The Rise Of The Forgotten King.

CHAPTER 3

Outside, the cold air hit like a slap. I breathed it in and let out a tiny moan. Headlights passed by in the street, someone laughed loudly from behind the bar and a car engine revved somewhere in the distance.

But under all the sound, all I felt was the void of Noah’s absence. A heavy space where his voice should have been. I had no idea where he was or what condition he was in. But I knew he was alive and I would find him.

Noah trusted me more than anyone. He believed I could pull off anything if I wanted to and most importantly, he believed I could protect him. I had left the old life to protect him and I could not break that trust.

I got into the car, started the engine, and drove into the night with a single thought running in my mind.

Noah needed me and I was going to find him. No matter what it cost.

I pulled into my driveway just before midnight. The street was quiet and the sky above me was completely black. My foot still throbbed from earlier but at least the bleeding had stopped. I turned off the engine and stayed there for a moment, listening to the metal cool. Every tiny tick sounded louder than it should have. Maybe it was because my head was loud enough already.

Scar had given me nothing. No direction, no target or hint and now I was back to the beginning with nothing but a packed duffel bag and a countdown that I could not see but could definitely feel. Noah was somewhere out there and every minute I wasted here was a minute he did not have.

I got out of the car and walked up the porch steps slowly. I had been replaying the night in my mind, every second of it, and maybe that is why I did not notice what was wrong until the last second. I usually turned the lock three times but tonight the knob twisted with the first turn. Someone had touched my door. 

I stepped in, taking a moment to get used to the darkness before fully moving in and locking the door. Then I saw the middle look darker than the other space. I looked around and noticed two other darker spots, I had company. I think they sensed I had seen them because they started moving towards me.

The one on my left struck first. I barely caught the glint of metal before he was on me. I pivoted, grabbed his wrist, and twisted until I felt the small snap beneath my fingers. He hissed in pain and tried to switch the knife to his other hand but my elbow crashed into his temple and he dropped straight to the floor.

The second man came in harder. I felt the wind of his swing and ducked under it. I shoved the muzzle of the Glock straight up under his chin and dragged him close to me. His breath hit my cheek as I shoved my knee into his crotch. His body folded and I shoved him backward, straight into the coffee table. The glass shattered beneath him and he fell through it with a loud groan.

The third man hesitated for half a second and that was his mistake. My body was already moving. I tackled him and pinned his shooting arm, then I struck the inside of his elbow with the butt of the pistol until his fingers opened and a suppressed handgun dropped to the carpet. I kicked it under the couch and slammed the Glock across his face.

I pulled back before the trigger instinct kicked in. I needed answers and dead men do not talk. If I wanted anything, these ones were the ones who could feed me the information. Or at least they better be.

The man coughed and rolled onto his stomach, dragging himself away from me. I planted my boot between his shoulder blades and shoved him flat again. He wheezed and I leaned down so he could hear me clearly.

“Who are you and how did you get into my house?”

He did not answer. So I slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed around the room and he sucked in a breath.

I stepped back and cracked my neck. Pain rose in my bad foot but I ignored it. He tried to get up again and I swept his knee from the side with my injured leg. The pain was like a firecracker and for a moment my vision blurred as we crashed into the remains of the coffee table and wood splintered around us.

He was fast. Faster than the others. He struck the back of my neck with his elbow and everything flashed white for a split second. I rolled off him, came up swinging, and cracked my knuckles against his jaw. I kicked him hard in the ribs with my good leg and felt one crack.

He punched me in the jaw in return and the metallic taste of blood spread across my tongue. He was skilled. Definitely the kind of man the agency would send when they wanted something done quietly and efficiently. He tried to trap my arm but my body remembered things even when my mind did not. I slipped free, drove my knee into his thigh, and when he staggered I hooked his ankle and slammed him to the ground.

“Tap or pass out.” I grunted and his hand slapped twice on the floor.

I released my grip just enough to let him breathe and then rolled him onto his stomach. I dug the zip ties out of my back pocket and cinched his wrists behind him so tight the plastic bit into his skin. There was no escaping for him. 

He spat blood onto the carpet and looked up at me with something close to a smirk. “Now I know why they will not let you go. They still think you are valuable, Ghost.”

I crouched down until we were face to face.” Where is my brother?”

“I do not know.”

I punched him in the mouth so hard his lip split open and the blood dripped down his chin.

“I will not ask you again. Where the fuck is my brother.”

He coughed, wiped the blood on his shoulder, and gave a short laugh. “I swear I do not know. My job was the message and not the package.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

He blinked, trying to clear his vision. They took the kid to pull you out of whatever hole you crawled into. And it worked, didn't it?” He licked the blood from his teeth and smiled again and I rewarded him with a slap across the face and he groaned.

“There is a bounty on your head to bring you in alive. The price is high enough that half the old crew is excited again just thinking about it. But the bosses do not want you dead. They want you back on payroll. They said you were the best they ever had but you walked out.”

After eight years? Eight entire years of pretending that I was a normal man and filing tax returns instead of kill sheets. Why did they want me back? I had spent those years fulfilling my promise to Noah and now it felt like all of that had been a joke. Like I had been running in a circle the entire time.

“You are lying.”

“Check my pocket.”

I searched him and pulled out a wallet that contained keys, a burner phone and a small transparent plastic bag. I held it up to the dim light and my entire chest tightened.

Inside the bag was a silver medical bracelet.

NOAH J. COLE

ALLERGIES- PENICILLIN

BLOOD TYPE- O NEGATIVE

I had seen Noah wear this when he broke his arm in sophomore year. The hospital had forced him to wear it for a week because he reacted badly to some medication. He kept it after because he liked the look. He used to joke that it made him look like a Marvel character.

And now it was inside the pocket of a stranger who tried to kill me.

My hand began to shake. “Is he hurt?”

The man shrugged but I knew better. His silence was to keep me on my feet, but my brother was alive. And it means I still had a chance to get to him. 

“Where?” I asked. The man cleared his throat. 

“I don't know but if you go to the old textile mill off Route Seventeen at mid night tomorrow, you might find the clarity you are looking for. 

I let the bracelet dangle from my fingers. That was a piece of him that should never have left his wrist and I would get it back to him. 

I looked down at the man again. “You just signed your own death by telling me that.”

His smile widened in a weird way. “Well, maybe I am tired of being someone’s dog. You were the only one who ever walked out alive. Some of us still respect that.”

I stared at him for a long moment. His breathing was shaky and his eyes were glossy. Maybe he truly did not care anymore or maybe he believed in some twisted version of honor. I did not know and I did not care.

I grabbed a dish towel from the counter, shoved it into his mouth and wrapped duct tape across it until the sounds he made were muffled. 

I dragged him by his collar to the pantry, pushed him inside, closed the door and wedged a chair under the handle.

He would be fine for a few hours, men like him were trained to wait in the dark.I stood there in the wrecked living room and looked at the mess. The house that I tried to build a normal life in was gone.

I looked at the medical bracelet in my palm and my throat burned, causing me to swallow hard. 

They wanted Ghost back? Fine! They were about to get him.