Chapter 14 Ghost
GHOST
MARCUS TELFORD ISN’T PREDICTABLE, WHICH MAKES HIM INTERESTING.
I’ve been watching him for hours now. He moves through his penthouse like a man who’s used to being in control. Pacing, checking his phone, and making calls.
However, he never looks at the windows. Never thinks that someone like me could be up here, watching from the shadows of the neighboring high-rise. His mistake.
I retrieve my burner phone, typing out a quick message to Benedetto.
Unknown: Update.
A few seconds pass before my screen lights up with a response.
Benedetto: She’s fine. She challenged me to a game of Poker. I blame the whiskey for her poor decision-making. That also extends to her being with you.
Unknown: I didn’t give her a choice.
Benedetto: Shocking.
I roll my eyes but don’t respond. It’s not like he’s wrong.
I shift my attention back to Telford. He’s at his desk now, leaning forward, fingers steepled as he listens intently to whoever is on the other end of the phone. I can’t hear him, but I don’t need to. The body language tells me enough. He’s confident. In himself and his environment.
I’ll have to remove him from it.
My phone buzzes again.
Benedetto: She asked how you convinced my family to let you waltz in and out of prison.
I exhale slowly, running my tongue over my teeth. Of course she asked. Geneva can’t let things go. She needs to pick apart every little thing I do and make it fit into whatever psychological framework she’s constructed in her head.
It’s both infuriating and fascinating.
Unknown: What did you tell her?
Benedetto: That you used extortion. Which, let’s be honest, is putting it politely.
I smirk.
Unknown: And?
Benedetto: And she didn’t flinch.
Of course she didn’t. Geneva is many things, but fragile isn’t one of them.
Unknown: Anything else?
Benedetto: I see why you like her.
Unknown: Fuck off.
Benedetto: Don’t worry, I’ll keep my dick to myself. I like it too much to risk losing it.
With a smile on my face, I glance back at Telford, who’s rubbing his temple now, still deep in conversation.
The motion is slow, signaling agitation.
Whoever’s on the other end of the phone isn’t giving him the answers he wants.
He shifts in his chair, mutters something, then slams his palm down on the desk.
Interesting…
People don’t become fixers by losing their tempers. The job requires you to be controlled, not hasty to action or overcome by emotion. It requires a person who thrives in chaos because they’re the one directing it.
But tonight, Telford is irritated because something’s gone wrong. It could be because Geneva is still alive. Or not. Either way, I don’t have enough data to move on him yet.
But for tonight, I’ve seen enough. And my need for Geneva has reached a fever pitch.
I push away from the ledge, slap on my baseball cap to conceal my hair, and slip into the shadows, exiting the rooftop with practiced ease. My mind is already working through the next step as I make my way down to the street.
With the car Benedetto “loaned” me, I drive back to Geneva’s apartment while taking back roads and keeping an eye on my mirrors. Not because I think I’m being followed. But because it’s instinct.
By the time I walk up to her door, I already know something’s different. The atmosphere is lighter. It’s subtle, but it’s there. The sound of laughter slips under the door, and I pause, my hand hovering over the handle.
Geneva is laughing.
It’s a strange thing. Not that she doesn’t laugh, but it’s always guarded, always a little too aware. But this? It’s easy. Genuine.
And it stirs something deep inside me. A type of hunger that I can’t explain.
I slowly open the door and step inside. Geneva is slouched on the couch with one knee tucked up, whiskey glass in hand, and she’s smirking. Benedetto sits across from her, equally relaxed with a pile of poker chips in front of him.
She doesn’t notice me. Benedetto does.
Good thing, or I’d kill him for his neglect.
“That’s a tell.” Geneva points at him with her glass. “You lean back when you bluff.”
Benedetto scoffs, taking a sip of his drink. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“It’s called stretching.”
“It’s called losing.”
Benedetto levels her with a look, then shifts forward, dropping more chips into the pile. “All in.”
Geneva’s grin widens. “Oh, I’m definitely calling your bluff.”
She flips her cards, and Benedetto groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”
“That’s right,” she says smugly, dragging the chips toward her. “Pay up or shut up, babysitter.”
I chuckle. Geneva’s head snaps up at the sound, and the second her eyes meet mine, something warms in my chest.
Benedetto turns, lips twitching. “Look who decided to come home. You missed quite the battle.”
I arch a brow. “Did I?”
Geneva shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “All is fair in love and war.”
Benedetto rolls his eyes, tossing back the rest of his drink. “She’s a menace.”
“I could have told you that.”
Geneva smirks, lifting her glass toward me in a mock salute. “To all the men who have underestimated me.”
I step closer, eyeing the pile of winnings in front of her. “That doesn’t include me, Doc.”
Her lips part slightly. Before she can respond, I reach for the bottle on the table and pour myself a drink. Benedetto watches me with that ever-present astute expression.
Fuck, he’s annoying with that shit.
Ignoring him, I settle into the chair next to Geneva, sipping my drink as I watch her, taking her in.
Her cheeks are flushed from the whiskey, her eyes bright with amusement, and for the first time since I met her, she looks unguarded.
Like the weight she always carries on her shoulders has been set aside, just for a little while.
I want to own this version of her. Not just witness it.
More importantly, I want to be the reason she looks like this.
Benedetto watches me from across the table, and for a brief second, something flickers in his expression. A knowing.
I grip my glass tighter, pushing back the instinct to tell him to fuck off. Again. Nudging Geneva’s knee with mine, I ask, “You always this competitive?”
Geneva shrugs, stacking her winnings into neat little piles. “I like to win.”
Benedetto scoffs. “She likes to gloat.”
“Winning without an audience isn’t nearly as fun,” she says with a secretive smile. Her gaze flicks to mine, something amused and challenging gleaming in her expression. “And I like proving people wrong.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Is that why you’re with me?”
She narrows her gaze. “Am I with you?”
“Do you have a choice?”
Benedetto groans. “If you guys keep making eye contact like a couple of psychopaths, I’m going to get the hose.”
Geneva snorts, shaking her head. “Nice try, but only one of us is an actual psychopath.”
There it is again. That laugh. That hint of joy.
I want it.
I want to steal it, hoard it, capture it. Whatever the fuck it takes to make sure it’s mine.
The only problem is that I don’t know how to elicit this reaction from her. Orgasms, anger, and shock are my specialties. But happiness and laughter? They’re as foreign to me as love. But like that emotion, I’m determined to experience it.
Only with Geneva.