Chapter eight
Al
I watched the clock on the staff room wall, ignoring whatever was happening during the teacher’s meeting. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, but I was just twenty seconds away from not being paid anymore. All I needed was for the hands on the clock to split, spread-eagled, from top to six.
I had plans. Fun plans. Sacred plans.
It was going to be me, Fox, a long drive, hot pizza, and then the club to see my wife. That was it. That was the dream. I needed loud music, greasy food, and my Mustang to be a menace on the road.
I deserved that.
Fox deserved it too. The poor bastard had been stuck in the garage for three days straight while responsibilities swallowed my evenings.
I had to write reports about students almost killing themselves and reports about students actually trying to kill each other.
Then Lai asked me to look at Ghost, while Candy made social plans for me behind my back.
Every time I promised Fox I’d take him out, something else came up.
And Fox had been as patient as it was possible for him to be, which meant he had only whined, sulked, draped himself over his hood, tried to eat a wrench, and played heartbreaking music every time I walked past without grabbing his keys.
I couldn’t handle another chorus of ‘Careless Whisper’ following me out of the garage, so tonight, I was leaving at six. Not six-oh-one. Six.
The second the old antique clock began to chime the hour, I was out of there, jacket in my hand, ignoring disapproving looks from the rest of the faculty.
It was only my job until six.
◆◆◆
Now it was ten seconds past six, and I was once again a free man.
I grasped the plastic fox keyring tightly in my hand as I saw the black Mustang near the exit.
“Fo–!”
The word caught in my throat as someone’s hand grabbed it, cutting off my breath. I staggered backward, my eyes locking onto the blue glow cutting through the darkness. “Ghost?”
“Al.”
I cleared my throat as Ghost released my neck. I sucked in air, then immediately regretted acting too relieved, because his hand moved to my sleeve instead, grabbing me tight so I couldn’t run.
“Quite a greeting,” I rasped. “Look, I’m sorry I had to fix you. Lai asked me. I didn’t know you were going to react that way.”
Ghost’s eyes narrowed. Then he jerked me closer toward himself, close enough that I could smell the faint ozone edge of something electrical burning.
“How else am I supposed to react,” he said, voice low and rough, “when my owner can’t bother to get his hands dirty for me?”
Oh, I see.
Oh, boy.
He had a point. Not that I was about to say that out loud; not immediately, anyway.
I liked living. I also liked Lai’s face in its usual configuration.
I didn’t especially want to be responsible for what might happen if a possessive, insecure muscle car decided to confront the most emotionally constipated assassin in the building.
But Ghost was right.
Lai valued a fresh manicure over his car, or at least that was how it looked from where Ghost was standing. And Ghost, being composed of approximately six decades of pride and abandonment issues, was not handling it well.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “But how do I fit into this equation?”
I threw a glance toward Fox.
His shadow was already sitting on his hood, chin propped in his hand, curious as hell about what was happening, one chrome fang pressed into his lower lip. His eyes were bright, amused, and far too invested. The horny little prick was enjoying watching.
Ghost didn’t look at him. He looked only at me.
“You are going to take me out.”
“I am?”
“You will help me buy a few things.”
“I will?”
“Parts. Tools.” His hand tightened around my sleeve. “And then, then you will make sure Lai drives me out.”
“To–?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Ghost shook his head, blue eyes burning brighter. “I need him alone.”
I winced. Ghost’s plan had a shape; I could see it. Trap Lai in the car. Put tools in reach. Manufacture a crisis. Force Lai to participate. As far as plans went, I’d heard worse.
But Ghost had failed to take into account one very important variable.
Teaching Lai anything was like teaching a cat to do tricks.
Lai was ungovernable.
But you know what? I wanted to see Ghost try.
More than that, I wanted to see Lai surrender control.
I wanted to see that man in his expensive suit, crouched in the footwell of his own car, sleeves rolled up, fingers dirty, dignity bleeding out onto the floor mat.
I wanted to see him realize there were some things he couldn’t delegate.
So I agreed.
Just like that, all my plans went on the back burner for the chance to witness Lai swallow his pride.
“Fine,” I said. “You know what? I’m down.”
Ghost blinked once, like he hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
I lifted a finger. “Give me a moment to explain it to Fox, and I’ll be right there. I assume you have your keys?”
Ghost’s engine growled in response, and he released his grip on me.
A few yards away, Fox was waiting on his hood.
“Are we–?”
"I gotta help Ghost,” I sighed, watching the shadow deflate, sinking into the glossy paint. “I know,” I said quickly. “I know, I know. I promised.”
He looked away, a pout already forming.
I stepped closer and cupped his face as he reformed between my palms. He let me bring him in, though he made a point of looking deeply wounded about it.
“One more day,” I murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. “You can be a good boy and wait, right?”
