Chapter 9: Enemy Within

EMILIA POV

Gunfire erupted inside the warehouse before anyone had time to react.

The Black Wolves stormed through the broken entrance, dressed in black tactical gear instead of leather cuts.

Unlike the Reapers, they moved with military precision.

"Cover!" Marco shouted.

Every Iron Serpent immediately took position behind crates and machinery.

Ghost pulled me behind a concrete pillar.

"Stay down," he ordered.

"I'm not leaving your side."

"Good. Because I don't plan on letting you go."

Bullets ricocheted across the warehouse walls.

The Black Wolves weren't shooting wildly.

They were advancing in coordinated groups.

"These guys aren't bikers," I whispered.

"No," Ghost replied while reloading.

"They're mercenaries."

"Someone hired them."

Marco slid beside us.

"We need to fall back."

"Too many of them."

"Negative," Ghost answered.

"They're protecting something."

"Look."

Through the smoke, I noticed several Black Wolves heading directly toward my father's hidden office.

"The lockbox," I realized.

"They're after Dad's files."

Ghost nodded.

"Exactly."

"They knew about the documents."

"Which means..."

"Someone told them where to look," Marco finished.

Ghost's expression darkened.

"The traitor."

Without warning, Ghost sprinted across the warehouse.

"Axel!" I shouted.

He dove behind a forklift, firing twice.

Two Black Wolves fell instantly.

Marco led another group around the opposite side.

Within minutes, the warehouse became a battlefield.

Then everything suddenly stopped.

"Enough!"

A deep voice echoed through the building.

One of the Black Wolves stepped forward.

Unlike the others, he wore no mask.

A long scar stretched across his face.

"Ghost Cruz," he called.

"Still impossible to kill."

Ghost narrowed his eyes.

"Cole Mercer."

"I thought you were dead."

"Disappointed?" Cole smirked.

"A little."

"Walk away," Cole warned.

"We're only here for the files."

"Not happening."

"Then people die."

Cole snapped his fingers.

A sniper laser suddenly appeared on my chest.

Everything froze.

"Emilia!" Ghost shouted.

Before I could react, Ghost tackled me to the floor.

The sniper fired.

The bullet shattered the wall inches above us.

"Move!" Ghost yelled.

Marco and the Serpents returned fire.

The sniper disappeared.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Cole's men grabbed the lockbox and retreated toward their vehicles.

"Stop them!" Marco ordered.

Ghost chased after them.

He managed to shoot out one SUV's tire.

But the remaining vehicles escaped into the desert.

Silence slowly returned.

Smoke drifted through the warehouse.

"Damn it!" Marco cursed.

"They got the files."

Ghost kicked a nearby crate in frustration.

"Not all of them."

"Look."

He picked up a small leather notebook lying beneath the broken lockbox.

"It must've fallen out."

Marco opened it.

"Dad's handwriting."

"What does it say?" I asked.

Marco quickly flipped through the pages.

Most of them contained names.

Dates.

Payments.

Then Ghost stopped him.

"Wait."

"Go back."

One page had a list of supply shipments.

Next to each successful Reaper ambush was the same set of initials.

"R.T."

"Who the hell is R.T.?" Marco frowned.

Ghost looked around the warehouse.

His face slowly lost all color.

"Ryan Thompson..."

"Our Treasurer."

"Impossible," Marco replied instantly.

"Ryan's been with us fifteen years."

"Exactly," Ghost answered.

"He knows every shipment."

"Every payment."

"Every route."

"If someone was feeding information to the Reapers..."

"Ryan had access to everything."

Marco refused to believe it.

"No."

"Ryan practically helped raise Emilia."

"He wouldn't betray Dad."

"Wouldn't he?" Ghost quietly asked.

"Where is he?"

Everyone looked around.

Ryan wasn't there.

"He was riding behind us this morning," one of the younger members said.

"I haven't seen him since the shooting started."

Ghost immediately pulled out his phone.

"Track his bike."

One of the tech-savvy members connected to the GPS installed on club motorcycles.

Seconds later his expression changed.

"He's moving."

"Heading west."

"Toward Reaper territory."

The warehouse fell silent.

Marco stared at the screen in disbelief.

"Ryan..."

"No..."

Ghost holstered his pistol.

"Now do you believe me?"

Marco closed the notebook slowly.

"Get the bikes ready."

"Nobody leaves this warehouse."

"We're bringing Ryan back."

"Alive if possible."

"Dead if necessary."

As everyone rushed outside, Ghost stayed behind with me.

"You're shaking," he said softly.

"Today never stopped."

"First the Wolves... now Ryan..."

"How much worse can this get?"

Ghost gently cupped my face.

"However bad it gets..."

"We'll face it together."

"I promise."

I nodded.

For the first time since returning home, I truly believed him.

Outside, motorcycles roared to life.

The hunt had begun.

Not for the Reapers.

Not for the Black Wolves.

But for the man everyone had trusted for fifteen years.

The enemy who had been sitting at our table all along.