"Oh, I know plenty," he says darkly. "I went to Willow Harbor. I asked around. Plenty of people had things to say. Plenty of photos and articles in the local newspaper. Your daddy dearest nearly pissed himself when he saw me. And Bowie?"
He laughs coldly. "Moved on. Found himself a woman better than you in every way. Classier. Smarter. More beautiful."
He went to see my father? Fuck. Dread chokes me with a steel grip. "Ghost, please. Don't tell my father anything. It'll be dangerous for Liz," I plead, my voice breaking on every word.
He studies me for a long moment. Then, his voice drops into a tone that’s almost gentle. Almost.
"I won't let him get to Liz."
Relief floods me.
"But you?" He tilts his head. "You deserve what's coming."
Then he turns and walks out, leaving me alone in the dark, with nothing but the terror curling in my chest.
The panic attack hits faster than ever before.
2. Hunger
Adora
Dominic is dead. Only Ghost remains.Cruel and unforgiving. The bread and cheese he tosses into my lap through the bars again, two days later, feel like an afterthought. Something to keep me alive just enough to suffer. I don't reach for them. My stomach twists at the thought of food, at the thought of anything except the cold seeping into my bones.
He stands in front of the cell, arms folded across his broad chest, watching me. He is so much larger than I remember. Not just in size, but in presence. A living, breathing shadow that has come to devour my pitiful soul.
I have spent years trying to forget him. Trying to convince myself that the boy I loved died in that prison. That whatever came out of it was someone else, someone I never met.
And I was right.
Ghost steps closer, the light catching on the ink crawling up his throat like a curse. He used to have smooth, tanned skin, the kind that was warm beneath my fingers. Now, he is all edges and brutal muscles.
The man in front of me is no longer Dominic. Part of me still wants to call him that, but I won't.
"Eat," he says, his voice quiet but sharp.
I swallow hard, trying to keep myself together. "I'm not hungry."
His head tilts, like he's analyzing me, trying to count all the cracks in my armour. The look in his eyes makes my stomach clench. He was always able to read me so easily. To see through me in ways no one else could. But that was so long ago. I can only hope that ability died with the rest of him.
"You're going to eat," he murmurs, crouching down in front of the bars. "Because if you don't, I'll make you."
The fake gentleness in his voice makes me flinch.
"I'd love nothing more than for you to waste away in this cell," he continues. "But I need you alive. You havefive monthsto pay your debt. Five months in exchange for five years. You die before then, and I don't get my revenge." His voice dips lower. "Not the way I want it."
I laugh, the sound hoarse and bitter. "Is that what this is? A countdown to my execution?"
A slow, terrifying smirk spreads across his lips. It turns the air colder, thicker. Heavy with promises of what’s to come.
"You think I'm going to kill you, adorable?" His tone is almost amused.
My breath hitches. My old nickname floats between us like poison, but I still feel it coil around my ribs like it did all those years ago.
"You're not getting off that easy. At least not before I get what I'm owed."
I look away, blinking rapidly. I hate that he is still so effortlessly beautiful, even when he's promising me hell. I hate that my body reacts to his voice, to the rough timber of it, to the memory of how he used to whisper my name against my skin.
He sighs, shaking his head, like I've disappointed him.
