Page 19 of Ghost (Cerberus Personal Security #1)

THIRTEEN

Mason

As we step out into the snow, leaving behind the safety of my cabin, I can’t help but feel that Willow and I are crossing a threshold in more ways than one.

Behind us lies the sanctuary we found in each other’s arms—a fragile, beautiful moment carved from fear and fire.

Ahead lies uncertainty, danger, and a reckoning three years in the making.

Martinez takes point, gliding through the trees with an eerily silent gait. Cooper falls in beside Willow, rifle up, body shield angled subtly between her and every possible threat. Jackson moves behind them, scanning our six. Ryan and I bring up the rear, eyes always moving, weapons ready.

Bear leads the way, forging a path through the deep drifts like a living snowplow.

The massive Newfoundland throws his full two hundred pounds into each step, muscles bunching beneath thick fur, breaking the crusted snow so we can follow without sinking knee-deep.

His breath puffs in great white clouds, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in sloppy, uncontainable happiness.

Despite the tension threading through our group, Bear radiates unfiltered joy—tail wagging in wide, snow-flinging arcs, ears flopping with each bounding step like he’s charging into battle and Christmas morning all at once.

He snorts and snuffles as he barrels through the powder, occasionally glancing back as if to say, See? I got you. Just try to keep up.

It’s impossible not to feel lighter just watching him—like the big brute doesn’t know or care that we’re marching into danger, only that he’s leading his pack and doing exactly what he was built to do.

With every joyful leap, he reminds me that sometimes, even in war, there’s room for something pure.

In contrast, Chaos is all business. The sleek Malinois ghosts through the trees, working the perimeter with laser focus.

His gait is silent and economical; his eyes scan constantly, his body taut with readiness.

Every few steps, he circles back to check on us, then melts into the shadows again—an ever-present phantom keeping danger at bay.

I watch them both—Bear’s open exuberance, Chaos’s silent vigilance—and feel something shift in my chest. Gratitude, maybe. Or awe. Or just the sheer comfort of being part of a pack for the first time in my life.

Protected. Seen. Needed.

Even now, with danger close and dread coiled in my stomach, Bear’s joy makes me smile. Chaos’s steadiness helps me breathe. Between them, I feel less alone.

And for me, that’s everything.

As for Bear, his snowplow exuberance breaks the snow and hastens our pace, but it leaves one hell of a trail. Not breadcrumbs. The fucking whole loaf of bread.

Our path is clear.

Too clear.

It’s a calculated risk. Within the tree line, the thick canopy conceals most of our tracks. Overhead drones can’t see us, but each time we reach a clearing, a pale wound in the forest where the trees fall away into open meadows, we slow to a crawl.

Ryan lifts a fist, signaling a halt at the edge of the first one. The team sinks instinctively to one knee, melting into the shadows. We wait. Listen. Scan.

Nothing but wind.

I give a low whistle, and Bear veers left. We double back, tracing a wide arc around the open space to avoid leaving a path visible from above. The detour adds fifteen minutes, but it’s worth it.

Lives are worth it.

Chaos ranges like a phantom between front and rear, paws silent on the snow. He vanishes into the trees, reappears beside Willow, then disappears again. Constant motion. Constant protection. His ears twitch at every sound, eyes sweeping left to right in tandem with the sweep of Cooper’s barrel.

We keep moving.

Two miles in, lungs burning in the cold, legs leaden from the uneven terrain, Ryan’s hand clamps down on my arm. He freezes, tilting his head slightly, breath misting in the air.

I hear it a second later—the faint, rhythmic thump of rotor blades. Helicopter. Still distant, muffled by the dense canopy, but closing.

“Incoming,” Ryan murmurs. “Northeast.”

I check my watch. “Too early for our extraction.”

“Exactly.”

Understanding passes between us. Not friendlies.

“Get Willow to the LZ,” I order quietly. “I’ll delay them.”

Ryan’s expression hardens. “Not alone, you won’t.”

“That’s an order, not a request.”

“With respect, sir,” Ryan says, using the formal address to make his point, “that’s just dumb.”

His flat stare leaves me shaking my head. Classic Ryan. I’d dismiss his comment, or dress him down for the insult, except Ryan’s tactical mind is formidable. It’s why the team respects him, and why he’s the one I trust to hold the line when everything goes to hell.

Before I can argue further, the chopper sound grows louder. Soon, everyone hears it. Willow turns, fear and question in her eyes.

“Move!” I shout, abandoning stealth for speed. “Cooper, get her to the LZ. Now!”

Martinez leads the way, one step behind Bear’s thundering bulk. Cooper doesn’t hesitate, grabbing Willow’s arm and breaking into a run, following Bear’s path through the snow. Jackson falls in behind them, providing additional cover.

Ryan and I drop back, seeking defensible positions among the trees. Chaos stays with us, hackles raised, sensing the imminent threat.

“They can’t land in these trees,” Ryan says, scanning the sky. “They’ll either drop troops at the cabin or try to cut us off at the LZ.”

“Split the difference. Two teams.” I unshoulder my rifle, checking the chamber. “How many birds?”

“Just one.”

The helicopter appears over the ridge line, a sleek black shape against the pale morning sky. Not military—private security, which confirms our suspicions. Reynolds isn’t using official channels for this extraction.

