GHOST (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Loveling, Daphne

  I slip behind the bar and root around to see what they have. I end up mixing him an Irish Car Bomb, which I adorn with a makeshift umbrella that I’ve made out of a toothpick and a paper coaster. I bring it my brother in the back, where he’s started a game of pool with a few of the other men, who laugh and give him shit about the umbrella.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Jewel and Noah. They’re playing some sort of card game where they’re both slapping the cards on the table as hard as they can. He’s laughing and screaming in glee — the happiest I’ve seen him since we moved to Tanner Springs. I push down my feelings of guilt and allow myself a rare moment of optimism.

  Maybe things are going to be okay, I think for the first time in days.

  And then, just as I’m walking back to the bar, the front door opens and Cas Watkins strolls in.

  13

  Cas

  Even though it was originally my idea for Angel to ask Jenna to tend bar for the MC, it’s still a pretty big shock to see her here.

  Since that day at the Downtown Diner, I haven’t seen Jenna at all. And definitely not this close up.

  I could have used a warning.

  Again, I’m struck by how startling it is to see her as a brunette. It definitely suits her. Hell, pretty much anything would look good on Jenna, though. She could probably shave her damn head and still be a damn knockout. Even so, it still feels a little… off. Like the way she was carrying herself the other day at the diner. The curtain of hair, and the way she has a tendency to hide behind it, feels like a barrier. Something she’s consciously placing between her and the world.

  She looks up at me just as I come through the door and freezes in her tracks. Those pale, pale blue eyes lock onto me, her lips parting slightly in surprise. I take advantage of the moment to check out the entire package close up.

  Jenna is petite in stature, barely coming up to my shoulder. But even so, somehow she has legs that just won’t quit. She’s wearing a pair of jean shorts that are probably meant to be modest, but on her they’re anything but. Looking at her now, my eyes raking over her curves, I can still remember how it felt to reach down and cup her ass, pulling her toward me for the first time all those years ago. The feel of it in my hands is so strong right now that I have to fight the rising of my cock against my zipper. Shit. No good pitching a tent right here in front of the whole club. Especially when I can’t do anything about it.

  “Hey,” I say, my voice huskier than I mean it to be.

  “Hey,” she half-whispers back.

  “So. You’re working here now?”

  Jenna blinks her eyes in surprise. “Yeah, I guess so. How did you know?”

  “I, uh…” I shrug. “I suggested it to Angel. After Jewel got hurt.”

  “Oh.” Jenna looks flustered, like she doesn’t quite know what to make of that. “You did?”

  Frankly, neither do I. Oh, yeah, of course I suggested it to Angel. At the time, it just seemed like a practical solution to a mutual problem. But that was when Jenna still seemed kind of… abstract. Now, with her here in the flesh, right in front of me… Well, let’s just say, I’ve never been much of a one to resist temptation. And this, right here? This is a fucking temptation. And I brought it on myself.

  “Yeah,” I continue nonchalantly. “It just seemed like it made sense. Angel said you were back in town, and that you were having some money troubles, so…”

  Jenna’s expression changes, in the space of an instant. Her jaw sets, and her eyes flash. She’s embarrassed, and more than that, she’s pissed.

  “Great. Glad to know my life is and my problems are something everyone feels entitled to know about,” she says sharply, giving a short, sarcastic laugh. “But I guess it was probably obvious anyway. Why else would I accept a job in a place like this?”

  Fuck. I feel bad. Jenna’s always been proud. She doesn’t like people to see her weaknesses. I know that much about her. I wish I could take my words back, but of course it’s too late for that.

  Instead, I pretend to be angry myself, to take the focus off her. “What do you mean, a place like this?” I retort. “You think you’re too good for the likes of us?”

  It seems to work, at least a little. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she says quickly.

  “Sure it is,” I continue. “You think we’re just a bunch of criminals. The lowest of the low.”

  “No!” She rolls her eyes in frustration. “It’s just that…” She pauses.

  “It’s just that what?” I prompt, crossing my arms.

