Текст книги "Depraved devotion"

Автор книги: Morgan Bridges

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER 45

GENEVA

The prison looms ahead, its geometric silhouette cutting into the morning sky. I shouldn’t be here. I know that. Every rational part of me screams to turn around, to leave this place behind and pretend that what Ghost and I have isn’t consuming me.

But the rational part of me hasn’t been in control for a while now.

I stare at the entrance, hesitation wrapping around my body, immobilizing me. Ghost isn’t the type to sit quietly in his cell when freedom awaits. He was here these past months because he chose to be. Because this prison wasn’t a cage for him; it was a chessboard. Every move calculated, every piece exactly where he wanted it to be.

Including me.

Ghost orchestrated all of it. To get to me. And I still don’t understand the depth of it. What I do know is that if he’s still here, it’ll be a miracle. There’s a large part of me that thinks he’s already gone, vanished like smoke, taking his chaos and intensity with him.

But I have to try.

I wish I could say that my motivations are pure and selfless. That I only want to save innocent people from death and destruction. It’s just not true. I’m here for them and myself.

The guard at the front desk greets me with a confused expression as I approach. Probably because of my disheveled appearance that consists of a messy bun, plain black t-shirt, and wrinkled skirt. I attempted to look professional and obviously “nailed it.”

“Good morning, Dr. Andrews. Didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

Neither did I.

“Is he here?” I ask, ignoring his greeting. My voice is steady, but the undercurrent of desperation is impossible to hide.

The guard’s brow furrows. “You mean Ghost?” He glances down at his clipboard, then back at me. “He hasn’t been logged for transfer or visitation.”

I sigh, my relief making me light-headed for a second. “He’s here.”

The guard hesitates, his eyes scanning my face. “What’s this about? You terminated your sessions with him, right?”

“Yes,” I say. “But I need to see him one last time. It won’t take long.”

He sighs, setting down his pen. “Ghost specifically said no visitors.”

I scan the man’s name tag. “I understand, Officer Shaw. Can you please ask him anyway.”

Time stretches painfully as the guard makes the call, his voice low and clipped as he relays the request. I can’t hear the response, but the way his lips press into a thin line tells me enough.

When Shaw hangs up, he looks at me, his expression unreadable. “He refused.”

The words land like a blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I force myself to stand tall, to keep my composure, but inside, I’m unraveling. “Did he give a reason?”

The guard shakes his head. “Didn’t have to. He just said no.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. This was a mistake. I should have known better than to think he’d make this easy. Ghost isn’t the type to show mercy.

And I hurt him in a way no one else ever has.

“Please,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell him it’s important. That I need to speak with him.”

Shaw hesitates, his eyes narrowing. “Dr. Andrews—”

“Please,” I say. “Just… try again.”

He exhales heavily but picks up the phone once more. As he dials, I press my hands against the counter, bracing myself for the answer I already know is coming.

And when Shaw finally hangs up, shaking his head, that flicker of hope dies entirely. “Ghost said no,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, I’m frozen, caught between the sting of rejection and the mounting determination to not give up. Finally, I exhale and lean closer to the guard, my voice calm but firm.

“You need to take me to him anyway.”

Shaw frowns. “Dr. Andrews, he’s made it clear—”

“I know what he said,” I snap.

The guard’s frown deepens, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. His arms cross over his chest, and his posture stiffens, a clear signal he’s about to shut me down again.

I adjust my expression, inserting concern into my voice. “Listen, I got wind of a situation with Ghost. That’s why he’s refusing to see me.”

The guard’s brow furrows in confusion. “What kind of situation?”

I hesitate, just long enough to make it seem like I’m reluctant to divulge sensitive information. “I can’t go into detail. But it’s the kind of thing that, if left unchecked, could be disastrous. And if that happens, it will impact the entire facility.”

I catch the twitch in his lip, and the slight tilt of his head that signals intrigue. I’ve almost got him.

Shaw nods slowly. “Ghost has been threatening to kill more people…”

“More people?” I repeat, my stomach churning. “What are you talking about?”

Shaw sighs, his hand resting on the counter, his expression grim. “Ghost killed an inmate last night. Snapped his neck through the bars of the guy’s cell. Just like that.”

Shaw snaps his fingers, and I flinch.

He continues, lowering his voice. “After the fight, we tried to put Ghost in solitary, but it didn’t go as planned. He maimed one of the guards—broke his wrist and dislocated his shoulder. The guy’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Oh, my God.”

