Chapter 29 Ghost
GHOST
CARTER DOESN’T REALIZE HE’S BEING WATCHED.
I take a quiet satisfaction in that. I’m always careful, but with Geneva beside me, I have to be more than that. I have to be flawless.
There’s no room for error, no margin for miscalculation. It’s not just about getting the job done anymore. It’s about keeping her safe, while she exacts her revenge. And if she’s going to survive this, she has to understand that watching isn’t just observing.
It’s anticipating.
Geneva is determined, but grief clings to her. She’s close to getting her first taste of justice, and yet I know it won’t be enough. It never is. Revenge doesn’t erase the loss. It just gives you something else to focus on.
I lean back in the driver’s seat, eyes locked on the bastard through the tinted glass.
He carries himself like a man who’s comfortable with death.
And power. He’s done the work. Killed for it.
Carter’s the type of man who doesn’t just order executions; he executes them with his own hands. And unlike most, he enjoys it.
I know the type.
I am the type.
Beside me, Geneva watches him like she’s memorizing every inch of his existence. She doesn’t fidget, doesn’t speak. But her body is full of tension, ready to snap with enough pressure. She’s not afraid. Not exactly.
She’s waiting.
I tilt my head slightly. “Tell me what you see.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Confidence. Not the kind that gets you killed, but the kind that keeps you alive. He knows what he is and what he’s capable of.”
I smirk. Smart girl. Fuck, her brilliance turns me on.
I watch Carter through her eyes now, seeing what she sees.
The way he walks, unhurried but aware. The slight shift in his stance when someone passes too close.
The weight in his shoulders, not burdened but balanced.
A man who’s done this too many times to count.
A man who’s never once doubted that he would walk away when it was over.
Geneva exhales, slow and controlled. “He’s like you.”
I scoff, dragging my gaze from Carter to her. “I’m better. The best.”
“He’s aware,” she continues, her voice low, thoughtful. “He seems like he knows exactly who’s watching, where the exits are, and how many steps it would take to kill someone if he had to.”
She’s not wrong. Carter’s trained, maybe even military at some point, but he moves too independently to have ever been just a soldier.
Men like him don’t take orders. They make them.
He’s an enforcer, a deadly assassin, the kind of man who governments and syndicates alike rely on to do their dirty work.
Carter shakes hands with someone outside the restaurant’s private entrance.
A nobody politician looking for protection, maybe a deal.
My attention stays on Carter, on the way his fingers twitch, subtle, a trained reflex.
His suit is expensive, but I know there’s a blade strapped under the jacket, and a gun pressed against his ribs.
Geneva exhales slowly. “He’s going to be difficult to kidnap because he’s too aware.”
I nod once. “That’s why he’s still breathing. For now.”
I glance at her, noting the focus in her eyes. She’s thinking like a hunter now, not prey. Good.
“We need to get him somewhere contained,” I say, shifting my attention back to Carter. “Somewhere he won’t have the upper hand.”
Geneva frowns slightly. “He’s not the kind of man to walk into a trap.”
“No. But he is the kind of man to believe he can control a situation.” I tilt my head toward the restaurant. “He’s comfortable here. He knows the exits, the security, and the escape routes. But outside? That’s where we apprehend him.”
She leans in slightly, absorbing every word. “How?”
“We hit him in transit.” My voice is even, certain because of my reconnaissance.
“Not here. Not where he’s surrounded by potential witnesses.
When Carter leaves, he’ll be expecting surveillance, maybe even a tail.
” I gesture to a side street near the restaurant’s rear exit. “But what he won’t expect is you.”
She stiffens, turning to look at me. “You think he’ll take the bait?”
I let my gaze roam over her, drinking in the sheer perfection of her. “I’d take the bait.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her breathing quickens. She knows I’m right. Carter’s a killer, but he’s still a man. And Geneva is… fuck, she’s gorgeous.
“What if he recognizes me?” she asks.
“Then he’ll be confused as to why his target is approaching him.”
She nods, absorbing the plan, but her brow furrows slightly. “He’ll be armed.”
I chuckle, low and dark. “So are we.”
She shifts in her seat to face me. “And then?”
“And then, I’ll be waiting.”
She nods once, decisive, already slipping into the role. The bait. The trap.
I reach over, brushing a knuckle under her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Remember that he was ordered to take you alive.”
What I don’t say is that Skinner was supposed to deliver Geneva alive—although not unharmed—to Carter at a black site, where he would’ve tortured information out of her until she gave it to him or died.
“That’s true,” she whispers.
Geneva pulls in a breath, smoothing her hands over the hem of her dress, her fingers steady. She’s nervous but not afraid.
“Do you have your knife?” I ask.
Geneva lifts her red dress slightly, just enough to reveal the blade strapped to the outside of her thigh. My mouth goes dry. Not only because she’s flashing skin but because she’s prepared. Because she’s wearing death like a second skin.
My beautiful, vengeful girl.
I force my attention back to the plan instead of my dick. “You let him take the lead,” I remind her. “You let him believe you’re something to be controlled, not something to fear. He’ll follow you because he’s a predator that loves the chase.”
