Page 58 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
Nitro grins. "That's where things get fun. Ever heard of the Nightfall Syndicate?"
My eyes widen. "Wait, that's real? I thought it was just an urban legend in the underground."
"Oh, we're very real." Blade's voice is cool and measured. "Elite problem-solvers for those with the means and the need."
My mind races, trying to process this information. "So you're... mercenaries?"
"That's one way to put it," Ghost's blue eyes locked on mine. "We prefer 'specialized contractors' that occasionally get shot at."
Blade nods, his expression neutral. "Highly specialized ones, yes. But we have morals."
I snort. "That's still a fancy way of saying hired guns."
Reaper's eyes narrow. "We're not common thugs. We have standards."
"And limits," Saint adds quickly. "We don't hurt innocents, no collateral damage."
I raise an eyebrow. "Really? A bunch of mercenaries with a moral code?"
Ghost pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. "We're not angels, Alina. But we're not monsters either."
Saint—Remy—nods. "We have the right to refuse any contract that violates our principles."
My head spins as I try to reconcile this information. The esteemed Centurion Protection Group, darling of tech billionaires and corporate elites, is actually a front for a group of high-end mercenaries? It's almost too much to believe.
"Hold on," I raise a hand. "If you're all part of this... Nightfall Syndicate, what about the rest of Centurion Protection? Are all your employees secretly badass mercs?"
"Not everyone at CPG is involved," Ghost clarifies, reading my expression. "Most employees are exactly what they appear to be, legitimate security professionals."
"Think of it like circles within circles," Blade explains. "The outer ring is legitimate CPG business. Only a select few are cleared for NFSoperations."
My journalistic instincts kick in, overriding my shock. "Who hires you?"
"The highest bidder," Chaos grins. "As long as they pass our vetting process."
"And you don't ask questions?" I press.
Frost—no, Asher—shakes his head. "We don't need their reasons. We assess the job, not the client's motivation."
My head spins as I try to process all this information. I look at Ghost—no, Kade.
Or do I still call him Ghost?I'm already mixing up their names and callsigns.
"So, Ni— I mean, Jax," I stammer, turning to the transportation expert. "You're not just driving executives around?"
He chuckles. "Sometimes I am. Other times, I'm orchestrating high-speed extractions or pursuits."
"Why tell me all this?" I ask, looking around at these dangerous men. "Why bring me in now?"
Ghost's expression softens slightly. "Because you're already involved, whether we like it or not. And your skills could be helpful."
"Plus," Blade—no, it's Cole—adds, "you've proven you can handle yourself in a fight."
I look around at these dangerous, complicated men. Part of me is terrified, knowing I'm in way over my head. But another part,the part that's always pushed me to chase the truth, is thrilled at the prospect of uncovering whatever lies at the heart of this mystery.
"Wait a minute. No NDAs? No paperwork? You're just... telling me all this and bringing me in? That seems careless for professionals."
Asher's lips curl into something too cold to be called a smile.
