“What’s happening?” My voice is tight with unease, but he doesn’t answer right away. The sounds outside the room intensify, and a knot forms in my stomach.
“Geneva,” Ghost says, his voice low and fervent. “You shouldn’t be here right now.”
I open my mouth to respond, but a deafening crash cuts me off. The door shudders, the hinges rattling violently as something—or someone—slams into it. I spin around when a man shouts just outside the room. It’s followed by another farther away, and the garbled fragments dissolve into the background noise that’s still gaining volume.
“It sounds like the natives are restless.” Ghost’s voice is calm, but his tone lacks its usual edge of amusement. His eyes flick back to me, sharp and assessing. “Get away from the door.”
I nod just as another loud bang sends a jolt through me, freezing me in place. Something heavy slams against the door, and a wet, gurgling sound cuts through the air. It’s followed by a sickening thud of a body hitting the floor.
The room falls eerily silent, save for my ragged breathing. I glance at Ghost, whose posture has gone rigid, his eyes fixed on the door with an intensity that speaks volumes.
“Is he dead?” I whisper, though I already know the answer.
Blood seeps under the door, slowly pooling on the concrete floor. My stomach flips, and I take several steps back, pressing myself against the wall as my chest tightens.
Ghost doesn’t move, his gaze never leaving the door. “You need to stay calm,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. “It’s not safe out there.”
“No shit,” I hiss.
“Listen to me. Don’t open the door, no matter what you hear.”
I swallow hard. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to protect you.”
“What? How?”
Ghost’s eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I see something in them. Determination? Concern? Whatever it is, it makes my skin prickle with something I can’t name. Without another word, he steps back from the glass.
“Ghost,” I say, my voice trembling. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he scans the room, his gaze acute and methodical, before turning toward the metal table on his side of the interrogation room. He steps onto the chair first, then climbs onto the table, the cuffs clinking as he moves.
My heart pounds harder when he reaches into his pocket, producing something small and glinting in the dim light. I squint, trying to make it out.
A penny.
“Where did you get that?” I ask.
He smirks faintly, but his focus remains on the vent above him. “I’m resourceful.”
Ghost balances carefully on the table, using the edge of the penny to unscrew the cover of the vent. His hands move deftly, the cuffs barely slowing him down while he works.
“Did you plan this?” I ask.
“Plan?” he echoes, glancing at me briefly. “Not exactly. Anticipate? Always.”
“Ghost—”
“Dr. Andrews, if I explained every brilliant move I’ve made, we’d be here all day.”
I glare at him before resuming my vigilance by staring at the door. “Whatever.”
“If you’re impressed, just say so. It’s not every day you see a man dismantle prison security with spare change.”
I release a sigh, the sound a mixture of the disbelief and irritation gathering in my chest. “You’re insane.”
“I prefer the term ‘innovator.’ Insanity is just what the unimaginative call genius.”
He chuckles softly, the sound maddeningly calm. However, not once does he stop rotating the penny to loosen the screws. The first one falls into his waiting palm.
A rubber sole squeaks against the floor right before someone tests the door handle to my room. It rattles twice more. I stop breathing until the person walks away, his shoes announcing his retreat.
Ghost’s attention shifts to me. “Everything’s fine. I’ve got this.”
I swallow hard, my mind reeling. “How can you—”
A loud bang makes me jump; it’s the unmistakable sound of someone’s fist hitting a surface. Ghost and I both look at the door and then each other. Another violent impact shakes the hinges, the sound reverberating through the room.
“Open the door, bitch!”
My blood turns to ice as I rush to grab the chair and return to my position with my back against the wall. It’s not a baseball bat, but it’ll have to do.
“What about my interview, Doctor?” The man laughs maniacally, making my skin crawl. “You think I can’t get to you in there?”
The man’s voice grows louder, more insistent, as he continues to shout obscenities and threats. The only thing keeping him at bay is the door and me armed with a chair. Ghost won’t even look at me, his focus fully on the vent as he works methodically with the penny.
The odds are not in my favor.
Finally, Ghost pauses, turning his head to glance at me. His expression is cold enough to make me shiver. “If they get through that door, they’ll regret it.”
For the first time in my life, I’m glad to have a serial killer on my side.
The banging grows louder until the door handle falls to the ground with a loud clang. My breath catches, my heart pounding in my chest as I glance between Ghost and the door.
“You’re still handcuffed!” I whisper. “How are you going to stop him?”
Ghost turns back to the vent, his movements precise as he continues loosening the final screw. “Oh, Dr. Andrews,” he says, his tone chiding. “Handcuffs aren’t a limitation. They’re just an inconvenience. Have you forgotten my arraignment already?”
“The innocent man you killed in court? No, I haven’t.”
“Deputy Wilson wasn’t innocent.” Ghost makes a face of disgust. “He beat his wife every day. I did her a favor while proving a point to the judge. Win-win.”
I press myself against the wall, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions roiling inside me. There’s confusion, anger, and a flicker of something disturbingly close to understanding.
The door slams open with a deafening crash that makes me cry out. A wild-eyed inmate with a stocky build stumbles inside before slamming the door shut. His face is flushed with exertion, his chest heaving, and he’s gripping a jagged piece of metal that’s been fashioned into a weapon.
His eyes land on me and it takes everything in me not to cower. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” He leers at me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve smelled pussy.”
“Ghost.” I whisper his name like a prayer, teetering on the edge of hysteria.
“Fight,” Ghost says, his voice hard, unyielding. “Fight to survive.”
I shake my head, panic spilling over. “You expect me to—”
“I expect you to stay alive until I get to you,” Ghost snaps.
The inmate laughs, a dry, rasping sound. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. This won’t take long.”
Ghost slams his fist against the glass. Hard. The inmate’s attention shifts to Ghost, the man’s grin faltering at the look on his face. It’s pure, unadulterated wrath.
“Don’t do it,” Ghost says quietly. Despite the softness of his voice, the menace underneath it is loud. “What do they call you? Lobo? Listen to me, Lobo. You won’t live long enough to bust a nut, let alone brag about it.”
“What are you going to do from over there?” The inmate rolls his eyes. “Nothing you say is going to stop me.”
Ghost narrows his gaze, but it fails to hide the fire in his eyes. “If you touch her, I’ll make sure your last breath is an apology, before I cut out your tongue.”