Shadow Of Kingscity

The Ghost Elite Mark

“Hey, hey! What do you think you are doing?” one of Damian’s men shouted, his voice cracking with panic. He had spotted one of the mechanics lowering a welding machine toward a small dent on the Shelby GT500.

The mechanic froze like someone caught stealing meat from a pot. His mouth opened but no words came out.

Before the guard could rant further, Uncle Mark stormed over. “Are you stupid or practicing to be one?” he barked. His voice filled the whole workshop. “Your boss was just here shouting that we must finish this car in three days. Now you want to tell my boys what they should or should not do?”

He snatched a rag off a toolbox and pointed it at the guard. “Keep interrupting my workers and I will call your boss myself and tell him the delay is from your side.”

The guard’s tough act collapsed instantly. He forced a smile so fake it looked painful. “Sorry, sir. Please continue.”

Uncle Mark hissed and walked away, leaving the mechanic to breathe again and get back to work.

Just then, Ethan walked out of the inner workshop area. His steps were fast, shoulders tense, eyes focused like a man with a deadline only he understood.

“Where are you heading?” Uncle Mark asked, worry already etched on his face.

“I will be back soon,” Ethan said. “I need to check something.”

Uncle Mark moved closer and lowered his voice. “I know you are restless because of Liam. I feel it too. But listen to me. I believe he is alive. My fear is… he might have gotten mixed up in something dangerous. That is why people are either scared or pretending they know nothing. As you search for him, be careful. Watch your back.”

Ethan gave a small nod. “I will be fine, Uncle.”

He headed to the garage section of the workshop. In the corner stood a power bike draped under a dusty cover. The moment he lifted the cloth, his chest tightened with a bitter mix of memory and relief. The bike was still clean, still polished, still cared for.

Liam had not abandoned it. He had been looking after it all these years.

A faint smile pulled at Ethan’s lips. He swung a leg over, turned the key, and the engine roared awake with a deep growl that shook the air.

Without another word, Ethan sped out of the workshop. The sound of the bike echoed behind him, loud and sharp, fading into the distance as he disappeared down the road.

In less than a minute, Ethan’s bike rolled to a stop in front of their old apartment on Alder Ridge Street, a quiet road tucked near the center of Kingscity. This was the duplex he and Liam kept after their father died. Their father had owned two houses, but they sold one and stayed here. It was the only place that had ever felt like home.

The spare key was still in the same spot, hidden beside the flower pot near the front door. Liam never changed that habit. Ethan picked it up and stepped inside.

The moment he walked in, a strange stillness washed over him. Everything looked exactly the same. The furniture, the arrangement, even the scent of the place felt untouched by time. It was almost as if those seven years had never passed. And yet something was off. The house was too neat. Too perfect. Liam hated dirt, sure, but this place looked like no one had lived in it at all.

Ethan headed straight for Liam’s room. If there were answers anywhere, it would be there.

The moment he pushed open the door, he froze. This was the only messy spot in the house. Papers scattered across the table, drawers not fully closed, notes piled without order. It looked like Liam had been searching for something right before he disappeared.

Ethan sifted through the papers, hoping for a hint. But everything he found was basic information. Customer names. Car parts. Workshop notes. Nothing helpful.

Then his gaze moved to the bed.

A small journal lay there.

He picked it up. As he lifted it, a card slipped out and fluttered to the floor. The back faced up. Ethan bent down, picked it up, and turned it over.

His heart skipped a beat.

The symbol printed on it was one he knew too well. The crest of the Ghost Elites.

He staggered back, the shock hitting him like a punch. That symbol should not be here. Not in Liam’s room.

The Ghost Elites were his unit. The same covert group he served in for seven long years. Their rule was simple: stay a ghost. No identity. No trace. No contact. If one member was exposed, it could lead enemies straight to the rest. Families included. And enemies of the Ghost Elites did not hesitate to kill.

“What is Liam doing with this?” Ethan whispered under his breath. His mind raced, fear rising inside him like dark water.

