BLOOD AND INNOCENCE

The darkness was my ally. As the explosion reverberated through the underground tunnels, chaos erupted. The backup generators hummed to life, bathing the cavern in a weak, strobing red light, but by then, I was already moving.

Marcus fired wildly into the spot where I had been standing, the muzzle flash illuminating his panicked face. I dove behind a stack of metal crates, pulling the ceramic blade from my belt.

Gunfire tore through the room as my men, having breached the upper levels, began rappelling down the elevator shaft, laying down heavy suppressive fire. Marcus's mercenaries returned fire, turning the cavern into a warzone of flashing bullets, screaming men, and ricocheting shrapnel.

I didn't care about the battle. I only cared about Hannah.

I low-crawled through the debris, dodging a spray of bullets that sparked against the concrete. I reached the metal chair where Hannah was tied. She was hyperventilating, her eyes squeezed shut against the deafening noise.

"Hannah!" I shouted over the gunfire, slicing through the thick zip-ties binding her wrists. "I'm here!"

Her hands flew free, and she grabbed the lapels of my coat, burying her face in my chest. I pulled her down to the floor, shielding her body with my own as a stray bullet shattered a monitor above us.

"You came," she sobbed, holding onto me like a lifeline.

"I told you I would," I growled. I grabbed a fallen mercenary's rifle, checking the clip. "Stay down. Do not move until I come back for you."

Before she could protest, I surged upward, firing short, controlled bursts into the remaining mercenaries guarding the perimeter. Dante and my crew had them pinned down, but I was looking for the snake whose head needed to be severed.

I saw Marcus sprinting toward a reinforced blast door at the back of the cavern—an escape tunnel.

"Marcus!" I roared, my voice cutting through the gunfire.

He didn't stop. I dropped the empty rifle and sprinted after him, tackling him just as he punched the code into the door panel. We crashed into the metal door, tumbling to the hard concrete floor in a tangle of limbs.

Marcus was older, but he fought with the desperate ferocity of a cornered animal. He threw a vicious elbow that caught me in the jaw, momentarily stunning me. I tasted copper. He scrambled to his feet, raising his heavy silver revolver, aiming it directly at my face.

"You always were too sentimental, Andrew!" he sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger.

I didn't try to dodge. I didn't have time. I threw myself forward, grabbing the barrel of the hot gun and forcing it upward just as he fired. The bullet grazed my shoulder, tearing through the meat and exiting my back with a searing, agonizing burn.

I roared in pain, but the adrenaline masked the shock. With my free hand, I drove the ceramic blade deep into his thigh.

Marcus screamed, dropping the gun. I tackled him again, pinning him to the floor. My hands wrapped around his throat, my thumbs pressing into his windpipe. Years of suppressed grief, of betrayal, of the innocent blood spilled in his name fueled my strength.

"This," I whispered, my face inches from his, watching the panic finally set into his eyes, "is for the eight years of lies. This is for the husband you killed. And this is for Sophie and the twins."

He clawed desperately at my hands, his eyes bulging, his face turning a deep, mottled purple. I didn't let go. I held on until his struggles ceased, until his arms dropped limply to his sides, and the light permanently left his eyes.

I knelt there for a long time, breathing heavily, the blood from my shoulder soaking my shirt. It was over. The ghost was finally dead.

I felt a soft hand on my uninjured shoulder. I turned and saw Hannah standing there, tears streaming down her face, surrounded by Dante and my victorious men. She knelt beside me, pulling my head onto her shoulder, uncaring of the blood and the dirt.