Page 52 of Ghost's Obsession

I grab Heather by the shoulders. “Stay with Brittany. Do not leave the ballroom.”

Then me and my club brothers dash off through the back of the house. This bastard is gonna wish he never showed his ugly mug back in Las Salinas.

We shove through the staff door and hit the hallway running. At some point, the tile gives way to concrete. The air shifts from warm to cool and damp as we push through the back door.

Carnage is fast, I’ll give him that. Slippery, too. I watch as he dodges a prep cart, slips past a pair of kitchen workers, and disappears around a corner towards the loading dock.

Once we’re out the back doors, I catch a glimpse of black fabric rounding the far corner of the building. We burst into the alley, but he’s already gone.

Siege, Rigs, Tusk, and Tex are suddenly at my side. They’d been at my heels this whole time. Siege asks, “Did you see which way he went?”

“He’s gone,” I growl, frustrated beyond belief.

“Check the parking lot,” Siege says. “Spread out and keep moving.”

We surge out into the packed parking lot. I run through endless rows of vehicles, looking for the guy in black. Then I see Rigs and Siege both approaching a matte-black pickup with tinted windows and out-of-state plates.

And beside it is one of the waiters. Only, this one’s not running. He’s desperately trying to get into the vehicle. He senses Siege and Rigs closing in on him and turns to face them. The second his face hits the light, Siege stiffens.

That name burns through my mind. Merc’s real name is Bryan Mercer. He was one of the six men who tried to sell the Savage Legion out to the Hellfire Hounds. Him and Carnage, Hawk, Joker, Slaughter, and Grime. All of them were voted out of the Legion when Siege came to power. They disappeared to avoid being hunted down by the brothers.

Merc freezes when he sees who’s walking up. Then he tries to run, but it’s too late for that. Rigs gets to him first, grabs him by the back of the collar, and slams him up against the truck.

“You got a death wish, showin’ your face here?” Rigs growls.

“No, man, let me go.”

Merc tries to squirm free, but Siege grabs his wrist and twists it behind his back with professional precision. “You wanna talk here, or you wanna talk somewhere a little more… private?”

Merc goes real still, which is a smart choice when faced with Siege’s fury.

Tex checks the truck. There’s a bag in the passenger seat containing black jeans, sneakers, and a clean, white t-shirt. It looks like Merc was planning to change clothes and disappear.

Rigs says, “He was probably the getaway driver. Didn’t expect we’d move fast enough to catch anyone.”

“Carnage was here,” I say. “He ran out the back. Heather spotted him.”

Siege jerks Merc forward. “Then I guess this one better talk fast before I forget I’m trying to play nice.”

We haul him into our club van parked at the edge of the lot. Nobody at the gala notices what just went down because everyone is inside enjoying champagne and capers.

That’s the thing about men like us—we might clean up nice, but we handle our business even better.

Chapter 17

Ghost

Merc’s face is already busted by the time I walk into the room. Not from me, but from Siege.

He sits dead center in the concrete-floored room in the basement we call our interrogation room. Merc knows what we use this room for—and that he’s got no way out except in a body bag or by giving us what we want.

Right now, his lip is split. One eye’s swelling shut. His arms are zip-tied behind the chair because we don’t trust him.

Siege stalks back and forth. He hasn’t said a word in a full minute. He’s letting the silence spin out, giving Merc’s mind a chance to run away with him.

Rigs stands off to the side, arms folded across his chest, eyes dark. I never knew him before, but I’ve heard tales. He used to step forward for executions, taking all the darkness inside him. That was until he met his old lady. However, the way he’s glaring at Merc I suspect that the darkness isn’t very far from the surface tonight.

Merc’s breath is shallow. He’s sweating now, even in the cold. Blood is drying on his cheekbone, and I can tell he’s trying real hard to figure out how to squirm out of this.

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