“He’s still in there,” Shaw says, “far from the other prisoners. He’s isolated, but it’s not doing much good. The tension’s building in this place because Ghost doesn’t make threats without intending to carry them out.”

Ghost is escalating. Solitary confinement might keep him physically separate, but it’s only fueling the turmoil inside him.

“You’re right to keep him away from the others, but isolation won’t de-escalate this,” I say. “If anything, it’s making him more volatile. He needs help.”

“You think you can get through to him?”

“I know I can.” I meet his gaze with unwavering confidence that’s a testament of my acting skills. “I’ve done it before, haven’t I?”

Shaw exhales heavily, his doubt evident, but I catch the flicker of consideration in his eyes. I seize the opening, wrapping my tone in urgency. “If you don’t let me try, the alternative could be disastrous. Just let me do my job. I would hate to see you, or anyone else, get hurt.”

Shaw’s jaw tightens, his skepticism giving way to unease. “We’ve got measures in place for that kind of thing. Ghost knows the consequences if he steps out of line.”

I nod, acknowledging his point, but press forward. “Measures are reactive, Officer Shaw. This needs to be handled proactively. You’ve read his file. He’s not impulsive; he’s calculated. If he’s planning something, it’ll start subtle, almost unnoticeable. But by the time anyone catches on, it could be too late.”

Shaw studies me, tapping his fingers against the counter in a rhythmic pattern. Finally, he blows out a breath, fixing me with a pointed stare. “All right, Dr. Andrews, you can talk to him. But if anything feels off, I’m pulling you out immediately.”

I keep my expression composed and professional, despite my knees getting weak with relief. “I understand. Thank you, Officer.”

He grabs his keys and motions for me to follow. “This way.”

The walk through the plain hallways is agonizingly familiar. Each step feels heavier than the last, my resolve wavering with every turn. What in the hell am I going to say to Ghost? Will he even listen?

Shaw leads me deeper into the prison, past corridors I’ve walked countless times. The further we go, the more oppressive the atmosphere becomes. The lights overhead do nothing to erase the shadows in every corner.

“This area’s been cleared out,” Shaw says over his shoulder, his voice echoing in the empty space. “Only a skeleton crew assigned here. Too dangerous to keep him anywhere else.”

I nod silently. The usual low hum of voices, the clang of cell doors, and the muted shuffle of inmates are missing. The silence is unnerving, punctuated only by the buzz of electricity and the faint sound of our footsteps.

We stop at a heavy steel door marked with bold yellow letters:

SECURED ISOLATION UNIT. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

Shaw punches in a code, and the lock releases with a heavy click. “Stay behind me,” he says firmly, stepping through first.

The air here is colder. My eyes are immediately drawn to the thick yellow line painted on the floor, running parallel to the rows of reinforced bars. Shaw points to it with his flashlight.

“That’s the safe zone,” he says.

I stop just short of the line, my toes an inch away.

“Don’t get too close to the bars,” he continues, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Ghost is smart. And fast. If he gets his hands on you…” Shaw trails off, his meaning clear.

I force myself to nod again, even as my pulse races.

The guard leads me down the row, past empty cells that remind me of hollowed-out tombs. The walls here are thicker, the bars reinforced and the floors spotless. This place has been stripped of humanity, designed solely for containment.

Shaw stops in front of a cell, his hand resting on the baton at his hip as he glances at me. His expression is unreadable, but his posture radiates caution. “Dr. Andrews, I’ll be right down the hall. If you yell, I’ll hear you.”

I nod, my throat dry. “Understood.”

“Don’t cross the line,” Shaw reminds me, his voice low but firm.

I don’t respond. My attention is locked on the man in the cell, his presence filling the space like a tangible force. The echo of Shaw’s footsteps fades into the background, leaving me alone with Ghost.

CHAPTER 46

GENEVA

Ghost is sitting on the edge of the small cot, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. He doesn’t look up, his focus fixed on a point on the floor.

“Ghost,” I say softly, my voice trembling.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.

“Ghost,” I try again, louder this time.

Still nothing. His posture doesn’t change, but the tension lining his shoulders is unmistakable. As is the muscle flickering along his jaw every so often.

“I know you’re angry,” I say, taking a small step closer, careful to stay behind the yellow line on the floor. “And you should be.”

His fingers twitch, but it’s enough to make my stomach tighten. He heard me. He’s listening.

I take another tentative step closer, my heart hammering in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

He finally looks up, his eyes locking onto mine. There’s no smirk, no spark of amusement. Just an empty void. This isn’t the Ghost who risked his life to protect me. This man is a stranger.

