Ghostface Backstory Novels & Stories

"Look what crawled out of the drain." Three men stepped into the light. They wore oversized hoodies and tactical vests scavenged from the raid. In the center stood Ghost. He was thinner than I remembered. A jagged scar ran from his ear to his jaw—a gift from the last turf war I’d led before I disappeared. "Ghost," I said. I didn't lower the pipe. "Don't 'Ghost' me, you golden-eyed prick." He spat a glob of phlegm onto the concrete. He raised a heavy-duty revolver. "Except your eyes aren't gold anymore, are they? You look... ordinary. Like the rest of us rats."

The only other people who knew who he was, were Gunn and the triplets. "I'm Aaron Muron, many of you may know me as Ghost. I'm the godfather of the mafia. The founder of Muron Springs." The room broke out in shocked gasps and whispers. Fear settled on their faces as they watched him, wondering what his next move would be. As the story goes, whoever saw Ghost, didn't live to tell the tale. "I want to enter a partnership with you all. This could be the start of something beautiful." He said, biting into his bottom lip.

Alice had always been a thorn between us—sharp, immovable, impossible to ignore or remove. I looked at Grayson now and wondered: if he knew I was dead, would he feel relieved that he was finally free of me? Grayson's phone rang. He answered it, not bothering to put it on speaker. I drifted closer, curious. Could it be someone calling to report my death? I studied his face intently, waiting to see his reaction when he learned I was gone. But when I glanced at the screen, I froze. The caller ID displayed my name. The voice that came through the line was unmistakably mine.

She'd been trained the same way. "And the third?" Celeste asked. "He goes by different names. But the one I knew him by was Ghost." Her brother stood up and started pacing. "He specialized in infiltration. Could become anyone. Fake any identity. He's the one who helped me escape when I ran." "Where is he now?" "I don't know. We got separated five years ago. But if anyone can help us stop Seraphina, it's him." Celeste's phone buzzed. Another message from Mila.

This feels lighter, automatic—like stepping where the ground has already been mapped. They call me Ghost. It simplifies things. Ghosts don’t leave witnesses. Or questions. Or pieces of themselves behind. Conversation thins as I pass. People shift their feet. I registered the looks without meeting them. Curiosity from the younger ones. Calculation from the handlers. And something closer to superstition from everyone else. I am twenty-two years old. I’ve been killing since I was fourteen. The numbers don’t settle into pride or shame. They sit like inventory. A medic steps aside as I pass. His eyes drop to the insignia stitched inside my collar—black thread on gray. Ghost-class comes without ra

Of her heart continued walking through its alarming frantic beating, she might discover herself suddenly dead from a heart attack. " My name is Zach and my memories are foggy, that is the only thing I can remember about myself. " the ghost replied " What are you doing here. " Maisie asked " I don't know. One minute I was seating in a food court the next I was here. " the ghost shrugged as he settled down back on the couch which he got up from when the owner of the house he was staying in shouted that he should show himself. She straightens as she continues her questioning. " what are you. "

"I was reborn." Julian's eyes widened. He was completely stunned. I continued. "In my last life, after you disappeared, I gave up my spot at Columbia and spent ten years on a pilgrimage. I thought I was atoning for your death." My voice was flat, as if telling someone else's story. "Ten years later, I learned the truth. You weren't dead. You were with Scarlett, building an empire on my ghost. I died of a heart attack and woke up at your funeral, in this life."

“What happened?” “Grams was murdered last year. Mom’s latest boyfriend sexually assaulted me during one of my episodes. She caught him before it went too far, but somehow, it was my fault. I think she was tired of me depending on her.” “Where’s the guy?” Ghost was grinding his teeth as he spoke. I shrugged my shoulders, not even wanting to speculate that they were still together. “Are you safe?” “Not really. The guys who killed my grandmother took a shot at me.”

His eyes widened with the horror of what he’d just let slip. My blood turned to ice. My parents. Who they were. I had never once spoken my parents’ names to anyone in this world. Not to Ethan, not to Thorne. In this life I had none. I was just the ghost from the foster system. I kept my face blank, pure confused innocence. “My parents? Lucas, they died in a car accident when I was a baby. They were nobodies.” He was already scrambling backward, panic tightening his features. “Right. Yes. Of course. I just meant… the uncertainty. Not knowing your lineage makes the pack elders nervous. Especially now.” It was a weak recovery at best.

"He's terrified of someone. He wouldn't say who." "Mira," I said. "Maybe. Or someone else. The empire didn't die with your father, Elena. It just went underground." "How do we find it?" Miriam looked at Lucien. He nodded. "There's a man," she said. "He goes by the name Ghost. No one knows his real identity. He's been operating in the shadows for decades, brokering deals between trafficking rings, moving money, cleaning up messes." "You think he knows where Mira is?"