Page 11 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost (Nightfall Syndicate #1)

ten

Kade

I take a sip of coffee, the bitter taste matching my mood as I study the footage from last night. Whoever attacked Alina at the warehouse managed to stay just out of frame. Clever bastards.

My jaw clenches as I replay the scene for what feels like the hundredth time. Nothing. Not even a glimpse of a face or a distinctive piece of clothing. It's like they knew exactly where our cameras were positioned.

Could this be connected to Roman's disappearance? The thought nags at me, refusing to let go. The timing is too convenient to be coincidence.

"Finding anything interesting, Ghost? Or are you just admiring your little hellcat's ass on the cameras?"

I don't bother looking up as Jax saunters into the room, his shit-eating grin evident in his voice .

"Thought you left after the security check," I growl, eyes still fixed on the screen.

Jax drops into the chair beside me, spinning it once before propping his feet on the desk.

"Would have, if someone hadn't moved their motorcycle so it blocked the garage exit."

He reaches for my coffee and I slap his hand away. "Had to come back in to get your keys, and what do I find? You busting down a bedroom door. Very subtle, by the way."

"Shut the fuck up." Heat crawls up my neck. I slam pause on the footage.

"Then I stayed to make sure everything was okay." Jax whistles low. "That journalist's got you worked up, boss. Never seen you lose your cool like that."

He leans forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "So? Is she as feisty in bed as she looks?"

My hand shoots out before I can think, gripping his shirt collar. "I said, shut. The. Fuck. Up."

He raises his hands in surrender, but that annoying smirk doesn't fade. "Just saying what everyone's thinking. You've been watching her like a hawk since the warehouse."

I release him with a shove. "I'm watching a potential security threat."

"Sure." Jax stands, twirling my bike keys around his finger.

"That's why you're reviewing footage at 6 AM with that murderous look." He tosses the keys onto the desk. "Might want to check that."

I glare at him, but he just shrugs. "The woman's got spirit. Reminds me of someone I know. "

His expression sobers slightly. "Any word on Roman?"

The sudden shift catches me off guard. "Nothing concrete. But this—" I gesture to the footage, "feels connected to what he was investigating before he disappeared."

Jax nods, understanding the implications. "And the Martinez case?"

"Still digging," I admit. "But if what Alina says is true, there's a link."

"Speaking of your little journalist..." Jax nods toward the monitor showing the kitchen. "Looks like she's up."

Alina moves around the kitchen, the confidence in her movements creating a strange tension in my chest. Even in borrowed clothes, she moves like she owns the space.

"Try not to break any more doors," Jax calls over his shoulder as he heads out. "Makes us look unprofessional."

I flip him off without looking away from the monitor. "Make sure the perimeter's secure before you leave."

"Already done." He pauses at the door. "Oh, and Ghost? That woman in there? She's not some timid informant you can intimidate. You push, she's gonna push right back."

He chuckles. "Should be fun to watch."

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with the monitors and my thoughts. Jax is right about one thing—Alina isn't easily intimidated. That quality makes her both frustrating and... fascinating.

I stand, my muscles protesting after sitting for so long. Part of me admires her persistence. It's the same drive that makes her a good reporter. But right now, it's also the quality most likely to get her killed .

I find Alina already sipping from a steaming mug when I enter the kitchen. When she notices me, her lips curl up slightly.

That little grin throws me off balance—it affects me more than I'd like to admit. She's changed into jeans and a t-shirt that hugs her curves.

"Morning, Ghost," she says, my callsign rolling off her tongue like we're old friends. "And thanks for the new clothes. How'd you figure out my size?"

I shrug, avoiding her gaze. "Wasn't me."

Her laugh catches me off guard. It's light and genuine, not what I expected from someone who's been through hell.

"Oh really? Is that information classified, Ghost?" she asks, her tone playful and challenging. Her eyes glint with that defiance that makes my hands itch to grab her.

"Looks like all you need is coffee to be tolerable," my voice comes out rougher than intended.

Alina's eyebrow arches. "Pot, meet kettle. You look like you haven't slept at all." Her gaze travels over me, lingering just a beat too long. "Too busy smashing down doors?"

My eyes tighten to slits. Fucking Jax can never keep quiet when he should. I grab a mug and pour a cup of coffee for myself.

"Has Nitro been running his mouth about shit you already know? Like some damn teenager passing notes in class?"

"He mentioned something about you having control issues," she says casually, but there's a spark in her eyes that tells me she's deliberately pushing my buttons.

"Are all your teammates that chatty, or just him? "

"Nitro talks too much," I growl, turning to face her. "And you ask too many questions."

She leans against the counter, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. "That's literally my job. Speaking of which—any luck figuring out who was shooting at us?"

I take a slow sip, studying her over the rim. "No. Whoever it was knew how to avoid the cameras."

Her expression shifts to something more serious. "That's not typical for your average criminal, is it?"

"No," I admit. "Which means we're dealing with someone who knows what they're doing."

"Connected to what happened to Roman and Jenny?" she asks, her reporter's curiosity kicking in.

I set my mug down. "Possibly."

She steps closer. "Then I need to see your investigation files. If there's a connection to Jenny's case—"

"You don't need to see anything," I cut her off. "What you need to do is stay put and let my team handle this."

Her jaw sets stubbornly. "I've been working this story for months. I have connections, sources—"

"And now you have people trying to kill you," I snap. "This isn't some corporate corruption story you can solve with public records and witness interviews."

"Then help me understand what it is instead of just ordering me around," she fires back.

Something in me snaps. In two strides, I'm in front of her, backing her against the counter. "You think this is a game? You have no idea what you're dealing with."

Instead of shrinking away, she tilts her chin up. "So tell me."

"People like the ones we're hunting don't leave witnesses," I say, my voice dropping dangerously low. "They don't care about your press credentials or your right to information."

"I'm not afraid," Her voice wavers ever so slightly, that tiny tremor impossible for most to detect, but I register it immediately.

"You should be." I grab her wrist, my thumb pressing against her pulse point. It's racing. "Fear keeps you alive."

Her breath hitches, but she doesn't pull away. "Is that how you live? Afraid all the time?"

"Cautious," I correct her. "There's a difference."

"Fine," her free hand coming to rest on my chest, not pushing me away but establishing a boundary. "Then be cautious with me. Work with me."

I release her wrist but don't step back. "My team operates in shadows for a reason. We can't have a reporter running around, asking questions, drawing attention."

"Then I'll investigate on my own," she threatens, pushing against my chest. "Without you."

The thought of her out there alone, vulnerable, makes something dark and possessive rise within me. Before I realize what I'm doing, my hand is on her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place.

"That's not happening." My voice has dropped to a dangerous whisper.

Her eyes widen slightly, but there's no fear in them. Just that same stubborn defiance, mixed with something else. Heat.

"You can't stop me," she breathes.

My thumb traces the line of her jaw before grabbing the back of her neck. "Watch me."

We're locked in a silent battle of wills, neither of us willing to back down. I can feel her pulse jumping beneath my fingers, see the slight dilation of her pupils. She's pushing me deliberately, testing my limits.

Who am I kidding? If she's anything like the woman I've seen so far, every moment around her is going to be a battle of wills.

And I fucking need to come out the winner here.