Page 23 of The Phantom's Vice

“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 smellreallygood.” Jim chuckles, looking down with blown pupils.

Ah fuck. This is so not good.

“Thanks,” I murmur, shifting out of his grip as Istand 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 monitorscreams 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 mymask 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’mbeing 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.

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