#ghostxofc

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.

"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.

It was the one and only thing rattling the inside of my skull for the last two days. Not the fact that his fingers were skilled or one had been wedged between my thighs or that his mouth was soft and plump. Not that his body was perpetually on fire or that his teeth had left little half moons on the flesh of my shoulder. Or that he tasted like ash and something sweet. 

He was fucking blonde. 

I don’t know, honestly, what I had expected from Ghost - well, Simon. Maybe thick dark locks and black eyebrows to match with that awfully blank stare of his. Maybe even a light shade of chocolate brown. 

But not blonde.

It softened him, even if I knew what he was capable of. How strong he was. How fast, cunning, tactical he could be. The fact that his hair was just short strands, curling around his ears, and blonde! 

And not sunny, beach blonde. Not pastel yellow or close to white. He had a special kind of shade, somewhere between hot sand and honey coiling around my finger. 

I had only seen his hair for a very split second, distracted by the masterpiece of his body, but it had just stuck with me.

After Simon - oh, God his name was so sweet - and I’s encounter in the bathroom showers, I could barely bring myself to look at him. 

Yes, he’d culled the most luscious, lascivious sensations out of my skin, deep from within me, like a tide to the moon. But cumming for him, at his command, from his ministrations on my body, had felt like I was a marble dropped into water.

It was a failure to myself. 

Even if it had felt so good, so right, even if I’d initially ran and refused and been turned to putty in his hands. Even if he’d understood me so easily, so pathetically, and yet so perfectly - it was utter failure.

I needed to win. And I would.

Soap was walking me through the plans of this operation. The one they called Starlight. 

He’d been silent with me at training these past two days. Not silent silent, Soap wasn’t capable of being mute, but he was less chatty, less friendly. He kept a safe distance from me, as if I was riddled with the black plague and this was 1388. 

“Management isn’t roped in on this,” he said, going through his notes. We were sitting in the RV, night creeping and whispering around us with crickets and a far away, numb noise of a drone. “So don’t trust anyone. Keep your eyes behind your head.”

I snorted. 

“So to speak, pumpkin,” Soap muttered, head in his hands. I reached over and touched his elbow, summoning his gaze back to me.

His skin was soft, chiseled with hair, and he looked up between his fingers at me. 

“You doing okay?” I asked. 

I wasn’t blind. I’d seen the blue smudged under Soap’s eyes, the fatigue dragging Alejandro’s face downward, and even Gaz and Laswell were dragging their feet. This operation, this mission to catch an elusive criminal, was taking a toll on the team.

Soap’s mouth curved into a shy smile. “Yeah,” he said, yawning, poorly hiding it behind his hands. 

“Maybe we should sleep?” I suggested. 

For a moment, Soap just stared. We’d been at these plans for the better part of the night. No one had bothered showing back up after supper - some sort of ladies night happening at the bar that Gaz and Alejandro were really into. So Soap had thought it would be best to walk me through the plans, get me used to what I was supposed to do. 

But Soap was getting sleepy and grumpy, and the more questions I asked, the easier it was to get him angry. 

I moved my hand away, but he caught it, lightning quick. Slamming his hands onto my fingers and holding onto it. 

“Laura, I - I wanna ask you somethin’?” It came out as a question, but my head cocked with curiosity. His fingers were burning, wrapped tightly around mine, sitting numbly on the table. He bit the inside of his cheek. “What did Ghost do to you?”

I tried jerking my hand away, but Soap held on, bruising grip, forcing my entire arm to lay flat on the wood of the table. Although Soap let off some other kind of vibe, the goofy kid with a lopsided smile and an easy laugh, he was smart. He was the smartest person I’d ever met - and never let anything slip past him. 

Frowning, my breath almost knocked out of me, I said, “nothing.” As if I meant it. As if Ghost hadn’t actually done something to me.

My entire body lit up, flames licking up my sides, burning up to my cheeks, and Soap must have noticed because he grimaced and shook his head. 

“You won’t even look at him,” he continued. “Should... should I be concerned?”

“No.”

“Then why are you pulling your arm away?”

I fidgeted in my seat. “Soap, it’s no big deal.”

He laughed. The asshole actually laughed. “Then tell me.”

“No!”

“Are you a little prudish?”

I reached over with my other hand, my clumsy hand, and slapped him. And just at that moment, the door to the RV swung open, but I didn’t hear it, and continued slapping Soap clumsily on the side of the head. He laughed, barely evading my blows, holding me by my other hand. 

