Текст книги "Depraved devotion"

Автор книги: Morgan Bridges

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER 18

GHOST

Geneva is drinking wine again.

Our visit earlier must’ve really fucked with her head. If she didn’t think I was actually capable of escaping prison, she wouldn’t be so stressed out.

I run my thumb over her image on my phone, wishing I was there with her. If I don’t deviate from my strategy, soon I won’t be wishing.

She’s sitting in her living room, dressed in sweatpants and a torn t-shirt, the light from her phone illuminating her face as she doomscrolls on social media. I watch her closely, the way she presses her lips together, the slight furrow in her brow. She’s the most beautiful and complex creature I’ve ever seen.

Unknown: Stay home tonight, Dr. Andrews.

I hit send. Watching Geneva in real time never fails to excite me. Her body tenses the moment her phone notifies her about the message. She swipes to read the text and her brows snap together. Confusion sweeps over her features, quickly followed by exasperation and a tiny bit of anger. She types something I can’t make out, and then pauses, her delicate fingers hovering over the keys before she erases everything.

Geneva purses her plush lips, sending my mind straight to the gutter. I can’t wait to shove my cock in her mouth, to feel her tongue circle the head before I thrust deep and make her choke—

She starts typing again, the rapid movement yanking me out of my fantasy. Wow, that was an ADD moment. Aaaaaand, I’m back.

Geneva: You might think you own me, but you’re wrong. I’ll prove it to you.

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. She’s strong, I’ll give her that, but I know her better than she knows herself. And right now, my girl needs to learn that I always mean what I say.

Unknown: My darling doctor, I think you’ll want to listen this time. After all, I have your best interests at heart.

Geneva: You don’t have a heart.

Unknown: I did once. I think? In any case, be a good girl and stay home. I mean it.

Geneva: And if I don’t?

Unknown: Actions have consequences.

I keep my gaze fixed on Geneva, watching her reaction closely. Her chest rises and falls faster as my threat strikes home. She doesn’t move to respond, just sits there quietly contemplating her options. Defiance wars with deliberation. Fear battles with fury. It’s written all over her face.

That’s a good girl. Think it through.

Geneva: What type of consequences?

Unknown: Irreversible ones.

Her fingers fly over the screen as she types something quickly, her movements more aggressive now. The anger on her face is beautiful.

Geneva: Fuck you.

Unknown: Unfortunately, not tonight. But soon, I promise you.

I let a few seconds pass before sending my next message, savoring the tension between us. Fuck, the things this woman does to me.

Unknown: Enjoy your evening because I know I will.

Geneva: What are you going to do?

Geneva: You need to tell me.

I grin at that. She’s trying to convince herself that she’s still in charge by demanding things from me. It’s adorable, really. But it won’t work. She can’t control me, any more than I can control my obsession over her.

I look around my cell, the walls no more than a mirage of captivity. Perception is fluid and I’ve always been good at shaping others’ to my satisfaction. There’s power in it, and that’s something the Malone family has a lot of. Giulio Malone runs the largest crime syndicate on this side of the United States.

And since he works for me, his men do too.

My mind drifts to a year ago, when I first began my campaign against them.

“People have patterns, making them predictable and fucking boring. But chaos…?” I pause, briefly closing my eyes and inhaling a deep breath. “Chaos makes my dick hard.”

Daniel Malone watches me, his gaze never leaving the knife in my gloved hand even as I use the other to grab my cock through my pants. Smart man. It’s natural to follow movement with your eyes, but he’s fighting his instincts.

So am I, since he’s not dead.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Malone asks.

“What do I want? What do I want? What do I want?”

I toss the knife, pursing my lips in thought. His eyes follow the motions of the blade, finally unable to resist.

Up Up.

Down. Down.

“Danny boy, I don’t want anything. Not really. Do you know why?” When he shakes his head emphatically, I grin. He flinches at the sinister expression, and my smile widens. “Because I don’t let anything get in my way. Chaos breeds opportunity and I am a glutton for exploitation.”

I grab him by the throat. The black leather coating my fingers squeaks as I place the knife under his chin to lift it. Blade up. He grimaces when the metal slices into his skin, but he doesn’t cry out.

How disappointing.

“Tell me when and where the next shipment of diamonds will be.” I tighten my hold, forcing a grunt from him. “I know your family has cutting and polishing businesses throughout New York City. They won’t notice if a few shiny rocks go missing.”

