The Veiled Syndicate Book 1: Shattered Loyalties

Chapter 5: Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 5: Ghosts of the Past

MARCUS POV

I was stunned, watching her storm out of the room, leaving me in a fog of regret. She didn't let me explain—not that I could blame her. I fucked up, and I don't think there's any coming back from that. Her trust? Shattered, probably beyond repair. But it didn't matter. I needed to keep her safe, whatever the cost. There's something about her that's always in my mind, always pulling me back to that night two years ago, when everything went wrong.

I pulled out my phone, the glow illuminating the dark room as I typed a quick message.

Saw her. Need to talk. ASAP. Meet me at the spot.

Seconds later, a response pinged back from Andrew.

Roger that.

I took one last look around the empty space. My reflection caught in the cracked mirror above the bar, and I grimaced at the sight. Tired eyes, stress lines, the weight of too many sleepless nights etched deep into my face. Sleep? That wasn't happening anytime soon. Not with everything about to fall apart again.

Shaking it off, I left the room, blending into the crowd. The bass from the music pulsed through the floor, people oblivious to the blood and betrayal happening just a few feet away. All I could think about was getting out of there before I lost my nerve.

It took ten minutes to reach the meeting spot. I made sure to take a few detours, doubling back to check for any tails. Couldn't risk being followed, not now. When I was certain it was clear, I parked my car outside the old, worn-out bar. A place where secrets rotted in the air like smoke—along with the ever-present stench of death.

The second I walked in, heads turned, eyes sizing me up before returning to their drinks. It was a place where people knew better than to ask questions. Those who did rarely lived to ask a second one.

I spotted Andrew near the back, sitting at a corner table under the flickering neon light. He raised his glass in greeting as I made my way over, sliding onto the seat beside him. The tension in my chest only tightened.

"What's going on, man?" he asked, taking a swig of his drink, already knowing this wasn't just a casual meet-up.

I stared at the glass in front of me, swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip. "We're in deep, Andrew. Too deep. And it's only getting worse."

His eyes narrowed. "This about her?"

I nodded, keeping my voice low. "I need everything. Information, men, whatever it takes. Things are about to get ugly. Real ugly."

He didn't need details. Andrew wasn't the type to ask for them. He just gave me a nod, pulled out his phone, and stepped away to make the calls. I sat there, gripping my glass as if it could somehow give me answers, my mind racing with thoughts of her, of the shitstorm that was about to hit.

The problem wasn't just the enemies outside. No, the ghosts of two years ago were creeping back into the present, threatening to resurface and drag us all under. The battle brewing in the underground was more than a territorial war—it was personal. Blood debts. Betrayals. And she was stuck right in the middle of it all, with a target on her back.

I glanced at the clock, surprised by how late it was. The night had gotten away from me, just like everything else these days. Finishing my drink, I stood up, knowing I had no real home to return to. This place, this constant state of motion, was all I had. Staying in one spot for too long was a death sentence.

As I stepped out into the night, the chill air hit me, but it wasn't enough to cool the storm brewing inside. I didn't know where this was headed, but I knew one thing: the past wasn't done with us. Not by a long shot.

And the next time I saw her, things would be different. Or so I hoped.