Chapter 31 Geneva
GENEVA
CARTER’S brEATH STUTTERS, HIS BODY TREMBLING AS HE FIGHTS to push past the pain, but I barely notice. My mind is spinning, the weight of several decades’ worth of confusion collapsing into a single thought.
The diamonds were never found.
And suddenly, I see it all so clearly. The lingering questions. The things that never quite made sense… until now. The truth starts fitting together like broken shards of glass, cutting me as it clicks into place.
They tortured my parents for information. They wanted something my parents refused to give up. Or never had in the first place…
The realization slams into me, stealing my breath. The diamonds weren’t in my parents’ possession the night they died, so they were murdered for no reason. And that’s why Carter and the others didn’t walk away with the diamonds.
That’s why someone is still hunting.
I spent years thinking I was chasing ghosts, searching for answers that had already been buried. But the truth has been moving, living, breathing somewhere beyond my reach this entire time. Someone has the diamonds.
And they believe that someone is me.
I blink to clear my head and fix my stare on Carter. “You never got the diamonds, did you?”
The answer is in his silence.
A slow exhale leaves him, but there’s no fight in it. No denial.
“That’s why Telford didn’t care if Skinner raped me.” The words taste like acid, and I all but spit them out. “Because the only thing that mattered to Telford was Skinner bringing me to you alive. Whoever hired you thinks I know where the diamonds are.”
Ghost stills beside me.
Carter smiles. A slow, wicked thing. “So, do you?”
Before I can respond, Ghost walks past me, flipping the bloodied knife between his fingers. “Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?” His voice is deceptively light, almost playful. “Who sent you after the diamonds, and now years later, Dr. Andrews?”
Carter exhales sharply. “If I tell you, I don’t have a chance of making it out of here alive.”
Ghost chuckles, shaking his head like Carter is a moron. “Oh, buddy,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I think you misused the word ‘chance.’ You’re already dead. This is just a matter of how.”
Carter’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring as he exhales through his nose. He’s weighing his options. Measuring the room. But there’s nothing left for him to calculate. No exit strategy, no backup coming to save him. It’s just me and Ghost.
I step closer, my pulse steady despite the adrenaline thrumming beneath my skin. “Tell us who hired you. Either way, you’re going to die. The difference is whether you want to go out screaming like a bitch or die with some dignity.”
Ghost hums in approval beside me. “See? That’s why I like her.”
Carter’s lips part, but whatever snide remark he’s about to throw dies in his throat when Ghost presses the tip of the knife just below his ribs, cutting into the fabric of his shirt.
His voice drops to something softer, more intimate. “I know exactly how long it takes a body to bleed out, Mr. Dominic Carter. I know the places to cut that make it slow. Prolonged.” He presses just a little harder, and Carter narrows his eyes. “You won’t die from this. Not immediately.”
Carter’s throat bobs as he swallows. He flicks a glance toward me, like I’m a weak point to be exploited, but I only arch a brow.
Ghost taps the knife against Carter’s sternum once, twice. “Tick-tock, motherfucker.”
Carter shakes his head.
“Tell me who ordered the hit,” Ghost says.
“No.”
Ghost moves so fast, I barely register it before Carter chokes on his own breath. The knife is buried in his shoulder, a clean puncture through the muscle, blood blooming dark across his shirt.
Carter grits his teeth, sucking in a breath. But he doesn’t cry out. Probably because the knife didn’t hit bone.
Ghost sighs, shaking his head. “See, this is the problem with guys like you.” He twists the blade just a tiny bit. This time, Carter groans. “You really don’t get how much I will fuck you up. And how much I’ll enjoy it.”
A muscle in Carter’s jaw ticks, but when he looks up, he’s smiling. “That all you got?” His voice is hoarse, pain curling around each syllable. “I’ve had worse.”
Ghost glances at me. “He’s trying to impress you,” he says, almost lazily. “It’s cute.”
“He’s stalling,” I say.
Ghost hums in agreement, then yanks the knife free. Carter jerks against the chair, a grunt ripping through his teeth. Ghost wipes the blood off the blade against Carter’s pant leg.
“I can do this all night.”
Carter swallows, his breathing heavier now, sweat glistening along his forehead. But still, he smirks. “Do your worst.”
Ghost grins, and it’s feral, making the hairs on my arms stand up. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Ghost has been torturing Carter for hours.
