Chapter 9 Geneva
GENEVA
THE PAST FORTY-EIGHT HOURS ARE A BLUR. BETWEEN THE ATTACK, my minor but inconvenient injuries, Sarah’s visit, and Ghost, I could barely think straight.
And yet, at some point, I managed to pick up my phone and call Detective Allen.
My boss, whose understanding and compassion nearly brought me to tears, was livid on my behalf.
Our conversation was short since I didn’t want to fully relive the events. I told him about Skinner, the break-in, and that my life might be in danger. I left out Ghost, of course. Allen wouldn’t understand. Besides, what could I even say?
Hey, by the way, the guy who tortured Skinner to death is my…? My psychopath fuck buddy? My lover? My boyfriend?
The thought makes my stomach hurt. Allen’s voice was calm on the phone, assuring me that he and the team would do everything in their power to investigate my situation. I didn’t have the heart to tell them the futility of it all.
Skinner wasn’t just some random escapee out for revenge. He was sent. By who? That’s what Ghost is determined to figure out.
But my trust in Ghost doesn’t erase my fear.
It doesn’t stop the anxiety that’s been gnawing at me since the moment I told Ghost to go after Skinner.
I didn’t sleep much while Ghost was gone.
Once Sarah left, I mostly stared at the ceiling, my mind spinning with all the things that could go wrong.
What if he didn’t come back and I’d sent him to his death?
But then he did come back and I’d never felt so relieved.
The unfamiliar warmth of another body beside me makes me think I’m dreaming. Still a prisoner of my own thoughts, both good and bad. But then I feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, hear the faint sound of his breathing.
I open my eyes to find Ghost lying on his back, his face turned upward. The hard lines of his jaw and brow are relaxed, and without the intensity of his gaze, he looks… normal. Not the murderer I know him to be.
The irony of this isn’t lost on me. A man who’s killed without hesitation, who’s capable of unspeakable violence, is lying in my bed. And I’ve never felt safer.
What does that say about me?
I shift slightly, trying to take Ghost in without waking him. His hair is tousled, falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, almost boyish. But it’s an illusion.
There’s nothing childish about Ghost.
I watch him for a moment longer, my heart expanding in my chest. So much has changed between us. He’s not just a patient I studied and dissected. He’s Ghost.
Unpredictable.
Dangerous.
Insane.
And I care about him.
More than I should. More than I want to admit.
His breathing changes, a soft inhale that’s just enough to make me freeze. But he doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, his hand moves slightly, reaching toward me in sleep. When his fingers brush against mine, something inside me fractures, allowing truth to bleed through.
I’ve never felt this kind of safety before. Not with anyone.
Not even my parents.
I don’t know how long I lie there, staring at the beautiful monster in my bed, but eventually, his eyes flutter open. It takes a moment for his gaze to focus, and when it does, it lands on me. The intensity of it makes my pulse quicken.
“You’re awake,” I say softly, unsure why I feel the need to fill the quiet.
“So are you.”
His voice is low and rough from sleep. It’s incredibly sexy. He doesn’t move, but his eyes stay locked on mine, studying me like he’s trying to piece something together.
I resist the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yes,” he says, his tone unreadable. “You?”
I nod, though the truth is more complicated. I slept better than I have in years because of him.
Ghost shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes sweep over me, lingering on the bruise on my jaw and the cut on the side of my head. Something tender flickers across his expression before it hardens.
“Does it hurt?” he asks.
“Not as much as it did.”
His jaw tightens, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. But Ghost doesn’t push. Instead, he shifts, hesitating for a moment before his fingers brush against my cheek. The touch is reverent, almost loving, and it makes my pulse race.
I don’t know what’s more terrifying: the fact that Ghost can be gentle, or the fact that I crave his touch?
“Why are you still here?” I ask.
“Because you’re here,” he says simply, as if that explains everything.
And maybe it does. Ghost isn’t like anyone else. He doesn’t do things for reasons that make sense to normal people. He’s guided by his personal logic. I can’t fully understand it, but right now, as his hand lingers against my skin, I don’t care.
“What happens now?” I whisper, my eyes searching his.
His gaze darkens, his fingers trailing down to my jaw before he lets his hand fall away. “Now I find out who sent him. And then I’ll end it.”
I swallow hard. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Yes,” he says, his tone firm. “I do.”
I want to argue, to tell him that we’re in this together, but the look in his eyes stops me.
It’s not just determination. It’s something dark and unyielding, something that tells me he won’t let me go on this mission with him.
Not because he doesn’t trust me, but because he doesn’t want me to be dragged any deeper into his dangerous world.
But it’s too late for that.
“How?” I ask. “What are you going to do exactly?”
His fingers trail down to my jaw, a soft caress that’s at odds with the turmoil brewing in his eyes. “You don’t need to know.”
“I do.” I lift my chin to meet his gaze head-on. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to just accept it. How are you going to figure it out? What are you planning to do?”
He leans back slightly, breaking the contact between us, and runs a hand through his hair. The smooth, calculated mask he always wears slips just enough to reveal his frustration. “I have my ways. Unorthodox but effective. Trust me, the less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
“I’m not letting this go.”
His eyes narrow, his tone darkening. “Fine. I’ll find the guy by doing what I do best. Digging where no one else will. Finding the connections no one else sees.”
“And then?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“And then I’ll neutralize the threat.”
The matter-of-fact way he says it should bother me, but it’s my life on the line and I can’t summon the proper emotion. “You mean kill them.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No remorse.
“You can’t just go out there and start killing people, Ghost.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to see you as a monster.”
His lips curl into a smile. “You don’t understand, Geneva. I’ve always been one. The only difference now is I’m your monster.”
The words hang between us, heavy and resolute. I search his face for some sign of doubt, some hint that he’s bluffing, but there’s nothing.
He’s completely, terrifyingly serious.