Page 12 of Code Name: Ghost

4

NICK

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Cherise. Recognition slams into me harder than any bullet ever has. The moment she crashes into me, I react on instinct.

She’s not exactly the way I remember—of course she isn’t. Time’s carved lines into both of us, and we’ve earned every single one. But it’s her. God, it’s her. But the eyes are wrong—she had green eyes and now they’re blue—colored contacts, maybe? But the mouth is the same with its full lips that used to ruin me with a single smile. Her body’s leaner now, more honed. There’s strength there—coiled muscle beneath worn fabric. She’s no stranger to survival anymore.

But it’s the scent that unravels me. Vanilla and something warm, earthy, uniquely hers. A scent I thought I’d buried with the man I used to be. It crashes into me like memory and grief and hunger all at once.

She stiffens in my arms, then goes completely still. Limp.

Too still.

She’s unconscious or close to it, and every part of me snaps to high alert. But under that, tangled beneath the instinct, is something darker.

How did it come to this? How did she end up here, mired in a world of shadow and violence?

I died for her or tried to. I let the world think I was gone to keep her safe from the life I was forced to choose, from the enemies I made. And yet here she is, wrapped in the danger I swore she’d never know.

Did she choose this, or was it thrust upon her? How did the woman I would’ve burned the world down to protect end up back in the fire?

Now’s not the time to ask. Not the time to stare. Not the time to bleed for the choices I made.

The train station is too exposed. Too many people. Too many goddamn eyes. If Hector’s men are watching, they could be closing in. I don’t hesitate. Bending, I lift her, securing her against my chest, and move through the station with controlled precision. The crowd barely registers her unconscious state—this is Monte Carlo, after all, where excess and bad decisions are as common as the sea breeze.

My SUV sits parked outside in a secure lot. I lay her across the back seat, checking the locks before pulling onto the road. She stirs, a soft murmur leaving her lips, but she doesn’t wake. Good. She needs the rest, and I need to get her to safety before she starts asking the questions I don’t want to answer.

Cerberus headquarters sits above Opus Noir, a front that serves both as a profitable venture and a perfect cover. The club’s security is second to none, and no one gets inside without clearance. When I pull into the private underground garage, Logan Radcliffe is already waiting.

"Jesus, Ryeland, you were supposed to escort her, not kidnap her," Logan quips, arms crossed as he eyes Cherise in my arms.

"Shut up and open the damn door," I bite out.

Logan grins but swipes his keycard, leading me to the elevator. The ride up is silent, save for the steady hum of the machinery. By the time we reach the floor where the Cerberus’ offices are, Cherise is stirring, her lashes fluttering as she blinks up at me, dazed.

I push open the heavy oak door to one of our privacy suites and carry her inside. The room is opulent, the deep crimson walls warmed by the golden glow of chandeliers. Plush leather furniture fills the space, along with a four-poster bed draped in dark silk. And in the corner—a St. Andrew’s cross, an elegant display of polished mahogany and steel.

I set her down gently, but the second I step back, her eyes snap open, and she bolts upright.

Her gaze locks onto mine.

For a beat, silence stretches between us, thick, unspoken words hanging in the air like ghosts. Then, before I can move, she launches herself at me.

I don’t stop her.

Her palm cracks against my cheek, the force of the slap sharp and precise. My head barely moves, but the sting burns.

"How dare you," she hisses, her breathing ragged.

I don’t flinch. I don’t speak. I let her fury wash over me.

"I stood at your grave," she seethes. "I grieved for you, Nick. I shattered for you. And the whole time, you were alive?"

Her voice breaks on the last word, and something inside me twists.

"I didn’t have a choice."

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