“Dropping at the cabin.” Ryan tracks the chopper through his scope.

I nod, already moving toward a better vantage point. “They’ll secure the location, check the shed.”

“Where they’ll find nothing but blood.” Ryan’s grim satisfaction is evident. “That should keep them busy for a few minutes. Then, they’ll follow.”

We’re two miles ahead of them, but we’ve broken the snow. Made it easy for them to follow us.

The helicopter reappears overhead, heading straight toward the ridge line—exactly where our extraction LZ is located.

“Fuck. They’re cutting us off,” I mutter. “How the hell did they know?”

“Reynolds has better intel than we thought,” Ryan suggests. He peers through his scope. “Shit, dropping four lines.” He waits a beat. “Dropped four men near the LZ.”

“Fuck. We circle back.” There’s no time to dwell on it. The helicopter is deploying a second team, fast-roping them into a clearing just ahead of where Willow, Martinez, Cooper, and Jackson are headed.

“Chaos, track,” I command, sending the dog ahead on a silent mission to locate and trail our team. To Willow.

Ryan and I move quickly through the trees, staying low, using the terrain for cover. We need to reach our people before Reynolds’s men cut them off.

A burst of gunfire erupts ahead—short, controlled, professional. My blood runs cold.

“Contact,” Ryan confirms unnecessarily.

We redouble our pace. I am no longer concerned with the noise of our approach; all that matters is reaching Willow before Reynolds’s men get to her. The thought of her back in their hands, of what would happen to her…

No. That’s not an option.

More gunfire—this time a different weapon. Cooper’s rifle, the distinctive crack unmistakable.

“They’ve engaged,” Ryan says, breathing hard as we push through a snow drift.

“Cooper’s good,” I remind him, though I’m unsure whether I’m reassuring him or myself. “Jackson’s with them. Martinez. And Bear.”

We crest a slight rise, and the scene unfolds below.

Cooper positions Willow behind a fallen tree, covering her with his body while returning fire.

Jackson flanks their position, creating crossfire with interlocking fields of fire.

Bear stands guard over Willow, his massive body tense and ready to attack anyone who approaches.

Martinez is nowhere. Probably circling to get behind the threat.

Four men in tactical gear have my men pinned down, advancing in textbook fire-and-movement patterns. Professionals. Well-trained.

Dangerous.

“High-low,” I tell Ryan, who nods, instantly understanding the plan. He’ll take the high ground, providing overwatch, while I circle low to flank their position.

As Ryan moves off, Cooper takes a hit to the leg, his body jerking from the impact. He stays up, still firing, but the wound slows him down, limiting his effectiveness.

My world narrows to the mission: protect Willow.

Eliminate the threat.

I circle behind the attacking team, using the trees for cover, moving silently despite the deep snow. Chaos appears beside me, materializing like a ghost. He’s already assessed the situation, already chosen his target. Movement to my right, and I spot Martinez, doing precisely as I imagined.

We trade hand signals.

“On me,” I murmur, and Chaos falls in, his body vibrating with anticipation.

Ryan’s first shot cracks through the air, dropping one of the attackers instantly. The remaining three immediately seek cover, scanning for the new threat.

Perfect.

I signal Chaos, pointing to the nearest attacker. “Kill.”

The Malinois launches like a missile, silent until the moment of impact when his snarl fills the forest. The man goes down screaming, Chaos’s powerful jaws locked around his throat, applying enough pressure to kill instantly.

Martinez and I engage the other two simultaneously. Martinez shoots first. A clean hit through the shoulder, disabling the man’s weapon arm. I close in with the second. His eyes widen in surprise as I emerge from the trees, but he recovers quickly, bringing his weapon to bear.

Too late.

My first shot hits him in the thigh, staggering him. The second catches him in the chest, the impact throwing him backward into the snow.

Just like that, the fight is over. Four attackers neutralized in less than thirty seconds.

“Clear!” Ryan calls from his position.

“Clear,” I confirm, already moving toward where Willow huddles behind the fallen tree.

Cooper is slumped against the log, hand pressed to his leg where blood seeps between his fingers. “Ate some lead,” he manages through gritted teeth. “Think it missed anything vital.”

“Let me see.” Jackson appears at his side, medical kit already open.

I crouch beside Willow, who stares at me with wide, shocked eyes.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

She shakes her head, seemingly unable to speak. Her gaze shifts from me to the men on the ground, then back to me.

“I need to check their communications and find out what we’re up against.” I cup her cheek, forcing her to focus on me rather than the carnage. “Stay with Jackson. Don’t move until I come back.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but there’s trust in it. Trust I haven’t earned, and may not deserve, but will fight to be worthy of .

I move to the downed attackers, checking for survivors. Three dead—Ryan’s target, the one I shot in the chest, and the one Chaos took care of. The fourth—the one Martinez shot in the shoulder—watches me approach with terror in his eyes.

“Please,” he gasps. “I’m just doing my job. I have a family.”

“So does she.” I nod toward Willow. “The woman your boss has been torturing for three years.”

His eyes widen. “I don’t know anything about that. We were just told to retrieve a fugitive. Armed and dangerous. That’s all.”

I crouch beside him, close enough to keep my voice low. “Here’s what happens next. You tell me everything you know—how many more teams, their positions, their orders. In return, you get to live. Do we understand each other?”

He nods frantically, already talking.