Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Jackson had his phone to his ear while Sasha paced, her hand curled into a fist, the other squeezing her stress ball, shaped like a screaming chicken.
“Okay,” I said loud enough to cut through the noise. “It’s time to stop watching the screen. Maddox is cornered, so he's down." They all looked up. “But Barris is a ghost. A pissed-off ghost with access to weapons, men, and no leash. If we don’t find him before he moves, Gabby’s still a target.”
Everyone’s expression shifted at once—focus sharpening, posture straightening as a silent signal had passed through the room. I saw the fire ignite in Jesse’s eyes again while that familiar, lethal calm settled over Marcus’s face. Elijah and Jackson didn’t waste a second. They were already moving, phones in hand, making calls and setting things in motion.
“Find him,” I clipped, pacing behind the couch. “I don’t care where he’s hiding—dig under every rock, every warehouse, every burned-out shell company Maddox ever touched. We’ve taken the crown from one snake, but Barris is still out there with fangs.”
Malcolm cracked his knuckles and smirked. “I love it when you go full monologue, cowboy.”
Benny grinned. “Let’s bag ourselves a psychopath.”
The room snapped back into motion, keys clacking, calls being made, names being checked. We weren’t just chasing ghosts anymore, we were hunting Clayton Barris.
And this time, I wasn’t going to miss.
Chapter 28
Gabby
This time, I woke slowly—not jolted by pain or dragged out of a nightmare, but because something had shifted. It was subtle, barely enough to register, but just off enough to stir me. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, and when I turned toward the chair beside my bed, I found it empty.
I shifted my eyes to the side and saw Ira was halfway out the door. For a man who joked about his age and carried Werther’s in every pocket, he was moving quietly. Too quietly. Like he didn’t want to be noticed. I watched him slip into the hallway—quick, nimble, and purposeful.
I tried to sit up, but the pain hit me the moment I moved—a sharp, overwhelming wave that radiated from my ribs, head, wrist, and leg all at once. My body felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to it and then tried to stitch me back together with fishing line and duct tape. But the adrenaline overrode all of it.
Something was happening.
“Ira—” I rasped, but he was gone.
I tried to move again, forcing my uncooperative body into motion. My IV tugged, and monitors beeped as I managed to twist to the side and get one leg partway over the edge of the bed before a voice stopped me.
“You need to lie back.”
A nurse stepped into the room—mid-forties, with neatly pressed scrubs and hair pinned back so tightly it looked like it could deflect bullets. She wasn’t exactly rude, but there was no warmth in her tone, no unnecessary small talk. Without a word, she moved to the monitor, pressed a few buttons, and then gave me a quick once-over, all business. Obviously, she'd never heard the expression about laughter being the best medicine.
“Where did he go?” I asked, breath catching as I fought the urge to collapse back onto the pillows.
She didn’t even blink. “Technically, you’re not supposed to have visitors in the ICU outside of certain hours. But we made an exception for your grandad because Gladys is one of our biggest donors.” She said it with the kind of resigned professionalism that told me she’d lost more than a few battles to that woman’s influence. “Do you want some pain meds?” she added, already checking the chart.
“Just Tylenol and ibuprofen.”
That made her look up. “You sure? I can get you something stronger.”
I shook my head. “I need my brain clear.”
She gave me a long, searching look, then nodded. “If you're sure, I’ll go and get it.”
Once she was gone, I sank back against the pillows, trying not to wince. A minute later, Ira returned—just as quiet, slipping into the room like he’d never left. His face was calm, but I could see something restless in his eyes.
He waited until the nurse left again before crossing to the side of the bed and pulling his phone from his pocket.
He held it out like it was a cursed object. “Everyone keeps talking about what happened with Gladys and Colin. Said it’s all over the internet. I don’t know how to find it, but if you can…”
I took the phone from him, the ache in my arms flaring with the movement as I tapped at the screen. It didn’t take long—just a few quick searches. The video was already everywhere, clipped, shared, and hash tagged into oblivion.
And there she was—Gladys, storming into the courthouse with all the fury of a woman on a mission. She marched straight up to her son, grabbed him by the ear like he was five years old, and dragged him out as if they were leaving Sunday school because he’d just cursed at the pastor.