"Where did this come from?" His voice is cold. Controlled.
"Guy dropped it at the gate. Said it was a delivery. He was gone before I could?—"
"What did he look like?"
The prospect describes someone generic. Average height, average build, baseball cap. Could be anyone.
Ghost sets the box on the bar and looks at me. "You don't have to see this."
"Yes, I do."
He holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. He pulls a knife from somewhere — I don't see where — and cuts the tape.
Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a pair of my underwear.
Not just any pair. The black lace ones. The good ones.
They've been folded with care. Perfect edges. Neat creases. The same meticulous attention that was given to everything in my hotel room.
My face burns. Ghost is staring at the box, his expression completely unreadable, and I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Because he's looking at my underwear. Mygoodunderwear. And somewhere out there, Harris is probably imagining exactly this moment — me humiliated, exposed, while the man protecting me sees something intimate that was never meant for him.
There's no note. There doesn't need to be.
I know where you are. I know who you're with. And I can get to you whenever I want.
The room is silent. Everyone's watching. I can feel their eyes on me, waiting to see if I'll fall apart.
I don't.
I'm scared — terrified, actually — but I've spent six years learning how to hold it together when everything inside me is screaming. So I keep my face calm and my voice steady when I say, "He's sending a message."
"He's sending a threat." Ghost's voice is cold. Controlled. "And he just made a mistake."
"What mistake?"
"He came to my territory."
I nod. Keep nodding. Keep my expression neutral even as something hot pricks at the back of my eyes.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. Not here, not in front of all these people.
"I need a minute," I manage. "Excuse me."
I don't wait for a response. I just turn and walk toward the back hallway, toward Ghost's room, the only private space I have in this place. My vision is blurring and my chest is tight and I willnotfall apart in front of a room full of strangers.
I make it to his room. Close the door behind me. Press my back against it and squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to stay where they are.
The knock comes thirty seconds later.
"India."
Ghost's voice. Low. Quiet.
I should tell him I'm fine. I should pull myself together and go back out there and pretend none of this is getting to me.
Instead, I open the door.
He's standing in the hallway, filling the frame, those dark eyes looking at me like he can see everything I'm trying to hide.
