. Brett lets out a little whine as I trail my lips up her thigh, stopping at the crease between her pussy lips.

“You smell heavenly,” I groan, fighting the urge to lash my tongue against her. I lose the battle a second later, and the room spins as my tastebuds are coated with Brett’s arousal. I lap at her core, trailing my tongue through her folds and toying with the hard little nub at the apex of her cunt. When it throbs, I pull away to Brett’s whines, the lower half of my face slick with her juices.

She gulps as a slow smile spreads across my face, and I step away from the bed toward the golden dresser, pulling a few pieces from the top drawer. I stalk to the head of the bed, running a hand over Brett’s beautiful black hair as I show her what she’s going to be wearing. Brett’s eyes widen at the large red ball gag, but she otherwise makes no complaints.

“Open,” I command, pressing the bright red ball to her lips. She swallows hard, then obeys, and my cock jumps in appreciation. “Good girl,” I murmur, slipping the straps over her head and positioning the leather blindfold in place.

“You are not allowed to come. If you do, we start over from the beginning. Understood?”

She nods dutifully, her thighs shaking slightly with anticipation. I run my hand down her leg, loving the trail of goose bumps left in the wake. When I make it to her ankle, I stop, attaching the first end of the spreader bar to her ankle. A muffled moan works its way past the gag as I attach the other side and Brett realizes she can’t close off from me. My mouth salivates as I take in the sight of her dripping pink pussy, the folds spread open like the most beautiful orchid.

“Fuck,” I groan, palming my hardening cock through my pants. Fighting the urge to just take her, I grab the special TENS unit from the foot of the bed and plug in the attachments. Turning it down to the lowest setting, I place the small pads on either side of her pussy, then start the machine.

Brett lets out a yelp as the electrical current flows through her, causing the muscles in and around her core to contract against their will. Her squeals are replaced with moans as the current pulses through her, reaching the deepest, most needy parts of her and bringing her to the edge. Just when she’s about to come, I turn the unit up, causing a yelp of pain to fall from her gagged mouth.

“Do you want to come, darling?”

She mumbles something unintelligible through the ball gag, and I lower the settings, returning her to the pleasurable thrum. We play like that for what seems like hours, me bringing her to the edge just to rip her pleasure away as Brett is slowly driven to madness by the sessions and desires flooding her mind.

“Mmph!” she breathes, wriggling against the large puddle growing between the legs. Her movements grow desperate, spreading a wicked grin on my face.

“I don’t know if you deserve it,” I coo, turning the setting up higher than it’s ever been, causing Brett to scream in pain and pleasure.

“Mmph!” she squeals, her body shuddering. A trail of drool pools from the corner of her mouth, dripping down to her chin as her head arches back.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” I murmur, thinking of all the twisted things I want to do to her as I lower the voltage, intently watching the way Brett unravels as her orgasm courses through her.

Brett’s chest heaves as she lies face up on the mattress, her body limp with exhaustion. I run my fingers over the skin of her abdomen, trailing up to her face and over her lips.

“You’re so beautiful, darling,” I murmur, pulling the gag from her mouth and placing a kiss on her chapped, red-rimmed lips. “So beautiful, it makes me want to stay a while longer.”

“Hmm?” she mumbles, pulling slightly at her restraints. “Untie me, and we can snuggle.”

I shake my head even though the blindfold doesn’t allow her to see it. “I’m sorry, darling, but I can’t do that.”

Brett’s fog clears at my words, and she yanks wildly on the cuffs holding her wrists in place. “What do you mean? Ghost, let me go!”

“I can’t,” I say, my voice cracking as I pull my hand from her—returning to that horrible nothingness that her absence brings. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“You can't do what?” Brett demands, her tone desperate. “Ghost, don’t you dare do what I think you’re doing.”

“I won’t risk your life, Brett,” I whisper, reaching out to her and stopping just before I make contact. If I do, there’s no way I’m leaving this room—and I have to. Before Brett, I might have said “fuck it” and thrown away my plans. Ran away to a deserted island to live out the rest of my miserable, useless life. No cares, no worries, no obligation to do the right thing.

But that was before her.

Now, I want to change this world—even if it’s just a small, fucked-up piece like Moriton—to make it better for her. To make it worthy of her. And I know I don’t have a chance in hell, but I’ll die trying. For her. It’s always been for her.

“Goodbye, darling,” I whisper, my chest cracking wide open with the words. For all I know, they will be the last ones I ever speak to her. And it hurts because I’m not brave enough to tell her all the things I want to. Not strong enough to offer her the vulnerability she needs.

And I think that’s the most fucked-up part of all.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

BRETT

I rail against the restraints until my wrists are bloody and bruised, the plush leather unable to protect my skin from my efforts. I’ve managed to dislodge the blindfold, but have had zero luck loosening the handcuffs. Venom and Rupert sit at the foot of the bed, occasionally letting out worried rumbles when I wince from the pain. If they could, I know they would help me. But you know—no opposable thumbs.

“Fuck,” I curse, a trail of red tracking down my arm and landing with a delicate plop on the mattress. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

I saw a documentary once about weasels, and how difficult it was to catch them with typical snare-mouth type traps. Because apparently, the crafty little fucks will chew their own limbs off to free themselves—their desperate need far outweighing the loss of a foot.

And well, I am the definition of desperate right now.

I’m considering doing as the weasels do when the front door scrapes open, and my heart soars up into my mouth.

“Ghost?” I call, the stupid organ brimming with hope. With the possibility he came back. Maybe he realized it was a terrible idea, and he came back to⁠—

“Holy shit!” Orion stumbles out of the bedroom, a hand covering his eyes. “What the fuck, Brett?”

“Orion!” I yell, desperation winning out over my embarrassment. “Orion, help me get free!”

Slowly, he removes his hand, unable to stop his eyes from roaming over my naked, exposed body. “Ho-ly. Shit.”

“Don’t be gross,” I bark, rolling my eyes as another wave of embarrassment pours over me. “Just… close your eyes and take these cuffs off.”

“But how will I get them off if I’m not looking?” Orion asks, wigging his thick black brows, eyes dipping.

“Don’t make me sic Rupert on you,” I warn, narrowing my eyes at his irritating smirk. “I know his commands.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Orion grumbles. “However, Ghost did this, and I’m thinking he’d be pretty pissed if I⁠—”

“Ghost left! He did this so I couldn’t follow him. He’s going to the fucking Sanctum, Orion!”

Orion seizes, his eyes taking on a glass sheen. “He… he wouldn’t do that. It’s suicide.”

“Well, we can talk about it all you want if you get me out of this,” I say, trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice. “Orion, please. You know him. You know he’d do anything to protect y-you and Rupert. He’s going to fucking kill himself.”

Orion shifts, his eyes on his feet. “You’re right,” he whispers. “The crazy old bastard,” he grumbles, raising his head and stalking toward the head of the bed.

“Eyes, Orion,” I plead.

He sighs, lifting a hand to his eyes as he stumbles the rest of the way to the top of the mattress. He keeps his eyes shut tight as he reaches toward the cuffs, blindly unhooking the latch.

“Thank you,” I murmur, covering my body with the sheet as soon as my wrists are free. Orion makes a disappointed sound in his throat, and I glare at him until he looks away so I can release my ankles. When I’m free, I look up and see Orion still in the room, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“Dude.” I narrow my gaze, pulling the sheet tighter. “Kindly get the fuck out so I can put on some clothes. Yeah?”

Orion huffs but does as he’s told. As soon as the bedroom door slides shut, I race over to the dresser and pull out a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved shirt, followed by a pair of hiking boots I find lodged in the back of Ghost’s closet. They swallow my feet, but I can make do if I pull the straps tight enough.

I race out to the living room, my eyes scanning for Orion. A loud clanking noise comes from the basement, and just as I get to the top of the stairs, I see Orion’s head emerge at the bottom. He looks up with a boyish grin, holding up a bulging black duffel bag.

“I got us tools! I even found a little pew pew for you,” he says, brows wiggling.

I sigh heavily, palming the gun he holds out to me. I check the mag, then test the grip, looking down the sight as I mime firing at the wall. Nodding to myself, I flick the safety on and pocket the weapon, reaching for the bag Orion has slung over his shoulder.

“Nuh-uh. These are mine,” he says, reeling away from my outstretched hands. “My tools.”

“Come on. I wanna see what you got in there.”

“Absolutely not. Come on, we’ve wasted too much time already,” he says, rushing toward the front door. Rupert stands in front of it, his great white teeth bared in a snarl. When Orion tries pushing past him, Rupert lunges at his groin, causing him to stumble back with a yelp.

“What the fuck, Rupert? We’re going to save your dumbass father. Let us through!” Rupert growls, pacing in a small circle in front of the stone wall where the door resides, his strange eyes stalking Orion’s every move. A lumpy black object catches my eye on the floor in front of the door, and I stare at it for a long moment before realizing what it is. Rupert’s dog vest. He must have retrieved it from wherever Ghost leaves the thing.

“I think… I think he wants us to take him with,” I say, brushing past Orion and standing right in front of the great white beast. “Do you want to come with, Rupert?”

Immediately, his disposition changes. He plops on his rear with a whine, his tongue lolling to the side as he reaches a paw up to scratch at my leg. Orion and I look at each other, our brows raised in surprise.

“Okay…” I murmur, reaching for the black dog vest and strapping it to his back. It’s far heavier than I imagined, and I look down at the happy pup in surprise. “Damn, what do you have in here—bricks?”

Rupert woofs happily, spinning and pawing at the stone like he’s telling us to hurry the fuck up. Orion shrugs at my raised brows and presses his wrist to the wall. Rupert squeezes through the small crack in the stone, and Orion and I have to race up the stairs to catch up with him. I pause at the opening, looking around for Venom in case he’s waiting to slip outside. When I don’t see him, I let out a satisfied sigh, knowing he’s probably tucked away somewhere taking a nap. Safe.

Orion is halfway up the steps by the time the door slides shut at my back, a stale, moldy scent thickening the air in the enclosed stone stairwell, causing my throat to tighten. Or perhaps, it's the anxiety digging its claws up my windpipe, desperate to reach my mind—to take over.

But if I have any chance at saving Ghost from the fate he’s committed himself to, I need a clear head. I have to focus—concentrate on the problem at hand, and take it one step at a time. But it’s so hard when I know we’re diving into the mouth of the beast, and any one of those gnashing teeth could end me. End everyone I care about.

Focus, Brett. Focus and concentrate. I take a deep, steadying breath as I follow Orion up the stairs, through the metal hatch hiding the passageway from the elements. My boots crunch against the brown and red droppings of foliage, the sound scratching my scalp with every step I take toward the truck. So much death beneath my feet—similar to what I’m sure I’m about to face. But then I look at the trees reaching toward the skies, their branches strong and proud despite the losses they’ve faced. It reminds me that even if parts of you wither, you can still survive the winter. Can still face the storms and rise tall after it's all over.

It does nothing to calm the hurricane raging in my chest.

Rupert is already sitting in the trunk, his pink white tongue standing out like a beacon against his snowy fur. He woofs at me to hurry up, and we oblige, hopping into the passenger seat as Orion starts the engine. It sputters, then roars to life like a foghorn against the tranquility of the clearing. Several black birds—ravens, I think—take flight at the sudden noise, and I watch them soar into the vast blue skies, turning into tiny black specks as they crest over the horizon.

“Seat belt, please,” Orion murmurs, pulling me from my thoughts as he clicks his own into place.

“Ghost will kill me if he finds out I didn’t make you wear one.”

I nod, pulling the belt across my lap as Orion speeds into the mouth of the forest, a swirling, uneasy feeling growing in my gut. His words were meant to give me some comfort, I’m sure, but they only feed the gnawing anxiety in my chest. Because I know that Ghost would have to be alive to feel some type of way about it.

And right now, I don’t know if he is.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

GHOST

I stand in the back alley with Kain and Maverick, breathing in the rot and sewage lining the streets around us. It’s such a stark contrast from the pale yellow-hued building towering above, bathing the back alley in shadows. From my crouched position, I reach up and run my fingertip along the veins of gold ore running throughout the stone, my chest gripping as I do so. I used to think this place was a heaven—back when I was too young to know better. Now, I wonder how something so vile could be wrapped in such a pretty package. It goes against every law of nature, everything I was taught to believe. It fuels the hate blazing through my veins, letting me know that I’m doing the right thing.

And still, there’s that thing in my chest. Warning me. Telling me to go back—that it’s my last chance.

“Are you ready?” Kain asks. I jerk my gaze toward his half-masked face, twirling my dagger nimbly between my gloved fingers as I take in the tension etched across his brow.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Kain rolls his eyes as he reaches a hand to his waist, drawing his weapon. “How many by the door?”

“Two Reapers and a Disposer,” I murmur, inching my head around the dumpster we’re currently crouched behind. “Make that three Reapers—but the last one is shit-faced, it seems.”

“That fancy little mask tell you that?” Kain askes, his eye squinting dubiously.

“He’s stumbling around like a drunken ox. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s shit-faced.”

“Ladies,” Maverick grumbles, closing his hand in a “shush” motion. This earns him a murderous glare from Kain—which he ignores. “Can we please stop the bickering? I’d like to at least make it a foot inside the building before we’re discovered.”

“Tell that to him.” I jerk my head at Kain. “He’s deliberately questioned me at every tur⁠—”

“Quiet!” Maverick whispers, ducking behind the cover of the dumpster as one of the sober Reapers jerks his head toward us. “We’ve been fucking spotted.”

“Of course we have,” I groan. “I hope you realize this is your fault, Mr. Hellfyre,” I scoff, reaching for my gun at the same time Kain presses the tip of his to my forehead.

“You wanna try that again?” Kain snarls, his one eye darkening murderously.

“Oh my God,” I groan, rolling my eyes to the star-less sky. “If I knew you were going to be such a pissant, I would have done this by myself.”

“What the⁠—”

The three of us whip our heads at the unfamiliar voice, coming face-to-face with one of the white-masked Reapers.

“Who the fuck are you guy⁠—”

There’s a loud bang, and a perfect black circle appears in the center of the mask, right where his forehead would be. The Reaper teeters on his feet, and a moment later, his body collapses to the pavement, limbs splayed like a broken rag doll.

“Fuck!” Kain snaps, turning his glare onto me once more. “That one was mine.”

“My bullet lodged in his gray matter says otherwise,” I taunt, waving the hot-tipped pistol in the air to prove his point. “Not my fault you’re a slow shot.”

