Total pages in book: 181
Estimated words: 181613 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 908(@200wpm)___ 726(@250wpm)___ 605(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181613 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 908(@200wpm)___ 726(@250wpm)___ 605(@300wpm)
“Please, just let me leave.”
Another one enters the scene, laughing, as he strokes his beard. “No, I don’t think we can do that. You see, I distinctly remember seeing a redhead just like yourself, butchering one of our own.”
My eyes widen, and I take another step back.
“Yeah, that’s right, on the parking lot nearby,” one lanky guy says. “With some white-haired guy.”
Oh fuck no.
The bearded man flashes a knife. “And I think we deserve payment for that.”
I backpedal a few more times, but in my drunken sway, I bump into a trash can and fall over backward on top of it. The men laugh, and while they’re distracted, I pull a knife from my pocket; the only one I have left to defend myself with.
“Stay back!” I scream as they come closer.
The first guy who sat next to me in the bar pulls out an even longer knife. “I think we’re going to have some good fun with you.”
When one is close, I swipe at his legs, cutting through his jeans, and I know I hit him, judging from the scream.
“Fuck! Grab her!”
The lanky one jumps at me and grabs my wrist, knocking my hand to the ground.
“Get off!” I scream, kicking and punching wildly.
The guy’s grin blurs so much it looks like it blends into the moon up above. And as more of them hover over me, the tears begin to stain my eyes.
Suddenly, the bearded one groans and grabs his own stomach as blood slowly begins to pour out onto the asphalt. I stare as the knife protruding his belly is pulled back, and he falls over like a sack of potatoes.
“What the f—”
The lanky one finally gets off me, and I crawl away from them … From the dark figure looming over the alley, the ghost-like mask shining brightly under the single streetlight, with red eyes reminding me of hell itself.
Ghost.
CHAPTER 47
Aspen
Is he truly here, or have I lost it?
Suddenly, the lanky one lunges at the figure, and the two throw knives at each other, swiping left and right so quickly I can barely keep up. The man is barely a match for Ghost as he sidesteps him and jams his own knife underneath the guy’s ribs.
He gurgles as Ghost pulls out the knife and aims for his neck next, tearing a hole from one end to the other.
I shiver on the ground as the blood sprays from his body.
“You motherfucker!” The bar guy pulls out a gun.
I scream, “Watch out!”
Ghost turns around just in time.
BANG!
He sidestepped, and the bullet entered the wall beside his face.
I don’t know why I helped him.
Why I’d trust him with my life, but I do.
He grabs the guy’s arm.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The gun is knocked from his hand, and Ghost pummels him in the face, then puts him in a chokehold, hooking him tightly before throwing him on the ground on his back. The guy groans as Ghost straddles him.
“Touch her and you die,” he says with a low voice, before stabbing him right in the heart, twisting the knife a couple of times.
I crawl to my feet to see what’s going on, but Ghost’s hoodie blocks my view of a nightmarish scene as he pulls out the knife and thrusts it under the man’s chin and through his tongue.
In the darkness, I gaze at a dead man walking, his eyes bulging out of his face as they slowly fade into nothingness.
Ghost stands up, pulling the knife out of the body, as the rain begins to pitter-patter down onto our heads. The blood will soon wash away from the metal and his hands, but the violence will never be erased from my mind.
His explosive rage … feels strangely familiar.
I step closer, tilting my head as the images are still blurry from all the alcohol I drank. But there’s one thing I know for sure. He protected me.
When I touch his arm, he suddenly spins on his heels, the penetrative stare that follows swallowing my very breath. But then he picks me up from the ground and throws me over his shoulder like a rag doll.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I ask as he marches out of the alley.
He doesn’t respond.
“Put me down.”
“No.” His voice is soft, unlike before, as if he’s trying to whisper while still allowing me to hear. But I don’t know why.
“I can walk.”
He keeps going farther away from the scene of the crime. “You can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
His grip on my body tightens, fingers splaying against my thighs. “You’re drunk.”
Why does it all feel so … familiar?
“So what?” I mutter.
He makes a tsk sound. “You know better than this. This isn’t you.”
I frown. “You don’t know me.”
“Yes, I do. I told you.”
Right … I remember. He’s always been there, even when I didn’t want him to be.
My Ghost … is someone I know.