#ghostxoc

And as the feeling gradually returned to my fingertips and lips, as I started hearing things in detail instead of a droning roar, I became aware that Laswell was asking me something.

"Laura?"

"Yes?"

She looked at me in the rearview mirror, the break lights from the car in front of us painting her skin red, her eyes black. "Do you want to talk about what happened with Lieutenant Riley?" she asked. Her brows were frowned, expression torn between professionalism and concern.

"I failed, didn't I?"

She sucked her teeth. "Yes, but we will have other opportunities," she answered, taking a left, the red tint washing from her features. She wasn't looking at me anymore. "None of our targets recognized our men. We still have a chance to go back."

"Not with me, though," I said, swallowing my pride. "Now they know I'm alive."

She shrugged. "I'm not concerned with that Laura." But the look on her face, strained brows, puckered lips, and downturned eyes, proved that wrong. "I just want to make sure you're unharmed."

I felt something on my bare knee, and when I looked down, I saw Soap's knuckles rubbing against my skin. He'd moved so silently, so smoothly, that no one knew he was comforting me. Well, Laswell hadn't noticed.

"Do you want to talk about what happened with Ghost?" Soap asked, his voice so smooth, accent like honey, that it could have been mistaken for genuine curiosity.

I gulped, clenching my teeth. "I mean... we had to do that."

Laswell shook her head. "There could've been other options," she said. "But I see why Ghost decided on that."

"Are you alright?" Soap asked, and even though I couldn't see his face, I saw the outline of his shoulders tense. He was still rubbing my knee gently.

I hummed. "Yeah." Because no, I wasn't alright. Half my brain wanted to go back in there, with danger nipping at my heels, and a ghost devouring my lips. I wanted to feel his hands on me like that again, swallow his grunts, and feel him hard and hot at my belly. I wanted to feel caged, wrapped in darkness, pressed up against the wall with nothing but his body heat as a source of pleasure. I wanted all my senses to be knocked loose by him, to be invaded by nothing but his smell and his touch.

But another part of me, some part that knew this would come to an end some day. The part that knew this was anything if not illogical, that wanted to punch Simon. That wanted to sink my teeth in his neck and rip his jugular out and make him bleed, make him in need just the way he leaves me every time.

I decided there was none of those two parts would ever come to terms.

The rest of the ride was in silence. I had no idea where the three others had went, and frankly, I didn't care. I wanted to get dressed in some long joggings and hide under a blanket in the dark for ages. But when we got to back to base, riding under the bright gate lights and the three check points, I knew there was no way in hell I would be allowed that privilege.

Laswell left me with Soap to go through the medbay. They checked my vitals and shone an annoying little light in my eyes. Soap stood there in silence, the green lights making his tan looked washed out. I could only imagine what I looked like.

When the nurse pushed my hair back and saw the fading blue black bite mark that Simon had adorned on me, she frowned. "When did this happen?" she asked.

I covered it with my hair. "I did a wrong move in training," I mumbled, feeling the embarrassment and the annoyance climb from my fingertips to my ears in a wash of liquid fire.

Soap bent down, tugging my hair away form my shoulder. His eyes narrowed on the mark and he hummed. I thought he was going to snitch, tell the doctor that his superior had bitten me in some weird lust-filled moment. But instead he replaced my hair.

"Is it infected?" he asked the doctor, who just looked at him with her mouth slightly agape.

"No," she answered. "But that looks like teeth, Sergeant."

"She went undercover last week," Soap answered.

The doctor shook her head and took a few notes into my chart, but otherwise, didn't pry. I guess things were different in the Navy.

She discharged me and Soap walked me out into the dark. I was glad no one had commented on the mini jeans skirt and the sparkling tank top.

"You're leaving a trail of glitter," Soap commented as we walked back to the RV, meandering through a maze of buildings and tents.

I looked at him, wearing a grey long sleeve and black jeans. "You look like every other guy," I replied.

He smirked, bringing a heavy arm over my shoulders and bringing me close to him. I soaked up his body heat, feeling his muscles move against my skin, placing my hand on his chest. "You good, pumpkin?" he whispered into my hair, mouth on my hairline.

"I'm cold," I said.

He squeezed my shoulders, bringing me even closer to him. He was silent until our RV came into view, dark and quiet. Maybe he felt the tension snap in my spine, climb up to my shoulders.

"I don't think he's here," he said.

"Where did he go?"

Soap sighed, and as we neared the door, he placed a very gentle, surprising kiss on my forehead.

"He was just as affected as you were," he answered, his mouth ghosting over my hair again, nose burying into my locks. "He went to blow some steam off with Gaz and Ale."

I nodded, folding my arms over my chest, another sour, jealous feeling pooling into my ribcage. "I get it."

Soap let go of me to open the door, and I swear, I felt the cold seep back through my pores.

I went inside the dark RV, snapping on the lights and moving through it quietly, feeling Soap at my back. He followed me silently, ghosting his fingers on my waist, down my spine.

"You should change," he said.

"Where did he go?" I asked, turning to face Soap. We were almost in the bedroom, where the dark called me, where my bed pulled at my senses.

Soap looked me dead in the eyes, brows pulled together. He was so close that I could see the tiny wrinkles near his eyes, the scar under the left corner of his mouth.

He took my face in his hands, large and warm. "Let's make sure you're okay, yeah?"

I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. "Lie to me?" I said.

He smiled, putting his forehead against mine and walking towards me, forcing me to walk back into the darkness of the room. "He's just at the bar," he said.

I nodded and he let me go. I pawed my bed until I found my folded joggings. It was dark and I'm sure Soap couldn't see but I didn't really care at this point. Sleep was tugging at my lids, pulling at my feet, my joints, my knees. I was so exhausted, mentally prepared to forget, that changing in the dark with Soap was the least of my worries.

"Here," he said, voice low, guttural almost. I felt soft fabric against my elbow and when I grabbed onto it, I realized it was a shirt. "You'll be comfortable in this."

I quickly switched out of my sparkly, dumb fucking cami and bra and threw those in the corner. I slipped on Soap's t-shirt. It smelled like him, like his cologne, like the gum he chewed regularly. It was soft against my arms, rubbing against my chest.

"Are you okay to sleep?" he asked.

I climbed onto my top bunk, over Ghost's bed, and signed, feet dangling over the edge into nothing. Soap's hand landed on my knee again, thumb pressing onto the inside of my thigh. "I don't want to be alone," I admitted. "At least until I fall asleep."

He grunted. "Move over," he ordered.

I couldn't see well, but I'd adjusted to the dark enough to see his outline as he changed out of his jeans and shirt and only put on his joggers.

I gulped, heart in my throat as he climbed up onto my bunk, forcing me towards the wall. He was shirtless.

"Soap." I put a hand against his chest, feeling the few coarse hairs there, when he lay on his back with a sigh.

"Just lay here with me, lassie," he said. "I swear I won't do anything."

When he saw I wasn't moving, he put a hand over mine, where it rested over his beating heart. His skin was burning.

"I understand the feeling of not wanting to be alone, Laura," he said. This time, his voice was strained, as if that was a secret he'd sworn never to reveal. "I hate seeing you scared. I hate that I can't help you feel... more at ease. But believe me when I say this, lass, that I'd never touch you." And then his hand caressed up to my elbow and he tugged slightly. "Just lay here and go to sleep."

The way he'd said that had felt so sincere, so real, that my heart thawed and the fear lacing my blood seemed to thin out like water.

I lay there beside him, head sharing a pillow, with his arms wrapped around me as if we were two sworn lovers. He turned to his side, facing me, letting me put my face in his chest and hear the rhythm of his heart. One of his hands played the guitar against my ribs, the other scratched gently at my scalp.

For the first time in a while, I took a full breath in. And sleep found me with no trouble.

***

By the time I woke up, I had forgotten that there was a full grown man with me in bed. My eyes shot open, skin behind my knees clammy, sweat on my back and forehead. No wonder I was boiling; I had a human furnace wrapped around me like a koala bear to a tree trunk.

Soap's left arm was wrapped around my waist, fingers inching into my t-shirt (his t-shirt). His other arm was under my head, supporting my neck while his hand dug at the roots of my hair.

The covers had been thrown to the end of the bunk, where I could see that our legs were tangled. Soft morning light filtered in through the horizontal curtains, painting the air a light grey. It would be cloudy today.

I wasn't sure if Ghost and Gaz had made it back to their bunks, and with my back pressed against the wall, there was no way I'd be able to take a peak. So I moved slightly, pressing myself against Soap's front, planting my hands on the mattress, and pushing myself up slightly.

Almost immediately, like an instinct had pulled him from sleep, Johnny groaned and used the hand around my waist to stop me from moving. His fingers pinched my waist, the sensitive skin there, and pinned me back against the mattress.

"Be careful how you move, pumpkin," he drawled, sleep tugging at his voice, at his accent. It was so deliciously thick, like honey dropping from an open glass pot.

I gulped. "What?"

i looked down, watching as he smirked in his semi-awake state and buried his face into the pillow. He pushed me down again, until I was face to face with him, and grabbed onto my back, scooting me flush against his body in a flash.

I could feel him hard at my belly, his chest hot, skin like flickering flames.

Immediately, I felt my cheeks burn, and I scoffed. "Oh, I'm... I'm so sorry!"

He chuckled against the pillow. "Nothin' to be sorry about, pancake," he muttered, turning away from me. He lay on his side, back to me now, and I could see the coiled, corded muscle in his back strain. He was tan from the South Asian sun, skin like golden honey.

I swung a leg over him and carefully climbed down from the bunk, noticing the empty, perfectly neat sheets in the bunk under mine. When I landed on my feet, Soap groaned, now facing me. His left hand dangled from the bed and he reached out, smoothing his thumb on my jaw.

"You know what you need, princess?" he asked, eyes glazing back to sleep. It was still so early in the day.

"What?"

He snorted. "You need to let out some tension."

I frowned. If this was going where I thought it was, I wanted none of it.

"Relax," he sighed, rolling onto his back, forearm swung over his head. "I meant something like dancing or... going to the bar." By the end of his sentence, I was sure he went back to sleep.

I sighed heavily, rolling my eyes and meandering through the RV. It was empty and dark, the early grey light seeping in from the curtains. Stuff was strewn everywhere; pants across the kitchen table, papers and pens on the counter, a few socks along the carpeted floor.

I went to the bathroom and washed my face, brushed my teeth, and took a comb - likely Soap's - and tugged it through my hair. His words kept playing in my head. Tension. As if this was my vacation of choice; left to be bait for the US Navy Seals.

I sighed, feeling the frustration tears well up. I hadn't actually given much thought to it. To the whole idea, the situation, how fucked up my current circumstances were. A few weeks ago, I was a normal young woman, fresh out of university, with the world at her fingertips. I took that opportunity to test the waters, visit the world, break out of my shell but it seems the process I trusted wanted to test me even more.

My hands curled into fists against my eyes, as if I could physically push the tears back in. I sniffed, hiding a sob with a cough. I threw my head back, making the fuzzy blue light overhead sting my retina.

Just a few more days. They'd catch Alvarez somehow. They'd kill him or imprison him, and I'd be safe to return home.

"Alright," I sighed, almost sarcastically.

I really needed to air out the steam building between my ribs. It made me feel like a balloon full of air, pricked just hard enough to put pressure on the flesh but not hard enough to pop it.

So, I decided, I'd do what Soap suggested. I'd go dancing.

***

When Ghost woke up, he knew it was passed his alarm by the way the sun heated his face under the black fabric of his balaclava. He groaned inwardly, mentally cursing whoever's idea it was to go drinking late into the night.

Oh yeah. It was him.

Where was he?

He coughed, something like smoke curling along his tongue. Cigars. Fucking Price. Of course, he disappeared for this entire mission, but a soon as the drinking and smoking began, he dared to poke his big ass nose into their business.

"Rise n shine, lieutenant!"

Speaking of the devil.

Ghost opened his eyes, analyzing his surroundings. He was poised against the wall of someone's barracks. Probably Price. By the way the cot was made perfectly, the sheets tucked and tight against the thin mattress. The male paraphernalia strewn across the bedside table. The bottle of cologne on the desk beside the barrack's box. And a huge wooden box filled to the brim with cigars.