  “I just…” She’s flustered now, and her blush heats her skin. I resist the urge to reach up and slide my thumb along her jawline, to see if it will make her blush more.

  “I’m sorry, you’re right,” she finally admits. “That was rude of me to say. I don’t think badly of the club. I just…” She sighs, looking defeated. Well, I guess I was hoping to find a job other than bartending for once. I guess I’m just frustrated that I have to basically take a charity job with my brother’s club.”

  “It’s not charity,” I say gently. “We really do need a bartender. Just so happens, you fit the bill and you’re free.” Her face looks dubious, and I decide not to push it. I try to change the subject. “How’ve you been?” I ask her without thinking, and then realize I’ve just put the focus right back on her and her troubles. Smooth.

  She laughs softly. “Okay. I mean, apart from the obvious.”

  “You look good,” I say, because it’s true. Her blush just gets deeper. Fuck, she’s just as goddamn gorgeous and sexy as I remember her being. More, actually. What I wouldn’t give to back her against the bar and have my way with her right now.

  “Thanks,” she murmurs, looking down. “So do you.”

  Aha.

  “Hey, Ghost!” yells Beast from the back. “Get back here and settle a bet for Tank and me.”

  “Calm your tits,” I call back. I grin at Jenna. “Sorry. Pardon my French.”

  “I forget they call you Ghost now,” Jenna says, a tiny smile quirking the corners of her mouth. “Angel told me that.” She wrinkles her nose. “It took me a minute to figure out it’s because your name is Casper.”

  “That’s not why they call me Ghost,” I tell her.

  “It’s not?”

  I take a half-step toward her and lower my voice a notch. “No,” I say, “But I can be a very friendly ghost, if you want me to.”

  I mostly say it just to see her reaction, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, something changes. It’s as though an electric arc just shot between us. Her eyes lock onto mine for a long, scorching second. When she finally looks away, I realize I’m hard as a rock.

  “I’m just here to pour drinks, Cas,” she says quietly.

  “Ghost!” Beast shouts again.

  “Goddamn it,” I mutter, turning away. Jenna retreats behind the bar, and I go back to kick Beast’s ass.

  14

  Cas

  I try to stay away from Jenna for the rest of her shift, but I’m still hyper-aware of her presence in the clubhouse.

  I can’t help but keep watching her out of the corner of my eye as she moves around the bar and brings drinks to the brothers. I catch every movement she makes. I notice the way her white T-shirt clings to the curve of her breasts, and a memory of her pert, pink nipples makes me practically bust the zipper on my jeans. I see her leaning over to serve a beer — perfect ass molded by her shorts — and almost come in my pants thinking about how good it would feel to plunge myself deep inside her. It’s fucking torture having her here. What’s even worse is that every once in a while, I catch her glancing over at me, furtively, like she can’t help herself.

  It feels just like that summer five years ago. Here we are, dancing around each other again. It’s just a matter of time before we stop dancing. I can feel it.

  The first hour or so, Jenna’s moving around pretty stiffly, like she’s not sure what to expect out of the brothers. But eventually, she starts
to loosen up as they come to the bar to chat her up and make her laugh. Angel’s in back with Rock talking business because we have church later, and it looks like his absence is starting to make some of the brothers feel a little bolder about flirting with her.

  A little too goddamn bold, for my taste.

  Sarge seems especially taken with our new bartender. I watch from the other side of the bar as he pulls up a stool and starts saying shit to Jenna I can’t hear. I see her throw back her head and laugh a few times, and before I know it my blood starts to heat up in my veins. Sarge can be a charming motherfucker when he wants to be, but from what I’ve heard, his sexual tastes run a little on the violent side. As I watch Jenna roll her eyes and laugh again at something he’s just said to her, I know he’s making a play for her.

  Jenna isn’t my old lady. I have no business getting between her and anyone. And hell, I know she’s somewhat protected by being Angel’s sister. As I watch Sarge flirt with her, I keep repeating these things to myself like a mantra. But even so, my blood starts to simmer, and then to boil.

