Actually, it is.
When I open my eyes, the beautiful imagery is gone. Only the stark, cold reality of my prison cell remains as the cum on my stomach and the sweat on my skin begin to cool. I’m still alone, the fantasy of her lingering like a ghost. That’s ironic as fuck.
I sit up, my heart rate struggling to return to normal. My cock is still half-hard, and I run my thumb over the head, smearing the cum Geneva pulled from my body. This momentary relief is not enough. It’s never enough.
Not since I first saw her.
She’ll come back to me. I know she will. Geneva needs answers, and I’m the only one who can give them to her. But more than that,she’s drawn to me, whether she wants to admit it or not. And that’s where I have the advantage.
While she’s busy trying to figure me out, she’s forgetting the most important thing: This isn’t about me. It’s about her.
It’salwaysbeen about her.
And when she finally sees that, when she understands what I’ve been trying to show her, it’ll be too late.
She’ll bemine.
I’ll wait because patience is a virtue, after all. Besides, the best games are the ones that take time to unfold. But soon enough, she’ll realize that the real battle isn’t with me—it’s with herself.
I can’t wait to watch her lose.
To win her for myself.
CHAPTER 10
GENEVA
It’s been two weeks since I saw Ghost. To be exact, it’s fourteen days, twenty-one hours, ten minutes, and thirty-three seconds… now thirty-four, but who’s counting?
Am I his obsession… or is he mine?
I bring the glass to my lips, taking a swig of the whiskey that’s become my constant companion recently. Drinking is the only thing that provides a measure of relief. Even then, even when I can barely stand, I still think of Ghost.
I’ve tried to push him from my mind, but the memory of him pervades my every waking moment. I see him in every case I study, every crime scene I analyze, and every night he appears in my dreams. Does that make them nightmares?
I’ve dealt with numerous psychopaths and sociopaths, studying them at length, and even interviewing a few. Ghost is different in every way. He’s batshit crazy, yes, but he uses his insanity effortlessly.
To disarm.
To unsettle.
To manipulate.
He’s clearly a man who understands the power he wields and uses it without hesitation or remorse. He’s mastered his madness, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous that I’d anticipated. Yet, I can’t stop thinking about him. That’s what bothers me the most.
I shouldn’t be captivated by the words he utilizes with deadly precision. Or the way he controlled the courtroom with just a few humorous comments. I should be disgusted, horrified.
Iamdisgusted.
But… there’s this little part of me, the part that always seeks out answers, that keeps whispering,Why him? Why now?
Out of all the cases I’ve worked, this is the only one that has embedded itself in me. I keep replaying our brief interaction, wondering if I missed something. Something important. Something that would explain why he affects me the way he does. And why he’s obsessed with me.
It doesn’t make sense since I’d never talked to him until that day in the prison.
I grab the bottle of alcohol and top off my glass before taking a generous sip. It’s probably a bad idea considering how much I’ve already had, but it’s the weekend and I can’t find the urge to care.
My phone chimes, the tiny sound loud in my bedroom. I groan, roll over, and grab my cell phone. It takes way more effort than I’d like to admit. Through squinted eyes and blurry vision, I look down at the text message alert before unlocking the screen to view it.
