“I’m gonna beat the motherfucking shit out of you!” said Lucero, standing again from the table and charging up the stairs before his brothers could stop him. A few voices in the room hollered out in warning.
But Ghost just smiled a brutal, dark smile that didn’t reach his eyes and stepped out to meet him. Lucero drilled his gaze into Ghost’s and stood inches from his face, shoving his chest into Ghost’s in the basest form of intimidation known to primates. He was pathetic. Ghost took it and stared back, his darkest heart hoping Lucero would give him a reason to throw a punch.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” said Lucero to Ghost’s face. Men were gathering around them, coming up the stairs, trying to talk down the fight, but Ghost couldn’t hear any of their words.
“You put my brother in the fucking hospital,” said Ghost. “And all because you’re a useless junkie coward. You don’t deserve to wear the cut, and you wouldn’t deserve the beautiful beating I would serve if you ever try to fucking step up on me again.”
“You’re a fucking dead man,” said Lucero in a desperate, adrenaline-soaked whisper. His dilated pupils betrayed a raging fury.
“You first,” Ghost whispered back to him. Then he reared back and delivered a crushing head-butt to Lucero. Lucero’s nose broke and gushed blood as he stumbled backwards against the wall.
Any order left in the room melted into chaos. Ghost just stared at Lucero’s pain-filled, irate eyes as Henry and Douglas dragged him backwards toward the conference room and away from the fight, yelling in his ear.
It took twenty minutes for the presidents to get the room calmed down, and that was only after Bones and Jase passed out beers and whiskey bottles. Scott dragged a raging Lucero out of the den and to the men’s room to clean up his nose.
“Just stand right the fuck here and keep your mouth shut,” said Henry as he pushed Ghost against the wall near the conference room door. “Why do you have to make everything more complicated?”
“Me make things more complicated? He’s the one who came up here like a running bull to fight me. I’m not going to sit here and take the piss from some hick coward that almost killed Tommy,” said Ghost with his hand outstretched. “Is that what you’re asking me to do, Henry?”
“I’m asking you to act like a fucking civilized adult long enough for me to fix this mess!” Henry’s voice was darker and firmer than Ghost had ever heard it. Something deep inside his mind cracked with shame.
Ghost didn’t reply. He blinked at Henry and clenched his jaw. “I know what I saw,” he said. “Lucero was jacked up. He shouldn’t have been driving.”
Shaun finally joined the conversation, impatient, his bottled anger finally coming to boil. “Lucero isn’t fucking shooting up! You think we wouldn’t have noticed track marks on his arms by now?”
“Yeah, it’s real hard to find secret place to shoot up,” said Ghost, rolling his eyes. “Did you check between his toes? Behind his knee? His inner thighs? Necessity is the mother of invention.”
“I don’t know how you run things out here in the boonies, but we trust the Dogs in my den,” said Shaun with a haughty sneer. “We aren’t some asshole institution controlling what our men do on their downtime… drug testing, strip searching… is that what we are, now? Is that what we chose this life for?”
“So no one pays when our freedom gets in the way of someone else’s life, is that it?” said Ghost. “Tommy’s just a consequence of the cowboy way?”
“No one’s saying that.” Shaun spit every word. “But you got zero proof besides your fucking word that anything’s even off with Lucero.”
“What did Will say?” said Ghost. “Didn’t he see Lucero pass out?”
Henry shook his head. “He remembers checking the GPS for their route, and then suddenly waking up hanging from his seatbelt in the van. Something might come back to him when he rests, but right now, you’re the only one who thinks Lucero passed out.”
“What the fuck does Lucero say happened?”
“Something mechanical,” said Shaun. “The suspension jerked the wheel out of his hand before he could stop it, and he passed out in the crash.”
Ghost leaned back against the wall and let out a bitter laugh. “That son of a bitch. He knows goddamn well I was the last one to check those vans out before we left. Is he trying to make this sound like it’s my fault?”
“He never said that,” said Shaun.
“Didn’t fucking really have to, did he?” Ghost shook his head. “I can’t believe this is fucking happening.”
“We’ll get this sorted,” said Henry. “And Tommy and Will will be taken care of, regardless. We just need to figure out where the blame lies.”
“It lies on Lucero’s ugly fucking beard.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” said Shaun, his arms crossed over his chest. The way he asked, Ghost could tell the question had been burning in him for a while. “If you saw the balloons and suspected something before the run, why didn’t you tell us?”
Ghost opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself. He was furious at Jase for ignoring his concerns that day in Eagleton. That rift, he would have to work out with Jase on his own. But something didn’t sit right in his stomach about telling them what happened now. Revealing that Jase had ignored Ghost’s concerns would only get Jase in trouble, and would do nothing to help Tommy or Will, anyway.
Ghost swallowed his words and made a mental note to talk to Jase later. “I didn’t want to bring it up unless I was sure. I didn’t want to start the run on a bad vibe like that.”
