Текст книги "Depraved devotion"

Автор книги: Morgan Bridges

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Why are you telling me this?” He looks around, eyes widening. “Are you trying to help me?”

I scoff. “Hell no. I’m a selfish asshole.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t want Jennings to get what he’s after.”

“Jennings?” he repeats, the confusion in his voice tinged with growing unease.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, Jennings. You think he’s a man who only cares about the job and none of the perks? Open your eyes, Junior. The man’s been singling you out since day one. All those ‘random’ checks? The extra time in the laundry detail? The way he stares at you? That’s not coincidence.”

His breathing quickens. “Why?”

“Because he sees you as weak. And weakness is easy to exploit. Jennings is no different from the assholes out here in the yard. He just wears a uniform and hides behind his badge. Trust me, he wants you scared and isolated, so he can use you however he wants.”

Junior’s eyes dart to the far end of the yard where Jennings stands, his posture casual, but his gaze sweeps back and forth. As if on cue, the guard looks over at us. When his eyes briefly land on Junior, the young man stiffens next to me.

“See?” I whisper. “He’s looking right at you. Again. What a fucking pervert.”

Junior swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze flickers back to me. Paranoia is such a pliable thing. A masterpiece in the hands that mold it.

“See?” I repeat, keeping my voice low. “He’s not subtle.”

“I—I never noticed,” Junior stammers.

“That’s the point. You’re not supposed to notice. You’re supposed to think it’s just in your head.”

I rock back on my heels and glance down when something glints in the sunlight. A penny lies at the edge of the concrete, dull and scuffed but unmistakably out of place in the barrenness of the yard. I bend down, picking it up between my fingers, and let out a soft chuckle. Junior flinches at the sound, his nerves already frayed.

“Funny thing about pennies,” I muse, turning it over in my hand. “They’re everywhere, but most people don’t bother picking them up anymore. Too insignificant. Too worthless.”

Junior frowns, his unease briefly giving way to confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

I hold the penny up, letting the light catch it for just a moment before I slip it into my pocket. “People underestimate the little things, Junior. The ones they think don’t matter. But they can change everything.”

His brow furrows, but I don’t give him time to respond. I step away, turning toward the other side of the yard with a casual wave of my hand.

“Watch your back,” I call over my shoulder. “And don’t drop the soap.”

CHAPTER 27

GHOST

I repress a laugh as I walk away from Junior.

Manipulating him was too easy. The lack of challenge would be off-putting if I didn’t need him. That young man is a clusterfuck of anxiety and psychosis, wrapped in paranoia. Basically, he’s an explosive waiting to detonate… and I’ve lit the fuse.

With a smile, I head toward the bleachers and shove my hands in my pockets. My fingers brush the penny, the cool metal a reminder of the tasks ahead of me. All of them leading to having Geneva in my grasp.

Heavy footsteps reach me, the grass underneath his boots failing to muffle his gait entirely. I stop, but I don’t turn around to confront the man following me. Not only is my behavior dismissive, but it shows that I don’t consider him enough of a threat to face him.

“What do you want, Skinner?”

Frank “Skinner” Burns stops walking, his voice dripping with mockery that’s as oily as his hair. “I wanted to meet the famous Ghost.”

“If by ‘meet me,’ you mean you want to put your dick in my ass, you can forget it.” I look at him over my shoulder with my brows raised. “Exit only, bro.”

His face contorts, his eyes turning black with malice. Although he leans toward me, he won’t attack. I haven’t pissed him off enough. And he hasn’t finished delivering his message.

Even so, he’s afraid of me.

I would be too. I’m fucking crazy. Not to mention, my intelligence supersedes his. It’s embarrassing, really.

“Shut the fuck up,” Skinner says.

“Really? That’s the best you can come up with?” I roll my eyes and turn to face him. “You’re a rapist, a man used to taking what he wants. Are you pissed because you’re the one who’s getting fucked without consent now? That’s pretty hypocritical.”

Skinner clenches his fists and the veins in his neck throb, rapidly pulsing against the skin.

Hmm… looks like I struck a nerve.

I quickly run my gaze over him, taking in every detail, every nuance of his body language. The ink on his forearm snatches my attention, giving me the most insight into my opponent. The tattoo is a vine that coils around his arm, with thorns that “pierce” the skin, drawing blood.

Interesting.

“I don’t need consent,” he says. “They all give it to me willingly.”

“Sure, Skinner. Sell your bullshit to someone else ʼcause I’m not buying it.” I turn to walk away but stop at his next words.