“You’re such a dick!” I exclaimed, grabbing onto that mohawk of his and trying to slam his head onto the table. 

I should’ve known I was not going to be satisfied with what came next.

I was yanked from the table, my hand snatched from Soap’s, and a pair of arms wrapped under my breasts, hoisting me up. I screeched, trying to kick Soap, but my assailant - and I had a good idea who it was - just pulled me right across the table, throwing Soap’s notes to the ground. 

I landed awkwardly onto the ground, butt first, heels scrambling on the carpeted floor of this fucking RV. I held onto Ghost’s forearms, nails digging into the fabric of his black hoodie. He hauled me up and onto my feet. 

I tried slapping Ghost, aiming my open palms over my head and at his masked face, but he just grunted and grabbed both wrists and trapped them between my chest and his. 

“Why are you assaulting my Sergeant?” he asked, his voice low, grunted through clenched teeth. 

Soap chuckled. 

“He called me... he called me prudish,” I spat back, trying to pull my wrists free but Ghost took a step towards me and I took one back. The edge of the counter came brushing against the base of my spine. Nice. Trapped again. 

Ghost was so immense in the tiny space of the RV, taking up most of my vision with the width of his shoulders and chest. 

I tried not to look into his eyes, into those baby blues, but he was just standing there. Looking.

So I did. I dragged my gaze up until he was piercing holes inside my face. 

“Well, you are,” he said, and I saw a glint in his eyes, as if this was amusing. I pulled but he held on. 

“No.”

“Prove it.” I turned, facing Soap, who’d just said that without humour, without a hint of a smile on his face.

I felt Ghost let out a chuckle against me. “She’d never,” he said. 

I opened my mouth to speak but Ghost’s hand shot out, grabbing my jaw painfully, holding my mouth open like a fish. I saw his eyes dart to my mouth, to my tongue. Then he dragged his gaze back to mine. “Whatever you’re about to say, save it.” He paused, watching me struggle to close my jaws. “Don’t tempt me,” he said. “Don’t tempt us.”

He let go of me and lazily walked back to the room. I watched, breathless, jaw aching, as his shoulders swayed, his form sauntering away until he closed the door to the room.

I turned, half expecting Soap to be laughing at Ghost’s cruelty. But he was just sat there, watching me with impossibly dark eyes, an impenetrable stare. 

“Soap?” I asked, my voice small. 

I wasn’t liking this. But I wasn’t hating this. My skin crawled with goosebumps as Soap got up, slowly facing me. Something akin to flames, like embers, was brewing low in my belly. 

Shit. 

“Let’s go get some sleep, huh, pumpkin?” He jerked his head towards the room, where Ghost was sleeping, where I was supposed to fall asleep as well. 

Numbly, I followed Soap. He opened the door for me, darkness greeting us both as we slinked in. I heard the rustle of his shirt coming off his chest, the sheets as he climbed into his bed. I listened to the creaks in Ghost’s own bunk, to the breaths of two men obviously not sleeping as I went to the corner and felt around for my pijamas. 

I listened to the dark, to Soap’s quiet but rapid breaths, to Ghost’s sheets hissing as he moved. 

I quickly changed, leaving my jeans and shirt on the floor, and quickly climbed into bed. 

I had trouble finding sleep, staring at the dark, pretending not to imagine what Soap would feel like. What Ghost would say if I touched him or Soap or both.

And something rang deep in my head, low in my belly, throbbing between my legs.

Ghost had said don’t tempt us. Us. 

Fuck. 

***

The truth about men was fairly simple. They were immortal beings until faced with the inevitable death of their hearts. They thought themselves painless, fearless until the sting of a blade kissed their flesh. 

Or until some bratty girl with midnight hair became the only girl on base to hold the entirety of their appetite. 

Ghost wasn’t stupid. And he wasn’t blind. He’d seen his own subordinates, trained privates, Navy Goddamned Seals battle hardened and insensitive, fall to their knees at the mention of pussy. And he’d seen them all give eyes to Laura, to the beautiful civilian American girl with black hair and a blacker stare. 

But she was his. And she’d remain his until he decided otherwise. 

“L.T?”

Ghost turned his head, meeting Soap’s gaze. The latter inclined his head. “Are we getting Laura for this?” he asked. 