And the man himself stood, arms crossed over his chest, over a green hoodie, right by Ghost's booted feet.

"Get up, soldier, we got intel on your man," the captain said, voice gruff and raw, probably from the whiskey and the cigars from last night. And the girls. And the music, the laughing. The girls.

Ghost shook a feeling from his shoulders, like shedding a sheet of dust that had collected along his back.

How he'd wished those girls had been Laura.

It took a second for that thought to register before Ghost peeled it away from his brain. He got to his feet, groaning at the pain in his tailbone, the numbness in his calves, in his knees.

"A little banged up there, L.T?" Price asked.

Ghost grunted. "You've never had a rough night before, cap?"

Price huffed. "A many a nights, man." He threw his head back and laughed. "That's right. You got yourself a girl last night, eh?"

Ghost grunted. He had - technically, though, he hadn't brought her back anywhere.

Price laughed again, a deep rumble in his chest. "How was it?"

Ghost shrugged. It's not like he'd had time to prepare or enjoy. It was fast and nasty and over in ten minutes. He'd gotten his paws on the first girl with long black hair and hadn't even had to court her in any way. She'd been attracted - like most of them are - to the mystery beyond the mask, to his eyes and the way he seemed dead behind them.

It wasn't long before she was bent over the sink in the single bathroom at the back of the bar, her shirt on the damp wooden floor, her midnight locks splashed like black ink against her bare back. He'd pushed her face into the tiled counter so that he could pretend she was someone else. So that he could stare at her back, her hair, and pretend that the hip he was squeezing was someone else's, that the cunt he was rutting into belonged to her.

And once it was over, after Ghost had finished in the condom he'd insisted on wearing, it just didn't feel right. This girl with the wrong face and the hair slightly too light and the skin not the right shade. This girl that was too tall, too skinny. Ghost couldn't even stay to help her clean up after he'd ditched the condom and tucked himself back into his pants. He couldn't even bare to watch this girl stare at herself in the mirror.

He'd so badly wished that it was Laura. He'd so badly hoped that this girl would have morphed into her, into the right face, the right height, the smile and laugh and the way the corner of her bottom lip stuck under her canine sometimes.

Fuck. Ghost had it bad.

"I don't remember," Ghost lied.

Price's face lit up light a Christmas tree. "The drink got you this time!" He clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder. "Ah, the loss wasn't so bad, man. It's things that happen when you put civvies in the field. We'll do a better job next time."

Ghost nodded. He needed a shower, bad.

"Alright, look," Price continued. "We got intel last night, while you were nose deep in whiskey and ball's deep in whoever. Alvarez is moving some serious cargo in a few days. Laswell said a few tons of explosives and drugs, so if we can get our hands on it, that's a win for us."

"Get ourselves some captives too," Ghost answered. "I want them alive so they can tell us exactly where Alvarez is."

Price nodded, something akin to a shadow gliding over his features. He frowned, getting a little closer to Ghost. He peered through the opening in his mask.

"That girl, Laura?" he said. "She really saw him?"

"Apparently."

"And she's still alive?"

"Affirmative."

Price shook his head slowly. "It's really uncanny how one American girl ends up knowing the face of one of South America's most wanted cartel leader."

"Laswell didn't fill you in?"

"She did," Price answered. "How is this girl anyway? Where is she?"

Ghost's shoulders tightened. "She went back to the RV with Sergeant MacTavish."

Price made a grimace. "Is that... are they a thing now?"

"I don't know." Something tugged in Ghost's belly, like a string clung to his belly button. If anyone could have her beside him, it could be Soap, and that would be the only man Ghost would allow even a few inches form her.

But he wanted her first.

"Well," Price sighed, moving to the door, grabbing his phone off the table. "Come on, Laswell is waiting."

Most of the information that Laswell had was generic. Ghost followed along, took his orders, and scrammed as fast as he could. He was still dressed in last night's shenanigans; black jeans, his trusted black hoodie, and his boxers that probably had that girl's DNA all over it.

He had nothing on his schedule for the day, so he ran to the showers and cleaned up, got back to Price's barrack's room to talk strategy, and then went right to the gym. He worked out his frustrations on the bench press and the treadmill, and tried to ignore the feeling of dread sitting heavily in the pit of his stomach. Like a rock.

Ghost had never regretted sex. Ever. There had never been any girl that he'd regretted. Even the desperate catches on faraway missions. Even that time he hadn't seen a woman in three months and put his hands on the first thing he saw. He never regretted.

But now.

Now he wished he'd listened to his brain and not his dick. He felt so filthy now, so dirty. He felt as if it was written all over his forehead - well, written on a huge poster that clung to his back. He felt as if the whole world knew that he'd fucked a random girl that kind of looked like Laura because he needed to empty his balls so bad.

Because now, he felt like if his hands touched her, he'd stain her.

The gym didn't help with his frustration. So he went to combat training and brought Gaz and Price down to the mat a few times, sweated until his brow was soaked. Even then, he could feel the tension straining in his bones.

And by the time night rolled in and he was at target practice and Soap showed up, he was still trying to breathe the tension out of his skin.

"L.T?"

Ghost turned, meeting Soap's inquiring gaze.

"Soap."

"You seen Laura?"

Ghost's insides curled in on themselves. "No." And then. "Why?"

Soap shrugged, putting his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "I haven't seen her all day."

"You were with her last night?" he asked, but he wasn't accusing him. He was starting to get worried.

"Yeah," Soap answered, frowning. "Then she woke up, and I think I heard her crying in the bathroom, and then she was gone."

Ghost bristled, putting the rifle down on the table. "She cried?"

"Yeah, think so."

"Why didn't you follow her?" Ghost asked, voice rough, low. Worried.

Soap shrugged again. "I didn't want to bother her I mean, I felt like I was annoying her." He licked his lips. "You told me to stay with her when we came back from the club. You said to stick to her like glue. I even got in bed with her, L.T."

"And?"

"She slept."

"Good," Ghost sighed. "She didn't say anything about what happened?" Ghost was a soldier first. He needed to know if anything else had come up, memories, anything, that could help this mission.

"Nothing, sir."

"You should've followed her, Johnny," he said. "At least, asked her why she cried. Now we have to go and find her."

A door slammed shut to their left and both men turned to see Alejandro walk in, bright smile etched on his face.

"Hermanos!" he greeted, hands in the air like it'd been years they hadn't seen each other. "I come bearing some great news."

"You're going back home," Ghost groaned.

Ale's hands fell back to his thighs with a clap. "Sorry to disappoint, sir, but it's not the case," he answered gruffly. "The bar's hosting ladies night again!" He made fists with his hands and punched Soap in the shoulder twice.

"Again?" Soap asked, incredulous. "There was one yesterday and I missed it?"

"Well, chico," Ale answered in a breath. "It's your time to mke it count. Last night, Ghost had - "

"That'll do," Ghost interrupted. "Let's go then, shall we?"

It wasn't long until they'd made it through the little labyrinth that was this military base. They heard the bar's music before they even saw it, and something in Ghost's bones shifted.

"Oh, shit," Soap groaned, stopping in mid step, the gravel under his boots squelching. "I think I know where our girl is."

Our girl.

"In there, hermano?" Ale asked, pointing to the bar. The windows were tinted purple.

"I told her to let off some steam," the sergeant sighed. "I even suggested dancing."

"Well, she can use it," Ale answered, and the trio resumed their walk. "She's so..."

"Uptight?" Soap offered and the two other groaned in acquiescence.

When they walked through the wooden, creaking door, the smell of alcohol and girl hit them like a ton of bricks on a speeding train. It was intoxicating, the smell of women. Like their scent was made to do just that; turn men into mush, compliant little ants who wanted to do nothing but please them. And coincidence enough, Ghost had that same instinct climbing up his spine.

He just didn't want to see Laura in the same predicament as him last night; letting off some steam with a Ghost look-a-like.

The music was so loud that Ghost could barely hear himself think, and the screaming and singing from the pack of girls, military and... well not. It was some poppy tune that Ghost didn't really like, so he meandered to the bar and asked for a beer. He knew he should be scanning the dance floor, the dark corners, the benches, tables, and couches for her. But he needed something in his veins to numb that feeling coursing through his blood.

"Nah, brother," Soap yelled over the music, grabbing his superior by the shoulder like old chums. "Something stronger!"

The kid ordered three bourbons and a shot of clear liquid, and as Ghost downed both drinks, he knew his stomach would make him pay tomorrow morning.

"We're not here to do any damage?" Ale asked once Ghost put the drinks back down and took a hefty seat at the bar.

Soap shrugged sarcastically. "I thought this was girl's night!" he said. "Where are the gi... oh there's Laura!"

Ghost's head snapped quicker than a whip, jostling his brain against his skull violently.

He scanned the crowd, but it was dark and everyone was dressed in black but it didn't take him long to spot her. She was so vivid, laughing and smiling so wide it's like her mouth was splitting her face in half.

She was wearing black jeans, the type that clung to her hips and ass but loosened after that. So that all you could stare at were her delicious curves. And just above the waistband of her jeans was a sliver of skin because her black t-shirt wasn't long enough to cover her belly button.

And her hair. Her hair was a long mass of midnight locks, cascading down her back as she moved with girls she probably didn't even know. It was so shiny, so well done that it caught the lights off the strobe every time she threw her head back to laugh.

"Damn." That came from Soap.

Ghost swallowed the equally inappropriate thing he wanted to say because Laura made eye contact with him across the room, her face coming still as she moved through the crowd. She took small steps, interminable steps, moving through the crowd like a knife in butter.

And once she stood before the three of them, it was too late. Ghost's hands itched.

"You came!" she said over the music.

Ale bent down to whisper something in her ear and she giggled, hitting him in the chest playfully.

Soap moved to her other side, caging her in. She was theirs now. "I got scared, lass," he said. "You vanished this morning."

She grimaced. "I didn't want to wake you."

Soap shrugged then tapped her on the back, making quick eye contact with Ghost, who was still perched on his barstool silently.

"Ale!" Soap said, calling his attention. "There's a nice table of footsie sittin' over there untouched!"

"Ehhhh, perro, you're about to lose some serious dinero!"

And they left so quickly. They left nothing but Laura behind, who stared up at Ghost, black ink-drop eyes imploring.

He stood slowly, brushing his knee against her knuckles. His mouth was pasty, like he was... nervous. And he hated it.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, reaching out to brush the knuckle of his index across her belly. She was burning. Sticky. Drunk.

"Clothes," she answered sarcastically. "Why are you dressed like there's a mountain you're going to shred down in old red skis?"

Ghost felt some kind of anger brew at the bottom of his throat. "I'm always dressed like this."

She reached out and placed her thumb against the outside of his palm, her other fingers gripping his. "You can take it off," she said, reaching on her tip toes so that their faces were inches apart, where he and only he could hear her say that.

He resisted the instinct to flinch.

"What?"

"The mask," she cooed, coming back down on her heels. But she was so much closer to him. And she was still clutching his hand. "Take it off."

"Negative."

"Why?" she asked, frowning, eyes cast down. So cute. So drunk. "Are you ugly."

He wanted her to see him smile.

He bent down so they were eye-to-eye. So that she could see the slick shadow glide across his irises like black tar. "Quite the opposite, sweet thing," he answered, pressing his thumb against her chin so that her mouth opened slightly. He felt the bourbon in his head now, heating his skull like lava. "Now tell me why you're dressed like this."

She looked up from under her brows. What a pretty sight.

"It's just jeans and a t-shirt."

He groaned, glazing his eyes. "Do you know what that does to me?" he asked. "To see you like this?"

"Like what?" But this time, she was daring, pushing her limits.

"So... easy." His eyes, so heavy, so lust-filled, clipped down to her mouth and back to her eyes. The eye contact was driving her crazy. He could tell by the way she was enraptured by his stare. "You look like I could drag you back to the RV and fuck you on the table and you wouldn't say a thing."

His filthy words seemed to plug her into the wall and bring her right back to life. She stiffened, closing her mouth, pulling herself away from him completely so as not to touch him anymore.

Ghost fantasized that if he touched her cheeks, they'd be burning.

"You don't like that?" he asked.