“Would you two shut the fuck up?” Maverick groans, holding his head in his palms as I lean past the edge of the dumpster to line up my shot. The other three Masks haven’t so much as looked this way, leading me to believe all of them are inebriated. It would make sense, considering the first Reaper’s reaction to discovering a couple of strange men holed out near the Sanctum’s secret entrance.

Holding my breath, I steady my hand, clearing my mind of any thoughts and forcing my pulse to steady. One one thousand…. Two one thousand…. Three one thousand.

Bang! BangBang!

The last three men slump to the ground in a heap, several cracks ringing out as their metallic masks smack against the asphalt.

A satisfied smile makes its way over my face as I turn back to Kain and Maverick, currently shaking their heads in disbelief. “What? Someone had to do something.”

Kain just rolls his eye while Maverick laughs, holding a hand to his thin, suit-laden chest. “And here I was, thinking we were trying to be quiet.”

“A little too late for that,” I grumble, my smile falling as I jerk my head toward the first fallen Reaper. “Plus, it’s fucking Moriton. You really think a few shots are going to cause alarm?”

Kain grumbles under his breath as he stands, following close behind me and Maverick as we race toward the entrance.

Kain and Maverick wait a few paces away while I break open the door, their heads moving on a swivel as they watch the alley, listening for the sound of booted footsteps coming to kill us all.

“Got it,” I announce, waving a hand at them to follow me down the tunnel-like hallway. My boots are silent against the plush gold carpet as I glide down the main stretch, my chest tightening as the golden walls appear to close in on me from all angles, threatening to bury me alive in their luxurious, molten hue. Warm light emanates from embossed sconces lining the walls, leading our way like a trail of expensive breadcrumbs. When I think about where the trail ends, my chest constricts further, squeezing all the air from my lungs.

At the very end of the hallway is an old wooden door, the handle made of tarnished brass—and, therefore, the only thing in this place not glimmering in shades of gold.

The service shaft.

I discovered it years ago when I was just a young Phantom. This shaft is basically a master key to every floor in the building, used by the maids, cooks, and Masks that tend to the Sanctum’s every need. When I first found it, I couldn’t believe they just left it unguarded. Of course, when you think the only threat comes from the outside, I guess you spend less time trying to protect the inner workings of your home.

With one last look down the way we came from, Maverick and Kain follow me into the damp service shaft. It reeks of mildew and rot, but the iron staircase is still sturdy, and I waste no time hurtling up flight after flight. After about a dozen floors, we step out onto a landing with a sleek wrought iron, and I hold a hand up to signal them to stop. Stepping up to the door, I pull a silver beetle-shaped device from my pocket and place it where the handle would be. The device glows molten red, emitting a high-pitched whirring noise. A few moments later, the beetle cools to a dark silver, and I push against the door, smiling when it swings open easily.

“The fuck was that?” Kain asks, his eye wide in amazement as he palms the silver beetle.

“Boring Beetle,” Maverick explains, pushing through the door after me. “The tech is pretty out of date, though. We’re lucky they haven’t bothered to update their security on the maintenance entrances.”

“Yeah, lucky,” I murmur, peeking around the door into yet another long hallway—this one pitch black, the gold on the walls barely visible due to the lack of lighting. “You think they know we’re here yet?”

“Hope so. I haven’t gotten to shoot a single one of these fuckers,” Kain grumbles a second before letting out a small curse as he stubs his toe on the wall. “Why the fuck is it so dark?”

“So we don’t get distracted by your pretty face, Reinholdy,” I coo. Kain swings at me and hits Maverick in the shoulder accidentally, and a low chuckle bounces around my chest as Maverick spews a curse.

“Would you two children pull yourselves together?” Maverick says, his tone one of exhaustion. “This is hardly the time to⁠—”

WAH… WAH… WAH…

The three of us exchange glances as the floodlights flip on, accompanied by the ear-piercing shriek of the alarm.

“Well, at least it isn’t dark anymore.” I shrug, earning me a murderous scowl from Kain as he draws his weapon. “What? You know I’m right.”

“Petulant imbeciles,” Maverick groans, pulling a sighted sidearm from his waist. “Focus! Or we’ll⁠—”

Bang!

Maverick dives to the side, and a bullet lodges into the wall where his forehead just was. He snaps his head up, his body already moving in a full-on sprint toward the stairs leading to the upper levels.

Bang! Bangbang!

“Kain!” I yell, chasing Maverick as he begins returning fire. “Come on!”

He rolls his eye, firing off two more shots before lumbering after Maverick and me. At the end of the hallway is another staircase laden with gold leaf and practically glowing.

“Where are we going?” Kain huffs, taking the stairs three at a time to catch up to us.

“Hopefully, the Madam’s floor,” Maverick answers, shooting a look behind us to make sure the Reapers aren’t too close. “By the disgusting amount of gold on this stairwell, we’re on the right track.”

Gunshots fill the air as we climb, mingling with the pounding of boots in a terrifying, cacophonous symphony. My mind is numb, reminding me of the days before Brett. The days when the only thing that mattered was my duty, where there wasn’t a single thing in the world I desired. The numbness fills my head with static, blocking out the sound of the bullets whizzing past me.

Would she forgive me? If she knew the only reason I’m doing this anymore is for her?

I don’t think about that. I can’t think about that. Especially when we near the landing and a stray bullet pierces Maverick’s calf. In slow motion, he pitches to the side, and I hold my arms up, steadying his body so he doesn’t fall to his death.

“Come on, Maverick,” I snap, shoving him forward onto the landing with a grunt. He crawls the last few steps, a trail of red staining the floor as he drags his leg behind him.

“Fuck,” he groans, holding himself up at a strange angle. With a shaking hand, he reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a syringe, the cylindrical cavity swirling with and opaque silver liquid. With a grunt, he rips the cap off with his teeth and plunges the needle into the wound, a hiss of pain falling from his lips as the medicine enters his body. The flesh around the wound bubbles and ripples, rejecting the strange substance. But then—miraculously—the edges of his skin meld together like someone raised a zipper on the wound, quelling the flow of blood instantly. Maverick sighs as he inspects his handiwork, then rests his head on the floor while Kain thunders to the top of the landing.

“You good?” he asks Maverick, holding out a hand for him to stand. Maverick nods, but still takes the offering, wobbling slightly when he’s back on his feet. “Shit, I could have used some of that stuff a couple of months ago.”

Maverick coughs, pushing off Kain as soon as he’s able. “It’s only temporary and just for small—small wounds,” he says, his voice breaking in the middle as he fights for breath. “I forgot how much this hurts. I envy you, Ghost.”

“You shouldn’t,” I answer simply.

Boots thunder against the stairwell, shaking the foundation as the Reapers race to get to us. Taking my attention away from Maverick’s injury, I place another Boring Beetle on the golden door, the seconds passing painfully slow as it glows and whirs through the sounds of gunfire filling the room.

“How long is that thing gonna take?” Kain demands, firing off the last of his rounds. He curses, falling into a crouch just as the beetle clicks. I yank the door open, allowing Kain and Maverick to mass through first.

I close the door behind us—if only to offer protection from stray bullets—and race down the hall after Kain and Maverick. To his credit, the former Phantom is keeping up well despite his injury. And when a red masked Disposer steps around the corner, he’s even able to deliver a killing blow quick enough to avoid alerting any other masks in the area.

However, when we take a stairwell to a higher level, three Reapers step around the corner to block the next stairwell, and I know the entire building is about to be alerted to our presence.

“What the…?” The mask in the middle reaches for the gun at his waist a moment too late, and Maverick's bullet sails through his forehead. Two more shots ring out, and the masks at his side slump on top of his body, utterly dead.

I give Maverick an appreciative nod and follow him up three more levels, where we’re met with another couple of Disposers. However, these guys were looking for us, so we don’t have the element of surprise. While Kain fights the one on the right, Maverick goes to the left, leaving me with the two in the center.

The dark-haired one charges at my middle, and I twist out of his reach just in time to downswing my dagger into the center of his back. As he howls in agony, I turn my attention to the other, barely having enough reaction time to duck before his blade pieces my jugular. I sweep my leg under his feet, and the giant man falls to the floor like a felled tree. I use my momentum to roll to the side, grabbing the knife from the first’s back and leaping to my feet.

I flick my knife between the first guy’s eyebrows, a demented smile lighting my face as it hits home with a sickening schunk, then leap forward, pulling my gun from my waist midair and firing off two rounds into the second Mask’s chest. His body jerks as each bullet hits home, and when I land, I add one for between his brows for good measure.

When I realize Kain and Maverick have handled their opponents as well, I retrieve my dagger from the first Mask’s forehead and hurry after them down the hall, my movement slowing for some strange reason.

I shake my head, forcing my legs to move faster despite the fuzziness growing in my mind. I only stop when Kain yells out, looking down in horror at the large trail of red I’ve left behind me.

“Shit,” I murmur, looking down at my pant leg saturated with my blood and dripping rubies onto the carpet. “Fuck, he must have clipped an artery.”

Maverick rushes over, pulling another silver syringe from his pocket. “Here. It’ll only hold for an hour or so, but you’ll bleed out in a fucking minute otherwise.”

I raise my brows, but still take the thing and jam it into the large gash situated on my inner thigh. “Don’t suppose you have any more of these?”

Maverick shakes his head. “Just the two.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to do this quickly.” I sigh, waiting until the room stops spinning to continue down the hall. We move as fast as we can through the rest of the levels, taking out Reapers and Disposers whenever we come into contact with them.

but it doesn’t stop us from charging through the last door. Unlike the last corridors, this one is bathed in rich, red stone—the gold sconces illuminating a series of pictures situated every couple of feet along the length of the passage, though I’m in too much of a rush to see what they depict.

The three of us come to a halt before a plain red wall, and Kain lets out a curse as I inspect the seamless slab of stone. “Don’t suppose there's any chance that little beetle thing can bore through stone, is there?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Maverick?”

Maverick puts his hand on my shoulder, pushing me to the side as he steps up to the wall. Like he’s done it a thousand times before, he raises his wrist to an inconspicuous spot on the stone, pressing the flesh flush against it. A moment later, a section of the wall slides back and to the side, giving way to a small golden tunnel.

“Ghost didn’t just need me for backup, you know,” Maverick murmurs, patting Kain on the shoulder before stepping forward into the confined space. “You coming?”

Kain murmurs something unintelligible under his breath as he follows, and I have to stifle a laugh despite the gravity of the situation. Find the silver lining, I say. Or in this case—gold.

We wind through a series of small tunnels, each stretch veering off to the left or right every couple of yards, disorienting me and bathing me in claustrophobia as we navigate through the maze. We take the next left, and a spot of light appears at the end of the tunnel, brightening my chest with something like hope. We’re almost there. We almost made it⁠—

WAH… WAH… WAH… INTRUDERS… INITIATE EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN SEQUENCE… WAH…WAH…

“Come on!” Maverick yells, charging ahead toward that little light. Shadows appear in the center a moment after he says it, their Reaper-shaped frames blocking out most of the light. Maverick raises his weapon, firing off two rounds into the head Reaper’s chest. He collapses, his massive shoulders creating a kind of roadblock for all the other Masks trailing. Maverick fires off three more rounds as the Reapers try to clamor over their fallen brother, ultimately collapsing on top of him and making the problem worse.

Maverick stops a few yards away, leaving enough room for Kain and me to squeeze past him as he lines up his shot. Two more rounds whiz past my head, landing square in the chest of the unfortunate Reaper, who happened to clamber over the pile. He falls to the ground a few feet away from the others, one hand clutching his chest as the blood bubbles past his fingers.

Kain leaps over the fallen Mask like he’s a damn track star, barrelling headfirst into the next wave of Reapers appearing to block our escape. With a mighty roar, he raises his dagger and begins slashing wildly, incapacitating the Masks just long enough for me to jump in and finish them off.

I’m in the middle of dragging my dagger across the third Reaper's throat when screeching metal fills the hall, and I jerk my head up in alarm. At the end of the tunnel, I can make out the Madam's elaborate golden door—but more importantly, I can see the thick metal slab sliding into place.

“Ghost, you need to go!” Kain yells, twisting his hands and snapping the neck of the Mask between his palms. Sensing my hesitation, he rolls his eye and physically pushes me toward the exit. “We got it from here! Go! Now!”

I make the mistake of looking back toward Maverick only to see a swarm of white-masked Reapers emerging from the shadows of the tunnels we just came through. My feet are frozen as two masks descend on Maverick, who, out of bullets, tries to smash the butt of the handle against the first Reaper's skull. He dodges the blow easily and bends low, sweeping a leg under Maverick’s feet and sending him crashing to the ground.

“Maverick!” I yell, about to rush as help when Kain swings an arm out, holding me in place.

“I’ll help him,” he grumbles, jerking a thumb in the direction of the disappearing golden door. “You need to fucking go! Like yesterday.”

A third Reaper rushes past Maverick, his dagger poised to strike. With a murderous growl, Kain rushes forward, easily overpowering the Mask and quickly maneuvering him into a headlock. Over his shoulder, three more Reapers descend onto Maverick, their own weapons drawn and ready to end his life.

“Go now, Boy!” Maverick yells, sensing my gaze—the fact that I can’t fucking leave him there to die like that. I look helplessly from the door to Maverick to Kain, who is too busy fending off his own opponent to help Maverick in time. I have to make a choice, and I have to make it now. Kill the Madam or save Maverick.

“Go, Boy!” he yells, slamming his elbow back into one of the Masks as the other stabs his dagger into Maverick’s shoulder. “That’s a fucking order!”

I almost disobey. But then, I see the third mask slam his dagger through Maverick’s stomach, and I know my choice has been made. Maverick will die, and I will be left to avenge him. I take a moment to breathe, steeling myself for what’s to come. Madam is a skilled fighter, and with her tigers and Table members, there is almost no way I’m going to make it out alive—even without my current injury. But then I think of Brett, of the world I’ll be leaving behind if I’m not successful. And I step into the mouth of the beast.

“I’m sorry, Maverick,” I murmur, turning on my heel and racing toward the closing sleet wall as his pained grunts ring out behind me. I make it to the door just in time, barely having enough time to slide through before the steel wall slices me in half.

“Hello,” I greet, reveling in the shocked expressions hiding behind the Table member’s gold masks. Then I turn my gaze to the Madam, and the shock of fear in her cold green eyes confirms my every wish: she’s fucking terrified of me. Of the thing she created.

