by Isabel Wroth
It was the worst mistake he had made in what felt like decades. The price he paid for juggling too many balls at once, he supposed. He knew he would do better next time.
Though if he was being honest, after spending so much time with them, he had discovered one Perdition brother to be worth twelve Leviathan foot soldiers. The Leviathans had larger numbers, multiple chapters across the East coast, but it was the old adage of quality, not quantity.
Yet another reason why there were twelve dead Leviathan’s at his feet, and zero Perdition men.
Because he had chosen his alias so well, as Mr. Al-Jameen, the Saudi-Arabian dignitary who had been taken into custody along with the prostitutes posing as his wives, Ghost had diplomatic immunity. He literally could not be charged with the murder of these men at his feet, despite the video surveillance of his brutality and the bodies now lying in puddles of blood and bowels all around him.
He would be held for a time, no doubt. But only long enough for his employers to feel like they had taught him a lesson in obedience. Though they should have known from the start when he was given this assignment, he wasn’t a team player.
He lived by his own code, his own rules. No one told him how to do his job.
His employers were no doubt shitting their polyester pants right now, thinking their ace in the hole had blown the job. In actuality, Ghost mapped out the logical scenarios and reasoned he had just given himself even more credibility and pull where it counted.
He sighed as a tickle of exhaustion crept along his senses.
This job, his work, it seemed unending. His goal so close and yet just out of reach. But, in the end, his preparation and patience would pay off.
It wouldn’t be long now. Soon the guards would come in, discover him sitting there with blood up to his elbows, splashed across his face. The amount of gore covering this cell was nothing. By the time he got through, there would be rivers deep enough to drown in, thick and red.
He imagined the picture he must have made, sitting there covered in blood, carnage at his feet, and a smile on his face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Three months later…
The sound of motorcycles roaring closer floated through the open windows, her stomach jumping with excitement. Ripley finished putting the last of her lemon bars on the big glass cake plate, sharing a look of eagerness with Ever and Athena.
They had been hard at work in the kitchen of the newly finished compound, making up the majority of the food for tonight’s hog roast. The very first one in the new building. Dani came scooting into the room looking a little green, but her eagerness was plain to see despite her morning sickness. Ripley couldn’t help but grin as the newest member of the lady club gave a little bounce.
“They’re back!” Dani exclaimed, biting into her bottom lip, smiling even as she turned right around and dashed back to the bathroom to heave her guts up.
Ever clicked her tongue in sympathy, rolling her eyes heavenward as the sound of her son’s shrieks of delight broke through the quiet they had been enjoying. It had been so busy the last couple of months.
News that Ghost had killed all twelve of his Leviathan brothers in their holding cell had been a gruesome shock. Saint said it was smart of Ghost, cleaning up his mess, leaving none of the lower level gang members as witnesses who could talk or hurt the gang further. Ripley thought it was just another testament to how lucky they had all been to have escaped relatively unscathed.
Though if she was being truthful, luck had nothing to do with it. For some reason, Ghost hadn’t wanted to kill them, and the few times she had brought it up, Saint didn’t have an answer as to why.
Saint and Damon had gone to identify the man being held as one, Mr. Al-Jameen, as a member of the Leviathans, but both men had come home fit to kill. There was no physical evidence to support their testimony and, for the time being, Ghost was still in custody awaiting the decision of the Saudi Arabian government because, Mr. Al-Jameen was a real person and all the paperwork Ghost had was legit to prove it.
Over the last three months, there had been more nights than Ripley cared to count, where she had woken up to find Saint in the dining room with a cup of coffee nearby, bent over the pile of case files he had collected. Pouring over them for any shred of evidence he could take to the FBI to hack apart Ghost’s aliases.
The first time Ripley had discovered Saint at the dining room table, it had been at three am. He’d had his elbows braced, his hands fisted in his hair while he went through the file in front of him. One file, in a stack of hundreds.
Part of her had wanted to forbid the spread of disgusting images from being in their home. Saint would take them somewhere else if she had asked, but then he would be alone with all the death and horror, and that was even worse.
She had gone into the kitchen instead, brewed a fresh pot of coffee and took it to him, forcing herself not to look at the pictures while she smoothed her hand over his hair. Saint had flinched hard, startled. His eyes shot up to hers and, before he could hide it from her, she saw the guilt plainly in his expression.
He still blamed himself for not seeing through the disguise of Toad, for letting himself ignore his instincts regarding Sam, chalking it up to jealousy. For not somehow sensing Jerry wasn’t who he said he was.
No matter how many times she told him it wasn’t his fault, no matter how many times Top said it, Saint still struggled to let it go. That night though, Saint had scowled and demanded to know what she was doing up.
“I woke up and you were gone.”
He must have thought she was accusing him of something. “I gotta find something, Ripley. Otherwise this piece of shit is going to walk and-”
She cut off his tightly defensive words with a kiss, offering him what she hoped was a comforting smile. “I know. I made another pot of coffee. Are you hungry?”
