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.