Chapter 25
GHOST
The envelope sits in the center of Ash’s desk like a live grenade.
White. Standard size. Nothing special about it except for what’s inside.
The answer to the question that’s been eating at all of us.
I stand near the window, arms crossed, watching Bonnie. She’s perched on the edge of the couch, hands clasped tight in her lap. Her knuckles are white. She hasn’t looked away from that envelope since Dr. Wise’s courier delivered it ten minutes ago.
Ash sits behind his desk, staring at it too. His jaw works like he’s chewing on words he won’t say out loud.
Titan leans against the wall beside the door, arms crossed over his chest. His usual grin is gone. He’s as tense as the rest of us.
Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. The envelope just sits there.
“Someone should open it,” Bonnie says finally. Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“Yeah.” Ash doesn’t reach for it.
More silence.
I run through the scenarios in my head. Military training kicking in—analyze all possible outcomes, prepare for each one.
Scenario A: It’s mine. I’m the biological father. Bonnie’s carrying my child. My DNA. My responsibility.
Scenario B: It’s Ash’s. He’s already her husband. The baby being his makes the most sense politically. Strengthens his position as president.
Scenario C: It’s Titan’s. The oldest of us. The most experienced with violence and protection. Not a bad father to have.
Scenario D: It’s none of ours. It’s Marcus Stone’s. The nightmare scenario. The one that changes everything.
I watch Bonnie’s face, trying to read which outcome she’s hoping for. But her expression gives nothing away. She just stares at that envelope like it might explode.
Maybe it will.
“I’ll do it,” Ash says. He reaches for the envelope.
Bonnie sucks in a breath. Holds it.
Titan shifts his weight. The floorboard creaks.
I don’t move.
Ash tears open the envelope. The sound is loud in the quiet office. He pulls out a single sheet of paper. His eyes scan the text.
One second. Two. Three.
His expression doesn’t change.
Four seconds. Five.
Bonnie’s hands grip her knees so tight her fingers shake.
Six seconds. Seven.
“Well?” Titan’s voice breaks the silence. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
Ash looks up from the paper. His eyes find mine first.
Then he says, “Ghost.”
My brain needs a second to process. To understand what that single word means.
Ghost.
Me.
I’m the father.
The baby growing inside Bonnie—the one that’s been causing so much fear and uncertainty and hope—is mine.
Bonnie’s breath releases in a rush. She covers her face with her hands. I can’t tell if she’s relieved, disappointed, or terrified. Her shoulders shake, but I don’t know if she’s crying or just trying to breathe.
“Bonnie?” Ash sets down the paper and moves around the desk toward her.
She lowers her hands. Her eyes are wet, but no tears fall. “It’s not his.”
“No.” Ash crouches in front of her. “It’s not his.”
“Thank God.” Her voice breaks on the words. “Thank God it’s not his.”
She’s not crying about me being the father. She’s crying with relief that it’s not Marcus.
Titan pushes off the wall and crosses to the couch. He sits beside Bonnie and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.”
She leans into him, still shaking. “I was so scared.”
“I know.”
“What if it had been—” She can’t finish the sentence.
“But it’s not.” Titan kisses the top of her head. “It’s Ghost’s. It’s ours. That’s all that matters.”
She nods against his shoulder.
I can’t move. I’m frozen by the window, staring at the woman carrying my child.
My child.
The concept feels foreign. Impossible. I’ve spent my entire adult life learning how to end lives, not create them.
Ash picks up the paper from his desk and hands it to me. “See for yourself.”
I take it. I see percentages and probabilities. But the conclusion is clear.
Probability of paternity: 99.9%
Jacob Miller is confirmed as the biological father.
My real name. The one I barely use anymore. The one that belongs to the person I was before I became Ghost.
I fold the paper and hand it back to Ash. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Titan looks at me. “That’s all you have to say? You just found out you’re going to be a father, and your response is ‘okay’?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something with more than two syllables.”
I look at Bonnie. She’s searching my face for a reaction I don’t know how to give.
“I’m not unhappy about it,” I say finally.
It’s not enough. I can see that in her expression. She needs more from me. But I don’t have more to give. Not right now. Not with Ash and Titan watching.
An awkward silence settles over the office. We all know this changes things even if we’re pretending it doesn’t.
Titan breaks it. “So who gets Bonnie tonight? Because if I recall correctly, it’s Ghost’s turn in the rotation.”
“It is,” I confirm.
“Convenient timing.” Titan grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You find out you’re going to be a dad and you get to celebrate.”
“I’m not celebrating.”
“Sure you’re not.”
Bonnie stands. “I’m tired. Can we be done with this conversation?”
“Yeah.” Ash moves toward her. “Go rest. We’ll handle everything else.”
She nods and heads for the door. I follow.
We walk through the compound in silence. Brothers nod as we pass, but don’t speak. The sun is setting, painting everything in shades of orange and red.
My room is on the second floor, at the end of the hall. I unlock the door and hold it open for her. She steps inside, and I close the door quietly behind us.
The silence continues. She stands in the middle of my room, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She turns to face me. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know either.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “At least we’re honest.” She moves closer. “I can’t tell if you’re happy about this or not.”
“I told you. I’m not unhappy.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s the best I can give you right now.”
She studies my face, searching for something more. When she doesn’t find it, she nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Neither do I.” She reaches up and touches my face. “We’ll figure it out.”
I catch her hand. Hold it against my cheek. “You’re not disappointed it’s me?”
“What? No. Why would I be disappointed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you were hoping it was Ash. Or Titan.”
“I was hoping it wasn’t Marcus.” She steps closer, her body almost touching mine. “Beyond that, I didn’t care. Any of you three is a good outcome. Especially you.”