I don’t know how long exactly. Time feels strange in this place, like it’s been cut loose from reality, left to stretch and warp around the sounds of Carter’s broken screams. My body knows it’s been a long time, though.
My muscles ache from standing, my throat is dry, and my hands won’t unclench no matter how many times I try to force them to relax.
Carter’s head hangs forward, blood dripping in slow, rhythmic splatters onto the concrete floor.
Ghost has carved him open in ways I didn’t know were possible, deep enough to hurt but not enough to kill.
Not yet. Ghost knows exactly how to keep him teetering on the edge, how to pull him back just before he tips over.
I hate to admit that he’s an artist when it comes to torture.
And I haven’t told him to stop.
I should be disturbed by that. Maybe I am. But if I dig deep, past the shock, past the part of me that’s been conditioned to flinch at the sight of suffering, I don’t find guilt. I don’t find pity.
I find satisfaction.
How can I accept this about myself? Easily, because nothing about it feels wrong. Carter didn’t hesitate when he pulled the trigger on my parents. He’s not a victim. He’s not a man who deserves mercy.
I drag my gaze from Carter’s ruined body to Ghost. He’s crouched in front of him, tapping the bloodied knife against his palm, watching his prey with the kind of interest most people reserve for puzzles.
He’s not just doing this for information.
That much is obvious. He enjoys it. The control. The suffering. The power.
That should scare me too. But it doesn’t.
It fascinates me.
Because even after all this, even after carving the man open, Ghost is still waiting… for me to take the knife and end Carter.
And I will when I get the answer I’m looking for.
I step closer, my shoes scuffing against the concrete, and Carter flinches at the sound. Not out of fear, no, he’s too far gone for that. It’s purely out of instinct. His body is wrecked, muscles trembling from pain and blood loss, but the smirk tugging at his swollen lips has me gritting my teeth.
I grab Carter’s face, forcing him to look at me. “Who hired you?”
His busted lip stretches over his teeth as he exhales a slow, rattling breath. “You’re still stuck on that?” he rasps. “You should be asking yourself why now.”
My pulse stutters.
Why now?
My parents were murdered two decades ago. The diamonds disappeared just as long ago. If the person behind all of this was so desperate to find them, why wait twenty years to come after me?
Unless…
Unless they didn’t know where to find me.
I release his face like his skin burns me, my thoughts unraveling, pulling threads of old memories I never thought to question. I was never hunted, never watched, never warned to run. My life, while overshadowed by loss, was untouched by the threat of possessing these diamonds.
And yet, suddenly, I’m a target.
Something changed.
I tighten my fists to keep them from shaking. “You’re right. No one was looking for me until recently,” I say, more to myself than to him.
Carter tilts his head, like he’s enjoying watching me put the pieces together. “Took you long enough.”
I ignore the taunt. My mind is spinning too fast, dragging me through years of silence, through all the time I spent digging for answers and finding nothing.
Because until recently, there was nothing to find.
Whoever is behind this, whoever sent Carter and Skinner after me, didn’t start looking until now.
My stomach twists. Ghost shifts beside me, but I don’t take my eyes off Carter.
“What did they find?” I demand, my voice harsh. “What changed?”
“You.”
“What?”
Carter laughs, but the sound is more like a gurgle in his throat. “No one knew where you were all these years. Until recently.”
The words hit me like a hammer, jarring something loose in my mind. My thoughts begin racing backward, digging through the past few months, searching for the moment that set all of this into motion.
The keynote.
My stomach clenches as the realization sinks deep into my gut. I gave a speech about my parents. About their deaths. About the psychology of violence, of revenge, and loss.
I can feel the blood draining from my face. Someone was there. Someone was listening. Not just to my words, but to who my parents were. To who I was.
And the very next night, Skinner came after me.
I press my fingers against my temple, pushing back the memories of my parents, along with the repercussions I’ve enacted upon myself unknowingly.
Ghost narrows his gaze. “Are you okay, Doc?”
I take a fortifying breath, nod to Ghost, and then look at Carter. “You might be right, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want to know who hired you.”
Carter coughs, the sound wet and strained, before lifting his head just enough to smirk at me through bloodstained teeth. “I don’t know,” he rasps. He snaps his gaze to Ghost. “And before you go digging that knife in again, psychopath, that’s the truth.”
