Ghost Hood Novels & Stories

After giving it a few more looks, Harvey ignored the surroundings, and his gaze fell on Ghostface's figure ahead. When Ghostface had reached about a few hundred feet into the forest, he suddenly raised his hand, and a small repeating crossbow appeared in his hand. He did not even turn around and immediately pulled the trigger at where Harvey would be. Whoosh! Harvey's expression was calm. When he saw the bolts flying toward him, he simply stomped his foot on the ground. The rocks fired upward and instantly deflected all the bolts.

Then the rider lifted both hands. Not in surrender. With caution. Like someone approaching a wounded animal. Their voice came out distorted through a modulator. “Ghost,” they said softly. Everything inside me stilled. Only three people ever called me that. One was dead—Saint. One should’ve been dead—Shade. And the third… The third was an ally long buried in the dark. A ghost from my old life. The rider reached up and slowly—very slowly—removed their helmet. My breath caught.

He had no idea what to do, but he knew he had to find someone to keep on selling this lie. He knew today was supposed to be his official day back at school, but he wasn't mentally stable to go back and he knew it. Struggling to recover from his mother's demise and now he is seeing Ghosts. He got into his bathroom to wash up and prepare for school. Turned on the shower and stood still as the water paraded his skin and him exhaling, he felt calm at least. He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair, and immediately saw Tasha calling his name, her eyes filled with darkness and Her hand stretching out to him. He couldn't move, his heart felt like it was being squeezed. He couldn't breat

The possessive way he fucked me like he both hated and needed me. I forced a grin. “You’re crazy, man. You watch too many movies.” He stepped aside but whispered as I passed, “Run while you still can. He’ll ruin you.” Later that day, I overheard two employees gossiping near the cafeteria. “Did you hear about The Ghost? Some billionaire who shows up masked at underground parties. Pays good money, fucks like a demon, then vanishes. Nobody ever sees his face.” I laughed it off again. But deep inside of me, i was worried for myself.

Going on alert, I move slowly until my phone goes off again. Booth in the back corner. Lifting my gaze, I look in the direction that I’m instructed to go, and when I find a figure dressed in a black hoodie with the hood up watching me, I quicken my pace. Not speaking, I slide into the seat in front of the one waiting for me, and when his head lifts and his eyes meet mine, I find myself staring at a ghost. “Charlie,” I hiss as he pulls back his hood to reveal his scarred face. “Why are…”

I’m captivated by curiosity to know what Ghost is insinuating. “Um, yeah…okay, just give me a minute to get dressed. Wait out here and I’ll be right out.” I say to him in a slow manner. I close the door and lock it. I swiftly go to X’s bedroom. I pull out my shorts that I wore earlier sliding them up my legs. Although Ghost seems a lot nicer right now and almost seems caring, I trust him for nothing. I rip open X’s nightstand drawer and pull out his Glock .45, it’s loaded and safety on. I tuck the handgun in the back of my denim shorts. I rummage through X’s closet, pulling out his black hoodie to better conceal the gun behind me and zipping it up past my chest. I have an abs

He swerved into a narrow pathway that led to the hideout. “I didn’t let him go. I just couldn’t kill him," Ghost clenched out, resting his arm on the window. “You had a gun." “He’s immune. A fucking werewolf." “What?!" Scar glanced at him but immediately fixed his eyes back on the road. He was going at a crazy speed. Taking his eyes off the road would be suicide. Ghost was silent. But his jaw twitched in anger. He glanced at Ciara again. In a few hours, she would be tortured to spill whatever she knew about Vlad, or should he say “Tyson”.

"Grace, look at the snow. They aren't throwing plumes. They aren't using tracks." The Ghosts on the Ridge” I leaned toward the glass, my breath fogging the pane. Through the swirling vortex of ice and wind, three massive shapes materialized out of the white. They weren't armored trucks, and they weren't Vesper exoframes. They were the First Drafts.

Face was covered in blood from wiping away the stains of hair that fell in my face and the sweat because it felt like a damn workout. In my eyes you are a pussy when you think you only need a fucking gun to protect yourself, thinking you are the men and no person in their right man would think to challenge , would fear you just at the mere sight of a gun but not me apparently. I’m not anyone, I’m Aaliyah, assassin of the Italian mafia known as Shadow of death.

Going on alert, I move slowly until my phone goes off again. Booth in the back corner. Lifting my gaze, I look in the direction that I’m instructed to go, and when I find a figure dressed in a black hoodie with the hood up watching me, I quicken my pace. Not speaking, I slide into the seat in front of the one waiting for me, and when his head lifts and his eyes meet mine, I find myself staring at a ghost. “Charlie,” I hiss as he pulls back his hood to reveal his scarred face. “Why are…”