The tightness in my chest returns. “Why?”
“Because you’re careful. Thoughtful. You notice things other people miss.” Her thumb strokes my cheekbone. “You’ll be a good father.”
“I don’t know how to be a father.”
“None of us know how to do any of this. We’re making it up as we go.” She smiles.
I pull her closer and kiss her. Slow. Deep. Trying to communicate what I can’t put into words. She responds immediately, her arms wrapping around my neck, her body pressing against mine.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Bed,” I say.
“Yeah.”
I kill the overhead light and leave only the hallway’s amber stripe bleeding across the floor. When I return to her on the bed, my finger hooks her hoodie string, tugs once, lifts the cotton over her head slow enough to watch goose bumps chase my knuckles.
Her bra clasp pops under one thumb. I slide my palms beneath each breast, cradling the heavier weight, thumbs stroking the soft undersides I’ve memorized. My mouth closes over one nipple, tongue swirling lazy circles until her breath stutters against my cheek.
I pull off just long enough to whisper, “Still so sensitive,” eyes dropping to the peach-sized curve that carries my kid.
I sink to my knees. Jeans glide down, panties caught on a single finger; I peel them away like silk.
My lips find the faint linea nigra, tongue tracing the dark line to her navel, then lower, parting slick folds with reverent fingers. The cool air kisses her clit and I lick slowly from entrance to hood, gathering every drop of her new, honeyed taste.
I hum, and the vibration rolls through her thighs as she fists my hair.
“Ghost—fuck—right there,” she gasps, voice shaking.
I seal my lips around her clit, sucking in gentle pulses while two fingers ease inside, and stroke the spot that makes her toes dig into the bed.
She bucks hard. “Don’t stop—please—your tongue feels so good—”
I could live on this taste forever.
I lift her, lay her sideways across the bed so nothing presses the swell. Kneel behind her lifted thigh. My beard scrapes her tender skin, my mouth returning to her clit from this new angle.
My third finger joins, scissoring slowly, opening her while my tongue flicks in perfect counter-rhythm.
“More,” she whimpers, her thighs trembling.
Her back bows, a quiet cry muffled in the pillow as the first gentle orgasm ripples through her. I don’t stop, though my tongue softens to featherlight laps. Fingers still moving, drawing every aftershock until she trembles.
She turns her face, eyes glassy. “One more,” she begs, voice wrecked.
I crawl up, chest to her spine, lips to her ear. “One more,” I promise, hand cupping her soaked heat, ready to begin again.
I slide my palm between her thighs from behind, cupping her slick heat, and two fingers gliding through her folds. She pushes back with a broken moan, hips rolling, chasing friction.
“You are so greedy,” I rasp against her ear, circling her clit with the pad of my thumb.
Her answer is a breathless laugh that melts into a whimper when I sink three fingers deep, curling hard.
I scissor gentle, stretching her open, feeling her pulse around me like a heartbeat. Bonnie’s head falls to the pillow, her spine arching, thighs spreading wider on a silent plea.
I reward her with a fourth finger, knuckles grazing that spot that makes her toes curl.
“Ghost—fuck—right there,” she gasps, when my knuckle grazes the spot that makes her toe curl. I keep the rhythm steady until her hips jerk and the second orgasm rolls through her. She rides it out loud in soft, filthy cries muffled in the pillow.
I don’t let her crash; I ease my fingers free, line my cock up, and sink in one slow, burning inch. Her back bows, a shocked oh spilling from her lips as I bottom out, belly curve cradled against my abs.
I roll my hips shallow, dragging over every nerve, hand splayed over the swell that’s mine.
“Feel that?” I growl, voice gravel.
She answers by clenching hard.
I speed up just enough to make her gasp, then slow again, drawing it out until she’s begging in broken whispers. Her third climax hits her suddenly—she bites the pillow, her whole body shaking, pussy gushing around me.
I follow on the next stroke, spilling deep. Hot pulses coat her walls; I stay buried, grinding slowly and riding every aftershock with her.
I ease out and roll her into my arms.
Bonnie turns her face into my neck, lips brushing my pulse. “Again soon?” she murmurs, voice wrecked and happy.
I answer with a kiss to her temple, thumb stroking the swell of her belly in lazy circles.
“Ghost?” Her voice is sleepy.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
I tense. “For what?”
“If this isn’t how you hoped your life would go.” She traces patterns on my chest. “You probably had plans. Things you wanted to do. And now you’re stuck with me and a baby and a war and—”
“Stop.”
She goes quiet.
I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not unhappy about it.
My life before this was missions and orders and killing people I didn’t know for reasons I didn’t always understand.
This—” I gesture between us. “This is the first time I’ve felt like I had something worth protecting that was mine. ”
Her eyes get wet. “Really?”
“Really.” I pull her closer. “I don’t know how to be a father, but I know I want to try.”
A tear slides down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb.
“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once,” she whispers.
“Don’t get used to it.”
She laughs softly. “Too late.”
I kiss her forehead and pull the blanket over us. My hand stays on her stomach. On my child. “Sleep,” I say.
“Okay.”
Within minutes, her breathing evens out. She’s asleep.
I stay awake longer, watching her in the dim light from the window.
Jacob Miller is going to be a father.
Ghost is going to raise a child.
The same hands that have killed dozens of people will hold a baby. Teach them. Protect them. The irony isn’t lost on me.
But Bonnie said I’d be a good father. And I’ve never known her to lie.
So maybe I will be.
Or maybe I’ll fuck it up completely.
Either way, I meant what I said.
I’m not unhappy about it.
And for me, that’s as close to happiness as I know how to get.