The music changed behind them. Someone cheered but it felt so far away.

She gulped. She watched him take a step towards her, wrap his hand around her arm and tug her out the door, feet tumbling after him. She didn't say a word, like he predicted, as he dragged her around the bend of the bar, scuffing her shoulder on the corner of the outer wall. She didn't even blink when he slammed her up against the wall, the moonlight shining off her ink-drop eyes.

"You gonna say anything, my Laura," Ghost whispered, pressing his nose to the side of her face, hands on her bare arms, barely there, barely touching. Her skin buzzed. "You going to tell me to fuck off? Huh? Are you going to push at me? Come on, baby, you got more fire than that?"

Because truth is, he wanted her to push him off. He wanted her to dig her nails into his shoulders, scream at him, tell him that he was disgusting, ugly, and dirty. Tell him that she never wanted his hands on her again.

Because he felt like all those things. And he didn't want to stain her. After last night, after the girl that looked like her but wasn't her, after that dumb decision to empty his sack in some hired whore. He wanted Laura to push him off, keep that stain from her.

But he also wanted her. He also couldn't keep his hands from her.

"You're scaring me," she muttered.

"Good," he whispered in her ear. "I should scare you, baby."

She shivered and, oh, he wanted to press her against him until his heat became her source of life.

"Push me off, Laura," he drawled, dipping his nose to her shoulder. His mouth opened under the mask.

"I want to feel your hair," she asked, so sweetly, so low. Something sliced down his spine. "I won't look, Simon, I swear." His name off her lips was pure sin, and the way she grabbed at him, fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Say my name," he panted, pushing her back against the wall. Shit, he was so hard.

She pulled him closer until there was nothing but their clothes separating their skin. "Simon, please."

He shivered. He was so weak. So amped up. Even with yesterday, he felt like he was 16 again. Getting hard at the sound of her voice. His name off her lips like a prayer.

Her hands worked up his back while his slipped to her hips. She put her forehead against his shoulder, her hands climbing to his neck, into his mask. He felt it strain over his mouth, his nose, until both were uncovered.

"I'm not looking," she muttered. "But please Simon, kiss me."

He would not be told twice. This was the first time that she had asked him. That it wasn't him taking it from her.

He brought his hands to her face and kissed her. Her mouth, now familiar terrain, moulded to his like two perfect puzzle pieces. He groaned into the kiss, pulling her head back to deepen it, teasingly petting his tongue against her lower lip.

She clung to him for dear life. Nails in his shoulders, bringing him closer, ever closer, until he had to put one hand against the wall to support them or he'd squish her against it.

She tasted like beer and something sweet, like candy or gum. And he was addicted, kissing her and kissing her but he was never sated. He would never get enough of that candy taste on his tongue.

He pulled away from her lips to kiss down her jaw, her neck, unconsciously rutting his hips against hers. She grunted, groaned, moaned when his lips turned to teeth on her shoulder. He marked her again, teeth imprinted in the soft skin there, and as he worked his way back up her neck, he knew just kissing her this time wouldn't be enough.

"Simon," she panted, eyes closed, waiting for him to devour her again. But he just kissed around her mouth, her jaw, her chin.

"Laura," he whispered against her neck, hips grinding into hers. "I need to..." He put his face in her neck suddenly, forcing all his weight on her, squeezing her between his chest and the wall so hard she whimpered. And that sound, the way she grabbed onto him, made a bolt snap like lightening in his spine, pooling fire flooding his belly. "Fuck, fuck."

He felt the fire lick up his spine and in seconds, his boxers were wet.

"Fuck," he whispered, leaning against her neck, putting his entire weight on her. He could feel the flames of his pleasure soothe along his back, like a dying fire, but it felt so good that he didn't care.

He'd just cum in his pants like an over-teased tween.

He chuckled. At least he hadn't touched her. He hadn't stained her.

"I need to go..." he hesitated. She was still riled up tight like the string of a bow. He didn't want to leave her high and dry. "Laura, I can't touch you," he whispered in her neck. "Last night, I..."

"I know," she answered. "Some girls told me."

He wanted to know, deep down, how she felt about it. Jealous?

"I don't want to dirty you," he muttered.

"I get it."

He sighed. "I can go get Soap," he suggested, feeling the heavy blanket of sleep calling his name.

"What?" she asked, going tense against him.

"To finish you," Ghost said, matter-of-fact. "I know he's been dying to."

She made a weird strangled sound. "W-what, no, why would Soap - "

Ghost chuckled, interrupting her. "I want you to cum, Laura." And oh, her name on his tongue tasted as sweet as her mouth. "Soap would do a fine job, I'm sure."

He could practically hear the gears running in her head. She was wondering how Ghost could be so willing to share her with Soap. Because she'd never want the opposite. "He's the only other man I trust with you," he cooed. "I need to get that... other girl off my skin. Soap can take care of you for a while. What do you say, my little dove?"

She shivered at the pet name.

After a long pause, she said, "I'll go... I'll go back inside."

He smiled against her neck and then straightened. She meet his eyes quickly, but she was avoiding his gaze. Hers skittered across his mask and then back to her feet.

"Go," Ghost ordered, bringing his hands to her face. "Before I change my mind."

She looked up, biting the inside of her cheek. Then she nodded and pushed off the wall, her feet crunching on the gravel below as she retreated into the night, back to the bar.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

He watched the bag, the one he was instructed not to touch but to surveil. His eyes scanned the building, methodical and practiced. Hunting was fun.

Inside the bag was an amalgamation of Thai currency, lethal drugs, and two ingots of pure, cold gold. Some Chilean drug lord, that taskforce 141 had followed all the way here, had hidden this bag in this building, niched deep within a Bangkok village. Only Alvarez’s crew would come pick this up, and that’s when Ghost would pull from the shadows and take only one of them alive. 

His favorite sport had always been interrogation, especially when he’d been handed a blank card. 

The sun had cooked the walls of this building to dust, and as the rays began to deepen into bruise-like purples and blues, Ghost morphed into the moniker he loved so much. 

Somewhere, someone laughed.

It started as a phantom echo, brushing against the shell of Ghost’s ear. A rumble followed, rolling up the walls. Someone was here. 

Ghost tactfully pulled a knife from his ankle, silently making his way to the door. He was hidden by the gathering shadows, a lone figure no one would pay attention to. His breath was quiet as he settled, crouched, ready to pounce as the door slowly opened. 

The second he was ready to spring forward, every muscle in his body screamed at him to pull away, to revert to the shadows.

A young girl, no older than mid-twenties, sauntered in. For a split second, she turned to see who came behind her, and Ghost caught a glimpse of her smile. Crawling across her face was nothing but innocence, a youth that clung to those who were just that - young and dumb. 

She wore black trousers and a black tank top, and the heat of the day had turned her skin to a buzzing, shining hue. 

Ghost gripped his weapon, turning the knife in his palm. In the shadows, the setting sun, this girl was just absolutely gorgeous. Midnight hair, loosely curled, dripping down her back like tar. Ghost was hypnotized. 

He spiraled back into his thoughts the moment another young man and two others walked in, both male and female. They were four total, two females and two males. 

Americans. 

How? he thought. 

He slunk back into the shadows, calculating, skipping through one tactic and another. 

“So where is this thing?” one of the girls asked, the dirty blonde one. Ghost’s eyes scanned from one American to the other. 

The tall, brown-haired boy shrugged. “I bet this is it,” he said, pointing to the bag. 

The girl with the midnight hair stood beside it, hip jutted out, arms crossed over her chest. “So this is what that weird dude from the club asked us to pick up for him?” 

Brown-haired boy pushed her aside. “Only I get to touch, Laura,” he growled, and his tone of voice, the way he put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her, made Ghost want to rip his throat out. 

The girl - Laura - threw her hands in the air, brows furrowed. “Then why did you even ask us to come, Ben?”

Ben chuckled. “He asked me to do it, right?” He turned to face the other two, who were just standing there, eyes wide, frozen in half fear and awe as Ben opened the bag. “And I’m going to bring that back to him.”

The second after Laura let out an exasperated sigh, a loud shot echoed furiously across the room, Ben’s head snapping back, blood spraying gloriously across the dust. As his body flew back, Laura screamed, backing away, watching as her friend went limp on the ground. 

Ghost’s instincts kicked in, dropping the knife and gripping his assault rifle, bringing the visor up to his eye. But there was no one else, and as the girl scrambled for her friend, another shot clipped the air and the other girl crumbled dead to the floor. 

“Ghost!” It was Soap. “Shots! What’s your ETA?”

But Ghost didn’t answer. As soon as he saw the body of the other boy snap back, blood dripping from a hole in his head, Ghost sprang forward. 

He was like lightning, scrambling across the small expanse of dust and wooden floorboards, wrapping an arm around Laura’s waist and sending both him and her sprawling to the floor. 

She weighed as much as a bag of flour, and when she hit the ground below him, the air was sucked from her lungs, a scream lodged somewhere between her ribs. 

Methodically, acting on pure instinct, Ghost hooked an arm under her shoulder, dragging her away from the windows. A clear shot ripped the air, nipping his ear. Blood was copper on his tongue, acid in his nose. 

Laura thrashed, trying to wiggle herself out of his grip. In the light of the setting sun, he saw her face, contorted in fear, glistening with tears. 

“I’ve got an American civilian with me!” Ghost yelled into comms. “No sign of Alvarez!”

Another shot sliced the air, lodging into the wall next to his shoulder, pieces of drywall falling in chunks. 

Laura screamed. Ghost hauled her into a corner, crouching down in front of her. She tried to scrambled further, back pressed against the wall. The soldier reached out, grasped her face in his hand, and pulled her eyes to his. “I’m not here to hurt you!” he shouted, shaking her by the jaw. Her mouth was agape, hiccupping, her big brown eyes shot wide open. She was assessing his mask, drinking in the sight of his gear, his helmet, his arm stretched out to grasp her face. 

She didn’t say anything, but she nodded, and let him pull her to her feet. 

“Soap,” the solider drawled into comms. “Sniper. North end of the building. Can you root him out?”

“Sure thing, L.T,” Soap answered. 

He shuffled the girl down the stairs, holding her by the bicep in a bruising grip. She followed silently, trying to keep up with his long strides. Ghost was so much taller than her, dwarfing her arm in his hand, basically dragging her along the walls. Avoiding the windows. Keeping their heads down. 

Right before the door to the back alleys was visible, Ghost rounded on the girl, crowding her to the wall. 

She breathed in hard, chest heaving, skin of her neck stretching along a gulp. Ghost didn’t care. He had a job to do.

He forced her against the wall, one hand beside her head, the other pushing her shoulder into the cement. She looked up, and something sharp glided in her eyes. With the darkening night, Ghost couldn’t tell what it was. It snapped across her features like a bolt of lightning. And so soon, it was gone, only her big doe eyes staring up at him in fear. 

“Who sent you here?” he asked.

She swallowed again, and Ghost had to fight the urge to press his thumb across her windpipe. 

“Some guy we met at a bar,” she whispered, fear lacing her tone, drowning out her eyes as a few lone tears fell on her cheeks. “He said to come here, to this place, that we just had to pick up a bag. Ben was going to do it. He said he’d get a cut from what was in it.” She was starting to panic, her voice quivering. 

Ghost used his hand to jerk her chin, guiding her eyes to his. She was quivering in his grasp, one hand bracing against his belly, the other curled against her chest. “Who sent you?” the soldier asked again. 

“This guy from the bar!” she reiterated, but this time her voice wavered on a sob, and Ghost believed her. He’d get the rest out of her later. Now, he had to get them both out, alive. 

“Soap. How copy?” 

There was a crackle. And then shots. “Ghost!” Across comms, a few gun shots. Across the vacant expanse of the building, echoes of bullets spraying against cement. “They’re everywhere! It was a trap!”

“Get out of there, now, Sergeant!” Ghost ordered, grasping the brunette in another vice-like grip, hauling her behind him. He crouched down, dragging her with him. He turned on his heel, examining the street as he slowly opened the door. 

A vacant, darkening alley offered no hidden shadows, no lingering mafia, no lone stranger with a gun waiting to kill them both for whatever was in that bag. 

He turned back to Laura, putting a big wolf hand over her head. “Keep your head down.”

