Part 22


If you’re new to this serial, you can find part 1 right HERE


 Phantom

Phantom leaned back on the couch and watched the two men Death had left to guard them. Wind and Bull. He and Wolf were the only ones left. The others had been ordered away by Death, and Phantom made sure to let them know not to set foot back at the club before he gave them permission.

Wind was reading some paperback by the bar, and Bull played pool with Wolf. Phantom didn’t blame the two men. They were just following orders, and like him and Wolf, they had been pulled into a family drama that had clearly been brewing for a long time.

Reaper had a daughter. He swallowed a mouthful of beer and tried to put the Reaper he had gotten to know together with a Reaper that had a child. In his head, the two versions just didn’t fit. But then, what did he even know about Reaper. He hadn’t known she had a daughter or was related to Death. He hadn’t known anything about her. He shook himself mentally. What did it even matter? They had spent a few days with her. Fucked her for one night, and now she was gone. He refused to look closer at why that made his stomach cramp.

The sound of breaking glass drew all of their attention. Phantom pushed from the couch and looked at the three men.

“Wait here,” Bull said and grabbed a gun before moving towards the hallway. Two soft pops sounded then a body collapsed on the floor. Phantom grabbed for his own gun but remembered he didn’t have it. Fuck. The glass in one of the windows broke, and Wind fell to the floor, cursing. Blood colored his t-shirt over his shoulder.

“Get down on the floor, or we’ll take you out,” someone called from the hallway. Phantom and Wolf glanced at each other before doing as told. They were unarmed, and the enemy had a sniper. Not much they could do. Two men in black from head to toe came in, and Phantom quickly found himself zip-tied to a chair. Wolf sat across from him, tied to his own chair. Wind was still on the floor, arms and legs tied, and the blood under him kept spreading.

“All clear,” one of the men in black yelled, and a man walked into the room. He wore jeans and a button-down, his short hair more grey than black. He stopped in front of Phantom and eyed his cut before crouching down so they were at eye level.

“A little bird told me that the reaper came knocking, but it seems like she already left. I want to know where.” 

Phantom just glared at the man.

“Ah, so you’re the silent type. What about your friend here.” The man turned and faced Wolf. When Wolf didn’t say anything either, the man gave a deep sigh.

“Why do you have to make it so difficult. Well, I guess I’ll just have to make you talk.” The man stepped back, and one of the men in all black stepped closer, wearing a pair of Brass Knuckles.

Pain, so much fucking pain. Phantom fought to breathe deep even though his broken ribs screamed at every move he made. He had forgotten how much it hurt. Having his hands restrained on his back didn’t help. He blinked to remove the blood that ran into his eyes and studied Wolf, sitting on a chair across the room. Blood dripped from Wolf’s nose and lips, and he slumped in the chair, not looking at anyone. But Phantom could see the tension in his body. Wind was on the ground, passed out. Phantom wasn’t even sure the guy was alive any longer. Their attackers had ignored him, but the blood from the bullet wound in his shoulder had formed a big pool underneath him, and the guy looked deadly pale.

They were truly fucked, and Phantom had no idea what the hell he could do. He glanced at the closed door and then around them, but no one was in the room with them.

“Wolf,” he said barely above a whisper. Wolf didn’t react, and Phantom wanted to curse. Wolf was his best friend, and with Reaper in the picture, he might have been something more. They lived a dangerous life. Being a Son of War meant that the chance of reaching sixty was slim, but it was a choice both of them had made and a fact that both of them were fine with. Never, though, had Phantom thought his early death would come by the hands of some fucking mafia guy.

“Wolf,” he tried again, and this time Wolf stirred a little. It seemed like it took great effort for Wolf to lift his head, and when he finally managed, his gaze was unfocused. Fuck.

“Fuck, Wolf, what the hell have we done this time,” Phantom said, and Wolf managed a loopy smile. They had been in a lot of bad situations over the years but always had each other’s backs.

The door from the hallway opened, and the guy that had beaten them walked in. He had removed his black face mask, and Phantom saw crazy dance in his eyes.

The guy didn’t say anything, and Phantom wasn’t going to beg for his life, especially when he knew it would do him no good. But Phantom couldn’t stop himself from tensing when the guy flipped open a knife and grabbed Wolf’s hair.

“Maybe I can help make him even more pretty,” he said. Phantom barely held back a scream of pure rage as the blade was put to Wolf’s forehead and cut down the left side of his head. Wolf growled, but even Phantom could see his struggles were weak. Whatever had happened during Wolf’s beating, it was pretty clear it had taken the fight out of Wolf.


Published by Tea Spangsberg

Tea is an Author who claims to be a Viking, but in reality she would suck at it as she get terribly seasick.

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