Chapter 8 Geneva
GENEVA
MY EYES FLUTTER OPEN, AND THE DIM LIGHT FROM THE STREETLAMP outside spills through the curtains, casting long, soft shadows across the floor. My head throbs faintly, a reminder of everything that happened, but it’s not pain that wakes me.
It’s a presence.
It’s a feeling of danger that wasn’t there earlier. My body stiffens, every nerve firing on high alert. I turn my head toward the window, and that’s when I see him.
Ghost.
He’s standing there, a dark silhouette against the faint glow of the light outside.
His broad shoulders are rigid, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans, a stark contrast to the vivid orange prison jumper I’m accustomed to seeing him in.
This shift is oddly comforting, lending a semblance of normalcy that’s foreign, but makes him look more like someone I might know outside those prison walls.
The moonlight glints off the edge of his profile, highlighting the length of his jaw and the curve of his brow. He doesn’t look at me. His gaze is fixed on something beyond the glass.
“Ghost?” My voice is soft, tentative, and laced with confusion. Maybe I do have a concussion and he’s not really here.
Ghost tilts his head slightly to signal that he heard me but remains quiet. And he doesn’t turn around.
I slowly sit up and the blanket pools around my waist, instantly forgotten. My pulse quickens, not from fear but from the sight of him. The man who is chaos and destruction wrapped in flesh, standing in my bedroom like he owns it.
His hands flex inside his pockets, his posture still stiff. “I told you I’d come back.”
There’s something raw in his tone, something that has warning bells clanging in my head.
I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.
Instead, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get to my feet.
The room feels too small with him in it, his forceful energy taking up every inch of space, every breath of air.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.”
His answer is curt, causing the apprehension in my chest to swell.
“Skinner?” My whisper is quiet but my message is loud.
At the mention of the man’s name, a shadow passes over Ghost’s face. His jaw tightens, and the tension in his posture intensifies.
“He’s dead,” Ghost says, his tone flat.
“Are you sure?”
He releases a sinister laugh that makes the hair on my arms stand up. “Of course I’m fucking sure.”
My stomach twists, a sick mix of relief and guilt battling for dominance. I should feel vindicated, knowing the man who attacked me is gone, and I do. But I can’t ignore the churning in the pit of my gut because I wanted him dead.
And Ghost delivered.
“You killed him,” I say to myself.
Ghost’s eyes dart to mine, cold and unflinching. “You’re damn right I did. He deserved it. And then some. If I hadn’t been in a hurry to get back to you, I would’ve extended his torture way past twenty-four hours. In the end, I got what I wanted. What we wanted.”
I press a hand to my forehead, trying to steady myself. “I won’t deny it.”
“Good, because I don’t regret a fucking thing.”
“How did you know Skinner escaped prison and was on his way here?” I ask, folding my arms.
“Cameras. I installed them before I went to prison so I could watch you.”
His gaze holds mine, unyielding. Not an ounce of remorse to be found. But Ghost doesn’t operate by normal rules. He doesn’t knock or ask for permission. He just is, sweeping through my life like a hurricane that I can’t stop. Or escape.
The violation of privacy should shock and anger me.
But as I stand here, my initial flare of exasperation and outrage fizzles into a weary acceptance.
This is exactly the sort of thing Ghost would do.
And though it’s invasive and I don’t approve, it’s also undeniably the thing that saved my life tonight.
“Is there anything else I should know? Any other dastardly deed or plan you’ve put into place to complicate my life further?”
He presses his lips together as though seriously considering my inquiry. “I orchestrated the riot at the prison.”
“What? I could’ve died, asshole.”
“Pfft.” Ghost waves a hand in dismissal. “I had it all under control. It was so easy to get Junior, an inmate susceptible to fear and paranoia, to attack a security guard. Once the fight broke out, it was like watching dominos fall.”
I purse my lips. “Dare I ask why?”
He finally turns to face me fully, and the weight of his gaze is like a physical thing pressing against my chest. His eyes are shadowed, dark and unreadable, but there’s something there simmering beneath the surface.
“I wanted to get close to you,” he says. “I knew if we had one moment alone, I could convince you to trust me.”
“No, all you did was seduce me.”
“Guilty.” He shrugs. “But remember, I also saved your life.”
Ghost watches me, his gaze flickering down to where my hands hang at my sides, then back up to my face. His expression softens, just a fraction, but it’s enough to encourage me.
I walk up to him until we’re inches apart.
Until I can feel the heat radiating off him, the barely restrained violence that’s always lurking beneath his skin.