She sniffled, obeying him. 

But as soon as they stepped out into the alley, the girl bolted. Ghost turned, half expecting her to shoot him, half expecting someone else to come for his throat. But all he saw was her retreating form, absolutely gunning it for the next alley. 

“The civvy!” he called into comms. “She’s running.”

“Get after her, Lieutenant.” That was Laswell, clear and crisp in his ear. “If she’s telling the truth, she’s the only one who’s seen Alvarez’s face.”

Ghost groaned, slinging his weapon at his back, and took off after the midnight-haired girl. 

She’d made quiet the ruckus as she bolted through the alleys, knocking back tin cans, accidentally kicking crates, and making a few lone souls shout in surprise. Ghost followed the trail, but she was fast. She was tiny, but she had managed to put enough distance between her and him that Ghost feared he could lose her in the maze of Bangkok alleys. 

But she was a lost little American girl, far from home, who’d just witnessed her friends being shot to death before her very eyes. She’d start to panic eventually.

He caught up to her, Northeast, seeing her form skid across gravel and bolt down another street. She was breathless, Ghost could almost hear her panting, but she kept going, pumping her arms, her shoes kicking up rocks and dirt. 

Ghost groaned every time she made a last minute dip n turn into a new alley. “Laswell,” he called. “I need to ambush her!”

“Take that alley coming on your left,” she answered right away. “If she continues straight, once you take the next right, you’ll run right into her.”

And like magic, Ghost wrapped his arms around her entire form, wrenching a god-awful cry from her lips as he tackled her to the ground. Rocks and dirt scratched at his face, but he slithered her little body underneath him, trapping her under his thighs, both her wrists in one of his hands. 

She was crying, hair mussed from running and the dirt he’d thrown her in. Her neck was badly scratched, bleeding from her fall. Her shoulder was dripping red as well, and when Ghost shook her, she cried out. 

“Stop it!” he commanded. 

“Let me go!” She bucked her hips, but the soldier weighed so much more than her that all it did was cause her to cry even harder. 

“Why did you run?” Ghost asked, leaning down so that the edge of his balaclava brushed her nose. They were so close, her hot, heavy breath fanning his eyes. He could see every fleck on her skin, the waterline of her endless black eyes, and the way her eyelashes stuck together from the salt of her tears. “Why!” He shook her, and she cursed loudly, opening her mouth, clamping her teeth on his wrist. 

It stung. She had a mean, mean bite, and when she tasted blood, she did the one thing any cornered prey would do. She smacked her elbow right between his legs. 

Ghost was used to pain. He’d lived it countless times, endless hours, spiraling down every form of torment possible to mankind. He’d inflicted it to himself, he’d seen it done to others, some he loved, some he didn’t. He’d felt every needle, every knife, every bullet wound possible for him to still be standing. 

But God damn, getting elbowed in the balls was some type of pain. 

The initial bolt of pain snapping across his spine loosened his grip, instinct guiding his hands to shield his crotch. He leaned forward slightly, and Laura used that advantage to wiggle from under him, muttering something that sounded French, and then staggered to her feet. 

Ghost struggled to get to his feet, and by the time he was fully standing, his balls throbbing harshly, he was back to running after that damned girl. 

“Ghost, please tell me she didn’t do what I think she did,” Laswell drawled. 

“You’re God damn right, she did!” he yelled, chasing Laura to a building door, which she wrenched open and disappeared inside. 

“She’s a civvy, just be careful,” Laswell muttered. “But by all means, apprehend her.”

“Copy,” Ghost grumbled, following the girl, slamming the door shut. “Going dark,” he mumbled, sliding on his night vision. 

From then on, it was easy to spot her. It was night, all their shenanigans through the streets had wasted enough daylight, and Laura had made the dumbest decision ever. She was crouching by the far wall, eyes wide open, blindly searching the darkness. Her hands goaded on the floor, feeling but not seeing. 

Ghost slid across the empty room, taking the night vision off at the same time that he grabbed her bicep, hauled her up, and slammed her hard against the wall. 

“Easy, L.T,” he heard Soap’s drawl in his ear. He must have heard either Laura’s sob or the force of her body meeting the cement. 

“Stop running,” Ghost growled. “Or this is going to get so much worse for you, love.”

“You’re wearing a skull mask,” she whined, hiccupping on a sob. “Of course I’m going to run!” She tried to kick him, so he slid his hand under her knee, lifted it, and sent her tumbling down to the ground. 

“I’m just trying to help you,” he breathed out. “But now you’re just being difficult.” He bent down and retrieved her, sliding a hand around her belly and pressing her back against the length of his chest. The top of her head knocked against his collar bone, and Ghost sneered despite his aching testicles. 

“I’m just scared,” she mumbled, pressing one of her hands against his gloved digits, trying to pry his hand from its spot on her belly button. 

“Are you going to behave?” he asked. 

She was heaving, chest rising hard, her breath echoing sharply in the air. And deep down, under the instinct and the decades of trauma and training, Ghost registered the way her body fit against his. Niched against his chest, despite his tactical vest and the millions of things hanging from him, she pressed against all the right places. 

“I don’t wanna die,” she mumbled, falling limp against him, giving up.

Ghost sighed, clenching his teeth. “You won’t if you stay with me, now come on.”

He grabbed her bicep again, ignoring the look she threw up at him, and hauled her once again behind him. “Leaving the premises,” he mumbled into comms. “Laswell, get me out of here.”

“Copy Lieutenant.” There was a pause. “Evac site is eight clicks north.”

He’d never been obsessed in his life. For him, things were like wind, coming and going and never to be seen again. The army had taken the possibility of permanence from him a long time ago, and the soldier in him was taught never to form attachments. And so in his entire career, Ghost had served as pawn, jester, and queen, but he’d never stayed on the same board. Always moving. Always leaving something - or someone - behind and training his memory never to cling to anything.

Because the worse thing a soldier could carry was memories. 

Laura had been moved from Sergeant Combs’s training to some sort of half-assed private hour with Soap, while Gaz and Alejandro worked recon and organization for their little coup. And although it had been Ghost’s idea, he was not even on the training mat with her.

Soap was trying to teach her how to come out of a backwards hold, the one Ghost had trapped her in last night. 

Johnny, even as trained and disciplined as he was, was not immune to Laura’s tempestuous attitude. 

“If you’re holding onto me like a fucking maniac, how the hell am I supposed to even get out?” It was a shriek, basically, and her voice broke off at the end. 

She had trouble catching her breath, chest heaving against Soap’s arms, neck glistening with sweat. Flyaway hairs from her bun kept getting into her eyes, where a subtle smudge of blue bruised the underside. She had not slept well - if at all - last night.  

Ghost crossed his arms, cocked his head. “She usually doesn’t fight fair,” he offered, watching both Soap and Laura’s head twist his way. “She’ll go for your balls next.”

Soap’s face fell.

“Or bite your wrist until you’re bleeding,” Ghost continued. Laura’s eyebrows knitted together, creasing the skin in between. 

She puckered her lips and tried to swing her body forward, but Soap was strong and just pulled back. 

Ghost sighed, uncrossing his arms and walking to where the pair stood on the mat. The training gym was almost empty, and Laura’s pants and Soap’s quiet curses almost echoed through the space. 

He stood in front of her, watching her midnight eyes shift upwards and upwards, staring at him from under her brows. A quiet rage flamed behind her glare.

“Here,” he said, pointing to her hands. “You’re not using them.”

Her face pulled back, resisting the urge to either curse him or bite one of his eyes out. “He’s impossibly stronger, Ghost,” she said, gritting her teeth, the words almost hissing passed her lips. 

He shrugged. “You have more strength than you think.” Then he tapped Soap’s arms, loosening his grip, and gingerly took her wrists in his hands. “When someone’s got you in a hold like this, first thing’s first, you get into this position.” He placed her arms so they formed an X across her chest. 

“Now use your body weight,” Soap instructed, resuming his vice-like hold around her torso. The way he pressed his arms against her own made her breasts lump upwards, visible over the small cleavage of her tank top. 

Ghost swallowed and stepped back, his fingers itching. His gloves, he realized, had saved him from the intensity of skin-to-skin with her. The intoxication of feeling her flesh, warm and delicate against his, was a memory sticking to every corner of his skull. 

She tried forcing her way out, but she wasn’t trying hard enough. 

Ghost shook his head. “Get on with it,” he drawled. “Fight him!”

“Come on, pumpkin, let’s go,” Soap encouraged, voice rough, the little nickname frying every nerve in Ghost’s brain. “Pitch forward, use your body weight and your arms.”

She threw herself forward, hesitantly at first, and then again, and again, until Soap’s grip faltered, hands sliding on his forearms, and that fourth pitch made his entire frame crumble forward. The girl was released and she tumbled forward, losing balance and stumbling into Ghost.

He caught her easily, hands on her shoulders, and she peered up, cheeks hot. Her gaze immediately shifting from his, avoiding the mask, the smell clawing into her nose, the warmth of his body so close. The softness of his hoodie - and the way it clung to his wide shoulders. The way his trousers hung loose but fitted and made him look unbreakable.

She jerked from him like he was a flame. 

“Again,” she said, voice echoing. 

Soap nodded, smiling. He liked seeing her succeed. 

Although being in close quarters with Laura was like standing too close to a burning fire while the first layer of your skin roasted, Ghost liked seeing her progress. She was - sort of - positive about her mistakes, but she was a quick learner, and she was avid to learn as much as she could from “army pros”, as she called them. 

Soap was taking a break while Ghost was teaching her quick jabs for self-defence. 

At this point, the front of her tank was soaked and her hair had fallen from a tight bun to a mess at the base of her neck, but she kept going. From Ghost’s vantage point, he could see her cleavage, and his mouth watered, that phantom candy taste flooding his senses. Her shoulders, her collarbone, her throat, all on display for him. Her soft skin, glistening gently with a fine coat of sweat. The way her shorts clung to the curve of her hip, her ass, the dip at the base of her spine. 

She was a four course meal on a platter - and damn Soap for being here. 

Ghost wondered if Soap was thinking the same thing. If the Sergeant was fighting the urge to push her down onto that mat and make every nerve in her body sing for him. 

Was he thinking about tugging her shirt over her breasts, kneading them into his hands, feeling the warmth of her skin? The beat of her heart? Having her mouth on his, tongue sliding against his, moaning his name and curving her spine into his body? 

Was Soap imagining what she’d look like, flushed, horny, begging?

“What’s so fun about being in the army anyway?” she asked, throwing the blunt side of her palm up, towards Ghost’s nose. 

He dodged, caught her wrist, and nodded. “Faster.” A gulp caught in his throat and he grunted to clear it. 

She was so fucking intoxicating.

“Sometimes it’s just the awesomeness of doing highly dangerous and borderline chaotic missions,” Soap called from the sidelines, nursing a water bottle. “Sometimes it’s because I sucked at school and enrolled when my frontal lobe hadn’t fully developed yet and now I’m stuck doing it.”

Laura stopped mid swing, turning to face the Sergeant. “Soap, that’s depressing,” she said, turning back to Ghost. She tried throwing two fingers at his throat, but he slapped her hand away. “What about you?” she asked, voice tentative. 

“Long story,” he answered bluntly. 

She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips, taking a breather. “Well, last time I check, Mr I’m-so-mysterious,” she panted. “I’ve basically got a lot of time on my hands.”

Something dark crawled across her face and sank deep in her eyes, but Ghost chose to ignore it. 

“What do you do for a living anyway?” he asked. 

Surprise etched across her features, burning away the obscure expression that had pinned onto her face. “I just graduated from my Master’s degree in Classics,” she said. “I - well - I wanted to be either a writer or a historian.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Always thought I’d do something I liked.”

“And classics,” he answered, tasting that word differently now, “that’s your choice?”

She frowned. “You’re the one un-aliving people for a living,” she accused. “Don’t judge my career choice when you probably got into this because you don’t know what algebra means.”

“Still don’t,” he answered. 

Soap laughed. “He’s good at math, Laura,” he assured. “He just sucks at being... human.”

She smiled and tried to join in Soap’s foolishness, but Ghost could tell she took that differently. After all, she knew about Ghost’s little... obsession. 

