Page 29 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost (Nightfall Syndicate #1)

twenty-four

Kade

I scan the abandoned Oakland Estuary Shipyard, my senses on high alert. The team fans out behind me, their movements precise and controlled. Alina stays close, her presence both comforting and distracting.

"Nitro, Blade. Take the east side. Reaper, Chaos. West. Saint, you're on standby for medical. Stay sharp."

My orders brooke no argument. As the team splits off, I catch Asher's eye.

"I've got eyes up high," he confirms, already moving towards the towering container cranes looming in the distance.

I shift toward Alina, taking in the resolute look on her face. "Stay close. We don't know what we're walking into."

She nods, her green eyes flashing. We move silently through the derelict structures, rusted metal groaning beneath our feet. The air is thick with the scent of salt and decay.

A padlocked door catches my attention. Before I can react, Alina steps forward, extracting a small set of picks from her pocket. My eyebrows rise involuntarily.

"Where did you learn that?" I whisper, mesmerized by her nimble fingers working the lock.

She tosses a quick grin over her shoulder. "A girl's gotta have some secrets, Ghost."

The question nags at me. "Hold up. If you've got these skills, why were you trying to break in through a window at the warehouse?"

Her hands pause momentarily. Even in the dim light, I catch the flush creeping up her neck.

"I didn't—" she starts, then sighs. "Fine. I got a little too eager and went for the first entry point I spotted. Didn't bother checking if the doors would open." She returns to the lock, muttering, "Rookie mistake."

I bite back a smile. "For someone with lock picks, yeah, pretty fucking amateur."

The lock surrenders with a soft click. Despite myself, I'm impressed. We slip silently into the pitch-black interior. Our flashlight beams cut through the darkness, revealing rusted equipment and piles of junk scattered throughout the space.

"Look," Alina whispers, pointing to a weathered ledger partially hidden under a fallen beam.

I crouch down, carefully extracting the book. As I flip through the pages, a familiar name jumps out. Steele.

"Good eye," I murmur, tucking the ledger into my pack. "This could be the connection we're looking for. "

We continue our sweep, tension coiling in my gut. Something about this place feels off, like we're being watched. I keep Alina close, alert to any movement or sound.

Suddenly, Damian's voice comes through the comm. "Ghost, you need to see this. Northwest corner of the main warehouse."

My heart rate spikes. "Copy. On our way."

I grab Alina's hand, pulling her along as we navigate the maze of abandoned structures. The rest of the team converges on our location, faces grim.

As we approach, I can see Damian standing stock-still, his usually impassive face etched with concern. He meets my eyes, a silent warning passing between us.

"What is it?" I ask, though a part of me already knows the answer.

Damian steps aside, revealing what lies beyond. My breath catches in my throat, the world narrowing to a singular, horrifying point.

"Oh God," Alina gasps beside me.

There, in the rubble, lies the unmistakable form of a body. Male, approximately Roman's build, face unrecognizable—a pulpy mass of tissue and bone where distinguishing features should be. My stomach lurches at the sight, but I force myself to look, to assess.

"Saint, get over here now," I bark into the comm, my voice cracking despite my efforts to remain in control.

Alina takes a step closer, her face pale. "Is that...?"

I can't answer. Can't form the words. The body's wearing clothes similar to what Roman favors—dark tactical pants, a black jacket. But it's the wrist that draws my attention. A glint of silver beneath the blood spatters .

I kneel beside the body, my hands trembling slightly as I wipe away the blood from the watch face. The custom timepiece Roman and I commissioned when we founded Nightfall Syndicate stares back at me—identical to the one currently strapped to my own wrist.

"It's him," I choke out, bile rising in my throat. "It's Shadow."

Saint arrives, his usually easygoing demeanor replaced by grim professionalism. He kneels beside the body, his practiced hands moving swiftly.

"Multiple stab wounds," he reports. "Looks like it happened recently." He examines the watch. "Stopped at 15:17."

I check my own watch: 17:45. We're early for the scheduled 21:00 meeting.

"That's impossible," I mutter. "We got the intel about the meeting at 15:30. Meeting was scheduled for 21:00. We arrived at 17:30 to secure the location."

Remy frowns. "If this watch is accurate, he was already here two hours ago."

