Page 23 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
For a moment, I think she might actually listen. Then she lets out a frustrated sound and stomps toward the front door. I follow closely behind, my eyes scanning the street once more before focusing on the curve of her back, the way she carries tension in her shoulders.
As we reach the porch, I move past her to unlock the door, brushing against her. The brief contact sends an electric current through me that I immediately shut down.
"After you," I gesture for her to enter.
Alina hesitates, eyeing the doorway suspiciously. "How do I know this isn't some kind of trap?"
I sigh. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have left you back at the warehouse. Now get inside."
She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like "asshole," but finally steps into the house. I follow, quickly shutting and locking the door behind us.
The interior is quite different from the Victorian exterior. Modern, minimalist furniture fills the open-concept living area. State-of-the-art security systems are discreetly integrated into every corner.
Alina spins to face me, her jaw set in stubborn determination. "Okay, we're inside. Now talk. Who are you, and what the hell is going on?"
I study her for a moment, weighing my options. She's in way over her head, but there's no way she'll back down without some answers.
How much can I safely tell her?
I take a deep breath, meeting Alina's intense gaze. "You can call me Ghost."
She rolls her eyes. "Ghost? Seriously? How am I supposed to trust a man when I don't even know his real name?"
"You don't have to trust me," I move past her toward the kitchen. "But I did just save your life, so gratitude wouldn't hurt."
"Again with the gratitude," I hear her huff behind me as I open the fridge, surveying its contents.
"What are you doing?" Alina demands, following me into the kitchen.
"Making dinner. You hungry?" I pull out some chicken and vegetables.
She crosses arms. "No, I'm not hungry. I want answers."
I set down the ingredients and turn to her, my expression hardening. "Sit down. You're eating."
"I told you I'm not—"
"Eat. Or I'll feed you myself. Your choice." The words come out as a low, controlled command.
Her eyes widen slightly before narrowing again. "Are you always this demanding?"
"Only when someone's trying to get themselves killed on my watch." I turn back to the stove, tossing the chicken into the hot pan. The sizzle fills the silence between us.
She's not going to let this go. Stubborn little journalist.
"Look," I don't bother turning around. "I know you have questions. But right now, the less you know, the safer you are."
"That's bullshit," Alina retorts. "Knowledge is power. How am I supposed to protect myself if I don't know what I'm up against?"
Her words hit a nerve. I spin to face her, my voice low. "You want to know what you're up against? People who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in your head for asking the wrong questions. Is that what you want to hear?"
Alina pales slightly, but stands her ground. "Yes, actually. At least now I know the stakes."
I study her for a moment, impressed despite myself by her resolve.She's either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. Maybe both.
"Fine," I turn back to the stir-fry. "You want to know more? Grab some plates. We'll talk while we eat."
I accept the plates from Alina, noting the stiffness in her motions. She's holding her tongue for the moment, but I can sense her eagerness to uncover the truth. Her green eyes move constantly, taking in everything around us.