  The idea of Sarge, or any one of these men, bedding her is more than I can handle. By the time she walks by him and he slaps her on the ass, I’m seeing red and too far gone to care. I stand up, knocking my chair to the floor, and before I know it I’ve crossed the room in three strides.

  “Don’t you fucking touch her!” I snarl. I pull back and punch Sarge hard in the face before he even knows what’s happening. He falls backwards off the stool and hits the ground. Getting to his feet with a roar, he lunges for me. Sarge is a little bigger than I am, but I’ve got adrenaline on my side, and I’m not backing down. He barrels toward me, aiming to plow me down by the waist, but I’m ready for him. I crouch down low and catch him in the chest with an uppercut just as he rams into me. Then we’re both on the floor, trying to land punches where we can.

  “—it! Stop it! Cas, stop!” Jenna’s voice seeps into the fog of rage in my head. I feel myself being pulled off of Sarge by a couple pairs of arms, and I look up to see that Tank and Skid are hauling Sarge up, too.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Jenna cries, getting in my face like she has no idea how close I am to exploding.

  I shake off the brothers holding me and grab Jenna by the arm, pulling her outside without a word as she continues to bitch at me. I’m practically shaking, I’m so angry, and I’m working hard not to take it out on her.

  “What are you doing, Cas?” Jenna stumbles behind me until I round the far corner of the building, invisible from the parking lot. I turn and face her.

  “Sarge should know better than to touch the sister of the VP,” I rasp, my jaw clenched tight.

  Jenna huffs at me and rolls her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, Cas. He wasn’t going to try anything. He was just being stupid.”

  “Damn straight, he was being stupid,” I mutter. “He’s about to get his head bashed in.”

  “Why do you even care?” she challenges me. “What, are you suddenly the protector of all women? Do you think I can’t take care of myself?”

  “Of course you can take care of yourself,” I scoff. “In most circumstances. But shit, Jenna, this isn’t some frat boy we’re talking about here.”

  “Cas.” Jenna’s clearly starting to lose patience. “Do you think Sarge is the first man to slap me on the ass? I’m a damn bartender. This shit happens to me all the time. I don’t like it, but I don’t have the luxury of taking it seriously. I need the tip money.”

  “The next time it happens — no matter who does it — they’ll have me to answer to,” I growl.

  Jenna’s eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t believe it,” she cries, shaking her head. “You’re jealous!”

  I don’t reply, because she’s goddamn right I’m jealous.

  “No,” she says then. “No. You do not get to do this.”

  “Do what?” I mutter.

  “Just because we had sex once years ago, you do not get to feel like you have some sort of claim on me, Cas Watkins,” she declares, jutting out her chin.

  “If memory serves, we fucked more than once,” I correct her. My dick jumps at the thought.

  That takes her aback for a second, but she squares her shoulders and continues. “You don’t own me, Cas.”

  “Oh no?” I rasp, pulling her to me.

  For a second, she resists. But when my mouth comes down on hers, the sound that comes from her isn’t a protest, but a moan. We crash back into the wall, and I lift her up, cupping her ass and pressing her thighs apart until the crotch of her jeans is pressed against the aching hardness of my cock. Jenna gasps, and I feel her instinctively buck her hips against me. It’s just as fucking good as I remember.

  She moans again, more loudly, and slides herself against me, angling her hips so I know she’s aching for it, too. Her eyes had closed when I kissed her, but now they open again and stare at me. Her pupils are huge and dark. The look we exchange is electric.

  If it wasn’t for the fabric between us, I’d be inside her right now.

  I practically come at the thought.

  I’m considering whether to pull her into the trees and give us what we both want, when a voice calls from around the corner. “Ghost! Church!”

  “Fuck,” I groan, my lips sliding from Jenna’s. “It’s Angel.” I ease her to the ground and adjust my raging hard-on.

  Jenna’s flushed and disheveled, her eyes hooded. Her mouth is open slightly, her breath coming in pants. “Shit. You go,” she tells me, and takes off in the other direction, toward the back of the clubhouse.

