DECODE ~ GHOST [Editing]

06| Revenge

Unknown road, 0300hours

The drive to the drug lord's mansion was shrouded in an oppressive quiet, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Alejandro navigated the winding dirt roads with precision, his hands steady on the wheel as the headlights carved through the endless dark. Outside the windows, the world was a blur of shadows and fleeting glimpses of desert scrub, their skeletal branches swaying in the faint breeze.

The night felt colder than it should have, the chill creeping into the vehicle despite the faint warmth of bodies packed too tightly together. My skin prickled beneath the thin fabric of the dress, its sequined material more for show than function, leaving me exposed and out of place in the harsh landscape.

I struggled to keep my eyes open, the monotony of the drive lulling me toward sleep, but discomfort kept me grounded. My arm ached persistently, a dull throb radiating from the wound I'd barely had time to acknowledge since the chaos earlier. The bandage, hastily wrapped, was already loosening, and I felt the faint stickiness of dried blood against my skin.

Despite the tension hanging in the air, I wasn't exactly bothered—not by Hassan's earlier insults, at least. He was a terrorist, destined for a shallow grave or to become fish food in some unmarked part of the ocean. His words carried as much weight as a dying man's last breath.

What did bother me, though, was the silence from the men flanking me. Ghost hadn't spared me a glance since we'd crammed into the backseat, my skimpy dress making every shift of the fabric a fresh reminder of Shepherd's humiliation. Philip, on my other side, had fallen asleep almost instantly, his body heavy and unresponsive as it leaned toward me.

I sighed loudly, shifting in the cramped space. Nothing. Ghost sat stiffly, his arm brushing mine every time the vehicle swayed, but he didn't acknowledge me.

The silence became unbearable. I cleared my throat. "So... what type of music does everyone like?" My voice sounded too bright for the tension in the car, but I pushed through it.

Philip stirred slightly, dragging a hand down his face before mumbling something unintelligible and drifting off again. Alejandro's eyes flicked to mine in the rearview mirror, his jaw tightening briefly before he answered, "Rap." His tone was clipped, and his attention snapped back to the road.

"Figures," I muttered, imagining him rapping along to Nicki Minaj in his downtime. Superbass probably, because why not?

Soap piped up next, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. "Eh, I like a bit of everything," he said with a shrug, already sounding bored by the question.

I turned to Ghost, my hands clasped in my lap as I mustered the courage to ask, "What about you?"

His gaze shifted to me, dark and unreadable beneath the mask. "I don't listen to music," he replied, his voice gruff and final. He adjusted his position, the subtle movement pressing him closer against me before he leaned slightly away, reclaiming space I hadn't realized I'd invaded.

I swallowed hard, my heart inexplicably racing at the brief contact. It wasn't just his words that shut me out—it was everything about him. And yet, there was a pull I couldn't resist, like a magnet dragging me closer even as I fought against it.

"How long's the drive?" Ghost asked, turning his attention to Alejandro.

Alejandro shrugged. "How long's a piece of string? Few more hours."