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Chapter 3

EZEKIEL

“S o, where’s the co-captain?” I ask casually, finally free enough to talk a little now that we’re out of earshot of the party, though I’m not foolish enough to drop my guard altogether and say the wrong thing.

“Dead.”

“Of course he is,” I mutter, half to myself. Leave it to Spencer to not only say whatever the hell he wants, wherever he wants, but to kill the only other person on board who might actually know how to sail this fucking thing. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. The ship’s on borrowed time anyway. Spencer has never been one to do things by halves, that’s for damn sure, yet, that’s one of the reasons why he’s here. As much as I’d like to think I’m the best ghost in my field, even I can’t be in two places at once. With The Royal’s eyes on me at every waking moment and with every move I make scrutinized, I needed someone I could halfway trust not to mess this up.

This assignment isn't just an assignment to us. It’s personal, which is why we were given it in the first place. The mafia, more specifically, our boss, Titan King, has been watching The Royal closely for a little over eighteen years now, around the same time he rescued Spencer and me from a sketchy organization much like this one, only it’s not a scratch on The Royal. We were just kids then, and instead of putting us in the system or doing anything remotely above board because, god forbid, we follow the law around here, Titan took us under his wing, threw us in the deep end, and we’ve been working for him ever since. Working for the mafia has never bothered me, really. It was the least I could do, considering he saved us from a fate far worse than anyone else working in the underground could handle.

While I’ve been undercover, Spencer has been like a quiet shadow behind the scenes, only stepping out from the dark at the right time a couple of years ago. It’s taken years to set everything in motion, and the groundwork we’ve had to lay, the sacrifices we’ve had to make, and the innocent people who were left behind are unforgivable. We’ve reported anything that could be used to take these bastards down. Not to the feds. They're just as corrupt as everyone here. No, we report to Titan, himself. But, it has never been enough. Never enough to stop this shit from happening, and never enough to save the souls left behind for no other reason than the circumstances were far too dire, and we needed to avoid our cover being blown at all costs.

The consequences of those failures will be carried out tonight, and if I’m being honest, I’ve made peace with it. This is the price I’ve chosen to pay, the cost of being part of something much bigger than me.

Bigger than us.

I watch the numbers on the elevator dial glow and change as we ascend higher. I want to tell Spencer everything. I want him to know what’s about to happen. But I know better. I can’t leave anything to chance, and if there’s even the slightest bit of resistance from him, this will all go to shit, and the fuck if I'm allowing that to happen. Stepping out of the elevator, we scan the hall for onlookers, but as predicted, they're all salivating over this evening's live entertainment in the lower-level theatre. We keep quiet as we casually walk along the blood-red and black extravagant carpet, not daring so much as a whisper between us. They’re always listening, and when you think you’re alone and the world has gone quiet, you bet your ass they’re watching, waiting in the darkness for you to get cocky.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Spencer whispers, his head shifting in every direction as we reach the end of the hall and stand before room 42B.

We don’t have a fucking choice.

“The time for questions was years ago, brother, and we have exactly ten minutes before our boy Charles and his bodyguard walk in here, so we need to be ready,” I say, not wasting any time by looking up to see if he’s doing okay or not. Violence and even death are something we’re both familiar with. And we don’t have the luxury of processing how we feel. My only goal is to get what we need from Charles.

That’s it.

Then, there might be a spare moment or two to say our goodbyes before finally facing our doom, but not a minute before. If this fails, and we, by some miracle, live to tell the tale, we’ll be as good as dead anyway because our bosses will not accept failure. Not with something of this magnitude.

A muted beep fills the quiet, and I look up to see that the light on the security camera fixed to the ceiling has vanished.

“The tape is in the system now,” Spencer says with a quick nod.

Thank fuck.

I’ve got to say, I’m a little impressed. It was a genius idea. One I only found out about last night when he sent it to me. If somebody were to tap into the ship's security network, they’d have a front-row seat to an artificial, albeit seemingly accurate as fuck videotape of Valerie’s whore , aka me, running off to make out with Lady Jane’s new Sea Captain, not only giving us an alibi to those watching at home, but also throwing Valerie off when she inevitably checks the cameras to see where we both went. Fooling The Royals is not easy, and even as dread gnaws at the pit of my stomach, its teeth making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end with the thought that something is off, I swipe the keycard anyway, successfully unlocking the door to Charles’s room.