Fox groaned as he wrapped himself around me, arms locking over my shoulders, the full dramatic weight of him leaning into my chest.
I laughed and squeezed him back in a hug. “No drive, but I’ll still get you pizza.”
He lifted his head. “Extra cheese.”
“Obviously.”
“And garlic knots.”
“Fine.”
“And leave your laptop behind.”
I paused.
Fox stared at me.
I stared back.
That was not a request. That was a hostage negotiation.
I felt his weight pulling me down and backed down quickly.
“Acceptable compromise. Don’t use my credit card to buy porn; just go on one of the free websites I showed you.
” I handed him my bag with the laptop inside.
He clutched it with both hands, smugness returning to his face at once, before he stole another quick kiss from me.
“Be good,” I whispered.
◆◆◆
The Challenger was already irritated and restless, but I wasn’t going to entertain his tantrum. I ignored the huffs and puffs and the impatient engine whine as I climbed into the driver’s seat.
Whoa, Ghost did feel different. Huge, for one. Fox was roomy for a muscle car, but Ghost? Ghost felt like I was about to sail a Schooner through the garage gates.
I took a moment to orient myself, getting a feel for the seat and the gear shift before doing all the motions I’d memorized when driving my old ‘stang. Scarlet had been a ‘69, so none of it was unfamiliar; it just took a moment to come back to me. Choke, clutch, release…
Ghost rolled out of the garage. I took it slow at first, still adjusting to the new car, doing my best to ignore the icy glare that seemed to come from the passenger side, even though there was no one sitting there.
“Look,” I said, easing him down the drive. “I’m helping. You gotta let me do it. I’m taking you shopping. I’ll be driving you. Besides, I’m not Lai.” I patted the steering wheel. “I can handle you.”
The wheels slipped on the wet gravel.
For a split second, Ghost drifted hard to the side, dangerously close to the concrete barrier. My stomach jumped into my throat.
“Ghost!”
The radio flicked on instead of an apology.
Static crackled through the speakers, then a low, smug guitar riff rolled out with absolutely no remorse.
Gods, they were so alike, Lai and he. Saying sorry was apparently the most difficult thing in the world.
I corrected the slide and got us back under control, jaw clenched. “You dent yourself, I’m telling Lai you did it being dramatic.”
The engine rumbled.
Ghost behaved after that. Mostly. He still made a point of rumbling at every small car that dared to pass us, and when some idiot in a Honda Fit cut too close at a roundabout, Ghost surged forward with enough aggression that I had to fight him back like a dog on a leash.
By the time we reached the industrial side of town, the roads were slick with evening rain.
The tool shop was one of those massive trade warehouses that smelled like rubber mats, machine oil, and men who took socket sets way too seriously.
Bright white lights glared over rows of shelves, and Ghost idled outside the entrance like a mafia boss waiting for his idiot nephew to run an errand.
“Are you staying put?” I asked.
The engine cut off. I took that as a yes.
I grabbed a shopping cart and started with the basics.
A proper socket set, metric and imperial, because old American cars liked to humble anyone who assumed one system would be enough.
Wrenches. Screwdrivers. Pliers. Wire strippers.
A voltage tester. Fuses, since that was now a sensitive subject.
Electrical tape. Heat-shrink tubing. A decent inspection light.
Then Ghost honked from outside. Once. Sharp. Impatient.
I looked through the glass doors, and his headlights flashed toward the aisle on the far left.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered.
The cashier looked up.
“Haunted car,” I explained. He nodded like that answered everything, or he simply wasn’t paid enough to care.
I pushed the cart down the indicated aisle and found the more serious equipment.
A compact tool chest. A creeper board. Protective gloves.
A torque wrench that cost enough to make me whimper at the price tag.
A few old car manuals, mostly diagrams rather than words, that I didn’t strictly need but grabbed anyway because Ghost’s headlights flashed approval through the window when I held them up.
The cashier scanned everything, occasionally glancing out the front window at Ghost. “Nice Charger.”
I nodded and paused. “He’s a Challenger, actually.” I tapped my card against the glowing screen, covering the total to avoid ruining my evening entirely.
“He?” The cashier raised an eyebrow. I grabbed my receipt, and I hauled the first load outside.
Ghost’s trunk popped open before I reached him. The suspension dipped slightly under the weight of all the tools I’d purchased with the school credit card.
“There,” I said, wiping rain from my forehead. “You have parts, tools, and enough equipment to make Lai deeply uncomfortable. Happy?”
The driver’s side door opened. I stared at it.
“Not even a thank you?”
The radio flicked on.
I sighed and climbed back inside. But as I started Ghost again and felt that old engine come alive under my hands, I couldn’t help smiling. Because tomorrow, Lai was going to get into this car expecting control.
And Ghost was going to hand him a toolbox.
Gods help us all.