“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.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ:
I’m still a hot mess and You still love me anyway, so thank You.
To my family:
I love you so much. You’re the reason I’m writing this acknowledgment.
To my author friends:
Thank you for your unwavering support and loyalty. I couldn’t do this without you.
To my editor, Sabrina Flemming:
Thank you for putting so much time and energy into my books. I truly believe you’ve been essential in making them something we can both be proud of. I love the friendship that we’ve created, and I can’t imagine working with anyone else.
To the Forever team, thank you for the work you’ve put into my books:
Daniela Medina and Silviya Andreeva, cover designers; Carolina Martin, digital advertising manager; Bob Castillo, production editor; Emily Baker, production coordinator; Maisa Nammari, manufacturing coordinator; Taylor Navis, interior designer; Lynne Cannon Menges, copy editor.
To my agent, Jessica Alvarez:
Thank you for representing me and helping me achieve success in the world of traditional publishing.
To my readers:
I wouldn’t be an author without you. I’ll say this until the day I die.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author Morgan Bridges is a lover of anti-heroes, beautifully written words, and bedroom scenes that are so hot she blushes. She lives with her family near Dallas, TX.
You can find out more at:
Authormbridges.com
TikTok @morganbridgesauthor
Instagram @mbridges_author
Facebook @morganbridgesauthor
ALSO BY MORGAN BRIDGES
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Once You’re Mine
Now You’re Mine
THE OBSIDIAN ORDER
Vicious Secret
Vicious Society