GHOST COME ALIVE

AUTHOR’S NOTE: 

“Desire is like wildfire. You can’t quench it, let it burn!” 

(CARLTON’S POV)

A seventy-five-year-old man with a hunched spine and five dead husbands is my perfect Prince Charming. Coupled with his alcoholism, violent temper, and hygiene of a wild pig— yeah, our marriage will be flawless. 

Of course, he’s a billionaire with the largest fashion brand across the continent, and also the ambassador of a renowned toothpaste company. That’s why I’ll pardon his scrawny clothes and yellow-tooth smile, heinous enough to give me a cardiac arrest. 

“J-Jacob, keep your distance.” I shuffle backwards. “Please.” 

My soon-to-be husband slings his arm across my neck. 

Disgust froths inside me like bile. 

“Don’t be all grim now,” Jacob guffaws. “Many will kill to be in your place. Smile for husband?” 

The contract states: Jacob and Amanda: no pre-nup or divorce. 

In return, Jacob clears Mom’s billion-dollar debt she owes the bank.

My step-sister’s happiness is more important than my youth, so I volunteered to take her place. 

Flashing Jacob a smile, I droop my head and grit my teeth. 

Horror cuts deeper than Jacob’s sour, air-burning my nostrils. 

Alligator loafers?! 

The self-centered bitch with blonde hair and designer wear, marrying off her son, doesn’t know the man I’m about to say wedding vows to is a poacher!

I glare at Mom.  

Her smile falters. 

The woman who once held me in my nightmares now auctions her children to the highest bidder. Tenderness died in her years ago, and ambition consumed her. 

Mom’s voice echoes in my head: 

“Fucking Tristan came naturally to you. I’m sure you won’t mind marrying a man for our family’s benefit.” 

“He’s over seventy years old. How can you do this to me?!” 

“He has cock, money, and power. Isn’t that what you always wanted?” 

“You never forgave me, did you?” 

“You’re my son, but don’t think you’re irreplaceable. You can be an asset or a liability, but bear in mind you won’t suffer the consequences of your decision.” 

“...Amanda.” 

—----------—---

My best friend, Selene, rejected the invitation to embark on a terrorist mission issued by the state military. I ruined our relationship five years ago, when I was twenty, and foolish enough to think I could handle Tristan Alister. 

I catch my reflection in the glass pulpit— angular features, exquisitely styled blonde hair, wearing a designer suit exclusive to A-list fashion idols. Yet I look like a sacrifice on an altar. 

If I had resisted the devil, none of this would’ve happened. 

The congregation stares with impassive eyes. Tuxedos, satin gowns, mixed perfumes.

Only Amanda’s face goes chalk-white, standing beside Mom like the trophy daughter she is. We both are. 

Singing of hymns ripples through the warm, morning air. Golden chandeliers hang through ornate walls painted with images of saints and Latin scribblings. Long, brown oak benches, and the ringing of bells as they observe catholic rights. 

Altar servants flock beside the wedding booth. The priest engages in prayers of prosperity. A chorus of ‘AMENS’ before all eyes feast on me. 

Since I walked down the aisle, a ruckus has been stirring in my soul, like a calm before the storm.

The Priest’s voice blares, “Do you take this man as your husband? For better or worse. In bounty and penury. Till death do you part?” 

Jacob's crooked teeth are on display. Short as a dwarf and nose like Pinocchio’s.

A diamond ring glints between his skeleton-like fingers. “Milove?” 

I’LL NEVER FORGIVE MY MOTHER!

“I do,” I affirm. “Take this man as my—” 

BANG!!!

Gasps flare like fireworks.

Shrieks, screams, cries.

The crowd pushes against each other like sardines, forced to the ground by masked gunmen jabbering in Russian. Tattooed, scarred, and brash. 

Jacob’s white suit turns red, inked in his own blood. 

The man I’m about to marry is DEAD?!

The words melt in my throat. 

I gape at the Grim Reaper of my life through the hole circling Jacob’s temple. 

My world tilts, but his smirk remains firm like the one in my nightmares. 

Smoke billows from his gun, giving him a foggy, lethal edge.

7ft tall, orange prison wear, with an ugly scar slashing through his left eye. 

I blink twice, stumbling backwards.

It CAN’T be. 

The Judge's gavel sentenced life imprisonment. His correctional unit is impregnable. Ghosts don’t come back to life. 

Mom and Amanda Freeze like moonstruck idiots.

I’m not hallucinating. 

The devil returned… for ME.  

Eyes like suns, hairy like a beast, reeking of musk. 

I remember his rough grip on my hair, the weight of him inside me, whispering nasty lines into my ears. 

Flicking his tongue across his lips, he fists his crotch with a loud, guttural groan. 

Rage washes through me, yet something twitches between my legs. 

That tongue did bad things to me, and those lips… so help me God. 

My gaze lowers to the bulge in his pants and saliva bubbles in my mouth. 

What I’d do to feel full again, but the hatred tames all urges. 

He rasps, deep and jagged. “Panther misses you a lot. Wanna say hi, Baby?” 

He strokes his bulge for emphasis, wetness spreading through his pants. 

Same vulgar son of a bitch. FUCK. CRIME. MONEY. 

Tristan Alister— Capo of the Pyramid-Brothers, Mad-Bishop, and my step-father. 

“Dad!” Amanda bolts, tears gushing, hugging her father like a prodigal son returned. “I swear, Delinda never let me visit you. Carlton always sided with her. I never abandoned you… Believe me.” 

Tristan’s chin juts over Amanda’s hair, but his eyes never leave mine as he peppers her with kisses. “I believe you,” a shadow crosses his face. “Carlton is to blame.” 

Mom blocks his way as he prowls toward me. “Touch my son, and I’ll kill you this time.” 

Tristan crouches to Mom’s level, hands on his knees, with a mocking grin. 

Sweat glistens on Mom's brow. “I’m not scared of you.” 

“I never said you were,” Tristan chuckles, a low, dark glissando, turning Mom’s face blood-red. “Tell me, Delinda. Did you sell me out because I killed your husband….”

His attention snaps to me. “Or because I fucked your son harder than you?”