Page 16 of Ghost

Securing my grip around my weapon, I crept down the hall and froze when I found an intruder with his back facing me. My eyes flicked from him to the cut he was wearing to the closed door.

The cut he was wearing had the Devils Creed patch, but he didn’t look familiar.

Jesus, Rae. Snap out of it. Even if he is DC, why’s he breaking in?

I shook my head.

With renewed caution, I lifted my gun and pulled back on the hammer.

Slowly his hands went up and he turned around.

“Who the fuck are you?” My voice shook as my heart raced so fast it felt like it might beat right out of my chest.

The man in front of me tensed, his muscles bunching under his shirt as he wrapped his arm protectively around his side.

My finger inched towards the trigger as I took in his face covered in dark bruises and the way he kept favoring his side.

Someone really worked the guy over.

Tipping his head in consideration, he looked from the gun in my hand to me, then in a slow descent, his eyes raked down my body.

Seriously? I was on the verge of shooting this guy and he wanted to check me out?

Despite the damage done to his person, he had a presence about him, like he owned the place–or could if he wanted to.

“I asked you a question,” I snapped, tightening my grip around the revolver.

In a slow, casual move he leaned back against the door and crazy as loon, he smirked.

He. Smirked.

“Mister, you must have a goddamn death wish if you thought breaking in here was going to be a good idea,” I growled, my voice steady despite the jackhammering of my heart.

Doing a complete one-eighty, his eyes narrowed. “Bitch, you’re standing in my fucking house. I don’t care what kind of arrangement you’ve got with Ray. I don’t want whores around my daughter.”

My hands loosened on the grip. “Did you just call me a whore?” My mind completely skipped over him declaring he lived there, irrationally focusing on the insult.

I should have shot his ass on principle.

His eyes raked across my body again before coming back to mine and lifting a brow.

I glanced down and—yep. I could see his point.

I probably should have thrown on a shirt and not rushed into a fight wearing a pink lace nighty and shorts that barely covered my ass. In my defense, I wasn’t expecting him sneaking up on me in the middle of the night.

“Look. No offense, but you’re going to have to show me some proof of who you are before I let you any farther into this house.”

“Think you could put the fucking gun down?”

My eyes widened and I dropped my arm.

Oops.

His shoulders relaxed as he reached around to his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He flipped it open, slid out his license, and handed it over.

My eyes darted down. “Bishop St. James," I read out loud.

“That’s me, baby.” He smirked. "But around here, they call me Ghost."

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