GHOST: An MC Romance: DEVIL'S CREED MC (Devils Creed MC Book 2)

Chapter 4

Rae

I was just on the brink of sleep after struggling to get Payton to go down for the night when I heard something out of place. I’d just barely caught it, but it was enough for my eyes to shoot open and me to instantly become wide awake.

Was someone here?

Heart racing, I closed my eyes and held perfectly still as I listened closely.

There it was again—a thud, a curse, then a scratching sound coming from the side door downstairs.

What the hell?

Someone was off their rocker, breaking into a Devils Creed home, especially with a clubhouse full of bikers just on the other side of the lot.

Hearing another noise confirmed my fears—someone was downstairs.

As quiet as a mouse, I climbed out of bed, swept my shorts from the floor, yanked them up my legs, then moved to the nightstand for my phone, only to come up empty-handed.

Shit! Shit, shit, SHIT!

Of all the nights to have left my damn phone downstairs. I shook my head. There wasn’t time to cry over the shoulda, coulda, wouldas.

I had to protect my girl.

Moving quietly, I rushed toward the dresser where I’d stashed my gun. Pop had been adamant I wouldn’t need it, but my daddy drilled it in my head that a girl could never be too careful when it came to her safety.

That was one of the few things we agreed on.

So, with steady hands, I removed the revolver from the drawer, then padded across the room on my tiptoes and slunk down the hall towards Payton’s room. Once inside, I peeked over the crib railing. My hand went to her chest to feel her breathing. My precious girl was sound asleep.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I vowed.

In the short amount of time the sleeping beauty had been in my care, I’d grown fiercely protective of her. Maybe it was because her mother had disappeared, or because her father was ‘away’.

Whatever the reason, Payton St. James had wormed her way into my heart, and I would die before I let anything happen to her. With a quick request to the man up above to keep her safe, I moved back into the hall and pulled her door closed behind me.

“Motherfucker.”

My ears perked up at the curse coming from outside.

That sounded like a man.

Moving quickly, I jogged down the steps, being mindful to stay in the shadows.

Just as I hit the bottom stair, I heard the side door to the kitchen hit the wall.

I swallowed thickly. Someone’s inside.

Taking the last two steps, I cringed as the last creaked under my weight, telegraphing my location.

Shit, shit, SHIT!

Inhaling quietly, I kept moving closer. I had to put as much distance between the intruder and Payton as possible.

Her safety was the only thing that mattered.

Securing my grip around my weapon, I crept down the hall and froze when I found an intruder with his back facing me. My eyes flicked from him to the cut he was wearing to the closed door.

The cut he was wearing had the Devils Creed patch, but he didn’t look familiar.

Jesus, Rae. Snap out of it. Even if he is DC, why’s he breaking in?

I shook my head.

With renewed caution, I lifted my gun and pulled back on the hammer.

Slowly his hands went up and he turned around.

“Who the fuck are you?” My voice shook as my heart raced so fast it felt like it might beat right out of my chest.

The man in front of me tensed, his muscles bunching under his shirt as he wrapped his arm protectively around his side.

My finger inched towards the trigger as I took in his face covered in dark bruises and the way he kept favoring his side.

Someone really worked the guy over.

Tipping his head in consideration, he looked from the gun in my hand to me, then in a slow descent, his eyes raked down my body.

Seriously? I was on the verge of shooting this guy and he wanted to check me out?

Despite the damage done to his person, he had a presence about him, like he owned the place–or could if he wanted to.

“I asked you a question,” I snapped, tightening my grip around the revolver.

In a slow, casual move he leaned back against the door and crazy as loon, he smirked.

He. Smirked.

“Mister, you must have a goddamn death wish if you thought breaking in here was going to be a good idea,” I growled, my voice steady despite the jackhammering of my heart.

Doing a complete one-eighty, his eyes narrowed. “Bitch, you’re standing in my fucking house. I don’t care what kind of arrangement you’ve got with Ray. I don’t want whores around my daughter.”

My hands loosened on the grip. “Did you just call me a whore?” My mind completely skipped over him declaring he lived there, irrationally focusing on the insult.

I should have shot his ass on principle.

His eyes raked across my body again before coming back to mine and lifting a brow.

I glanced down and—yep. I could see his point.

I probably should have thrown on a shirt and not rushed into a fight wearing a pink lace nighty and shorts that barely covered my ass. In my defense, I wasn’t expecting him sneaking up on me in the middle of the night.

“Look. No offense, but you’re going to have to show me some proof of who you are before I let you any farther into this house.”

“Think you could put the fucking gun down?”

My eyes widened and I dropped my arm.

Oops.

His shoulders relaxed as he reached around to his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He flipped it open, slid out his license, and handed it over.

