Page 33 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

BLUE

J onah didn’t let go for a long time.

His grip stayed locked around me as if he let go, I might disappear again.

I didn’t mind.

There was blood on his shirt, dirt in his hair, and he didn’t smell very good, but it was the best hug he ever gave me.

We stayed like that long enough for my ribs to start aching, but I didn’t dare pull away.

No way.

“You got taller,” Jonah murmured.

I laughed into his chest. “You got meaner.”

“I was always mean, Bailey Bug. Just not to you.”

I pulled back just enough to look at him, wiping under my eyes with the back of my wrist. His face was a mess—split lip, bruised jaw, one eye already starting to swell.

His smile looked the same, though.

Careful and crooked.

“I thought you were dead.” I whispered.

Jonah’s hand twitched like he wasn’t sure what to do with it, then reached up and ruffled my hair.

“Still a mess up here,” he muttered. “Good. Wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t.”

I laughed, a little choked and shaky, then shoved him.

It was like shoving a bag of sand.

Jonah caught my wrist before I could pull it back. “Hey,” he said. “Didn’t say I didn’t miss you, Bug.”

I sniffled. “I missed you more.”

He rolled his eyes. “Always gotta win, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You taught me that.”

His mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite.

“I didn’t leave you,” he said. “You know that, right? They made me go.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“I tried to get back.”

“I know that, too, JJ.”

Jonah looked away for a second, jaw tight. “You okay?”

“Are you ?”

He huffed through his nose. “Fair.”

A shadow moved in behind me. Daddy came close, his gun drawn and eyes scanning.

“We need to move fast, baby.”

Jonah’s head snapped toward the sound. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“Oh.” I smiled, just a little. “That’s Daddy.”

Jonah blinked. “That’s—I’m sorry, what ?”

Daddy tossed Jonah a gun—short barrel, clean, easy grip. “You know how to use that?”

Jonah caught it, flicked off the safety, and racked the slide with one hand.

“Yeah,” he muttered, but his eyes were on me. “Is that a rifle on your back?”

“I think it’s a carbine,” I said. “It’s Daddy’s. All my weapons are his ’cause it makes him feel closer to me when I hurt people.”

Jonah opened his mouth. Closed it again. His whole face twisted like one giant wrinkle, and I thought maybe he was having a stroke or something.

“Daddy! Something’s wrong with Jonah.”

“He’s processing, sweetheart. You’re throwing a lot at him right now.”

The comms crackled. “Team A and Team B are secure,” Miller said. “Team C, what’s your status?”

Daddy thumbed the mic. “We’ve got Jonah. Moving now.”

“Copy that. Five guards down, but the next patrol loop hits in eight minutes. If you’re gonna make it out clean, now’s the window.”

Daddy nodded once, then reached for me, his palm pressing between my shoulder blades.

“Let’s go, baby. Move fast. Do not leave my line of sight.”

Our boots slapped against the stone as we rounded the corner and hit the hallway again. Daddy took the lead with his gun up. I followed close behind, and Jonah fell in beside me, glancing between us like he still hadn’t decided whether or not he was hallucinating.

“Bailey,” Jonah hissed, still gripping the gun Daddy gave him. “What the hell is going on? Who are you running with now, the militia ? Why are there men in masks? Do you even know how to shoot that rifle? Is it fucking loaded?”

He kept pace behind me, muttering to himself. “And if you don’t explain why that man just called you ‘baby’, I swear to God, Bailey. Is he like your… partner? Romantically? How old is he? Forty?”

“He’s thirty-two, JJ,” I said, breath puffing as we ran. “We’re not a militia. I don’t even know that word. We’re just, like, a secret school of people who murder other people, and we get all our money from the mafia.”

Jonah missed a step. “Am I concussed?”

“I don’t know that word either.”

“A concussion is a head injury, baby,” Daddy muttered, eyes still forward. “Keep moving.”

We turned left, then ducked through an open archway. Lights flickered up ahead—faded safety strips running along the edge of the floor.

“I swear to God,” Jonah panted, “if this is some?—”

“They’re my family,” I said. “They feed me pancakes, and I’m learning to read. Also, I go to therapy now.”

“Do you think that was an explanation?”

I reached out and grabbed his hand.

He stared down at it like it was a grenade.

“You’re gonna love it,” I promised. “You’ll see.”

Daddy glanced back once, just long enough to check I was close. His jaw was tight, his focus like a wire stretched thin.

“Two more turns,” he said. “Then we hit the extraction tunnel.”

Jonah tightened his grip on my hand. “And then what?”

I smiled. “We go home.”

The comms crackled again. “Team C, we’ve got eyes on the tunnel door. Clear on our end.”

Daddy clicked his mic. “Copy that. ETA, sixty seconds.”

“Make it thirty if you can,” Miller replied. “We’ve got guard chatter on the exterior cams. They know something’s up.”

