Page 12 of Ghost (Cerberus Personal Security #1)

EIGHT

Willow

Mason focuses on the monitors. Exterior camera feeds blink in and out of view. Shadows shift in the trees.

“What do we do?” My voice is tight. Thin.

Mason turns to face me, and the transformation steals my breath.

Gone is the tender lover who held me through the night.

In his place stands a warrior, eyes sharp as steel, every line of his body coiled for violence.

Calm, focused, and terrifying. This is the soldier, the man who survived whatever hell carved those scars into his flesh.

A man who knows exactly how to hunt and how to kill.

“We prepare.” He moves to a seemingly ordinary panel in the wall. It slides open at his touch, revealing an arsenal that would make a military general weep with envy. Rifles, handguns, tactical vests, and equipment I can’t even name. It’s enough to fight a small war.

“And we fight.” He starts suiting up like it’s second nature, pulling on a tactical vest and arming himself. The calm in his voice should terrify me. Instead, it steadies something inside me. I trust this man with my body—why not with my life ?

“Tell me how to help.” I stare for a heartbeat too long before snapping myself into motion.

His eyes meet mine, assessing. Then he nods once, decision made.

“Wear something warm and layers you can move in. We have work to do.”

I move quickly, pulling on the clothes he laid out for me yesterday. Thermal leggings. Flannel shirt. Wool socks. My hands tremble as I dress, but I force them to be steady.

Mason buckles on his gear. Every movement precise. Measured. Deadly. He straps a combat knife to his thigh and checks the chamber of a sidearm before holstering it.

Each knife and firearm becomes an extension of him, as natural as breathing.

“Drake had three men with him at the crash.” I try to be helpful. “Although he usually works with at least two teams of three each.”

“He’s had two nights to prep and search.” Mason pauses, his eyes sharpening on me. “Tell me everything about them. Training, weapons, tactics. Leave nothing out.”

I close my eyes, forcing myself to remember details I’ve tried so hard to forget.

“Drake was Delta Force before Steffan hired him. Harris, his second, is Marine Recon. They have two other regulars—Reeves and Jackson. Both military, though I’m not sure which branch.

They’re…” I swallow hard. “They’re very good at hurting people without leaving evidence. I don’t know the names of the others.”

Something dangerous flashes in Mason’s eyes, but his voice remains controlled. “Combat experience?”

“Drake was in Syria and Afghanistan. Four tours, I think. The others, I’m not sure.”

“Weapons preference? If you know it.”

“Drake carries a Sig Sauer P320. Custom grip. Harris favors a Glock 19. Both use suppressors when they’re working. They keep rifles in their vehicles—AR-15 platforms, though Drake mentioned something about a-a PSR for longer range work?”

“Impressive.” Something hard flickers through Mason’s eyes—respect. Maybe something else.

“I spent the last three years of my life planning my escape. That meant learning everything I could about my enemy.”

“PSR means Precision Sniper Rifle. Military issue, not something civilians can easily acquire.” Mason strides to the window. “Your husband has serious connections.”

“His reach goes beyond the legal system. He’s tied to arms dealers, politicians…”

Mason scans the tree line through a reinforced window. “Then you already know this isn’t just a cleanup crew. They’re here to bury every trace of you.”

“I don’t think they know about the backup drive. If I don’t make it…”

“You will. They don’t know I’m part of the equation now.” Mason’s jaw tightens. “That gives us an edge. Don’t worry, Willow. You will be walking away from this.”

“You’re not scared?” I wish I were as certain as him. I reach into my pocket reflexively, feeling the small, hard shape through the fabric.

I stare at him, heart pounding.

“No. Assume they know everything. It makes any surprises hurt less.” He turns, his expression raw and wounded, before the soldier mask slips back into place.

