Page 3 of His Innocent Muse

Ghost widens his eyes. “Oh, wonderful. You can bring her back from the dead?”

Chuck sputters. “I—wh-what, no. This is about money, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Ghost says. “Necromancy is, tragically, impossible. Learn to take a joke, Chuck, you’re so tense.”

And Ghost clearly likes it that way. I truly don’t know how Chuck doesn’t see it.

But no, Chuck just laughs nervously and smacks his hand on the trunk. “Ay, man, you got me there.”

“What are you offering?” Ghost says. “I’m a busy man.”

“Absolutely!” Chuck claps his hands, and the trunk pops open.

No.

No, he can’t possibly…

Light beats down on me once again as Chuck opens the top, reaching in to pull me out. He’s rough as always, snaking hands up under my skirt and pulling me out by my hips, planting me on trembling legs in front of Ghost. The tiny plaid skirt he forced me into catches his wrist, flashing plain white panties to all three men before he smacks it back down with enough force to make me gasp.

I get the outfit now. The see-through tank and skirt, the knee-high socks and no shoes. Barely anything, but enough to fantasize.

It’s not the first time he’s treated me like a doll. He’s taken pictures of me in the past, let his creepy friends do unspeakable things to me on poker night, but never, never has he dangled me like a carrot to perfect strangers.

I want to go back in the trunk.

Ghost’s calm persona cracks like a gunshot, those piercing blue eyes bulging out of his head as his skin blisters deep red. His fists clench until his knuckles turn white and tremble at his sides, his voice a low rumbling growl when he asks, “What the hell is this?”

Chuck reaches around to grab my chin, turning my face up high. “This, good sir, is Lucinda Parker. Spittin’ image of her mother, isn’t she?” His grip tightens until it hurts, and he snarls in my ear, “Say hi.”

“H-H…” I suck in a breath, backing up into Chuck almost instinctively. I don’t want to be any closer to him, not for anything, but at least he’s known. Who knows what these three men could come up with to do to me?

Chuck shoves me forward, but strong hands catch my elbows before I can hit the ground, steadying me back on my own feet.

I look up into Ghost’s intense stare, and my heart catches in my throat. I manage to force out the shakiest “Hi,” and watch the burning rage in his eyes melt away into nothing.

“Hello, Lucinda,” he says. “Are you alright?”

I sniffle, noticing now the tears streaming down my face, and make myself nod. I bring my hands up to swipe my cheeks, lowering my gaze to his shiny leather shoes. They look brand new. He’s probably not happy to be walking through dirt in those. “I-I’m okay,” I say.

Ghost flexes his neck, keeping his hands on my arms, and I’m grateful, because I’d be a crumpled pile at his feet if he didn’t. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” Chuck lies.

“I am not,” Ghost snarls, his eyes snapping like wildfire. “Speaking. To you.”

“She’s twenty-one,” Chuck says again anyway. “Just had a birthday.”

Ghost ignores him this time, his large hand curling under my chin and turning my eyes back up to his. “How old are you, Lucinda?”

I can’t hold his gaze and lie, but I don’t know what’s gonna happen if I don’t. I look over his head, and whisper, “Twenty-one…”

He frowns, stroking his fingertips under my jaw. Goosebumps ripple down my spine, and I find myself leaning into him like a cat. It’s been so long since someone touched me with anything but anger.

“Tell me the truth.”

My breath catches again, and I swallow down a whine. I want him to hug me so badly it’s silly.

“Please?” he tacks on, and that’s what it really is. A request.

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