  I round the corner to find Angel standing out by the bikes, looking around. “Where you been?” he frowns when he sees me.

  “Just went out for a smoke,” I lie.

  “Where’s Jenna?” Angel asks. “Beast said you two walked out together.”

  “She’s, uh…” I see Jenna rounding the corner on the other side of the building. “She’s over there. She got mad at me and stormed away.”

  “Huh.” Angel’s face is suspicious, but he lets it go. “Okay, well, come on. Rock’s ready to get started.”

  I nod and follow him into the bar, casting a quick glance over at Jenna just before I go inside. Our eyes meet for a second, and then she looks away.

  Maybe I don’t own her, like she said. But it looks like maybe I still do have a claim on her, after all.

  15

  Jenna

  I’m pretty sure what just happened was a bad idea.

  Great. Add it to the list.

  It didn’t feel like one, though. God help me, but kissing Cas Watkins just now felt… well, it felt amazing. More than amazing. It felt like coming home.

  I take a few more minutes outside after Cas and Angel go back in, to try to get my head on straight. But every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s buzzing with the memory of his body and the electricity of Cas’s touch. The ache between my legs has graduated to a throb, and I almost moan out loud in frustration and need. God only knows what would have happened between us if Angel hadn’t come out just now.

  No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what would have happened.

  And I wanted it to happen. Hell, I still want it to happen. I feel like I’m sliding down the side of a steep hill, careening toward the inevitable. The problem is, I don’t know if I should put out my hands and try to stop myself, or just let it happen. Because either way, I’m pretty sure the end result is gonna be the same.

  I pace back and forth in the parking lot for a few minutes, which doesn’t seem to calm me much but at least gives me something to do. Finally, I blow out a deep breath of frustration, then head back into the clubhouse, before someone comes out here looking for me.

  When I get inside, I see that the tables and chairs that were overturned when Cas punched Sarge have been put to rights. Off in one corner, Noah has fallen asleep in Jewel’s lap. She’s quietly reading a worn-looking paperback, silently turning the pages as his little chest rises and falls.

 
“Are you okay?” I mouth at her, feeling a twinge of guilt, but she just smiles and nods.

  Then, when I walk back to the bar, I find that my tip jar has been stuffed full of bills.

  I almost cry with relief and happiness at the unexpected sight. I look around in astonishment, to see who did this, but then I remember all the club members are in a meeting now. “Church,” Angel called it for some reason. So, I make a promise to myself to find out who’s responsible and thank them for it later.

  I empty the jar on the counter and start to count out the bills. Wow. There’s enough here that with luck and a couple more shifts, I’ll be able to make rent before Charlie Hurt kicks me out on the street. There might even be enough left for a grocery run so I’m not stuck making Noah peanut butter sandwiches for the rest of the week.

  But even with such happy thoughts to occupy me, I still can’t get Cas out of my mind. It’s almost like he’s right next to me as I pocket the money. When I start washing glasses and wiping down the bar, I can still feel the rough scratch of his dark beard against my skin. I can see the patches of red that show when the sunlight hits it, and the deep brown of his eyes as they sought mine just before he kissed me. I can smell the masculine scent of him, all smoke and leather and the open road.

  God, I want him. I sure as hell wish I didn’t, but I do.

  As the minutes tick by in the quiet bar, I start to get nervous at the thought of the meeting ending and having to face Cas again. Eventually, the heavy doors of the room they call the chapel finally open, and the men begin spilling out. I force myself not to look over and watch for him to exit with the others. Instead, I busy myself wiping the bar counter down, even though I just did that five minutes ago, and pretend I couldn’t care less.

  “Jenna, set us up with some shots,” calls a man whose name I think is Brick. I do as he asks, pulling out a bottle of the whiskey these men seem to prefer and taking out some glasses. I’m thankful for the distraction, and don’t even notice at first that Cas has come up to the bar and taken a seat at the other end.