“Ghost,” I try again, louder this time.

Still nothing. His posture doesn’t change, but the tension lining his shoulders is unmistakable. As is the muscle flickering along his jaw every so often.

“I know you’re angry,” I say, taking a small step closer, careful to stay behind the yellow line on the floor. “And you should be.”

His fingers twitch, but it’s enough to make my stomach tighten. He heard me. He’s listening.

I take another tentative step closer, my heart hammering in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

He finally looks up, his eyes locking onto mine. There’s no smirk, no spark of amusement. Just an empty void. This isn’t the Ghost who risked his life to protect me. This man is a stranger.

“Why are you here, Dr. Andrews?”

His voice is low, rough, and colder than I’ve ever heard it. The sound of it makes me wince.

“Because I wanted to talk to you.”

He waves a hand in dismissal. “Then talk, ’cause I don’t have a fucking thing to say to you.”

I rear back as though he’s slapped me; the pain of his words lingers, harsh and distressing. My nails dig into the palms of my hands as I search for the right thing to say, something that will cut through the barriers he’s built between us—which is ironic because until today, the only thing I’ve done is create walls between us.

“Ghost, I know I hurt you. And I don’t know how else to express my regret, other than saying how sorry I am.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“I know.” I take another step forward, clutching the hem of my shirt. It’s a telltale sign of my nervousness, but I can’t make myself stop. No more than I can stop my attraction to Ghost. “But you needed to hear my apology.”

My heart stutters in my chest when he slowly gets to his feet and walks up to the bars. His face is a mask, his expression unreadable, but his eyes burn with something volatile. “Get the fuck out.”

I stand there, frozen, unable to move, the weight of his words pinning me in place.

“I said, get the fuck out.”

The command guts me. I turn away, blinking back the tears threatening to spill, but something makes me stop. The question gnawing at the edge of my mind, the one that still needs an answer.

Why.… It’s always why.

“Why are you here?” I ask, slowly turning back to face him.

For a moment, I think he won’t answer, that he’ll keep his silence just to punish me.

“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you, Doc? Always trying to analyze everything. If you haven’t figured me out by now, you never will.”

I take a step closer, standing on the yellow line. “I think you want me to. I think you’re waiting for me to figure it out… And you didn’t answer my question. Why, Ghost?”

His smirk fades, his jaw clenching, elongating the scar on his face. He leans forward, his fingers curling around the bars like they’re the only thing keeping him from reaching for me. “Stop wasting my time.”

“You knew I’d come,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “Why else would you still be here?”

His expression hardens, his grip on the bars tightening until his knuckles blanch. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“You can leave whenever you want. Yet you’re here. You stayed. You were waiting for me. Why?” I begin pacing as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The process is slow and mentally taxing, but it’s fitting together nonetheless. “You’ve been provoking me since the moment I walked in here. Pushing me, waiting to see if I’d stay.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as though the very idea is ridiculous. But he hasn’t denied it. At least, not in a way that I believe.

“But you do,” I whisper. “Which means this is a test.”

I stop pacing and turn to face him. Ghost’s smirk is gone, replaced by a hard, unyielding expression that does nothing to hide the strain radiating from him. His hands tremble around the bars, and for a moment, I imagine him snapping them in half. Or wrapping them around my neck.

“A test?” he repeats, his voice low and mocking. “You’re so fucking full of yourself, Geneva. Not everything is about you.”

“Actually, it is. All of this is for me. Because of me.”

His callous attitude hides the manipulation that began before I arrived. Ghost knew I’d come after he broke me last night. He knew I’d be vulnerable.

Anger surges inside me, burning away all caution and all composure. I march up to the bars and jab my finger in his chest.

“You don’t get to test me,” I say, my voice trembling with rage. “You don’t get to play with my fucking emotions.”

Ghost doesn’t flinch at my outburst. He doesn’t even blink. His eyes, bright and unrelenting, never leave mine. Instead of backing off, he gets closer, his body a wall of tension, his voice a low, dangerous drawl.

“If that’s true, then why did I do it?”

I lift my chin. “You want to know if I’ll stay, if I’ll fight for this—whatever this is between us.”

Ghost’s lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl, his breath warm against my face as he leans even closer, the bars barely keeping us apart. “And what’s the verdict?” he asks. “Are you going to stay and admit that you feel something for me? Or are you going to run like you always do?”

“Fuck you, Ghost.”

I spin on my heel and barely take a step before a hand shoots out through the bars, gripping my throat with brutal precision. With great force, he jerks me toward him, slamming my back against the cold, unyielding metal. The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and for a moment, all I can focus on is the searing pressure of his fingers around my throat.

His face is mere inches from mine as he tightens his grip, squeezing until I gasp from pain. “Say it again,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates through my body. “Say it, Geneva. I fucking dare you.”

My pulse hammers against his palm. The heat of his body bleeds through the steel bars separating us, seeping into my back. None of that stops my anger from surging to the forefront and drowning out the instinct to be afraid.

“Fuck you,” I say on a wheeze.

“Thank you for the invitation, love.”

Ghost snakes his free hand under my shirt, his palm hot against my stomach, his touch firm. My skin comes to life when he cups my breast, tugging at the nipple, and I press my lips together to keep from moaning. It’s increasingly harder to act unaffected when his fingers expertly tease my sensitive skin, squeezing gently, and then more firmly, as if testing my reactions.

Ghost loosens his hold on my throat just enough for me to draw a shallow breath. Then he tightens it again, causing a fresh wave of adrenaline to sweep through me. The heat he ignited with his touch coils low in my stomach, a betrayal of my own traitorous desires.

“Let go of me,” I wheeze.

When he doesn’t listen, I reach up with both hands and yank on his wrist. It’s like trying to move steel. In response, he grips my throat harder.

His breath is warm against my cheek. “You came to me. Now you’ll come for me.”

I rail against his hold, unable to admit how much I want his touch. How much I want him. My struggle results in me gasping, and my hair coming loose from its messy bun. Ghost gently runs his fingers through the strands, with the same hand that he used to murder someone last night.

“You’re so fucking beautiful it kills me,” he whispers, his voice a mixture of anger and awe.

Ghost shoves his hand under the hem of my skirt before he circles the entrance of my pussy, his fingers coming away drenched. Then he brings them to my clit, stroking me slowly, over and over.

I can’t breathe and my wild thrashing subsides. Immediately, he releases his grip on my throat, and the air rushes into my lungs. My knees buckle, but Ghost is there, holding me up by the throat, his other hand gripping my pussy.