The implication hits me like a physical blow. "The meeting time changed. He came early and walked into a trap."

My chest constricts, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. I lean closer, catching the familiar scent of Roman's signature cologne mingled with the copper tang of blood. It's unmistakable—the same clove and cedar notes he's worn since I've known him.

I reach out, my fingers brushing against the watch band. My vision blurs, and suddenly I'm drowning in memories.

Roman sliding the watch across his desk to me .

"To new beginnings," he showed me the identical timepiece on his wrist. "The official start of Nightfall Syndicate."

The matching watches—symbols of our brotherhood, of everything we built together.

Roman teaching me to trust again after years in foster care, showing me that family can be chosen, can be built from broken pieces.

Roman standing beside me at my first team member's funeral, his hand steady on my shoulder as I fought back tears.

"Ghost." Damian's voice yanks me back to the present. "Police scanners picked up activity. Harbor patrol's doing a sweep in twenty minutes. We need to move."

"We can't just leave him," I snarl, my hand still gripping Roman's wrist. I can't feel a pulse, but his skin is still warm. Too warm.

He's only been dead a short time. If we'd been faster, if I'd been smarter...

"We have to," Remy says quietly. "And the body's too damaged for proper field identification, Ghost. We need our equipment, proper lighting, time we don't have right now."

The world tilts dangerously as I stare down at what remains of my friend. My mentor. My brother. Blood soaks through the knees of my pants where I kneel, sticky and warm. His blood. The thought sends a wave of nausea through me.

"Dammit, Roman," I whisper, too low for the others to hear. "Who did this to you?"

Asher appears at my side, his normally cold demeanor softened by something dangerously close to sympathy.

"Ghost," he says firmly. "We need to go. Now. "

I shake my head, unable or unwilling to process his words. My fingers tighten around Roman's wrist.

"Kade." Asher uses my real name, something he hasn't done in years. The shock of it almost clears my head. "You're too close to this. You need to go home, get your head straight."

"I'm fine," I snarl, not meeting his eyes, focusing instead on the blood beneath my fingers.

"No, you're not," he snaps, his usual calm precision fractured by urgency. "None of us are, but you were closest to him. Let us handle this part."

I rise to my feet so quickly that black spots dance before my eyes, towering over Asher. "You think I can't do my job?"

"I think you're about to fall apart," Asher says bluntly. "And we need you whole."

My hands curl into fists, rage boiling up from somewhere deep and primal. Asher doesn't back down, but I see the team tensing around us, ready to intervene. They've never seen me like this—on the edge, control slipping.

"Ghost," Asher says quietly. "Please."

The word stops me cold. Asher doesn't say please. Ever.

He turns to Alina, his eyes conveying a silent plea. "Talk some sense into him. You're the only one he might listen to right now."

Alina steps forward, her eyes meeting mine.

"Ghost," she says softly, using my name like a lifeline. "Let's go. Let them handle this. I'll stay with you."

Something in her voice cuts through the storm inside me. I look down at Roman's body once more, at the silver watch gleaming dully in the flashlight's beam. My hands are covered in his blood, tacky and cooling rapidly.

I reach for Roman's wrist. The watch face is smeared with crimson, his blood tacky against my fingertips as I unfasten the clasp.

"I'll find them," I promise, my voice breaking as I pocket the blood-covered timepiece. "Whoever did this to you won't fucking live to see another sunrise once I do."

I force myself to stand, to turn away.

"Frost, coordinate with Reaper on extraction and cleanup. Blade, start working on the cover story. I want regular updates, every thirty minutes."

I move mechanically toward one of the CPG sedans, my body operating on autopilot while my mind reels. Alina follows close behind. She reaches for the driver's side door, but I shake my head.

"I need to drive," I say, my voice unrecognizable even to my own ears. "I need... I need to feel in control of something right now."

Alina nods, sliding into the passenger seat without argument.

I start the engine, my blood-stained hands leaving smears on the leather steering wheel. I ought to return to CPG headquarters, to plan our next steps, to honor Roman's memory with swift action and justice. I need to be the leader he believed I could be.

I can't face that place right now. Not with Roman's ghost haunting every corner.

Instead, as I merge into traffic, I realize I'm driving in another direction entirely.