“Tell me…” I croon, taking a daring step toward her. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like to die?”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

BRETT

“So do we have a plan?” I ask, staring in awe at the massive gold-hued skyscraper. I’ve driven by this building hundreds of times on the way to work, and I never would have assumed something so sinister was going on within its walls. I guess there really is some sense to the whole “hiding in plain sight” thing.

Orion cuts his gaze to me, his shoulders shrugging in answer to my question. “I mean… the best thing I could come up with is just… fuck it.”

“Fuck it… alright.” I sigh, unbuckling my seat belt. “Let’s go with it.”

Orion and I jump from the truck, Rupert following close at our heels and searching for threats. The walk to the back alley is eerily quiet, but when we come to the secret back entrance Orion told me about, I nearly vomit as the metallic tang of blood and death smacks me in the face.

Four masked bodies lie lifeless in the alley—three by the hatch and one by the dumpster. All gruesome and bloody. I try to keep my eyes forward, keep my focus on getting to that hatch, but all that goes out the window when Orion races over to one of the bodies.

Orion crouches by the masked man’s shoulder, his shoulders quaking. “Oh my God… Steve? Aw, fuck. No. Noooo. Fuck, man,” he moans, cupping his face in his hands. A surge of awkwardness lights my veins as I pat the boy on the shoulder, which only seems to worsen his woes.

“I’m so sorry. Were you two… close?”

Orion looks up, his brows scrunched together, and zero sign of the tears I thought would be streaming down his cheeks. “What? No! The asshole owed me money. Now I’m never going to get that fifty buck…” he grumbles, standing and dusting off his shirt before casually strutting toward the hatch.

“What?” he asks, his steps halting when he realizes I’m not following. “Something wrong?”

Fucking lunatics. All of them. I shake my head, stumbling after him into the dark hatch. Rupert lags to sniff at one of the corpses, and I nearly pass out when his tongue darts across the bloodied white mask—as if he’s testing if the man is really dead.

“Rupert! Get the fuck away from that!” A large blue eye pierces me through the shadows, a few seconds passing before he decides to follow my orders. “Thank God,” I grumble. Rushing after Orion, who’s already halfway through the small hatch at the base of the building.

“How do you know about this place?” I whisper, fighting the urge to run my fingertips along the golden walls of the long—hallway?—we’re racing through.

“Ghost mentioned it once. Watch your step,” Orion whispers, veering left and racing toward an uncompromising-looking door at the end of the short corridor. “After you, love,” he murmurs, shoving me through the opened door and up a flight of wrought-iron stairs.

A gentle tink breaks the silence as a bullet dislodges, smacking a lower stair in its tumble to the ground, and for the first time, I let myself wonder what I’ll do if Ghost is actually dead.

“Orion?”

“Mhm?”

“Is it weird that we haven’t heard anything? Like, don’t you think we’d hear gunshots or something?”

Orion shrugs, gripping my elbow and hurrying me toward the landing. “Maybe everyone’s dead.”

Maybe Ghost is, too… I shake my head, deciding not to think of that as a possibility. Instead, I try to focus on the various hallways and staircases we pass through, trying not to grow despondent by the amount of death we pass by. But there’s just so much of it, and I can’t help letting my mind wander to that dark little corner shoved all the way in the back. And then I start losing a grip on my control. I start thinking about morbid things—things like, how could Ghost still be alive after all this? How could any of them?

By the time we reach the top, I’ve completely lost track of how many stairs we’ve raced up—how many hallways we’ve traveled through. The roaring fire in my thighs tells me it must be in the hundreds, but I don’t care enough to ask. All I want—all I’m consumed with—is getting to Ghost.

Alive or dead.

Shell casings crunch under my heels as I climb, and when we get about halfway up, I realize why we haven’t heard any gunshots. So much blood and carnage stains the way, it causes my stomach to turn. Bodies litter the stairwell like a trail of breadcrumbs, and Orion has to lead me by the elbow until we make it onto a bare, steel landing. There's another iron door with a hole where a handle should be, as well as spatters of blood along the rim alluding to what’s in store for me on the other side. More death. More blood.

The increasing probability that one of these lifeless, bloody bodies will end up being Ghost. I shake my head to cast the thought away, giving it a new home in the air of these hallowed halls. That type of thinking is better suited to die here, at home with all the other nightmares this building covets.

We step through the door into yet another golden hallway, lined with even more splayed, lifeless men. Some have masks the color of arterial blood—such a dark, rich shade of red contrasting ironically with the snow-colored masks of the others. That smell of rot is heavy in this hallway, and I have to breathe through my nose as I step over the countless bodies so I don’t lose my lunch.

I do, however, lose myself to my thoughts as Orion leads me through countless hallways, up hundreds—no, thousands—of stairs, to the point where my legs become numb from the strain.

It’s only when Orion tugs at my arm that I know we’ve finally made it to the top. He pries open the metal door ever so slightly, peeking around the door for potential threats. After a moment, he pushes through the door and into—yes, another—long hallway. Although, unlike the glowing gold of the others, the walls of this hallway seem to be lined with luxurious red velvet. Only, when I run my fingers along them, it feels like stone.

They’re bare, save for nine gold-rimmed portraits spanning the length of the right-hand side of the hallway. I step up to the one closest me, a small gasp falling from my lips as I take in the gruesome depiction.

My eyes are drawn to the disfigured bodies lining the foreground of the cavernous scene, several of them lying smashed and battered against the rocks. But the sight pales in comparison to the great winged beast emerging from the shadows, clawed hands wrapped greedily around a bloody, headless body.

The ninth circle of Hell: Treachery.

Goose bumps run across my arms, but try as I might, I can’t pull my eyes away from the picture. That is, until Orion pulls at my elbow, breaking my trance.

“Come on. We’re almost there,” he whispers, pulling me down the rest of the long red hallway. I carefully step over the bodies of the white-masked Reapers lying in the center of the floor, holding my breath so as not to breathe in the smell of death.

“Okay…” I whisper, trying to keep my eyes off the eight other pictures of hell we pass. Although none of them are quite as terrifying as that first one, each time I catch sight of a fucked-up depiction, my skin crawls.

When we make it to the end of the passage, there’s a square hole in the wall, almost like the secret stone doorways to Ghost’s house. Orion and I exchange glances before rushing inside, nary a thought for either of our well-being.

A maze of corridors ensues, twisting and turning in such a way that makes me dizzy. Just when I think the horrible tunnel of doom will never end, I catch a tiny dot of light at the end of the passage we’re currently racing down.

“Orion! We’re almost there!” I say, willing my legs to move faster toward that growing blip of hope. The same hope that stutters in my chest when we come across a heap of bloody, lifeless masked men. The angle of their bodies partially blocks the way, and we have to physically climb over them to make it the rest of the way.

My heart soars when we make it to the other side, only to be dashed on the cold stone walls when I make out two familiar, slumped figures toward the tunnels exit.

“Kain?” I whisper. When nothing answers, I clear my throat and dare a louder pitch. “Kain?”

One of the figures stirs, appearing to be trying to stand, and I race toward them before Orion has a chance to hold me back. The closer I get, the more I recognize the brutal panes of Kain’s masked face, his one good eye squinted in pain as he clutches his ribs on the left side of his body.

“Kain! Where’s Ghost?” I ask, crouching to shove a hand into his chest, forcing him to relax.

“I’m great, thanks for asking.” He lobs his famous glare my way, only for it to be replaced with a look of concern a heartbeat later. “You just missed him. He’s in there,” he murmurs, pointing a blood-caked index finger toward the large slab of metal at the passageway’s exit. “You can’t—can’t get in there. I tried,” he says, a rattling breath interrupting his sentence. The left half of his face scrunches in pain as he tries to sit up, and I shove him back down once more.

“I believe you,” I say, turning my desperate look onto Orion. “What do we do?”

Orion opens his mouth to speak when a horrible, rattling cough fills the air. Our gazes jerk to the other figure, nearly invisible with the way he’s curled in the fetal position at Kain’s hip.

“Oh, yeah. Mav’s dying.” Kain shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Meanwhile, my heart feels like it’s about to thump its way out of my mouth.

Orion is the first to move, stepping over and crouching by Maverick’s head. “I mean… he doesn’t look great.”

“I-it was… ne—necessary,” Maverick says, his voice cutting in and out due to his damaged voice box. With a shuddering sigh, he rips the mask from his face, only to let his arm drop limply to the pavement a moment later, the cracked black mask clutched tightly between his fingers.

“Brett. You look so much like your mother.”

My chest seizes at the voice—so much older than I had imagined. So much pain lacing his tone, it causes a shiver to run the length of my spine. His eyes are the deepest brown I’ve ever seen—pools of molten chocolate that pair elegantly with the flecks of gold surrounding his iris. Though bloodied and raw, I can still tell he carries those raw masculine features most women find attractive. In another world, I could see my mom and him together, arm in arm strolling through the park. Perhaps if she had picked him, things would have turned out differently.

“I loved her, you know,” he whispers, struggling with the words like he’s struggling for air. “I love…loved⁠—”

“I know,” I whisper, reaching a hand out and placing it on his. “I know you do. Even now, I know.”

“She deserved so much—so much better than she got. I just want you to have a chance at the things she didn’t. It’s why I agreed to help…” His sentence cuts off as he dissolves into a coughing fit, and I retract my hand as he cradles his to his oozing, bloodied chest. “It was supposed to happen this way. I would not have died for a less noble cause, Brett Evangeline.”

Piercing brown eyes capture mine, stealing all the breath from my lungs with the intensity swirling there. And though I’m sure it takes the last of his strength, Maverick's voice remains strong as he utters one last order.

“Make sure it was worth it.”

A wheeze sounds out, the last of his life leaving in a shuddering exhale, and Maverick's head falls to the floor, his eyes still half-open and staring at nothing.

“Well, fuck.”

I blink at Kain, something in my chest splintering at the sight of his indifferent expression. Just like with Ghost, I wonder what a person has to go through to make them so detached to the sight of death. I barely knew Maverick, yet it feels like holes are peppering my soul knowing that a life has just ended.

But I can’t think about that right now. I have to keep going. Swallowing hard, I tug Orion’s elbow and race to the end of the tunnel, only to find that Kain was right. There’s a giant slab of metal, where a door should be, concealing the entrance to Madam's chambers. I slam my palm to the wall in frustration, tears welling in the corners of my eyes. I look wildly around the space for something—anything—that could be used to unlock the door.

“Kain was right. There’s no way in,” I whisper, fighting the urge to claw at the stone till my fingers are bloodied. “Orion, what do we do?”

He shakes his head, shaggy black bangs falling over his squinted eyes as he inspects the metal wall. “I don’t know. There’s no fucking way we’re getting through this thing.”

The alarm fades to the background as my heart beats in my ears, an infuriated scream tearing from my lips as I lob a kick at the wall. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I press my forehead against the cool metal, an idea forming in the back of my mind, trying to break through the cloud of desperation.

“Orion? Does this place have some kind of guard house?”

Orion turns, his brows drawn together as he thinks. “Maybe? It would make sense. We came through the service entrance, but I assume the main lobby has something like that… Oh!” he exclaims, a smile spreading his lips. “You think…?”

I nod, trying not to let my hopes get too high. “I think we can access the security panel from there. If you can disarm the system somehow⁠—-”

“Already on it!” Orion calls out, his voice fading as he disappears into the tunnel, leaping over the fallen bodies in his haste. “Stay there! I’ll be back in a….”

I don’t get to hear what else Orion was going to say as his voice gets swallowed by the maze of tunnels. With nothing else to do, I stalk back into the tunnel with Rupert to check on Kain, my hand twitching nervously over the handle of my gun.

As I near, Kain meets my gaze, his dark brown eye holding a coldness that's contrary to the way I’ve seen him look at Lillith, and I can’t help but question which is the real Kain.

“You and Orion figure something out?”

I nod, reaching down to run my fingers through Ruper’s silky fur, hoping it will calm my nerves. “Hopefully.”

Kain stares at the wall over my shoulder, seeming to be focusing on his breathing. “I’d offer you this, but…” his great chest heaves a sigh as he waves his empty gun in the air. “All out of bullets.”

“That’s—that’s okay,” I murmur, shooting a nervous glance down the tunnel and praying for Orion to hurry up. “Are you… gonna be okay?”

He shrugs, wincing slightly as he adjusts his grip on his ribs, causing fresh red blood to pool through his scarred fingers. “Probably. I’ve survived worse.”

I try not to look at Maverick’s broken body lying next to him and wonder if he will suffer the same fate. There’s already been so much loss today, and I don’t know how much more I can take.

“You know Lillith will never forgive me if you die,” I whisper, straightening when I’m sure he’s not going to try to follow. “So don’t. Okay?”

“You?” He chuckles weakly, some of the ice melting in his gaze at the mention of his love. “She’d never forgive me. Hell, I’m pretty sure she’d follow me to the dark just to whoop my ass for leaving her. She seems sweet and innocent, but the woman is downright vicious.”

A small smile tips my lips despite the tears welling in my eyes. “You really love her, don’t you?”

He nods, his eye glazing over with some unspoken memory. “More than life itself.” Suddenly, he faces me, his gaze telling me all the words he doesn’t speak. “Just like you do Ghost.”

I open my mouth to disagree, but Kain’s knowing squint has the words dying in my throat. “He needs you, Brett. He needs you to save him from himself. I couldn’t—hell, now that I’m sitting here, I realize I never even tried. But you did. You are. You don’t give up on him, even when he’s given up on himself. I’ve never seen him so passionate, so…” He looks off again, lost for the words he needs to describe the change in the masked assassin. “He’s doing this for you, you know? He doesn’t think this world deserves you—doesn’t think he does. What he’s doing now—he thinks he’s removing every rotten thing from the earth to make it better for you. He’s sacrificing himself because he views himself as one of those things.”

“How do you⁠—?”

“Because it’s how I used to feel when I first met Lillith,” he murmurs, his gaze softening with a faraway look. “I wanted to burn the world down, even if it meant I forfeited my life. For her, I would have done anything. But she showed me that you can’t force the world to its knees—instead, you must let go. More importantly, she taught me that the best things bloom when given the freedom to do so…”

A long pause ensues as Kain peers up at me through a drooping eyelid, his chest heaving erratically as he finishes with, “But that was advice for me. Not for that masked maniac on the other side of the door.”

I choke on my surprise, but Kain continues undeterred, giving no reaction other than a slight lift in his brow. “Ghost views things in extremes. To him, letting go means death—not so different from what he’s trying to do now. He can’t see any other way to protect you.”

“But that’s… fucking insane.”

