Page 49 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
"Sorry," he murmurs.
I nod, my gaze drifting to Ghost. He's speaking quietly with the muscular man he called Chaos now, their heads bent close together. I wonder what they're discussing, what all of this means for my investigation.
Saint finishes wrapping my ribs, trying not to wince at the pressure and handing me an ice pack. My mind races, attempting to process everything that's happened in the last twenty four hours. The warehouse, the chase, the fight in the restaurant—it all feels surreal.
"You're lucky," Saint says, his voice low. "No broken bones, just some bruising."
"What happens now?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
Saint glances at Ghost before answering. "That's not for me to decide. But I'd prepare for a long night if I were you."
My skin prickles with cold dread at his words. I'm suddenly very aware of how out of my depth I truly am. These men, with their callsigns and combat skills, operate in a world so far removed from my own. And yet, here I am, smack in the middle of it all.
Ghost breaks away from Chaos and approaches us. His eyes lock onto mine, and my heart rate quickens.Damn it.
"How is she?" he asks Saint, never breaking eye contact with me.
"Bruised, but nothing serious. She'll be sore for a few days."
Ghost nods, his expression unreadable. "Good. Alina, we need to talk."
I stand, ignoring the protest from my aching muscles. "I couldn't agree more."
He leads me out of the medical room and down a hallway to what appears to be a small office. The walls are lined with monitors, each displaying different camera feeds from around the property.
Ghost closes the door behind us, and I fight the urge to step back as he turns to face me. The small office suddenly feels impossibly smaller with his massive frame blocking the exit.
"I know you have questions," he says, his voice low and controlled. "But before we get into that, I need you to understand something. The situation we're in is far more dangerous than you realize."
I cross my arms, refusing to be intimidated. "I think I got that message loud and clear when people started shooting at us. Again."
His eyes darken as he steps closer, invading my personal space. "Is that attitude how you've stayed alive this long? Or just how you cope with being out of your depth?"
Heat flares in my cheeks. "I'm a journalist. Collecting information is what I do."
"And getting answers is what I decide," he counters, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that sends unwelcome tremors through my body. "In this room, in this house—you don't call the shots."
I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze despite our height difference. "Then why am I here? Why not just dump me somewhere and be done with it?"
He plants his hands on either side of me against the desk, caging me between his arms without touching me. The scent of him—sandalwood, leather, and something uniquely male—surrounds me.
"Because somewhere in that stubborn head of yours is information we need," he says, his face inches from mine. "And because whoever's trying to kill you might be connected to something much bigger."
My mouth goes dry, but I refuse to look away. "And what does all of this have to do with Jenny's death?"
Something flickers in his eyes at the mention of Jenny's name—recognition, perhaps even sympathy—before his expression hardens again.
"We're still piecing that together. But I can tell you this—the tech company you were investigating, Apex Solutions, is just the tip of the iceberg."
My mind whirls with possibilities. "Human trafficking?"
He nods grimly, straightening up but still maintaining his imposing presence. "Among other things. We believe there's a larger organization at play, one with connections in places you can't even imagine."
I take a deep breath, trying to process this information while ignoring how my body reacts to his proximity. "So where do I fit into all of this? Why keep me around instead of just... making me disappear?"
Ghost's eyes narrow slightly. "Is that what you think we do?"
"I don't know what to think anymore," I admit, frustration creeping into my voice. "You won't give me straight answers, and every time I think I'm getting close to the truth, something explodes or someone starts shooting."