She jerked her chin at Ghost. “Again,” she said. 

She wasn’t able to land a single punch, jab, or kick at him, but she was getting more precise in her aim though. 

***

There was something erotic about being alone with two men while they both tried to teach you self defence. There was an art to it; one of their hands on my sternum, the other one’s thumb tracing circles into my thigh. There was a certain air, like thick, thick honey, dripping between the three of us, as Soap’s fingers closed around the back of my neck, Ghost’s grip tightening on my knee.

I never knew that I was into this, never even thought that it would have ever crossed my mind to think about both of them this way. Even their breaths, deep and panting, echoing in the emptiness of the gym, their mouths so close to my ear at times... it was frightening. 

This situation could turn south very quickly. 

Thank God Soap put an end to it. 

“Alright, Laura,” he said, getting up from his position, panting, sweat dripping down the back of his tan neck. He’d been kneeling, my head on the mat between his legs. Ghost was still trying to arrange my legs around his head and shoulders, a hold he said could outright kill someone. 

“I think we’ve had enough of this,” Soap was saying, walking to where his water bottle was. “Three hours, whew!” 

I felt heat creep into my cheeks when Ghosts hands unhooked my legs from his shoulders, thumbs sliding under my knees, parting them so he could fit through. He was so large, and I was left on my back, looking at the ceiling, praying my embarrassment wasn’t written clearly on my face for the world to see. 

His thumb lingered, tracing fine circles from my knee to my thigh and back. I swallowed thickly, jerking my head to the side, wondering if Soap was watching, but he was guzzling down more water than a sponge absorbing in a bath. 

I whimpered lowly, trying to get the image of last night out of my head, of my clear rage at him, of the hurt bubbling in me and the obvious disinterest written in his eyes. Oh, how I’d wanted to see his face, but then he’d pulled up his mask and exposed such a beautiful mouth to me. With crinkles and dimples on his cheeks as he leaned in - when he hadn’t taken “no” for an answer. When he’d drawn out this feeling in me, this magnetic lust that had made me search his thigh for friction. 

Why was he doing this to me?

He got up, offering his hand and I took it, getting to my feet. I had to pretend to yawn to wash out the goosebumps on my skin, this shivering climbing up my spine. 

It was angering how easy he could pull my stitches and tear me to pieces, and then get up and walk away as if he hadn’t. It was so fucking infuriating that he could do that - look at me as if I was just a boring equation on a board, and then walk away, clap Soap on the back, and saunter out, his shoulders swinging. 

I wrinkled my nose. 

“He’s such an asshole,” I mumbled. 

“What’s that?” Soap asked, turning to me, spraying water into his mouth. 

I rolled my eyes, reaching up to tighten my bun. “Nothing.”

“Who’s an asshole?”

“I thought you didn’t hear what I said.”

“I did, I was just confirming.”

“Then say that.”

Soap sighed. “What’s up your ass, pumpkin?”

I sighed, walking off the mat with as much anger as I could. Soap watched me, big brown eyes innocent. 

“Ghost can be...” I trailed off, picking up my hand towel and wiping the back of my neck. “Ghost can be so fucking... Sometimes I just wanna...”

I threw the towel, grunting, watching it flutter to the ground with none of the rage I threw it with.

“Fuck him,” I groaned.

“You just wanna fuck him?” Soap asked, genuinely confused. 

I stopped, heat crawling up to my ears, and I whirled on Soap. “No, n-no, obviously no, that’s not what I was saying, I-”

He cut me off. “I mean, he could use it,” he said, matter-of-fact, turning to pick up his towel nonchalantly. “Could take the stick out of his ass.”

“Soap.” My voice echoed, strong and loud, across the gym. “No, I won’t do that.”

Soap shrugged. “You could use it too, you know.” He faced her, grinning. “You’ve been kind of... bitchy?”

I bundled my towel up and threw it at him. “Fuck you!”

“Please,” he said, laughing, catching my gross towel in his hand easily. “I’d love to!”

“You’re being such a pre-teen right now, Head n Shoulders.”

He groaned, following me as we made our way out into the blistering heat, the horizon shimmering from it. We made our way back to the RV, where I was fully expecting to find Ghost’s brooding self pestering me further, but when we walked into the RV, only Alejandro was there.

“Hey, princessa!” he exclaimed, looking up from what looked like a very boring game of cards. By himself?

I smiled at him, genuinely happy to see him because he was probably the only one here that I really liked. “Hey,” I said.

“How was training?” he asked. 

I nodded, swallowed, looked back as Soap climbed into the RV and closed the door, locking the heat outside. 

“It was good,” I said, making my way to the back to pick up my towel. Someone was in the bathroom taking a shower, probably Ghost, so I thought maybe I could use the communal showers at the gym.

“Where’s Ghost?” Alejandro asked and I smiled sarcastically. Nice one, trying to get me to believe he wasn’t in the shower right now. 

I blew passed Soap and Ale, who both exchanged a glance as I all but stormed out the RV. 

There was definitely something up with me. I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier as I thought about last night, about today’s training. Last night, when Ghost so easily tore all my seams apart and kept digging, despite my resistance. And today, still playing his game, pretending he cared and pulling fire from my veins, and then sauntering off. 

I hated him. 

I decided that. 

I got back into the gym and made my way to the showers. I was so caught up in my own head, the rage throwing itself against every part of me, that I didn’t notice the sound of a shower already on.

And I stopped dead in my tracks.

Because right there, under a stream of hot, steaming water was him. Ghost, without his mask, his back glistening with water. And it went down, down, down his naked form, and my eyes followed, until I saw almost every inch of him.

He had blonde hair. This asshole, who wore a mask and glared at me through impossibly dark eyes and could cull my body into absolute pudding, was blonde. 

I backed up, but my shoe squeaked, and it was remarkable that he hadn’t already heard me because he’s such a professional assassin. His head cocked, and then moved slightly to the side, but his right shoulder lifted, tensed, and when he looked at me over his shoulder, I could just make out his eye.

Fuck.

I slipped trying to turn, landing knees-first into the damp tiled floor and then scrambling onto my feet. I heard water sloshing behind me, but I gripped the side of the bathroom wall and propelled myself towards the exit. 

My entire being was on fire, flames licking up my spine and crawling up my face, my vision burning the closer I got to the gym’s exit. But I was slow, my breath forcing its way passed my throat, my lips, until I was mere inches away from the door. Where I could get fresh air not clogged with the image of his back - as if cut from glass, majestic, muscular, tanned. 

But my fingers barely grazed the door’s push handle that I was swept off my feet, wetness and heat pressing at my back, a humid hand covering my scream.

There was a strong arm around my waist, pulling me up and off my feet, carrying me away from the door.

I screamed against the hand on my mouth, but the hot chest at my back, wetting through my tank top, just chuckled.

“Easy there, dove,” Ghost mumbled, backing us up into the bathroom. “Just want some privacy.”

I groaned against his hand, nails biting half moons into his forearm. Miraculously, I still had my towel. 

He put me down against the same damp floor of the bathroom, and I pushed away from him, hand against the wall before me. His shower was still on. 

“Oh, my... are you...?” I refused to look back and have him fully naked. 

“So glad to know you care so much about my privacy,” he shot back. “Especially since you walked in on me naked.”

“I didn’t know you were in here!” I exclaimed, still not turning. I could feel him inches away from me, from where I was hiding my flaming face against the wall. 

“I’ll pretend to believe that,” he answered, and this time, his mouth was at my ear and I could feel the damp material of his mask. I looked at him from my peripheral, and saw the mask and lower, the boxer briefs. I snapped my eyes back to the wall, not lingering on the water drops clinging to his chest, dipping into the few scars darkening the skin around his abdomen. “Like what you see?” he asked, voice lowering. 

I gulped. “I’d rather not see,” I snapped back. 

“I can arrange that,” he said. 

Quickly, almost like magic, he all but ripped my tank top from me, my arms flopping back down against my sides. “Hey!”

But he ignored me and even when I whipped around and tried to snap the shirt from him, he just backed away and folded it neatly. 

He was... he was something to look at. All sharp angles and round, large shoulders and rippling muscles that shone with the water still clinging to his skin.

He held the fabric of my shirt, staring at me, and suddenly, I felt self-conscious, covering my bra with my hands.  

He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “None of that,” he drawled, stepping closer, until he could grab my wrists and pry them apart. He put a hand under my chin, dragging my gaze to his. 

The dark chaol that usually spread across his eyes had been washed away, clearing his gaze and illuminating his eyes. They were blue. He bent down at eye level with me, the difference between our sizes now oh so evident. 

“Now,” he said lowly, voice rough, “you prefer to be blinded, yes?”

I frowned. 

He slowly reached up and lay the fabric of my tank top over my eyes, tying it behind my head. 

I grasped onto his forearms as they came back down, my skin bubbling with goosebumps, shivers racing down my spine. He chuckled, and I heard the rustling of fabric and realized very quickly that he’d taken off his mask because his lips were grazing mine and my entire body went from damp cold to raging fire in an instant. 

Shit.

His hands, now warm and damp and on fire slid around my naked waist, lighting me from the inside out. My own found their way onto his shoulders for support and he lifted me, one hand directing my thighs around his waist. 

“Ghost, I - “

He turned, silencing me in, walking us closer to the sound of water rushing out. I tensed in his arms, thighs squeezing around his waist.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he said, lips at my collar bone, and when he set me on my feet, I felt him get to his knees. He took my shoes off, my socks, and when his fingers inched into the band of my shorts, I pushed at his shoulders. 

“Ghost, no.”

There was a pause and I wished I could see him, but my own shoulders were tense, afraid of what this man could make do because fuck, just the graze of his thumb down my thigh, towards my knee was making me shake. 

He left my shorts alone. I stood there, breathing, a hot spray of water massaging my back until his hands cupped my face and he brought his mouth down on mine. 

I’d been kissed before. A few times, but not a lot, ultimately. But this... this was like being eaten alive, having his tongue graze my lower lip, his mouth never letting mine catch a breath. He was angling my head as he wanted, taking my mouth how he wanted, and the guttural noise that came from his throat set my entire being on edge. 

I couldn’t stop this. I wouldn’t come back from this. 

Abruptly, I was turned, and I wanted to rip my blindfold off but his hand rested on my tummy, right above the waistband of my shorts, while the other arm snaked across my torso. I was beginning to think my nails would break from how hard I was digging them into his forearms. 

Water was dripping down my front, watering my shorts, and I squeezed my thighs together as his entire form was pressed flush against my back. I could feel him, hard, at the base of my spine. 

Oh.

His mouth pressed against my shoulder, kissing and nipping up to my neck, and I swear it was to distract me because when had his hand traveled so much lower, his middle finger inching into my shorts?

He bit down, hard, on my shoulder, and pain spread wildly up my neck, down my arm. I gasped, pushing away from him, but he groaned, the hand on my belly pulling me right back against him. 

He pulled his teeth from my skin, lips grazing up to my ear. “Stay,” he ordered, and I could feel the command deep in my bones. 

“Ghost, I’ve ne-”

“Simon.”

I was trembling. 

“What?”

“My name is Simon,” he groaned, his hips bucking into me gently. “Say it.”

He nuzzled against my neck, his right hand inching higher to grasp firmly against my breast, his left hand lowering completely into my undies. He squeezed my breast painfully, kissing into my neck, rutting into me from behind, and when his left hand finally breached and found what it was looking for, I arched into him and his name just tumbled from my lips like a prayer. 

“That’s it,” he drawled, middle finger rubbing slow, tantalizing circles on my clit. “Much better.”

My knees buckled but he held me, slowly circling my clit, my head lolling back onto his chest. I could feel every nerve buzzing with pleasure, from the heat of his fingers on me, from the hand playing lazily with my nipple, to the warm hardness at my back. It was slowly driving me insane. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered into my ear, adding his forefinger to the mix, circling just a little harder, just a little faster. I ground my hips against his hand, searching, demanding more friction. God, this was insane. “Is this what you wanted, little dove?” he repeated. 

I gasped, holding back a moan when he pressed harder, targeting just the right spot. I was blindfolded, but my vision was still blurring and when his middle finger ventured down to test my hole, the whimper that left me was all but wretched. 