“They will notice,” he says on a wheeze. “And they’ll kill me.”

“No, I will kill you.”

“I can’t go against my family.”

I shove away from him with enough force that the wooden chair rocks back before landing on all fours with a loud thud. “Family. Familia. Famille. I had one once.”

At the thought of my parents, a huff of laughter works its way up my throat and rolls across my tongue. It builds, gaining volume and hilarity with every second. Malone’s eyes widen at my fit of humor, his gaze shining with fear and a hint of confusion.

“This isn’t funny, man,” he says. “Whoever you are, you should know the Malone family doesn’t allow competition on their streets. You’re begging for death, asshole.”

I snap my jaw shut and my teeth click together. “You’re assuming death scares me enough to be a threat.”

“It doesn’t?”

My scoff fills the silence. “Death is my canvas and I am an artist. Now, it’s time for me to gather my supplies and paint.”

Malone rears back in the chair. “Supplies?”

I swipe at the perspiration along his temple, rubbing the moisture between my gloved fingers. “Oh yes, Danny boy. I will splatter your blood, sweat, and tears all over this place, rivaling any artwork of Pollock.”

Good times.

Once I “convinced” the Malone family it was in their best interest to work with me, I’d obtained the cooperation of the security guards before I even stepped over the threshold of Blackwater. They’ll do whatever I tell them, including looking the other way and fabricating camera feeds. Of course, there was that one guard who confiscated my cell phone. For the first and last time.

It’s amazing how effective a severed hand can be.

My escape tonight will be temporary. This time. I just need a couple hours.

After looking at Geneva once more, I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket before getting up from my bed and walking over to the door. Grin in place, I grip the bars and call out, “Marco!”

An inmate shouts, “Polo, motherfucker. Now shut up! I’m trying to sleep.”

“Oh, Marco!” I repeat. Louder.

A collection of shouts and profanities fills the cell block. Then a security guard appears in front of me, sweating as if he ran to get here.

“What do you want, Ghost?”

“I’d like to take a stroll, Officer James.”

The guard’s eyes flicker with unease, his fingers twitching at his side. He knows what this means, and he’s in too deep to walk away. James doesn’t hesitate. With a sharp nod, he turns, pulling the keys from his belt and unlocking my cell door. The click of the lock disengaging is something I’ll never tire of.

As I step out, a cacophony of sound, made up of shouts, taunts, and curses, ricochets off the walls. I take a deep breath, letting the chaos wash over and fuel me as I walk past the rows of cells with the guard beside me. Most of the men don’t bother looking at me, too busy in their own worlds of rage and regret. But a few do. One in particular catches my eye.

Frank “Skinner” Burns. Serial rapist. A man whose sick appetites have earned him the worst kind of reputation in here. He’s sitting on the edge of his cot, his greasy hair hanging over his face as he glares at me through the bars. His eyes follow my every movement, filled with the kind of anguish that only men like him possess. Predators who’ve lost their power.

His lip curls into a sneer, but he doesn’t say anything, just watches me like a cornered animal. One who recognizes an alpha in his presence.

I smile and keep walking. I don’t need to say anything. Everyone has heard the rumors about me… because I made sure they had something to talk about.

The guard leads me through the maze of corridors, his boots tapping against the concrete floor. I let him stew in his own fear, enjoying the way he glances over his shoulder every few steps as if he expects me to do something. But I’m not in a rush.

As we approach the far end of the prison, the halls grow quieter, the air thicker with dust and disuse. This part of the facility hasn’t seen much traffic in years. Not since the place was first built.

The guard finally stops in front of a door. It’s old, steel reinforced, with rust creeping along the edges. The door was supposedly sealed decades ago, back when this place was still expanding. But I know better. This is the kind of secret the warden likes to keep hidden. The kind of secret men like me can exploit.

The guard hesitates, fumbling with his keys. His hand shakes as he finds the right one and slides it into the lock. James glances at me again, sweat dripping down his brow.

“You remember what’ll happen if you run your mouth about this, don’t you?” I ask.

He nods quickly, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “I—I remember.”

“Good. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

James shoots me an incredulous look and I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe any inmate that says they’d return to prison. But I’m not serving time. I’m biding time.