“She’ll be the next one begging me to fuck her.”

My entire body tenses with rage. It’s as though every inch of my skin is stretching, building with the need to act, to annihilate this motherfucker. The very idea of Skinner touching Geneva fills me with such disgust that I can barely fucking talk.

“Don’t.” The word comes out quiet, but it’s full of warning.

“I heard you were Dr. Andrews’s new assignment. I know she’s been spending a lot of time here, seeing you.” Skinner gives me a sly smile. “Maybe I’ll see her too.”

I draw in a deep breath, battling my wrath as it washes over me, burning me from the inside. I weigh the pros and cons of ending his life right now. Unfortunately, his death could prevent me from seeing Geneva the next time she visits. While I might not be able to attack him, that doesn’t mean I can’t destroy him right now.

And murder him later.

“Did she mention me in any of your sessions?” Skinner asks. “We have history, you know.”

When I release a deep breath, I’m completely in control, a master of my murdering tendencies. And ready to fuck him up.

I smile. His gaze flicks to my scar, the way it’s pulled taut, making it grotesque. Then he looks me in the eyes. Whatever he sees there has his pupils contracting.

“No, Dr. Andrews didn’t mention you.” I wave a hand in dismissal. “We’re always too busy talking about shit that’s actually important.”

“She’ll mention me soon enough.”

I maintain my smile while grinding my molars. “You should have a session with her. It’d be good for you to talk about how you’re a closet homosexual who rapes women to hide the fact.”

He jerks back, his dark hair gliding along his shoulders. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your tattoo. It represents your issues.”

“No, it’s not—”

“Vines are associated with entrapment. Being bound and powerless, the way you feel about your urges.” I purse my lips in thought. “The thorns are the deeply rooted pain you experienced both mentally and emotionally. Someone must’ve found out and ridiculed you for it. And the blood… That’s my favorite tell. It’s shame. You want to bleed onto your victims so they’re smeared with it too, and you’re not alone with your humiliation.”

I lean toward him, my tone filled with the same darkness that haunts him. “In reality, Skinner, that tattoo isn’t a warning for people not to come near. It’s a mural showing how fucked up you are.”

His breath comes out hard and fast, like he’s just run a marathon. The whites of his eyes are stark, and his pupils are blown wide with horror and fury.

I straighten, smiling once again. There are many ways to fuck with a person, and this is one of the more enjoyable methods.

Skinner moves with a burst of rage, his fists swinging wildly as he closes the distance between us. I step back, sidestepping his first blow with ease, my movements fluid and controlled. He’s all energy and no strategy.

“Is that all you’ve got, Skinner?” I ask when his knuckles whistle past my face. “I’m thinking it’s more challenging to fight someone that you can’t overpower with brute force.”

His growl is guttural, animalistic, as he lunges again. His fist grazes my ribs but does little more than stroke my amusement. I’m lighter on my feet, faster, and I know how to use his emotions against him.

A glint of metal winks at me as his hand dips to his waistband. It’s a crude, jagged piece of steel wrapped in jagged cloth, that’s aimed at my torso. A shiv.

Well, fuck.

I pivot sharply, the blade missing its mark but slicing into my biceps. I grunt with pain, blood now clinging to the fabric of my sleeve. Skinner snarls, emboldened by the hit, and comes at me again, slashing wildly. Men from all over the yard rush toward us, including both inmates and security guards.

“Temper, temper.” I sing-song, keeping my amused expression despite the burning in my arm. I duck under his next swing. The crowd around us roars now, a mix of jeers and cheers, their energy feeding Skinner’s frenzy.

I stay on the defensive, my steps light as I sidestep and dodge. Skinner’s blows grow more erratic, his movements fueled by pure rage and diminishing energy.

“Do they know?” I ask, ducking another wild swing. “Does your crew know that you’re attracted to men? That you only target women because you’re not strong enough to rape a man?”

His scream is primal as he throws everything into his next strike. I sidestep, spinning out of his reach, and he stumbles forward, his momentum betraying him.

“Enough!” Jennings’s voice booms across the chaos and the yard erupts with the sound of additional guards rushing in. The crowd scatters as they arrive with weapons raised.

Skinner, still heaving with fury, steps toward me before a guard grabs him by the collar and yanks him backward. “On the ground, now!” the officer barks, slamming Skinner against the dirt.

Jennings appears next to me, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the blood seeping through my sleeve. “You good?”

I nod. “I’ve had worse.”

“Who started this shit?”