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be. I will protect you.” His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip in a gesture already familiar and necessary. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” he says softly. “And I’ve served with men who ran into gunfire to save their brothers. ”

Heat floods my cheeks at the praise, and I lean instinctively into his touch. His thumb presses more firmly against my lip, a gentle reminder that grounds me even as fear threatens to overwhelm me.

“I need you to do exactly as I say, when I say it.” His voice takes on that dominant edge that makes my knees weak. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Sir.” The words come without thought, natural as breathing.

“Good girl.” His approval means the world to me. “First things first. I need you to know what we’re working with.”

He leads me to a sturdy table where he spreads out what looks like architectural blueprints of the cabin and the surrounding area.

“The cabin sits in a natural depression,” he explains, one finger tracing the topographical lines.

“Anyone approaching has to come downhill through these trees, which gives us lines of sight and natural choke points.” He points to several X marks on the map.

“Motion sensors here, here, and here. They triggered one of the outer alarms.”

He points to a section further out on the map. “They’re definitely professionals, because they didn’t breach the secondary detection layer. Right now, they’re probing my setup to see what they’re up against.”

“Sounds bad.”

“It’s good.”

“Good? How?”

“It gives us time.” Mason pulls at his chin. “I’m guessing they’ll come at night. They don’t know my outer sensors detected them.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because they pushed through but stopped at the secondary layer. That means they’re thinking things through. Easier to attack at night, and it gives them all day to search.”

I blow out a breath, my cheeks puffing out as I do.

“That gives us a few hours to prepare. The storm worked in our favor. The snow is thick, and that will slow them. They’ll wait for the snowpack to harden and visibility to improve.”

His competence should be reassuring, but fear still claws at my throat. “Mason, these men… They’re killers. Professional. Well-equipped.”

“So am I.” A smile touches his lips, and there’s nothing warm about it. It’s the smile of a predator anticipating the hunt.

He moves to a locked cabinet, entering a code I can’t see.

Inside sits a satellite phone and what looks like specialized communications equipment.

He punches in a number and speaks in clipped tones.

Military jargon I can’t follow flows with practiced ease.

He ends with, “Confirmed. Ghost protocol. Six-hour window.”

When he turns back, determination has hardened his features to granite.

“Who was that?”

“Friends who will fight for you.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push. “I don’t like the timing. Drake will make his move before they arrive.”

“So we run?” The thought of leaving this sanctuary makes my stomach clench.

Mason shakes his head. “Running makes us vulnerable. We’d be exposed, trackable.” His eyes hold mine, gauging my reaction. “We stay. We defend. We choose the battlefield.”

An hour passes in a flurry of preparation.

Mason fortifies entry points, rigs simple but effective traps at likely approach vectors, and shows me how to use the security systems. He pauses only when the dogs grow restless.

Chaos paces by the rear entrance, hackles raised.

Bear stations himself at my side, massive body pressed against my leg.

“They’re moving.” Mason’s voice is calm. Too calm.

The casual way he checks his weapon should terrify me. Instead, I mirror his steadiness, that same stillness I cultivated through three years of surviving Steffan’s unpredictable rages.

He hands me a small pistol. “Glock 43. Nine-millimeter. Seven rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber. Safety’s here.” His fingers guide mine over the weapon, his touch businesslike. “Last resort only. I don’t want you fighting unless absolutely necessary.”

“I’ve never fired a weapon before.” The gun feels alien in my hand, heavy with responsibility.

“Point and squeeze. Don’t pull the trigger— squeeze it, like you’re trying to press a button without moving anything else.” He positions my hands, adjusting my grip. “If you have to use it, aim for center mass. Don’t try for headshots like in the movies.”

“What’s the plan?” I nod, committing his instructions to memory.

“You hide. I hunt.” His voice brooks no argument. “There’s a concealed basement, a safe room. You’ll hide there. It has more than enough room for you and Bear. He’ll protect you if anyone gets past me.”

“And what about you?” Fear tightens my chest. “You can’t face them alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” That predatory smile again. “I have Chaos, and don’t forget, I’ve called in reinforcements.”

