Chapter Two

Ghost's POV

Smoke rolled through the compound like a bad dream as I ran around, searching frantically for the traitor. How could I have been so careless? Everything had calmed down now but the air reeked of burnt gun powder and hot steel. My ears rang as I moved through it, instincts taking over where thought used to live.

I barked orders over the chaos, pushing more brothers into search while shouting at the others to gather together the ruins.They had known where to strike, which walls to breach and where our weakest spots were.

This attack was cartel standard. No doubt.

I caught sight of one of my brothers bleeding out by the bikes. Another brother dragged him backward, hands slick with blood. The smell of oil mixed with the metallic tang of it until it was too hard to breathe in that space.

 “Get the wounded inside!” I shouted, voice raw, emptying the last of my clip into the dark. “Go after them, find the bastard!”

Fucking Luca, wasn't he sleek? How did he get them to come and save him so fast? This was certainly an attack to get him back. 

I walked further, scanning the yard. Bodies were strewn near the fence, two of them wearing cartel jackets, sprawled like broken dolls and smoke curled above them in thin threads.

But standing over the bodies, gun in hand, chest heaving, and blood streaking down his arm was unmistakably Luca.

And he hadn’t run.

For a moment, I couldn’t move or breathe. Every instinct told me he should’ve bolted the second the shooting started. The chaos gave him a perfect out. Infact, it had looked like his handwork so how was he here… and killing the enemies too. 

Brothers spilled into the yard behind me, weapons still raised with voices sharp with fury.

“He set this up!”

“No way he’s one of us!”

“Put him down before he finishes the job!”

I totally understood their fears, I had thought exactly the same thing but if he wasn't with us why would he kill his men? The noise rose like a wave. Rage, fear, old wounds ripping open and everything was threatening to make me go mental. 

“Enough!” I screamed, raising my hand. 

The word cut through the shouting and everywhere suddenly stilled. Luca’s eyes found mine across the yard and I couldn't help but notice that there was no fear there, just exhaustion and something that looked like a smile. Was he mocking me? 

I walked toward him slowly, my boots crunching through the gravel. The world around us suddenly started to fade out, leaving just me and him at the centre of it. 

“Why’d you stay?” I finally managed to ask.

He swiped blood from his jaw, breathing hard. “Didn’t plan on leaving twice.”

The words hit deeper than I wanted to admit. The murmurs were beginning to rise again and trying not to look week, I held him by the collar and dragged him across the yard. He simply just followed like a man walking to his own grave.

Inside the old room, the air was thick and awful as the stench from earlier had now mixed with the smell of gun powder. I shoved him into a chair, the metal scraping loud against the floor.

“You think taking down two bodies makes up for what you did?”

He looked up at me through tired eyes.

“No,” he said quietly. “But it’s a start.”

His calmness made something twist inside me. I turned away pacing with my hands akimbo. 

 “You got my president killed and no amount of effort you make would ever fix that..”

“Well then, I'll die trying.”

“You don’t get to act like a martyr, Luca. You are no saint. In fact, you are the genesis of our misfortune and over here, it's a life for a life. You know it.

His voice was low, steady.

“When I ran, I didn’t run from the club. I ran from the ones who were supposed to protect us and the ones who sold us out.”

I turned sharply wondering what he meant by that. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Doesn’t matter if you do.”

Luca leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a second like the weight of everything pressed down too heavy. I wanted to hit him again. I wanted the calmness on his face to be replaced by terror. 

A voice from outside broke the silence as one of the brothers shouted for a body count, calling out names that didn’t answer back. I left Luca there, cuffed and bleeding and stepped out into the night to see what's going on. 

The yard was quiet now. Two of our brothers were gone, their patches folded beside them. The cartel lost more. But it didn’t feel like a win. It felt like a message.

By the time I went back inside, the moon had climbed high, turning the room pale and the door creaked as I stepped in.

Luca was sitting on the floor now, head bent with his back against the wall. His fingers moved slowly through the dirt, sketching lines I couldn’t read from the doorway.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

He didn’t look up.

 “Routes, drop points and places they hit when they want to make it hurt.”

I crouched beside him, studying the shapes. It wasn’t random. It had roads, arrows and circles marking towns we’d lost ground in.

“You got this from them?” I asked.

He lifted his head then, eyes dark but steady.

“I lived it.”

Something immediately shifted in my gut. I stared at the map, the neat lines carved in dirt. He knew too much for a guess. They were too specific and clean.

If he was lying, he’d practiced it well. And if he wasn’t… Then everything I thought I knew about that night might’ve been wrong.

The walls felt smaller and the air heavier as I tried to process the whole thing. First, he betrayed us, then he disappeared. After finding him, he plays saviour in an attack that looked like it happened because of him and now he's helping me point out maps. Something wasn't clear. 

I couldn't understand what he was playing at but one thing is sure. He was either playing games or seeking redemption. 

“You’re staying here till I figure out what the hell is going on” I said.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Outside, dawn crept slowly across the sky casting soft light over the yard. I walked around out of habit, waiting for something to make sense.

As I approached the extreme end of the fence, lightning flashed and my eyes caught an inscription written on the wall with black spray paint. A mark every man in the club knew. Cartel sigil, a serpent coiled through a blade. And be

neath it, in jagged letters that dripped like blood was written:

WE WILL BE BACK, HE KNOWS TOO MUCH.