Page 18 of Ghost (Cerberus Personal Security #1)

TWELVE

Mason

When I emerge from the shed five minutes later, Ryan is waiting. He takes one look at my face and nods. No questions. No judgment. Just the silent understanding of men who’ve shared battlefields.

“We’re ready,” he says. “Jackson’s got the wounded one stable. Martinez gave Carver enough supplies to make it to the next town if he’s smart about it.”

“And the third one?”

“He’ll have a headache when he wakes up. Fifty-fifty chance he survives until Reynolds’s people find him.”

“Let’s brief Willow.” I wipe my hands on my pants.

I pause at the edge of the tree line, taking a moment to truly see my cabin for what might be the last time. Early morning light catches on the snow-laden roof, giving the structure an almost ethereal glow against the backdrop of endless pines.

From the outside, it looks rustic, unassuming—just another mountain retreat for someone seeking solitude.

The perfect cover for what it really is .

Two years ago, I built this place with meticulous attention to every detail.

Triple-reinforced walls capable of withstanding small arms fire.

Cutting-edge security systems disguised as rustic fixtures.

Solar arrays concealed beneath snow guards.

A defensive perimeter that would make military installations envious.

Not just a cabin. A fortress. A bunker. A place to disappear.

And that was the point, wasn’t it?

After Syria, after Rachel, after everything went to hell, I needed somewhere to contain the damage I might cause. Somewhere, I couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Cerberus Securities continued to run without me at the helm.

The company I built from scratch after leaving the military, utilizing my combat skills to create a multi-million-dollar private security operation.

Ryan and the others kept it profitable, kept our clients protected, while I retreated to lick wounds that wouldn’t heal.

The irony doesn’t escape me. I created a security company to protect others, then built this place to protect others from me.

Cooper emerges on the porch, spotting me immediately despite my position in the shadows. He raises a hand in acknowledgment, then disappears back inside.

I approach slowly, allowing myself this moment of recognition.

Of farewell. This cabin has been a sanctuary and a prison.

A place where I could let the nightmares come without risk to anyone else.

Where Bear and Chaos could roam free. Where I could pretend the world beyond these mountains didn’t exist.

Where I could heal.

Then Willow stumbled through the snow, bringing that world crashing back in all its messy, violent, beautiful complexity.

Inside, the warmth hits me immediately—physical heat from the fire, but also the warmth of purpose and action after two years of stagnation.

My team moves, packs equipment, checks weapons, and establishes communications.

The familiar buzz of an operation in progress heats my blood and brings purpose back to my life.

Willow sits at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Her borrowed clothes hang loose on her petite frame, but there’s a steadiness in her posture that wasn’t there before—a warrior’s stillness beneath the surface vulnerability.

My gaze sweeps the space I once designed to be a fortress.

Bookshelves line the walls—volumes I devoured during sleepless nights, seeking escape in someone else’s story because I couldn’t survive in my own. Half of them are unfinished. Just like me.

The weapons rack stands bare now, stripped for the mission. Custom-built, each piece once a promise of control, a way to keep the world at bay. Now, it’s a hollow frame.

Like ribs without a heart.

The kitchen gleams with steel and solitude.

I taught myself to cook in that space. Quiet routines.

Precision. Control. A ritual to keep the darkness at the door.

No one else ever sat at the island. No one else ever tasted what I made until she stood barefoot, licking sauce off her finger, and smiling like I wasn’t broken.

The bed still holds the shape of her. Sheets tangled, warmth lingering. Last night, I wrapped myself around her like a man anchoring his soul. Held her like I could hold back the nightmares. For one night, I wasn’t a soldier or a monster.

I was human. And alive.

My chest tightens as my gaze lands on the bathroom door. That wall knows every inch of her. Every ragged breath, every whispered plea. I lost myself in her there. Found something I never thought I’d feel again—a need that wasn’t about pain.

I turn slowly, taking inventory of everything I built to survive .

The underground tunnels that took months to dig with my own hands. My escape plan carved into the earth. The armory, hidden beneath layers of reinforced steel, stocked well enough to supply a black-ops team. The comms center—my lifeline to every operative in the field, encrypted to ghosts.

All of it, meticulously designed. All of it mine.

And yet, none of it matters now.

Not when they’re hunting her.