Shaun shook his head. “Funny how you’re so sure now. And you wanna make Lucero sound like the only negligent guy around here?”
Ghost pursed his lips as his face flushed red in anger and shame. But he didn’t reply. He swallowed Jase’s blame.
“Thanks for your offer to stay in the clubhouse, Henry, but my men and I will find a place in town to stay while we settle this,” said Shaun. “I think we should call this meeting done, though.”
Henry sighed, disappointed, but didn’t argue with his peer. He held out his hand and Shaun shook it. “I’ll take care of my part of this mess. Call me if you boys need anything.”
Shaun tromped down the stairs and led his Eagleton Dogs out of the clubhouse without another word. Their bikes revved away in the distance, and the men in the den began to shift into a more casual discussion, trying to clear the air from the fight.
“So, what happens now?” asked Ghost when Henry and Douglas both turned to him, backs against the bannister.
They both looked like very disappointed fathers. Henry sighed. “Now, we call a tribunal and hope you were good on the debate team.”
“A tribunal?” asked Ghost.
Henry shook his head. “Never mind. Not tonight. Tonight is DOA—you saw to that with your little stunt.”
Ghost looked at his feet, and then back up at Henry. He didn’t have anything to say.
“Go home, Ghost. Just go home.”
~ THIRTEEN ~
Bridget
It was just before lunchtime when Bridget found the bruise.
The kids were arranged on the floor in a circle, playing a game that outside of school they called Mafia, but for obvious reasons Bridget had changed to Baker Street. It was all deduction, memory, and trying to figure out who was bluffing—and why. It gave the kids a chance to purposely try and trick one another, and they delighted in it. The last rounds were typically the most ridiculous.
Bridget kept half an ear on the game as she did some cleaning up, and then she walked quiet paces around the outside of the circle, laughing and offering guidance and keeping playful discipline on the would-be cheaters. Part of the game required the kids to put their heads down in their laps while a secret cabal of random students among them plotted their next move.
His arms were stretched out over his head in such a way that the long sleeves of his bright orange shirt bustled up on his forearms. As Bridget walke
d by Toby and looked down at him, she could see a dark, ugly bruise burned deep on his arm, as if he had been grabbed and twisted with powerful force.
Bridget’s heart stopped and she gasped audibly. The students nearby her immediately turned and lifted their heads to look at her, and judging by a few of their faces, she must have looked like she saw a corpse. She quickly calmed herself before panic could spread—all it took was one nervous authority figure and this place would be chaos.
“Miss Dawson?” asked Genevieve with a quiet voice.
“Sorry, guys,” she said, forcing out a chuckle. She looked at the floor and spied a stray red coloring pencil, and bent to pick it up on impulse. “I thought I stepped on someone’s fingers, but it was just this pencil. Scared me for a second!”
The kids laughed, satisfied, and turned back to their game. Bridget swallowed against a tight throat and tried to quell the tide of nausea rising in her gut. Toby’s father was escalating his violence. She had to do something, but she didn’t know what.
It took all of her energy to keep the rest of the day on track. She spent her lunch hour in her car, sobbing where no one would stumble on her, and ten minutes of it in the ladies’ room trying to de-puff her face with cold water. During independent work time, she watched Toby carefully. He was still communicating with his friends and participating in the class, so she figured that was a good sign. But he was also very careful with his arm, and now that she was looking for it, she could see how hard he was working to keep it covered. Someone had told him to do that.
Anger and helplessness raged inside her mind. The hours dragged on with painful monotony until finally school released for the day, and Bridget couldn’t drive away fast enough. She sped home with tears in her eyes and threw her own purse at the wall as soon as she got in the house. It was small, but what few little essentials she did carry scattered across the floor.
Bridget pulled a beer out of the fridge and uncapped it. As she swallowed three big gulps, she backed herself against the fridge and sunk to the floor. She got lost in her own tears so deeply that she didn’t hear Ghost until his boots were on the tile of the kitchen floor. She had completely forgotten their text conversation about him coming over after school let out.
“Whoa, baby.” Suddenly he was next to her on the floor, a worried look on his face. “I figured you left the door open for me on purpose. Are you okay?”
“I left the door open?” she said, hazy.
“Well, unlocked. What’s got you having a floor beer, cherry pie?”
“Fuck, I never leave my door unlocked.”
“You’re obviously upset,” said Ghost gently. He switched her beer to her left hand, so that he could wrap her right hand in both of his and squeeze. “Wanna tell me why?”
His touch felt incredible. The pain of her emotions made everything hurt, but Ghost’s warmth undid it, even if it was localized. She sighed. “Toby’s dad hurt him. I saw the bruise today in class. Everything’s getting worse over there.”
Ghost’s hands slowly stopped rubbing. Something in the air got thicker. “What happened?”