“He is insane,” Kain mutters, chuckling low under his breath. “He’s always been insane, Brett. And I’ll bet money that’s part of the reason you love him so much. Because you know you’ll never find that kind of devotion in another human being.”

I shake my head, even as his words drill into that little space in my heart I keep locked in an iron vault. The bastard is right, and I know it in every part of me. Ghost has bound himself to me in a way I can’t describe—like there’s a thread of light knitting our souls together, weaving the threads of our beings in a way that seems predestined by fate.

I look desperately toward the metal wall as if will alone could make it rise. I don’t know how the fuck Orion is going to find the main lobby or how long it will take, but I pray it’s soon.

I’m opening my mouth to respond to Kain when the alarm cuts off mid-wail, causing my words to die in my chest. I stare wide-eyed at the metal wall, waiting for something—anything—to let me know Orion was successful. For a moment, I think the plan failed, but then, a screech fills the small space, and the wall starts sliding up.

I jerk my gaze to Kain, who nods, reaching into his pocket and placing a bloodied silver dagger in my palm. “Go save the bastard, Brett.”

Tears fill my vision as I palm the dagger, not having the time to wipe them away as I race down the tunnel with Rupert hot at my heels. We come to a halt inches away, and I gaze down at the lower half of a glowing gold door, bouncing on my toes as I wait for the wall to raise enough to expose the handle. The seconds feel like hours, but eventually, the wall rises enough for me to wrap my hand around the golden knob.

Crouching down to Rupert’s level to squeeze under the metal gate, I throw the door open, a powerful wail piercing my ears as soon as the barrier is removed. The noise is so powerful and full of dismay that it reverberates to the marrow of my bones.

From my position, I can only see a woman sitting in the middle of an elaborate circular sitting room, the entire space cast in the most expensive gold-veined marble I’ve ever seen.

The woman herself looks like an installment in the room. Elaborate golden robes hang from her body flow to the floor in a shimmering golden pool, the color clashing brilliantly against her ivory venetian mask. The intricately carved headpiece covers the entirety of her face and hair, the only thing visible being a set of cold green eyes peeking through the diamond-lined eye slits.

“MURDERER!” she screams, pointing a shaking finger at something I can’t see past the doorframe. “MURDERER!”

Without thinking, I charge into the room with Rupert at my heels, taking stock of the situation with a single glance. Twelve men stand in a circle around the Madam, their wide eyes barely visible through the slits in their gold bird-beaked masks. In the commotion, no one’s realized I’ve entered the room—too busy staring at the thing in the corner to notice.

And that thing is Ghost, crouched over the body of a slain snow-white tiger. Wait—a fucking tiger? My mouth falls as I take in the sight, shock replacing all the fear flowing in my veins. And it’s not just me—the older, important-looking men in the bird masks look truly paralyzed at the sight.

Ghost raises his head, his body jerking as his eyes meet mine. A wave of electricity flows through me, tickling my scalp as the rest of the world fades, and it’s just the two of us in this room.

“Brett…” he breathes, seeming to lose focus as he stands on wobbly legs, leaving his dagger lodged in the beast. “Darling Brett…”

From the corner of my eye, I see another tiger. Except this one is very much alive and very much about to launch itself toward Ghost. I charge forward at the same time the beast lowers to the ground, its powerful muscles tensing in preparation to launch.

And I know—even as I raise my dagger, even as Ghost finally looks away from me, toward the great beast about to end his life—I know there’s no way I can react in time to stop it.

This is the end.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

GHOST

Brett is here. Here, looking at me with those worried blue eyes—eyes that hold so much sorrow. So much pain.

I want to reach out, reach inside her mind and tear out whatever revelation is causing it. I want to hold her soft, tearstained cheeks in my palms and tell her everything is okay. I’m making it okay. When this is all over, there won’t be a thing left in this city to harm her. I’m going to burn it all down—taking all the rot, all the disease with me.

For her. It’s always been for her.

I think back to a decade ago, when my control slipped for the very first time. She had no idea of my existence back then—how could she? But I knew her. And I knew the men who kidnapped and tortured her mother, the same ones I spent the last decade tracking down and killing.

Because helping Maverick track down Hudson and the other men who killed her mother wasn’t enough. Killing her foster father ten years ago wasn't enough. Drugging him the night she turned sixteen so he wouldn’t try any shit wasn’t enough, and neither was kidnapping him the day after on his morning hike. Torturing him and shoving his disgusting cock down this throat wasn't enough. Leaving his rotting, maggot-ridden corpse for the cops to find wasn’t enough.

I’ve always wanted to protect her. Even before I knew her, I wanted to take away her pain. Something inside me always drew me to her light, that little brilliance hidden behind enough darkness that no one even knew it was there. But it’s a marvelous light, the most rare kind of beauty. And now that it’s a part of me, I cannot be rid of it. Would never want to be.

And now she’s here. For me. She’s choosing… me.

I’m broken from my thoughts as Brett charges forward, seemingly in slow motion. Her mouth is opening wordlessly, her eyes big and wild with terror. And then I see it.

Madam’s second tiger, its cruel yellow eyes staring into my soul as it lowers to the ground, every muscle in its body poised to launch. A blink later, and it’s sailing through the air, those terrible clawed paws outstretched toward my chest, canines widening to fit around my throat.

I can’t move, and I can’t look away. Dread replaces that electricity in my veins, and I cast one last glance toward Brett, watching her heart rip in two as that great beast closes in on me. I’m so focused on memorizing her features that I don’t notice the small black cat squeezing out of one of Rupert's saddlebags.

No one notices, not even when the angry fuzz ball flies across the room, his minuscule arms outstretched with murderous intent. The tiger is feet from me when Venom lands with a yowl on the back of the tiger’s neck, sinking his canines into its collar before Nix has a chance to shake him off.

Its baser instincts take over, and the tiger twists midair as it refocuses its attention to the thing latched onto its neck, desperate to dislodge the ferocious black housecat. Due to the awkward twisting, the tiger veers off-course at the last second, landing on its side a few feet away from me. A moment later, the tiger rights itself, but instead of lunging for me again, its nose scrunches with a vicious snarl, and it swipes a paw over its shoulder, trying to hit Venom.

“VENOM!” Brett screams, changing course and racing toward the brawling cats. Before she makes it halfway, one of the table members lunges forward, gripping her by the elbow and hauling her back.

My vision swims in red as I race toward Brett and the Table member, my dagger poised at the level of his throat. I watch as he tries to draw his own dagger from his pocket, and knowing I’m still too far away to get a direct hit in, I launch my blade across the room, refusing to stop until I get to Brett. My dagger lands square in his forehead with a satisfying shunk, and as soon as Brett shoves the man back, his body collapses to the floor. Without so much as a glance behind her, she races forward toward the cats, her expression telling me she’s willing to fight the thing off with her bare hands if she must.

But then, the strangest thing happens: the tiger begins to vibrate. Those bright yellow eyes roll back as tremors wrack its huge body, the snow-white hair sticking straight up like it just got shocked with a bolt of electricity.

“Oh my God,” Brett whispers, lowering her arms as the tiger slumps to the floor with a mighty thud, its pink tongue lolling to the hardwood as its life leaves its body. At the back of its neck sits Venom, his pointy canines digging deep into the tigers electric collar, clearly unaffected by the jolt that sent the poor beast to an early grave. Venom’s angry yowls mingle with the Madams screams, reverberating off the stone walls in a macabre symphony.

“My babies!” Madam wails, falling to her knees as tears well in the eye slits of her elaborate gold mask. “Look what you’ve done!” she screeches, crawling to her fallen tiger. She looks wildly at each of the statuesque Table members, all too terrified to make the first move.

“Kill them!” she screams, pointing a shaking toward me, then Brett. “Someone fucking kill them!”

I look at Brett’s pale face, at the raw determination set in her delicate features. She’s already been through so much—I refuse to let any of these people take her life.

“That will not be happening,” I snarl, adjusting my grip on the dagger as I stare each one of them down. “You touch her, you die. You look at her, you die. Think about her? Guess what?” I launch my blade across the room, taking out another Table member with ease. “You fucking die.”

My body moves before I know what I’m doing. My attacks are so methodical, so furious, that they’re almost inhuman—a concentrated flurry of twists, blows, and slices that are delivered without an ounce of remorse. Brett stands frozen as I mow through each of the Table members in seconds, red pools of blood spilling across the floor and soaking the carpet in a deep maroon with each body I add to the circle.

To my amazement, the Madam doesn’t move as it’s happening, just sits with her face in her hands, her shoulders wracked with sobs for her fallen tigers. The sight is depressing, though I don’t feel bad for her in the slightest. I certainly feel bad for the beasts she taught to have a taste for human flesh, but for her, I harbor nothing but contempt. It creeps down to my marrow, infecting every cell in my body until the fire consumes me. I want to hurt her. I want to kill her.

As I’m drawing my knife over the last Table member's throat, I look up and see Brett lining up the barrel of a gun she must have found on the floor. She holds the tip of my barrel level to the Madam’s head, taking a steadying breath with her finger tightening on the trigger. I see the through pass in her eyes. How easy it would be to take the shot and end this. So, so easy…

Her index finger tightens to the point of no return, and just before the shot fires off, a scream breaks the air. Except, this time, it’s coming from me.

“Brett, NO!”

But it’s too late, and the bullet is on its trajectory, right toward the Madam’s skull. Like she has some kind of freaky sixth sense, the Madam dives to the side right as that trigger clicks, and her bullet lodges into the floor inches from where Madam’s head just was. She springs to her feet with an inhuman snarl and races forward with her red claws stretched toward Brett’s throat.

Brett tries to fire off another shot, but Madam is too close, and the bullet whizzes right past her shoulder. Madam knocks the gun out of Brett’s hand with a quick strike to the pressure point on her wrist, and in the next moment, she crouches low, sweeping her leg under Brett’s feet and sending her body careening backward to the floor.

I race forward as she slams into the ground, the sound of the breath leaving her lungs, taking all the oxygen out of mine. I’m still too far away, and I watch helplessly as the Madam’s hands wrap around Brett’s neck and squeeze.

“If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” she snarls, a manic sheen in her bright green eyes. “You useless, horrible little brat. All you had to do was die, and none of this would have happened! I am the queen, dammit! I am the ruler of this city! I am your god, you ungrateful little cunt,” she spits, her voice raising an octave as her madness takes hold. Her crazed laugh bounces off the walls as Brett’s face purples. She kicks and fights against the Madam’s hold, but she’s far too strong—almost as strong as me, for fuck’s sake—and there’s no way for her to break free.

“And you—” Her voice cracks as her hands tighten. “You are the fucking worm beneath my shoe. And now, you are going to die⁠—”

The Madam’s voice is cut off with a horrible squelch, and Brett watches with wide eyes as the tip of my dagger presses through the center of her throat. Beads of rubies pill at the edges of the wound, and when I yank the blade back, a waterfall of red rains down on her, some of it unfortunately trailing into her nose and mouth.

Brett chokes on the warm red as she scurries out from underneath a dying, gasping Madam, taking in choking lungfuls of her own needed oxygen.

“Brett darling,” I whisper, taking my face between his hands and attempting to wipe the red away as best I can. “Darling, talk to me. Can you breathe?”

She nods, but is still unable to speak, and I pull her gently into my chest, breathing in a deep, calming breath of her scent.

“Come on, beautiful,” I whisper, cradling her against my chest as I stand. The Madam is gasping on the ground, horrible wet gurgling noises pouring from the hold in her throat. I notice Brett looking, and I grip her chin, forcing her eyes away from the scene.

“Don’t watch,” I murmur, making sure her eyes are locked one me instead of the horrible sight at my feet. “She’ll be dead soon enough.”

Brett nods, casting her gaze toward Venom, who is settling into one of the pockets in Rupert's knapsack. As soon as the little cat is secure, Rupert follows me out of the room, his nails clicking against the floor with each step. I pull Brett impossibly tight to my chest, using my body to block the carnage in the room from her sight as I step through the golden doorway and toward the maze of tunnels.

“Ghost.”

I’m ducking through the opening as her tinkling voice breaks out, and I stop short, examining her expression for any sign of discomfort.

“It’s good to hear your voice again, darling,” I murmur. “Are you in pain?”

She shakes her head, but I don’t miss the slight wince at the corner of her eye from the movement. I’m sure her throat is killing her—the sooner I get her to a doctor, the better.

With one last lingering glance, I hurry past the mouth of the tunnel, having to look away to focus on my footing in the dim passageway. I normally wouldn’t have to, but there’s a fuzziness growing in the corners of my vision, causing me to stumble every step or two.

About halfway down the first stretch, I come across Kain’s and Maverick’s slumped forms, and for a horrible moment, I think they’re both dead. Rupert lets out a low whine, pressing his nose against my leg as he mirrors my concern. But then Kain raises his head, a familiar glare finding me in the shadows.

“Took your ass long enough.”

“I’m happy to see you too, old friend,” I murmur, snapping an arm against the wall to steady myself when I stupidly try to put my weight on my right side. “Maverick…?”

Kain looks at the slumped figure at his side, and his only answer is a slight shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Ghost.”

I take a breath, a strange swirl of emotions rattling my chest wall. Ever since I was a child, I always viewed Maverick as this indomitable force—more idea than man. And yeah, he was a sadistic piece of shit, but he certainly wasn’t the worst of them.

Crouching with Brett carefully stabilized in my arms, I palm the cracked black mask lying inches from Maverick’s head. A mask he wore for so many years—a mask that became part of him. In the end, he cast it aside. In the end, he decided to give himself for something more—something selfless. And for that, I think I almost respect him.

“You will not be forgotten, brother,” I whisper, placing the mask delicately over his chest—right where his beating heart would be.

Silence greets me as I stand back up, broken a moment later by the sound of footfalls drawing nearer through the tunnels. Kain and I tense at the same moment, our hands slipping to our weapons in case we need to make a last stand.

Through the shadows, I start to make out a figure. His frame is lanky, and the closer he gets, I can make out strands of wild black hair hanging over a piercing pair of sky-blue eyes.

“Orion,” I whisper, nearly collapsing in relief as his telltale smirk becomes clear. “I was about to kill you.”

“I’d like to have seen you try, old man,” Orion jeers, stopping a few feet from Kain. He rakes a hand through his hair, a satisfied grin splitting his lips. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For?”

“Saving the day.” Orion rolls his eyes. “Brett didn’t tell you how I totally ran down and⁠—?”

