Page 5 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
My jaw tightens. An experienced lie. She delivers it well—voice modulated to convey the right balance of fear and confusion. But her eyes never stop assessing me, cataloging details. Not the behavior of someone who took a wrong turn.
"The property manager. At 9:30 at night. In a secured facility." The words drop between us like stones. "Try again."
She attempts another shift, creating another surge of unwanted contact. I lock my knees against her hips, immobilizing her lower body completely. Her breathing changes—shallow, rapid. Mine remains measured, controlled.
"Security check," she whispers. "I work for the owner. They wanted to test the system."
Better lie. Still bullshit.
I lean closer, letting her feel the full implication of our power imbalance. Her pulse jumps wildly against my fingertips—fear, adrenaline, and something else entirely.
"Final chance." I increase pressure just enough to emphasize the point. "The truth. Who are you and what are you doing in a building that officially doesn't exist?"
She blinks, those clear green eyes calculating. Assessing risk. I know that look—the rapid reassessment when primary strategies fail.
"You'd never believe me anyway."
I apply slight pressure to her throat, just enough to let her know who is in control. "I know this building's been dark for eighteen months. I know Chimera Tech cleared out after the merger fell through. And I know their real estate holdings should be empty."
Her eyes widen slightly. Good. Let her know I'm not fumbling in the dark.
"Yet here you are." I lean in, my voice dropping. "So, I'll ask again—what are you looking for in a building with active security but no official occupants?"
Something shifts in her expression. The fear recedes, replaced by calculation.
"I'm a journalist."
A journalist. Right. And I am a kindergarten teacher in my spare time.The admission surprises me, though I keep my face neutral. Not what I expected. The woman has nerve, I'll admit that.
"Investigating what?" I press, testing her.
"Property holdings. Corporate shell games." Her chin lifts slightly. "Public records show this building sitting empty while using enough electricity to power a small neighborhood."
Half-truth. I can feel it. She's giving just enough information to sound credible while hiding something crucial.
"Which publication?"
She hesitates. I increase pressure again, not enough to hurt but enough to remind her of her vulnerable position.
"Freelance," she finally answers. Another partial truth.
Interesting. A civilian journalist willing to break into a secured location alone. Either stupidly brave or desperately chasing something. Maybe both.
The sudden movement catches me off-guard—not from inexperience but sheer surprise at her audacity. She twists her hips sharply while driving the heel of her palm toward my solar plexus. A textbook countermove, executed with surprising precision.
I redirect her strike with minimal effort, capturing her wrist and pinning her arm above her head. The movement brings our faces closer, her breath warm against my jaw.
"Nice try," I murmur. "Whoever taught you that move forgot to mention it doesn't work against someone with actual training."
Something flickers across her face—not defeat but determination.Fascinating.
She writhes beneath me like a wildcat. If the situation weren't so serious, I might be impressed by her sheer audacity. Most people confronted by someone my size would be sobbing or begging by now.
This one is calculating angles for her next attack, like a chess player who refuses to acknowledge checkmate.
"You going to kill me now?" she challenges, no tremor in her voice despite her racing pulse beneath my fingers.
Christ. This woman has a death wish.
