Ghost Stand By Him Novels & Stories

Kane leaned back in his chair, cool as ever. “You really gonna meet him? Alone?” I let out a laugh. “Fuck no. I ain’t stupid. I’m the Ghost, not some rookie patch fresh out of diapers. I’ll go, yeah. But I’ll have eyes everywhere. You, Kane, and a few of our best. You’ll be in the dark, tucked away where that bastard won’t sniff you out, and on my signal, you light him the fuck up.” Kane smirked. “Now that sounds more like you.”

She shoved him aside and walked off. Pierre just stood there, stunned. Tears burned his eyes. That was it. Over. Cameras caught everything. By the time she was gone, the clip was already online. [What's going on? Didn't Sonia Quindt just get stood up by Hedley Hart? Why's Pierre jumping in now?] [Now Pierre's trying to swoop in? Shameless.] [She looks furious. Guess she's still hung up on the first dude.] [Who even is Hedley Hart? How's he got her like this?]

Dressed in black. At first, I registered him only vaguely, until he turned around to face me. My steps slowed. Something about him felt….wrong? The nurse beside me stopped walking. “There he is,” she told me. “Your bodyguard.” My heart skipped once. It was then that he turned fully. And my world tilted. Kade Wolfe. The air punched out of my lungs so hard I almost tripped over myself. No….no way! It can’t…it just can’t be.

But your mother's about to die—I know you'll show up. Her words jolted me back to reality. I pressed a hand to my chest, where my heart ached with a dull, numbing pain. How I wished I could tell her myself. That I've been here all along. It's just that... I've been dead for four years.

Her grip was weak, and it fell straight toward the floor. My heart leaped into my throat. Just as the candlestick holder was about to fall to the floor, it stopped. It hovered midair and stopped less than an inch from the floor. Time stood still for a moment. Whitley’s smile froze as her eyes widened. The next second, the candlestick holder swayed unsteadily as it rose into the air. It then landed securely back on the corner of the table, completely unscathed. A deathly silence filled the room.

Then, from the darkness, a figure emerged. The Ghost. He was older, but his presence was as formidable as ever. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Dino, assessing, calculating. “You’ve grown,” the ghost said. His voice was rough, but there was something else there—a trace of regret. Dino didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Why now?” The ghost exhaled. “Because you’re not just fighting a war, Dino. You’re fighting a trap.” Dino’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

I NEED to know who he is, and something tells me I won’t discover much if I approach him as Phantom Reaper. I don’t really even know who I actually am, to be honest. I never indulged in friendships or relationships with others. It’s just always been survival. The only person I had any kind of positive relationship was my mother. I don’t know my father but because of my hair color, I’m fairly certain my father was Christian Bartoa. I know he frequented the slave cells whenever he was bored, and the urge arises so it doesn’t surprise me, but I don’t intend to ever claim him nor carry his surname. The thought of actually SPEAKING to Damien makes me feel a weird sense of anxiety. I’m unsure if i

I ask when he answers. “Yeah, boss, she’s still in her cab,” he replies. Good. Right where I want her. “You know your assignment,” I say, ending the call. No hesitation. No explanation. He already knows. Ghost is called that for a reason, you can always feel him watching, but you never see him. Same way Black Kings moves. You don’t see us coming, you just feel it when it’s already too late. She told me she doesn’t belong to me and walked away, leaving me standing here.

*]:pointer-events-auto scroll-mt-[calc(var(--header-height)+min(200px,max(70px,20svh)))]" dir="auto" data-turn-id="88630483-7eb5-4271-b05b-c60c7df0102d" data-testid="conversation-turn-186" data-scroll-anchor="true" data-turn="assistant"> The silence after the Ghost’s disappearance felt heavier than the gunfire. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

Ghost asks, his voice careful, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, a tightness that gives away how much he’s barely holding himself together. I grit my teeth and nod, but when I try to push myself up, my arms tremble under the weight. Ghost moves instantly, his hands sliding to my back, supporting me as I struggle into a sitting position. My head spins, my vision darkening at the edges, but I push through it, blinking rapidly until the world steadies again. Ghost doesn’t let go, even when I’m upright. He keeps his hands on me, like he’s afraid I’ll collapse again, like he doesn’t trust my body to hold itself up.