Текст книги "Depraved devotion"

Автор книги: Morgan Bridges

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER 6

GENEVA

Sleep didn’t come easily last night. It never has. And never will unless I leave my profession. Maybe not even then.

My mind replayed the scenes from the case files, interspersed with flashes of Ghost’s cold smile. When morning finally arrived, I felt as though I’d been in a waking nightmare.

Standing in front of the mirror, I arrange my brown hair into a tight bun at the base of my neck, every strand secured with military precision. It’s a routine I’ve mastered over the years, each movement deliberate, each pin and twist a small assertion of control in a life where so much is unpredictable.

My clothing is as severe as my mood—black slacks, pressed to sharp creases, and a matching blazer that fits me like armor. Everything is functional, designed to command respect without drawing undue attention.

Makeup is minimal—a touch of foundation and a sweep of mascara to frame brown eyes that have seen too much. It’s another mask, another layer between me and the world.

Jewelry is sparse—simple diamond stud earrings, a watch with a black leather strap. Practical, unassuming. Nothing to catch or snag, nothing that could be used against me.

As I gather my things, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a moment of introspection before I banish it. The person staring back at me is the same disguise I always wear.

She is efficient, unyielding… and alone.

There’s no time for second-guessing, no space for fear or regret. Ghost is waiting.

An hour later, I’m in the parking lot where Blackwater looms ahead, a fortress of concrete and steel. I make my way to the entrance, my heart pounding in my chest. Inside, Detective Harris waits for me. His broad shoulders fill out his well-worn, charcoal gray suits—always slightly rumpled, as if he’s been up all night chasing leads.

“Ready?” he asks.

I’m not sure if anyone could truly be ready for this. “Yes.”

“You have to be prepared for anything. Ghost is unpredictable, but they’ll have guards monitoring everything. You won’t be alone in there.”

“Thank you.” I look at Allen. “I mean it.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is going to go smoothly, or we’ll get you the fuck out of here.”

We step up to the front desk of the prison, the imposing gates now firmly behind us. The man at the desk looks up as we approach. Allen and I hand over our identification, and the deputy scrutinizes them carefully before nodding. We sign the visitor log, recording our names, the time of arrival, and the purpose of our visit.

Ghost.

The metal detector looms ahead, a silent reminder of the prison’s strict security measures. I pass through first, the machine beeping softly as I clear it. Allen follows, and we’re directed to place our personal belongings into a locker nearby. My bag, our phones, our keys—everything goes in.

A deputy steps forward to conduct a pat-down search. Once cleared, we’re handed visitor badges with our photos and names printed on them. The badge feels heavy as I clip mine to my jacket. It’s a constant reminder that I’m in a place where every move is monitored to prevent my death.

“Follow me,” a corrections officer says once we’re cleared, his tone as neutral as his expression.

We fall in line behind him, and he leads us through a series of security doors. Each one opens with a loud buzz, then slams shut behind us with a heavy thud that echoes in the narrow corridors. And in the chambers of my heart.

When we finally reach the interview room, the officer turns to me, his gaze hardening. “A few things to remember before you go in. There’s no physical contact with the inmate. Keep your distance and don’t attempt to give him anything or take anything from him through the pass-through drawer. The conversation will be monitored, and there are certain topics you’ll need to avoid—personal details about yourself, specifics about other cases, or anything that could provoke a reaction. If at any point you feel unsafe, there’s a panic button under the table. Use it, and we’ll come in immediately.”

“Got it.” My voice is steadier than I feel.

Detective Harris reaches out to tap my shoulder. “Remember, you’re in charge. Don’t let him rattle you. Go get him, Dr. Andrews.”

The officer opens the final door and I step into the interview room. The harsh fluorescent lights above cast a stark glow over everything, making the already sterile environment feel even more impersonal. The room is divided by a thick wall of glass, a constant reminder of the barrier between me and the inmate. It’s not just for physical safety. For me, it’s psychological as well.

On my side, there’s nothing but a metal table and chair. I glance up at the glass wall as I take my seat, noting the small pass-through box embedded in it. I won’t be using that. Ever.

I take a deep breath, scanning the emptiness of the room. There’s no warmth here, no comfort. Just a calculated design meant to keep everyone in their place—safe, distant, and controlled.

This is where I’ll face him.

