One, I left my past in Apple Grove.
And two, the mountain was silent because my younger self is finally at peace.
21
Wraith
“The arrests have been made.”
I lean back in the chair and exhale on a sigh, rage building behind my facade of composure. “Who?”
“Mayor. Judges. Police chief. Cops. You name the scumbag, they’ve been arrested. It’s going to be a new world order down in Marion County.” Crow flattens his palms on the table and leans forward. Satisfaction burns behind his eyes. “FBI went in and grabbed everyone except Crane. Had to cash in most of our favors for that one, but we got it done.”
Gotta love it when government corruption works in our favor.
“And Gomorrah?”
“Good and bad.” Crow grabs his phone and scrolls through his texts. “Jamie’s friend, Roger, said most of Crane’s men tucked tail and ran when the warrants started coming down. The good news is, Gomorrah’s a ghost town. Bad is that Crane killed all the captives. Shot them dead. Brothel workers, too, even the kids.”
Goddamn it.
Of course that sick fuck would eliminate everyone he considered a liability. Hate to admit it, but I expected nothing less from that sick fuck.
As for Gomorrah itself, I never saw outside of the Coliseum. From what Jamie told me, the grounds were a hub of activity, teeming with guards and staff. It’s what made it damn near impossible for her to leave. Why she needed a perfect storm to escape. And why she risked everything to get that intel to bring down Crane’s business associates.
I find it ironic that we needed the law on our side to take him out.
Rotten raps his knuckles on the table. “What’s the move, Wraith?”
I trace my fingers in the grooves dug into the wood. Every Unholy carves their name in the table that dominates this meeting room. It’s become a piece of living history. A testimony to the men who’ve bled for Mayhem. “Full attack.”
Crow, who’s at the head of the table, nods. Rotten is at his right. Voodoo is sitting on his left. Where we are is dictated by rank. Next to Voodoo is Malice, then Jester, Havoc, and me as the four chief enforcers. Discord is at the end, hanging on every word because nothing makes him happier than the prospect of spilling blood.
Opposite us is Dirt, the Unholy’s secretary. Next to him is our treasurer, Rebel. Last is Preacher, the gang’s chaplain—who is anything but our spiritual advisor as his title deceptively implies. He’s our liaison in the event of an arrest.
Every chaplain earns the name Preacher when they take the position. He asks, “How soon can we get to Florida?”
Rotten lets out a gruff laugh. “How soon do you want to leave?”
“Yesterday,” I growl.
“Before Crane bolts,” Malice snarls.
I shake my head, having learned a thing or two about the man during my time in the dungeon. “Nah, coward won’t run. He’s nothing outside of Gomorrah.”
“He has to know we’re coming for him,” Rebel reasons.
“Of course he does,” I agree. “He’s counting on it.”
Jester leans forward and folds his arms on the table. “From what you’ve told me, Wraith, the bastard’s not suicidal.”
“No, but he wants to finish the job he started in his torture chamber.”
“And Crane thinks he can take out all of us to get to you?” Voodoo asks incredulously.
“He built himself a kingdom. Practically struts around in a goddamn crown. You think the man’s got his head on straight?”
“Good point,” Voodoo agrees.
