Hello again, Junior.

I watch him for a moment longer, my mind already working. He’s perfect for what I have planned. Someone like him doesn’t need to be threatened. This guy just needs the right kind of pressure, the right kind of promise.

“Jennings,” I say without looking at the guard. “You can relax now. I’m just here to enjoy the fresh air.”

He grunts in response, but I can feel his gaze on me, his skepticism hanging in the air like a challenge. Let him doubt me. Let him watch. By the time I’m finished, he won’t even realize he’s part of the plan too.

For now, though, my focus is on Junior. This one’s not a fighter by choice. He’s cerebral, but not in a way that makes him immune to manipulation. In fact, it makes him ideal.

Junior’s anxiety is a tangible thing, wrapping around him like a shroud. It’s in the way his shoulders hunch and how his gaze darts to every shadow as though expecting something to leap out at him. He’s already trapped in his own mind.

I approach slowly, unhurried, as though I’m just taking in the sun like everyone else. Junior glances up as I draw closer, his eyes locking onto mine for half a second before darting away.

“Afternoon,” I say smoothly, keeping my tone light. I stop a few feet away, close enough to get his attention but far enough not to spook him.

Junior slows his pacing but doesn’t stop. “What do you want?” His voice is low and guarded. He doesn’t look at me again, his focus shifting to the ground as his fingers wiggle at his sides.

I let out a soft chuckle, crossing my arms. “Relax, Junior. I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, actually.”

His jaw tightens at my nickname for him, but he doesn’t correct me. That’s good. He’s pliable, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. “I’m not interested.” He picks up his pace, his movements more erratic now.

I step closer, just enough to cut into his path, forcing him to stop. He stiffens, his gaze darting to the groups of inmates scattered across the yard as though looking for an escape.

“Someone’s been messing with your stuff, haven’t they?” I say.

His head snaps up, his wide eyes brightening with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve noticed it, haven’t you?” I tilt my head, studying him. “The way your stuff has been moved, your space violated. The books with missing pages, so you can’t fully understand the text. Then there’s that note you found yesterday.”

His lips part, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools his expression. “How do you—”

“Let’s just say I notice things. I also see patterns, Junior. And the pattern here? Someone’s fucking with you.”

He swallows hard, his fingers twitching again as he looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb,” I say, my tone sharpening just enough to pierce through his denial. “You’ve felt it. The looks. The whispers. They’re closing in, and you’re running out of time.”

I take a step back, giving him space to process. It’s important not to crowd him. Not yet.

“Why are you telling me this?” He looks around, eyes widening. “Are you trying to help me?”

I scoff. “Hell no. I’m a selfish asshole.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t want Jennings to get what he’s after.”

“Jennings?” he repeats, the confusion in his voice tinged with growing unease.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, Jennings. You think he’s a man who only cares about the job and none of the perks? Open your eyes, Junior. The man’s been singling you out since day one. All those ‘random’ checks? The extra time in the laundry detail? The way he stares at you? That’s not coincidence.”

His breathing quickens. “Why?”

“Because he sees you as weak. And weakness is easy to exploit. Jennings is no different from the assholes out here in the yard. He just wears a uniform and hides behind his badge. Trust me, he wants you scared and isolated, so he can use you however he wants.”

Junior’s eyes dart to the far end of the yard where Jennings stands, his posture casual, but his gaze sweeps back and forth. As if on cue, the guard looks over at us. When his eyes briefly land on Junior, the young man stiffens next to me.

“See?” I whisper. “He’s looking right at you. Again. What a fucking pervert.”

Junior swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze flickers back to me. Paranoia is such a pliable thing. A masterpiece in the hands that mold it.

“See?” I repeat, keeping my voice low. “He’s not subtle.”

“I—I never noticed,” Junior stammers.

“That’s the point. You’re not supposed to notice. You’re supposed to think it’s just in your head.”

I rock back on my heels and glance down when something glints in the sunlight. A penny lies at the edge of the concrete, dull and scuffed but unmistakably out of place in the barrenness of the yard. I bend down, picking it up between my fingers, and let out a soft chuckle. Junior flinches at the sound, his nerves already frayed.

“Funny thing about pennies,” I muse, turning it over in my hand. “They’re everywhere, but most people don’t bother picking them up anymore. Too insignificant. Too worthless.”

Junior frowns, his unease briefly giving way to confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

I hold the penny up, letting the light catch it for just a moment before I slip it into my pocket. “People underestimate the little things, Junior. The ones they think don’t matter. But they can change everything.”

His brow furrows, but I don’t give him time to respond. I step away, turning toward the other side of the yard with a casual wave of my hand.

“Watch your back,” I call over my shoulder. “And don’t drop the soap.”

CHAPTER 27

I repress a laugh as I walk away from Junior.

Manipulating him was too easy. The lack of challenge would be off-putting if I didn’t need him. That young man is a clusterfuck of anxiety and psychosis, wrapped in paranoia. Basically, he’s an explosive waiting to detonate… and I’ve lit the fuse.

With a smile, I head toward the bleachers and shove my hands in my pockets. My fingers brush the penny, the cool metal a reminder of the tasks ahead of me. All of them leading to having Geneva in my grasp.

Heavy footsteps reach me, the grass underneath his boots failing to muffle his gait entirely. I stop, but I don’t turn around to confront the man following me. Not only is my behavior dismissive, but it shows that I don’t consider him enough of a threat to face him.

“What do you want, Skinner?”

Frank “Skinner” Burns stops walking, his voice dripping with mockery that’s as oily as his hair. “I wanted to meet the famous Ghost.”

“If by ‘meet me,’ you mean you want to put your dick in my ass, you can forget it.” I look at him over my shoulder with my brows raised. “Exit only, bro.”

His face contorts, his eyes turning black with malice. Although he leans toward me, he won’t attack. I haven’t pissed him off enough. And he hasn’t finished delivering his message.

Even so, he’s afraid of me.

I would be too. I’m fucking crazy. Not to mention, my intelligence supersedes his. It’s embarrassing, really.

“Shut the fuck up,” Skinner says.

“Really? That’s the best you can come up with?” I roll my eyes and turn to face him. “You’re a rapist, a man used to taking what he wants. Are you pissed because you’re the one who’s getting fucked without consent now? That’s pretty hypocritical.”

Skinner clenches his fists and the veins in his neck throb, rapidly pulsing against the skin.