Ghost shook his head. “All she needs to do is get in there and identify him,” the shadow said. Alejandro shook his head, leaning back on Laswell’s desk. 

They had gathered here again, a little after breakfast and their morning training. Laswell had asked them to prep her and brief her on Starlight. Only Ghost had a real plan. 

“We go in there as civilians,” he continued. 

“We can’t be armed,” Alejandro said. “They’ll check us at the door, perros.” His lip twitched on the last word. 

“We don’t need to go in armed,” Ghost said. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t arm ourselves inside.” 

Laswell prickled up from behind her desk, pushing away dirty, greasy bangs from her eyes. “We can’t let Laura bring in the guns,” she sighed. “They’ll check her too.”

And just the image of some dogs pressing their hands on her made Ghost suck his teeth. 

“We need to pull together a stealth operation,” he said. “We get some of our guys to go in during the day and stash the guns. When the club opens, we find the guns, let Laura identify Alvarez, and then we take him down.”

Soap shook his head. “His guys will have AKs if not automatics,” he offered. “We’ve got no chance if we can only get handheld guns in there, sir.”

“He’s right,” Laswell mumbled. 

“Then we get rifles in there,” Ghost insisted. 

Laswell sighed and slowly nodded. “Alright, Lieutenant, but please, do not add civilians to our casualties.” 

Ghost nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll have a team ready to go in this afternoon. We can have Laura ready for tonight.”

Alejandro pushed himself from the desk. “I’m still not fine with allowing a civilian girl into the crossfire, hermano.”

Ghost took a step towards him. “You want to catch Alvarez?” he asked. “You want to end this mission, go home, allow Laura back to her normal life?”

The other man took a breath in, calming the fire rising in his temples. “I do, but-”

“Then there’s no but, Vargas.” Ghost stood like a brick wall. “We get Alvarez, we shut down his entire ring, and we get the girl back to America.”

Ale nodded, even though Ghost could tell the man wasn’t happy with the idea, given his pursed lips. “She needs to be protected at all costs,” he said, silently, as if the idea itself was blasphemy. 

Ghost stiffened. “She is.” 

Laswell stood, knuckles on her desk. “Laura is our priority,” she said. “If she’s in any danger, it is your solemn order to protect and get her out alive. If anyone at the white house hears wind that we put an American girl’s head on the platter for Alvarez, they’ll have all our jobs.” 

Ghost bit into his cheek, suppressing the urge to tell everyone that she was his priority. And no one else’s. But by the way Soap, Alejandro, and Gaz all nodded solemnly, they’d made Laura their sole mission too. 

***

“Tonight?” I asked. Something akin to fear thudded, throbbed in my throat. Oh shit, I was going to vomit. 

Soap nodded, stepping into the RV, followed by the whole gang; Alejandro, Ghost, and finally, Gaz. I backed up, allowing them space to file in and take a seat at the table, or like Ghost preferred, standing and blocking the only exit to the RV. 

Soap was the first to talk. “We got guys stashing weapons in there for us.”

I turned to look at him. “As if that’s going to make me feel better.”

“You’ll be on comms with us,” he said soothingly. “All you have to do is well... identify Alvarez and get to the extraction point, where Laswell will be waiting for you. We’ll take care of Alvarez.” 

I was simultaneously feeling relieved that home was mere hours away, a mission’s breadth away, but also frightened to the point my bones became sour under my skin. Fear made everything impossible. 

I had opened the door to them; to these men who’d saved my life and asked one pitiful thing from me. And I had to deliver. I had to. For the sake of them and for the sake of my friends that had died.

I swallowed thickly. “What do I have to do?”

Soap smiled, something close to pride lifting his shoulders. “We’ll have you go in dressed as a civilian,” he said, pushing off the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a club, so wear something... nice.”

I looked down at what I was wearing; jeans and an army green tee. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Soap chuckled, and I watched in utter embarrassment as Alejandro raised his eyebrow with a cheeky grin and Gaz ducked his chin to his chest. Only Ghost had no reaction. 

“What?” I insisted.

Alejandro cleared his throat. “Mami, you look fine,” he said, reassuringly so. “But this club, eh how do I say this politely... it’s for people who want to go home with enjoyment, you see?”

I did see. I also saw Ghost stiffen ever the slightest from the corner of my eye. 

“Oh,” I mumbled. 

“And let’s just say that no one wears jeans,” Ale finished. “Or t-shirts. We’ll get the girls on base to hand you some things, yeah?”

