Chapter 39 Ghost
GHOST
THE AREA SURROUNDING THE BUILDING IS QUIET.
I take a slow breath, scanning the darkened alley behind the warehouse. Nothing but a crime scene waiting for its “cleaner.”
Beside me, Geneva is focused. But I don’t miss the flicker of something deeper in her eyes. Anticipation.
I smirk. My beautiful, savage girl.
“We go in fast, quiet,” I murmur, checking my gun. She may not want a pistol, but there’s no fucking way I’m taking a chance with her life. “We can’t waste time. If he gets here and sees us, we’ll lose our advantage.”
She doesn’t hesitate, just rolls her shoulders and glances toward the back door of the warehouse. “What’s our entry point?”
“Side entrance. Dominguez will use it to bring in whatever he needs.”
Geneva exhales. “Okay.”
My fingers twitch because I want to touch her. Instead, I reach into my boot and pull out a sleek, matte-black blade. I turn it over in my hands, admiring the weight of it, before flipping it in the air and offering it to her, handle first.
“This one’s yours,” I say. “I had it made for you.”
Geneva takes the blade from my hand. The cool metal molds to her grip like it was always meant to be there. She slowly runs her fingers along the knife’s edge. It’s beautiful in its own way. Deadly. Efficient.
Like me.
Like her.
I keep telling Geneva we’re the same. Maybe even one soul that’s been halved into two parts. Because eternity would be purgatory if I’m not with her.
She swallows hard. “When did you get—”
“The day after you killed Carter.” My gaze doesn’t waver. “I knew then it’d be your preference.”
Something shifts in her expression. It’s harder, resolute. She nods once.
I jerk my chin in the direction of the building. “Come on, Mrs. Monroe. Let’s introduce Dominguez to your new toy.”
We move toward the steel door like a pair of wraiths, blending into the darkness. The first thing that hits us is the smell. Blood. Death. The politician has already been murdered but not yet disposed of.
Dominguez is due any second.
I glance at Geneva, my pulse thrumming. “Welcome to the scene of the crime, Doc.”
Geneva doesn’t react to the stench, at least not outwardly. But I catch the flicker of disgust, quickly buried beneath the cold calculation she wears so well. She’s getting better at this.
At hunting.
At surviving.
At being exactly the kind of woman who belongs beside me.
She follows me deeper into the shadows of the warehouse, careful not to disturb the blood pooling near the body. I continue moving soundlessly as we tuck ourselves behind a stack of wooden crates. From here, we have a clear view of the loading bay, where Dominguez will enter.
We don’t have to wait long.
The faint hum of an approaching vehicle vibrates through the air, tires crunching over loose gravel outside. A moment later, headlights sweep across the open space before the engine cuts off and the car door is opened.
I glance at Geneva, watching as she grips the knife and her lips part just slightly, her breathing accelerated. She’s enjoying this.
Fuck. I’m hard again.
A figure steps into the warehouse, and I finally get a look at him. Luis Dominguez is exactly like the images I studied while monitoring his whereabouts. He’s lean but solid, his smooth features cast in hard angles by the dim moonlight.
He’s dressed for work, wearing dark clothes and gloves, a duffel slung over one shoulder. He pauses near the body, taking a slow, assessing look at the scene before setting the bag down with a muted thud. Then, like the professional he is, he gets to work.
Geneva shifts slightly beside me, her gaze locked on Dominguez as he crouches beside the body. She’s silent. But I can feel the tension radiating off her, the anticipation curling in the air between us.
“Ready?” I mouth to her.
She nods. Fixing my gaze on the target, I move silently and swiftly with Geneva trailing behind.
Dominguez turns, a slight rustle from our movement catching his attention.
But it’s too late for him. In one fluid motion, I close the distance, grabbing him from behind in a choke hold that’s tight and controlled, ensuring he can neither scream nor escape.
Geneva steps into view, her presence commanding as she confronts the man tangled in my grasp.
Dominguez struggles, his body tensing against mine, but the grip I have is unyielding. My knife at his throat helps too.
“Stop fighting,” I say. “If you don’t, she’s going to cut your balls off.”
He stills, the fight draining out of him as he recognizes the futility of resistance. Geneva steps forward, her expression composed yet unmistakably intense.
“Twenty-one years ago, you, Bisset, and Carter broke into a house on Maple Drive, right outside of New York City, and slaughtered a pair of humanitarians recently returned from East Africa. Their names were Samuel and Margaret Prescott. I want to know who hired you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.
“Don’t lie to me.” Geneva narrows her eyes. “I know you were there that night. Who sent you?”
Dominguez hesitates, the color draining from his face as Geneva’s blade hovers menacingly close. He glances back at me, looking for any sign of leniency. He finds none. I tighten my grip, a silent reminder not to fuck around.
“You might want to jog your memory,” I mutter.
Dominguez swallows hard, his gaze flickering back to Geneva. “I was the person who was supposed to clean up after Carter and Bisset were through,” he begins, his voice shaky. “I didn’t know much about the targets. And I didn’t kill them.”
Geneva’s expression hardens. “No, but you watched while they did.” She uses the tip of her blade to trace an invisible line down his cheek. “Who paid you?”
“Bisset handled the contacts because he’s the Planner. Whoever hired us paid well and they paid in cash. Bisset was our go-between, so I never saw the employer. I swear.”
“I want a name,” she grits out.
Dominguez shakes his head emphatically. “Bisset said the job came from someone high up, someone not to be crossed. That’s all I know!”
“If he’s being stubborn, love,” I say to Geneva, “maybe a little encouragement will help with his memory. Aim for somewhere nonlethal. We don’t want him dying on us.”
With a swift motion, she shifts the blade and stabs Dominguez in the shoulder, just deep enough to make her point without hitting anything vital. The man grunts in pain, his body tensing as blood begins to stain his shirt. When she rips the knife from his body, he cries out.
I nod in approval. “Not bad. If this doesn’t work, try the forearm next.”
“Diamonds!” Dominguez pants. “Your parents were said to have stolen them. Millions of dollars’ worth of uncut diamonds from a nearby mine. That’s what Carter and Bisset were after. It was supposed to be a simple retrieval, but they didn’t find the diamonds.”
Geneva steps back, her expression steely as she processes the information. “My parents would never steal anything. Let alone conflict diamonds.”
“I don’t know any other details,” Dominguez gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “I’m just the cleanup crew… But someone powerful wanted those diamonds back.”
I keep my grip firm on Dominguez, whose body is tense. And it should be, with the way Geneva’s looking at him. Her gaze never leaves his face, her eyes reading every flicker of emotion, gauging the truth in his desperate words.
“You’ve told us all you know, then?” Her voice is cool, almost detached, as if she’s already moved on.
Dominguez nods frantically. “Yes, yes, that’s everything. I swear. I don’t know where the diamonds are, or who exactly is behind all this. Bisset might know more. Ask him.”
Geneva’s eyes meet mine, seeking confirmation in my gaze. I give her a nod, a subtle affirmation that we’ve gotten all the information we can from Dominguez. She understands the signal, a grim satisfaction flickering across her face.
“Would you like to take your time, love?” I ask. “Prolong the experience a bit?”
“Rule number five, Ghost.”
With a grace that belies the brutality of the act, Geneva stabs Dominguez in the heart. The deed is done with such precision, such flawless execution, it’s like watching a pro.
My protégée is a quick learner.
She doesn’t watch Dominguez fall when I release him. Instead, she turns to me, her face a mask of composure, but her eyes… her eyes burn with a fire that pulls me deeper into my obsession with her.
“Let’s fuck and then go find Bisset.”
Oh, my God, I’m so in love.