The last time I was in this building, it was one of the best and worst days in my life.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Pritchett,” the bailiff says.

As a collective, everyone gets to their feet, eyes facing forward. The judge walks in, his full, black robes swishing with his measured steps. The man’s forehead is creased and his mouth thin, as if he’s already feeling the weight of the hearing.

The judge’s voice rings out once he’s settled in his chair with his gavel nearby. “Please be seated.”

I sit, anticipation thrumming along my arms until goosebumps appear on my flesh. Any minute now…

Everyone freezes the moment the side door opens and the sound of chains clinking together echoes in the room.

Ghost has arrived.

CHAPTER 2

I stop breathing as Ghost walks in.

He towers over the five guards surrounding him. His large hands are cuffed in front of him, the metal gleaming under the lights with every step he takes. Despite the extra security—overkill or not enough?—and restraints, Ghost moves with a deadly grace and an air of confidence that belies his situation.

He’s devastating in person.

My lungs scream in protest, and I inhale deep as I run my gaze over his features. Features that no picture or camera lens could ever do justice.

His hair isn’t just white; it’s pure and blinding like the first snow of winter in Central Park. The man’s face is gorgeous: the kind only found in romance novels and movies. His orange jumpsuit doesn’t detract from his attractiveness whatsoever. Not when the black ink on his neck offers a sneak peek of the tattoos hidden underneath his clothing. His smirk—half-seductive, half-sinister—has me shifting in my seat.

Then there’s his eyes…

Cold and calculating, but there’s something else, too, something that’s not quite right.

Intensity?

Insanity?

Inhumanity?

As I continue to study Ghost, his gaze slides across the room. And lands on me.

I stiffen, an involuntary reaction to the weight of his stare. Ghost stops walking, holding my gaze as a knowing smile graces his lips. If it wasn’t for the way my skin heats, I’d believe I’m imagining the entire thing.

One of the deputies shoves Ghost, breaking our connection. I frown at the show of violence. Ghost needs to be held accountable for his actions but treating him like that isn’t something I condone.

“Keep moving,” the deputy says.

Ghost straightens to his full height of well over six feet, and cranes his neck back and forth before slowly turning around to look at the deputy over his shoulder. “If you do that again, I’ll kill you.”

The menace in his tone doesn’t override the sensuality of his deep voice. A woman in the row in front of me hums appreciatively, and I have the urge to smack her upside the head. Yes, he could probably make someone come from murmuring sweet nothings in their ear, but he literally just threatened to murder a man in broad daylight with over fifty witnesses.

Ghost is not only deranged but delusional.

The deputy freezes before his brows snap together. “Shut up and start walking.”

When he shoves Ghost a second time, I hold my breath again. The convict merely smirks.

“Deputy Wilson, I hope you have a notarized will in place.”

Before the man can respond to the threat, Ghost faces forward and saunters away as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. The security maintains their positions, keeping the criminal between them, until they reach the table.

Ghost plops down unceremoniously in the chair and lifts his hands. “Let’s do this.”

The deputies are quick to secure his handcuffs to a chain on the table. One of them breathes a sigh of relief once Ghost is fully restrained. I find myself doing the same. There’s no doubt in my mind that Ghost would add to his list of crimes if given the chance.

“You are here today for your arraignment,” the judge says to Ghost. “The charges against you will be read. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honorship.”

The judge doesn’t react to the sarcasm, except for tilting his head away from Ghost. The microexpression of annoyance doesn’t escape my notice. After Judge Pritchett gestures to the clerk, the man comes forward, document in hand.

“The court will now hear the case of the State of New York versus John Doe, case number 2025-CR-00567. The charges are twelve counts of first-degree murder—”

“Soon to be thirteen counts,” Ghost says loudly, grinning at Deputy Wilson. “Thirteen is my lucky number.”

Like a puff of smoke, gasps and whispers fill the room, permeating the space with shock and excitement. Judge Pritchett slams his gavel and silence reigns once more.

“Order in court.” The judge shifts his attention to Ghost, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “You are to remain silent and listen as the charges are read. I will not tolerate interruptions.”

The court clerk clears his throat and continues. “The charges are multiple counts of first-degree murder, multiple counts of aggravated assault, arson, use of a deadly weapon, theft, and one count of…”

The clerk frowns in confusion as he stares at the paper in his hand. “One count of bird-napping.”

Ghost shrugs. “I had to save my cock from being caged.”

My lips fall apart before twitching at his absurdity while people all around me snicker. The judge glowers at the crowd. “Order.”

The convict places his boots on the table, reclining in his chair, an air of satisfaction enveloping him. I purse my lips when the deputies fail to instruct Ghost to place his feet on the floor, but a quick scan of their features offers mild relief. I suppose a relaxed serial killer in a non-threatening position isn’t worth provoking. At least not this one.

In a rush the clerk finishes, “Presiding over this case is Honorable Judge Pritchett.”

“Now that you’ve heard the charges against you, it’s my duty to ensure that you understand your rights throughout these proceedings,” the judge says to Ghost. “You have the right to an attorney, which you refused. Is that correct?”

Ghost shrugs. “Why would I hire someone dumber than me? Good help is so hard to find nowadays.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Doe.”

“I thought I did. I intend to represent myself.” His grin returns. “Your Honorship.”

The judge blows out a breath. “Given the results of your competency evaluation, I will allow it. Counselor?”

The prosecutor stands. He smooths out his blue tie and lifts his chin, eyes narrowed on Ghost before shifting his gaze to the judge. “Given the severity of the charges and the potential danger to the public, we request that the defendant be held without bail. The nature of the crimes indicates a high flight risk and further risk to the citizens of New York.”

Judge Pritchett nods at Ghost. “Do you wish to respond to the prosecution’s request for detention without bail?”

Ghost chuckles, his ever-present smirk still in place. “I have no intention to flee. I turned myself in, remember?”

The courtroom buzzes with suppressed laughter once again. Even I can’t stop the smile that forms on my lips. Although I’m quick to erase it from my face and focus my attention on taking notes.

“I’ll take your voluntary surrender into account, but you will be held in custody until your trial. With that being said, you have a right to a jury trial…”

The judge lists each and every one of Ghost’s legal rights, his voice steady and resonant. Every so often he sweeps his gaze over the courtroom, but Ghost doesn’t move. He stays reclined in his chair, nodding here and there as though aptly paying attention to the judge.