Hmm… looks like I struck a nerve.

I quickly run my gaze over him, taking in every detail, every nuance of his body language. The ink on his forearm snatches my attention, giving me the most insight into my opponent. The tattoo is a vine that coils around his arm, with thorns that “pierce” the skin, drawing blood.

Interesting.

“I don’t need consent,” he says. “They all give it to me willingly.”

“Sure, Skinner. Sell your bullshit to someone else ʼcause I’m not buying it.” I turn to walk away but stop at his next words.

“She’ll be the next one begging me to fuck her.”

My entire body tenses with rage. It’s as though every inch of my skin is stretching, building with the need to act, to annihilate this motherfucker. The very idea of Skinner touching Geneva fills me with such disgust that I can barely fucking talk.

“Don’t.” The word comes out quiet, but it’s full of warning.

“I heard you were Dr. Andrews’s new assignment. I know she’s been spending a lot of time here, seeing you.” Skinner gives me a sly smile. “Maybe I’ll see her too.”

I draw in a deep breath, battling my wrath as it washes over me, burning me from the inside. I weigh the pros and cons of ending his life right now. Unfortunately, his death could prevent me from seeing Geneva the next time she visits. While I might not be able to attack him, that doesn’t mean I can’t destroy him right now.

And murder him later.

“Did she mention me in any of your sessions?” Skinner asks. “We have history, you know.”

When I release a deep breath, I’m completely in control, a master of my murdering tendencies. And ready to fuck him up.

I smile. His gaze flicks to my scar, the way it’s pulled taut, making it grotesque. Then he looks me in the eyes. Whatever he sees there has his pupils contracting.

“No, Dr. Andrews didn’t mention you.” I wave a hand in dismissal. “We’re always too busy talking about shit that’s actually important.”

“She’ll mention me soon enough.”

I maintain my smile while grinding my molars. “You should have a session with her. It’d be good for you to talk about how you’re a closet homosexual who rapes women to hide the fact.”

He jerks back, his dark hair gliding along his shoulders. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your tattoo. It represents your issues.”

“No, it’s not—”

“Vines are associated with entrapment. Being bound and powerless, the way you feel about your urges.” I purse my lips in thought. “The thorns are the deeply rooted pain you experienced both mentally and emotionally. Someone must’ve found out and ridiculed you for it. And the blood… That’s my favorite tell. It’s shame. You want to bleed onto your victims so they’re smeared with it too, and you’re not alone with your humiliation.”

I lean toward him, my tone filled with the same darkness that haunts him. “In reality, Skinner, that tattoo isn’t a warning for people not to come near. It’s a mural showing how fucked up you are.”

His breath comes out hard and fast, like he’s just run a marathon. The whites of his eyes are stark, and his pupils are blown wide with horror and fury.

I straighten, smiling once again. There are many ways to fuck with a person, and this is one of the more enjoyable methods.

Skinner moves with a burst of rage, his fists swinging wildly as he closes the distance between us. I step back, sidestepping his first blow with ease, my movements fluid and controlled. He’s all energy and no strategy.

“Is that all you’ve got, Skinner?” I ask when his knuckles whistle past my face. “I’m thinking it’s more challenging to fight someone that you can’t overpower with brute force.”

His growl is guttural, animalistic, as he lunges again. His fist grazes my ribs but does little more than stroke my amusement. I’m lighter on my feet, faster, and I know how to use his emotions against him.

A glint of metal winks at me as his hand dips to his waistband. It’s a crude, jagged piece of steel wrapped in jagged cloth, that’s aimed at my torso. A shiv.

Well, fuck.

I pivot sharply, the blade missing its mark but slicing into my biceps. I grunt with pain, blood now clinging to the fabric of my sleeve. Skinner snarls, emboldened by the hit, and comes at me again, slashing wildly. Men from all over the yard rush toward us, including both inmates and security guards.

“Temper, temper.” I sing-song, keeping my amused expression despite the burning in my arm. I duck under his next swing. The crowd around us roars now, a mix of jeers and cheers, their energy feeding Skinner’s frenzy.

I stay on the defensive, my steps light as I sidestep and dodge. Skinner’s blows grow more erratic, his movements fueled by pure rage and diminishing energy.

“Do they know?” I ask, ducking another wild swing. “Does your crew know that you’re attracted to men? That you only target women because you’re not strong enough to rape a man?”

His scream is primal as he throws everything into his next strike. I sidestep, spinning out of his reach, and he stumbles forward, his momentum betraying him.

“Enough!” Jennings’s voice booms across the chaos and the yard erupts with the sound of additional guards rushing in. The crowd scatters as they arrive with weapons raised.

Skinner, still heaving with fury, steps toward me before a guard grabs him by the collar and yanks him backward. “On the ground, now!” the officer barks, slamming Skinner against the dirt.

Jennings appears next to me, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the blood seeping through my sleeve. “You good?”

I nod. “I’ve had worse.”

“Who started this shit?”

“Not me, obviously. Getting shanked isn’t on my to-do list.”

Jennings glances over, his face a mask of irritation. “Skinner, you’re done. Solitary. Now.”

Skinner thrashes as they haul him to his feet, his eyes locking onto mine with a look of pure venom. “This isn’t over, Ghost!” he spits, his voice hoarse. “You hear me? I’m coming for her.”

I cut him off with a lazy smirk that conceals my own rage. “I hope you do.”

The guards drag him away, his shouts fading into the background as the yard slowly returns to its uneasy rhythm. I glance down at the blood on my arm, the wound shallow but messy, and let out a slow breath.

Jennings steps closer, his face a mix of suspicion and annoyance. “Care to explain what that was about?”

I shrug. “He doesn’t like my sparkling personality.”

“That’s something I can believe.”

“Rude.”

Jennings jerks his chin at the main building. “Go to medical.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

I sit on the bleachers, trying to calm the storm raging inside my head before I go indoors and “accidentally” kill someone. Blood drips steadily from the gash, staining the dirt beneath me, but I hardly notice. Not with Skinner’s words echoing in my mind…

“I’m coming for her.”

My muscles tighten, and for a moment, the edges of my vision blur with anger. Skinner thought to weaponize Geneva against me. The audacity of it makes my hands shake. I cross my arms to hide their trembling.

I almost lost control.

For the first time in years, I nearly descended into full-on chaos. The idea of Skinner even thinking about hurting Geneva, let alone coming after her, fucked me. He wanted to provoke me, and he succeeded.

Except, Skinner doesn’t understand what he’s done. He’s put himself on my kill list, and there’s no coming back from that. The moment he brought Geneva into this, he was fucked.

I’m glad he’s going into solitary. Jennings dragging him off was the best outcome I could’ve hoped for. Skinner will stew in there, his mind gnawing at itself, replaying today’s humiliation until it consumes him.

That gives me time to prepare. And do some research.

It all started with Geneva’s testimony. I knew about it when I began stalking her, but now I need to know every detail of that trial, every word she said that helped put Skinner behind bars. I want to understand the case because it’ll help me uncover his triggers, which in turn will reveal his vulnerabilities. All good information to have when I kill him.