Page 20 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost (Nightfall Syndicate #1)

seventeen

Alina

" A lina!"

Bright rays slice through my window drapes as a crashing sound yanks me from sleep. My chest pounds while I jerk upright, momentarily confused about where I am.

"We need you in the living room." Ghost's deep voice carries through the door. "Five minutes."

I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the fog of sleep. What's going on? My mind races through possibilities, none of them good.

Throwing on my rumpled clothes from yesterday, I splash water on my face and run a hand through my tangled hair. It'll have to do. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever' s waiting.

As I step into the hallway, the house is alive with restless activity. Voices murmur from downstairs, and I catch a whiff of coffee. At least there's that.

I pause at the top of the stairs, my stomach twisting. What if they've decided I'm too much of a liability? The thought of disappearing without a trace makes my blood run cold.

Get it together, Alina, I scold myself. You've faced worse.

But have I? These people are professionals at making problems vanish.

Ghost stands at the bottom of the stairs, his expression unreadable.

"Everyone's waiting," he gestures toward the living room.

I nod, not trusting my voice, and follow him. The team's gathered around, looking far too alert for this hour. Frost, his wound still bandaged, gives me a slight nod. Saint offers a small smile that does little to ease my nerves.

Ghost clears his throat. "We've come to a decision."

My heart pounds so loud I'm sure they can all hear it. This is it. I brace myself for the worst, my mind already racing through escape plans.

"About your involvement in our operation," he continues.

I hear Ghost say "Nitro, don't—" but he's cut off as Nitro suddenly wraps me in a crushing bear hug. His strong arms squeeze me tight, nearly lifting me off my feet. I gasp in surprise at the unexpected embrace, wincing.

"Welcome to the team, little journalist!" he booms, his grin infectious. I wince again as Nitro's squeezes again.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry! I forgot about your ribs." Concern is etched on his face .

But I barely register the pain. My mind is still reeling from the fact that I made it in. I'm actually going to be part of this. I wave off his apology, too stunned to care about a little discomfort right now.

I blink, stunned. "Wait, what?"

Ghost's lips twitch in what might be amusement. "We've decided your skills could be valuable. If you're willing to work with us, of course. Of course, this is interim."

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by a surge of excitement.

"I'm in," my voice steadier than I feel.

Ghost clears his throat, cutting off my barrage of questions before they can start. "Before we get into details, let me properly introduce the team."

I nod, grateful for a moment to collect my thoughts. My mind is still reeling from the sudden shift from potential prisoner to... what? Team member? I focus on memorizing faces with names, a journalist's habit I've relied on for years.

"You've met Jax 'Nitro'," Ghost begins, gesturing to the grinning man who just hugged me. "He's our vehicle and transportation specialist."

Nitro winks, bouncing slightly on his toes with barely contained energy. "If it's got wheels or wings, I can make it dance. And I never crash—" He pauses, tilting his head. "Well, not accidentally anyway."

I mentally note: Nitro equals endless enthusiasm and vehicles. The hugger.

"Remy, 'Saint'," Ghost continues. "Medic and infiltration operations expert."

The man who treated my bruises gives a small, measured wave. His gaze moves methodically across my body, taking inventory of each purple mark with the detached precision of a doctor examining a patient.

"Don't let the doctor bit fool you. I'm just as dangerous in the field as in the operating room."

Saint equals doctor who can kill you or save you. Steady hands.

"Asher, 'Frost'. Long-range specialist and surveillance expert."

The injured man from last night gives a curt nod, his expression remaining completely blank. His eyes, though—calculating and cold. I remember his deadly accuracy during our escape.

Frost equals sniper. Silent and watching.

"Cole, 'Blade'. Our strategic operations planner and communications specialist."

An Asian man with sharp features and an intense gaze steps forward, his posture military-precise. "I make sure we're always three steps ahead of the enemy."

I tilt my head. "And when you're not?"

A smirk crosses his face, though his eyes remain analytical. "That's when things get interesting."

Blade equals strategy and communication. The chess player.

Ghost gestures to two men I haven't interacted with much before. "Xander, 'Chaos'. Demolitions expert."

A burly, bearded man with weathered hands and a mischievous glint in his eye grins broadly. "I make things go boom."

"Professionally," Ghost adds dryly.

Chaos equals explosives. Remember the smile that screams 'pyromaniac' .

