Chapter 39: The Hunt Begins

The city felt different.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was the blood still drying on my hands, or the way Raze's last smirk burned itself into my memory.

But something had shifted.

We weren't just running anymore. We were hunting.

Loose Ends

Ghost drove like a demon, weaving through the late-night traffic as if the cops weren't already on high alert.

Kai's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Head to the safehouse. You're both banged up."

I touched my ribs—bruised, but not broken. My knuckles were raw, my breathing sharp. I'd had worse.

"Not yet," I muttered. "We need to know who fills Raze's seat."

Ghost glanced at me, eyes unreadable. "You think Kross just lets this slide?"

I shook my head. "No. He's already planning his next move."

Silence.

Then Ghost nodded. "Alright. But we do this fast."

Kross's Shadow

We parked two blocks away from a high-rise club, one of Kross's known meeting spots. Neon lights painted the street in sickly greens and purples.

I adjusted my jacket, feeling the weight of the concealed pistol. "Who's our target?"

Kai's voice was steady. "His name's Marlow. Used to be Raze's right hand. If Kross wants to replace him fast, Marlow's the guy to watch."

Ghost smirked. "Marlow's an idiot."

"That doesn't mean he's harmless," Kai warned.

I exhaled. "Let's see what he knows."

Inside the Lion's Den

The club was packed. Loud music, too much perfume, drunk men laughing too hard.

Ghost took position at the bar, blending in. I moved toward the VIP section, eyes scanning.

Marlow sat in a corner booth, a drink in one hand and a woman on his lap. He looked relaxed—too relaxed for a man whose boss just got gutted.

I stepped up to the table.

"Marlow," I said, voice even.

He looked up, eyes narrowing. "Do I know you?"

I slid into the seat across from him, leaning in. "No. But you know Raze."

His smirk faltered.

I let the silence stretch.

Then I whispered, "He's dead."

Marlow's face went pale. His hand twitched toward his waistband—gun. I grabbed his wrist under the table, squeezing just enough to remind him who was in control.

"Easy," I murmured. "I just want to talk."

A Dead Man's Warning

Marlow swallowed hard. "What do you want?"

"Kross's next move."

He hesitated. Then, low enough that only I could hear—

"You don't get it, do you?" His voice shook. "Kross isn't mad about Raze. He wanted him gone."

I stilled.

Marlow kept going, words tumbling out in a rush. "You think you're winning? You just did Kross a favor. And now—" He inhaled sharply. "Now he's cleaning house."

A chill ran down my spine.

Ghost's voice came through the earpiece. "We've got company."

I looked up.

Men in suits were filtering in. Silent. Calculated.

This wasn't just any cleanup crew.

This was Kross's personal hit squad.

And we were already in their trap.

No Way Out

Marlow was still talking, but I wasn't listening.

The exits were covered. The music was too loud for gunfire to matter.

This wasn't a conversation anymore.

It was survival.

Ghost's voice was calm, steady. "We fight our way out?"

I exhaled. "Like always."

Marlow realized too late what was happening.

I let go of his wrist. "You should've run when you had the chance."

Then I grabbed his gun.

And the night erupted in chaos.