Phantom grabbed the plastic bag he'd hung on the coat rack by the door. It held some of Lola's things—a few pieces of clothing, makeup, and a book. She'd always preferred spending time at his apartment over her own.

It had been three days since she died.

Nathan had asked if he could go to Lola's place today to help him clear it out. He'd left his phone on so the club could reach him, but otherwise, they gave him space.

He took his helmet from the hook and fastened it under his chin before stepping outside and getting on his bike.

The door to Lola's apartment was ajar. He found Nathan sitting on a chair in the living room, staring ahead blankly. A few half-packed boxes sat around him. It looked like he'd thrown himself into the task, but hadn't been able to keep it up.

Nathan looked up as the floorboards creaked under Phantom's boots. "Hey." His voice was hoarse, strained by grief.

"Hey." Phantom managed a faint, sad smile. "You here alone?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "My mom offered to help, but I just don't know how to act around her, with everything I know. Not just the stuff about my dad, but I don't even know how to face the fact she's going to lose her husband soon too." Nathan met his gaze. "That's still the plan, right?"

Phantom nodded. "Within the week." He didn't offer more than that, not wanting to give the man room to back out. "You still good with it?"

"Yeah," Nathan mumbled.

Phantom set the plastic bag down on the table. Nathan looked exhausted—deep shadows under his eyes, stubble on his cheeks. "You holding up at all?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I'm just so busy organizing things. If I weren't..." His eyes filled with tears. "It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that she's gone. That I'll never see her again, never talk to her again. And what we did... her last memory of me..." The tears slipped beneath his glasses and he wiped them away with trembling fingers. "I'll never forgive myself."

Phantom didn't know what to say. If he'd been in Nathan's shoes, he wouldn't have forgiven himself either. He already felt like shit, and he'd barely known her. There was hardly any history between them. But Nathan? Nathan was her brother. Maybe the only family she truly trusted. "I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I was way too drunk. And I should've been honest with her a lot sooner."

"Why weren't you?"

Phantom sighed. "Around the macho guys I hang out with, being gay isn't exactly embraced. I was scared."

He didn't mention that he hadn't needed to be.

"I get it. I only told Lola recently. I was always terrified of how my dad would react. And now he found out in the worst way possible. It's all over the internet."

Phantom hadn't really kept up with it. "There are pictures?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his head. "I'm barely visible, but he knows. He believes it. Hasn't looked at me since. Which honestly works out, given what's coming."

In two days, his father would be dead.

He'd never have to face that judgmental glare again.

Hopefully, that would be the freedom Nathan needed to carve out his own path.

Phantom pushed off from the table. "Come on. Let's divide the work. You've probably still got a million other things to do."

Nathan wiped the last traces of tears from his cheeks, nodded firmly, and pushed his chair back.

Phantom almost wished he hadn't gone to the funeral. It had been a bleak and joyless farewell, with hardly anything real said about Lola. It all felt politically calculated. All his brothers had come with him and filled two rows of pews. For a moment, it had seemed like they might even be denied entry, but no one wanted a scene.

Phantom hadn't had any say in the ceremony. Their relationship had been too new, and he understood that. But now that he was sitting there, hearing the same tired lines being repeated, he regretted coming. It was so impersonal, like they were mourning a stranger.

Nathan's eulogy was the only thing that hit home. It brought a lump to Phantom's throat. He spoke about their childhood and shared funny stories that brought real smiles to many faces.

But the grief etched into Nathan's face reignited Phantom's guilt.

If Phantom had never gotten involved with Lola, Nathan's last memories of her wouldn't have been so bitter. Then again, if they hadn't been involved, the truth about her death might never have come to light. But was that really better?

Phantom stifled a sigh. Thoughts like that were pointless. The past couldn't be changed, and not everything could be made right.

He forced his focus back to the reverend, who had taken over the speech. It was cold inside the church, and Phantom felt a chill creeping into his chest and settling there.

Lola was like a sun that had set, never to rise again. Darkness would linger for a while. And that was probably for the best—he had things to do that couldn't stand the light of day.

It was tempting to hang around the parking lot after the funeral, just to watch with his own eyes as a bullet tore into Lola's father's head.