A smile tugs on the corner of my lips despite the sinking feeling in my gut, and I tilt my head, raising a brow at Spencer, questioning whether or not he’s ready for all the shit that's about to hit the fan. His eyes widen, whirling with all kinds of emotions, but it’s the fear in them that I focus on.

We’re supposed to be ghosts.

The entire fucking point of our job is to be emotionless at all times. Especially in situations like these. I totally get that we’ve both been through a lot. Shit that you don’t just forget about overnight, that’s for sure. Believe me, I’ve tried and failed.

There isn’t a single ghost in the history of the underworld that was ever permitted to show their feelings. It’s the greatest sign of weakness, and the mafia doesn’t do weakness. If we ever compromised a mission for no other reason than we couldn’t get our head in the game, we’d be dead by morning. Or worse, wishing that we were.

I look him square in the eyes, narrowing mine slightly, and toy with the idea of confronting him on whether or not he’s fucking in this one hundred percent with me. This is why I have gone rogue. I can’t trust anyone else not to let this fail.

His expression shifts between emotions. Fear, acceptance, before finally settling on indifference. That-a-boy. I blow out a shaky breath, turn the gold door handle, and slowly creep inside.

It's time to meet the devil.

Moonlight shines through from the balcony window, casting silvery hues across the walls and carpet as we quietly close the door behind us. The lingering scent of men’s cologne hangs in the air, confirming that this is, in fact, Charles's room and not some sort of placeholder he’s set up as a distraction to sway us off his trail, though it would’ve been wise of him to do that now that I think about it. I glance at Spencer, the moonlight highlighting and hollowing parts of his sharp features, as he looks down at his watch, checking the time.

“Six minutes,” he whispers, more to himself than to me, and I don’t miss the tension laced in his tone. He comes to a standstill, turning around to face me in the middle of the room.

“Closet.” I gesture to my left, my eyes flicking to the doors.

We need to stick to the shadows. I’ve kept things as vague as possible with Spencer. Part of the reason why I’ve made it this far is because the plan, while flexible, has always depended on maintaining control and keeping my finger on the pulse. And control is not something I hand over regularly. Every detail has been calculated down to the second, a feat made all the more difficult when you have to leave room for error. But no matter how many variables are in play, there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, and it’s that these people, The Royal, and whoever else is associated, will not be leaving Lady Jane alive.

I won't be ‘bringing them in’ for exposure. There are no helicopters, newspapers, or reporters waiting for them at the end of this. No. Fuck that. These people don’t get to live another second for what they’ve done. Allowing them time will only aid them in setting their contingency plans in motion or paying off who they need to and striking a deal to secure a lesser sentence. I’m not interested in any of that, especially with the number of corrupt cops and lawyers on their payroll. Innocent fucking lives are at risk here, and I refuse to let them down any more than I already have by being part of this in the first place. Whether or not I’m undercover, I’m guilty by association alone. I’ll never see it any other way. I’ve stood by and watched some of the most heinous crimes play out before my eyes, and I didn’t do a damn fucking thing about it. I couldn’t do a damn fucking thing about it. But in my mind, those are one and the same. Not to mention the sick and twisted things they made me do, and I had no option but to go along with it, all in the name of the bigger picture.

Either way, it all ends tonight. No matter how this goes down, this ship and everyone on it won’t be alive long enough to order dinner because the moment Charles walks in here and flicks on the light switch, a timer will be activated, silently triggering the bombs hidden at each end of every floor on this ship. I’ll have about ten minutes to kill the bastard, cut through his skin, retrieve the microchip buried in his arm, and put it in the fireproof vault located behind the desk in the lobby, along with the signet ring on my middle finger. A tracker.

The vault, a new, however integral part of the plan, is designed to preserve whatever contents are placed inside in the event of fire or water exposure, which means that it’s the only safe space to store both the tracker and the chip. It’s the only way that Titan will have a chance of finding it when we’re all swimming with sharks.

I saw the chip today when I hacked the ship’s check-in as Charles passed through the detectors. Once I realized what it was, everything fell into place. He’s never around. He’s always the eyes and ears behind the cameras, never letting anyone see him. And on nights like tonight, he doesn’t stick around long enough for anyone to notice he’s gone. He’s built an impenetrable fortress around himself, and now I know why. He is the literal key to everything, and the weight of that certainty makes each second all the more critical.