The door creaks when I open it, revealing a dark, narrow passage. I step through the doorway, my senses sharpening as the guard follows behind me, his presence nothing more than a formality now. The path stretches out in front of me, a long, dimly lit tunnel that leads to the outside world. To freedom, even if it’s temporary.

I step further into the abandoned hallway, my every movement deliberate and controlled. The power I hold isn’t just in my hands; it’s in the quiet fear that has spread through this place. Like I always say, perception is everything.

I’d love to know how Geneva perceives me. And if that’ll change in the morning.

Expectation hums in my veins as I move down the corridor and eventually step outside. The cool night air wraps around me like an old lover welcoming me home. There’s a car waiting just down the street, a sleek black sedan with tinted windows. Giulio’s men are nothing if not efficient.

I dismiss the guard and slide into the backseat. The driver pulls away the second I close the door. The city lights flash past the window, neon and blurred, as the vehicle rolls through the streets. It’s tranquil to be without walls imprisoning you, but that’s not the freedom I’m after.

No, freedom is meaningless without purpose. And my purpose is Geneva.

I lean back, lightly tapping my fingers against the door as I consider my next move. Mason’s not far. Giulio’s men have already tracked him down. Talk about VIP service.

During the drive through the city I change out of my orange jumpsuit and into something more comfortable with my mind constantly drifting back to Geneva. I’m tempted to pull up the camera feed again, but I need to concentrate and that’s hard to do when I look at her. She has a way of making the world disappear until she’s the only thing I see. The only thing I want.

Regardless, the tracking device on her cell phone will let me know if she listened to me or not. Except, I know she won’t.

And I can’t wait to teach her a lesson.

CHAPTER 19

GHOST

Darkness surrounds me like a cloak when I step from the vehicle.

The driver rolls down the window, his gaze barely meeting mine. “You want me to wait here?”

I shake my head. “This will take a while. Be back an hour before dawn.”

“Yes, sir.”

The engine purrs quietly as the vehicle pulls away, its tires gliding over the asphalt like a predator slipping back into the shadows. But I don’t watch it leave. My focus is straight ahead, on the towering apartment building in front of me. It’s tall, pristine, and expensive. The kind of place people think buys them safety, when it’s only a false sense of security.

Mason, you are so fucked.

While tugging down on the brim of my hat, I smile at the thought, anticipation filling my bones like marrow. This part of the city is polished, clean, and utterly insignificant to someone like me. Mason has to believe that living here, surrounded by wealth and status, means I can’t reach him.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

I slip through the building’s entrance with ease, my steps silent. The lobby is quiet, almost eerie in its opulence. Glass chandeliers hang overhead, casting a soft, ambient glow. The marble floor shines, reflecting my image and sparkling with flecks of gold and silver. All of this luxury, including the designer clothes I wear, doesn’t faze me.

At the end of the day, we’re all mortal, destined to die one way or another.

The doorman glances up from his desk, raking his gaze over me. I lift my chin like I belong here and the expensive clothes I’m wearing are part of my identity. He doesn’t blink, returning to his mundane tasks.

The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and I step inside, the metal reflecting a distorted version of myself. An illusion. A ghost. But tonight, I’m as real as the pain I’m going to inflict.

I press the button for his floor, and the elevator ascends smoothly, carrying me up toward my destination. After the brief ride, I exit the elevator and walk up to Mason’s door and knock. I could pick the lock, but it’s more fun if he lets me in, unknowingly giving access to the future crime scene.

The door opens just a crack, revealing my target. His hair is messy and his clothing rumpled. The nearly empty tumbler in his left hand catches my eye, and I smile. Mason was never a match for me, but he’s really put himself at a disadvantage by being under the influence of alcohol.

“What do you want?” he asks, his tired gaze narrowing on my face.

I smile, stepping forward so he’s forced to open the door a bit wider. “Mason, right?”

He frowns, glancing at me with confusion, his fingers tightening on the door. “Who’s asking?”

Ignoring his question, I step closer and he jerks back. Even in his stupor, he senses something about me is off, that my black slacks and crisp black shirt are mere camouflage. Too bad his instincts won’t save him.

“I need to talk to you about Dr. Andrews,” I say.

“What about her?”

A flash of unease lights up his gaze. He’s trying to gauge what I know, trying to figure out why I’m standing at his door talking about the woman he put his hands on. He’s not ready for this conversation. Not like I am.