“We’ll have all the time in the world to discuss this when we get home.” I interrupt, blinking away a fresh wave of dizziness. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

“No fucking fun,” Orion grumbles, stooping and lending an arm to help Kain stand. Reluctantly, Kain accepts, throwing a burly arm over Orion's shoulder. I worry Kain’s weight will crush the boy, but Orion remains surprisingly steady as he helps Kain hobble down the tunnel.

We make it through the tunnels and out into the red velvet-lined hallway without any issues, but when we’re halfway down the first service stairwell, another wave of vertigo nearly sends me reeling to my death. I grip the railing like it’s my lifeline, the other arm clutching Brett to me so hard I’m sure I’m hurting her. But I can’t loosen my grip. If I let go even a little bit, I know there will be nothing standing between me and oblivion.

We’re halfway down the first golden corridor when I realize I’m limping. I cast a glance behind me, noticing several puddles of blood staining the luxurious golden floors. It’s a thick dark red—and I’m no fucking doctor, but I know losing that much blood this quickly can not be good.

“Ghost?” Brett’s voice is laced with concern, but I can’t look at her. I have to keep moving forward. If I stop, I die. And I don’t want to fucking die yet.

Brett slaps her hand against my chest in an attempt to gain my attention. “Ghost, put me down.”

“Mhwy push yew dowhn?” I frown at my strange-sounding speech, willing my tongue to do anything other than lie heavy at the bottom of my mouth. “Iem fineee.”

My steps slow as the room spins in and out of focus, and I catch Brett gazing at the puddle of blood forming beneath my right leg.

“Ghost? Ghost, what’s wrong?” she cries, wriggling against my hold with an animalistic desperation. I try to fight her, but I’m far too weak, and she slips from my arms at the same time my knees slam to the ground with a mighty crack.

I reach for Brett as the room slips to the side, uselessly swiping the air as the rest of my body collapses in a heap. Labored gasps rattle through my voice mod, and I’m suddenly overcome with claustrophobia, needing nothing more at this moment than to get the horrible metal off my skin.

“Ghost!” Orion and Kain shout in unison, sounding much too far away to make sense. I’m a thousand feet underground, a new shovel of dirt covering my grave with each passing second.

I’m vaguely aware of Orion saying something about going to check Maverick’s body for something to help me. I want to tell him it’s useless—that there never was hope for me, and nothing has changed. But I’m too weak to tell him this, and in the next minute, his footsteps disappear in the direction we just came from.

“Ghost! Talk to me!” Brett demands, taking my masked face between her hands, only to rip it off a moment later. “Ghost, where are you hurting?” She asks, cursing as soon as the question sounds. Realizing I wouldn’t know where.

“I’m gonna have to tear your clothes to find it, okay?” She asks, probably more to keep herself calm than actually inform me of what she’s doing.

“Stay awake, okay?” Her voice trembles as she begins ripping my pants apart from the base. When she gets to my thigh, the blood flows faster, and a gasp pours from her throat as she takes in the seriousness of the injury. Blood shoots from the wound with every beat of my heart, soaking my clothes and covering Brett’s hands as she desperately tries to stanch the bleeding.

Realizing it’s doing nothing, she sits back with a scream, tears pouring down her cheeks as the last spark of hope leaves her lovely blue eyes.

“Brett,” I whisper, using the last of my strength to call her to me. “Brett, come here. Don’t be afraid.”

She scootches up toward my head, pulling me into her lap.

“Ghost,” she whispers, voice cracking painfully. “Ghost, you have to hold on. Orion will find us soon. Someone will⁠—”

“Brett,” I insist, cutting off whatever lie she was going to say next. “Brett, I’m dying.”

“N–no you’re not!” she screams, her mind refusing to believe it. “You’re going to make it! We’re both going to make it.” Those twinkling sapphires take me in, expecting me to say something reassuring—to tell her I’m going to fight. That I’ll be okay.

But I just shake my head. “Brett darling, could you please take off my mask? I’d like… I’d like to look at you one last time, if that’s okay.”

I close my eyes, resting my head on the pavement as her fingertips curl around my mask, prying it gently from my face. Light, beautiful sunlight shines on my face as I gaze up at her—the woman who breathed life into these tired bones. Who showed me what it is to feel and be happy when I believed I had lost the capacity.

She looks sad. So, so sad. She shouldn’t look this sad, not when the sun shines so beautifully on her raven hair.

“Brett,” I whisper. “Sweet, darling Brett.”

I expect her to pull me into her embrace, but to my surprise, she grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Don’t you say that!” she yells. “Don’t you dare call me sweet! You get up, and you fight! You get up, and you fight for me, dammit! For us!”

I remember the words I told her so long ago—how I would only tell her she was sweet on my deathbed. God, how I wish it weren’t the case.

“As you wish,” I whisper, an ironic smile twisting my mouth. I want to tell her—tell her it’s going to be okay. That this isn’t goodbye. That I’ll find her in the next life, and the next. That I’ll tear down cities for a single moment, a mere glance from her beautiful ocean eyes.

That I will love her. That I have loved her. Throughout this life, the last, and the next. Tears are streaming down her beautiful, soft cheeks, and I want so badly to reach up. To wipe them away, or to fill my mouth with her taste, like I have so many times before. But I don't have the strength. Nor the time.

“You have made me… so happy.” I cough, finding it hard to talk through the blood filling my lungs. “Happier than I should have been. Happier than I ever deserved. You gave me… you gave me everything, Brett. I wish…” I take a breath, wishing more than anything I could hold her one last time. Wishing I could kiss her beautiful raven hair or touch her lovely pink lips. Wishing more than anything that I could tell her that.

“I wish… I could have returned the favor.”

As the last word passes my lips, the darkness swallows me whole.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

BRETT

Ghost closes his eyes, and I shake as painful sobs wrack my body. There’s nothing—nothing I can do.

“But you did,” I whisper, pushing his hair off his sweat-lined brow. “You did return the favor,” I sob. The snot bubbles from my nose, making my words unintelligible. “You-you’re everything to me. Please don’t… don’t….”

I don’t care that Kain watches me fall apart. I can’t care. Shouldn’t, especially when he’s going through a similar loss as me. Horrible, choking sobs bounce off the arched stone hallway, each one growing in strength and desperation. There’s a hole where my heart used to be—a black, rotting, awful thing—and I want nothing more than to reach my hand in and tear out the necrosis. I’ve lost him. Lost the only man I’ve loved—will ever love. And I never even fucking told him.

“Brett…” Kain whispers, sounding unsure for the first time since I’ve known him. “Brett, he’s⁠—”

Ignoring Kain’s words trying to coax me back to reality, I rock back and forth, cradling his head to my chest. “I love you,” I choke, the words breaking my rib cage wide open. “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry I never said it. I swear, I’ll say it every damn day—I’ll scream it from the rooftops. Just… please come back. Please, I… I can’t do this without you.” I peek down at his pallid face, but no matter how much I want it to be, he doesn’t move. Not even so much as a flutter of his eyelids.

“No,” I moan, every bone in my body bursting, filling me with a deep-rooted pain. “No, please. Please, please, plea⁠—”

A scuffle to my left has my last thread of lucidity snapping to attention, and my desperate ramblings die in my throat. I raise my head, eyes wildly scanning the rows of doorways for threats. I start to think I imagined it—that the sound was just a product of my shattering mind—-but then I see her. A girl.

About fifty paces away, crouched behind the archway is a girl no older than sixteen, her snow-white hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate twisting braid. Tiny flower clips adorn the updo like constellations, their golden hue eerily matching the color of her large, wide-set eyes. Long, flowing white robes drape her body, the thick bundles of fabric drowning her petite frame and making her seem impossibly frailer.

At her feet are two white fluffy tiger cubs, their bright blue eyes piercing and wary as they watch me from behind the corner, assessing the threat of the situation.

The girl lifts a hand to wave, and the light seems to shine right through her translucent skin, giving the girl an ethereal, ghostly quality. Fearing this is some stress-induced hallucination, I try my best to ignore her. That is, until she suddenly appears crouched beside me, her piercing gaze focused solely on Ghost.

“He’s dying,” she says, an even stranger, melodic voice accompanying the girl's looks. “So is she.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Kain demands, trying to push himself off the floor. “Don’t you fucking touch him! I’ll⁠—”

I raise a hand, cutting Kain off as I meet the girl’s gaze. “Who?” I ask. “Who’s she?”

The girl raises her head, looking over my shoulder toward the Madam’s personal quarters. “Oh…”

She nods, dragging her eyes to mine, their golden depths devoid of emotion. “Ding dong, the queen is dead. Ding dong, the bell doth toll. Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong…” She looks off to the side, seeming to see something that’s not there. “And why should I help her? Such is the natural order of things.”

“Who… who are you talking to?” I whisper, looking around wildly for a sign of another person.

The young girl just shakes her head, the glassy sheen in her eyes clearing as she brings those golden orbs onto my face. “They want me to help you.”

“Who?” I demand, clutching Ghost tighter to me. “Who wants you to help me? Who are you?”

“Ding dong. Ding dong. I must work quickly,” she murmurs, reaching into her pocket. “Where the blood flows, life goes. To stop the stream, we must dam the river.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I screech, past the point of caring if I look like a crazy person. The man I love is dying in my arms, and this creepy kid is talking nonsense, conversing with ghosts. “What are you talking about?”

The girl sucks her teeth like my questions are irritating her, lowering a small syringe-like device toward Ghost’s wound. My hand shoots out to her arm to stop her, and I’m surprised at the coolness of her skin.

“The blood is leaving. I must work quickly,” she murmurs, looking confused as to why I stopped her. “He will die⁠—”

“I know that!” I snap, taking a deep breath before starting again. “I know that… but what are you doing to him? How do I know that stuff isn’t going to kill him?”

“Silly woman.” She sighs, ripping her arm from my grip and proceeding toward the wound. “It will stop the bleeding. For a time.” Kain remains surprisingly silent as she presses the handle of the syringe, and a milky-silver substance pours from the tip into the wound. Within seconds, the bleeding stops, and the girl sits back with a haughty expression.

“I told you.”

I shake my head, unable to take my eyes from the ashen skin on Ghost’s face. “Can you… could you help me get him out of here?”

When she doesn’t answer, I raise my head, but the girl is gone. What the…

“Brett! Kain!”

Orion’s footsteps race down the hall toward us, and a few moments later, he’s crouched by Ghost’s head. “Is he…?”

“He… I don’t think so,” I whisper. “ He… he doesn’t have much time left, though.”

“Fuck!” He rakes his hands through his hair, looking distraught until he realizes the blood has stopped seeping through Ghost’s wound. “Did you find something to help?”

Kain and I exchange glances, our eyes asking the question our mouths won’t. Should we tell him about the girl? For some reason, I don’t think we should. Something in my gut is stopping me—something telling me that keeping her a secret is very, very important.

“I found… I found some kind of syringe thing in his pocket,” I lie. “It stopped the bleeding, but it won’t last for long.”

Orion nods. “Let’s get him out of here—come on,” Orion orders, hauling Ghost’s arms up and over his shoulders like a backpack. Being taller than the teenager, Ghost’s lower half drags across the ground as he stands, but it’s the best we can do right now.

Orion takes the lead with Ghost on his back, Rupert pacing back and forth nervously, occasionally offering a lick of sympathy to Ghost’s limp form. Meanwhile, I stand at Kain’s side, helping hold him up as much as I can as we slowly traverse the myriad of corridors and stairs.

“Once we get out of here, we’ll take him to my house,” Kain says, wheezing heavily. “Lillith is a gifted surgeon—well, surgeon in training. She can help him.”

My stomach turns at the in training part, but I try not to think about it as we finally emerge through the secret back hatch and out into the alley. My lungs expand as I take in the stale night air, and I can’t help but look up at the night sky, wishing for stars. Wishing for something extraordinary to happen—to show me that those things still can.

“Come on,” Orion whispers, wheezing slightly as he leads us toward Ghost’s truck. We make him as comfortable as we can in the back seat, and then I help Kain into the passenger side while Orion starts the engine. I squish myself between the floor and the seats in the back, if only to be closer to Ghost. And also, so I can check his breathing every few seconds.

The truck jerks into motion, and I clutch Ghost’s gloved hand as we speed away from the gold-hued building. Carefully, I remove the leather from his hands, trailing my fingertips over each dip and crest of the mutilated flesh. He’s cold—colder than he usually is. And it sends a shock of despair straight to the marrow of my bones.

Suddenly, a massive blast breaks out in the distance, and I whip my head with such force that I crick my neck. Thick black clouds of smoke billow from the flame-filled building as the ground quakes with the aftermath of the explosion. Glass shatters, careening down to the pavement below in a violent flurry of debris as the stone begins to crack and crumble from the heat of the flames. Faint screams pierce the air, followed by the wail of fire trucks as the rest of the city reacts to the terrible eruption.

And there, on the sidewalk in front of the flaming building, is the girl.

Her frail body sways eerily as she looks up at the flames with the smallest of smiles, those two white tiger cubs are cleaning themselves carelessly at her feet. As if sensing my stare, her head whips toward our disappearing car, and her smile drops. Turning fully, she raises a translucent hand, her skin glowing red with the flames at her back—like a terrifying omen.

But when I blink, she’s gone.

I sit in the living room of Kain and Lillith’s apartment, twisting my fingers nervously as I watch the clock. It’s been three hours since Lillith whisked him into her private operating room—something Kain had installed so she could treat the Hellfyre members' injuries discreetly—and I can’t shake the dread sitting like a stone in my gut.

Kain reassured me that Lillith was a gifted trauma surgeon—and had even saved his life back when she was just starting her residency—but the amount of blood he lost… the way his body looked like a limp rag doll as Kain and Orion hoisted him onto the table…

I fight the bile rising in my throat as the images swarm my mind, trying and failing to blink them away. I don’t know how anyone could survive such a thing. And from the look on Kain and Orion’s faces, they don’t seem to have high hopes.

An eternity later, the door creaks open, and Lillith emerges, dark bags under her eyes and enough blood on her scrubs to make me sick all over again.

“Is he…” My words get caught in my throat, and I know I’m not brave enough to ask the question I need to. Is he dead?

Lilith peels the mask from her face to reveal her mouth set in a deep grimace. “He’s alive. But…” I sit up straighter, wanting to strangle the rest out of her. But is never a good thing. But could mean anything from he lost his leg to he’s now a vegetable.

“But what?” I demand, dutifully ignoring the murderous look Kain throws my way. “Just… tell me.”

“He’s in a coma,” she whispers, reaching a hand up to tug at the golden locket dangling below her collarbone. “I’m so sorry, Brett… I did everything I could, but he’s just not responsive.”

