He Left Me Once, Now He Wants Me Twice

Ryker: Actions ☠️

The room is abuzz with activities.

A meeting amongst several influential families from all around the world—I wasn't expecting otherwise.

Occasionally, one or two people pass through the sight picture of my scope, but I keep it trained to the fuckers head.

A distorted voice comes from my earpiece, and I move my hand to adjust the device.

"Yes?"

"Do you have a shot?" His voice is much clearer now.

"Yes." I don't have a shot.

I mean, I do have one, but it's to the head of the wrong motherfucker.

Still peering through the scope, I'm tempted to pull the trigger and blow Evander f*****g Vanhook's head off—deal with the f*****g consequences later.

My index softly pulls on the trigger, but Riot's voice interrupts me again.

"You can't afford to f**k this up, Ghost." His voice is stern.

I groan in protest, but he's right. I can't f**k a job up, that would mess up my perfect record.

Moving my matte black M200 Intervention a considerable distance away from where Evander is seated looking like some sorry, depressed little s**t, I adjust it and lock the head of my actual target—Sheikh Azeez.

He's not the main target, but my mission here is to scare the main target—let him know his days are numbered.

Too bad one of this fucker's numerous wives wants him dead, now he'd serve as a warning to another doomed man.

The wind whooshes across my face, bathing me with tiny particles that would ordinarily make any other person uncomfortable, but I'm used to this.

Used to lying on high buildings and taking down targets.

Cold from the steel crane sips through my thick gears and into me, the chill hugging my bones. I adjust slightly on my stomach, flexing my fingers around the target—my patience running thin.

The earpiece cracks to life again.

"Hold on, Ghost"—sure, not a problem at all—"Take the shot when Del Infierno is close enough."

"Roger." I give a one-word reply.

The point is to instill fear in the Cartel boss's heart, so even though he's sitting there, right next to the Sheikh, with an unsuspecting white pimp in hand, he needs to get even closer to make this shot worth it.

To make all this worth leaving a few unfortunate women widowed.

My phone buzzes.

I ignore it.

But not for long.

What if it's Dess? What if it's important? What if Kayden is having one of his crisis? Or what if it's something about her fucker of an ex-husband?

God save him it's not the latter, I might just kiss my perfect record bye-bye.

I set my rifle down on the ice-cold iron frame of the crane and dig into my pocket.

"Never be distracted at a hit site." The Reaper's voice faintly cuts through my actions, but I shove it to the f*****g side.

No, you won't tell me the f**k what to do.

My hunch was right after all—it is Dess.

But she's not messaging for anything remotely important. It's just a simple message to tell me that she'd go to bed without me.

I tap on the message banner and watch as the device leads me to the app.

Clicking on a heart emoji, I tap send.

But the service around here is s**t. The short message just continues to roll and roll, waiting to actually send.

My hand clamps around the device in frustration, a crazy urge to throw it off this fifty-feet building shrouds my senses, threatening to consume.

But luckily, the earplugs come to life just then.

"Now! Ghost. Shoot!"

Fuck!

In a clumsy effort to return the phone back to my pocket, it slides out of my hand, skidding to the edge of the crane before actually falling off.

My eyes remain at the empty edge, boggling, trying to grasp what just happened.

"Ghost!"

Scratch that.

I hurriedly pick my rifle back up and position it, pointing at the Sheikh's location, ready to fire.

Del Infierno is whispering something into his ear. If I could get a shot right at the Sheikh's ear, that would do the job perfectly.

They are both laughing now, still attached the same way, so I pull the trigger. But before it hits its mark, they disengage.

Fuck!

The whole room erupts in chaos, everybody running helter-f*****g-skelter.

But both the Sheikh and Infierno remain shocked in place, trying to process.

Repositioning, I aim again at the Sheikh, but a man comes to stand in front of him, his eyes directed toward my position.

Of course they know my location. It would only be a few minutes before they are here.

I should leave. But I don't. I can't.

