I shake my head. “You’re trying to manipulate me. Twisting my thoughts and my emotions until I can’t see reason.”
“Am I?” His tone is soft but laced with challenge. “Is that why you’re here?”
“I’m here because I have to be,” I snap. “Because you forced my hand. Not because I want to be.”
“You’ve said your piece, so why haven’t you left yet?”
I don’t know.
The charged silence between us grows like a weed, strangling the life from me. I stand there, staring at my adversary until I think I’ll go crazy from just looking at him. If I give Ghost my desire, I’m insane. If I fall into insanity, that’ll lead to my desire.
Ghost knows he’ll have both, no matter what I choose. So is it really a choice to begin with? No. This man only plays games he knows he can win.
And the prize is me.
A distant rumble sneaks through the thick prison walls, breaking into my thoughts. It’s faint at first, like a low hum, but quickly grows louder. It’s a discordant symphony of shouts, metal clanging against metal, and the unmistakable edge of chaos.
Ghost’s fingers pause on the glass, his gaze flicking to the door behind me for a split second. His expression morphs, the smugness melting into sobriety.
“What’s happening?” My voice is tight with unease, but he doesn’t answer right away. The sounds outside the room intensify, and a knot forms in my stomach.
“Geneva,” Ghost says, his voice low and fervent. “You shouldn’t be here right now.”
I open my mouth to respond, but a deafening crash cuts me off. The door shudders, the hinges rattling violently as something—or someone—slams into it. I spin around when a man shouts just outside the room. It’s followed by another farther away, and the garbled fragments dissolve into the background noise that’s still gaining volume.
“It sounds like the natives are restless.” Ghost’s voice is calm, but his tone lacks its usual edge of amusement. His eyes flick back to me, sharp and assessing. “Get away from the door.”
I nod just as another loud bang sends a jolt through me, freezing me in place. Something heavy slams against the door, and a wet, gurgling sound cuts through the air. It’s followed by a sickening thud of a body hitting the floor.
The room falls eerily silent, save for my ragged breathing. I glance at Ghost, whose posture has gone rigid, his eyes fixed on the door with an intensity that speaks volumes.
“Is he dead?” I whisper, though I already know the answer.
Blood seeps under the door, slowly pooling on the concrete floor. My stomach flips, and I take several steps back, pressing myself against the wall as my chest tightens.
Ghost doesn’t move, his gaze never leaving the door. “You need to stay calm,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. “It’s not safe out there.”
“No shit,” I hiss.
“Listen to me. Don’t open the door, no matter what you hear.”
I swallow hard. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to protect you.”
“What? How?”
Ghost’s eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I see something in them. Determination? Concern? Whatever it is, it makes my skin prickle with something I can’t name. Without another word, he steps back from the glass.
“Ghost,” I say, my voice trembling. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he scans the room, his gaze acute and methodical, before turning toward the metal table on his side of the interrogation room. He steps onto the chair first, then climbs onto the table, the cuffs clinking as he moves.
My heart pounds harder when he reaches into his pocket, producing something small and glinting in the dim light. I squint, trying to make it out.
A penny.
“Where did you get that?” I ask.