He lifts his hand, hesitating for a moment before he brushes his knuckles against my cheek.
The touch is featherlight, almost reverent, and it makes my heart stutter in my chest.
For the first time since I met him, Ghost looks vulnerable. Entirely human. And it terrifies me.
I could never love a monster… but a man? That’s possible. Maybe even probable.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Ghost exhales slowly, his knuckles grazing my cheek one last time before he lets his hand fall away. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.
“I’m worried about you.”
I scrunch my face. “I’m fine. The cut is shallow, and I haven’t had any signs of a concussion.”
He huffs a shallow laugh, running a hand through his pale hair. “I’m glad, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
I reach for him but change my mind. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Don’t,” he says finally, his voice rough and frayed. “Don’t ask me that.”
“Why not?” The weight of his distress squeezes my lungs, making it hard to breathe. “Whatever it is, just tell me. I can handle it.”
“You think you can handle it?” He shakes his head, his lips twisting into something bitter. “I don’t even know if I can fucking handle it.”
“Tell me what the hell is going on!” The words burst out of me, louder than I intended, my own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re acting like the world is ending.”
“It is ending, Geneva,” he bites out. “Yours is. And I’m going to fucking stop it. Or die trying.”
I step back, my hand flying to my chest as if I can physically hold myself together. “What… what does that mean?”
Ghost exhales, turning away to face the window, his broad shoulders taut. “It means Skinner wasn’t acting alone,” he says, his voice low. “Someone wanted you dead, and they sent him to do it.”
The room tilts. I walk over to sit on the bed before I crumble to the floor. “Sent him?”
“Yeah. They got him out of prison, gave him the information he needed, and sent him straight to you.”
I can’t speak, can’t even think. My mind is reeling with thoughts that don’t make sense. Someone orchestrated this. Someone planned this. Someone wanted me dead. And Skinner… he was just the weapon to make it happen.
“Why?” The question falls from my lips, shaky and desperate. “Why would anyone—”
“I don’t fucking know,” Ghost interrupts, turning back to me. His gaze locks onto mine, unrelenting and furious. “But I’m going to find out.”
I shake my head, refusing to accept the implications. “How do you know about all of this? Did Skinner tell you?”
Ghost’s lips press into a thin line, his silence answering for him.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, horror creeping into my voice. “What did you do to him?”
“Whatever it took,” he says. “Enough to get the truth and a name.”
I stare at him, the pieces clicking into place. He didn’t just kill Skinner for revenge; he killed him for information. And now that I know what’s at stake, the thought of what Ghost will do to protect me sends a shiver down my spine.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“Now?” Ghost steps closer. “Now I find out who sent him.”
“But how can you—”
He gives me a look that silences me instantly. “I’ll do anything, kill anyone, to keep you safe.”
His threats, and the possibilities that could arise from them, crash into me. My head feels light, my chest tight. This isn’t just about Skinner or what Ghost did to him. It’s about me. Someone wants me dead. And Ghost…
Ghost has thrown himself into the fire for me. Unapologetically.
I exhale. “How am I supposed to live with this and do my job, while looking over my shoulder every second of every day?”
“You don’t have to.” Ghost walks over to stand in front of me, peering down at me like I’m fragile. “I’ll handle it.”
“You don’t have t—”
“Stop,” Ghost says softly. He reaches out, cradling my face in his hands. His touch is firm but gentle, an anchor in the sea of emotions threatening to drown me. “I made my choice,” he says. “This is what I do. This is who I am. Don’t think for a second you can make me walk away. Because I won’t.”
I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. “I’m not okay. With any of this.”
“You don’t have to be okay with it,” he says, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks in a soothing rhythm. “You just have to let me protect you.”
The tenderness in his voice, in his touch, unravels me. I don’t realize I’m crying until he steps closer, pulling me into his arms. At first, I stiffen, unsure how to respond, but then his warmth seeps into me, his scent wrapping around me. I collapse against him, burying my face in his chest.
“I’m scared,” I whisper, my voice muffled against his shirt.
“I know,” he murmurs, his hand cradling the back of my head, careful to avoid my injury. “I know, baby.”
I cling to him, twisting my fingers in the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would mean falling apart completely. And maybe it would.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, his voice low and steady, vibrating against my cheek. “Do you hear me? Nothing.”
“But what if—”
“There’s no ‘what if.’” He pulls back just enough to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His gaze holds mine, full of conviction. “I will keep you safe. I swear it.”
It terrifies me how much I want to trust him, and how much I already do. It just shows that I need him. And that maybe, just maybe, I’m falling for him.