Page 74 of Code Name: Ghost

We've found him—Hector. The man who once stood beside me in a church, looked me in the eye, and vowed to love, cherish, and protect me. The man who promised me forever.

All lies. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

Instead, he berated, insulted, threatened, belittled, and dismissed me as if I didn't matter. And for a time, I believed him. Little did I know I was only being used as bait to draw out a man from my past. Hector was supposed to love me, but all I was to him was disposable.

I met JJ that night at the gala—dressed in borrowed confidence and barely holding together the threads of my composure—and she gave me a flicker of hope I hadn’t realized I was suffocating without. Just a glance, a card, a quiet question—‘Do you need help?’—and something inside me cracked open. For the first time in years, I felt seen. Not by a man who wanted to own me, but by a woman who saw through my performance and gave me the first breadcrumb out of the dark.

That night started the ball rolling. It led me to finding Nick and bringing us back together again in ways I never could have imagined. My ghost from years ago came back to life. Most would kill for the opportunity to have a loved one come back from the dead... I am not too proud to say I feel guilty for feeling so lucky.

The harbor is quiet this time of year. The tourists are fewer, the locals used to ignoring the power players that drift in and out of their port. No one looks twice at the sleek, white yacht that glints under the dying light, its name painted in expensive black script. It's one of many, just another power player flaunting their status. It's not the smallest or the largest, which says a lot.

I wait behind the wheel of the surveillance van, eyes fixed on the monitor. The feed is clean—no glitches, no interference. I watch Logan melt into the shadows of the dock's west side, a flicker of movement with a mission behind it. Nick comes from the east, all coiled purpose and lethal calm, every step calculated. Their coordination is effortless, a testament to muscle memory and battlefield trust. My heart lodges in my throat, beating against bone, but I keep it hidden. My hands rest steadily on the control panel, not because I’m calm—but because I have to be. Because they need me focused. Because I’m done being afraid.

Logan is in position. He’s crouched low near the gangway, one hand on his weapon, the other adjusting the comms loop tucked discreetly behind his ear. His voice cuts in like a wire drawn taut, tension running through every syllable. "East flank is blind for the next ninety seconds. If we’re going, it has to be now."

"Copy."

Nick moves, and he’s a force of precision. The takedown of security is fast—lethal and flawless. He comes in low from the blind side, sweeping the legs out from the first guard with brutal efficiency, the man hitting the deck before his brain has time to register the strike. A silenced shot takes out the second, a clean center-mass hit that drops him like a marionette with cut strings.

Logan appears on the port side like a phantom, neutralizing the third guard with a chokehold so swift it leaves no time for resistance. The fourth panics and bolts, but he doesn’t get far—Nick fires, one suppressed round into the back of his head, which sends him tumbling into the water. The splash barely registers before the yacht is silent again. No alarms. No shouts. Just the eerie quiet of a war already won.

Nick and Logan enter the luxury lounge like predators closing in. The space gleams with marble and indulgence—an opulent haven now tarnished by the blood of Hector’s security detail. A symphony of violence unfolds with ruthless precision, the chaos orchestrated and executed so cleanly that it barely qualifies as noise. Nick and Logan make brutal and lethal work of all those who surround Hector and those he works for.

Hector Pardo, dressed in a linen shirt too crisp to match the fear in his eyes, stands cornered near the glass bar, hands twitching at his sides like he’s calculating an exit that doesn’t exist.

Nick steps into the frame of the tapped security feed, a silhouette of lethal calm. The air is thick with finality. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t posture. He simply speaks, his voice low and resolute.

"Put your hands where I can see them." There’s no room for misinterpretation. Not anymore.

Hector does as he's told, but his eyes—those eyes I once looked into and saw a future—are already lying. Already calculating. He lifts his chin, that polished confidence slipping back into place like an old suit of armor. "You don’t have to do this," he says, voice slick with the same manipulation he always used. "We can make a deal. I have contacts, money, insurance. Whatever you want—just say it. I can disappear. You never have to see me again."

"I want silence." Nick's voice is lethal.

I’m already moving before I realize it, leaving the van and storming down the dock, my boots hitting the boards with too much force to be stealthy. Logan steps into my path, hand outstretched, but I shoot him a look—sharp, unwavering. He steps aside without a word to me, but I hear him over the comms.

“Incoming. You owe me a beer.”

I need to see Hector—need him to look me in the eye and see that I’m not the woman he broke. Not anymore. I want him to see who I’ve become. I want to watch the fear dawn in his face when he realizes it’s not Nick who will end this. It’s me.

Logan lets me pass without trying to restrain me. He just watches with that unreadable calm I’ve come to know. But when I reach the lounge Nick shifts his position. Not aggressively, not with force, but with precision—putting himself between me and Hector, like a shield he refuses to lower. It’s protective, yes, but also possessive. It’s a reminder: I’m his, and no matter how this ends, no one touches what belongs to him unless he allows it.

Hector’s eyes widen when he sees me. "Cherise, baby, you don’t have to let him..." His voice is laced with that same syrupy condescension I remember too well—weaponized affection sharpened by years of manipulation. But there’s fear now too, buried just beneath the surface. It curls in his posture, in the way his gaze darts to Nick and then back to me, like he’s trying to decide which one of us is the real threat. He doesn’t realize—yet—but it’s me.

I cut through his pathetic rambling with a voice colder than steel. "I only want to know one thing, Hector. Why?"

"Why, what, baby?" Hector's voice is sickeningly sweet.

"Why did you spend our entire marriage trying to get close to Nick? Did you always know he was alive? Was it all just a long con? I want the truth, Hector. Why him? Why go through me to get to him?"

Nick remains silent, but his eyes are locked on Hector with a sharp, unblinking intensity. There’s no threat in his posture, no visible tension in his stance—but the weight of his focus is suffocating. He's waiting. For truth. And he wants it as much as I do.

"Baby, I don't know what you're talking about." Hector lies right through his teeth.

Nick’s jaw flexes, his patience unraveling thread by thread. He lifts the gun, slow and deliberate, and presses the barrel against Hector’s temple. His voice drops to something colder than ice—controlled, lethal.

“Call her that again, and the next sound you’ll hear will be your skull hitting that wall. Now answer her fucking question.”

Hector lifts his hands higher, palms out in a mock gesture of surrender. He takes a breath, eyes narrowing as he looks at Nick. "Your team was too close to the edge of something none of you understood," he says, his voice oily. "You didn’t even realize how close you were to exposing the entire corridor. We had to test the perimeter. See if the leak was real." He huffs a bitter laugh. "You wouldn’t fucking break. We tried everything. Interrogation, deprivation… threats." He flicks his eyes to me. "Even her."

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