The coldness of the chair underneath me seeps into my clothes, trying to steal my body heat. I drum my fingers on the hard surface of the table as impatience tangles with my nerves.

Sound amplifies with each second. The buzz of the lights overhead, the distant clank of the metal doors shutting, and my own tapping all come together to create a soundtrack of tension. It’s a song only I can hear, one that thrums through my body, pressing on me from all sides.

The door on the inmate’s side creaks open.

I halt my fingers, suppressing the nervous habit, as two security guards lead Ghost into the room. My breath catches the moment I lay eyes on him.

His white hair is ghostly under the bright fluorescent lights, while shadows dance across his cheeks, deepening the scar on his face. His hazel eyes capture mine, and it takes everything I have not to react to the weight of his gaze.

If eyes are the window to the soul, he is damned.

Ghost saunters up to the glass, much bigger up close than he seemed from a distance in court. His attention never wavers as the guards maneuver him. Without a word, they cuff his wrists to the table welded securely to the floor, the clinking of the metal echoing in the small space.

Ghost doesn’t resist. He sits and continues to watch me with that eerie calm, his eyes burrowing into mine through the glass. My breathing quickens under his intense scrutiny.

Finally, they exit the room.

It’s just me and him.

Ghost smiles. It’s sinister and seductive, a lethal combination.

“Dr. Andrews,” he says, his voice an alluring purr. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

I continue meeting his gaze with as much steel as I can muster. There’s no doubt that he’s enjoying this. That smile is a weapon designed to unsettle me. To remind me that he’s testing me with every glance and every word.

He wants to remain in control, even if he’s the one in chains.

“You have information about Anna Lee and her kidnapper,” I say. “I’m here to listen.”

His smile widens. It stretches across his mouth, unnatural and unnerving. “Straight to the point. I like that.” He leans forward. “Tell me, are you also this direct when you fuck?”

My face heats, but I keep my expression neutral. I’ve faced monsters before… except none like him. Ghost is different—he’s a master at this game, a predator who thrives on getting under people’s skin, on twisting the knife just to watch them bleed.

I won’t give him that satisfaction.

The familiar tug of professionalism pulls me back to center, grounding me even as his stare has my skin prickling. “Let’s stick to the matter at hand. Anna Lee. What do you know?”

“This isn’t just about what I know. It’s about what you’re willing to do to get that information.”

“What do you want?”

He chuckles softly. “All in good time, but first, a little conversation.”

“Fine.” I clench my hands under the table. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You, Dr. Andrews.”

I blink at him one too many times, the tiny crack in my composure betraying me. Ghost’s smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, as if he’s pleased with himself for getting a reaction, however small.

“We both know that I’m not here to discuss myself,” I say, keeping the tremor out of my voice as much as I can manage. He’s watching me too closely, reading every microexpression I try to suppress.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” he replies, his tone soft, almost coaxing. “You think you’re here for the girl, and maybe you are. But really, this is about you. It’s always been about you.”

I force myself to breathe evenly, to stay calm. Later, I can think about the repercussions of what it means to have an insane killer fixated on me. Later I can berate myself for my growing fascination with him. But for now, I need to get through this interaction without losing myself in the process.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You’re the one I wanted to see, Dr. Andrews. Not the police, not the lawyers. You. You’ve been on my mind for a long time.”

Unease runs through me, and I can’t help but wonder how much of this was planned, how long he’s been toying with the idea of meeting me.

“You’re wasting my time,” I say. “If you have something to say about Anna Lee’s kidnapper, then say it. Otherwise, this meeting is over.”

His confidence doesn’t waver. “You’re so determined, so focused. It’s one of the things I admire about you. But there’s more beneath the surface, isn’t there? So many layers. I wonder what it would take to peel them away.”

“You can play whatever games you want, but you’re not going to get inside my head, Ghost.”

“Aren’t I already?”

CHAPTER 7

GENEVA

“You’re thinking about me.” Ghost’s tone is deceptively gentle. “How I know about you. What I know. What I could do. You’re wondering how much of this was planned, how much control you really have. And that’s the beauty of it, Dr. Andrews. The more you try to resist, the deeper I’ll dig.”

He’s not entirely wrong, but I can’t let him know that. I exhale slowly before speaking. “Let’s say you’re right, and I want to know everything about you. None of that matters if you’re not willing to share, which leaves us at an impasse. So, all we have left to discuss is Anna Lee.”