“Why are you here, Dr. Andrews?”

His voice is low, rough, and colder than I’ve ever heard it. The sound of it makes me wince.

“Because I wanted to talk to you.”

He waves a hand in dismissal. “Then talk, ’cause I don’t have a fucking thing to say to you.”

I rear back as though he’s slapped me; the pain of his words lingers, harsh and distressing. My nails dig into the palms of my hands as I search for the right thing to say, something that will cut through the barriers he’s built between us—which is ironic because until today, the only thing I’ve done is create walls between us.

“Ghost, I know I hurt you. And I don’t know how else to express my regret, other than saying how sorry I am.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“I know.” I take another step forward, clutching the hem of my shirt. It’s a telltale sign of my nervousness, but I can’t make myself stop. No more than I can stop my attraction to Ghost. “But you needed to hear my apology.”

My heart stutters in my chest when he slowly gets to his feet and walks up to the bars. His face is a mask, his expression unreadable, but his eyes burn with something volatile. “Get the fuck out.”

I stand there, frozen, unable to move, the weight of his words pinning me in place.

“I said, get the fuck out.”

The command guts me. I turn away, blinking back the tears threatening to spill, but something makes me stop. The question gnawing at the edge of my mind, the one that still needs an answer.

Why.… It’s always why.

“Why are you here?” I ask, slowly turning back to face him.

For a moment, I think he won’t answer, that he’ll keep his silence just to punish me.

“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you, Doc? Always trying to analyze everything. If you haven’t figured me out by now, you never will.”

I take a step closer, standing on the yellow line. “I think you want me to. I think you’re waiting for me to figure it out… And you didn’t answer my question. Why, Ghost?”

His smirk fades, his jaw clenching, elongating the scar on his face. He leans forward, his fingers curling around the bars like they’re the only thing keeping him from reaching for me. “Stop wasting my time.”

“You knew I’d come,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “Why else would you still be here?”

His expression hardens, his grip on the bars tightening until his knuckles blanch. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“You can leave whenever you want. Yet you’re here. You stayed. You were waiting for me. Why?” I begin pacing as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The process is slow and mentally taxing, but it’s fitting together nonetheless. “You’ve been provoking me since the moment I walked in here. Pushing me, waiting to see if I’d stay.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as though the very idea is ridiculous. But he hasn’t denied it. At least, not in a way that I believe.

“But you do,” I whisper. “Which means this is a test.”

I stop pacing and turn to face him. Ghost’s smirk is gone, replaced by a hard, unyielding expression that does nothing to hide the strain radiating from him. His hands tremble around the bars, and for a moment, I imagine him snapping them in half. Or wrapping them around my neck.

“A test?” he repeats, his voice low and mocking. “You’re so fucking full of yourself, Geneva. Not everything is about you.”

“Actually, it is. All of this is for me. Because of me.”

His callous attitude hides the manipulation that began before I arrived. Ghost knew I’d come after he broke me last night. He knew I’d be vulnerable.

Anger surges inside me, burning away all caution and all composure. I march up to the bars and jab my finger in his chest.

“You don’t get to test me,” I say, my voice trembling with rage. “You don’t get to play with my fucking emotions.”

Ghost doesn’t flinch at my outburst. He doesn’t even blink. His eyes, bright and unrelenting, never leave mine. Instead of backing off, he gets closer, his body a wall of tension, his voice a low, dangerous drawl.

“If that’s true, then why did I do it?”

I lift my chin. “You want to know if I’ll stay, if I’ll fight for this—whatever this is between us.”

Ghost’s lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl, his breath warm against my face as he leans even closer, the bars barely keeping us apart. “And what’s the verdict?” he asks. “Are you going to stay and admit that you feel something for me? Or are you going to run like you always do?”

“Fuck you, Ghost.”

I spin on my heel and barely take a step before a hand shoots out through the bars, gripping my throat with brutal precision. With great force, he jerks me toward him, slamming my back against the cold, unyielding metal. The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and for a moment, all I can focus on is the searing pressure of his fingers around my throat.

His face is mere inches from mine as he tightens his grip, squeezing until I gasp from pain. “Say it again,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates through my body. “Say it, Geneva. I fucking dare you.”

My pulse hammers against his palm. The heat of his body bleeds through the steel bars separating us, seeping into my back. None of that stops my anger from surging to the forefront and drowning out the instinct to be afraid.

“Fuck you,” I say on a wheeze.

“Thank you for the invitation, love.”

