“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.”

CHAPTER 20

Unknown: Actions have consequences.

I stare down at the screen, my fingers tightening around my phone as I reread Ghost’s message. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I rise and begin pacing, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s on fire, charged with anger. I could call my boss. I should call Allen and let him know Ghost has been sending these messages and that he’s threatening me now. But then I’d have to explain why I didn’t say anything when the texts first arrived, and… that’s a rabbit hole I’m not ready to dive into.

Besides, what’s the point? There’s no way Ghost can actually do anything. He’s locked up, behind bars where he belongs. Whatever power he thinks he has, whatever manipulation he’s trying to pull, it starts and stops with the phone.

I march into my bedroom, grab my gym bag, then my shoes and jacket. If Ghost thinks he can get in my head and make me doubt myself or make me too scared to leave my own apartment, he’s wrong. So fucking wrong.

As I step outside, the cool evening air hits my face, clearing my mind a bit. The city lights blur as I walk at a brisk pace. I need to move, to breathe, to get out of my head.

I retrieve my phone, tempted to text him back, to tell him exactly what I think of his threats. But I stop myself. That’s what he wants.

Instead, I slip the phone back into my pocket and keep walking, the weight of Ghost’s threat still lingering in the back of my mind. He’s just trying to scare me. He can’t do anything. He’s in prison. He can’t touch me.

The neon “24-Hour Gym” sign flickers against the black sky, its buzz low and constant as I push open the door. The space is mostly empty at this hour, just a few dedicated souls pounding away on the treadmills or lifting weights in the far corners. It’s quiet enough, and that’s what I need right now.

I move to the locker room, slipping into my workout gear. The familiar routine of pulling on leggings, lacing up my sneakers, and tying my hair back is calming.

Discipline. Order. Efficiency.

This is the only way to keep my life from falling apart. Every action pulls me a little further away from the chaos swirling inside my head. Away from Ghost’s words, his threats, his dark promises. I can’t control him, but I can control this.

I step out into the gym, the smell of rubber mats and disinfectant filling the air. I head straight for the punching bag in the corner, the one that’s seen better days, its leather worn and cracked.