Page 47 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
"Get in," he orders, practically lifting me into the vehicle.
I scramble onto a seat, Ghost right behind me. The door slams shut, and we're moving before I can even catch my breath.
"Reaper, my bike's in an alley off Grant, near the old herbalist shop." He tells the man with warm brown eyes built like a brick wall.
The other man nods his shaved head. His scarred face looks like it's seen some shit. "Got it. I'll grab the bike after handling clean-up at the dim sum place."
I glance at the driver's seat and see another guy. This one has messy dark hair, brown eyes and a build like he could bench press a car.
The driver catches my gaze in the rearview mirror and grins. "So you're the journalist who's got Ghost breaking protocol. I'm Chaos, by the way."
He winks at me. "Don't think I've ever seen Ghost get hands-on with an asset before. Usually he's all 'maintain distance' and 'operational security.'"
Ghost's jaw tightens. "Focus on the road, Chaos."
"Just saying," Chaos continues, undeterred. "Three years working together, and I've never seen you personally escort a civilian. Let alone fight off attackers in a restaurant for one."
He glances at me again. "You must have quite the story he wants to hear."
"The story is none of your concern," Ghost cuts in, his tone brooking no argument.
Chaos raises an eyebrow but turns his attention back to driving, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.
I look between the strangers, curiosity warring with caution.
My mind races, trying to piece together everything that's happened. The warehouse, the attack, the dim sum palace... it's all a blur of danger and adrenaline.
And through it all, there's Ghost. Infuriating, mysterious, maddeningly attractive Ghost.
I sneak another glance at him. His profile is tense, jaw clenched as he stares out the window. My fingers itch to reach out, to smooth away the lines of worry etchedon his face.
Or maybe punch him square in the jaw for always dragging or manhandling me.
The van takes a sharp turn, and I'm thrown against Ghost's solid frame. His arm instinctively wraps around me, steadying me.
For a moment, we're pressed together, my face inches from his. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, filled with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"You alright, little hellcat?" He smirks.
"I'd be better if you'd stop calling me that," I snap, trying to ignore how my body responds to his proximity.
His arm tightens slightly around my shoulders, voice dropping to a murmur only I can hear.
"And I'd be better if you stopped fighting what's happening between us. But then again," his eyes darken as they sweep over my face, "I do enjoy taming spirited things."
My heartbeat quickens and I break eye contact with him, avoiding those eyes that seem to see right through me, unsettled by how my body instantly responds to his words.
I lean back in my seat and stare out the window as the van rockets through now-empty streets.
I've investigated all kinds of terrible things, but tonight I lost an innocence I didn't know I had.
fourteen
Alina
The van screeches to a halt, and Ghost all but drags me out. We rush into a modern craftsman-style house nestled in what I recognize as Oakland Hills. As soon as we're inside, Blade approaches us, his face grim.
"Frost's hurt. It's serious, but not life-threatening."