My eyes darted down. “Bishop St. James,” I read out loud.

“That’s me, baby.” He smirked. ”But around here, they call me Ghost.”

”Ghost.” The name fell from my lips on a whisper.

So, this was the infamous son who’d been ‘away’.

He was the owner of the house.

All of the sudden the weight of the weapon in my hand felt ten times more significant.

Damn.

He was totally going to fire me for pulling a gun on him. Blowing out a breath, I readied myself for the inevitable. Amelda was never going to give me another chance.

“Whoa, you alright, darlin’? Your face just went as white as a sheet,” he asked carefully, wincing as he shifted against the door.

His concern caught me off guard, considering not even a minute ago he called me a whore.

“Yeah, sorry. Spaced out for a second. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Ghost.” I offered him my hand to shake. “I’m Rae.”

His eyes rounded as he burst out laughing, then quickly sobered as his hand shot up against his side. “Fuck,” he wheezed, breathing through his pain. “You’re Ray?”

I reached out my hand when the sudden urge to soothe him came over me, then quickly retracted it when I realized my mistake.

Smooth, Rae.

“Uhm, yeah.” I wanted to ask him why he thought my name was so funny, but wisely refrained. That wasn’t important. What was important was making sure I kept my job.

“Look, I’m sorry for holding a gun on you. Surely, you can understand though. A woman… alone with a baby…” I bit my lip, hoping he’d cut me some slack.

“I do,” he exhaled slowly, “and I appreciate you doing whatever it took to protect my girl.”

“Of course. I love that little girl.” His expression softened.

“What happened to your face?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

”Run-in with some guards,” he muttered cryptically.

”Guards?” A frown creased my forehead as I took in the sight of him again. He was pretty banged up, but it didn’t take away from how good looking he was. He was the poster boy for bad boy bikers. And guards? What kind of guards? My mind whirled with questions I had no right to ask.

“Did you deserve it?” That felt like a fair ask. He could be the bad guy in this fairy tale.

“Fuck no,” he growled, rocking off the door and moving toward the kitchen table. Using his boot, he kicked out a chair, and took a seat. “I was targeted.”

“For what?” My eyes closed. Damnit. You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?

His eyes searched my face. “Club business.”

I rolled my eyes. Good Lord. I’d heard that plenty of times over the last few weeks. Anytime I’d ask where Payton’s father was, that was always the answer. Club business.

Glancing at the gun still in my hand, then back at him, I sighed. “That cheek needs some ice.”

“Thanks for the tip, darlin’,” Ghost said, his voice laced with exhaustion.

Moving to the other side of the kitchen I pulled a Ziplock bag from the drawer, opened the freezer, grabbed the ice bin, then dumped half its contents into the bag.

“Here, sweetheart. This should do for tonight.” The endearment rolled off my tongue before I could catch it and my cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

“Thanks,” he answered slowly.

“Sure.” I nodded, pointing over my shoulder. “If you’re good, I’m going to get out of your hair and head up to bed.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved me off. “Thanks for the ice.”

There was something working in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine.

Even black and blue, Bishop St. James oozed sex appeal.

Bed, Rae.

I cleared my throat and forced a smile. “Goodnight, then.”

Ghost gave me a final once over from the top of my curly head to the tips of my painted red toes and back again, before shaking his head. “Night, Rae.”

Shit!

I had a feeling I was in so much trouble.

* * *

The sound of heavy boots thundering across the floorboards and my door banging against the wall had my eyes snapping open.

“Rae, wake up,” Ghost demanded as he stormed into my room. A shiver ran up my body and I wasn’t sure if it was from the arctic freeze in the air, or the bad boy who was suddenly looming over me.

“What the hell? Why are you in my room?” My eyes narrowed. He was about to get a crash course in how not to wake me up in the morning.

“We got hit by a winter storm last night. It must have kept coming down after I came in. There’s ice everywhere and the power’s out.”

“What?” Embarrassingly, it took a few seconds for my sleep muddied brain to work out what he’d said, but once I did, my eyes went wide as I bolted out of bed.

“Where are you going? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Payton!” I yelled, stumbling as images of a frozen crib clawed at my insides.

“Whoa, easy, killer.” His arm shot out and his hand latched onto my arm to keep me from tripping over my own two feet. “I already checked on her. She”s bundled up, still warm for now.” Ghost”s words were short and clipped.

“Oh, thank God.” I deflated. That little girl may not be my blood, but she meant everything to me.

“Babe? Really?” His eyes dropped to my chest. “Is this what you always sleep in?”

I looked down at the nightie I was wearing and hissed. “Shit. I—” I tilted to my head. It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize. To explain that one of the bunnies from the club had bought me a few things at his father’s request.

“I…?” he prompted, lifting a brow.