“So, here’s the thing,” I say. “She needs to be taught a lesson.” I shove my hands in my pockets, leaning against the doorframe in an innocuous position. As expected, he relaxes, misreading my casual stance. “And I need you to help me, Mason.”

His frown deepens, his brow furrowing as he tries to place me, to recall my connection to him and Geneva. “What the hell are you talking about? And how do you know my name?”

I give him a sly smile as though we’re friends sharing a dark secret. I suppose that could be true. Mason and I are the only ones who know that he hurt Dr. Andrews.

“Geneva mentioned you once, but that’s besides the point. She needs to be punished. Severely.”

This time Mason takes a step back, keeping his death-grip on the door. But he doesn’t shut it. He won’t. He’s too curious. Too titillated by the idea of hurting Geneva again.

For that alone, I’m going to cut off his balls and hang them on my rearview mirror like a pair of dice.

Mason’s gaze darts from side to side, confirming we don’t have an audience. His mouth thins as he considers my proposal. I catch the moment the idea takes hold of him, the subtle shift in his body as intrigue and something dark begin to fuse together.

“What exactly are you thinking about doing?” he asks.

I shrug. “I’m open to anything, as long as it hurts. A lot.”

“Come in,” he says, his voice low. “This isn’t something to talk about publicly.”

I step through the threshold while concealing my amusement. The door clicks shut behind me, and I take a moment to assess my surroundings. The apartment is as expensive as it is boring. Clean lines, neutral tones, polished wood floors that gleam under the soft glow of designer lighting.

Blah, blah, blah. Details, shmetails.

Mason has surrounded himself with objects that symbolize wealth and power, but all I see are the hollow trappings of someone desperate to prove that he matters. That he’s in control.

A delusion I plan on shattering.

He crosses the room, setting down his tumbler on the counter before reaching out to grab a glass bottle.

Mental note: His right hand is his dominant hand.

His movements are jittery, but it’s not with fear. It’s eagerness. The fantasy of punishing Geneva excites him… almost as much as I’m excited to kill him.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Mason pours me a drink and hands me the glass. Once I take it, he refills his. “How do you know Gen? And what did she do to you?”

“I met her at Blackwater, where I used to work. To answer your other question: She ruined me.”

Mason lets out a sound, something between a laugh and a grunt, as if he understands. I almost smile. He has no idea what Geneva has done to me, how deeply she’s embedded herself into my mind. Ruined me, yes, but not in the way he thinks.

She’s made it impossible for me to want anyone or anything else. Because she’s the only thing I think about, the only person who I give a shit about. Does that mean I care for her? Not exactly. I doubt I’m capable of such emotions anymore.

But whatever I feel for her, it’s all-consuming.

“Gen has always been uptight,” Mason says. “A stickler for the rules.”

“I’m not surprised. It must’ve been hard being with someone like that.”

He scoffs. “You have no idea. She thinks following the rules makes her better than everyone.”

I dip my head in acknowledgment. “I get it. Before she got me fired, due to ‘inappropriate behavior,’ Geneva told me she’d just dumped her boy-toy and was swearing off all men.” Mason flinches at “boy-toy.” Fucking with his fragile ego is too easy. I blow out a breath, maintaining the composed look I’ve mastered, even though the urge to smile is almost overwhelming. “She needs to pay for what she did.”

“She’s always so cold,” he says. “She never let me in, never gave a shit about me beyond what I could do for her. But everyone has a breaking point, and I want to find hers.”

“That’s a good place to start.” I keep my voice soft, coaxing him. “What else?”

“I want to make her feel powerless. Tie her up, blindfold her, and torture her. Basically, take away everything that makes her feel secure.”

My mind files away every single word. Mason thinks he’s describing his fantasy for Geneva, but all he’s doing is giving me the tools I need to destroy him. Every twisted thought that crosses his mind will soon be his reality. Plus, some initiative on my part, of course.

“And then?” I ask.

Mason’s eyes gleam with cruelty now, fully immersed in his sick delusion. “I’ll make her beg. Make her plead for it to stop. But I won’t stop. Not until she’s completely broken or dead.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought a lot about this,” I say with a small laugh. As if I haven’t thought about torturing and killing him for weeks now.

He shrugs, trying to appear casual, but there’s an eagerness in his expression that he can’t quite suppress. “I’ve had time to think.”

“Damn man, what really happened? This sounds like more than just her dumping you.”