Ghost clicks his tongue in admonishment. “Always so professional, so distant. Look at your clothes, your hair, your mouth.” His eyes drop down to my lips. “All very restrained. But that’s what fascinates me about you. You’re like ice—cold, impenetrable. I can see why men struggle to connect with you. It must be exhausting for them, trying to break through that frosty exterior of yours.”

My jaw aches from clenching it. Inside I’m screaming. The sheer audacity of his assumptions, the way he’s turning this conversation into something personal, something intimate—it’s fucking with me.

And I’ve only been in his presence for ten minutes.

“What’s it like, Dr. Andrews?” Ghost continues, his tone light, almost conversational. “To always be in control, to keep everyone at arm’s length? To never let anyone see who you really are? It must be so… lonely.”

My chest tightens, the air around me thickening, making it hard to breathe. He’s clawing at one of the few vulnerable places in my life, causing emotional damage to rise and flow like blood from a wound.

“You’re projecting,” I say. “Just because you’re isolated doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” His eyes gleam with twisted amusement, and my stomach knots. “You’re more isolated than I am. You put up emotional shields, pretending they’re there to protect you, but all they do is keep you trapped. How long has it been since you’ve truly connected with someone? Not that silly boy you mess around with. Not even that broken friend who thinks she knows you. Real connection is being truthful about who we are. And you’re flame and wrath encased in a wall of ice and control.”

How does he know those details about my personal life?

Under the table, my hands tremble with both fear and anger. He’s trying to pull me in, to make me doubt myself… and it’s working. Fury burns in my gut, singeing me with the need to lash out. Yet here I sit, silent and restrained, with my mind twisting in on itself as Ghost begins to mold me like potter’s clay.

“Enough,” I snap, getting to my feet and slamming my palms on the table. I don’t care if he enjoys watching me lose my composure. I can’t take much more of this and still maintain my professionalism. “You don’t control this conversation. I do. Now, tell me what you know about Anna Lee, or I’m walking out of here.”

For a moment, he just stares at me, his gaze inscrutable. Then, slowly, his smile fades, replaced by something colder, more calculating. “You’re stronger than I expected,” he says, almost to himself. “But strength can be a weakness too. Remember that.”

I don’t respond, refusing to rise to the bait. I can’t let him see how much he’s already unsettled me; how close he’s getting to breaking through my composure. I need to get the fuck away from him.

“I’ll tell you about the girl.” Ghost leans forward further, his voice low and conspiratorial. “But you have to give me something in return.”

I arch an eyebrow, skeptical, but I stay where I am. This glass wall only has a few small holes, but I’ve seen what he can do. “And what exactly do you think I have to offer?”

His smile returns, dark and twisted. “Your time, Dr. Andrews. Your attention. I want to know what makes you tick, what keeps you up at night. I want to understand you as well as you think you understand me.”

My throat constricts and I swallow hard, the full weight of his words sinking in. This isn’t just an obsession—it’s a need to dominate.

“You’re not getting anything from me.” I glare at him before pivoting on my heel.

“Geneva.”

The sound of my name on Ghost’s lips freezes me in place. Hearing it for the first time, in his voice, laced with that dark, insidious charm, feels like a violation. As if he’s reached inside and stripped away another layer of the armor I’ve so carefully constructed, while also caressing me.

I force myself to take a breath, to steady the tremor in my hands. I don’t turn around. I can’t. If I look at him now, I’m afraid of what I might see—what I might feel.

“Geneva,” he says again, softer this time, almost apologetic. “Don’t walk away. Not yet.”

There’s a part of me that wants to bolt out of this room, to put as much distance between myself and that voice, that man, as possible. But there’s another part—a darker, more curious part—that wants to stay, to hear what he has to say, to understand why he’s so fixated on me.

I dig my nails into my palms, using the pain as an anchor, something to hold on to, something to keep me grounded. “You haven’t earned the right to call me that.”

“But it’s your name, isn’t it? And it suits you. So strong, so poised. But there’s a vulnerability there too, just beneath the surface. I like that.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. The temptation to turn around, to confront him, to demand answers is all-consuming. But that’s exactly what he wants.

“I’m leaving,” I say, more to myself than to him, as if repeating it will give me the resolve to actually do it. I take a step toward the door, forcing my legs to move, forcing myself to keep going.