“I don’t know for sure. I saw the bruise on his arm like someone grabbed him. He worked hard to keep it hidden all day. I’ve never seen marks on him before now.” Admitting it out loud crushed her heart with sorrow, and suddenly she was sobbing again. “I’m so afraid he’s going to be killed.”
Bridget never cried in front of people. She hated it; appearing vulnerable made her feel awful. But she didn’t feel that way when Ghost wrapped an arm around her, and softly maneuvered them both until he was sitting against the fridge, and she was sitting against him. Then he wrapped himself around her and nuzzled his face against the side of her hair. Instantly, Bridget began to relax as she felt the warmth of Ghost’s body, the tenderness of his touch, and that indiscernible ache of happiness she got when he knew exactly what she needed without her having to say it.
For a while, he didn’t ask her anything. So she just let him hold her and cried. Not for one moment did Ghost make her feel like a burden for her tears or her pain. He never got uncomfortable or asked her to stop or tried to talk away her feelings. He just held her there while they happened.
Bridget had never felt anything like it. Nights like this would usually send her spiraling into isolation and sadness. She’d drink too much wine, take a long hot shower, watch some show she’d seen a million times for the sense of comfort, and go to bed early in a cloud of self-pity and anger. Usually it would pass in a day or two. But already, in Ghost’s arms, Bridget could feel it lifting, as if having his love around gave her the ability to fast-forward through the painful bullshit in her life.
Once her tears were spent, release spread through Bridget’s chest and head, like always. She wiped at her face and nuzzled against Ghost. He just tightened his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
“Any good person would be upset about this,” said Ghost. “And you’re the best person.”
“The best person would be helping him,” she said with a sniffle, and she meant it. “Not just crying on the sidelines about it.”
“So let’s help him.”
“I don’t know how,” said Bridget. “This is so sensitive. I could do more harm than good.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“Only driving right up to the Cary estate and asking to see Toby’s dad, and then I imagine I would descend into some sort of Old Testament-like speech about vengeance and hellfire and probably throw a punch at him and ruin the whole thing.”
“You are just the most perfect woman.” Ghost laughed and twisted her playfully in his arms so that he could nibble on her neck. Despite the tears still glistening on her face, Bridget laughed and squealed in his grasp until he stopped.
“That being said,” continued Ghost, “I’m not sure that’s the best plan, tactically, baby. Best case scenario, a guy like Cary is just going to pull his kid from your school if you hassle him like that. Or try to get you fired. Or both. And then Toby might be out of our reach.”
“I know,” said Bridget with a frustrated sigh. “Planning raids on Afghani cave systems seemed less complicated than this does.”
“I love it when you talk dirty.”
Bridget turned so she could look back at him. He smiled at her, his eyes bright as always, and moved some of her hair out of her face. She stared at him for a moment, and felt something hot and bright growing in her chest. Ghost just watched her, amusement slowly falling over his expression.
“Am I wearing someone else’s face, or something?” he said. “I hope it’s hotter than my old face.”
Bridget smiled. She put her hands on the side of his face and softly rubbed her thumbs against his beard. “I like this face.” She leaned down and kissed his lips. Beneath her, she felt a shiver run down Ghost’s body as he pressed back against her mouth in happy surprise and slid his arms around her tighter. Against her hip, she felt the hardening of his bulge.
“Then I guess I’ll keep it,” he said in between kisses.
“Ghost,” she said. There was nothing in her head but the sweetness of his touch against her, but somehow the words were there anyway, spilling out. “I want to keep you.”
He didn’t laugh, but he did release a breath like he didn’t believe what he was hearing. He searched her eyes with his hungrily. “Wait, you… what?” He blinked. “Really?”
She kissed him fiercely, and he returned it, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
“I don’t know how to talk about this stuff,” she admitted. Her voice was shaking now. “But I mean it.”
Ghost’s smile was sweet, and came from some deep place she couldn’t explain. He tucked her hair behind her ear and said, “You don’t have to say anything else.”
Bridget was overcome with want for him and the perfect way he melded with her, despite all the flaws she’d fought for so long. She turned until she was facing Ghost, straddling his lap, and then she devoured his lips with hers while he ru
bbed his hands all over her body, groaning her name, pulling her clothes off in messy, half-hearted moves. It was like neither of them wanted to stop kissing, or let even an inch of space come between their bodies.
Ghost pulled her shirt over her head and ran his tongue and lips all over her chest as he unclasped her bra. Bridget moaned and rubbed his shaved head against her as he took his time licking and sucking at each of her breasts, kneading them in his hands, lapping up her skin like he was starving. He bit at the sensitive skin on her neck as he lifted his hips up into her, pressing his bulge between her legs. Bridget cried out, her pussy already on fire, aching for his touch.
Vindication: A Motorcycle Club Romance Page 12