Ghostface Backstory Novels & Stories

An untraceable phantom known only as Ghost. Every target assigned to Ghost had ended up dead with a single, surgical puncture to the heart. No alarms tripped. No forensic evidence left behind. A true myth. Five years ago, the underworld partner I had been trading logistics networks with was murdered overnight, and rumors whispered that Ghost had been the weapon. Then, the assassin vanished completely from the grid, leaving the name to gather dust in the archives of the syndicate wars. I opened my eyes, my gaze shifting to the rear-view mirror.

He spoke up again, "Hey, it's okay, you know. I can understand you must be going through tough times to behave like that. So, you don't have to be like this." With his words, I turned to him after a few moments. There was no humor or something in his eyes but just warmth as he smiled at me. For some reason, my embarrassment was fading away and I tried to smile back, "Thank you." "That's better." He said as he settled on the chair at my desk, "Anyways, I am Tristan Hoult." He held out his hand for a handshake. I went through an inner battle to reach for it and at last did, "Eden McBride."

What plan is he talking about? Raquel came so I had a conversation. While they continue to talk about their lives. It turns out that Zedrick is not a story, because when he is asked, he immediately changes the subject. What is he going to tell us, we don't have good memories of it. I experienced pure sadness, maybe if I wasn't here he would have told how many women he slept with. But no... because he was very careful when speaking because he didn't want to let his friends know that we were really broken.

"What he said." Ghost blew out a breath and glanced once more to the three waiting men in the shadows. "We figured out how your guy was changed. We also know who was behind this, and it's not the Lebanese. They're pawns in a much bigger game. And let's just say I have a vested interest in stopping this. Okay?" "Good enough for me." Marco took a step back. "Come on." Grant studied Ghost as he stepped fully into the light. He was taller than Grant first assumed, and if he had to guess, the too-large clothing hid a body honed to do dangerous things.

Instead of answering Lucy, Frank smiled at her, asking her why she would go that far even if she did not fancy their chances. "For Jojo." Lucy stroked her belly as she relieved her memories. "She was my friend, and one might even say that she's the reason Zac and I got together…" Then, her voice turned somber, as the memories became painful. "That is, until three days ago… We were hanging out at a karaoke bar when we ran into The Ghosters." She growled through her teeth, shivering and rubbing between her brow. "That was when I met Ghost—or perhaps I should say the man calling himself Ghost.

Ghost told me before disappearing. As instructed, I quickly locked the door before approaching Grandpa, a wide smile on my face. "Grandpa!" "Zara Bear. What's going on? Why did you lock the door? And who was that?" Grandpa asked curiously. "Nothing. I just don't want to be disturbed while I'm with you. And that's my bodyguard. His name is Ghost." "Bodyguard?" He squinted. "You have a bodyguard now? Are you safe? Why do you need a bodyguard? And how did you get the money for one?"

Jackson waited to see if the doctor would request one as well, but he was too preoccupied with healing those around him to worry about smoking. Pete nervously picked his way past the zombie-like ghosts. He hugged Adam’s doctor bag close to his chest with one hand while the other rested on the butt of his pistol. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d witnessed Harold being torn to shreds by these… whatever they were. Beads of sweat coated his forehead and neck when he finally reached them. “I left my family’s trappin’ business to seek life and maybe some adventure. I’m sorry I did that.”

Those who had discovered the truth were swiftly silenced, their secrets dying with them. The rumors about The Ghost were the stuff of criminal legend. They said he could walk through walls, that he had spies in every major organization, that he could make people disappear without a trace. Some said he wasn't human at all, but a vengeful spirit who had returned from the dead to punish the wicked. Victor did nothing to discourage these tales—in fact, he cultivated them.

Patrick's body stiffened instantly as if nailed to the floor. "You... What did you say? No, that’s impossible. Johnny has congenital heart disease, and Winnie happened to be a match. That’s why I asked her to donate her heart. But I clearly instructed the doctors to take good care of her! How could they have left her wounds untreated?" Before the officer could respond, Patrick's emotions suddenly shifted. A mocking smile appeared on his face as he shook his head and muttered to himself, "I see. You guys must not be real police officers. That crazy woman must have sent you to impersonate them, right? There's nothing she wouldn't do!

I asked, curious to know why he took her. Ghost hesitated for a while before clearing his throat. “Her father owes me so much money.” He said, lighting up a cigarette. “And I want my money back.” I couldn’t hold back a scoff. “You didn’t think to talk to me about it? Instead, you almost got her killed and kidnapped her on her birthday.” Ghost laughed. “Coming from someone who murdered her parents?” He asked rhetorically. “I didn’t think you would want to spend so much money in exchange for her freedom.”