“All this for me, my love?” he groaned against my ear. “So wet, just for me?” His voice was such a dirty whisper, teasing my ear, while his middle finger collected my juices and came back up to rub deep, rough circles on my neglected clit. I bucked up, biting my lip to hold a moan. 

“S-simon,” I whined, gripping both hands on his forearm. The hand holding my breast mitigated upwards until all his digits wrapped carefully around my throat and he pulled me flush, arched against him, barely standing on my toes, his fingers working deep, quick circles on my clit, and my entire body shuddered. 

“You like that, huh?” he whispered, biting the shell of my ear, but at this point I didn’t care. “You want me to make you cum, huh, Laura?” My name dripping from his lips was like honey, and the way he moved his fingers, palm still adding pressure to my clit as he slipped his middle finger inside me was like magic. 

He slipped in so easily, almost embarrassingly so, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Fuck, so eager,” he groaned. 

“Simon, I’m - I’m...” 

He was rubbing a spot inside me that made my fingers numb against his arm, my mouth fall open, and a mixture between a whimper and a moan came from deep within me. He’d obviously done this before.

“You want to let the entire base know who’s making you feel this way?” he asked, his palm rubbing on my clit, his middle finger deep inside me, stretching, pumping against every right nerve. “Huh, Laura, come on.”

His voice was rough, and by the way he was rutting against my ass from behind was a tell tale sign that he was getting something out of this too. 

And the more he rubbed inside me, against my clit, tightening his fingers against my throat, the closer I was to an edge I’d rarely seen. And I was petrified of flinging myself over it, of giving this man the satisfaction of calling an orgasm out of me that he didn’t deserve. 

“Laura,” he taunted. “Cum for me, my dove,” he cooed. His fingers sped up, pressure against my clit increasing and I groaned against my teeth, arching against his erection, giving him every inch of me. “Come on, beauty, cum for me.”

I whimpered and something inside me snapped, his finger hitting that spot, rubbing it, culling my precipice until I was voluntarily throwing myself over it.

Every part of me tightened, my head falling forward under the hot spray of water, my thighs tightening, squeezing his hand, but he kept pumping his finger so roughly in and out of me, making a moan drawl deep from within my chest. 

“That’s it, little dove,” he cooed, easily holding me up. “Just like that.”

Every inch of me buzzed, rolled over with pleasure, and I clenched around his finger, feeling a gush leak onto the inside of my thighs. 

When I was but a panting mess, limp against him, he pulled his hand from my shorts, rubbing both palms across my belly, up until he was cradling both breasts. 

And then he lifted the hem of my bra until my sore, limp arms lifted and he was undressing me. Slowly. Gently. He took my shorts and panties off and rubbed what I imagine was soap across me. 

And he was silent. I couldn’t see him, but I felt every time his hand passed across my body, soaping me up. And then he added shampoo to my hair and massaged my scalp and helped me rinse. I was putty in his hands, completely to his mercy, and I was beginning to hate this. 

“Ghost.” My voice was roach, wretched. 

He hummed.

“I... I...” How could I tell him something like that? To a man who’s only known violence and command and territory his entire life. And clearly, he didn’t know how to refrain from getting what he wanted. “Simon, I hate you.”

He laughed through his nose and cradled his face into the crook of my shoulder, cupping my ass, squeezing painfully. “I love my name from your lips, little dove,” he cooed, the sound reverberating off his chest, echoing between my ribs. “Consider this a favor. I’ll see you for more.” He said that like a promise, whispered against my ear, his delicate, soft mouth grazing my lips as he pulled back. 

"You'll be inside in a few minutes, mami," came Ale's honey voice. He sounded like a stripper through comms.

But who I really wanted to hear was Ghost. I wanted him to tell me he was alright, that he'd made it inside. Because that meant that I would cross someone in there that would potentially be him. I had to look for a blonde man with blonder lashes and a heart-shaped mouth.

No. I had to look for Alvarez and walk to the extraction point. I had two jobs and that's it.

"How did you guys make it in before me?" I asked. "In America, that's the other way around. Women don't wait in the cold."

Someone cleared their throat over comms. "That's because you're in the wrong line, sweetheart." It was Gaz, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw him standing beside our Plan B car, smoking a cigar.

He motioned to my left with his chin and winked. Bless this man.

I looked over the shoulder of the girls in front of me and saw a lady walk to the bouncer and offer him a few bucks. Well, that's why Ghost had handed me Baht bills before we got out the car. It wasn't just to pretend to buy a drink.

When I made it inside the club, my skin felt soft, as if I had been a hard slab of chocolate placed near a raging fire.

I gave a few more bucks for the entrance fee, made my way clumsily through a dark hallway, and made my way towards the music. The closer I got, the more it echoed and throbbed in my chest, beating with my heart like two drums in sync.

I pulled the red velvet cliché curtain and stepped onto the mezzanine, where a sea of roiling bodies danced under me. Glaring, jetting blue and green lights washed over the dancers, and I gripped the railing, looking over to get a better glimpse at their faces.

The music was good and they moved to it perfectly. I caught the flash of a silver bracelet, a glimpse of someone's bright red hair, skin on skin, hands and nails digging into any exposed flesh.

It was the dream of any raver, any dancer who wanted to get lost into the notes. It was intoxicating to look at.

Someone bumped into me, spilling their drink across my top, ice tumbling into my bra. The drunk dancer excused himself in Thai and tried to clean it up, but I was too flustered, too raw to let him. Instead, I walked right passed him and followed the glowing yellow sign for the bathrooms.

It was another world in there. Behind the hardwood door, the music was muffled and replaced by the sounds of a flushing toilet and a sink that was accidentally left open. I grabbed onto the paper towels and dried my chest and dove into my bra to retrieve the melting ice.

Two girls burst in, laughing, and the fright it gave me sent me hollering. They stopped cackling and looked at me, watching as I tried to calm my racing heart.

One of them, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, with cherry blonde hair and a pink, round mouth, cocked her head. "You're American?" she asked, holding onto the other girl's shoulders. She was American too. One of the former girl's blocky bracelets got stuck in the other girl's brown locks.

"Yeah," I answered.

"Who's that?" came Soap in my ear.

"Wow, I thought we'd never see any Americans here tonight!" the girl said, thunking against the wall, blonde locks falling into her eye. She smirked and laughed. "Your outfit is so nice."

I threw the paper towels into the bin. "Have a nice night ladies," I said.

"Wait," the blonde said, slurred mostly. She put a finger up, curled it, smirking like she had the nastiest secret about your beloved coworker. "I bet you want some meat tonight, eh?"

My cheeks heated like a match, instantly burning to my ears.

Someone laughed on comms.

"I - well, no."

She scoffed. The other girl yelped when the blonde slid to the floor, bruised bare knees bending up to the sky.

She laughed. "There's these guys upstairs," she slurred, gulped, and I could see the vomit clawing up her throat.

"Get closer," it was Ghost, and the command sung in my bones, struck me like a slap in the face, and my feet slid closer to the girls.

"Guys where?" I asked, scratching the inside of my wrist.

She scoffed again. "They're like, Thailand's fake mafia or whatever," she continued, chewing on her lip. Please God let her finish that sentence before she yacks.

"Fake mafia?" I questioned. "Like the Godfather?"

Her blue eyes light up, mouth opening. "Yes!" she answered. "And they paid me drink after drink like... and they told me to get more girls up there because they're bored, I think."

I nodded, nails clawing at the soft skin of my palms.

"Ask her what they look like," it was Ghost again and his order burned into my ear, lighting in my throat. As if he had tied strings to my limbs and puppeteered me.

"Are they handsome?" I asked. "I have a specific type."

"Good girl, Laura," came Soap through comms. Something brewed in my belly, like hot embers.

The blonde raised her brows, as if recognizing a fellow wild card girl.

"They have these dark, slick back hair, you know?" she said, trying to get to her feet. The other girl winced, pulling at the strands stuck in the blonde's bracelet. "They're tall and all full of muscle. And they're wearing these like black suits, like... John Wick, yeah?"

"Hmmm," I said. "Tattoos?"

"Atta girl."

She frowned, turning to peer at her friend. The brunette looked up at me, clearly less intoxicated than her friend. "They have these hand tats, like tigers or something stupid like that."

Never liked big cat tattoos either.

"That might be them," Soap mumbled. I fidgeted in my place, waiting for their orders. "Ask them how to get up there." Bingo.

"That makes me want to go so much," I giggled, trying to fake some kind of girlish, bathroom pact.

"That's so fake, mami."

"Where do I go?" I asked the girls.

The brunette carried her friend over into the open stall. "Just find the stairs that go up, not down. Give your name at the door. They let about any girl up there."

And just before I was bursting out the bathroom door, the blonde finally yacked.

"Guys," I whispered through comms. "I go up there alone?"

There was a long silence while I meandered through the mezzanine, looking for the stairs. But I didn't need to hear any answer because the problem found me first.

The man standing guard at the bottom of the stairs turned. When he faced me, his features felt like a puzzle I'd solved before and I could easily put back. He was familiar, down to the fucking busted front tooth when he sneered at me.

This was one of the men that were there when Ben talked with Alvarez.

And by the looks of it, he recognized me too.

"Shit," I breathed. I took a step back, and if this guy wasn't suspecting me already, that sure as hell made it clear now. He knew exactly who I was and that I wasn't, clearly, dead. I'd seen Alvarez's face. And I was here.

"Laura, what is it?" It was Ghost.

"He recognizes me," I answered. The guy brought a walkie talkie up to his mouth, keeping his eyes on me.

He took one step forward. Feet appeared at the top of the stairs. Three pairs. I looked up, saw three men descending, dressed up like they're the toughest assassin in the Continental.

Then Dude 1 pointed at me. And all four looked up to meet my gaze.

My heart beat against my rib cage, my breath coming in short spasms.

"Run," Ghost said.

I felt his command in my bones.

I turned, my feet, squished in the shoes that were a size too small, screamed in agony as I mulled against the wave of clubbers.

It felt like running in a dream, fighting against an invisible force holding me back, feeling the fire nipping at my heels. I made it to a hallway, bouncing off the wall like a clumsy idiot, and raced through. People knocked into me, bruising my shoulders, scraping against my elbow. But I felt along the wall, running until my knees ached.

I flew passed another hallway, gripping the wall to push my momentum. I'd always been fast. Ghost could tell you that.

"I'm taking the East side!" I heard Soap in my ear.

"I'm taking North!" that was Ale.

"I think I saw her on the mezzanine floor!"

But I didn't care. I ran and ran, passing partygoers and lovers and drunks.

Until, "Laura." His voice culled me out of my panic, slamming me back down into my body, into the fear beating against my chest, the terror running through my veins.

My ears were drumming with the echo of my breath.

"What do you see?" he asked.

I turned. "It's a room. It's so dark in here Ghost."

"What color are the walls?"

"Green, I think," I said, bracing my shoulder on the wall and walking backwards, away from the entrance, watching for any moving bodies. There was another entrance to another hallway to my right. This place was a maze.

"What are people doing? Is the music loud?"

I looked around. "People are..." The irony of it made my mouth shut. "They're making out?" Five couples were strewn about in various stages of making out or... oh, that was third base.

"Music?"

My ears were ringing but not loud, thrumming bass. "No, it's muffled though. I can hear it." I turned away from the lovers, focusing on the hallway I just came through. Waiting.

I heard shouting. Men. Fear gripped me like a cold hand, like fingers digging into my throat, clawing between my ribs.

"I see you."

His chest came resting, hot and firm, at my back. I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling his breath along the top of my head.

"Turn around, close your eyes," he ordered, his fingers gripping on the exposed skin just under the hem of my camisole, where my belly was exposed.

"Ghost, what do we do?" I asked, panted, hearing the men closer, louder. I almost fantasized that I could hear their feet slamming on the ground.

"Close your eyes, Laura, and turn." He was so firm, twisting me around, hair flying across my eyes and I closed them instinctively.

I felt warm, rough hands caressing my face gently, holding onto my cheeks like I was made of glass and he was made of stone.

"Don't open your eyes," he whispered, and this time, his mouth was at my ear and I could feel the warmth of his skin, his stubble, his lips against my jaw. He really wasn't wearing a mask.

