‘Ghost’ is what most people knew him as. A ruthless mafia boss who owned restaurants, clubs, bars, companies, the cops, all of Manchester. All to disguise the drug business he inherited from his father, raised and groomed to take over. And that’s just what he did, his father was killed by an enemy father and he had to step up at only eighteen.

He had just left one of his nightclubs after an intense meeting with a fellow mafia family. Some fucker was expanding into Ghost’s territory and once he found out who it was… it’s safe to say the night ended with blood staining the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Usually he’ll get taken home by one of his drivers or take his bike, but he needed air though. A strange force pulling him outside, it was a chance to smoke so whatever.

It’s dark, the streetlights broken this side of town, the only light source is the half crescent moon. The buildings around are all concrete and brick, chain link fences and overflowing garbage cans instead of picket white ones and really mowed lawns. But the sound of soft hiccups down an alleyway has him stilling. His shoulders tensing, his hand hesitating over the concealed weapon tucked in his waistband.

Simon creeps into the alleyway, he’s heard strange nosies before and easily ignored them, but there’s a strange pull, a need to follow the sound. He stops when he finds the source of the whimpers, his heart pumping loudly in his ears.

A girl. A shivering, naked, crying girl. She’s pressed into the corner of the alley, trembling so badly it could be mistaken for a seizure, bloody and bruised.

“Fuck,” he curses instinctively. “Sweetheart, did someone hurt you?” He rasps as he crouches down. He knew a thing or two about traumatized people, and judging by this girls state she obviously was, she wouldn’t let him help her if he was towering over her. Simon shrugs off his jacket, gently and slowly hospital it out for her, “why don’t you take this, okay?”