“Not me, obviously. Getting shanked isn’t on my to-do list.”

Jennings glances over, his face a mask of irritation. “Skinner, you’re done. Solitary. Now.”

Skinner thrashes as they haul him to his feet, his eyes locking onto mine with a look of pure venom. “This isn’t over, Ghost!” he spits, his voice hoarse. “You hear me? I’m coming for her.”

I cut him off with a lazy smirk that conceals my own rage. “I hope you do.”

The guards drag him away, his shouts fading into the background as the yard slowly returns to its uneasy rhythm. I glance down at the blood on my arm, the wound shallow but messy, and let out a slow breath.

Jennings steps closer, his face a mix of suspicion and annoyance. “Care to explain what that was about?”

I shrug. “He doesn’t like my sparkling personality.”

“That’s something I can believe.”

“Rude.”

Jennings jerks his chin at the main building. “Go to medical.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

I sit on the bleachers, trying to calm the storm raging inside my head before I go indoors and “accidentally” kill someone. Blood drips steadily from the gash, staining the dirt beneath me, but I hardly notice. Not with Skinner’s words echoing in my mind…

“I’m coming for her.”

My muscles tighten, and for a moment, the edges of my vision blur with anger. Skinner thought to weaponize Geneva against me. The audacity of it makes my hands shake. I cross my arms to hide their trembling.

I almost lost control.

For the first time in years, I nearly descended into full-on chaos. The idea of Skinner even thinking about hurting Geneva, let alone coming after her, fucked me. He wanted to provoke me, and he succeeded.

Except, Skinner doesn’t understand what he’s done. He’s put himself on my kill list, and there’s no coming back from that. The moment he brought Geneva into this, he was fucked.

I’m glad he’s going into solitary. Jennings dragging him off was the best outcome I could’ve hoped for. Skinner will stew in there, his mind gnawing at itself, replaying today’s humiliation until it consumes him.

That gives me time to prepare. And do some research.

It all started with Geneva’s testimony. I knew about it when I began stalking her, but now I need to know every detail of that trial, every word she said that helped put Skinner behind bars. I want to understand the case because it’ll help me uncover his triggers, which in turn will reveal his vulnerabilities. All good information to have when I kill him.

Because solitary isn’t forever.

When Skinner gets out, he’ll come for me again. Or worse, he’ll try to make good on his threat to go after Geneva. That’s not an option.

I glance toward the yard’s gates, the world around me beginning to return to normal as my vision clears. The crowd has dispersed, the guards on edge while returning to their posts. My arm throbs, but the pain is insignificant.

I stand, brushing the dust from my pants before I head toward the medical wing. The blood staining my sleeve is a reminder, not just of the fight but of what’s to come. Skinner wanted to leave a mark on me, but he only succeeded in marking himself for death.

Unlike Mason, I’m going to take my sweet time with Skinner.

The thought makes me smile, and I end up whistling all the way to the medical wing.

CHAPTER 28

GENEVA

I’ve spent the past week thinking about Ghost’s “present,” and I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been using the candle as well. The scent of magnolia, for better or worse, has grown on me.

On my nightstand, the candle burns as I stare at it, sitting cross-legged on my bed. The soft glow illuminates the room, casting shadows that stretch and shift with every movement of the flame. Its presence is both haunting and familiar, like Ghost himself.

I grip the stuffed elephant tighter. He moved the toy. It was intentional. The very thought makes my hands clammy and I force myself to take a steadying breath. If that psychopath wanted to hurt me, he would’ve. However gruesome, that’s a fact.

Then why did he place the elephant next to the box with the candle? Was it to group items from my past and present, so I’d realize they’re connected? Or was it an act of dominion, Ghost’s way of telling me that he can reach the deepest, most vulnerable parts of me?

It’s both.

That’s only one piece of the message. The magnolia-scented candle, the red ribbon on a white box, the note with a hidden acrostic… every single item tells me something. I think I finally understand.

All that’s left is for me to confirm everything by visiting the source. Except I don’t want to see Ghost again. Ever.

Only, he’ll never let me go.

Blocking Ghost’s number and ignoring his texts has led to him breaking into my home and violating my space. If I continue to deny him contact with me, who knows what he’ll do next? For this reason—and to gain answers concerning my parents—I’m going back to the prison.

It’s only for this reason. Not because I’m still fascinated by him or curious about what he wants from me. Not because I’m physically attracted to him or enthralled by his brilliant mind. It’s certainly not because he’s unlike any man, or criminal, I’ve ever met.

It can’t be.