He shook his head with a ragged sigh, sitting back to pull her down onto his lap for a cuddle. “No. I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s alright. After everything Ghost and the Leviathans have done, they won’t beat you. You’ll find something; I know you will. Just don’t wear yourself out doing it, okay?”
Love had softened his expression, made the kiss he gave her so sweet and tender. “Promise. I’ll come to bed soon.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
The compound had been rebuilt in record time, every single one of the brothers pitching in to do their part. The stress of being constantly on the lookout for Ghost now gone, Saint’s late nights not withstanding, things were getting back to normal and, best of all, two weeks ago today Gee had finally come out of his coma.
It had been a Tuesday afternoon when she had gotten the call. Ruckus had been with Gee, reading him the news updates regarding the Leviathans, when all of the sudden the comatose prospect had opened his eyes, looked at his friend and asked why it felt like he had a tube up his ass.
Ruckus was still retelling the story with great hilarity to anyone who would listen.
Gee had some residual issues going on, his motor function not what it was before the shooting. The trauma of his head hitting the granite counter of her coffee bar had been serious enough that he had forgotten some words, simple things here and there, and he couldn’t control his hands sometimes.
Unfortunately for now, he was unable to ride.
He had been in rehab for about fifteen days, starting the long journey to retrain his injured brain, but he was still the sweet kid he had always been. It was gut-wrenching to hear Saint talk about it, to see him hurting for his brother, but Gee was putting on a strong front. Determined to get his old self back, and Ruckus, along with all the rest of the club, had been right there to support Gee in any way he needed.
Today’s hog roast was partially to christen the new compound, but also to welcome Gee home. The entire club had gone to pick him up from the hospital today and bring him back.
To her utter delight, Saint had quit working at the
strip club. Two of the commandos had actually asked to take over managing the place and, by all accounts, were whipping the club back into shape.
The drink names hadn’t ever been so dirty.
Saint had haltingly told her how Nate and Tate had approached Top and said they would buy the Velvet Box whenever Top was ready to sell it. But it seemed for now, Perdition wasn’t ready to let go of the dream one of their own had brought to life.
Truthfully, she didn’t care if Perdition kept the strip club or sold it, so long as Saint didn’t have to work there.
Ripley wiped her hands on a dish towel and came around the big kitchen counter, the addition having been added on to encourage her and the other ladies of Perdition to cook for the still single members of the club whenever they felt so inclined.
It was a gourmet kitchen, and the enormous farm table, in what was a semi-formal dining room, was now laden with the fruits of their labors, soon to be consumed by the handful of men coming through the doors.
Damon and Stone pushed through first, shoving one another in an effort to be the first one to get their hands on their woman. Stone hadn’t joined the club, but was often found riding around with them just for the fun of it. He and Damon tossed coins every time to see which of them got to ride with Dani. Both Damon and Stone saw her first, and Ripley hooked a finger towards the bathrooms.
“Dani’ll be out in a minute. She’s feeling a little green.” Neither of them hesitated to shove into the ladies room to take care of their pregnant lover. As shocking as it first had been for Ripley to understand the nuances of their relationship, she couldn’t say she had ever seen three people more in love.
Raid and Roar came next, winking at her while they caught up to their women. Top followed, looking tired but happy. He had finally admitted he was sick with lung cancer, and the overwhelming support from all the brothers had seemed to give him a renewed sense of vigor.
Naturally they were pissed at their Prez for keeping them in the dark, but by now all of them had quit smoking and were on board to help out their boss in any way they could.
More brothers filed in, but as soon as Saint walked through the door, scooping his hand back through his shaggy curls, Ripley had eyes only for him. Her heart sang with adoration, with pride and gratitude for all they had overcome together. Her body hummed when his bright blue eyes hit her and rolled over her from head to toe, his lips kicking up with obvious lust when he hit her blush pink heels.
Ripley couldn’t lie, she felt like the sexiest woman alive in the wake of Saint’s expression. She had dressed to kill today, in her high-waisted, black, pencil skirt and matching crop top, a strip of skin bared between the two halves. Saint’s long legs ate up the distance between them, his arm looped around her waist and his lips unerringly found hers.
“You’re so fuckin beautiful,” he growled against her mouth.
Ripley couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you.”
“Later, all I wanna see you wearing are those shoes.”
“I think I can make that happen. How is he?”
Saint hummed and hugged her up close, giving her one more kiss before shifting so they could both see the doorway. So they could both see Gee and Ruckus walk in together, Athena’s dogs bouncing around their feet in excitement.
Gee had dropped weight and still had bruises under his eyes from having been asleep for so long. But his gaze was bright with happiness, looking around at the new surroundings of the compound, dragging in a deep breath like he was settling the smell back into his memories.
“He’s doing good. Still not back to a hundred percent. The physical therapists say he’s improving a little bit every day, but it will take some time before we know if the brain damage is permanent.”
The damage preventing him from riding his Harley.
Saint shook off the somberness of his tone, glancing down at her. “Did you bring it?”
