Why is someone knocking at my door at this ungodly hour?
“What?” I bite out, flinging it open without checking who’s on the other side.
“Whatever the tequila from last night is doing to your brain right now is not my fault,” Ghost murmurs, leaning against the doorframe, barely hidden amusement in his eyes.
My gaze narrows. I’m too hungover to have any kind of patience.
“I’ve only been overdoing it since you came back into my life,” I mutter, turning toward a chair and leaving the door open for him. “So it’s definitely your fault.”
He strolls in looking like a million bucks. I collapse into the chair feeling like a million poops.
“What do you need, Ghost?” I almost whine, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to wake up. “It’s too early for anything.”
His mouth curves, his eyes never leaving me. “Actually, it’s past noon. Lunch is ready. You drank too much last night, so you need to eat. Plus…” He drags the word out, brows lifting as he raises a syringe with a thick needle. “I promised you could track me. Figured you’d want to make sure the tracker goes where it should.”
I’m on my feet instantly, the chair scraping loudly behind me, nearly toppling. My arm shoots out and I snatch the syringe from his hand. Hangover — gone. Sleep — forgotten.
My nostrils flare as I stare at the tiny cylinder suspended in the liquid.
“Pants down. Now.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him press his lips together, itching to say something. In the end, he keeps his mouth shut, turns around, and does as he’s told. The clink of his belt snaps my full focus back to him.
For a second, I falter. My breath catches in my throat. He could’ve just pulled the waistband of his jeans down a little, but he went for a full ass display. My gums ache. I bit that ass once, and it felt good.
“I can take my shirt off too, adorable.” His voice, low and smooth, slips into my brain and nearly sets it on fire.
He watches me over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with a dare.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say primly, pointing the syringe at him like a sword.
“We’ll revisit that idea later,” he murmurs, promise threading his tone. His gaze flicks to my raised hand, then back to my face. “For now, just don’t stab me with the needle. Slide it in at an angle so the tracker doesn’t go too deep.”
I tilt my head, intrigued. “What happens if it does?”
His eyes harden. “It’ll be a motherfucker to remove when it dies.”
I step closer, my eyes widening, my eyebrows rising so high they might as well float off my face.
“Adora—”
Too late. I’m already leaning in as the needle pierces skin, his ass cheek flexing.
“Don’t be such a worrywart, Ghost,” I brush him off. “I’m being careful.”
He sighs, looks at the ceiling, and goes quiet — which means he either knows I’m messing with him or he’s accepted whatever fate hands him.
I focus on finishing the job.
The second I slide the needle out, it hits me. Power. Control. World domination. The rush is so intense I sway on my feet. I’ll know everywhere he goes now. Every movement of a man who’s so good at sneaking, no one ever sees him coming. I feel like I just won something.
He pulls his pants back up while I’m dealing with my little power trip, then turns to me.
I barely register his fingers gently prying my hand open and taking the syringe. When I look up, he’s watching me closely, his brows pinched together.
“Give me your phone,” he murmurs, his touch lingering against my skin a moment too long.
I turn and grab my phone from the small table behind me, then hand it to him, avoiding his eyes. That look on his face is too serious, and I don’t want that right now. I had too much of it last night.