I nodded, peeling away the sweat from my palms onto my jeans nervously. 

Ale and Ghost left to find my nighttime attire while I stayed with Gaz and Soap. They walked me through my engagements; walk in, blend in, get invited to the upper lounge if I could, and by all means, get eyes on Alvarez. 

I nodded, but really, inside me, I was running marathons around my head. I was trying to find any exit, any dark alley or corner to hide in, to pull into myself and disappear. 

Soap handed me a device that fit into the hole of my ear and told me that the entire task force would be able to hear me and I’d be able to talk to them. It gave me a little bit of relief to know they would be a breath away. 

Ale and Ghost came back, shuffling in cooling evening air and a pink plastic bag. Ale handed it to me as if the bag itself contained the most gruesome plague. I took it and walked to the bathroom defeated, spotting a tube of mascara in there. 

When I got a good look at the clothes they brought me, I yelled. 

“Pumpkin?” It was Soap at the door, but I put my back against it. When he pushed, I pushed right back. 

“You’re not seriously asking me to wear this?” I called, holding the garment between my nails. 

Soap chuckled. “How bad is it?” he asked me. And then, a few seconds after, his weight on the door released and I could hear him asking the same question to the others. 

I sighed, pressing the flimsy fabric against my chest, feeling my heart beating through my skin. 

I sighed, stripping out of my clothes and letting them fall to a puddle beside the toilet. Carefully, I undid the jean skirt and slipped into it. As guessed, it covered my ass and an inch lower, but I only had to bend over and the entire world would glimpse my Winnie the Pooh underwear. And the shirt, god the shirt, was only a thin black camisole with so much glitter that the floor was covered by the time I slipped it on. It left a nice slice of skin just over my skirt’s hem.

When I looked back into the bag, I found a pair of black Converse shoes. “What kind of bar is this?” I asked myself, lacing them up. They were a bit small for me, toes cramming into the tip. That would have to do, I guess. I reluctantly applied mascara and smudged a bit of it over my lid as eye shadow.  

But there was no way in hell that I was walking out that door to face four grown military men. Not dressed like this. 

“Soap?” I called through the door. I heard his footsteps come to the door, the weight of his shoulder press on the wood. “I need a sweater.”

No answer. 

“Please, Soap,” I fidgeted. “I can’t step out the way I am. I look like a cheap escort.”

“It’s just us.” But it wasn’t Soap. It was Ghost, and his voice trailed through the flimsy wood of the door until I stepped away from it, let the door slide open a little. Until I could see his eyes peaking above his balaclava. He didn’t take his eyes off mine as he opened the door with one hand and handed me a black hoodie with the other. “Cover yourself up,” he ordered, and slammed the door shut. “The others are waiting outside.”

I ignored the rage climbing up my throat and the embarrassment seeping into my skin as I climbed into the hoodie and zipped it up. It was so big that it skimmed my knees and I zipped it up to my chin. It was warm, as if freshly worn, and the smell that clung to the fabric was absolutely Ghost’s smell.  

It made me almost dizzy, to wear him like this. To slip my bare skin along the same fabric that warmed his. 

I walked out and followed him silently, watching the sway of his shoulders, the shadows dancing on the grey of his hoodie. He stopped before the door, turning to face me, staring me down through the slit in his mask. “You’re scared,” he stated. 

I nodded, trying to hide from his glare, ducking my chin to my chest. His fingers zapped out quickly, pinching my chin between his forefinger and thumb, tracing my eyes back to his. “Yes,” I breathed, a tremble beginning in my fingers and working its way up to my lip.

Ghost stared. Then he sighed. “If something goes wrong,” he said. “Just tell me where you are in there. Describe the walls, the floor, the people there. I’ll find you.”

I wanted to say that I had no doubt he’d find me. Hell, he’d find me in the dark. I had no doubt he could be ripped of all his senses and still manage to put his hands on me. 

“How are you getting in?” I asked, watching as his fingers fell from my chin. 

“I’m going in without the mask.”

My eyes rounded, looking up at him, almost reaching for his shoulder before he opened the door and a gust of warm, humid South Asian evening heat patted my skin. And Alejandro came into view, smiling up at me.

I couldn’t concentrate on the comment Soap gave as I shockingly stepped from the RV. Or the reassuring thing Gaz said in my ear. Or the way Ale was guiding me with a soft hand on my middle back.