Ghost Writer Novels & Stories

Damon chimed in, a grimace slipping into place. Making a sound of agreement, Knight stood and stretched his arms above his head, groaning as his back cracked. “I wonder if they’ve uncovered anything new themselves. Didn’t they say they had Kalix investigating?” “The Whisperer,” Ghost hummed. Kalix, aka the Whisperer, was a wolf with the uncanny ability to project himself to anyone he locked eyes with. It didn’t matter how well protected the person was. One glance and he’d be able to visit them.

“I just need your help with a little thing.” Lance stopped rotating his chair. “Go on.” “I need you to publish a book,” Calvin said. “Yours? You need a ghostwriter?” Calvin frowned. “What’s that?” “Someone who’ll write your idea at a price,” Lance explained. “The name on the book will be yours, of course. No one will know you used someone else. Is that what you want? Why do you need a ghostwriter?” “I never said I needed one.” “But you want to publish.”

Gary says as the heavy winds blew his hair, his voice is not clearly audible because of the noisy vehicle down the road. Ghost now has some hard thinking right now, as he moves floating slowly on the air like some wizard, he does not want to leave his friend here and so he comes up with a plan, he starts backing up, his hands still on fire and this makes the other wolves strong again, they can now move easily, they all point their guns at him as they slowly walks towards him to match him out.

Because by locking away the only evidence that could lead me to the real culprit, the Ghost of Wall Street had just built a new cage around me. Why is he everywhere? Why does he have to control everything? I thought to myself. I looked up at his profile as he guided me down the corridor, his touch still burning against my skin. The folder was gone. The evidence I needed was gone. And the only person standing between me and the truth was Julian Cross. If I wanted the secrets hidden inside that folder, I couldn’t keep fighting the Ghost of Wall Street from the outside. I had to get close to him. Much closer.

My cock dragged against his prostate with thrust. “My father…” The words tore out of me between strokes, raw and broken. “He caught me with a boy when I was sixteen. Locked me in a cold room for weeks. Beat the ‘weakness’ out of me. Told me loving a man would destroy everything I touched. That’s why I became the Ghost. I only did one night. No attachments. No repetition of cocks, until you came along.” Scott’s eyes softened even as I railed him mercilessly. “You don’t have to carry that pent up anger alone anymore.”

The Ghost. The hacker who had been messing with them. The one who sent the files about the 2018 fire. He looked younger than Eli expected maybe late twenties with sharp features, messy dark hair, and eyes that seemed to see too much. “You’re awake,” The Ghost said. His voice was calm, almost friendly. “Good. I was starting to worry the chloroform was too strong.” Eli pulled harder against the chains. The metal dug into his wrists. “Who are you? Why did you take me?”

He took a sip of the burning liquor, his gaze never leaving mine. "One of Ghost’s men," Ares said, leaning forward in his chair. "He killed the Russians, hunting her, and like a fool, she trusted him and got into his van." I froze for a split second, the towel hanging from my hand. Ghost. The name was an old legend. He was a well-respected man. The godfather of the mafia. No one has ever seen him and if they did, they didn't live to tell the tale. He seemed to be more myth than man.

—pockmarked with cigarette burns and a scar that ran from his ear to his chin, shaped like a question mark. ​"Name’s Vaughan," the Ghostwriter said, his voice a low, rhythmic growl that seemed to pace the very heartbeat of the room. He flicked a spent match into a puddle of ink. "I’m the guy they call when a story gets too 'Commercial.' Your father’s estate—the part of his soul that stayed in the 'Hard-Drive of the Forgotten'—hired me to file a stay of execution. But Director Vane doesn't play by the rules of the Book. He plays by the Budget."

He stood straight with a serious face as he began his explanation. "Ghosts are the souls of dead humans who... well, aren't ready to rest in peace. They don't have powers. All they can do is move from one place to another without being seen. Well, not by everyone though." "But... if you're a demon, why then are you in this form?" She couldn't help but ask.

I call ghost, he got more than one skill, and opening closed-door virtual and real ones are one of his many skills. He uses his key locks tools and messes with the door for a bit until it opens. Finally, I walk down with ghost behind me, I find a small girl laying naked on the floor. She's thin, too thin, her blond hair match mine only hers is dirty and matted on her head. Her blue eyes are hardly open, I can see bruises all over her fragile body. Taking off my shirt I cover her quickly and pick her up leaving this hell behind. "You're safe now baby sister" I whisper in her ears she closes her eyes letting darkness take her.