Chapter 55 Geneva
GENEVA
BENEDETTO JUTS HIS CHIN AT STANTON’S BODY AND NODS ONCE. “Nice work, Doc.”
My throat tightens. I don’t know if I want to thank him or throw up.
Ghost stands silent beside me, unreadable as always, but there’s a hardness to his gaze. Something that tells me this moment is heavier than just another body on the floor. And that’s true for me, but it shouldn’t affect him as much.
Benedetto glances at the corridor, then back to us. “Time’s up. The guards will be doing another pass any minute. If we’re getting out clean, it has to be now.”
I nod, but my limbs feel sluggish. When I don’t immediately move, Ghost takes over. Using the hand on the back of my neck, he guides me toward the door.
“You did what you came here to do,” he says quietly. “You can process it later.”
“Okay.”
We follow Benedetto down the hall, past portraits of dead men who thought they were untouchable. My heart beats hard against my ribs, not just from adrenaline. I feel like something’s off. I assume it’s just the aftermath of what I’ve done, and push the thought aside.
When we reach the end of the corridor, Benedetto disables the rear alarm panel and opens the glass door leading to the back terrace. The salt air clears my head, but not fast enough.
Five figures are slithering through the dark, boots silent on stone, weapons drawn. My stomach drops.
“Company,” Ghost mutters, already moving.
It happens fast. Ghost lunges at the two closest to him, his blade flashing in the moonlight. One goes down with a slit throat, and the second barely gets a chance to react before Ghost buries the blade under his ribs.
Benedetto darts to the right, drawing both his guns with that easy grace that comes only from a lifetime of crime. The first guard drops before he can raise his weapon. The second charges him with a snarl, but Benedetto’s faster. One shot to the leg, another clean through the chest.
Backpedaling, I scan the area for the last man. And I find him. A body at my back, his breath on my neck.
I twist too late. He snakes his arm around me, cold steel now pressed against my throat. Ghost shouts my name, but I can’t pay attention to him. Only the weight of the blade and the brutal grip at my waist.
I shift my weight just like Ghost showed me, slamming my elbow into the man’s ribs. He grunts, his grip loosening for a heartbeat, and that’s all I need. I spin in his hold, grab his wrist, and twist until his fingers go slack and the knife is mine.
Rule number six: Kill with intent, or don’t kill at all.
I drive the knife into my attacker, the blade sinking deep. His breathing stops, eyes wide in shock as he collapses. I stagger free, gasping, the weapon slick in my hand.
Ghost is there in an instant, his hands on my arms, steadying me. His eyes search mine, wild with panic. “Jesus, Geneva…”
I’m still trembling, the rush of it all crashing over me, the salt wind mingling with the rancid taste of fear in my mouth.
Benedetto kicks a body aside and reloads. “We need to move. Now.”
Ghost doesn’t let go. His hands stay on my arms, firm but gentle now, his thumb brushing my skin like he’s grounding himself as much as me. His gaze searches mine, frayed edges softening, but the fear is still there.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, but my breathing has yet to slow down. “Yeah.”
He drops his forehead to mine. His pulse hammers against my palms where I grip his wrists. “Don’t do that again,” he breathes, voice rough.
“I didn’t—”
“I know. I just can’t…”
He kisses me. It’s messy, desperate, full of salt air, desire, and the essence of what we’ve done. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “I love you.”
I want to respond, but Benedetto’s voice cuts through the moment. “The lovers’ reunion can wait. We’ve got to go.”
We break apart, and Ghost grabs my hand, pulling me with him as we race across the terrace. The cold wind greets us when we hit the beach, our boots kicking up sand.
“I hope the boat’s still there,” Benedetto says. “Tide’s pushing in fast. If we wait more than five minutes, we’re swimming.”
Ghost gives a curt nod and presses a hand to my back. “Let’s move.”
The wind whips harder the closer we get to the cliffside steps. They’re slick from the tide, the stone dark with spray, but Ghost is already in front of me, reaching back without a word.
I take his hand. He slowly assists me down, one step at a time. His grip is firm, warm despite the cold. When we reach the bottom, the water curls around our feet.
The motorboat rocks just ahead, tethered and ready. Benedetto walks toward it, his jacket flaring in the wind. But then he stops and looks at Ghost.
“Time to go, lover boy.”
When Ghost doesn’t say anything, Benedetto’s grin fades just a touch. Not enough for most people to notice, but I do.
Benedetto folds his arms. “Are you going to tell her, or should I?”
My gaze darts between them, the unease in my stomach making me nauseous. “Tell me what?”
Ghost exhales, quiet but resigned. “I’m disappearing.”
I blink against the wind. “What do you mean?”
He meets my eyes. There’s no mask. Just the honesty of a man who’s already made up his mind. “I mean I’m faking my death.”
The words hit like a slap. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“I don’t have a future, Geneva,” he says quietly. “Not as Ghost. Not with my face on every criminal database and my name attached to bodies they’ll never stop digging up.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“No one forgets a serial killer who turned prison into a morgue and vanished without a trace. No matter how many bad men I take down after.”
I want to argue that he’s more than what the public says he is. But we both know that’s pointless.
Ghost leans closer. “We’ll never have a normal life together. No white picket fences. No freedom. Just headlines and handcuffs and the constant threat of someone recognizing me.”
He reaches for me, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “But if Ghost dies? Then maybe we have a chance to be together… as Geneva and Liam.”
I stare at him. Logically this makes sense, but there’s still something he’s holding back. Why else would he wait so long to tell me about this?