Ghost snakes his free hand under my shirt, his palm hot against my stomach, his touch firm. My skin comes to life when he cups my breast, tugging at the nipple, and I press my lips together to keep from moaning. It’s increasingly harder to act unaffected when his fingers expertly tease my sensitive skin, squeezing gently, and then more firmly, as if testing my reactions.

Ghost loosens his hold on my throat just enough for me to draw a shallow breath. Then he tightens it again, causing a fresh wave of adrenaline to sweep through me. The heat he ignited with his touch coils low in my stomach, a betrayal of my own traitorous desires.

“Let go of me,” I wheeze.

When he doesn’t listen, I reach up with both hands and yank on his wrist. It’s like trying to move steel. In response, he grips my throat harder.

His breath is warm against my cheek. “You came to me. Now you’ll come for me.”

I rail against his hold, unable to admit how much I want his touch. How much I want him. My struggle results in me gasping, and my hair coming loose from its messy bun. Ghost gently runs his fingers through the strands, with the same hand that he used to murder someone last night.

“You’re so fucking beautiful it kills me,” he whispers, his voice a mixture of anger and awe.

Ghost shoves his hand under the hem of my skirt before he circles the entrance of my pussy, his fingers coming away drenched. Then he brings them to my clit, stroking me slowly, over and over.

I can’t breathe and my wild thrashing subsides. Immediately, he releases his grip on my throat, and the air rushes into my lungs. My knees buckle, but Ghost is there, holding me up by the throat, his other hand gripping my pussy.

“You’re a fucking mess, aren’t you, Doc?”

I shake my head in what looks like a silent plea for him to stop, but it’s really me unable to form coherent words. And because I’m enjoying what he’s doing to me. I just won’t admit it.

“I love watching you fight me,” he says. “It’s fucking delicious to watch.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re wet.”

He thrusts a finger inside my pussy, and my body tightens at the sensual invasion. When he inserts two more, I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my lips. He uses his thumb to circle my clit, while curling his fingers inside me, and I sag in his embrace, unable to take what he’s doing to me.

And he doesn’t stop.

Ghost keeps fucking me with his fingers, the strokes hard and fast. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. His fingers are relentless, stroking and demanding, driving me higher and higher. I’m getting close.

“Stop,” I say, the lie a mere whisper.

Ghost chuckles. “Your pussy is saying otherwise, Geneva.”

He releases his grip on my throat to slide his hand up to grip my jaw, forcing me to look back at him. “Are you finally ready to stop lying about us? About my feelings for you?”

I shake my head. With a growl he finger fucks me until I’m moving with him, following the punishing rhythm he’s set. He knows exactly how to touch me, how to bring me right to the edge.

Then he stops.

I whimper at the loss, the ache excruciating. He slides his hands away from me and steps back, putting space between us. I sag against the bars, the adrenaline draining away, leaving me weak and shaky. I can’t look at him yet. Not after what just happened.

After gathering my composure, I walk over to the opposite wall, needing to lean on it for support. And trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

“Look at me,” he says. When I shake my head, he growls. “Look. At. Me.”

I lift my head, narrowing my eyes at him. In return, Ghost studies me, his gaze roving over every inch of my body, lingering on the places where his hands had just been.

“I need to know if you’re running or willing,” he says.

I stiffen.

He steps closer, gripping the bars once more. “Are you willing to risk everything to be with me?”

I stare at him, unable to speak, my mind reeling.

“I want a fucking answer, Geneva.”

CHAPTER 47

GHOST

Geneva stares at me with a bewildered expression, lust making her eyes bright. “Why did you do that to me?”

“Because you needed to be taught a lesson.”

Her expression shifts, anger flashing across her face. “Which is?”

“Actions have consequences, Doc. You think you can lie to me and get away with it?” I shake my head. “I know you have feelings for me. Just fucking say it.”

“You don’t deserve my answer,” she snaps.

“Don’t I? Remember that the next time you make yourself come, knowing it should’ve been me.”

Her eyes narrow to little more than slits. She opens her mouth to respond and clamps it shut. Then something slides across her features, giving her a fierce expression.

She lifts her chin in pure defiance, right before she hikes up her skirt. I watch her, mesmerized, as she reaches down and begins to stroke herself.

“Fuck,” I growl, the word ripped from my throat.

She watches me with those intense eyes, her movements enticing. Then she widens her legs, and I can see her slick pussy, glistening with wetness. My mouth waters. I need to taste her.

“That’s right,” she murmurs, her voice sultry. Lusty. “It’s my hand. Not yours.”

