The last time I was in this building, it was one of the best and worst days in my life.
“All rise for the honorable Judge Pritchett,” the bailiff says.
As a collective, everyone gets to their feet, eyes facing forward. The judge walks in, his full, black robes swishing with his measured steps. The man’s forehead is creased and his mouth thin, as if he’s already feeling the weight of the hearing.
The judge’s voice rings out once he’s settled in his chair with his gavel nearby. “Please be seated.”
I sit, anticipation thrumming along my arms until goosebumps appear on my flesh. Any minute now…
Everyone freezes the moment the side door opens and the sound of chains clinking together echoes in the room.
Ghost has arrived.
CHAPTER 2
GENEVA
I stop breathing as Ghost walks in.
He towers over the five guards surrounding him. His large hands are cuffed in front of him, the metal gleaming under the lights with every step he takes. Despite the extra security—overkill or not enough?—and restraints, Ghost moves with a deadly grace and an air of confidence that belies his situation.
He’s devastating in person.
My lungs scream in protest, and I inhale deep as I run my gaze over his features. Features that no picture or camera lens could ever do justice.
His hair isn’t just white; it’s pure and blinding like the first snow of winter in Central Park. The man’s face is gorgeous: the kind only found in romance novels and movies. His orange jumpsuit doesn’t detract from his attractiveness whatsoever. Not when the black ink on his neck offers a sneak peek of the tattoos hidden underneath his clothing. His smirk—half-seductive, half-sinister—has me shifting in my seat.
Then there’s his eyes…
Cold and calculating, but there’s something else, too, something that’s not quite right.
Intensity?
Insanity?
Inhumanity?
As I continue to study Ghost, his gaze slides across the room. And lands on me.
I stiffen, an involuntary reaction to the weight of his stare. Ghost stops walking, holding my gaze as a knowing smile graces his lips. If it wasn’t for the way my skin heats, I’d believe I’m imagining the entire thing.
One of the deputies shoves Ghost, breaking our connection. I frown at the show of violence. Ghost needs to be held accountable for his actions but treating him like that isn’t something I condone.
“Keep moving,” the deputy says.
Ghost straightens to his full height of well over six feet, and cranes his neck back and forth before slowly turning around to look at the deputy over his shoulder. “If you do that again, I’ll kill you.”
The menace in his tone doesn’t override the sensuality of his deep voice. A woman in the row in front of me hums appreciatively, and I have the urge to smack her upside the head. Yes, he could probably make someone come from murmuring sweet nothings in their ear, but heliterallyjust threatened to murder a man in broad daylight with over fifty witnesses.
Ghost is not only deranged but delusional.
The deputy freezes before his brows snap together. “Shut up and start walking.”
When he shoves Ghost a second time, I hold my breath again. The convict merely smirks.
“Deputy Wilson, I hope you have a notarized will in place.”
Before the man can respond to the threat, Ghost faces forward and saunters away as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. The security maintains their positions, keeping the criminal between them, until they reach the table.