Or I’m the one who’s insane.

After sliding from the bed, I walk over to stand in front of the mirror, assessing my appearance. The oversized sweater and leggings I’ve been wearing all day are the complete opposite of the way I usually dress. The professional, clean-cut and pressed suit is the armor I put on when facing Ghost.

But today that feels useless. This man has already found every chink in my armor and exploited them. So what’s the point in changing my clothes?

With a sigh, I walk over to blow out the candle. The flame dances, defiant, before I take a deep breath and lean in. But just as my lips part, I notice something beneath the surface of the melted wax.

There are letters. Words.

Your time is up, Doc.

Sweat breaks out across my forehead and I wipe it away with an angry swipe of the hand. He planned this. Every step, every sentence, down to the moment I’d find this note.

My time is up? For what? The ambiguity is suffocating, but that’s the point. Torture of the mind hurts more than torture of the body because it never ends.

I exhale sharply and blow out the candle, watching the wax go from translucent to opaque. Only when the threatening words are no longer visible do I move. The scent of magnolia lingers, oppressive and cloying, wrapping around me as I head for the door.

If Ghost wants to talk, then let’s fucking do it.

As the guard escorts me to the interrogation room, my pulse quickens with every step. I can’t understand Ghost’s mind enough to predict his behavior, which means…

I can’t defend myself against him.

Admitting that, even if it’s only to myself, is debilitating. But it’s too late to turn back now. Ghost won’t let me.

The guard gestures for me to enter once we reach the door. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the handle for a fraction of a second before I push it open. The moment I step inside, I feel it: his presence.

Ghost is on his feet.

It’s jarring, seeing him like that, tall and imposing on the other side of the glass. His posture is relaxed but commanding, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his prison-issued pants, the other resting on his abdomen. He cocks his head as he watches me enter, his expression unreadable but his eyes alive with that sharp, predatory gleam I’ve been on the other end of more times than I can count.

I stop short, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I take him in. His gaze locks onto mine. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but the sheer intensity of him fills the space, making it smaller.

I force myself to take another step, then another, until I’m standing at my side of the glass. The chair in front of me feels like a barrier and a trap all at once. I grip the back of it to hide my nerves.

“Dr. Andrews,” Ghost says, his voice low and smooth, like velvet dragged over a blade. The sound of it makes my skin prickle with sexual awareness, and I hate how my body reacts. How it betrays me.

I remain standing, mirroring his stance to keep us on the same level. “You broke into my house.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t so much as blink. Instead, his lips curl into an impish smile. “And?” he replies, his voice dripping with amusement. “Did you like my present?”

“No.”

His chuckle is low and dangerous, reverberating in the enclosed space. “The magnolia. The note. Even the message hidden under the wax. All deliberate. Tell me, how long did it take you to figure it out?”

“Some parts were more obvious than others.”

He nods. “The acrostic was rather easy.”

“M. I. N. E. Magnolias bloom, masking death’s decay. Illuminating the shadows, where I wait. Never let the flame that binds us fade. Every breath you take is mine to claim.” I roll my eyes. “So romantic.”

“I thought so,” he says with a grin. “Tell me what else you discovered.”

“Magnolia trees were often planted in cemeteries to cover the stench of death. You chose that scent to reference my parents being dead and buried. The ‘shadows where you wait’ is more literal. Case in point, you broke into my apartment. Shadows can also represent the darkness that covers your mind. As for the flame that binds?” I purse my lips in thought. “You believe we share a connection that you consistently refer to as the fire inside me.”

He leans forward. “And lastly?”

“My breath is yours to claim… That line makes it sound as if you want all of me, from the inessential to the vital.”

“Very good, Dr. Andrews. A-plus.”

“Now what?”

He quirks a brow. “Hmm?”

“You said I’m out of time. What the fuck do you want from me, Ghost?”

He gives me a wicked smile. “What do I want from you?” He shakes his head slowly, the motion controlled, his gaze never leaving mine. “I think you know the answer to that, Dr. Andrews. I’ve told you before.”

I tighten my grip on the back of the chair. “No, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

He takes a step closer, bringing his face within inches of the glass. The air around him is charged, like a storm about to break. His eyes are bright, the hazel molten gold.

“I want you.”

The words spark something, igniting a heat that rushes through me. I suck in a breath, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

Ghost smiles, his teeth gleaming in the fluorescent light. “I want all of you. Everything.”

“Forget it.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there for a moment before rising again to meet mine. “I’m going to give you a choice.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Give me your sanity or your desire.”