Page 17 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
I press my forehead against the cool glass, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability in the privacy of this office.
My mind drifts to other unfinished business—bright green eyes, challenging me even as I had her pinned to concrete. The journalist who walked into the wrong warehouse... or maybe the right one.
What does she know? And why can't I get her out of my head?
"Fuck," I mutter, rolling my shoulders. How many more Thompsons are out there, ready to sell us out for the right price?
My reflection stares back, blue eyes hardened by years in this ruthless world. I straighten up, squaring my shoulders. There's no time for self-doubt. CPG needs a leader, and until Roman resurfaces—if he resurfaces—that leader has to be me.
Leaning back in Roman's chair, I replay our last conversation in my head.
"Kade, we need to talk." Roman's voice was low, urgent. "It's about one of our clients."
I raised an eyebrow. "What's the problem?"
"I think they might be involved in human trafficking. And by extension, us too."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "Who?"
Roman shook his head, expression grim. "I can't say yet. I need to be sure."
"Sowhat's the plan?" I asked, leaning forward.
"I've found financial discrepancies in their quarterly reports. Money disappearing into shell companies, then reappearing as 'consulting fees' for cargo ships that don't match any legitimate shipping records."
"That could be anything. Tax evasion, money laundering—"
"I found photos, Kade." Roman's voice dropped even lower. "Young women. Documentation with different names than their passports."
His knuckles whitened around his tumbler. "And it traces back to a warehouse near Pier 70. I'm going to do some digging on my own. Off the books."
I frowned. "Is that wise? We could use the team—"
"No," Roman cut me off. "The fewer people involved, the better. If this goes south..."
"I get it," I nodded, understanding the gravity. "How can I help?"
Roman's eyes met mine, conviction burning in them. "Keep things running smoothly here. I'll be in touch when I can."
That was the last time any of us saw him.
Damn it, Roman. Where the hell are you?
I stand up, pacing the length of the office. My gaze falls on a framed photo of the original team. Roman stands next to me, his arm around my shoulders, a rare smile on his face. Asher and Cole on either side of us.
Human trafficking.
The words echo in my mind. The thought that we might have unknowingly protected someone involved in something so heinous makes my jawclench.
I press the intercom button. "Gather the team in Roman's office. Now."
My voice echoes through the building, summoning the primary team of Nightfall Syndicate. The unease gnawing at my gut reminds me of that warehouse—the one near Pier 70 where I encountered that woman. One of the last places Roman was investigating before he vanished.
The door opens, and I straighten up, watching as my team files in. Asher "Frost" Cross enters first, his dark brown eyes scanning the room with laser precision. His lean frame moves with quiet efficiency as he takes a spot near the window.
Cole "Blade" Tanaka follows, his features set in a thoughtful frown. He nods at me, settling into a relaxed stance against the wall.
"What's the situation, Ghost?" Cole's voice is low, measured.