Following Spencer, we huddle in the closet, our shoulders brushing as we wait for the end. Even if he isn’t aware that we’re on borrowed time, the air is still suffocating, as our shallow breaths eventually grow even. But his voice breaks through the silence, just as the darkness presses in on us.

“I’m sorry, brother,” is all I hear, and for a heartbeat, I feel everything.

No! What the hell is he doing?

The sharp sting on the side of my neck is all I feel, as the man that, up until this moment, I call family betrays me. My body immediately submits as I lose control over my limbs, his arms now around me, as he drags me from the safety of the closet.

How could he do this?

‘The fucking children!’ I want to shout, but my tongue feels swollen behind my lips.

I’m numb.

Paralyzed, save for my eyes, darting around the room, but there’s no use. Nothing will stop this from happening, not when I can’t feel my fucking body.

He doesn’t know about the chip.

Those innocent lives.

They need him.

Locating the microchip is the only way they’ll be saved.

“I didn’t want it to be like this, Ezekiel, but I have no choice. This is my shot, brother. Exposing The Royal is my ticket to a new life, my one and only chance to get out of the underground. I can’t let it be you. I’m sorry. ” If I had a heart, It’d probably be shattered by his admission.

We grew up together.

We were born from the blood spilled by monsters like members of The Royal. If it weren’t for the mafia, we’d both be fucking dead by now. Instead, we get to live out the remainder of our lives.

Is that not enough?

Does he not see that even so much as breathing is a privilege? A privilege so many of the other kids we knew back then didn’t fucking get. I know firsthand how complicated the past is and how hard it is to ignore. In fact, it’s damn near impossible. Especially when the memory of it swirls beneath the silver scars that mark our bodies, serving as a daily reminder that we made it out of there alive, to hell with how. I made a choice, and I decided to channel my suffering into purpose because the way I see it, if I am worthy of a second chance at life, a life the others didn’t get to have, then I’ll spend the rest of my days making sure that it all stops or die trying.

Spencer throwing a spanner in the works...

That’s the real betrayal here.

Part of me knew he’d do this. I heard it in his voice years ago and saw it in his eyes tonight— the pain.

The ghosts of the past that haunt me haunt him, too, and he can’t rise above them. Right or wrong, he wanted out. There’s one thing he’s always craved more than justice, and that’s freedom. The freedom to walk away from this life and escape from the weight that the mafia holds on us. I get it. I really do. And if I thought it was at all possible, I would have let him take this for himself if he had asked. Hell, I’d have offered it to him even if he didn’t, but that’s just it. There is no way that the underground will ever let us go. Let him go. Not that any of that matters now. Lady Jane and every one of our damned souls will burn and sink to the bottom of the ocean. It's only a matter of time.

I want to tell him this.

I want him to know that despite his best efforts to double-cross me, I was always a step ahead. I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

His hands grip my arms, pulling me back toward the balcony.

He’s gonna throw me off the fucking boat.

Well, that’s one way to go out. There’s certainly fuck all I can do about it. He’s about to be blown to Smithereens, so I think I’ll get the better end of the deal here. A captain always goes down with his ship, after all. I want to smile, but I can’t feel my face. He’s about to be shark shit, too, and I’m the only mother fucker who knows.

None of us, not a single fucking one of us, can be saved. And without someone discovering that chip, those innocent people, the reason I’ve spent the past four years doing this shit with these fucking criminals, won’t ever be found. And unless the microchip is in that fireproof vault, they will all rot. The only consolation is that the people responsible will rot, too. Dropping my arms to the floor with a thud, he opens the balcony doors. They swing open with the force of the wind, slamming hard against the wallpaper.

There’s a storm.

How fitting.

He grabs me again and holds my body upright, my back against the balcony railing.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me,” his voice barely above a whisper, but I catch it in the wind.

He’s not sorry. He’s guilty. There’s a difference. I accepted that I wasn’t ever getting off this ship. I also accepted that he wouldn’t leave the ship either, so I’m not mad at him for this. I’m fucking mad because this was all for nothing.

I failed.

And as my body rolls over the edge of the railing, I don’t bother begging God for forgiveness. He didn’t give a shit when I needed him the most. Instead, I close my eyes and silently cry. Not because I’m about to drown but because I am just so sorry.

I am so fucking sorry. I failed.