But instead, they got on their bikes and rode home in a long convoy. The wind slamming into him felt harsher than it had on the way there. Maybe it was some force trying to resist the darkness that had long been buried inside him and was now fighting to be free.

Phantom, however, was resolute.

There was still one more person who deserved to die.

Once back at the clubhouse, he poured himself a drink for Lola—something that felt more fitting than the formalities they'd just endured. Ant had gotten word from the hitman: the job was done.

That bastard was dead.

Phantom felt nothing, though he was glad Nathan was finally out of danger.

Alvarez turned to Phantom. "You good? That was a rough day for you."

Phantom took a sip from his glass. The club had backed him, had found a solution right away. What he was planning now, he didn't want to do behind their backs—but he did want to do it himself.

He wanted to look that bastard in the eye until the life drained out of him.

"All of this... it's brought back a lot of old memories. I... there's something else I want to make right. And I hope you'll give me the space to do that."

"You want to bring it to the table?"

"It doesn't need to take long."

"And you want to go alone?" His eyes flicked toward Esai.

Phantom was grateful Esai had had his back during Lola's kidnapping, but that didn't mean he was looking for a team-up now. This was way too personal.

"Yeah, I want to do it alone," he said. "It's... from before my time in the club."

"And it won't have consequences for the club?"

Phantom shrugged. He didn't know. When he last spoke to Ezra, his brother had just left a gang. If he'd gone back, there might be consequences for the Mayans. But that was something he'd need to find out first.

"My brother was shot when I was fifteen," he told Alvarez. His voice was steady, distant. As if the images weren't still seared into his memory. "It was a gang war. I was too broken to do anything about it. I didn't even know where to start—just a kid who'd been used as a runner a couple times. But a few months ago, when the Sons attacked Raine, I suddenly came face-to-face with him. He was the brother of the guy who found Raine on that dump site." Phantom realized he was still calm, though something dark pressed against his ribs. Something losing patience. "Now that I finally have a lead, I want to make him pay. I have to make him pay. It feels like a coward's move that Lola's father is dead, and the man who murdered my brother—the one who practically raised me—still walks free." He clenched his fists and met Alvarez's eyes.

All he saw there was understanding. He nodded. "Of course. And I take it you want to handle it yourself."

"Yeah. He's not some big shot. Just an ex-gang member with probably a ton of enemies."

"What gang?"

"The Thorns. Easton Ridge." They were both into drugs, but Phantom didn't think there was any connection.

"Never heard of them."

"They're a street gang. Outside Easton Ridge, they don't hold much power, but within their turf, they run everything. And I'll go in undercover, obviously. No one will know I'm a Mayan."

"Unless it goes wrong. That club tattoo doesn't exactly lie."

Phantom clenched his jaw. "It won't go wrong."

"Have you ever killed someone?"

"That cop, a few weeks ago." He snorted. "Didn't lose any sleep over it. And it wasn't the first time either." He'd been fifteen when he killed his best friend's tormentor. If he could do it then, he could do it now. He didn't doubt that for a second. "I can do this."

"I never let one of my men go alone." Alvarez held his gaze. "You're part of our familia, Phantom. You don't have to do this alone. There's no shame in having someone stand watch." He tapped a finger against his temple. "That's actually smart."

With a growl, Phantom gave in. "Fine then. As long as they stay in the background."

Jacinto nodded with satisfaction and clapped him on the shoulder. "Find out where he is. Make a plan. Then come back."

Phantom mumbled something that had to pass for agreement and withdrew to his club room. There, he opened his laptop and started searching.

To make it easier for himself, he asked Juice for Ezra's number. From there, it didn't take long to find information about his target: Jacob Howard. Thirty-nine years old.

The deeper he dug, the more it felt like he was being swallowed by shadows.

"No, no, no," he muttered when he found the last records. He dropped his face into his hands.

The man had made a deal with the Justice Department. He'd been given a new name, a new place to live. Information that wasn't accessible to him. That no one knew, except those directly involved. Even in the federal archives, all he found was a vague summary of an informant agreement.

That meant there was only one way left to find that bastard. Through Ezra. As much as he'd wanted to keep the man out of it, it looked like he was the only link to his revenge.

And as much as it disgusted him to use Ezra, he owed it to his brother.