Ghost doesn’t move, but there’s a shift in the air that’s coming from the simmering energy in his body. It’s barely leashed. He’s being patient for me, but I don’t know how much longer he can keep from killing Carter.
The same can be said of myself.
I grit my teeth, pushing past my frustration. “You expect me to believe that? You took a job without knowing who it came from?”
Carter chuckles, a sick, guttural sound. “I don’t ask questions when the money’s right and the pussy’s tight.”
Ghost moves then, grabbing a fistful of Carter’s bloodied shirt and yanking him forward until their faces are inches apart. “Who handled the job?” His voice is soft, almost gentle, but the blade he presses against Carter’s throat is anything but.
Carter’s breath stutters, his throat bobbing under the edge of the knife. “I have one name.” His eyes glint with something between amusement and surrender. “André Bisset.”
Ghost stills. His grip on Carter tightens for half a second before he releases him with a rough shove.
André Bisset.
I don’t know him. Not personally. But I’ve heard his name before because Ghost gave it to me.
One of the guilty. One of the men responsible for my parents’ deaths. That’s how I know Carter isn’t lying.
He watches me, waiting for a reaction, but I refuse to give him one. I shift my attention to Ghost, my voice steady. “You know where to find him?”
Ghost doesn’t blink. “Yeah.”
Carter chuckles, coughing around the pain. “André was the fucking ‘Planner.’” He spits blood onto the floor. “The man who put all the pieces where they needed to be. And without him?” Carter grins darkly. “None of us would have been on your doorstep that night.”
Ghost exhales slowly, like he’s weighing something. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he wipes the bloodied knife against his thigh and straightens to his full height. His eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable.
“He doesn’t know anything else.” His voice is quiet, controlled. He gestures toward Carter with a tilt of his chin. “He’s all yours.”
The words settle over me like a shroud. He’s not asking if I want to do this. He’s telling me he knows I can. That this moment, this choice, belongs to me.
Carter shifts in his chair, his eyes widening. “Now, hold on a—”
Ghost moves faster than I can process, grabbing the back of Carter’s head and yanking it backward, baring his throat. He presses his lips near his ear, voice dripping with amusement. “You were going to do so much worse to her. You’re lucky she wants to kill you, and that it isn’t me.”
Carter goes still, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Ghost releases him, stepping back, his gaze now resting on me. He extends his hand, offering me the knife.
I don’t hesitate to take it from him. Then I look down at Carter. He’s the man who murdered my parents, and the man who would have dragged me to whatever hell was waiting for me. He’s beaten, bleeding, bound to a chair, and still, there’s no remorse in his eyes. No fear.
Just cold, detached acceptance.
I take a slow step forward, feeling the weight of the knife in my palm. The same weapon Ghost used to carve him open. The blade is slick with his blood. His pain.
It’s not enough, but it’ll never be enough.
“Stabbing is harder than you expect,” Ghost says, coming to stand behind me, his breath a whisper in my ear. “Always stab up, not down.”
I tighten my grip on the knife, Ghost’s words curling around me like smoke. Always stab up, not down.
Carter watches me, his lips parting, maybe to spit out one last taunt, one last pathetic attempt at control. But I don’t give him the chance.
I don’t want his lies.
I want his life.
My heart pounds, but my hand is steady as I lift the blade.
The memories surge, violent and unrelenting—my mother’s screams, my father’s choked pleas, the way I hid in the closet, helpless as the monsters tore my world apart.
The cold silence after they were gone, the years of unanswered questions and grief that turned to rage and never let me go.
I use all of it.
All the pain. All the fury.
I drive the knife up, just like Ghost told me.
The blade sinks deep into flesh, meeting resistance for half a second before giving way, parting muscle, cutting through the thing that keeps Carter alive. His body jerks, a strangled gasp escaping his lips, but I don’t pull back.
His eyes meet mine, and I twist.
His blood coats my hands, hot and sticky, but I don’t stop. I rip the knife free and plunge it back in, a final, brutal strike that takes the last breath from him. The fight leaves his body all at once.
I step back, panting, watching as his head lolls to the side, lifeless. The silence is deafening, but it’s not empty. It’s full of my satisfaction.
“How do you feel?” Ghost’s voice is a soft whisper in my ear.
I blink, my grip still locked around the knife. My pulse thrums in my ears, but beneath the rush of adrenaline, I find something else.
Peace.
I lift my chin, turning to Ghost. My voice is quiet but steady.
“Like I want to do it again.”