My fist tightens at my side as I try to ignore the screaming inside my own head. Coma. Ghost is in a coma. “Will he… will he ever wake up?” I ask, not knowing if I’m brave enough to hear the answer.

Lillith looks at Kain, who gives her a small nod. Taking a deep breath, she simply shrugs. “I don’t know. The brain is a strange thing. He could wake up in the next couple of hours, weeks, or never again. I do think he needs to go to an actual hospital, though,” she adds, placing her hands on her hips when Kain opens his mouth to disagree. “I’m not even an attending yet, Kain. He needs to see a specialist or at least someone with an actual license.”

Kain sighs, raking a tattooed hand through his dark hair. “I know, flower. But we can’t. They’ll lock him away for good.”

“Better that and he has a chance of recovering than staying like this!” Lillith whisper-yells, shooting an awkward glance at where I’m crouched on the floor, my head in my hands. “Kain, this is too much for her. She’s going into shock—I’ve seen it a thousand times.”

“I’m fine,” I say, raising my head to give them both a hard stare. “And Lillith is right. Ghost needs to go to a real hospital.” I straighten, looking at Kain this time. “No one knows what Ghost really looks like—plus, for all the bureau knows, they still have the real Phantom in custody. Lillith and Orion can take him in, and as long as I vouch for you, the police shouldn’t give you any problems.”

Kain studies my face for a long moment, seeming to think over my plan. “Okay,” he relents, turning and taking Lillith’s face in his palm. “If anything happens, you call me and⁠—”

“And you’ll be parked around the corner ready to murder anyone who tries to get in my way? I know.” She grins, pressing on the balls of her feet to plant a lingering kiss against his lips.

While they have their moment, I go into the room where Ghost lies motionless on an operating table, a thin blue sheet covering his torso and legs. A thick plastic tube protrudes from his throat, breathing air into his lungs because he’s not even able to do that on his own. Seeing so many wires protruding from his already tortured skin breaks my heart, and when I reach up to touch my cheek, I realize I’ve been crying.

“Oh, Ghost,” I murmur, stepping closer and brushing his arm with my fingertips. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I wish—” I choke on whatever I was going to say as ugly, heaving sobs wrack my shoulders.

What I want to say is that I wish the world wasn’t so cruel. That I wish there wasn’t so much misery, and that I didn’t have to hold on so tightly to those rare, golden seconds of happiness. That I wish life was what was promised—that there was some good left in the world—or at the least, something more to live for.

And there was. My heart cries. There is. He’s right there—reach out and touch it. This little gift, this strange, unfathomable thread tying your souls together.

Yet the longer I stand here, the more that bond weakens. Vanishes to a puff of white smoke before my eyes, carried off by the breeze as the next moment replaces the last.

“Are you ready to go?” Lillith asks, breaking me from my thoughts. She rests a wary hand on my elbow, and I have to hold my breath to stop the tears from flowing. I nod, letting Orion lead me outside as Lillith calls one of her coworkers to help transfer Ghost to the hospital.

I stop in the middle of the clearing, squinting as my eyes adjust despite the clouds covering the majority of the sun. I look up at the dark gray skies, listening to the wrens sing their morning song, welcoming a new day despite the state of the world.

It’s a dark, gloomy morning, and it tugs strangely at my insides, wrenching my chest open like an invitation for those happy birds to feast on my barely beating heart.

I watch as a cloud the shape of a phoenix forms in the vast gray. It sails across the sky, forming into a misshapen lump before long, causing my heart to sink for some inexplicable reason.

“Isn’t it strange?” I ask.

Orion toes a patch of grass with his sneaker, not paying much attention to what I’m saying.

“Huh?”

“It’s strange…” I repeat, reaching a hand up to my heart to cover the source of pain. “I did everything I could. I did everything I was supposed to, yet it’s still raining. Why—why is it always raining?”

Orion meets my eyes, his worried blue pools mirroring the weight resting on my soul. Such a deep, haunting color that resonates my deepest, most kept fears.

“I don’t know,” he says, simply. “I really, truly, don’t know.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

BRETT

1 month later.

I sit at the bedside of the hospital bed, the repetitive beeps of the monitors fading to the background as I read my latest romance novel aloud to Ghost, who’s lying motionless in the bed. It’s been thirty days, six hours, and fourteen minutes since Ghost has been in a coma. Forty-three thousand, five hundred and seventy-four minutes. And I’ve spent most of them at his bedside, wishing on everything that he’ll open his beautiful, haunting eyes.

When I’m not sitting here wishing for Ghost to wake up, I spend my time reading to him. I never really knew if he enjoyed the stories or if he just enjoyed the fact that I did, but I wanted to continue our tradition of reading together, even if he doesn’t have the capacity to right now. Sometimes I pretend he can hear me, that he’s laughing along in his head at every funny passage or wiggling his brows at the spicy scenes, inviting me to play it out in real life.

But he doesn’t, so I just sit here. Waiting. Wishing.

The only knowledge of the outside world I now possess comes from Orion, Kain, and Lillith when they stop by to check on Ghost or make sure I’ve been eating. They’re the reason I know my former place of employment is in shambles. Lilith informed me that nearly half of the agents working for the Moriton bureau—including Samuel Danvers and Harvey Hawking—were charged with multiple counts for conspiracy and bribery. As I look back on it now, it’s hard to believe so many things were going on under my nose. But I guess that’s just the way things are in Moriton—criminals are a dime a dozen, and fortune refuses to favor the good—and certainly not the honest.

However, one good thing has come from this mess. With Orion’s help, I entered Ghost’s account and sent a sizable chunk of money to Marge’s savings account. Enough for her to leave this shithole of a city and get a place out in the mountains like she’s always dreamed of. Where no one will bother her, and she can read as many books as her heart desires.

The only other bright spot is that the Sanctum remains fractured. With the Madam and Table members taken out, the rest of the Masks scramble to hold the pieces together. I doubt they’ll be able to after the havoc Ghost caused, but stranger things have happened.

The hospital door creaks open, breaking me from my thoughts, and I raise my head to Orion’s sad smile, a greasy bag of Chinese food in his fist.

“Heard from the nurses you haven’t been eating. Knew you couldn’t turn down this.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, taking the bag from him with a forced smile. Truthfully, the smell of my once-favored food is making me nauseous, but I’m certainly not going to tell Orion that when he went through all the trouble to get me to eat. “Have the doctors said anything?”

“You mean, since the last time you asked thirty minutes ago?” Orion pins me with a hard stare as he takes a seat in one of the uncomfortable visiting chairs. “You gotta stop pestering them, Brett. He’ll wake up when it’s time⁠—”

“It’s been a month!” I cry, snapping my mouth closed as someone clears their throat in the next room. I scowl, crossing my arms over my chest as I glare at Orion. “It’s been a whole damn month, and nothing’s changed.” While his body is able to breathe on its own now, he still won’t open his eyes. Won’t move. Something should have happened by now. “Maybe they’re just not doing enough. Maybe⁠—”

“Brett. Stop,” Orion interrupts, getting up from the chair and walking over to me. “I want him back as much as you do, but sitting here stewing over it isn’t going to help matters. He’d want us to do something with our lives. Not just sit around, crying over him. That’s not how Ghost was.”

“Don’t talk about him like he’s dead!” I shout, something inside me snapping at the teenager's insinuation. “He’s going to make it! I know he is!”

Orion shakes his head, his brows pulled together in a sad frown. “I know you want to believe that. But you have to be prepared for the possibility that he’s not. That he’ll never wake up.”

“You don’t know Ghost like I do,” I say, raising my chin. “He wouldn’t leave me. He—he promised,” I whisper, lowering my gaze as my voice cracks. “He’s going to wake up. He has to…”

Orion gives me a sad, knowing smile, patting me gently on the shoulder before turning and heading toward the exit. “Try to eat at least a little bit, okay? If Ghost does wake up, he won’t like the fact I’ve let you turn into a skeleton.”

I nod, not bothering to care that it’s a lie. I haven’t eaten in days, and the only water has been in the form of coffee beans. I’ve tried, but everything turns to sawdust in my mouth, and I can scarcely force myself to swallow down enough nutrients to keep my body going.

Weakly, I lift my hand and place it on Ghost’s cheek, so much colder than it normally is. If the heart monitor wasn’t steadily beeping, I would think he’d passed away. His skin is so pale—paler than normal—and the deep purple bags under his closed lids pull at my heartstrings.

My mom warned me not to trust a man in a mask—not to love them. But as I sit here at Ghost’s side, I can’t help but think she would take it back if she knew this one. I know she would. Because Ghost isn’t like the others. He’s caring and kind deep down, even though the world has tried to take it from him time and again. To squash that little part of him that wants to do good. Wants to be good.

“Where have you gone?” I whisper, running my fingertips gently down his cheek. “Won’t you come back to me?”

But he doesn’t, and I pull my hand to my chest, a deep, resounding pain thudding around my rib cage, bursting from my mouth in the form of a screaming sob. I just want him to be okay. I just—I just want to see his eyes again. Just one more time, and I could go on. Just one brush of his lips against mine, one last little touch of his hand resting on mine.

“Just one,” I whisper, fat tears rolling off my chin and down to the mattress with a muted plop… plop… plop…

I’m gazing down at his poor, mutilated hands when I see it. A twitch.

I blink hard, then focus on the index finger I could have sworn just moved. There it is again! I spring from my chair, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. I’m in the process of racing from the room to get the doctor when something reaches out, brushing my elbow with the slightest touch.

I freeze, every nerve in my body lighting with electricity as Ghost’s hand tugs at my arm. I turn slowly, unable to believe my eyes as Ghost lies there, his beautiful, haunting purple eyes resting squarely on my face.

“Hello, darling.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

GHOST

Light.

It burns my retinas, causing my lids to stir.

Strawberry shampoo.

My lungs expand on their own for what feels like the first time in eternity as I breathe in the familiar, intoxicating scent.

Electricity.

It thrums from where a beautiful woman’s hand rests—burns across my nerve endings, breathing life to parts of me I thought had died long ago.

Blue.

Blue like the Salton Sea, like the crying skies over Moriton in the summer. Blue like sadness, like pain, like loss. Blue like Brett’s eyes.

Tears stream down her beautiful soft cheeks, and I want so badly to reach up and wipe them away. To have a taste, like I have so many times before.

And so, I do.

“Brett,” I whisper, lost in the relief swimming in her beautiful eyes. “Why are you crying?” She shakes her head. Her puffy pink lips parted slightly as she tries to form words. I reach up, cupping her cheek and brushing those pesky tears away with the pad of my thumb. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“I thought—'' She takes a shuddering breath, collapsing onto my chest as sobs wrack her body. “I thought I lost you.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” I tut, running my fingers through her silky raven hair. Soft. So, so soft. Just like it’s always been. “Neither heaven nor hell want me. Looks like you’ll be stuck with me for quite some time.”

“That’s not funny,” she murmurs, crawling onto the bed and curling into my side when she realizes I’m not strong enough to haul her by force. “You could have actually died, you know. And you were just going to leave me!”

“I had to,” I murmur, taking a deep breath of her intoxicating scent as electricity thrums across my skin. “Although, I am thankful you were there. I would have been tiger food had your vicious attack cat not snuck in Rupert’s pouch.”

“That was pretty legendary,” she giggles, turning those brilliant sapphires onto me. “Hey, Ghost?”

“Yes, darling?” I ask.

She’s silent for a good while, tracing gentle circles along my chest with her fingertip, deep in thought. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. Something that happened at the Sanctum, after you…”

“Almost died?”

She grins, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I saw a girl. A young girl.”

I pause, my mind reeling at what this means. If she really saw a young girl, that means… “Are you sure?”

She nods. “Kain saw her too. We didn’t know who she was or what she wanted, but… Ghost, she saved your life. She shot this weird silver stuff into your wound, then totally disappeared. Like a fucking…”

“Ghost.”

She nods, nibbling her bottom lip nervously. “Who do you think she was?”

I sigh, running a hand over my face. “She didn’t happen to have any… strange animals with her?”

“Yes…”

“Well, then, that must have been the Madam in Training,” I say, an ironic smile twisting my mouth. “If she helped you, I doubt her interests are aligned with the Sanctum. But it would probably be a good thing to check into, just in case.”

Brett nods, lying her head back on my chest with a relieved sigh. “I thought you would be mad I didn’t tell you.”

“Why in God's name would I be mad about that?”

She shrugs, a sarcastic little smile tugging the corner of her lip. “I don’t know. Because you’re… difficult?”

I chuckle, reaching up to the back of her neck and squeezing lightly in a warning. “Always so bratty.”

Brett giggles. Snuggles her face deeper into my side. We lie like that for a while, nothing but the steady beep of monitors in the background to break the comfortable silence between us. I’m so at ease, so blissfully peaceful, that I’m jerked from sleep as Brett’s tinkling voice fills the air.

“Hey, Ghost?”

“Hmm?” I murmur, lazily running my fingers through her hair. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you… You make this world a much less shitty place.”

I chuckle low in my chest, shaking my head gently. “I love you too, darling,” I whisper, pulling her up for a long, passionate kiss. “God, do I love you.”

I’m discharged that same afternoon—much to the dismay of the attending handling my case. But nothing will stop me from holding Brett the way I’ve wanted to since the moment I gained consciousness.

As soon as I step into the main room of my lair, Rupert throws himself onto me, nearly knocking me to the floor as he assaults me with slobbering kisses.

“I missed you too, buddy,” I murmur, my eyes stuck on Brett’s happy little smile as I run my fingers through Rupert's fur. Brett’s attack cat rounds the corner, greeting me with a disgruntled yowl, only to rub himself against my leg a moment later. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

I crouch to pet Venom, only to have him swat at me with his T-rex arms, his yellow eyes narrowed at my blatant disrespect. Brett giggles, swooping him into her arms and giving him a few forehead kisses. To my amazement, the angry little cat purrs, closing his eyes in contentment as Brett reaches up to scratch behind his ears.

“He’s been a little grouchy ever since I told him I was going to pick you up from the hospital.” Venom opens his eyes, staring at me with a look that screams I was hoping you had died.

I chuckle under my breath as Orion rounds the corner, skidding across the tile in his socks in his haste to get to me. He pulls me into a bear hug, only to reach back and send a punch to my shoulder.

“The fuck was that for?”

“For not taking me with you to the Sanctum in the first place. Stubborn old bastard.”

I roll my eyes despite the smile tipping my lips. “I’m not even that old!”

“To me, you are.”