"And last but certainly not least," Ghost continues, "Damian, 'Reaper'. Interrogation specialist and... clean-up expert."

A shiver crawls across my back. as I meet Reaper's cold gaze. There's something in his eyes that speaks of darkness I can't even begin to fathom. Unlike the others, he doesn't offer a quip or explanation. Just a steady look that feels like being X-rayed.

Reaper equals... don't ever be alone with Reaper.

"Clean-up?" I ask, my journalistic curiosity overriding my unease.

Ghost's expression hardens slightly. "Remember what I said about some questions, little journalist?" His voice is low, a clear warning.

I swallow hard, nodding. Message received.

"And you?" I turn to Ghost, realizing I still don't know his full name.

He hesitates for a moment. "Kade."

"So," I say, looking around at this group of dangerous, highly skilled men. "What do you actually do?"

Kade leans against the wall, his arms crossed. "Centurion Protection Group is our public face. High-end security, executive protection, that sort of thing."

I nod slowly. "Okay, that tracks with what I've heard about CPG. But what about... the other part?"

Nitro grins. "That's where things get fun. Ever heard of the Nightfall Syndicate?"

My eyes widen. "Wait, that's real? I thought it was just an urban legend in the underground."

"Oh, we're very real." Blade's voice is cool and measured. "Elite problem-solvers for those with the means and the need. "

My mind races, trying to process this information. "So you're... mercenaries?"

"That's one way to put it," Ghost's blue eyes locked on mine. "We prefer 'specialized contractors' that occasionally get shot at."

Blade nods, his expression neutral. "Highly specialized ones, yes. But we have morals."

I snort. "That's still a fancy way of saying hired guns."

Reaper's eyes narrow. "We're not common thugs. We have standards."

"And limits," Saint adds quickly. "We don't hurt innocents, no collateral damage."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? A bunch of mercenaries with a moral code?"

Ghost pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. "We're not angels, Alina. But we're not monsters either."

Saint—Remy—nods. "We have the right to refuse any contract that violates our principles."

My head spins as I try to reconcile this information. The esteemed Centurion Protection Group, darling of tech billionaires and corporate elites, is actually a front for a group of high-end mercenaries? It's almost too much to believe.

"Hold on," I raise a hand. "If you're all part of this... Nightfall Syndicate, what about the rest of Centurion Protection? Are all your employees secretly badass mercs?"

"Not everyone at CPG is involved," Ghost clarifies, reading my expression. "Most employees are exactly what they appear to be, legitimate security professionals."

"Think of it like circles within circles," Blade explains. "The outer ring is legitimate CPG business. Only a select few are cleared for NFS operations."

My journalistic instincts kick in, overriding my shock. "Who hires you?"

"The highest bidder," Chaos grins. "As long as they pass our vetting process."

"And you don't ask questions?" I press.

Frost—no, Asher—shakes his head. "We don't need their reasons. We assess the job, not the client's motivation."

My head spins as I try to process all this information. I look at Ghost—no, Kade.

Or do I still call him Ghost? I'm already mixing up their names and callsigns.

"So, Ni— I mean, Jax," I stammer, turning to the transportation expert. "You're not just driving executives around?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes I am. Other times, I'm orchestrating high-speed extractions or pursuits."

"Why tell me all this?" I ask, looking around at these dangerous men. "Why bring me in now?"

Ghost's expression softens slightly. "Because you're already involved, whether we like it or not. And your skills could be helpful."

"Plus," Blade—no, it's Cole—adds, "you've proven you can handle yourself in a fight."

I look around at these dangerous, complicated men. Part of me is terrified, knowing I'm in way over my head. But another part,the part that's always pushed me to chase the truth, is thrilled at the prospect of uncovering whatever lies at the heart of this mystery.

"Wait a minute. No NDAs? No paperwork? You're just... telling me all this and bringing me in? That seems careless for professionals. "

Asher's lips curl into something too cold to be called a smile.

"We don't need paperwork. If you turn on us..." he trails off, letting his gaze flicker meaningfully to the window. "You won't see what hits you until it's too late. If ever."

A chill runs down through me at the calm certainty in his voice. The sniper. Right.

Kade just raises his eyebrows at the exchange, neither confirming nor denying the threat.

"Is that supposed to scare me off?" I challenge, though my dry mouth betrays my bravado.

"No," Cole says matter-of-factly. "It's supposed to establish parameters."