Page 25 of A Witchy Spell Ride (31 Days of Trick or Treat, Bikers and Mobsters #15)

Chapter Eighteen

Selene

I couldn’t stop touching my lips.

It was stupid, I know. But they still tingled. Still held the weight of him, of that moment, like it was burned into my skin.

Ghost kissed like a man who’d been holding back for years. Like someone who’d wanted something too long and finally gave himself permission to feel it.

And when he kissed me…

God help me, I felt everything.

Desire.

Relief.

Rage.

Hope.

I didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

But it scared the shit out of me. Because I couldn’t tell where the line was anymore — between wanting him and needing him to survive this. Between real and spell. Between me and whoever I was becoming under all this weight.

I went to my room.

Briar wasn’t there, which meant she was either building a booby trap in the hallway or charming Thorne into letting her carve jack-o’-lanterns with a machete. Both were equally likely.

I peeled off my hoodie. Opened my duffel bag and started rummaging for my eyeliner.

And that’s when I saw it. Another note. Folded neatly.

Tucked into the side pocket of my makeup bag.

Not my duffel. Not something someone could have dropped in casually.

No, this meant he’d unzipped it. Touched it. Gone through it.

I froze. My heartbeat turned hollow in my ears. Fingers trembling, I pulled it free. The paper was soft. Like it had been held too long. There was only two sentences. Just two.

He kissed you.

But I know you better.

The words burned. Not just because of what they said. But how they said it. He was watching. Listening. But more than that… He was claiming understanding. Intimacy. He thought he knew me. Like Ghost didn’t. Like Ghost couldn’t.

And the worst part? He’d hidden it in the most personal place he could find. Not a door. Not a drawer. Not a mirror.

But something mine. Something I touched every day. Something close to my face, my skin, my reflection.

It felt like a violation all over again. I nearly ripped the note in half. But I didn’t. I grabbed it, shoved it into my pocket, and marched out of the room.

The hallway was half-dark. Music played low in the background. Someone, probably Ash, was swearing at a video game in the next room.

I didn’t stop. Just kept walking. Straight to Ghost’s room.

I didn’t knock.

I didn’t wait.

I opened the door like it was my right.

He was standing near the sink, shirtless, towel over his shoulder. His eyes locked onto mine like they’d been waiting.

I didn’t say a word. Just held out the note.

He read it. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Then he crumpled it in one hand and said, low and dark:

“He was in your room.”

I nodded.

“I posted someone on the door.”

“Then he wasn’t seen,” I whispered. “Which means it’s someone already inside.”

Ghost looked at me. Really looked. And the fury in his gaze turned sharp, not just anger anymore. It was promise.

“I’m going to find him,” he said.

“I know.”

“And when I do, Selene…” He stepped closer, voice like thunder under silk. “I’m not going to be kind.”

I should’ve flinched. I didn’t. Kindness was for people who made mistakes. This was not that.

“Show me,” I said.

His brow ticked. “Show you what?”

“How he got in. Where he could’ve stood. What I missed.” I lifted my chin. “If I’m the battlefield, I want to know the terrain.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, something like approval, something like ache. He moved past me, reached under the bed, and came up with a slim case. Inside: a small blacklight, a roll of hair-thin fishing line, two tiny magnetic contacts, and chalk the color of bone.

He clicked the light on and scanned the inside of my door frame, the latch, the hinges. Nothing obvious. He laid the contacts gently against the strike plate and the bolt, a whisper of metal on metal. “If the bolt slides even a hair, Cross will get a ping.”

“Good,” I said, voice steadier now that there was a tool in the room and not just fear.

Ghost set the fishing line low, ankle height, right where the shadow pooled beside the dresser. “Trip line,” he said. “Bell in the hallway. Bones will hear it if you don’t.”

I reached for the chalk. Drew a small sigil on the underside of the dresser lip, quick and neat, the way my mother had taught me protection, yes, but also attention. A sign for I see you.

He watched my hand. “What’s that one do?”

“Makes liars itch.” I met his eyes. “We’ll see who scratches.”

He huffed a laugh that didn’t make it to his mouth. “You always were meaner than you looked.”

“So are you.”

Silence. Not awkward. Weighted.

He took the note from the counter again, flattened it with two fingers. “He’s escalating. Close contact. Personal items. Next is… closer.”

“I know.” Saying it out loud felt like opening a door and letting the night in. “He thinks wanting me is the same as knowing me. He thinks knowing me is the same as owning me.”

Ghost’s eyes went cold. “He thinks wrong.”

I sat on the edge of the bed because standing felt like defiance and right now, I needed endurance. He leaned against the dresser, the towel forgotten on the chair.

“Do you regret it?” I asked before I could talk myself out of it.

“The kiss,” he said, making it not a question.

“Yeah.”

“No.” No hesitation. “Do you?”

“No.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been pocketing. “But I don’t want it to be something he did to us.”

“It isn’t,” Ghost said. “It won’t be.”

“Promise?” I meant it like a child and like a general.

“I don’t promise what I can’t hold,” he said. “But I can hold this.”

My throat tightened. I nodded once. “Okay.”

A soft knock tapped the open door. Briar slid in sideways like she’d been pressed flat. She took one look at Ghost’s bare chest, my bare nerves, and the fishing line on the floor. “Domestic terrorism, but make it chic,” she said. “You good?”

“No,” I said. “But I have homework.”

She held out two tiny bells on safety pins and a tube of lipstick. “For your gremlin couture. And this is the color of revenge.”

Ghost took the bells. I took the lipstick. Briar’s eyes flicked to the note, already crumpled again and she went still. “He touched your bag?”

“Yeah.”

Her shoulders squared. “I’ll sit the hall tonight. He tries to walk past me; I’ll make sure he rethinks legs.”

Ghost didn’t argue. “You and Vex split shifts. No one comes in or out without one of you counting their teeth.”

Briar nodded and vanished with the efficiency of a small, glamorous storm.

We were alone again.

Ghost turned the note to ash in the sink with a match. The flame ran fast, hungry, then died in a twist of smoke. He rinsed the black flakes down, slow, and precise, like the act itself was a ritual.

“Keep your bag with you,” he said. “Even to the shower.”

“Romantic.”

“Alive,” he corrected, same as before.

I stood. He stepped into my space. Not touching. Close enough that the air between us remembered how to burn.

“Lock the door behind me,” he said. “Hair on the latch. Ear to the floor if you hear something you don’t like. You yell my name. I’ll hear it.”

I believed him. That scared me almost as much as the note.

“Ghost,” I said, and he looked down at me like it was the only word he’d been waiting for all night. “Be careful.”

He smiled, small and dangerous. “I am when it counts.”

He left. I locked the door. Set the hair. Pressed my palm flat against the wood and felt the thud-thud of footsteps fade down the hall, his, steady. Mine, wild.

In the mirror, my mouth was still a little swollen. I uncapped the lipstick Briar had handed me and painted my mouth the color of fight. Then I tucked a blade into my boot, slipped the coin pendant beneath my shirt, and sat on the edge of the bed with my hands open on my knees.

He thought he knew me better.

He didn’t know this version. The one who kissed a dangerous man and refused to be written by anyone else’s hand.

I waited.

And for the first time since the photos, since the lilies, since the red-thread nail, the fear made room for something else. Resolve.