“Dr. Andrews.” His voice is low and urgent. “You’re running away, but you can’t escape me. You know that, don’t you? I’m already in your head. You’ll think about me long after you leave this room. You’ll hear my voice, see my face. You’ll wonder what I’m doing, what I’m thinking. And you’ll come back. Because you need answers just as much as I do.”

My muscles tighten, stiffening my spine. “Whether or not that’s true, you’ll never know.”

“And you’ll never find Anna Lee in time without my help.”

I spin around, my eyes wide. “She’s alive?”

He studies me for a long moment, as if carefully choosing his response, then nods slowly. “Yes. Now be a good girl and come back and play with me.” The soft words slide across my body like a physical touch, sensual and tantalizing.

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest to emphasize my stance, and to fortify myself. “I’m done playing your games.”

“Okay, you win this round.” He laughs, a soft, mocking sound that sends chills down my spine. “One final request and then I’ll tell you everything you need to know to find the girl.”

“I’m listening.”

Ghost’s eyes glint with something darker, more dangerous than before, as he leans back in his chair, the chains binding him to the table clinking softly. His smile widens, a slow, deliberate curve that makes my skin crawl with foreboding.

“I want you to show me the real you, Dr. Andrews. The part you keep locked away, buried under all those rules and professionalism.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice is low and smooth, like silk. “I’ve seen it in your eyes, the way you struggle to keep control, to maintain that perfect façade. But I also see the cracks, the part of you underneath that longs to be free from all the rules and constraints you’ve imposed on yourself.”

A mixture of fear and something else—something I don’t want to acknowledge—slithers over me. He’s talking about the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, places I’ve never let anyone go before. Places I’ve barely dared to explore myself. And it terrifies me.

“Nothing you’re saying is true.”

He shakes his head slowly, that infuriating smile never leaving his face. “This is about truth. Your truth. You hide behind that beautiful exterior, pretending to be someone you’re not, because you’re afraid. Afraid of what it would mean to truly let go, to let someone see the real Geneva. But I see her. I. See. You.”

I fist my hands until my knuckles turn white and my forearms ache with the effort it takes to remain still. His words hit too close to the truths I’ve kept secret for so long. And I hate him for it. I hate him for seeing what I’ve spent my entire life hiding from the world.

From myself.

“You’re wrong,” I manage to say, but the conviction in my voice is slipping.

“Am I? You’re so tightly wound, so disciplined, that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive. You want to experience something real, something raw.”

I want to shout at him, to tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t know anything about me. But the words won’t come. Because deep down, in the part of me I’ve always kept locked away, I know he’s right. I have spent my life building walls, creating rules to keep myself contained, to protect myself from the chaos that I fear would consume me if I ever let it out. And I’ve become a prisoner of those rules, trapped in a life that feels more like a cage than anything else.

“You don’t know me,” I say. “I’m not going to indulge your sick fantasies.”

He laughs softly. “It’s not about indulging me. It’s about indulging yourself. For once in your life, stop pretending. Let yourself feel. Let yourself be free.”

His words are like a drug, intoxicating and dangerous, pulling me in even as I try to resist. And that’s what frightens me the most—the part of me that wants to listen to him, to experience that freedom he’s talking about. But I know that path leads to darkness, to a place I may never come back from.

His smile softens, turning almost tender, as if he’s genuinely concerned for me, which only makes this worse. “What’s the point of living if you’re not truly alive?”

I close my eyes, trying to block out his voice, his presence, but it’s useless. He’s already under my skin, digging into the deepest parts of me, exposing everything I’ve tried so hard to keep private.

But I can’t break. Not here, not now.

“Tell me where Anna Lee is.” I open my eyes, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Please.”

He watches me for a long moment, his gaze piercing, unrelenting. “All right. I’ll tell you. But remember this—you can walk away now, but you’ll never escape what’s inside you. One day, you’ll have to face it. And when you do, you’ll remember this moment, and you’ll know that I was right.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and ominous as he shifts in his chair, the chains rattling softly. “The girl is being held in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town near the industrial district, just off Route 17. You’ll find it past the abandoned train yard, where the tracks split off into dead ends. She’s alive. For now.”

I don’t wait for anything else. I turn on my heel and march out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with his words, his voice echoing in my ears. I got what I came for. We have the information we need to hopefully save an innocent child.

But even as I rush down the hallway, the cold, blank walls closing in around me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lost something in that room.

Something I may never get back.