Brett’s giggle fills the halls, and I glance over to see her face spread in the most heart-stopping smile I’ve seen. She’s practically glowing—no, she is glowing—and it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Pulling from Orion’s embrace, I give him a brotherly slap on the shoulder and turn to Brett, my skin humming with the need to have her against me.

Sensing the change in the air, Orion rubs his hand on the back of his neck. “Hey, Rupert? Feel like going for a walk?”

Rupert woofs happily, his tongue lolling as his front legs spring off the ground in a couple of happy hops. Orion chuckles, leading Rupert toward the exit without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “Have fun, crazy kids!”

I roll my eyes in time with Brett, matching grins on our faces. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asks.

“God, I fucking hope so,” I murmur, pulling her flush against my chest. I trail my hand up her side, reveling in the gentle dip and flow of her natural curves. Electricity hums beneath every inch of my skin, drawing me to her like a moth to a fucking forest fire.

My head dips low, and I press my face into the crook of her neck as I inhale her intoxicating scent. “Brett… if I have to go another minute without being inside you, I think I’m going to die.”

She throws her head back in a laugh, which comes to a halt when she sees the deadly emotion swirling in my gaze. “Oh…”

“Oh is right, my darling,” I whisper, nipping gently at her delicate skin. Brett whimpers as a shiver runs through her, and I cup her ass with my palms, hoisting her up and binding her legs behind my waist. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t breathe. Until you’re so consumed with me, there’s not another thought in your pretty little mind. I’m going to own you, Brett.”

Her throat bobs in a swallow as I rush us to the bedroom. I toss her to the bed, and she lets out a little yelp as her head smacks lightly against the headboard. My concern quickly dissolves as her bright laughter fills the space, only to dissolve a moment later as I get on my hands and knees and crawl to her.

“You don’t realize what you do to me,” I growl, prowling closer at an excruciating speed. She looks deep into my eyes, and what she sees doesn’t scare her. It lights a new kind of fire in her, a fresh new spark of desire. And when I finally press my lips to her, she kisses me back with just as much fever.

“I’m drowning in you, Brett,” I murmur into her neck, not willing to break our bond just yet. “I’m drowning, and I don’t want any fucking air. Never again.”

Yanking her pants from her hips, I begin trailing kisses down her abdomen, over the peaks of her hip bones and down to the crease where her thigh meets her hip. Brett’s moans fill my chest with desperation as I lash my tongue against her needy clit, fighting the urge to devour her.

I lap every drop of her arousal, moving against her like this might be the last meal I’ll ever have. And when her walls collapse and her body shudders with an earth-shattering release, I don’t give her any relief. Positioning my cock at her entrance, I push into her with one powerful movement, the feel of her walls tightening around me, drawing a strangled gasp from my lips.

“This fucking pussy,” I groan, moving in her with a vicious kind of desperation. “You’re so fucking perfect, Brett. The way you grip me. The way your pussy cries for me. All of it is so. Fucking. Perfect,” I growl, punctuating each word with a thrust.

Brett gasps for air, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her pleasure crests. Just before she comes undone, I wrap my palm around her throat, cutting off the blood flow to her brain. She writhes beneath me, her lids growing heavy as she slips into darkness.

I keep fucking her as her body goes limp beneath me. Her body still reacts, still grips me and shudders as she nears her release. The sight is so fucking hot, so indescribably, that when her walls clench in release, I follow.

“Fuck!” I groan, shoving my hips flush against hers as my cock throbs, filling her in the deepest spot. Brett mumbles unintelligibly as she comes back, her gaze foggy and a little smile playing at her lips.

“That was new…”

“You come so much harder like that,” I murmur, leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss on her swollen lips. “So much more uninhibited.”

She giggles tiredly as I pepper sweet kisses across her nose and lids, only for her to return the gesture by fluttering her lashes gently against my cheek. I jerk back from the strange flutter of electricity, gazing down at the beautiful creature in shock.

“What… why did you do that?”

“It’s a butterfly kiss,” she murmurs, her cheeks heating as she gives me a sleepy smile. “You never had one?”

“Never. I… enjoyed it.”

She laughs again, the sound full of life and mirth. “Come here, then.”

She repeats the process to the other side, only this time, the fluttering is in my chest, right where my heart is.

“Brett?”

“Yes, Ghost?” she whispers, her voice laden with sleep. I know in a few moments, she’ll be asleep, but I need her attention for one last thing.

“I love you,” I whisper, placing a kiss square in the middle of her brow. “Endlessly. Unequivocally. You are so much more than mine, darling. You’re my everything. And I’ll spend the rest of my days haunting you, if you’ll let me.”

Brett reaches up, fluttering her lashes against my cheek in that small, intoxicating way. “Deal. Oh, and Ghost?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I fucking love you too.”

I grin, pulling her impossibly tighter against me, needing every part of her skin against mine. “I know, darling,” I whisper, placing a delicate kiss on her brow. “I know.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

GHOST

The morning sun streams through the windows, and I listen to the waves lap against the cliffs as I trail my fingers through Brett’s delicate hair, counting the seconds between her breaths until she wakes. It’s been a week since I’ve been discharged from the hospital, yet it feels like it’s only been an hour. The time with Brett passes faster than should be possible, and with every blink, I swear another day has slipped me by. We spend most of our days in my lair by the sea. Happy, full of laughter, and—to my horror—boxes and boxes of microwave dinners and Chinese take-out.

Brett has made it abundantly clear she has no plans to go back to work for the FBI. After what she learned about their corruption, I can’t blame her. And it’s not as if I’m disappointed—not when she’s been so useful in helping me track down the remaining members of the Sanctum.

The organization remains fractured to this day, and I hope it stays that way for a while. There are a few groups of masks operating in the city, holding on to the hope that their lost Madam will return and restore the Sanctum to its former glory. However, these groups are small and unorganized. Like the motorcycle clubs, they mostly operate in drug trafficking, and hold none of the political sway they once did. As long as they remain without a queen, they will never hold the power over this city they once did.

Which is why the thought of the girl Brett saw troubles me. I’m positive she was supposed to be the next Madam. Trained from infancy to be the great leader they need. Irreplaceable, unless they want to wait eighteen years for a new girl to be ready. If the remaining members of the Sanctum are able to acquire her, they could rebuild instantly.

I’ve sent Orion out several times to try to find her—-which you think would be easy, considering she’s traveling with two snowy tiger cubs—but he’s never come back with any useful information to her whereabouts. It’s almost as if she’s a shadow, a whisper on the wind. No one knows exactly who she is, where she came from, or where she’s gone. But I do know that if the Sanctum gets to her before any of us, we’ll be doomed. She’ll be doomed.

Brett mumbles something unintelligible in her sleep, breaking me from my line of thought. She throws her arm over my chest and buries her face deep into my side as I slide my hand over her naked body, marveling at the delicious way her waist flows effortlessly into the perky curve of her ass.

All my earlier worries are forgotten at the sight of her bared for me. My fingertips trail over her core, slick and ready even in her sleep. I dip my index finger inside her, groaning at the way her pussy grips me, pulls at me.

My cock throbs at the challenge, and I roll on top of her, slowly thrusting my cock inside her with the movement. Her mouth pops open with a gasp as I fill her, her already sleepy eyes rolling to the back of her head as her pussy clenches, soaking me with her arousal.

“Good morning, darling,” I growl, my pupils blowing as her pussy grips me. “Fuck.” I groan, slamming my hips flush with hers as her legs hook around my waist, trying to pull me deeper. “Your body is always so ready for me, pretty darling. So. Fucking. Needy,” I growl, punctuating each word with a thrust. Brett tips her head back, her lips slightly parted as moans pour from her chest, growing louder as I slam the head of my cock again and again on that favorite spot of hers.

Her walls collapse around me as she comes, her cries filling the room, reverberating off the glass windows and shaking me down to my core. A few pumps later, I join her, black spots lining my vision as I release my seed deep inside her.

I fall on top of her as my cock throbs weakly, peppering her face with small kisses as I soften inside her, desperate to draw out the euphoria being inside her brings. When I slip out, I pull her into my arms, placing more kisses along her jaw and brow, gently brushing strands of her tangled hair from her face.

Brett smiles drunkenly as she traces her fingertips along my chest, leaving a tiny trail of sparks wherever her skin touches mine. My soul hums appreciatively at the sensation, and I pull her impossibly tighter against me, still unable to believe this little light is all mine.

Mine. All mine.

“I love you, Brett,” I whisper, placing a lingering kiss against her throbbing pink lips. “I’ll never love anything as much as I love you right now. Well, except for how much I will tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.”

Brett giggles, nipping my bottom lip playfully. “What about Rupert? And Venom?”

I roll my eyes, tapping the tip of her nose with an index finger. “Nope. Sorry, but they don’t even come close.”

Brett gasps. “I’m going to tell them you said that.”

“Go ahead. You’re already their favorite,” I remind her, reaching up to give her nipple a tug. She squeals, wriggling against me as she gazes up from her lashes, and my heart falls out of my chest.

I don’t know how I got so fucking lucky—why someone like her would pick someone like me. Except now that I know her—really know her—I think I do.

Because I know her type. She's all dark eyes and wicked smiles—an unnatural disaster, like black ice on a warm summer's night. She takes the blood from my body, the bones from my limbs, my spine, and she does it all with an innocent smile. We’re so much more alike than I thought, and it just makes me that much more obsessed with her.

To haunt her for the rest of my days would be an honor. One I’ll be taking very, very seriously.

“Guess what, darling?” I murmur, leaning down and brushing my lips lightly against the shell of her ear.

She giggles, pulling back to peek those beautiful ocean eyes up at me. “What?”

“Boo.”

“I love you too, Ghost,” she murmurs, an adorable smile tugging at her lips. “It’s fucked up, but I do. And I don’t have any plans to stop.”

As I press my lips to hers, I can’t help but replay her words over and over in my mind. I know it in my soul, and I know it to be true—that no sweeter ones have ever been spoken, nor heard. The moment stretches for an eternity, and I know the universe must have finally granted me my prayers. For the first time in my life, I am well and truly whole. And it’s all because of Her.

Brett. Motherfucking. Evangeline.

CHAPTER FIFTY

RUPERT AND VENOM

“Oh my gods, are they seriously mating AGAIN?” Venom asks, turning his yellow eyes to Sir Rupert Bartholomew III—a name that suspiciously had never left the human’s mouths, yet which the dog insisted was his proper title. It was strange, but the cat was happy enough to entertain the larger species if it kept him complacent.

Venom tries to drown out the human woman’s screams, to no avail. “They must do it at least thrice a day. For what purpose?”

“I do not know. I’ve sniffed the female's stomach for puppies every day, and there is nothing,” Rupert replies, laying his head on his paws in an attempt to drown out the horrible cries coming from the female. “I do not know why she keeps letting him try when he is so woefully unsuccessful.”

Venom stretches his claws, kneading them into the pillow on the sofa. “Have you ever stopped to think that your sniffer is broken? Surely by this point, some cubs would have appeared.”

“Suppose it’s not—what do you say we do?”

Venoms retracts his claws, settling Rupert Bartholomew III with a piercing stare. “Murder, of course. The male is defective.”

Rupert rolls his eyes. “I would never do that to my master.”

Venom flares, his claws shooting out. “Then you surely have never received your dinner twenty minutes late.”

Rupert huffs, fixing Venom with his strange-colored eyes. “I’ve told you this before—we do NOT hurt the ones who give us food. It is a sacred, well-kept tradition, and it must never be broken.”

“Says the canine,” the cat quips. “Why would I listen to you? I can’t think of a single good thing your kind has done for my species. In fact, you do more harm than good.”

“That is not our fault. You look like easy prey.” Rupert huffs. “Should you not run so fast, we might not give chase. Should we not chase, we might not do harm.”

“What kind of oxymoronic nonsense is that?” Venom cries. “My gods. This is what society has come to. Animals mating for no purpose and to no end. Dogs talking down to cats. I can't believe my grand-cat was right…”

“One can have grand-ancestors?” Rupert whines, forgetting the earlier conversation as his tail flails behind him. “I have never met one of mine.”

“That is because your kind is… weaker…” Venom explains. “More… dumb. The gods do not smile kindly on you.”

“Oh…” Rupert looks off to the side, his tail drooping sadly. “I see.”

“N-not that your kind doesn’t have enough to offer,” Venom continues, a pang of guilt ringing in his chest at the canine's melancholy expression. “It is said that you have large hearts—that you hold so much love in your body, it wears on your very bones. You can only be in this world for so long; otherwise, it will overflow with goodwill and happiness.”

“Oh!” Rupert exclaims, his tail taking off again. “That makes sense. In that case… I shall be the most loyal, loving companion there ever was! I shall kiss my masters every day and show them how good I am! Even if they are defective!”

The cat tuts, shaking his head in amusement. “Silly canine. Do you not realize all that extra effort will shorten your life?”

“But, of course,” the dog answers, his tail flapping happily against the ground. “And I will gladly shorten my years. For what is the point of life, but to love? Especially when I have so much to give.”

And as the cat gazed upon the canine—at its pure, simple innocence—he finally understood.

EPILOGUE

BRETT

1 year later…

I take in a deep breath—or, at least I try to, but something is wedged between my teeth, pushing my tongue back and partially cutting off my airway. Alarm bells ring in the recesses of my mind, though the sound is muted as if buried under ten tons of dirt.

Foggy. My whole mind is foggy. I struggle to open my eyes and find them partially crusted from sleep. When I do manage to open them, I’m staring up at a ceiling I don’t recognize—though, that could be because my sight is so blurry. I try to raise a hand to rub my eyes, and that’s when I realize I’m bound to a long, metal table.

Panic grips my chest, heating my skin despite the coolness of the table I’m pressed against. I thrash against the restraints holding my ankles spread, desperately trying to remember something—anything—that will explain the situation I’m in.

Tears leak out of the corner of my eyes as fear takes hold, twirling its icy fingers into my drug-addled mind and forcing out any speck of composure I was holding on to. A garbled scream works its way through my gag as a glass bottle appears in my line of sight, held tightly by a gloved hand.

The lip of the bottle is positioned at the corner of my eye, and it takes me a few moments to realize what’s happening. He’s collecting my tears.

A few minutes later the bottle is pulled away, only to be replaced with his gloved thumb as he gathers the remnant of the liquid on my cheeks. There’s a small sucking sound, followed by a deep groan of pleasure.

“You taste divine,” he whispers, placing that gloved hand on my inner thigh. He trails his fingers along my skin slowly, agonizingly, drawing heat to my skin wherever he touches. My terror is quickly replaced with desire as my mind warms to the familiar touch. A touch I crave. Need.