“And if something happens to you?”

He slides a tracker into my palm. “Hit this. My team will come.”

As if on cue, the satellite phone chirps. Mason snatches it up, listens for a moment, then says, “Confirmed.”

He turns to me, something almost like excitement glittering in his steel-gray eyes. “Good news. The cavalry is arriving ahead of schedule. A weather window opened briefly to the east.”

Relief floods through me, but Mason’s expression remains vigilant. “Don’t celebrate yet. We still need to hold out until they arrive. Drake’s men will move sooner than I thought. They have the same weather data we have.”

The dogs suddenly go rigid, Chaos emitting a low growl that raises the hair on the back of my neck. Mason moves swiftly to the security console, scanning the feeds. His posture changes instantly, shoulders squaring as adrenaline visibly floods his system.

“Movement. Southwest approach.” His voice drops to that combat-ready rumble. “Three figures, tactical gear. Two hundred yards and closing.”

Terror grips me, but beneath it rises something unexpected—resolve. I’ve spent three years surviving a monster. I refuse to die now, not when freedom is finally within reach.

“What now?”

“Get to the safe room. Take the USB drive and this.” He kisses me hard. Fast. “If I don’t come back for you in two hours, activate the tracker. My friends will find you. Now go.”

“You’re leaving?” The words scrape out of my throat, fear edging sharp into the air between us.

“Technically, no.” Mason’s gaze flicks to the small structure beyond the kitchen window—what looks like a weathered outhouse, half-buried in drifts just ten yards away. His voice lowers. “That’s not what it looks like. It’s an access point to a tunnel system that runs beneath the entire property.”

My eyes widen in understanding. “A tunnel?”

“Runs thirty yards out, emerges beyond the tree line.” He secures his weapons, checking each one methodically. Calm. Unshakable. Like he isn’t about to vanish into the night with death waiting on the other side.

“They’re watching the cabin,” he says. “Looking for movement, tracks in the snow. It looks like an outhouse, so tracks in the snow won’t seem out of place. They don’t know about the tunnel system.”

Snow presses against the window in thick white layers, soft and innocent. The storm has erased everything—no sign of us, no sign of danger—an untouched canvas hiding the truth beneath.

“Bear stays with you in the safe room. Chaos comes with me.” He fastens the last straps of the snow camouflage, shoulders settling into readiness.

At his name, the Malinois’s ears prick forward, his body vibrating with anticipation. Where Bear is the shield, Chaos is the sword—designed and trained for precisely this kind of operation.

I hesitate, caught in the sudden, visceral fear that this might be the last time I see him. “Mason…”

“This isn’t a request, Willow.” Command fills his tone. “It’s an order. Go. Now.”

My body responds before my mind can argue, submission flooding my system at his command. I turn toward the bedroom but pause at the threshold, looking back.

“What’s your last name?” The question sounds ridiculous even to my ears, but suddenly it seems vital to know.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Blackwood. Mason Blackwood.”

“Stay alive, Mason Blackwood.” I try for lightness, but my voice betrays me. “I’ve only just found you.”

Something softens in his expression. “I’ve got too much to live for to die today.” His eyes hold mine, a promise in their depths. “Go, little one. I’ll come for you when it’s over.”

Bear follows me to the bedroom, his massive body a reassuring presence at my side.

The hidden compartment in the closet floor opens with a pressure mechanism, revealing a large room underneath.

It’s lined with what looks like Kevlar and contains emergency supplies—water, energy bars, a first aid kit, even an oxygen mask.

Mason’s fortress within a fortress.

I slip inside. Bear follows, his warmth a comfort in the confined space.

Chaos remains with Mason, a more effective weapon than I realize.

The panel slides silently closed above us, plunging us into darkness until my eyes adjust to the thin strips of light filtering through nearly invisible ventilation slots.

The world goes silent, and we wait.

Then—

BOOM !

An explosion rattles the walls.