Ghost In Th Stalls Novels & Stories

That night, I walked into a private club on the Upper East Side, all dark wood, old oil paintings, cigar smoke, and leather. It was the kind of place where old money and Wall Street power cut deals without leaving fingerprints. Henry Hale sat by the window. He had grown old and heavy, dressed in a dark gray suit with his tie knotted perfectly. Still, I recognized him at once. The brow, the eyes, the shape of his face. He looked almost exactly like the old photograph I had stared at for thirty years.

I reached out and pressed the radio button on the steering wheel. My voice was cold, cutting through the static. "Mason Vale, do you see a ghost in your mirror?" I said coldly into the radio. Those words pierced straight through Mason's last line of composure. His car hesitated for an obvious instant on the straight. Now. I smashed the throttle down. The car tore through the air and pulled alongside him. Ahead was a chain of fast S-curves. Seeing that I was about to pass, a vicious look flashed through Mason's eyes.

Lilas Pov “If you’re planning on murdering me and dumping my body in a vat of motor oil, just know that my ghost will haunt your playlist and change every song to polka music.” Lila stood in the center of the ‘Sanctuary,’ her hands on her hips, looking like a high-fashion pixie who had accidentally wandered into a post-apocalyptic garage. The warehouse smelled like gasoline, stale cigarettes, and testosterone—the kind of place where OSHA went to die.

He glanced up at me and then at Jax and then back at his laptop and the faintest possible colour appeared in his face and he went directly to the back room without saying anything to anyone. Ghost arrived. He assessed the garage in the way Ghost assessed everything — completely, instantly, missing nothing. His eyes moved from me to Jax and back. Then he nodded, once, at nothing in particular, as though confirming a hypothesis, and went to his station. The garage operated. The morning moved.

With a click, the clasp came undone, and the pendant fell to the floor. In a flash, Zoe’s eyes widened. She grabbed my collar like a madwoman. “Y-You… You didn’t switch fates? You lied to me?!” I looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about?” Miles suddenly exclaimed, “Ow, Maisie. My neck feels itchy.” He pulled down his collar, exposing his collarbone, and clearly revealed who was actually wearing the demonic fate-swapping lock.

He left after saying that. I tried to make my way back to the city on my own, but in the middle of the night, I heard wolves howling. Terrified, I had no choice but to retreat back into the villa. There was no food inside—no water either. After just three days, I collapsed in the living room, utterly drained. Staring at my twisted fingers and battered body, I clenched my teeth hard enough to draw blood. Then suddenly, the villa door was kicked open. My housekeeper rushed in with a group of people.

But what happens when his secret is revealed? You'll get flashbacks to before they started dating, and you'll see all the events that took place during those dark times. This story isn't for everyone, but I hope you enjoy it. | Dark Stalker Romance 17+ | ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 1: A Stalker's Truth Brixton pov, 35 While waiting for Harley to get home from work, I lounge on the couch with my hand in my pants, my eyes shut, and images of my little bird dancing around in my mind.

I caught the caller ID: Ghost. He stepped out, jaw tense. “Don’t move,” he said. He walked out. Fast. Heated. Then he was gone. The second he left? The air changed. The stares grew hotter. The room turned to wolves. Every man in there turned their eyes on me like I was meat left on a throne. Their stares crawled over my skin. My stomach twisted. My fingers itched for something sharp. Men started shifting in their chairs. A few licked their lips. One leaned toward me.