“Nothing.” I didn’t owe him an apology or an explanation. Pulling out of his hold, I tiptoed across the icy floor and grabbed some socks from my drawer. Next, I pulled on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. It would have to do, considering how damn cold it was in there.

“I should go check on Payton.” I pointed toward her room, ignoring the offended look on his face.

It wasn’t that I didn”t trust Ghost, but... yeah, okay… it was that I didn”t trust him. But to be fair, I had just met the man.

“There’s a boiler at the clubhouse. We need to pack up and go over there before we freeze to death,” he insisted, following behind me.

“Why? You have a fireplace, and I had your dad stock wood in the shed a few weeks ago, just in case something like this happened. No offense, but the last thing I want to do is get Payton out in the freezing cold air.”

“I’ve never used that thing.” He looked toward the steps.

“I was born and raised in the Tennessee backwoods.” I threw him a look, half challenge, half assurance. “I’ve stored enough stuff around this place to keep us alive for a few weeks if I have to.”

“Survival-fucking-Sally, huh?” He smirked, relief written on his face.

“You have no idea how true that is,” I muttered under my breath. My dad was prepped for anything his wild conspiracy theorist mind could think up and some of that rubbed off on me.

I moved past him, arms hugging my torso as I stepped into Payton’s room. It was surprisingly still warm in there.

I tiptoed quietly to her crib, looked down at her sleeping peacefully, and grinned as I watched her chest rise and fall, slow and steady. Reaching inside, I brushed a thumb across her cheek, soft as a feather. Then sliding my hand behind her head, I felt the back of her neck. She was still nice and warm.

“Little heater, aren”t you?” I whispered softly; a small part of the stress coiled in my shoulders rolling off as I straightened.

“Happy now?” Ghost asked, his presence filling the doorway and effectively blocking out the draft.

“Yep.” I shrugged my shoulders, not feeling even remotely guilty as I slipped past him. Payton had been my sole responsibility for weeks and I didn’t take the job lightly.

“At least you’re honest.” He chuckled, following me down the steps.

You don’t have the slightest clue, sweetheart.

Glancing over at the tall windows in the front room, I could see they were frosted over from the other side and snow had drifted up the panes. Guess he wasn’t exaggerating when he said we had gotten a lot overnight.

“Do you know what the temperature is out there?” I asked over my shoulder, as I kneeled down in front of the cold hearth, balled up yesterday”s newspaper, and tossed it inside.

His eyes were glued to what my hands were doing in front of me. “Uh, no.” He shook his head.

Right. He’d said the power was out. It wasn’t a far stretch the phones were down too.

“Grab me some of that kindling.” It had been a while since I’d started a fire that way, but muscle memory took over.

Holding onto his side, he moved to the bin in the corner and with a grimace on his face he bent to grab the thin slivers of wood that I needed.

“Are you okay?” I asked, as he straightened awkwardly.

“I’ll be fine.”

I nodded in understanding. If he didn’t want me to pry, I’d leave it be.

“Matches?”

“In the drawer by the sink.” I knew where they were.

“Whatever,” I climbed to my feet and brushed past him into the kitchen. I pulled out the matches and closed the drawer with a little more oomph than was needed. Sue me. He was pissing me off.

Heading back into the living room, I dropped back down to my haunches, struck the match, and held it to the kindling. The tiny flame took to the paper, spreading quickly. Blessed heat slowly began to radiate from within.

“Didn”t figure you for the survival type,” Ghost said as I stood up. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze, though, wasn’t on the fire. It was dialed in on me.

“Huh, what type did you peg me for?” I asked, mildly curious as I focused on the fire.

”I”m not sure. But not this. You hungry?” I was oddly disappointed he didn’t offer more, but my belly growled agreeing with his mention of food.

“I am.”

Going into the kitchen, I pulled out the two cast iron pans I’d picked up at the secondhand store. Then I grabbed the bacon, eggs, a can of biscuits, and milk from the fridge. “Grab that jar.” I nodded to the canister on the counter that had the flour in it that I’d need to make homemade gravy. It wasn’t anything fancy but would cook up easy over an open flame.

“What are you making?”he asked, following me while trying to hide the labored breathing he had going on. His injuries must be more severe than I realized.

I settled the skillet on the fireplace”s edge, then went to work getting the biscuits going before moving on to the strips of bacon.

“Smells good,” he admitted, standing close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. “Are you always this calm in a crisis?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Survival ain”t about losing your head.” I removed the bacon and got to work on the gravy. “It”s about making do with what you got.”

He stayed quiet, watching over my shoulder as I finished off the makings of a hearty southern breakfast. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking the heaped plate.

The second I plated my own breakfast, Payton’s sleepy cry echoed down the stairs.

I smiled.

Sleeping beauty was awake.