“You’ve thought this through,” I say.
A muscle tics along his jaw. “Every angle.”
I press my hand to his chest. “How are you going to do it?”
Ghost’s breathing stops. Just for a second. But I feel it. Beneath my palm. Behind his ribs.
He doesn’t answer.
Benedetto sighs and steps forward, coming to stand beside me. “You’re not going to like it, Doc.”
My eyes dart to him. “Tell me.”
He flicks a glance at Ghost, who still hasn’t said a word. “Tetrodotoxin,” Benedetto says. “TTX. It mimics death. Slows the heart rate to almost nothing. No breath. No pulse. Looks like a corpse. But it’s reversible.”
I stare at him, and then at Ghost. “Are you crazy?”
Benedetto mutters, “Yup.”
“You’re going to poison yourself?” My voice cracks. “That’s your plan?”
“It’s calculated,” Ghost says. “Precise. Benedetto administers the dose and I’ll ‘die.’ No heartbeat. No respiration. They’ll call it on scene.”
“And then what?” My voice is rising, the sound of it carried away by the wind. “You let the cops bag you up and haul you off like a fucking cadaver?”
Benedetto lifts his hands in supplication. “Not the full ride. I’ll intercept the transfer before the body gets processed. Quick and easy.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, this is insane. You could die, Ghost. Actually die.”
He takes my face in both hands. “I won’t. I’ve tested the compound. We’ve timed it. Monitored every variable. Benedetto knows exactly how to reverse it.”
“But what if something goes wrong?” I whisper, my lungs struggling for breath. “What if it doesn’t work?”
His forehead presses to mine. “Then I die trying to give you a life.”
I close my eyes, because looking at him hurts. “I can’t lose you like I lost my parents.”
“You won’t,” he murmurs. “But you can’t live your life with a ghost, Geneva. You deserve more than that.”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice breaking. “Don’t you dare tell me what I fucking deserve.”
The tears come faster than I can blink them away, and I hate the way they make me look. Fragile. Wounded. But I am. Because he’s standing here, talking about death as if it’s not a possibility when we both know it is.
“You think you’re being noble?” I shove his chest. And again, needing space while hating it simultaneously. “I swear to God, Ghost—if you do this, if you fake your death and leave me standing here without a fucking heartbeat to hold on to—I’m done.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Just takes it. “You’d hate me more if I stayed alive and got us both killed.”
“I’d rather die with you than live without you!” The words tear out of me. Raw. Aching. “Don’t promise me everything will be fine when that’s not a guarantee.”
He steps forward to grab my face in his hands. I try to pull away, but he holds me there. “That’s true, but I’m doing it anyway.”
Benedetto comes up behind him, syringe in hand, his expression tight. “We don’t have long.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
He shrugs, but the nonchalant motion is at odds with the guilt in his eyes. “It wasn’t my secret to tell, Doc.”
I whirl back to glare at Ghost. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not scared.”
He is. And I see it. Not fearful of dying but of leaving me behind.
“This is a risk worth taking,” he says.
Benedetto clears his throat, interrupting whatever argument I was about to deliver. “Ghost, you’ve got ten minutes max once this shit’s in your system. And that’s being generous.”
Ghost turns toward him, jaw tight. “I know.”
“I’m just saying, if you go down too early, I’m not dragging your corpse up all those steps and praying no one notices it’s still breathing.”
Ghost gives him a curt nod. “I’ll make it. No matter what happens, she gets on the boat. I don’t give a shit what she says.” Then he turns to me. “I love you, Geneva Lynn Andrews. Always will.”
My breath catches, torn between fury and heartbreak. “Then don’t do this.”
He steps close, pressing his lips to my forehead. “It’s the only way.”
I grip his shirt in desperation. “Please, don’t—”
Ghost kisses me hard and fast, like it’s the only energy he has left. Then he pulls back, eyes shining with something I almost mistake for fear. But it’s guilt. Because the kiss isn’t just a show of affection.
It’s a distraction.
Benedetto has already plunged the needle in Ghost’s skin. He doesn’t react. Doesn’t wince. He just kisses me again. Even when I try to push him away.
“Clock starts now,” Benedetto says, pulling the needle free.
Ghost rips his mouth from mine. “Get her out of here.”
Benedetto nods and grabs my upper arm.
I try to yank it free, but I’m unsuccessful. “Don’t you dare touch me right now.”
“Geneva—”
“No!” I slap at the hand on my arm. “You knew. You helped Ghost plan this. You helped him lie to me.”
“I told you, it wasn’t my secret to tell,” Benedetto grits out. “And right now, you screaming at me isn’t going to stop him.”
My eyes snap to Ghost, who’s halfway up the stairs.
“Ghost!” I scream after him. “You do this, and I swear—I swear I’ll never forgive you!”
He stops. Just for a second. His hand clenched around the railing, knuckles white, shoulders rising and falling like he’s forcing air into his lungs.
He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t say a word. Just keeps climbing.
Toward death.
“No,” I whisper, voice cracking.
Benedetto steps closer, his grip losing none of its strength. “He’s not doing this because he wants to leave you. He’s doing it so he can stay.”
“I don’t care,” I choke out. “I want him to come back.”
“Geneva,” Benedetto says gently. “He trusted me to finish this. And he trusted you to understand.”
I close my eyes. And then I turn away, heart shattering with every step that takes me farther from the only man I’ve ever loved.
This wasn’t a goodbye. It was a gamble.
And if he doesn’t win… God help me, I’ll never forgive him.
Or myself for not seeing it coming.