Page 23 of The Beautiful Dead

The words tasted like an admission. Like something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Ghost’s brow twitched, unreadable. A smirk slid across his lips, a slow nod. He was already pulling out his phone. “You got a name?”

“No.”

“A picture?”

My jaw tightened. That I didn’t have either irritated me. I’d been too captivated by his presence. I should have forced his name from his lips. Should have taken a photo. Should havedone something other than walk away after nearly kissing him, just because I wanted a taste.

Ghost smirked like he knew exactly what was unraveling inside my head. He let out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t take you for the type to get caught up over a pretty face.”

I didn’t take the bait. I just stared him down.

With a sigh, he sank onto the couch, thumbs already moving over his screen. “Give me something to work with.”

I ran a hand through my damp hair, irritation curling beneath my skin. I had nothing. No name. No connections. Just the ghost of a smirk and ice-blue eyes I couldn’t purge from my thoughts.

“He was at Denny’s the other day,” I said. “Followed me into the alley when I took care of the Gallo soldier, watching me from the shadows.”

Ghost arched a brow, interest piqued. “Watched you kill a guy and didn’t run?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. That was the problem. He had seen it—all of it—and still, he hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t feared me.

He had leaned in, drawn to the blood. To the violence.

To me.

“He’s young,” I continued. “Not a civilian, but not a soldier either. No crew colors. No weapon. Could be independent, but…” My voice dropped, something dark curling in my gut. “I need to know what he’s really doing in my city. He said he was here to finish his degree in Forensic Anthropology, but I’m not buying it.”

“Interesting,” Ghost hummed, still tapping away. “You get a nickname? Overhear someone else talk to him?”

“No.”

“You get anything?”

I had. The way his pulse had jumped beneath my fingertips. The way his breath had hitched when my thumb pressed against his throat—not with fear, but something deeper. Something that mirrored the hunger clawing inside me.

“Find him.” My voice was sharp, final.

Ghost smirked but didn’t push further. “I’ll call you when I have something.” He stood, stretching lazily. “You look like shit, boss. Get some sleep.”

“Fuck off!”

I wouldn’t be sleeping. I waited until Ghost was gone before I moved. My feet carried me to the bar, but I wasn’t interested in drinking. My reflection stared back at me in the mirrored backsplash, the shadows beneath my eyes darker than usual.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. People were useful—or they were dead. I had never wanted to unravel someone before. Never felt the need to pick them apart, to see what made them tick. Never ached to push further, to press closer—to see just how deep the darkness ran beneath their skin.

But him?

I dragged my tongue over my teeth.

The need to know how far he’d let me go before he broke was visceral. Would he shatter beautifully, or would he fight me every step of the way? Would I be able to pry him apart, layer by layer, taste the sweat-slicked heat of his skin, his blood? If he let me near him again, I wouldn’t stop. I would consume him. Make him mine.

Dead or alive, I’d own him.

Ghost had set up his base in one of my spare rooms. One wall was lined with monitors, flickering with live feeds from every street camera in the city. He had total control. A single keystroke could erase my men from existence—turning them into ghosts, unseen and untouchable by the city’s useless police force.

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