I've never had a miss before—I won't start now.

I shoot again, hitting the fucker right in the guts. This throws the Sheikh off, and I'm not happy about that. I move my aim accordingly, almost falling off the narrow crane, but f**k if I care.

The fucker is now shielded by a gang of guards who are moving him to safety.

"The f**k! Ghost?" Riot cusses through the plugs, but it would take more than just cussing to stop me now.

I shoot again, and another fucker drops—hopefully dead.

"Ghost, get out of—"

I switch the device off and take a blind shot, hitting someone, someone I shouldn't have.

Fucking f**k!

My senses finally resurface, and I drop the rifle.

So much for dealing with the 'f*****g consequences' later.

I take in deep, shallow breaths.

Gosh! I should have listened to reasoning.

Looking down at the entrance to their building, I sight a dozen suited men pouring out. Some pointing toward my crane, while others are either running or driving toward my building.

I should ghost.

* * *

The house is quiet and dark as I step in.

I take off my shoes and replace them with the slippers that Dess bought specially for me.

She has a big thing against shoes inside the house—adorable.

I walk past the quiet sitting area and head straight for her room, pushing the door open without any resistance at all.

The lights are out.

The only form of illumination present are provided by the streetlights outside as they filter through the open windows.

Sighing, I walk first to the windows and draw them shut. Dess never listens. I always warn her against leaving the windows open, but she always forgets, or she just doesn't listen.

Too innocent to believe how evil the world actually is.

As I draw the last panel, my eyes catch the array of lights from afar—choppers flying overhead, and distant sirens wailing.

I made a hell of a mess tonight—I take full responsibility by admitting it.

Anyway, I've since cut any form of communication with Riot—I really don't want to hear whatever he has to say.

But I guess I can never fill up this dent in my otherwise smooth reputation—pity.

I draw the panels, and the curtains, then move to the bed where Dess is peacefully sleeping, absolutely unaware of the new presence in her room.

I've often wondered how easy it would be to kidnap her. To take her somewhere no one could find her, somewhere free from the chaos of an ex-husband, free from bills, and all the other responsibilities weighing down on her.

A place where I could protect her like she truly deserves to be protected.

I examine her for a while, checking for anything off. Beside her head, on her sprawled red hair, is the monitor for Kayden's room.

I pick it up and look through the footage. He's peacefully sleeping too, no signs of disturbance of any sort.

After I'm satisfied, I place the monitor on the bedside table and climb the bed, leaning over to place a soft kiss on her cherry-red cheek.

She sighs heavily, as if a burden was lifted off her back.

Just beautiful.

My eyes fall to her hand. She's clasping her phone even while asleep.

Lifting the phone with her hand still cradling it, I push the power button and illuminate both our faces with its warm glow.

2:34 a.m.

That's pretty late.

But something catches my attention.

It's a banner across Kayden's face—the heading reads 'Ryker' with a heart emoji next to it.

A warm smile graces my face, warming my heart.

She received the message, after all.

But now I also have to worry about the phone. What if it gets in the wrong hands? What if they retrieve something from it? Something that might put Dess and Kayden in danger.

I stroke her red locks with my fingers, watching as her breathing gently evens, fanning the fur blanket that shrouds her.

Too bad that I cannot be honest with her.

Too bad I have to keep her in the dark and deceive her with my 'good guy' façade.

But if I mean to remain in her life, if I mean to keep her, I can't tell her who I truly am.

Her phone buzzes, and—I know I shouldn't—I check to see what it is.

My instincts once again prove to be correct.

It's a message from an unsaved number, but I know very well who it's from.

Evander Vanhook.

The content is a sorry plea stating how much he misses her warmth at nights like this, and How he can't wait to have her back.

He added something about the 'other fucker', but the message fades into ellipsis before I can get more of its content.

Evander doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s picking a fight he can’t win.

If he keeps reaching for what's MINE, I’ll make sure that he regrets the day his PI made a breakthrough in the search for her 👻