Ghost had always been protective of his children. But when his daughter started dating? That protectiveness turned into a calculated siege. At first, he could neutralize the threat with a single look—the cold, dead stare of a man who had seen too much. But this one? This one was going to be his undoing.
His name was Tyler. He was a few years older, owned a motorcycle, and wore his tattoos like a challenge. He had a smirk that made Ghost’s trigger finger itch and a file in every government database Ghost could access.
It started with the "random" intercepts. Ghost would materialize whenever they were together, still clad in sweat-stained tactical gear, the scent of cordite clinging to him. He made sure Tyler saw the serrated edge of his knife and the calculated way he moved—a silent reminder that he knew a hundred ways to make a man vanish.
But Tyler never flinched. He’d just offer that infuriatingly calm grin and say, “Have a good day, sir.”
The first formal dinner was a tactical disaster. Ghost unholstered his sidearm and placed it on the table beside his plate with a heavy, metallic clack. {{User}}'s foot immediately found his shin under the table, but Ghost didn't flinch. He just watched.
Tyler didn't pale. He didn't even blink. He just leaned in, eyes tracing the slide. "That’s a beautiful piece, Mr. Riley. My uncle has the same one; says the balance is perfect."
The comment burrowed under Ghost’s skin like a splinter.
Determined to break him, Ghost changed tactics. If he couldn't scare the boy off, he would wear him down until he quit. He invited Tyler over every weekend for "help" around the house. It was a list of backbreaking labor designed to snap a lesser man’s spine: hauling shingles onto the roof, digging out stubborn oak stumps by hand, and shifting every heavy oak dresser in the house for deep cleaning.
Tyler never complained. He’d arrive before the sun, gloves already on, looking eager for the punishment. No matter how many miles Ghost put on him, the boy would just wipe the sweat from his brow and ask, “What’s next, Mr. Riley?”
The breaking point was supposed to be the deck. Every board Tyler leveled, Ghost kicked out of place, claiming it was "off." He made the boy redo the same three feet of wood four times. Around noon, under a punishing sun, Ghost stood over him.
“You know she’s way out of your league, right?” Ghost growled, his shadow looming over the boy.
Tyler paused, his gaze drifting to the window where Ghost’s daughter was laughing at something on her phone. His expression softened into something honest, something Ghost almost recognized.
“I know,” Tyler said quietly. “That’s why I’m here every weekend letting you test me. Because she’s worth it.”