“We’re moving,” Daddy said. Then to us—“Faster, boys.”

Jonah squeezed my hand again. “You really trust him?”

“With everything,” I said.

Daddy’s pace quickened, gun steady, boots hitting the ground with practiced rhythm. The air thickened the deeper we went, damp and iron-scented, like blood never fully scrubbed from the walls.

We turned again.

Jonah’s breath rasped beside me. He still hadn’t let go of my hand.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Okay. So you joined a murder school. Fine . But why does your boyfriend look like he could break me in half with one hand?”

“He could,” I said proudly.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, JJ,” I chirped, because that’s what he used to say to me.

It made him snort—just once.

Daddy held up a hand, signaling us to slow.

The tunnel door was several paces ahead, door ajar like it was waiting for us.

“Eyes sharp,” Daddy murmured. “Stack behind me. Blue—on me. Jonah, watch our six.”

Jonah raised his gun, grumbling under his breath. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just casually defend the rear of a vigilante escape squad. What could go wrong?”

“Nothing,” I whispered. “We’ve got Daddy.”

A huff from Jonah. “I don’t even know what the mafia is.”

“The mafia is like, um, this giant family, but not a family-family. More like a… business? But instead of selling, like, cookies or shoes or whatever, they do crimes. They’re super rich, and they sort of adopted us, I think? But only if we train really hard and get good at murder.”

Jonah blinked. “I’m more confused now than I was before.”

“That’s probably because you’re concussed. Don’t worry, JJ, there’s a doctor at home.”

The tunnel got skinnier as we moved, walls pressing close like they didn’t want to let us leave.

Too damn bad.

The floor changed, too. It wasn’t stone anymore, just cold metal that made our boots sound louder than before.

Daddy was in front, but he wasn’t going as fast now. Not slow, exactly. Just careful .

The comms crackled.

“Team B is in motion,” Miller’s voice came through. “Women and children are accounted for—twenty-seven total. En route to evac. Team A, standing by. Team C, status?”

Daddy spoke into his mic, keeping his eyes forward. “Almost out. Tunnel’s clear so far.”

“Copy.” Miller’s voice was quieter now, more static under the words. “Team C, we’ve got something weird on the outer cams. One figure, no ID, moving solo. Not a guard. Not one of ours.”

My stomach dropped.

Daddy’s shoulders shifted. “Say again?”

Miller’s voice crackled harder. “One figure, moving fast. You’re closest. I can’t register?—”

A light ahead of us blinked out.

Then another.

Daddy stopped moving. He didn’t say anything, but his arm came out to block me. I bumped into him and froze.

Jonah’s hand tightened on my wrist.

“Back,” Daddy murmured. “Now.”

I turned to look at Jonah, but before either of us could move, a voice curled down the tunnel.

“Well, well, well.”

Ezekiel.

“Look what the Devil sent in.”

No.

No.

No.

Something inside my tummy twisted sharp. My heart wasn’t beating anymore—it was punching .

Over.

And over.

And over.

It moved so fast I couldn’t breathe, and I thought it was probably just going to burn out.

Beneath my feet, the floor started to sway, and then the whole tunnel tilted sideways.

He’s going to punish me.

Knees locking, my bones began to buzz, sort of like they wanted to run really far away, but my body wouldn’t let them.

I knew what was coming next—the belt, the whip, the water, the prayers.

Pray harder, Bailey.

Thank me for the correction, Bailey.

You’re a sinner, Bailey.

“Blue.” Strong fingers wrapped around the back of my neck. “Breathe for me, baby.”

“I—I can’t.” My lungs didn’t remember how.

“Yes, you can, sweetheart. Breathe for me. Please.”

“He’s going to hurt us,” I whispered. “He’s going to make it worse. He always does.”

“No, he’s not,” Daddy said. “You’re not there anymore. Look at me, baby boy.”

My head turned slowly, unwilling, as if fear had rusted all the hinges. When I looked up, Daddy was there, hand still cupped around my neck, holding on tight, as though I might float away without him.

“You’re safe,” he said. “You’re safe, baby. With me.”

My knees started to shake.

“Breathe in,” he guided, “and out. Just like that. I’ve got you.”

Something thick hit the back of my throat—salt and heat and shame. I blinked, and a tear slipped down my face before I could catch it.

“I don’t want to be bad again.” I sniffled. “Daddy, I don’t want to be the reason?—”

“You’re not bad,” he swore, swiping a thumb over my cheek. “You’re mine. My good boy.”

He stepped closer, lowering his forehead to mine.

“You hear me, Bailey Blue?” His voice cracked. “You are not what he said. You are not what he made. You belong to me, and I know who you are.”

The floor steadied a little.

The tunnel stopped spinning.

My chest still hurt, but the air came in.

“Good boy. That’s right— breathe . No one’s ever taking you from me.”

A slow clap echoed from deeper in the dark.