And then he pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. I heard, behind me, the rustle of feet, shouting, and I tensed, like someone had poured cement down my spine and left me out to dry.

Ghost sprung us into action, one arm snaking around my waist, effortlessly lifting my feet off the floor and flinging us to the side. My back collided with the wall, and his entire frame pressed against me, covering me, hiding me. I could feel his thighs pressed against mine, his hands skimming along my waist, his face in the crook of my neck.

His face.

But I kept my eyes closed. I shut them tight, wincing when I felt him move, hovering his lips over mine.

The shouting was there, right in the hall, coming in the room.

"Ghost," I whispered. Lips trembling, hands clutching the front of his shirt.

I was on fucking fire.

He pressed one hand into my hair, combing his fingers through the strands and he pulled, tugging my face back. And then he kissed me.

He kissed me like he was a man starved, molding his mouth to mine, prying my lips apart so he could pet his wet tongue against mine. He groaned into my mouth, fingers tugging painfully at the roots of my hair.

This wasn't just a distraction.

His hips pressed flush against mine, his free hand roaming over my stomach, inching upwards until he held my breast in his grip. I squeaked, bracing my hands across his back, and I felt the fire lick up my spine at the thought that I could finally touch him. Finally feel the hardness of his muscles, the heat of his skin under his t-shirt, the ridges of scars, the valley between his shoulder blades.

And my hands went up until I could plunge them in his hair.

My world pinpointed to the breath he was breathing into my lungs, the feel of soft, blonde strands between my fingers. The scruff of his stubble burning my chin. The feel of his thumb and forefinger pulling at my nipple through my camisole. The grunt that broke through my teeth and echoed off his mouth as he kissed, devoured me.

And when my hips, my waist, pushed against him, I knew I was in big fucking trouble.

But he pulled away, panting, hiding his face in my shoulder, in my hair. He breathed against me and I opened my eyes, noticing his blue tee, the rise and fall of his wide shoulders.

And no one else in the room except us and a few lovers making out.

"Close your eyes," he panted, hands resting against my waist, fingers clawing at my frame. But his tone was sweeter and his accent so sluggish it was like he was drunk. One hand came up, fingers digging into my breast, tugging me closer. He was tearing at the fucking seams.

I could feel him, hard in his jeans, pressing against my belly. His thumb smoothed across my nipple, his teeth grazed my shoulder, tongue tasting the skin there.

His hips twitched, grinding into me, pushing me back harshly against the wall. I winced, hissed, but his hands caressed the side of my neck.

I closed my eyes. I felt the heat, slipping like tar down my belly. I bit my lip, feeling the heat, the pressure build between my legs.

Bravely, I pressed my face into the soft spot where his shoulder meets his neck and I bit him, marked him like he'd marked me in the shower. He groaned, pressing into me until the breath left my lungs. Until I squealed into his skin, feeling hot and cold, insects scuttling along my skin, my core aching. I felt his hand press my hip into the wall.

"I'm not looking," I whispered and God, my voice was wretched.

I felt him move, but his hands moved away from my breast, my neck, toyed with the hem of my camisole, index inching under it.

He breathed a shattered, shaken breath into my neck. I felt him grind into me, breathing close to my ear. He was so hard, so warm in his jeans. I wanted to touch him.

I wanted to say his name, to breathe the syllables through my lips, but the crackle of someone clearing their throat through comms made me slam right back to reality.

We'd just made out in front of the entire task force. Laswell included.

"Get Laura to the extraction point, right now." It was Soap.

"But Alvarez," I said. Ghost pushed back from me. I kept my eyes tightly shut.

"We need to get you out. They know you're here, mami."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, but no one answered.

I waited, perched between the wall and Ghost, until he moved away. I was so scared, so defeated, that I stayed there, eyes closed. The heat on my skin died, the buzzing of a million bees under my skin quieted. The ache, that throbbing, wet need between my legs, though, that didn't ebb.

Someone's warm hand tapped my elbow. "Open your eyes, lassie."

Soap smiled down at me, eyes so kind. He was dressed so normally too. It made him look so... brotherly. He gave me a look, raking his eyes from feet to toe, assessing. He could definitely see the red of my cheeks, my swollen lips, my hair in a mess.

"Time to go."

I let him put an arm over my shoulder, pretending we were friends, lovers even. He put his head down close to mine, mouth at my ear as we walked out onto the mezzanine, towards the exit.

"I'm sorry you had to do that," he muttered into my ear. I grabbed onto his wrist, where it lay on my shoulder. He was so warm.

A shiver sliced down my throat because... I hadn't hated kissing Ghost. Having to kiss him was the best part of this evening.

"It's fine."

Soap brushed his nose across my temple. His breath fanned the side of my face. "You'd tell me if it wasn't?" he asked, and his voice, so low, so comforting, made my insides roil.

True to his moniker, I never knew if he ever came back to the RV after storming out three days ago. Every morning, before heading out into the RV and sitting with Soap for Cereals and Dick Jokes, I’d check for any signs of life in Ghost’s bunk. But every morning, faithful to his code name, his bed was spotless, every corner tightly pulled together, no sign of him even laying a finger on the pillow. 

And I didn’t have the courage to ask the other two men where the phantom with a mask had gone. 

And this morning, this third day of Ghost being, well, a ghost, I trudged out of the bedroom, yawning, to the sight of Soap and Gaz dressing in full army get-up. 

I stopped in my tracks, watching as Soap zipped up his tactical vest, checking every pocket. 

“Heading out?” I asked, my voice still coated with sleep. 

Gaz looked up from where he was seated, expertly lacing up his boots. “Good news, Laura,” he said, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. 

I could feel my heart soaring right up into my mouth. “Am I going home?” There was so much God damn hope in my voice. 

“Laswell got intel last night, from one of her street dogs,” Gaz continued, getting up with a groan. “Some prostitutes are being sent to a club in the city. Laswell thinks Alvarez might be there, or at least, one of his men.”

I glanced at Soap. “This might be your ticket home,” he said with a smile. 

I danced on the balls of my feet, still dressed in sweatpants and one of the guys’ huge shirts. “All I have to do is identify him?”

“Only if it’s Alvarez, yeah,” Soap continued. He put a gloved hand up, trying to physically tamper down the hope bubbling through every pore on my skin. “This might be a dead end. Half this mission was dead ends anyway.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to simmer down, but just the idea of being in my own bed, with the smell of home and not two grown men I didn’t really know. Just that idea had me feeling brand new. 

Suddenly, the RV’s door swung open, as if a massive wind from inside had surged out, dragging the sun onto the carpet, the South Asian heat pouring in, thick and heavy. 

Ghost walked in, skull mask and balaclava clad over his face, and the width of his shoulders alone, he had to turn sideways to get through the door with all his gear. 

Out of instinct, some short memory of the abandoned warehouse, where most of my friends were shot to death - I took a step back. 

I could see his eyes through the mask, those big watery pits flicking over to me momentarily before snapping back to his crew. 

I felt suspended in time, looking at him. The smudged blackness around his eyes. The way he seemed to be sucking up all the air in the room, taking up all the space. I wanted to scream. 

Gaz and Soap had gone utterly quiet.

“Who died?” I asked.

All three pairs of eyes turned slowly to me, and I knew I looked a mess; bed hair, sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, and probably dark circles. But Gaz was holding back a smirk and Soap rolled his eyes and Ghost... who knew what was going on behind that mask. 

“We’re out in ten,” Ghost said. His hands were empty, but I felt like he held a knife to my windpipe and kept pressing, getting inches closer to puncturing the skin. 

When he turned to look at me, so briefly I could have dreamed it, there was something there. A command. An order. Something skimming along the lines of predatory, but I didn’t know. I wanted to ask, but before I could thaw from my frozen place by the bedroom door, all three men had ventured out the door.

***

Another dead end. God fucking dammit!

A hand, gloved and balled into an iron fist, slammed into the side of the Humvee, making Soap jump slightly. 

“You okay, L.T?” he asked, sharing a concerned glance with Gaz. It was so uncommon, so out of place, for Ghost to show any kind of emotion, even anger. Even in failure, Ghost remained stoic, impenetrable. 

The lieutenant groaned, flexing his hand, cradling it against his chest. His assault rifle was slung at his back, chamber empty, the tip still shimmering hot. 

They’d spent three hours scouting the club, watching for those prostitutes, waiting for any sign of mafia or cartel or even any illegal activity. And when one tall figure, garbed in a black tailored suit, with the signature cartel tattoo on his thumb had waltzed in, Ghost thought this was it. 

Finally, she’d go home. They’d capture this guy, torture something out of him, and one thing would lead to another and Laura would be far, far away from Ghost before the end of the month.

But nothing ever worked out the way Ghost planned. Things, people, had a tendency to creep under his skin and embed into his bones like cement. 

Night had fallen. By the time they crept into the club, booming music echoing in Ghost’s chest, whoever that mysteriously garbed man was - he was gone. Not a fucking trace or inch of him. 

They’d returned to the Humvee and driven back towards base, but halfway through the underbrush, Ghost was stopping the truck, storming out. 

“There’s got to be a reason why we can’t seem to corner this guy,” he thought aloud. 

Soap shrugged. “He’s heavily guarded,” he said. “His entire squad would die before revealing him. He’s got a lot of guys in his pocket. But he’s just like every other guy, L.T, we’ll get him.”

Ghost groaned. 

“C’mon, Lieutenant,” Gaz said in that deep tone of his, rattling some strange, comforting chord in Ghost’s chest. “Let’s just get back to base. Fill Laswell in. We did our job out here tonight.”

It was the most infuriating thing to admit when someone else was right. Soap could be such an airhead and as his counter part, Gaz was leveled and calm. And Ghost walked that thin line between them both.

This is when he’d appreciated Alejandro’s presence. 

“Next time,” Ghost said, walking up to the driver’s seat. “We suit the entire task force up. All of us.”

“Understood,” Gaz answered, climbing into the Humvee, Soap not far behind. Ghost got into the driver’s seat, taking off his gloves to let some of the steam rise from his skin.  

The drive back was tense. Silent. The darkness had gathered along the horizon and spread beyond the truck’s headlights. The grass whispered along the truck’s wheels and sides, and as they got closer to base, Ghost’s body became as wired as a tightened fish rod. 

They left the Humvee at the front, preferring to walk through the maze of pop-up tents, RV’s, and a few strewn buildings that served as meeting rooms and barracks. 

The trio was silent, quickly finding their way through the labyrinthine base to their shared RV. From a distance, Ghost could tell Laura was asleep. No lights were on, the curtains were pulled shut, and no weird sounds were coming from that weird satellite TV they had in there. 

But stepping inside, avoiding a glance at the bedroom door, Ghost knew immediately that she wasn’t here.

Soap barged into the room - either forgetting Laura existed or not caring - and threw open the light. He glanced up at her bunk. He turned back abruptly. 

“Did Laura make any friends?” he asked.

Ghost frowned. 

Gaz shrugged. “She met some people at mess hall.”

“She’s not here.” Soap knocked on the bathroom door, but no answer. “Oh well, maybe our girl has indeed made a few friends.” He smiled, shrugging, not really caring, because why would he?

Why would he care where the girl with midnight hair had gone, taking those pools of starlight eyes with her. Taking that distinctly sweet scent, that mischievous grin and stubborn chin. 

But Ghost wasn’t pretending. He tried to stifle the rising rage in his ribs, the fire that coiled around his bones and licked up his spine.

Where the hell was she?

This wasn’t a hotel all-inclusive vacation. This was a government level security threat that she was living, and being granted a space on an American navy base was nothing short of a true fucking miracle and here she was, galivanting around said base like it was a four-star hotel. 

He stormed out, not caring that this was the second time in a week that he was letting the RV door clatter against the side, letting the boys wonder where the hell he was off to again. 

He went to mess hall, but the only souls in there were obviously not her. The women’s barracks almost threw him out on his ass, stating that Laura never even went there. The gym was locked. The infirmary was empty of her. 

He was beginning to think he’d have to check every single RV until he could drag her little ass back to her bunk. 

He’d never thought about target practice. 

