Chapter 4 Ghost
GHOST
MY SKIN PRICKLES WITH ANTICIPATION AS I TEAR THROUGH THE lobby, my boots slamming against the floor. Every breath is fire in my chest, but I don’t slow down. I can’t. Not when that piece of shit is out there, running, breathing, thinking he’s going to get away with what he’s done.
Geneva’s bloodied face flashes in my mind, her eyes fluttering closed as I held her. The way her body sagged against me, too limp, too still. My stomach churns, an acidic burn finding its way up my throat. If I think too long about how close Skinner was to taking her from me, I’ll lose it.
And I won’t be able to function.
The SUV screeches to a halt at the curb, the driver looking at me like I’m a fucking grenade with the pin yanked out. He’s right. I’m ready to explode with violence. I yank the door open and climb in the back seat, my fists shaking as I slam the door shut.
“Where?” he asks, his voice tight.
“Head east,” I snap, pulling my phone from my pocket. The live feed from the cameras outside Geneva’s apartment comes up, grainy but clear enough to see Skinner’s frame as he disappears into the maze of streets behind the building.
I grip the phone so hard, the screen cracks. Doesn’t matter. I already know where he’s heading. The industrial district. He thinks he can lose me in the abandoned warehouses and crumbling factories.
“Let’s fucking go,” I snarl.
The tires screech as the driver floors it, the city blurring past us in a haze of light. I lean forward, the seat belt cutting into my chest as I strain to stay focused. My blood roars in my ears, every nerve in my body screaming for vengeance.
Skinner isn’t just going to die. He’s going to fucking suffer. I’ll carve his screams into the night air and make sure the devil himself knows to fear me.
Or welcome me home.
“You okay back there?” the driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
“Shut the fuck up and drive,” I snap. My skin feels too tight, my body in pain with the amount of restraint I’m exhibiting. The only thing keeping me in control is the thought of Geneva. Her voice, weak but resolute, telling me to go. To stop him.
Her faith in me is the only thing holding me together. But it’s also tearing me apart because I failed to protect her.
“Left,” I bark. The SUV veers sharply, the tires skidding on the damp asphalt, and the warehouses loom ahead, the structures like sentinels in the dark.
The SUV slows as we enter the district. Once I catch sight of Skinner turning a corner, I throw the door open before the vehicle’s fully stopped, the cold air smacking me in the face. My boots hit the ground, and I’m running, my breath coming in short bursts.
“Skinner!” I bellow, my voice echoing off steel and concrete. “You think you can hide from me? You’re a fucking dead man!”
Silence.
Fine with me. Let him hear me coming. Let him know I’m close.
I yank a crowbar from a pile of discarded tools as I pass, its weight adding to the chaos of my mind. My fingers curl around it, the cold steel biting into my skin. It’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough for what he did.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it to make sure it’s not Geneva. No, it’s 911 calling me back. I ignore it. I can’t concentrate on anything other than finding him. Ending him.
A flash of motion catches my attention, a shadow darting between two buildings. My lips pull back in a feral grin as I change direction, my heart hammering in my chest. He’s fast, but that only makes the chase more exciting.
I close the distance between us as Skinner’s figure twists and weaves through the maze of alleyways. His panic is palpable, even from here. It’s in the way his movements are uncoordinated and desperate.
“Skinner!” I roar, my voice ricocheting off the brick walls. The sound slices through the night, and he falters, whipping his head around to look back at me. His face is a mask of fear and rage, twisted into something pathetic.
“You’re dead, you son of a bitch!” I yell. “I’m going to cut your fucking dick off!”
He ducks into an abandoned warehouse, the rusted door slamming shut behind him. I don’t slow down. Head bent, my shoulder crashes into the door, the metal groaning under the impact as I force my way inside.
The darkness envelops me, but I don’t need light to find him. I can hear his ragged breathing and the scuff of his shoes against the concrete floor. He’s trying to hide, but there’s nowhere to go. Not from me.
