Good idea, me.
Unknown:What if I told you the past isn’t as dead as you think? Would you believe that I know the identities and locations of the men from April 18th?
I watch the feed, my eyes locked on her as the message pops up on her phone. I can see the moment she reads it, the subtle shift in her posture, the tensing of her shoulders. She looks surprised, but there’s a flicker of something else that makes my dick hard. Complete and total rage.
Looks like that iceberg is melting…
She stands, walking back and forth, phone in hand, glancing around as if she can feel my eyes on her. I’ve seen her do this before, this restless pacing, and it always tells me the same thing—she’s trying to escape something, trying to avoid facing what she already knows to be true. I wish I could see her face more clearly, to gauge her full reaction, but the camera angles are limited. Still, I can read her body language like a book.
I imagine the thoughts running through her mind.How could he know?
Of course I know, Geneva. I know everything.
Her thumb hovers over her phone, and I can almost feel the indecision crackling through the air, even from here. She’s debating whether to respond, whether to engage me, and it’s exactly what I want.
The silence between us has lasted too long. I’ve missed our game, the push and pull of it, the way she tries to pretend she’s in control when we both know better.
I squint down at the grainy feed, watching her as she pauses in front of the window, staring out at the night. She’s thinking aboutme. I know she is. And as much as she wants to deny it, I’m the one who occupies her thoughts. Not Mason. Not anyone else.
Unknown:They thought they could disappear, but they’re not the ultimate magician. I am.
Geneva:Abracadabra, asshole. Go fuck yourself.
I slap a hand to my chest, close my eyes, and sigh. “I’ll definitely fuck myself, Dr. Andrews. While thinking of you.”
CHAPTER 15
GENEVA
Ghost is a fucking asshole.
And I’m going to visit him.Again.
It’s a dysfunctional cycle. I’m irritated at how easily I keep getting pulled back in. Back to facing things I don’t want to deal with. Back to facing him.
The truth is, I don’t know who I hate more at this point: Ghost, for the way he manipulated me, pushing and pulling until I revealed parts of myself I thought I’d buried? Or myself, for letting him do it?
I wasn’t supposed to crack that night with Mason. I wasn’t supposed to let Ghost’s twisted insight crawl under my skin. But I did. I fucking did. And Mason saw something in me that night, something dark that I couldn’t keep hidden anymore.
I drag my hands through my hair, pacing in my living room, my frustration building with each step. Ghost is the only one who’s ever seen me—reallyseen me. And that’s terrifying.
But it’s also addictive.
I stop moving and lean against the counter, tracing the bruiseon my cheek. The memory of Mason’s barely contained rage plays out in my mind.
I stood there and smiled through the pain, because in that moment, I felt alive. Ghost was right. I’m not afraid of the darkness, or the fire that burns just beneath the surface.
Iamthe fire.
And fire has the means to destroy. To kill. That’s what scares the hell out of me.
Even with all of this bombarding my mind, making me crazy and putting me on edge, I can’t stop thinking about his latest text about April 18th—the night my parents were murdered. About knowing the identities of the men who killed them.
I was put into witness protection as a child. None of my blood relatives—excluding the aunt who raised me—know about my new identity. So, how does Ghost know about that night?
I continue tracing the outline of the bruise on my cheek, my thoughts spiraling in a million directions about the night I’ve spent years avoiding.
I’ve relived it over and over in my head, dissecting every detail, every moment, trying to make sense of the senseless. But now, with one text, Ghost has pulled the rug out from under everything I thought I knew.
