Ghost Revenge Novels & Stories

The fabric slipped slightly, exposing more of my skin to his gaze. “And me?” he let out a humorless laugh, “Most of the time, I’m Alessandro Costello. A tech genius. A mobster. A killer. A hacker. A murderer. But then—” he paused, snapping open another button, “Then there’s Ghost. And Ghost? He’s pissed at the world, Red. So fucking angry. At everything. At women. Especially women. And he doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t understand what made him this way, but he’s past caring.” Alessandro’s hand stopped on the last undone button of the jacket, the fabric now barely holding its place on my shoulders and then with a mere twist of his wrist, the last button popped open.

“You failed in Ebonn Moon. Then again during the alliance summit. I gave you Sienna, I gave you beasts, and still—still—Valentina lives.” “Sh-she’s not normal,” Carmella gasped. “She’s—” “I know what she is!” Ghost's voice fell louder than thunder. “She’s the reason everything unravels. She is the thread someone keeps pulling… undoing every knot I have tied over the past twenty-five years.” He stalked to the edge of the chamber, toward the chained black beast still writhing in the shadows, twitching from the remnants of its failed magic. He touched its snout. It screamed soundlessly, agonizing shriek, and then—it dissolved into dust.

The phone slipped from Zhedya’s numb fingers, clattering onto the desk. He slowly turned his head, looking down the long, dark hallway toward the room where Ian slept. Then his gaze shifted to the black, endless ocean beyond the glass walls. A year of grief. A year of guilt. A year of whispering apologies to a silent form. It all crystallized now, hardening into one pure, singular purpose…Vengeance. Ian’s suffering had a name. A face and a voice. The protector had failed and the grieving lover was now gone. As Zhedya stood there in the dark, the killer he’d buried for Ian’s sake slowly uncoiled inside him, eyes open, focused, and hungry. The Ghost had made one fatal mistake. He hadn’t just h

Vincent slammed his claws down onto the dust where her gravestone once stood, his body trembling with emotion. “You can’t be gone. Not you. Not like this,” he whispered. The ghost’s voice slipped back into the silence, quiet yet filled with venom, brushing against the wounds on his skin. “She is gone, fox. Vanished forever.” Vincent's golden eyes flared with anger as he looked up into the dark, baring his fangs and roaring, “Liar!” His claws scraped across the stone, sending sparks flying as his chest rose and fell like a raging storm.

"But I want actual proof when it's done. Real, verifiable proof this time. Not just your word." "You'll get it. I'll be in touch soon with the specific details of the operation." The line went dead. Margaret stood alone in her mansion, staring out at the city where her stepdaughter was hiding and planning and preparing to destroy everything. Her phone buzzed with a text message. Unknown number. *You buried the wrong body three years ago. Sleep well tonight, Mrs. Clarksville. -A Friend* The wine glass slipped from Margaret's hand and shattered on the expensive marble floor.

His limp had worsened tonight, but he barely noticed. “He is,” he said coldly. “The man he used to be… that man died a long time ago.” She turned slowly to face him, eyes searching his for something solid to hold on to. “Then who’s doing this?” His gaze didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. “The ghost that never died.” Silence dropped between them again. He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to. She understood. This wasn’t just vengeance. It wasn’t even war. It was something older. Something that lived in the cracks between memory and pain. Something that had waited patiently in the dark, feeding on everything they thought they’d buried.

A part of me I’d buried the day my parents died. I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “No,” I whispered. “Not now.” This wasn’t about fate. Or mates. Or wolves who couldn’t keep their instincts in check. This was about revenge. I’d spent years building myself into a blade. A ghost. A whisper behind locked doors and encrypted files. I was the glitch in their system. The curse in their code. But one glance from him… And suddenly I wasn’t sure what I was anymore. I slammed the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road.

This was what I did best, control, plan, execute. Victor Bennett would be in his mansion now, still raging about a stolen shipment, swearing revenge on a ghost named Coleman Vlamdir. Well there is more to come. Well here I was, the ghost himself, about to remind one of his new houseguests exactly who he was dealing with. Minutes passed. Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. **Target acquired, very clean no witnesses. In the room.**

“Talk.” ‎“Boss… they’re on the move.” ‎A slow, sinister chuckle escapes me as I turn toward the window overlooking the city. ‎“Finally.” ‎For two years I’ve chased ghosts. Two years of sleepless nights, blood-stained leads, and dead ends. I built my Mafia kingdom from nothing, all for one purpose.....revenge. ‎And then the message came. ‎I know who killed your family. ‎I know who the third body belongs to. ‎I remember how my hand shook reading it. How rage and hope collided in my chest so violently I could barely breathe.

Bouchard Francisca is the next to speak up followed by Mrs Bailey’s; Chloe’s Mother glare. I owe them no explanation, but I dofeign a smile, relishing on the irritation of their faces. After all they are the reason I returned, because one of them seated around this table, killed my father, it was in his last letter before he died. Unfortunately, Ethan is not excluded. "How do we know you're not here to revenge your father?" Bailey, Chole's Mother states. And I smile, despite my fingers are balled to a fist, and I'm about to speak when a hand covers mine, giving it a light stroke.