Ripley smiled up at Saint and nodded, eager to give Gee his welcome home gift. The man who had bought Gee’s custom-made bike during the ROT rally had friends. All of whom were eager to order custom Harleys from the same artist, and Ripley had a picture of that very first bike, along with a list of names and numbers to give Gee for the commissions of twenty more. But that was for later.
Now it was time to celebrate. Celebrate victories, celebrate sadness, celebrate life. Celebrate Gee coming back to them. Celebrate the beauty of the new compound. Celebrate for all the things they had to be thankful for. Celebrate family.
Thanksgiving was coming early for Perdition this year and Ripley was honored to be part of it.
She sat by the roaring fire hours later, smiling so wide her face hurt, watching the club play a game of touch tag on the big lawn. The commandos had joined them, talking trash, playfully bonding and being welcomed as a fellow brotherhood. Roar had abandoned the football in favor of using his son as their game ball, and Lyon was shrieking with glee to be whirled around, passed, tossed, ducked and woven with all over the lawn.
Ripley had been nervous at first, but the more she watched, the more it was evident just how careful every single one of the tough as nails men were with the toddler. Ever sighed and grudgingly explained (with a sparkle in her eye) that this was how baby bikers were created.
The sun had just set, the coolness of the evening causing a shiver to work its way down her spine, but Ripley wouldn’t have moved for anything. Life was so good right now, and knowing there would be bad days ahead, she cherished every moment as though she would never get another.
The only dark cloud overhead was Wren’s absence. The shy woman Ripley had come to call friend, had disappeared back into witness protection without having said goodbye to anyone. Top said he and Saint had taken her to meet with her handlers, spoken briefly with them about Ghost, and Wren had been whisked away to safety.
Pen hadn’t spoken much, that Ripley was aware of, ever since. He smiled even less than before, talked less, though his unwavering devotion to his friends and his job as a PI were apparently as strong as ever. Looking at him now, playing touch tag with the club, Ripley could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
It was somewhere out there in the world, miles away, awaiting the day she would come out of hiding to testify against a skilled hitman and the gang who had ruined her life. For Pen’s sake, Ripley hoped when that day came, the very next one would see Wren coming home.
Ripley sipped on her glass of wine, curious when the commandos broke away from the yard to come back over to the fire, the men of Perdition all standing in a circle in what looked like a deep discussion.
A few minutes and a unanimous ‘AYE’ from the brothers later, Ripley watched them disperse. Ruckus jumped on Gee, playfully wrestling with his best friend as they moved with the group off towards the keg, leaving only Raid, Roar and Saint on the grass.
The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, grinning at one another, shaking heads, looking like they were taking a trip down memory lane together. Raid clapped his hand on Saint’s shoulder, Roar gave Saint a manly shove of approval, and Ripley wondered if it was a trick of the fading light or if she had just caught sight of Saint blushing.
He had something in his hand that he was staring at and, thankfully, he didn’t make her wait very long to find out what it was. Saint lifted his head and sought her out, a panty-melting grin spreading across his face when he motioned her over.
Butterflies erupted in her belly for no real reason as she got up to go to him. As soon as she was within earshot, Raid and Roar ambled off, both of them grinning ear to ear. Ripley was drawn to Saint like a magnet, her hands sliding up the warmth of his leather cut, and around his shoulders to curl her fingers in the softness of his hair. Desire flaming every bit as brightly as it had the very first time she had laid eyes on him.
“What’s goin on?” she murmured, his smile so infections she couldn’t help but grin up at him.
Saint had one arm around her, showing her the rectangular patch he held in his other hand. In bold,
black, block letters against a yellow background, the patch read, VICE PRESIDENT.
“Pike was VP and after his death, no one wanted to step up and ask to fill his shoes. Top’s planning on taking it easy from now on, he’ll retire eventually, and he wants me to take over when he does. Top put it to a vote just now and it was a unanimous agreement.”
Saint’s voice was rough with emotion and Ripley was full to bursting with happiness for him. “I’m so proud of you. I can sew your patch on for you when we get home tonight.”
Her offer caused Saint to drop his forehead to hers, his mustache tickling her lips. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”
He tucked the patch away in his pocket, clearing his throat like he was uncomfortable all of the sudden. His fingers caressed the edge of her jaw, tipping her chin up to give her what Ripley thought was the sweetest, most sensual kiss they had had to date. Naturally, the need increased and though she tried to savor the sensation of this moment, she was dying for more.
To say she was shocked when Saint pulled away was a bit of an understatement.
“Stop, before I forget what I need to say,” he groaned. She almost pouted, but at least he sounded tormented. “I’m ready.”
Ripley blinked, wondering whatever that meant, how it could possibly be more important than what they were just doing. “What?”
“It’s been a hell of a few years. I’ve been a dick and a fool. I brought a murderer home to threaten you, nearly lost you because I was such an asshole, but by the grace of whoever is upstairs watching us, you came back and let me love you.
“I’m still a dick sometimes, and no doubt I’ll do something to piss you off on a semi-regular basis. I’ll leave you alone for weeks at a time because of the job, but I promise to do my best never to bring it home with me again.