You’d heard the name whispered in debriefs, in hushed tones in the mess, like speaking it too loud might summon him or at least upset Hesh.
Logan Walker.
Once a Ghost. Now Federation property.
They warned you not to hesitate if you ever came face-to-face. He’s gone, they’d said. He’s not the man you remember from training.
You hadn’t thought about him at all, just a distant memory, until tonight.
The raid had gone sideways in seconds. You’d ducked into the ruins of a warehouse, pressing yourself against a cold concrete pillar to catch your breath. Your comms were dead, your rifle low on ammo. The others hadn’t made contact in five minutes.
That’s when the shadow fell across you.
You spun, knife in hand. but he was faster. Your wrist hit the wall with brutal force, the blade skittering out of reach. A hand like that of a steel trap wrapped around your throat and pinned you flat against the pillar.
For a moment, you didn’t recognize him, just the sharp outline of a mask, the merciless grip. Then he leaned in close, and the faint light caught his eyes.
Coffee Brown. Familiar. Terrifying.
“Ghost,” he rasped, voice deeper, rougher than you remembered. “Didn’t think I’d run into one of you tonight.”
Your pulse thundered under his palm as you clawed at his wrist. “Logan?”
His grip tightened. “Don’t use that name.”
You gasped for air, head tilting back. The pressure was just shy of blacking you out, deliberate. Controlled.
“They told me I’d find one of you,” he went on, almost casual. “Didn’t say it’d be someone worth keeping.”
Your knee shot up toward his groin. He caught it midair, slamming your leg back against the pillar with his thigh wedged between yours. The heat of him pressed exactly where you didn’t want to notice.
“You fight dirty,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “Cute.”
You spat in his face, hitting the fabric of his mask.
He just chuckled darkly, slow and low. Then, he lifted his mask with his free hand and spat back. A hot, thick string that landed across your lips, forcing your mouth open in shock. His thumb pressed it past your tongue, smearing spit along your teeth.
“Swallow.”
You glared, defiant, even as your throat convulsed around his thumb.
“That’s a good little girl,” he said, smug and cruel. “Knew you’d obey, thats all you Ghosts do. ”
Your body betrayed you, hips rocking involuntarily against the thick line of his thigh as he ground harder.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he hissed, pressing his hand down to tear at the waistband of your pants. He shoved his fingers past the fabric, through the wet heat of your folds. “Pathetic.”
“Fuck you,” you spat hoarsely.
He smirked, sliding two fingers inside you without warning. You cried out, nails digging into his arm.
“Already am,” he growled. “Tight fucking cunt dripping on my hand. You were made for this.”
His pace was merciless, curling his fingers until your hips bucked helplessly. He pinned you harder with his weight, choking you until stars burst behind your eyelids.
“You gonna cum for your enemy?” he sneered, voice hot in your ear. “Bet you are. Bet you’ll soak me like the desperate whore you swore you weren’t.”
You hated him. You hated how close you were to shattering.
When your release tore through you, your body clenching and shaking around his fingers, he laughed, a dark, broken sound.
“Look at that. A slut undone by two fingers.” He pulled out, your wetness glistening across his gloves, then unzipped his pants. His cock was flushed, thick, already leaking. He stroked himself once, eyes locked on you like prey.
“You’re gonna take it. Every inch.”
You shook your head, protest spilling from your lips, but your body betrayed you, hips lifting. He lined up, then shoved inside in one brutal stroke.
The breath left your lungs in a ragged gasp. He filled you, stretching you obscenely, his hips grinding against yours as he bottomed out.
“Fuck, you really are tight,” he groaned, head dropping against your shoulder. “Like you were waiting for me.”
You clawed at him, furious, humiliated, aroused beyond reason. “Bastard-”
His hand clamped on your throat again, cutting you off. “Say it again.”
“Bastard” you choked out.
He thrust hard, fucking you against the pillar, the slap of skin echoing in the dark. Spit dripped from your lips as his hand squeezed tighter.
“That’s it,” he snarled. “Scream it while I ruin you. Let everyone know Ghosts break easy.”
Your climax hit like a detonation, tearing through you as he pounded harder, his own groans guttural and harsh. He spilled inside you with a savage grunt, grinding deep to keep it there.
When you finally slumped, limp against the pillar, he pulled his mask down back over his chin and leaned back just enough to press his mask to your cheek.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “Not theirs.”
