Page 22 of Code Name: Ghost

“And what about you?” I demand, stepping closer, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “Do you feel nothing? Is it all just a calculated move to you?”

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step toward me, his presence overwhelming. “You think I don’t feel it? That I don’t hear every sound you made tonight replaying in my head like a broken record? That I don’t...” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply.

“You don’t what?” I press, my voice trembling.

He shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” I insist, my chest tightening. “Because right now, I feel like I’m drowning, and you’re the only one who knows how deep the water is.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his hazel eyes searching mine. Then he steps back, the distance between us as palpable as a closed door. “Go to bed,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Nick...”

“Goodnight, Cherise,” he interrupts, already moving toward the kitchen.

I watch him go, frustration and something deeper twisting inside me.

He doesn’t look back, pulling out his comms device and speaking softly into it. “Team Alpha, this is Ryeland. We’re in for the night. Maintain perimeter patrols and check-in every hour.”

I turn away, heading into the room he designated as mine. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I lean against it, my heart pounding.

The small room is bare—a queen-sized bed, nightstands, and an antique dresser that someone repurposed. This is a stark contrast to the luxury I’m used to, but looking around, I realize I like this better.

I sink onto the edge of the comfy bed, my head in my hands as if I can hold back the tears that are threatening to fall.

Nick is right about one thing: I don’t have time to process what I’m feeling. Not when there are men hunting me, not when Hector and René are still out there, plotting God knows what. But that doesn’t stop the memories from flooding in, vivid and inescapable.

The way Nick’s voice wrapped around me, commanding and sure. The way his hands guided me, firm but never cruel. The way my body responded, helpless against the tide of sensation he unleashed.

I lie back, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the safe house’s generator filling the silence. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I don’t know if I’ll survive long enough to see the end of this. But one thing is certain.

Nick is more dangerous to me than any weapon Hector or René could wield.

And I don’t know if I have the strength to survive if he walks away again.

* * *

The room is dark and cold, the type of cold that seeps into your bones no matter how tightly you wrap the cozy warm comforter and quilt. I roll over for the fifth time, clutching the pillow like it’s some anchor tethering me to sanity. Sleep eludes me, refusing to provide even the smallest reprieve from the storm swirling inside my head.

When I finally drift off, it’s not the peaceful escape I crave. Instead, I’m swept into something far more dangerous.

I’m back on the St. Andrew’s cross, the leather straps snug around my wrists, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. The air is heavy, charged, the hum of whispered commands and muted cries surrounding me like a cocoon. But in this dream, it’s only us. Nick’s presence fills the room, his voice low and commanding, his touch electric.

“Breathe,” he says, his fingers brushing over my skin, igniting something deep and primal.

I obey without thinking, the sound of my breath mingling with the subtle creak of the leather restraints. His hand trails down my back, deliberate and controlled, sending shivers through every nerve ending.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper against my ear. “No one touches you but me.”

The possessiveness in his tone should terrify me, but it doesn’t. Instead, it sinks into me, settling in a place I thought was long forgotten. Had I ever even recognized it before?

And then his hands are on me, rough and warm, grounding me even as I feel myself slipping. His palms press firmly into my skin, one sliding down the curve of my spine, the other tangling in my hair. A gentle tug tilts my head back, baring my throat.

“You have no idea how exquisite you look like this,” he says, his voice dipping lower, rougher. His lips graze the shell of my ear, hot breath teasing the sensitive skin, and my body arches instinctively toward him.

The leather strands of the flogger glide over my skin, not striking, just brushing. It’s soft, tantalizing, a promise of what’s to come. I feel the heat of his body close behind me, the faint scrape of stubble against the nape of my neck as his mouth finds my skin. He presses a kiss there, slow and deliberate, before trailing his lips down to my shoulder, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.

“Tell me what you want, Cherise,” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress that leaves me trembling.

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