Chapter 2 Geneva
GENEVA
I stop breathing as Ghost walks in.
He towers over the five guards surrounding him.
His large hands are cuffed in front of him, the metal gleaming under the lights with every step he takes.
Despite the extra security—overkill or not enough?
—and restraints, Ghost moves with a deadly grace and an air of confidence that belies his situation.
He’s devastating in person.
My lungs scream in protest, and I inhale deep as I run my gaze over his features. Features that no picture or camera lens could ever do justice.
His hair isn’t just white; it’s pure and blinding like the first snow of winter in Central Park.
The man’s face is gorgeous: the kind only found in romance novels and movies.
His orange jumpsuit doesn’t detract from his attractiveness whatsoever.
Not when the black ink on his neck offers a sneak peek of the tattoos hidden underneath his clothing.
His smirk—half-seductive, half-sinister—has me shifting in my seat.
Then there’s his eyes…
Cold and calculating, but there’s something else, too, something that’s not quite right.
Intensity?
Insanity?
Inhumanity?
As I continue to study Ghost, his gaze slides across the room. And lands on me.
I stiffen, an involuntary reaction to the weight of his stare. Ghost stops walking, holding my gaze as a knowing smile graces his lips. If it wasn’t for the way my skin heats, I’d believe I’m imagining the entire thing.
One of the deputies shoves Ghost, breaking our connection. I frown at the show of violence. Ghost needs to be held accountable for his actions but treating him like that isn’t something I condone.
“Keep moving,” the deputy says.
Ghost straightens to his full height of well over six feet, and cranes his neck back and forth before slowly turning around to look at the deputy over his shoulder. “If you do that again, I’ll kill you.”
The menace in his tone doesn’t override the sensuality of his deep voice.
A woman in the row in front of me hums appreciatively, and I have the urge to smack her upside the head.
Yes, he could probably make someone come from murmuring sweet nothings in their ear, but he literally just threatened to murder a man in broad daylight with over fifty witnesses.
Ghost is not only deranged but delusional.
The deputy freezes before his brows snap together. “Shut up and start walking.”
When he shoves Ghost a second time, I hold my breath again. The convict merely smirks.
“Deputy Wilson, I hope you have a notarized will in place.”
Before the man can respond to the threat, Ghost faces forward and saunters away as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. The security maintains their positions, keeping the criminal between them, until they reach the table.
Ghost plops down unceremoniously in the chair and lifts his hands. “Let’s do this.”
The deputies are quick to secure his handcuffs to a chain on the table. One of them breathes a sigh of relief once Ghost is fully restrained. I find myself doing the same. There’s no doubt in my mind that Ghost would add to his list of crimes if given the chance.
“You are here today for your arraignment,” the judge says to Ghost. “The charges against you will be read. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Honorship.”
The judge doesn’t react to the sarcasm, except for tilting his head away from Ghost. The microexpression of annoyance doesn’t escape my notice. After Judge Pritchett gestures to the clerk, the man comes forward, document in hand.
“The court will now hear the case of the State of New York versus John Doe, case number 2025-CR-00567. The charges are twelve counts of first-degree murder—”
“Soon to be thirteen counts,” Ghost says loudly, grinning at Deputy Wilson. “Thirteen is my lucky number.”
Like a puff of smoke, gasps and whispers fill the room, permeating the space with shock and excitement. Judge Pritchett slams his gavel and silence reigns once more.
“Order in court.” The judge shifts his attention to Ghost, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “You are to remain silent and listen as the charges are read. I will not tolerate interruptions.”
The court clerk clears his throat and continues. “The charges are multiple counts of first-degree murder, multiple counts of aggravated assault, arson, use of a deadly weapon, theft, and one count of…”
The clerk frowns in confusion as he stares at the paper in his hand. “One count of bird-napping.”
Ghost shrugs. “I had to save my cock from being caged.”
My lips fall apart before twitching at his absurdity while people all around me snicker. The judge glowers at the crowd. “Order.”
The convict places his boots on the table, reclining in his chair, an air of satisfaction enveloping him.
I purse my lips when the deputies fail to instruct Ghost to place his feet on the floor, but a quick scan of their features offers mild relief.
I suppose a relaxed serial killer in a non-threatening position isn’t worth provoking. At least not this one.
In a rush the clerk finishes, “Presiding over this case is Honorable Judge Pritchett.”
“Now that you’ve heard the charges against you, it’s my duty to ensure that you understand your rights throughout these proceedings,” the judge says to Ghost. “You have the right to an attorney, which you refused. Is that correct?”
Ghost shrugs. “Why would I hire someone dumber than me? Good help is so hard to find nowadays.”
“Answer the question, Mr. Doe.”
“I thought I did. I intend to represent myself.” His grin returns. “Your Honorship.”
