Page 3 of Wreck and Ruin

Fake laughter and party chatter softens asthe elitestake their bullshit party elsewhere.

Finally.

“You ready, man?” I ask, looking over Spencer’s shoulder to watch the last few people leave the bar room.

Spencer shifts almost uncomfortably, but his gaze remains focused. “Alright, yeah, let’s do this,” he answers, determination now clear in his eyes as he takes my hand and guides me into the atrium.

Chapter3

EZEKIEL

“So, where’s the co-captain?” I ask casually, finally free enough to talk a little now that we’re out of earshot of the party, though I’m not foolish enough to drop my guard altogether and say the wrong thing.

“Dead.”

“Of course he is,” I mutter, half to myself. Leave it to Spencer to not only say whatever the hell he wants, wherever he wants, but to kill the only other person on board who might actually know how to sail this fucking thing. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. The ship’s on borrowed time anyway. Spencer has never been one to do things by halves, that’s for damn sure, yet, that’s one of the reasons why he’s here. As much as I’d like to think I’m the best ghost in my field, even I can’t be in two places at once. With The Royal’s eyes on me at every waking moment and with every move I make scrutinized, I needed someone I could halfway trust not to mess this up.

This assignment isn't just anassignmentto us. It’s personal, which is why we were given it in the first place. The mafia, more specifically, our boss, Titan King, has been watching The Royal closely for a little over eighteen years now, around the same time he rescued Spencer and me from a sketchy organization much like this one, only it’s not a scratch on The Royal. We were just kids then, and instead of putting us in the system or doing anything remotely above board because, god forbid, we follow the law around here, Titan took us under his wing, threw us in the deep end, and we’ve been working for him ever since. Working for the mafia has never bothered me, really. It was the least I could do, considering he saved us from a fate far worse than anyone else working in the underground could handle.

While I’ve been undercover, Spencer has been like a quiet shadow behind the scenes, only stepping out from the dark at the right time a couple of years ago. It’s taken years to set everything in motion, and the groundwork we’ve had to lay, the sacrifices we’ve had to make, and the innocent people who were left behind are unforgivable. We’ve reported anything that could be used to take these bastards down. Not to the feds. They're just as corrupt as everyone here. No, we report to Titan, himself. But, it has never been enough. Never enough to stop this shit from happening, and never enough to save the souls left behind for no other reason than the circumstances were far too dire, and we needed to avoid our cover being blown at all costs.

The consequences of those failures will be carried out tonight, and if I’m being honest, I’ve made peace with it. This is the price I’ve chosen to pay, the cost of being part of something much bigger than me.

Bigger than us.

I watch the numbers on the elevator dial glow and change as we ascend higher. I want to tell Spencer everything. I want him to know what’s about to happen. But I know better. I can’t leave anything to chance, and if there’s even the slightest bit of resistance from him, this will all go to shit, and the fuck if I'm allowing that to happen. Stepping out of the elevator, we scan the hall for onlookers, but as predicted, they're all salivating over this evening'sliveentertainmentin the lower-level theatre. We keep quiet as we casually walk along the blood-red and black extravagant carpet, not daring so much as a whisper between us. They’re always listening, and when you think you’re alone and the world has gone quiet, you bet your ass they’re watching, waiting in the darkness for you to get cocky.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Spencer whispers, his head shifting in every direction as we reach the end of the hall and stand before room 42B.

We don’t have a fucking choice.

“The time for questions was years ago, brother, and we have exactly ten minutes before our boy Charles and his bodyguard walk in here, so weneedto be ready,” I say, not wasting any time by looking up to see if he’s doing okay or not. Violence and even death are something we’re both familiar with. And we don’t have the luxury of processing how we feel. My only goal is to get what we need from Charles.

That’s it.

Then, there might be a spare moment or two to say our goodbyes before finally facing our doom, but not a minute before. If this fails, and we, by some miracle, live to tell the tale, we’ll be as good as dead anyway because our bosses will not accept failure. Not with something of this magnitude.

A muted beep fills the quiet, and I look up to see that the light on the security camera fixed to the ceiling has vanished.

“The tape is in the system now,” Spencer says with a quick nod.

Thank fuck.

I’ve got to say, I’m a little impressed. It was a genius idea. One I only found out about last night when he sent it to me. If somebody were to tap into the ship's security network, they’d have a front-row seat to an artificial, albeit seemingly accurate as fuck videotape ofValerie’s whore, aka me, running off to make out with Lady Jane’s new Sea Captain, not only giving us an alibi to those watching at home, but also throwing Valerie off when she inevitably checks the cameras to see where we both went. Fooling The Royals is not easy, and even as dread gnaws at the pit of my stomach, its teeth making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end with the thought that something is off, I swipe the keycard anyway, successfully unlocking the door to Charles’s room.

A smile tugs on the corner of my lips despite the sinking feeling in my gut, and I tilt my head, raising a brow at Spencer, questioning whether or not he’s ready for all the shit that's about to hit the fan. His eyes widen, whirling with all kinds of emotions, but it’s the fear in them that I focus on.

We’re supposed to be ghosts.

The entire fucking point of our job is to be emotionless at all times. Especially in situations like these. I totally get that we’ve both been through a lot. Shit that you don’t just forget about overnight, that’s for sure. Believe me, I’ve tried and failed.

There isn’t a single ghost in the history of the underworld that was ever permitted to show their feelings. It’s the greatest sign of weakness, and the mafia doesn’t do weakness. If we ever compromised a mission for no other reason than we couldn’t get our head in the game, we’d be dead by morning. Or worse, wishing that we were.

I look him square in the eyes, narrowing mine slightly, and toy with the idea of confronting him on whether or not he’s fucking in this one hundred percent with me. This is why I have gone rogue. I can’t trust anyone else not to let this fail.

His expression shifts between emotions. Fear, acceptance, before finally settling on indifference.That-a-boy.I blow out a shaky breath, turn the gold door handle, and slowly creep inside.

It's time to meet the devil.

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