Was this linked to the warning call earlier? Was his identity leaked because Liam got too close to something he should not have touched?

If Liam got involved with the Ghost Elites in any way, rescuing him would be harder than Ethan imagined.

He forced himself to breathe and opened the journal. Near the back were three names and addresses. Next to each name Liam had written one small note: G. members.

Ethan closed the journal slowly.

“I will find these men,” he said to himself. “And I will learn the truth.”

He tucked the journal under his arm, left Liam’s room, and stepped out with a new wave of determination burning in his chest.

Ethan rode across the city until he arrived at the first address written in Liam’s journal. It turned out to be a bar he already knew well. He and Liam had spent plenty of late nights here, talking, drinking, and trying to forget life for a while.

He reached for the bar’s door, ready to push it open.

“Ethan?”

The voice came from behind him.

He turned and spotted a familiar face. Jude. An old friend who practically lived in the bar back in the day.

“Jude,” Ethan said with a small smile.

They exchanged a firm handshake, the kind men give when they haven’t seen each other in years.

“Longest time,” Jude said, laughing lightly.

“Yeah. How have you been?” Ethan asked as they stepped inside.

“I’m fine. Better now that I see you alive,” Jude replied. Then he called out, “Mr Paulo! Bring your best whiskey. My long-lost friend is back.”

The bartender, Mr Paulo, looked up from behind the counter. His eyes widened when he recognized Ethan.

“Well look who the wind blew in,” Mr Paulo said. “It has been ages. What brings you to my bar?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Ethan replied. “But tell me… when last did you see my brother?”

The room shifted the moment he asked that question. Mr Paulo’s cheerful mood faded. He turned back to his bottles like he hadn’t heard anything. Ethan opened his mouth to push further, but under the table Jude tapped his leg. A silent warning to stop.

Ethan glanced around and noticed it. People were watching him. Quietly. Too quietly. Several faces stared from different tables, eyes following him with a mix of pity and fear.

Finally Mr Paulo leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.

“Ethan… everyone knows you are looking for Liam. But his name has become something people avoid saying out loud.” He took a sharp breath. “A week ago, a group of men in black suits came here looking for him. One of my boys tried asking what they wanted. They shot him on the spot. Right there.” He pointed to a corner of the bar. The floor had been scrubbed clean, but Ethan could still feel the ghost of it.

The entire bar went silent as Mr Paulo continued.

“Since that night, no one talks about Liam. We don’t know what trouble he stepped into. And this city is full of men you don’t want to offend.”

Ethan kept his voice steady. “Do you know anyone named Kevin Dembala or Frank Dembala? Their names were linked to this bar in Liam’s journal.”

Mr Paulo nodded. “Yes. The Dembala twins. They came into Kingscity recently. And just like your brother, they vanished. No trace.”

Ethan exhaled slowly, frustration pressing hard on his chest.

“I’m sorry, Ethan,” Mr Paulo said. “I can’t help you beyond this. My advice is simple. Stay low and don’t poke at this mess. Something big is happening. Bigger than anything Kingscity has seen. And you… you can’t handle this alone.”

“Not when my only brother is involved,” Ethan replied. His voice was calm, but the determination behind it was sharp.

He thanked them both and headed outside.

The moment he stepped through the door, he saw it again. A black Ferrari parked across the street. It wasn’t subtle at all. In fact, it looked like it wanted to be seen. Ethan had noticed the same car trailing him from the apartment to the bar.

He walked toward it, ready to confront whoever was inside.

But the instant he got close, the Ferrari shot forward. It sped away so fast it almost clipped him at the side.

Ethan watched it disappear, but he had already memorized the plate number.

He moved toward his bike, but before he could start the engine, his phone rang.

“Hey boy,” Uncle Mark’s voice came through.

“Hello, Uncle,” Ethan replied.

“I think you need to see this,” his uncle said. “Someone dropped something for you. She said it will help you find him.”

A spark of hope flickered inside Ethan—just enough to push him harder.

He turned the key, revved the bike, and sped off back toward the workshop.