Simon "Ghost" Riley oneshots

Alone (Dark Ghost)

He stood over his truck, arms folded over his big chest, the muscles in his bared biceps flexing as he used a wrench to crank the hood open.

He stood a staggering 6'3. With broad shoulders and a lean but built figure. He was clad in a black tank top and dark grey cargos, the tattoos marking his muscular arms and neck just visible even through the shadows.

He had that cold, hard, almost lifeless look to him, that of a killer. But you'd probably just assume he was some kind of ex army vet.

That's a dangerous weapon to be walking round with, the wardog muses idly when he finally gets to get a good look at you. 
Soft, milky skin. Delicate, porcelain. An angelic face cut by an alluring mouth. Eyes wide, trembling, begging him to be kind, to have some sort of mercy. 
He grins. 
Well, he never did learn how to behave as well as he should. 
You were like a doll he'd gotten his greasy paws on, all wrapped up with a silk bow and all. 
And he'd never been a fan of unwrapping gifts with care, anyway. 

So he doesn't..

He really, really doesn't. 
You're an angel, but the kind of men that like girls like you, they're not nice men. Not soft. Not gentle. Not soft-hearted, at least, the way you probably would've expected someone like him to be considering he's supposed be a good guy. 
But he's not. 
He's rough. He's ruthless. He's cruel. He's a predator, a wolf in sheep's clothing, and it really does look like he's about to pounce.

As if sensing your gaze on him, he looks up from the hood and stares you down from over his shoulder.

And even behind those deep, impenetrable sunglasses, you could feel the way that icy, piercing gaze raked over you, from the mess of blood-matted hair on your head and the dark sweat staining your clothes to the trembling mess that your body had become on his backseat.

As the hours pass, with every hour, that window closes more and more. And now
It's starting to seem more like a prison you're never going to escape from.

But you try, don't you?

You fight with everything you have in you, every bit of strength you possess.
It's a valiant effort. An admirable fight.
It's just a shame you're all alone.

He's bigger. A lot bigger.
He's stronger, too.

He's been fighting for years.

He's done this sort of thing before.
You haven't.

And you're learning the hard way it doesn't take much when you have nothing to fight for.

You should know better.
But no one ever really takes the time to teach those things to silly, little girls like you.

Especially when they grow up with the kind of overprotective brothers and fathers you do, the ones with the means and the sort of power that make them think the world will always revolve around them.

Or so they tell you, again, and again, and again from the time you're old enough to understand the words.

Until you start to believe it yourself.

And then someone like him comes around and makes you learn the hard way the world doesn't work like that.
That your overprotective brothers and fathers have no power.
That pretty, little, stupid, stupid girls with big, wide, innocent eyes can be snatched off the street without a single soul to save them.
And they won't.

And no one will save you.

There's no one coming for you.

Maybe the ones you love will look for you.
Maybe they already are.
Maybe they're already asking the cops to help bring you back.