The words are like a blow, hitting me in the chest. She’s going to punish me for denying her an orgasm. But more importantly, for daring her to acknowledge her feelings.

“Geneva,” I whisper, the word a warning.

Her hand moves faster, the rhythm frantic, along with her hips as they seek out her touch. I’m hypnotized, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of Geneva pleasuring herself.

“Yes,” she moans.

I grip the bars, my knuckles whitening, and grit my teeth. I can’t fucking take it. But I can’t tell her to stop.

“Ghost, I’m coming,” she says, her voice a broken gasp.

“Fuck!”

Her eyes fly open, and she stares at me, her gaze locked on mine. Then she arches her back and her body convulses. I groan when she cries out, her pussy gushing. The sight is enough to push me over the edge.

I grab my dick and squeeze it before I come, refusing to give her more power over me. I release a harsh groan, the sound torn from my chest as pain shoots along my cock. I rest my forehead against the bars, the metal cool against my skin. We’re both breathing heavily, one fulfilled, and one frustrated.

“Don’t ever fuck with my emotions,” she says, her voice soft and deadly.

She pushes off the wall, heading for the door, and I can’t stand the sight of her walking away from me.

“Geneva!” I shout.

She stops, turning to face me, her expression cold. “Go fuck yourself, Ghost.”

“You will admit it. This isn’t over.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes burning with fury. Then she turns and walks out the door.

Hours later, I’m still leaning against the cold bars, my grip so tight my knuckles ache. Geneva’s scent lingers in the air, faint but enough to taunt me. I can’t get her out of my fucking head. Her words replay on a loop, torturing me.

The test wasn’t just about breaking her or seeing how far I could push. It was about loyalty. About feelings.

Hers. And mine.

It’s what fuels my obsession, the one that’s been eating me alive every second she’s not in my sight. I challenged her, forced her to confront what this thing between us really is. Will she give in and admit the truth?

What if she never does?

The thought twists my gut. For all my confidence, doubt creeps in, whispering that I went too far.

“Bullshit,” I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair.

Geneva isn’t weak. She’s a fighter, just like me. She wouldn’t have stood there, touching herself just to fuck with me if I broke her. I punished her and she retaliated.

Geneva won that round.

Pulling the phone from my pocket, I unlock it with a swipe, my thumb moving on autopilot. I immediately check the camera feed. Geneva’s pacing her apartment, her movements agitated but purposeful. She’s trying to think her way out of whatever emotions I’ve forced her to confront.

God, she’s mesmerizing.

Her hair tumbles over her shoulder as she spins on her heel, her lips moving like she’s talking to herself. Maybe she’s cursing me, calling me every name in the book. I wouldn’t blame her. But even through the screen, I can see the flush on her cheeks, the lingering heat from earlier. She’s trying to fight it, but the pull between us is undeniable.

It always will be.

A notification pops up on my screen, pulling me from my reverie.

Alert: Motion detected on fire escape.

Adrenaline surges, cold and swift, as I open the live feed. Someone’s climbing the fire escape outside her building. The hood obscures his face, but his movements are predatory. Focused.

I zoom in, my fists clenching when I recognize the figure. Skinner. One flight away from Geneva’s bedroom window.

“What the fuck?” I grit out.

How did he find her?

How the fuck did he get out of prison?

My muscles tighten, the sight of him sparking a rage I can barely contain. Skinner doesn’t just kill. He enjoys it. Thrives on it. And now he’s outside her building, his vendetta against me written all over him.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my mind racing. Panic claws at my chest, sharp and unfamiliar. This isn’t like the prison riot. That was my chaos. My plan. I orchestrated every second of it. Well, mostly.

But this? This is chaos I can’t control.

Skinner is pure violence, and for him to be free means someone wanted him out. Someone wanted to set him loose.

The Malones? No. They wouldn’t cross me like this.

My need to protect Geneva, a primal instinct etched into my psyche, surges forward. I glance back at the camera feed inside her apartment. She’s still pacing, completely unaware.

I call her. And she doesn’t answer. I do it three more times, and she ignores them all. Then puts her phone face down on the coffee table.

I send a quick text, a fucking Hail Mary at this point.

Unknown: Skinner is outside your apartment. Get out of there!

She doesn’t look at her phone. She doesn’t stop pacing.

“Damn it, Geneva,” I mutter, my jaw clenching as I switch back to the other feed. Skinner is closer now, his hand gripping the railing just below her bedroom window. My blood boils as I imagine his hands on her, the sick grin he’d wear while he—

No.

Not fucking happening.

Unknown: Hold on. I’m coming for you.