The Man With The Ghost Novels & Stories

I could just tell he would be a coward, for him to stay in hiding just to fire a bullet. A few minutes later, two of the men dragged someone out from behind a false wall panel. He was young, maybe mid-twenties, skin slick with sweat, eyes darting everywhere but at me. Ghost stepped forward, a predator closing in on prey. “Thought you could hide, huh?” Ghost’s voice was a growl. He didn’t wait for an answer before his fist connected with the man’s jaw, the sound of impact echoing in the room. The guy stumbled, groaning, blood already gathering at the corner of his mouth.

He gives me a puzzled angry look like I just upset him that I freed away from his touch. “No thank you,” I say like a weak little mouse about to be something’s prey. He becomes even angrier by my rejection, he bends down to meet my eyes and yells “What the fuck did you just say?! Did you just..?” he gets cut off by the man still standing against the wall. “That’s enough Ghost,” the man says in a monotone way, and now that I know that’s Ghost I’m even more frightened because he’s one of the big shots here and I just pissed him off.

Gabriel added, "So the ghostlike man might not necessarily be loyal to Lena. If so, then why did he help Lena escape?" "Maybe it just seemed like he was helping her. He might have his reasons to do so," replied Grayson. "I can only hope that he isn't really on Lena's side, or he might pose a threat to Belle with his immeasurable strength. The main problem with the ghostlike man is that his presence alone almost convinced me that ghosts really exist." "Where did you run into the ghostlike man yesterday?" asked Grayson. "Around Southvale. Are you thinking of checking the surveillance footage nearby? I've tried and found nothing. Everything was destroyed, most likely by the ghostlike man as wel

I knew this man was going to be my doom and I was willing to embrace that doom with opened arms. Silently, I raised a brow, indicating that his presence confused me seeing how he was a stranger who just barged into my space like he owned the place. With an outstretched hand, his deep, rough voice reverberated. “I’m Ghost.” I took his hand, shaking him professionally but startling at how small my hand was compared to his. “Ghost?” I repeated and he hummed a response. “A messenger for the Sanchez’s.” I immediately withdrew my hand from him with a snare. “My meeting was scheduled with the head of your famiglia.” Again, he hummed a response as he threw himself on the couch with a sigh.

“Camela! Keep calling me…I’ll track you no matter how many times he tries to hide you!” Suddenly, there was a new sound echoing in the air—footsteps. They weren’t Camela’s. They weren’t the ghost's whispers either. He turned around sharply. A tall man walked forward, wearing a red glove on one hand and a smile as sharp as blades. The ghost's voice didn't float through the air anymore. It came directly from the man's throat now: “At last, fox. Face me as I truly am.” Vincent bared his teeth, his claws glistening with danger as he whispered, “You…”

Then—a low, dry voice echoed from the shadows. “You look older.” Liam’s hand went to his sidearm. “That’s rich coming from a ghost.” A man emerged from the shadows behind the altar. Gaunt. Pale. Wrapped in layers of torn clothing and an old military coat, his face mostly hidden beneath a hood. His eyes—icy blue—gleamed with feral intelligence. “You brought company,” Ghost said, stepping forward slowly. “That’s new. I thought you preferred to work alone. Or are you finally in over your head?”

His assets were gone, and he was buried in debt. As for Susan, the gentle facade had long since vanished. What remained was a woman on the verge of hysteria. "They fight almost every day. Susan yells at Harold for being useless, and the two of them are constantly at each other's throats. The neighbors upstairs and downstairs have filed multiple complaints." My expression remained unchanged. I couldn't help but wonder if Harold's downfall was, at least in part, a form of silent revenge against Susan. Honestly, even if he left with nothing, he should have been able to make a comeback given his skills.

He pulls me away from the wolves, disappearing into the trees. I gasp for breath, trembling, too weak to speak. The man settles me against a tree trunk, his eyes wild and haunted. “You’re lucky I found you,” he says, voice low. “Who… are you?” I croak. He laughs, bitter and broken. “Just a ghost, like you. Banished here long ago.” I study his face—rugged, unshaven, eyes filled with madness and sorrow. He leans closer, voice dropping. “But watch yourself. He’ll betray you again.”

It will only take half a second for whoever is out there to get a good shot and take another member of this Pack out for good. “Fuck.” Low growls when a shot comes from somewhere in the darkness, it hits the ground right next to Ghost’s foot and makes him fall back onto his ass. I glance at him and realise my mistake. Ghost is no ordinary man; he practically glows in the dark like a damn homing beacon for anyone hunting at night.

“You—You can’t—” Ghost moved fast, the cloth twisting around the man’s throat, not choking, just enough to remind him of the line between air and none. He leaned in close, his voice a whisper against the man’s ear. “Who sent you here?” The man tried to laugh, but it cracked into a cough. “You think—” Ghost pulled tighter, just for a heartbeat, then loosened again, letting the man drag in a desperate breath. His pale eyes never blinked. “You think I won’t take you apart piece by piece?” Ghost asked softly. “I buried men alive in Cambodia and listened while they begged me to let the dirt finish the job. Compared to that, you’re a child playing outlaw. So I’ll ask again.”