When he rounded Building A, he heard a soft thud. Out of place, strange along the whispers of the wind, another thud rang out. Ghost turned, letting his senses reach out. Another thud. It sounded rhythmic, like someone axing down a tree. 

He followed the sound, getting closer to target practice, until the half-assed, pop-up wooden stand was visible in the night. A small, lone figure stood a few yards away from a target, throwing something at it. 

A glint, sharp and bright, and then another thud. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

She turned, swallowing a yelp, the tiny knives in her hands clattering to the ground. Her hair, swept by the wind, hid half of her face, but Ghost could see the fear and surprise stitched on her face. Her mouth was ajar, midnight black eyes wide. 

She had changed since this morning. Somehow, she’d acquired army-issued women’s trousers, and they fit her like a glove, and Ghost was trying really hard to tear his eyes from her. She had a black t-shirt, too tight, almost on purpose. 

She was... small, but she wasn’t lacking. Her shoulders were half the span of his chest, and Ghost could crush her bicep with one hand, but there was a sturdiness to her body, a strength hidden beneath that delicate flesh. 

And her body. Ghost was glad he never took off his mask or she would have been able to watch his cheeks brighten from the heat storming in his veins. She was delicate and curvy and oh so delicious. As she stood there, regaining her posture, he tried, he really did try not to imagine what it would feel like to slide his hands along her waist, over the curve of her hip, grabbing the meaty flesh of her thighs, her ass. What it would feel like to press his mouth to her skin. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” She was sassy, bending at the knees to pick up her little knives.

Ghost’s eyes snapped to hers, praying the smudge chaol around his eyes had hidden where his stare had lingered. 

She raised a brow, cocking her head. 

“You shouldn’t be out here this late,” he said. He half-turned, gesturing with his hand to where the RV was. Her bunk. Where he wanted her to be.

She glanced at his hand. He’d forgotten that he’d taken his gloves off in the Humvee. This was the most skin she’d ever seen on him. 

“What are you, my mother?” she sassed back, crossing her arms like a brat, shifting her weight on one hip. 

“Just come with me,” he ordered, waving at her to join him. 

“No.”

His brows shot up, not that she could see. “That’s not a suggestion, Laura, let’s go.”

She bristled at her name falling off his tongue, in his accent, that rough way his voice molded to every syllable. 

“I don’t take orders from you, I’ll have you know,” she answered. “I’m not on your little taskforce.”

Ghost’s inside were aflame. He took one step forward, watching her drop her arms, round her eyes, try to fight that urge in her to step back. Like in the RV this morning. 

“Be a good girl and let’s go, yeah?” His voice had dropped, hushed, threatening, and he narrowed his eyes at her. And he watched, slowly, as her lips parted, that pet name making her eyes blink rapidly, her neck stiffen. 

But then, “No.”

Ghost surged forward, breaching the space between them in two long strides, coming toe-to-toe with her in a matter of seconds. Reaching out, his ungloved hand gripped her jaw, fingers digging into the flesh of her cheeks, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open by the force of his fingers on her jaw bone.

He tugged her to him that way, her hands coming out instinctively, knives falling to the ground again. She braced her hands against his stomach, looking up in surprise at him. 

His shoulders were heaving, fighting the urge to hurt her, to rip his mask off and bite her. This animal instinct in him pushing him over the edge, over the boundary he so carefully kept in place. 

He was tearing at the seams.

His eyes drifted down, over her pink mouth, her quivering lip, her beautiful teeth, her glistening, wet tongue. 

“Now you’re listening,” he said, deep, low tone rumbling off his chest. 

She was trembling, pressed against him, spine arched into him. Her eyes, huge, drinking in the light of the moon, watching him with so much curiosity that he forgot, for a second, where they were. 

“Why do you wear a mask?” she whispered awkwardly around the hold he had on her jaw. 

The way she said it, so delicately, drew the tension from his shoulders. He felt it melting along his arms, like hot butter in a pan, dripping into his fingers. His grip relaxed, digits shifting to rest along the beautiful curve of her neck. His other hand raised on its own, digging into the tangled mess of her dark locks. 

It was such a personal gesture, so intimate, the way he was holding her. 

“I just wear it,” he answered, tone low, voice far from the anger he’d been feeling minutes ago. 

“You have strange eyes,” she said. 

He frowned, and under his mask, he swallowed thickly. 

Something dewy, sickening, had dripped into Ghost’s belly, like tar gliding down his insides until it rested right between his legs. 

His fingers, floating delicately on the flesh of her neck, twitched. 

“Lets. Go. Now.” He said it through gritted teeth, holding back every instinct and urge in his body. 

Laura’s hands resting on his stomach pushed, trying to get him away, and he saw the change in her expression. The shift from open curiosity to an insulted, sour expression.

But Ghost didn’t take orders from her.

Quickly, just to reaffirm some sick sense of superiority, he tugged on her neck, fingers wrapping so effortlessly around her throat that Ghost had to bite back a moan.

She jerked her head back up, eyes wide, mouth ajar. Those pink lips, so delicious and inviting, made heat flare across his groin. 

He was getting painfully hard. 

“Next time,” he said, voice threatening, low, whispered along some sadistic lines of acrimony. “Next time, when I tell you to do something, you do it.”

He took a step closer, pressing her flush against every inch of him. He could feel the heat of her legs against his, and he was so close that he could see every freckle and pore on her face. 

“Understood?” It rumbled from his chest, that urge to command, to be in charge.

She stared up at him, letting the silence stretch between them, her eyes watering. 

Swallowing, she nodded.

He clicked his tongue, pressing harder on her throat, watching her mouth drop open slowly, fighting for air. God, what a beautiful sight.

“Use your words, princess.” And this time, he leaned in, skull mask brushing against her cheeks, the pet name falling almost silent between them. 

“Yes,” she whispered, and then, oh so quietly, “sir.”

Under his mask, a sadistic, sinister smile spread on his lips, and Ghost released Laura slowly, letting every finger pop off her skin, watching the white imprint turn pink. 

She gasped lightly, pushed against his stomach, and took a few steps back, putting as much space between them as she could. 

Ghost straightened. Laura stared at him, eyes wide, one of her hands pressing against her throat. 

Ghost gestured back towards the RV. 

She stood there for a second, breathing. 

Then she followed him.

***

When I woke up, every pore on my skin buzzed, like I had been plugged into a wall and turned to life. 

Somehow, some way, yesterday, standing before target practice with Ghost’s bare fingers imprinting on my throat, something had gone horribly wrong. 

I had seen the shift in his eyes, the dark smudge of domination pulsing in his irises. Some sadistic feeling had invaded every pore of my skin, and it hadn’t come from me. It was seeping out of Ghost’s skin like smoke, curling and snaking around my body, intoxicating and vicious and utterly wrong. 

I laid there in my bunk, listening to the sounds of Soap and Gaz through the door. A rumble, mumbles, utensils clanging against one another. 

I got out of bed quickly, trying to pretend I had courage but really I didn’t. I was wearing shorts and a sweater, and I knew it would cause trouble, but I didn’t care. If Ghost wanted to be this sinister, twisted thing - it was not my problem. 

I all but barged out the room, walking into the kitchenette that was bathed in morning light. As I tied my hair up, I caught sight of Soap, his mouth ajar, staring at me like I was Christ returned. Gaz, sitting in front of Soap and back to me, turned, frowning, and when he saw what I was wearing, turned right back to his breakfast.

I almost choked on my saliva when I spotted Ghost, pretending the cereal cabinet was really interesting. He sat beside Soap, only his balaclava over his face, the hood of his sweater pulled up. He eyed me from - what seemed to be - under his brows, eyes dark, unflinching in his stare.

“It’s like none of you have ever seen a woman before,” I mumbled. 

Soap chuckled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was inappropriate to stare like that.”

I hummed. 

“Soap hasn’t gotten laid since Feb - “ Gaz was cut off by something soaring through the air and hitting him square in the face. 

I laughed, eyes cast down to the bowl I was filling with cereal, shaking my head. “That’s a really long time, Soap,” I said, turning, pretending that my skin wasn’t crawling with smoke - with the residue of last night’s sadism.

Soap’s eyes were round and he was staring at Gaz as if the latter had broken every single vow he’d made to the army.

“Gaz never got a blow job,” Soap deadpanned. 

I was halfway to the table, working myself up, telling myself that last night was nothing and it didn’t mean shit. But I stopped, mouth open with a spoonful of Fruit Loops and milk halfway to my mouth. 

“Are you...” I trailed off.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, man,” Gaz grumbled. “I look like an idiot.”

Soap laughed, throwing his head back. 

I sat beside Gaz, careful to avoid the pair of midnight eyes staring at me from across the table. I tried to ignore the width of Ghost, his shoulders, his arms, the way he looked gigantic in the little kitchen of the RV. 

“Gaz, that’s... are you doing fine?” I asked. Soap chuckled even harder. 

Gaz groaned. “Yes!”

“Why?”

He turned to me and frowned. “How about you, sweetheart?” he gunned back. “How’s your precious little sex life, huh?”

I gulped on my cereal, raising my brows in surprise. “It’s fulfilled,” I mumbled, pretending to be distracted.

I was pretending a lot today. 

I noticed the very subtle shift in Ghost’s posture. His hands, ungloved, came resting on the table. His chiseled palms, those long fingers, bony but not. 

I tore my eyes from his hands. 

“Just pay, I guess?” I suggested, trying to alleviate the awkwardness that had very quickly taken precedence. 

Soap hummed. “I should.”

Gaz shrugged. “Debating.”

There was a silence, and then, very slowly, everyone turned to face Ghost. I looked up slowly, mentally preparing to meet his gaze.

He was staring, of course, straight through every boundary I had tried to put up between us. But then his eyes shifted and he looked at the boys. 

Gaz clucked his tongue. “Ghost has never had to pay,” he whined. “It’s kind of unfair.”

I frowned. “Why?”

I swear, if Ghost wouldn’t wear a mask, I could have seen him smile right now. I could smell the arrogance seeping from his flesh, that cocky, masculine ego spreading wide across the room. Like a shadow bleeding across the ceiling. 

Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance and smirked. 

“He just walks in,” Soap answered, “and the ladies, they just, uh, how to put this into appropriate terms? They just jump him?” He scratched the back of his head, nervous, flattening the base of his mohawk. 

My left brow raised and I freeze. “How... what?”

I turned to him, but Ghost was looking at the table, and - oh - he was definitely smiling. 

He shrugged, nonchalantly, slowly, like he’d had this exact conversation before. 

“My good looks, I guess?” he said, his voice brimming on the edges of humour. 

“Ew,” I said, getting back to my cereal.

Ghost rolled his eyes, the men erupting in laughter, cracking that awkward shell that had seemed to sink in on us. 

Soap left, mumbling something about hitting the gym “bright and early”. I was mentally begging Gaz not to go, but he closed his little notepad and got up.

My heart sank. 

I didn’t know what to do today, and the “friends” I had made at mess hall were army women, meaning they had jobs and duties to do and they probably wouldn’t want to just hang out. 

And I so didn’t want to be left alone with him. 

When the RV door had closed, leaving me alone with my phantom, I swallowed the last bit of my cereal and made to get up, but quickly, like a snap of a finger, Ghost’s hand reached out and clasped around my wrist. 

I turned back, a cold breath at my neck. 

He was looking up at me, those dark, big eyes inviting, his facade dropping to some pretend softness. I wanted to scoff.

“What?” I asked.

He tugged on my arm and my hip hit the edge of the table painfully. “You’re walking on thin ice, princess,” he said, tone dark and low. 

“Why?” My chin jutted out defiantly, and I could see the way his eyes tightened, the hesitation in the grip around my wrist. He didn’t like being questioned. 

He got up, and God he was tall. His shadow bled against the wall, sliding over me and suddenly, I was cold. Shivers erupted on my skin, bubbling along my bare thighs, and his eyes flicked down as he rounded the table and stood in front of me. 

“Wear those shorts again and I’ll rip them off of you.”

He let my wrist drop. 

I gulped and he watched the way my throat bobbed. Then he turned, put his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, and walked to the bedroom. He closed the door. 

I scoffed lowly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. And something dewy, like glowing, tingling honey, dripped low in my belly, sliding down to settle right in my core.