The judge blows out a breath. “Given the results of your competency evaluation, I will allow it. Counselor?”
The prosecutor stands. He smooths out his blue tie and lifts his chin, eyes narrowed on Ghost before shifting his gaze to the judge.
“Given the severity of the charges and the potential danger to the public, we request that the defendant be held without bail. The nature of the crimes indicates a high flight risk and further risk to the citizens of New York.”
Judge Pritchett nods at Ghost. “Do you wish to respond to the prosecution’s request for detention without bail?”
Ghost chuckles, his ever-present smirk still in place. “I have no intention to flee. I turned myself in, remember?”
The courtroom buzzes with suppressed laughter once again. Even I can’t stop the smile that forms on my lips. Although I’m quick to erase it from my face and focus my attention on taking notes.
“I’ll take your voluntary surrender into account, but you will be held in custody until your trial. With that being said, you have a right to a jury trial…”
The judge lists each and every one of Ghost’s legal rights, his voice steady and resonant. Every so often he sweeps his gaze over the courtroom, but Ghost doesn’t move. He stays reclined in his chair, nodding here and there as though aptly paying attention to the judge.
“It’s crucial, Mr. Doe, that you fully understand these rights, given the severity of the charges you face. What is your plea?”
Every pair of eyes shoot to Ghost as he tilts his head, causing his pale disheveled hair to graze his shoulder. “Guilty, your Honorship.”
The simplicity of the word “guilty” discredits the complexity of its implications.
Which isn’t lost on anyone present. As a collective, we stare at this enigmatic man.
What reason, other than to plead guilty, would he have to turn himself in?
Yet it’s still a shock to hear him accept the charges and the loss of freedom that comes with it.
Judge Pritchett nods, his expression grave. “Mr. Doe, do you understand that by entering this plea, you waive your rights to a trial and to challenge the evidence against you?”
“I don’t want a trial.” Ghost shifts in his seat, removing one leg from the table. “That’d be a waste of my time. As far as evidence against me? I’ve provided everything you need. But if that’s not enough, then—”
With a swift movement that’s no more than a blur, Ghost swings his leg to slam his foot against Deputy Wilson’s shin.
The guard stumbles before slamming onto the tabletop, his upper body draped across the surface.
As the deputies retrieve their firearms, Ghost slings his other leg over Wilson’s neck, locking his ankles together.
The four deputies cock their weapons and aim them directly at Ghost’s head, their stances rigid and their gazes wary but determined. I brace myself for the blast of gunfire, but it doesn’t come. Not when there are innocent bystanders in the line of fire, located directly behind Ghost.
“Let him go!” one of the deputies shouts.
Wilson gasps and claws at Ghost’s legs, unsuccessful in prying them away. The deputy to the left of Ghost, whose name badge reads “Tanner,” presses the end of his pistol to Ghost’s temple. “I said, let him go.” This time the order is given without hesitation.
No one underestimates Ghost and his threats now.
He simply laughs in response. It’s a bone-chilling, blood-curdling sound that frightens me more than the violence I’m witnessing. The noise echoes off the walls, the sinister notes filling the atmosphere like a poisonous gas.
This is a man who has nothing to lose… or he’s already lost everything.
I sit there, eyes wide, my insides shriveling in horror. Wilson still tugs and scratches at the criminal’s legs, his movements growing more frantic with each second that passes as he continues to struggle for air.
Ghost tightens his hold on his captive and turns to press his forehead against the muzzle of the gun, staring up at the deputy. From the set of his jaw and his focused gaze, Ghost isn’t merely demonstrating dominance.
He’s making a statement.
Ghost lifts his hands as much as the handcuffs allow, rattling the chain-links. “Look, ma, no hands.”
He jerks in his seat and a sickening crack follows.
After that is silence, heavy with a chilling reality. Wilson’s body goes limp on the table, his hands falling away from Ghost’s legs.
The deputies freeze, their fingers tight on the triggers but none daring to make a move that could turn this standoff into a bloodbath.
Ghost flicks his gaze around the room, taking in the faces of his audience, his expression unreadable.
Except for that damn smirk on his lips. Then, very slowly, he unravels his legs and allows Wilson’s now lifeless body to slide off the table onto the floor with a dull thud.
The sound of the body hitting the floor reverberates through the room, and then chaos erupts. Half of the crowd screams hysterically, people already clamoring to leave. I grip my notebook tighter to stop my hands from shaking.
Tanner yells an order to seize Ghost, and the men rush forward all at once. But Ghost is already surrendering. The sinister echo of his deranged laugh fills the air, a haunting reminder of the darkness that resides in the human psyche.
I was wrong about my earlier conclusion. This was not just an act of defiance. It was a message that Ghost cannot and will not be controlled.