A breathy moan slips past the gag as his fingers dip inside me, swirling teasingly against my walls before pulling out. His hands continue their exploration, trailing up my abdomen and sliding his hands under to cup my breasts. He skims over the gentle swell of my cleavage, then back down the contours of my torso, brushing his fingertips along my hips before digging his fingers in.

“This body,” Ghost groans, his voice hitching as he slides his hands under, cupping my ass roughly. “This fucking pussy.” He steps flush against me, his bare cock twitching toward my entrance. “Always ready for me. Always crying to be taken. Used. Violated.” Ghost dips low, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You like this, don’t you? Waking up, bound and helpless. Not knowing exactly who put you here or if you’re safe.”

I shake my head weakly, eliciting a dark chuckle from Ghost. “Liar.”

A gentle hum fills the air as electricity prickles my skin. I look down to see a long black rod in Ghost’s palm, the neon glow from the tip casting eerie shadows along the planes of his face. With a malicious smirk, Ghost touches the cattle prod to my hip.

I choke on my own scream as lighting fills my veins, causing my muscles to spasm as the electricity runs its course. When he pulls away, I suck in a heaving breath through the gag, a fresh wave of tears building in the corners of my eyes.

“That’s a good girl,” he breathes, stepping out from between my thighs and moving toward my head, where he pulls out the bottle again. “Seeing you cry makes me so fucking hard.”

When he’s satisfied, he retakes his position between my legs, violet eyes bright with hunger. He brushes his thumb over my clit, sending a fresh wave of electricity coursing through me. My eyes find his face, my desire cresting at the effervescent expression on his face. 

“Do you want my cock inside you, Brett?”

I nod feverishly, bucking my hips toward him in an attempt to take him faster. Ghost chuckles low, his pupils blown as he watches me debase myself for him. “Finally, a truth.”

My body sighs as Ghost thrusts inside me, filling me past the point of comfort. Instead of crying out, I push into the feeling, my body convulsing as raw pleasure shocks my system. He moves slowly at first, savoring the way my pussy grips his cock. Unable to hold back, Ghost lets out a growl as he slams into me viciously, causing the table to screech against the floor as it rocks back and forth.

He presses his hips flush against mine, his eyes rolling to the back of my head as he presses against my cervix. Pain floods my veins, but it only makes me crave more. Deeper. Harder.

“You want to know a secret?” Ghost breathes, a manic sheen in his purple gaze. My eyes go wide as a wicked smile spreads his lips. He doesn’t give me time to answer as he begins moving again, shoving all logical thought from my mind as the pleasure crests in my veins. He dips low, his breath brushing the shell of my ear as his hand trails up, resting square on my stomach. “You know…” he whispers, fingers digging lightly into my stomach. “Vasectomy reversals can be very successful.”

My lower abdomen clenches as the words fall from his mouth, but my mind is so muddled, I can’t quite piece the words together. “Mmh?”

“Shh,” Ghost coos, punctuating the sound with a violent thrust. His eyes dance with a deep yearning as he looks into mine, and my entire body clenches as he turns that look toward my stomach. “I bet you’d look so fucking perfect swollen with my child.”

I gasp through the gag, a fist tightening around my heart as his sentiment becomes clear. Ghost looses a dark chuckle as he notices my expression, each thrust coming faster and more powerful than the last.

“That’s right, darling,” he whispers, his voice choked. “I’m going to fucking breed you.”

My head falls back as the words fall from his lips, as my walls collapse around him. My orgasm comes so suddenly, so violently, that it tears a scream from my mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” Ghost chokes, slamming his hips flush with mine as he finds his release a moment later. His cock throbs in the deepest part of me, filling me with his seed as he pitches forward, pressing his forehead to mine. Ghost’s chest heaves in time with mine as he pulls the gag from my mouth, only to cover my mouth with his. His lips feverishly work with mine as the last of his release floods into me, as he claims me in a way he never has before.

“I love you, darling,” Ghost whispers, peppering my face with loving kisses as he slowly undoes the restraints. “And I meant what I said,” he growls, his eyes dipping to my stomach as he finishes freeing my wrists. 

With a lazy smile, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss before letting him go to free my ankles. I watch him work, my chest buzzing with a strangely warm feeling. I bring my hand to my stomach, rubbing lazy circles around the area as I imagine the scenario Ghost posed a minute ago. Could I really bring a child into this world? One with Ghost.

The man in question shoots me a lazy smile, doing strange things to my hormones. As he pulls me into his arms, holding me to him like I’m the most precious thing on this earth, I have my answer.

“Hey, Ghost?”

He stops short in the doorway to the bedroom, his eyes immediately finding mine with a worried expression. “Yes, darling? What’s wrong?”

I let out a little chuckle, reaching up to cup his face. “Nothing. I was just thinking how… I think you’d make a kickass father.”

His eyes fill with a ravenous glint, and he practically sprints the rest of the distance to the bed. I land on the mattress with a squeal, laughter peeling from my mouth as Ghost clamors on top of me, the expression on his face reminiscent of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Really?” he whispers. “You really think so?”

I giggle, nodding ever so slightly. “I do.”

“Well then…” he presses his face into my neck, taking a deep breath. Like I’m his oxygen. His lifeline. His reason for living. He raises his eyes to meet mine, and I know that I’m right.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

EXTRA EPILOGUE - GHOST

1 year later…

You have a call from an inmate at Moriton Correctional Facility. To accept this call, press one. To decline this call⁠—

“Hello?” I ask, my voice groggy from sleep. I rub my eyes, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. 3:49 a.m.

“Hey, Ghost…” The speaker crackles slightly as he takes a breath, and I grip the phone tighter as adrenaline courses through my veins, pulling me completely out of the half-dazed state I was in.

“Orion?” I choke, shooting up in bed. “Is that you?”

“Yes… I don’t have long to talk, but⁠—”

“Orion, what the fuck is happening?” I whisper, throwing my legs over the bed and standing slowly, looking back over my shoulder to ensure I haven’t woken Brett. The first trimester has been hell on her, and the last thing I want is to cut her sleep short.

I storm out of the bedroom, fighting to keep my pulse even as a swarm of possibilities flood my mind. “What did you do?”

“It’ll be all over the news by now,” he says, a bitter edge to his voice. “I don’t have time to explain it all right now. I just wanted to call and say… say I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Whatever you did, I can fix⁠—”

“That’s the problem, Ghost,” he interrupts. “I don’t want you to fix it. Not this time.” He takes a shaking breath, and my mind reels faster. “Whatever you hear… it’s fucking true. It’s true and… I refuse to let you help me out of this mess.”

“Orion—”

“Just listen to the news. You’ll understand then.” The line goes silent for a moment. “I have to go now. Tell Brett I’m sorry, that I’ll miss her too. Oh, and…”

“What?”

“Don’t come see me,” he whispers, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Just… leave me to rot.” 

The line goes dead. 

I slowly lower the phone to my side, debating whether it would be faster to get to the prison by car or motorcycle when a scuffle sounds out behind me. I turn, my eyes feasting on the sight of Brett in her red satin nightgown—so beautiful that I forget the current dilemma for several seconds. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, a deep crease forming between her brows. She closes the distance between us in an instant, placing her delicate hand on my chest as her eyes search my face. “Your heart’s racing.”

My fingertips tease the edge of her nightgown as I look deep into her sapphire gaze, a small frown tugging at my mouth despite the joy of being so close to her. “It’s Orion. He’s… he’s in prison.”

That crease between her brows deepens. “How? What did he⁠—”

“He wouldn’t tell me what happened,” I sigh, resting my hands on her hips as I dip my head, pressing my forehead against hers. “Just that it would be on the news. Oh, and that I’m not supposed to see him. Not supposed to do anything to help.”

Her mouth pops with indignation. “Well, that’s not going to happen. You’re going to get him out. Right?” When I don’t respond right away, she pulls away, brows raised expectantly. “Right?”

I heave a sigh, my eyes sliding shut as a wave of exhaustion pours over me. “A minute ago, I was ready to race over there. But now…”

“What? Now you’ve decided you want to leave him to rot in a prison cell?” Brett steps back with her arms crossed, her eyes shooting fire. “Is this some bullshit male pride thing? Because I will personally go over there and beat some sense into him if that's the case.”

“It’s not that,” I say, eyeing the ferocious creature warily. “It’s the way he sounded on the phone—tortured. He wants to be in there.”

“Sounds like pride to me.”

I shake my head, my shoulders drooping. “I think he did something bad. Something he can’t take back—something he regrets. I think… I think he’s scared of himself.”

Brett huffs. “All the more reason to get him out and get him the help he deserves. We can’t just leave him there, Ghost.”

“I know.” I sigh, shoving a hand through my hair. “I know. I just think we should give it a few hours. Find out what he did first, so we know what we’re dealing with.”

She looks reluctant, but nods. “Fine. I’ll turn on the news.”

Brett shuffles into the living room, and when the apathetic voice of the news anchor spills into the hallway, I join her. 

Brett is standing two feet from the screen, a shaking hand pressed firmly to her mouth. I can’t make out the words filling the air, can’t focus on anything but that horrified look on her face. Without thinking, I float over to her, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her into my chest. I take a deep breath, allowing Brett’s scent to calm me, and slowly, the words from the tv begin to take form in my mind.

“The twenty year old man—now known by the name of Orion Adair—started his killing spree at 1:45 this morning. Authorities were alerted to gunshots at a local motorcycle gang clubhouse, and when officers arrived on scene an hour later, Orion Adair had already claimed the lives of six MC members, including Hound leader Floyd Knox.” 

I jerk my eyes up to the screen, a low ringing building in my ears as the woman on the screen details Orion’s crimes. So composed. Utterly unaffected by the heinous events.

“Among those who lost their lives was six-year-old Arelia Salvatore, who had been pronounced missing since September of last year. The assailant was discovered locked in the club leaders office, covered in the girl's blood. Officers on the scene claim Adair was clutching her body and ‘rocking back and forth strangely’. When one officer tried to remove Arelia’s body from Adair, he attempted to take the officer’s life by shoving a pen through his neck. Others quickly intervened, but it took six officers to subdue Adair, and two more to wrestle Arelia’s body from his arms. Officer Pete Butow is being held at Moriton Memorial where he is expected to make a full recovery from his injury.”

The woman clears her throat, her mouth set in a grim line. “The same cannot be said for the six others that lost their lives that night, and certainly not for Arelia Salvatore. Authorities claim they don’t understand Adair’s motives at this time, or what would possess him to take the life of someone so innocent. Channel 12 joins Arelia’s parents in mourning the loss of their daughter, who say that today, “the world lost one of its purest, kindest souls.” Orion Adair is being held in a maximum security prison where he awaits trial, and the righteous hammer of justice. There is no doubt his punishment will be⁠—”

The woman’s voice is cut off abruptly. I look from the black screen of the TV to the remote in Brett’s outstretched hand, which is shaking ever so slightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I couldn’t listen to any more of that.”

I shake my head, pulling Brett closer in an attempt to ease the violent beating of my heart. “Do you believe them?”

She slumps against me, loosing a heavy sigh. “I don’t believe for a second he killed that girl. Orion wouldn’t… he couldn’t…” her breathing becomes uneven, and I twist her to face me, pulling her into my chest.

“I know,” I whisper, running my hand down her hair in slow, soothing movements. “Maybe he didn’t do it… but there’s no question he blames himself for it now.” I let out a breath, my mind reeling with all the possible situations that could have led to this outcome. 

What the fuck were you up to that you weren’t telling me about, Orion?

I knew Orion was struggling after the fall of the sanctum and my “retirement”. I knew he was trying to find where exactly he fit in this world, and that he often felt he was imposing by spending time at the lair with me and Brett—especially since she became pregnant.

It became fully apparent a couple months ago, when he started spending several nights away from the lair, claiming he was building some sort of animal sanctuary on the outskirts of the Moriton forest. But those night quickly turned into weeks where we wouldn’t see or hear from him. 

Now I realize how naive I had been. Orion wasn’t building a sanctuary. He was doing something—something dangerous, or stupid. Or both. And now he’s in prison, awaiting sentencing for a crime he most likely didn’t commit. 

And he doesn’t want anyone to help him. 

“What are we going to do?” Brett whispers, voice cracking slightly.

“I don’t know darling,” I murmur, digging my fingers into her like a lifeline. “I don’t know, but we’re going to figure it out.”

Brett gazes up at me, her eyes carrying so much hurt and distress that my chest cracks wide open. “You promise?”

“I promise,” I whisper, taking her face in my palm. Running my thumb softly over her cheek, catching the stray tear that threatens to fall. I place the digit in my mouth, collecting the salty liquid on my tongue as my eyes hold hers captive. I run my thumb over her lip, allowing the weight of my next words to fill the air.

“And I always keep my promises.”

AFTERWORD

I imagine you might be tempted to rage throw your kindle after that last epilogue. “How could you do that to Orion?! How could you do that to me?!”

And to that I say… *cackles in sadistic author*

Seriously though… this event NEEDED to happen. You will see why in book 3 (that is, if you forgive me for how I left this book off). Without spoiling anything, I will say that I love my HEA’s, so you can expect one for Orion. His story does not end here by any means.

Wondering more about the strange girl Brett and Kain saw at the Sanctum? She has a MAJOR part in book 3… *cough cough*... equal to Orion. We’ll get into her backstory, her role in the Sanctum, why the heck she was talking to herself like a weirdo, wtf is up with those tigers, and so so much more.

The Reaper’s Vice is book 3 in the Dark Triad series and follows Orion and Seraphina, eight years after the end of this book (time skip yaaay so fun). It will be the smuttiest and darkest of the trilogy, so prepare yourselves. (And yes… we will meet Brett and Ghost’s spawn then as well. She’s a riot <3). Release date is TBA, but will be before the end of 2024.

Lastly, before I go… I want to thank you endlessly for reading. For your support. For sticking with me this far. I couldn’t do this without you, and I’m thankful every single day for all the readers out there <3

Love always,

M. Paige

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mindy Paige was born and raised in the jungles of Florida. She decided to pursue her lifelong dream of being an author after a grueling bachelor’s degree in botany. From contemporary to dark romance, she loves writing spicy, fast-paced stories, and has a goal to write the most unhinged MMC’s you can’t help but love.

If not writing or reading, Mindy can usually be found playing with her dogs, tending to her plants, watching trashy reality TV with her boyfriend, or fighting off alligators.

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