She nods, glancing toward the exit where Carter is saying his goodbyes, and her fingers brush the door handle. But I grab her wrist before she can open it.
“Geneva.”
She turns back, brows furrowed.
“What is rule number five?
“Don’t hesitate.”
“Good girl.”
She swallows, her eyes on mine. Then, without a word, she steps out of the car and into the hunt. I’m quick to exit as well, my route taking me in the opposite direction.
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to follow her, to hover just over her shoulder like a shadow, ready to strike the second Carter so much as breathes in her direction. But I don’t. Because this is part of the lesson.
Geneva needs to prove to me—and to herself—that she can do this. That she can control the situation long enough to get him where we need him. And I have to let her.
Even if it’s killing me.
I watch as she steps into the dimly lit alley, her every movement cautious. She’s fully committed, and it’s mesmerizing. She’s a natural predator learning the shape of her own teeth. The length of her claws.
Carter notices her immediately. His head tilts slightly, the way a man does when he recognizes someone he wasn’t expecting. He doesn’t react beyond that, just watches as she approaches, expression unreadable.
The seconds stretch, and I force myself to keep moving to my designated position, to let the game play out. But Geneva doesn’t know how close I am to snapping. To throwing the plan aside and killing him right here, right now. Because if Carter so much as touches her, I won’t be able to stop myself.
This was supposed to be a test for her.
Instead, it’s a test for me as well.
Carter is very aware of her, and his intrigue is growing.
It’s in the way his posture shifts, the slight pivot of his foot as he says his final goodbyes.
He’s trained, hypervigilant, a man who’s always scanning, always processing.
Geneva doesn’t need to do anything to catch his attention.
She already has it. But she doesn’t know that.
She stumbles.
A perfectly timed mistake. Her heel catches on the uneven sidewalk, and the small clutch in her hands slips from her fingers, spilling onto the pavement with a soft thud.
Carter turns. Not quickly, not like a man reacting to danger. But like a man whose prey has just made a fatal misstep.
She bends, gathering the scattered contents with quick, nervous movements. A wallet, a lipstick tube, a few loose receipts—nothing of value, nothing suspicious. Just enough to make her look careless.
Vulnerable.
Geneva straightens, clutching her bag against her chest, and without looking back, she steps toward the alley. A small, empty passageway. Secluded. Dark.
She’s the most stunning bait, enticing to any man with foul intentions. And appetites.
Carter doesn’t follow immediately, but I catch the moment he makes the decision. The slight twitch of his fingers near his waist and the way his weight shifts onto the balls of his feet. He lets a few heartbeats pass, as if debating whether she’s worth the trouble.
Then, he advances.
Slow, unhurried, slipping away from the safety of the street and into the shadows after her.
I smirk. There you go, motherfucker.
Geneva doesn’t look back, doesn’t rush. She keeps walking, keeps playing her part. A woman alone, unaware of the monster behind her.
Except she’s not alone.
And the deadliest monster isn’t the one following her.
I step deeper into the alley, pressing my back against the damp brick wall. The air is thick with the scent of old piss and cigarette smoke, the kind of stench that clings to forgotten places. A perfect setting for Carter’s final moment of control.
When Geneva turns the corner and returns to my line of sight, I roll the syringe between my fingers.
It’s not my usual method, but this isn’t about preference.
This is about efficiency. About making sure my girl gets what she needs from this bastard before I carve him up like the Thanksgiving turkey I never got to enjoy.
Carter’s steps echo softly behind her, measured and patient. He’s in no hurry. Why would he be? To him, she’s already caught. Just another girl who wandered where she shouldn’t have, another body he can bend to his will.
I wonder if he’s considering logistics. Where he’ll take her. How long it’ll take to break her. If he’ll have fun before delivering her like a well-wrapped gift to whoever signed her death warrant.
I grip the syringe tighter, anger curling in my gut.
Not tonight, asshole.
Geneva slows, just enough to make it look unintentional, just enough to draw him in. I watch as he closes the distance, his hand twitching at his side, probably itching to grab her.
And that’s when I lunge forward. Emerging from my hiding place in the wall’s recess like a fucking jack-in-the-box.
Carter barely has time to register the shift in air before I’m on him. I wrap an arm around his throat, cutting off his oxygen in a vicious squeeze. He reacts instantly, muscles jerking, hands reaching for me. He’s strong as expected, but I have the advantage.
I drive the needle into his neck with a practiced ease, depress the plunger, and whisper against his ear, “Nighty night, motherfucker.”
Carter lets out a strangled noise, a mix of fury and disbelief. His fingers curl, twitch, then start to slacken.
“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s frustrating,” I murmur, adjusting my hold as he starts to sag. “Welcome to hell. We trust you’ll enjoy your stay.”
His knees buckle. His body goes limp.
I let him drop. I almost kick him but restrain myself at the last second.
Geneva steps forward, standing over him. “That was… fast.”
I grin, wiping my hands on my jeans. “What can I say? I’m a man of action.”