“You picked the wrong fucking woman. My woman,” I say. “Did you think I wouldn’t come for you? That I’d let you live?”
A shadow shifts to my right, and I whip around, the crowbar raised. Skinner steps out from behind a stack of crates, his hands raised, his expression mocking. His grin is back, but it’s different now. Forced. Uneven.
“Ghost,” he says, his voice dripping with false bravado. “You’re just as predictable as I thought you’d be.”
“And you’re as stupid as I thought you’d be.”
Skinner laughs, a dry, hollow sound that scrapes against my nerves. “I’m glad you’re here to finish what Geneva couldn’t.”
The words hang in the air, cold and biting. My heart beats faster, my instincts screaming at me to remove his tongue for daring to say her name. But I won’t act in haste.
“You wanted this?” I take a step closer, my voice low and deadly. “Well, call me fucking Santa Claus, because I’m going to give you exactly what you’re wanting.”
Skinner’s grin falters, just for a second, but it’s enough. I lunge forward, swinging the crowbar with all the strength I have. He dodges, the metal slamming into the crate behind him with a deafening crash. Splinters fly, but I’m already moving, already striking again.
This time, I connect.
The crowbar slams into his side, and he lets out a guttural scream, crumpling to the ground. I don’t stop. I don’t even hesitate. I swing again, the blow landing on his shoulder, then his ribs. He gasps for air, clawing at the floor as he tries to crawl away.
But there’s no escape.
“Did you think you could touch her?” I ask, my voice shaking with rage. “Did you think I’d let you live after what you did to her?”
“Geneva—” Skinner chokes out, but I cut him off with another swing, the crowbar smashing into the floor inches from his head.
“Don’t say her fucking name!” I yell, dropping the crowbar with a clang.
I wrap my hands around his throat, lifting him just enough so I can see the fear in his eyes.
Skinner tugs at my wrists, his face turning red as he struggles for air.
I squeeze tighter, my vision narrowing until all I can see is him.
All I can feel is the rage coursing through me, burning hotter with every second.
Then, in the back of my mind, I hear Geneva’s voice.
Ghost.
The sound of it cuts through my fury. It’s soft, desperate, and it doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t belong in the darkness I’ve carried with me my entire life.
But her voice is still there.
It’s not real. I know that Geneva isn’t here. She’s on her couch, bloodied and bruised, trying to survive.
Ghost, wait.
I shake my head as if I can dislodge the phantom sound. Skinner’s face is turning shades of red and purple, his struggles growing weaker under my grip. Every instinct tells me to squeeze tighter, to finish it, to take from him what he tried to take from her.
But her voice pulls at me, powerful enough to make me hesitate.
You need him alive.
Alive? My subconscious, using Geneva as its mouthpiece, is pushing back against the fury in my chest. My fingers tremble around Skinner’s throat as I wrestle with it.
He knows things, her voice whispers. He escaped, Ghost. How did he escape?
“How?” I repeat, the word barely a whisper as my grip loosens just enough for Skinner to wheeze. His cough is ragged as I yank him closer, our faces inches apart. “How the fuck did you get out of prison, Skinner? Who helped you?”
Skinner’s eyes widen, the flicker of terror breaking through. He doesn’t answer, but that hesitation is enough for me to know there’s more to this.
“Talk,” I demand, shaking him. “Now.”
“I… I don’t know what you’re—”
I slam him against the floor, his head bouncing off the concrete with a satisfying thud. “Don’t lie to me,” I snap. “You couldn’t have escaped on your own. Someone wanted you out. Who?”
“I’m not telling you shit.”
“You’re going to tell me everything,” I say. “Who let you out. Why. And what the fuck they’re planning.”
Skinner coughs, his head lolling back as he tries to catch his breath. “And if I don’t?”
I grab the crowbar again and tap the edge of it against his knee. “I know how to torture a man for a long time without killing him. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be my bitch, ready to fuck yourself if I ask.”