Page 68 of Ghost Hunted

“Don’t shoot, Lia,” I beg. “I’m on your side.”

But the bazooka is still fixed on me. Then there’s the rustling of leather, and out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the bikers take a step forward. She waves the bazooka wildly toward him, then back at me, before edging toward the door.

“Lia!” I call out to her. “Lia, please. I’m going to fix you. Trust me.”

We’re on the ground floor, and I suddenly wonder if I could manage to jump out of the window and run after her before the bikers shoot me. But when I glance outside, I notice dozens of the black holes surrounding the building.

They’re the last thing I see before a loud detonation sounds, sending me hurtling back against the wall.

_

Twenty-seven broken bones…

The words ring out like a refrain in my mind as I feebly open my eyes. The Airbnb apartment is destroyed, and the first real thought that forms in my mind is to wonder if Airbnb owners are insured against damage caused by bazookas. The second thought is to wonder if Lia’s okay. I don’t have time to think any more before I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I sit up hurriedly, only to realize the hand isn’t attached to anything. The rest of the body has been blown to bits. All three bikers are dead. I’m the only one still breathing.

See, Damien? She didn’t kill me.

But she’s not here. And neither is the bazooka. Fuck.

Wincing, I stand up, dusting the Airbnb debris off from my clothes. Then I reach for my phone, which has somehow survived the explosion, my first instinct to call Damien. Though I’m not in the mood for what he’d likely tell me—I told you so. Instead, I find Everest’s number, though I’m aware it’ll only delay Damien knowing about it.

Leaving the remnants of the apartment behind, I wade through the rubble of the building, trying to look perfectly normal rather than the near-victim of a rocket launcher attack. Which probably only serves to make me more conspicuous since everyone else in the area is screaming and running frantically.

Stumbling onto a clean stretch of pavement, I sit down, gulping in breaths of fresh air, then press call.

It rings three times before Everest’s voice comes through.

“Hey, man.”

Groaning with pain, I lie down on the ground, although I know the police will be here soon, and they’ll find me. But fuck it. I’m tired.

“I need a… car,” I grunt, trying to force words out.

“Yeah?” Everest’s voice rings with concern. “Are you okay?”

I stare at the hand that’s oozing blood through its thick bandage, then at my clothes covered in fine white dust. “Been better. I need a vacation.”

“So Ireland isn’t all that relaxing, huh? You should’ve gone to the Bahamas or something. I could set you up…”

“Everest.” I grit my teeth, thankful to be in so much pain that I don’t have the mental bandwidth to worry about Lia. “Shut up.”

“Okay. Fine. Where are you?”

I swallow a few times, both to clear my throat of the dust that’s lodged up in it, and to focus on keeping my words from slurring. “Outside of some Airbnb that just got bazooka’d the fuck out of. There’s dozens of bodies, too. I need to get the fuck out of here, man.”

“That sucks.” There’s a pause, as if he’s talking to someone. Then he says, “Can’t you get an Uber?”

“No, I can’t fucking get an Uber.” I take a few deep breaths, trying not to give way to exasperation. “I don’t have the app installed. And by the time I figure it out…”

“Okay, man, it’s fine. I’ll get you a car—”

“Now.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Another pause, then he says, “Okay, got your location. I’ll send something over. Oh, and Logan?”

“Hmm?”