The skin around his jaw tightens and the shift in his demeanor is immediate. Rage is there, just below the surface, and I want him to release it. To admit what he did, so I can kill him.

“She broke things off with me. Me,” he snaps. “As if she can do better.”

“Sounds like she underestimated you.”

Mason’s eyes flash with anger, and he tightens his grip on the tumbler. “Damn right she did. She acted like she was too good for me, like I was just…” He grits his teeth, his knuckles turning white. “I showed her that night. And I’ll do it again.”

I raise an eyebrow, keeping my voice calm. “Oh? How did you show her?”

He hesitates for a moment, the fury twisting into something grotesque. “She wouldn’t stop,” he mutters, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Kept pushing. Kept acting like she’s better than me, like I’m nothing. And I just… I snapped.”

I keep my posture relaxed but my gaze sharp, watching him carefully. “Snapped how?”

“I… I hit her.” His face pales, and he takes another swig of his drink as if to wash the guilt away. “It’s like she wanted me to.”

I nod slowly, processing the information. Nothing justifies his pathetic excuse for losing control, but the fact that she stood there, pushing Mason to the brink, shows me something. Something she didn’t want me to know.

Geneva is starting to embrace who she really is.

I can’t help the satisfaction that rises in my chest. She’s no longer hiding behind that wall of ice and control. The strength inside her, the fire I saw when we first met… She let him see it, let him feel the heat of her defiance. And she burned him.

“So, what happened next?” I ask.

Mason hesitates, his eyes flickering with turmoil. Pride, uncertainty, but also a bit of fear. He wants to admit it, to tell me what happened, but he’s afraid of how it’ll sound. I can see it in the way his fingers tremble, in the way his gaze darts to the floor before coming back to mine.

“She laughed,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “After I hit her, she fucking laughed.”

The words hit me like a spark in a pool of gasoline, igniting something primal inside me. She laughed? I keep my expression neutral even as the thought of Geneva standing there, defiant, makes my blood hum with approval. Mason couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle her raw power.

“She laughed?” I repeat. “That’s weird.”

Mason shifts, clearly on edge. “She also grabbed a baseball bat. And threatened me with it.”

I lean forward, intrigued as fuck. Geneva with a bat? The image forms in my mind—her standing there, fearless, wielding the weapon with confidence.

Shit, now my dick is hard.

“Did she hit you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

If Mason tells me she struck him, I’m going to come in my slacks, right here, right now.

He shakes his head quickly, his eyes wide with the memory. “No, but she looked crazy, man. I didn’t know what the fuck she was going to do.”

I take a step closer. “You’re scared of her, aren’t you?”

“Fuck no,” he says on a near shout.

“You should be.”

He looks at me with disgust coating his features. “Scared of a woman? Hell no.”

“How about being scared of a man?” I pause, my lips twitching. “Or maybe a ghost?”

And then… recognition flickers across his face. His eyes widen, his mouth going slack as he stares at me, his gaze tracing the jagged line of my scar. His bravado crumbles, and the fear I’ve been waiting for creeps in, clawing its way over his expression.

Yahtzee!

“Wait!” His voice trembles. “You’re… you’re that guy. The serial killer from the news. Ghost.”

I smile and remove my hat, exposing my white hair. “There it is.”

Mason immediately takes a step back. Then he glances toward the door and his phone on the table. “If you don’t get out, I’ll call the police. They’ll—”

I laugh softly, cutting him off. “You think I care about the police? I’m already in prison for life. What are they going to do? Throw me in for longer? Enroll me in a loyalty rewards program?” I take another step forward, my presence looming over him. “Actually, I plan on calling them before I leave, so they can find what’s left when I’m done with you.”

His entire body stiffens as the threat hits home. I drop my voice to a near whisper as I wag my finger in his direction. “You see, Mason, you were wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong for touching what’s mine. For underestimating Geneva. For thinking she was yours to begin with.”

Mason stumbles back, his hands shaking as he raises them defensively. “Look, man, I didn’t know—”

“No one touches what’s mine. You don’t lay a hand on her. You don’t even look at her. Now, you’re going to pay for all of that.”

I take another step forward, closing the distance between us until my face is inches from his. Until I can see the sweat beading on his forehead and the sheer terror in his eyes. I glance toward the phone on the table, the corner of my mouth lifting in a dark smile.

“Go ahead and call the police, Mason. Tell them Ghost is here and that you have a murder to report. Yours.”