Not when my world has narrowed to the single, blistering purpose of rescuing her.

“Ten minutes to departure,” Ryan announces, breaking my reverie.

I take one last look around. This place served its purpose. It gave me what I needed: isolation, safety, and time to process. But it was always a retreat, not a life. A pause, not an ending.

With Willow, I have purpose again. A mission beyond mere survival. A reason to step back into the world I left behind.

The cabin will remain, of course. A fallback position. A resource for future operations. Perhaps even a place to return to someday, under different circumstances.

But it’s time for my self-imposed exile to end.

Willow looks up as I approach, her eyes finding mine with that uncanny ability to see past my barriers.

“Everything okay?” she asks softly.

“Yes,” I tell her, surprised to find it’s not a lie. “It’s time to go.”

She scans me for injuries, for signs of what happened in the shed.

“How did it go?” she asks.

I hesitate, unsure how much detail to share.

“We got what we needed.”

“Drake?” Her gaze is too perceptive, seeing past the professional mask to the violence beneath.

“You don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. She doesn’t ask for confirmation, doesn’t seek reassurance that her abuser still lives. She nods once, accepting what needed to be done.

“We’re moving,” I tell her, crossing to where she sits. “Reynolds has more resources than we anticipated. We need to get you and that evidence to safety.”

“Where?” Fear flickers across her face, quickly mastered. “How?”

“Northeast ridge. Defensible position for extraction by helicopter.” I drop to one knee beside her chair, bringing us to eye level. “It’s a three-mile hike, uphill in deep snow. Not easy.”

“I can handle it.” Determination hardens her features. “Tell me what to do.”

I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture far more intimate than our current circumstances warrant. “We’ve got one shot at this. If anything happens to me?—”

“Don’t.” Her fingers press against my lips, silencing me. “Don’t say it.”

“Willow.” I take her hand, my thumb circling her wrist where her pulse flutters. “Listen to me. If we get separated, if things go wrong, you stay with Ryan. He will get you somewhere safe and get that evidence to people who can use it.”

She shakes her head, stubborn. “I’m not leaving you.”

“This isn’t about us. It’s about making sure Reynolds pays for what he’s done.”

“I know that.” Her voice firms. “But I’ve spent three years planning this. I survived him. I survived Drake. I’m not running scared anymore.”

Pride swells in my chest, unexpected and fierce. With her survival instincts and razor-sharp mind, this woman’s capacity to endure is extraordinary.

“Just promise me you’ll follow orders,” I say. “When things get chaotic, when decisions need to be made in split seconds, you need to trust me. Trust my team.”

“Yes, sir.” The formality in her tone carries an intimacy that hits low in my gut, stoking a fire I can’t afford to feed right now.

Cooper clears his throat, a subtle reminder that we’re not alone. “Perimeter’s clear for now. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before we need to move.”

“Gear up. Martinez, you’re on point. Ryan takes the rear with me. Cooper, you’re with Willow. No one gets within fifty yards of her.”

Cooper nods, already moving to prep his rifle. I turn back to Willow, extending my hand to pull her to her feet.

“One more thing,” I say, voice pitched low for her ears only. “The flash drive. We need to duplicate it, spread the risk.”

She reaches into her pocket, producing the small device that’s cost her so much pain. Her fingers tremble slightly as she places it in my palm, the weight of years of evidence, of her suffering and courage.

“I’ll get it back to you,” I promise.

“It doesn’t matter.” Her eyes hold mine. “As long as he pays. As long as it was worth something.”

The lump in my throat makes it difficult for me to speak. I wrap my fingers around the drive, a silent vow to ensure her suffering wasn’t in vain.

We move quickly after that—packing essential gear, distributing supplies, checking weapons. Bear and Chaos sense the tension, staying close, their bodies vibrating with alertness. They’ll accompany us—Bear to break trail through the snow, Chaos to run security ahead and behind.

Ten minutes later, we stand at the cabin’s threshold. Six humans and two dogs preparing to traverse three miles of snowbound wilderness with unknown threats converging. Outside, the light paints everything in shades of silver, the snow gleaming like diamond dust.

“Ready?” I ask Willow, who now stands dressed in my spare winter gear, too large for her, but better protection against the elements than anything she arrived with.

She nods, eyes focused on the path ahead. “Ready.”