Ghost Of Hollywood Novels & Stories

Olivia couldn’t see anything because of the light, only the sound of the deity remained in her ears. “Young recruit will have to dedicate to the galaxy. You have the white of the fairy flower, the beauty of the unicorn and you are the pride of the phoenix. Don’t let me down!” The sound made Olivia curious about her identity. Fairy flower? Unicorn? Phoenix? Why did he say that? She doesn’t know. No one tells her about that. Olivia was about to ask the deity when a powerful suction blocked her voice and pulled her into an endless black hole.

"El Cajon tried to stop him." "He knew Moretti for the monster he truly is." "But now, he's dead." The crowd recoiled like a single, living organism. Gasps, screams and curses erupting from them. I couldn't move. My ears were ringing, but my heart was louder. "You've been partying,” Ghost sneered, "with a terrorist. A murderer." And that's when it all fell apart. Someone threw a glass. Another person screamed. A woman next to me shouted, "You lied to us!"

The call connected, and a gruff male voice answered, "Ghost." Her tone was low and urgent. "I need you to prepare your best men." "How many?" the voice asked. "About 80," she replied, checking her wristwatch. "Location: Mexico." "Who's the target?" came the next question. Without hesitation, Ghost blurted out, "My brother, Damon. Their assignment is simple—dispose of the dead body Damon has with him." There was a pause on the other end before the man’s voice rose in disbelief. "What—why?"

Ghost doesn't exist and evil spirits obviously doesn't exist either. ******

Then, without a second thought, he joined her in the water, slashing at his own wrist. As the blood mixed with the water, Grayson's vision blurred. In his final moments, he saw me—there, standing at the edge of the bathtub. His face lit up with a wild, desperate joy as he tried to stagger toward me, calling my name. "Honey," he cried, his voice full of longing. I stared at him, my eyes cold and distant, a disgust so sharp it cut through everything. "I'm not your honey," I said. "Not in this life, not in the next, not in any life to come. Not ever."

Ghost’s fingers flew across the keyboard, screens reflecting off his glasses in rapid flashes of blue and white. Every camera feed in the city was up. Every traffic cam. Every toll booth. Every intersection. And none of it was enough. “She’s in a black sedan,” Ghost muttered. “Tinted windows. No plates. They knew what they were doing.” I paced behind him, chest tight, hands shaking. I couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He dropped his phone on the desk beside him and grabbed his head with both hands, "I killed her. She is supposed to be dead." "Well, clearly you didn't. I guess she's really living up to her reputation of being a Ghost." Valerie chuckled and leaned back on her bed rest. It wasn't known until five years ago Ghost was a female. She had always maintained her reputation of moving with the wind. No one ever saw her face. Yet, Marco had challenged her a few years ago and surprisingly won. Thanks to him, it was revealed she was a female. When they asked for her body, he claimed he burnt it as soon as he saw she was dead. No one believed him until two years went by without a word from Ghost.

"Shane found me in a bar. Said I looked dead. That was until some fucker was messing with me. He wanted to show off in front of his new little girlfriend, I hadn't gotten too far in fuckin' him up when Shane pulled me back. Told me about the Warriors. Thought it sounded like something that could save my life from either getting killed or being arrested. Austin made the same comment about how I looked dead because of my eyes, Ghost was created." "I'm glad you got patched in Ghost." I know more haunts Ghost than he lets on. I've seen the names of the men he has killed tattooed on him. I've also overheard my father mention some kind of mafia when it comes to him. I don't know the details, but I

In the moonlight, a woman in a white lace dress was kneeling on the stone steps of the chapel, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling. She had no feet. Below her dress, there was only a swirling black mist. "I see her." Lorenzo let out a low whistle. "Two years ago, Marco put her in the ground right there. Her ashes are buried under the rose bushes behind the chapel." I didn't stop, walking straight toward the chapel. Giovanni froze behind me but didn't dare to call out. As I reached the bottom of the steps, the female ghost's head snapped up. She lunged at me, her face a sickly pale green, her eye sockets empty black pits.