Claimed By Ghost (Damned Saints MC #1)

Chapter 1

Nya

"You asleep there, Sunshine?" a deep voice rumbles against my ear.

My eyes fly open, and I jolt upright, mortified that I just drifted off on a stranger’s shoulder in the middle of Lovestone Ridge’s Fall Festival.

The scent of leather and cedar lingers at the edge of my senses, warm and comforting. For a second, I could swear I am safe, but the next breath brings the familiar prick of anxiety when I realize where I am.

I own Wild Petals, the flower shop across from the festival grounds, so I spent the morning setting up a booth with pumpkins, flowers, and my handmade stuffed animals. By noon, my feet ache in my boots, and my hair smells like cinnamon and roses.

The festival is packed. Farmers selling honey, kids painting faces, hayrides circling the square. People laugh and gossip, and no one looks twice at the girl with the curves and the apron full of wildflowers.

When I arrived, there were only a few vendor spots left. I found one near a low wall of hay bales beside a man who looked like he belonged in a battlefield, not a town festival.

Tall. Broad. Silent.

He sat on one of the hay bales with his elbows resting on his knees, a black leather cut stretched over his back and shoulders like a second skin. His boots were dusty. His jaw dark with a short-trimmed beard.

His presence didn’t just draw attention. It erased space around him.

It was like there was an invisible fence around him, and no one wanted to cross it.

There were open spots behind, in front, on either side of him, and no one dared to sit near him.

I don’t know how I ended up there. Maybe I was too tired to notice what I was doing, or maybe some part of me felt safe in the shadow he cast. But somehow I collapsed against him, and he didn’t move.

The man sat there like a carved statue, letting me rest my head on his shoulder while the town swirled around us. He didn’t speak again. Just stayed still, breathing deep and steady.

I thought maybe he was asleep too. And maybe I imagined him speaking earlier. He hasn’t moved since. Not even a breath too fast. That’s what I tell myself as my cheeks burn, needing to believe I didn’t just lean on a stranger like he was mine.

Then my sister’s sharp voice cuts through the music, and all softness disappears.

“Nya, what are you doing? Trying to seduce a biker with drool and desperation?”

Jessica’s laughter rings out like bells covered in frost. She’s with her friends in designer jackets and tight jeans, their manicured nails gripping paper cups of spiked cider.

Jessica is everything my mother ever wanted in a daughter.

Tall, slim, dazzling.

She’s stolen every boy I’ve liked since grade school and turned cruelty into an Olympic sport.

I scramble to stand, brushing hay and embarrassment off my sweater. The stranger doesn’t move. He sits there, broad and steady, silver eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his black ball cap.

A patch on his leather cut reads Damned Saints MC, and I recognize the grim skull logo from the charity rides the club hosts.

A whisper goes around the nearest tables. People respect these men. They also fear them. But something about him feels... steady. Not safe, exactly — just not dangerous. Not to me.

“Answer me, Nya,” Jessica snaps. “Is he asleep or did he pass out from boredom?” Her tone is loud enough to draw more attention. Several teenagers snicker.

“I…” I swallow my pride along with the tears threatening to spill.

Normally, I avoid confrontation at any cost, especially in public. I’d rather fade into the background than spark my sister’s wrath.

But today I spent hours arranging flowers, tying ribbons on pumpkins, and setting up my booth, only for Jessica to stroll by and grab a pumpkin like it already belonged to her.

Her casual cruelty, the way she smirked when I tried to charge her, is still simmering in my chest.

And then there’s this huge, imposing man. I thought he might have been asleep, or at least completely tuned out, but boy was I wrong.

His jaw clenches. His eyes are open now, sharp and narrowed on Jessica like he’s tracking every word, every insult.

He isn’t ignoring her. He’s listening. Watching. Silent, but so intensely present it makes the air between us hum.

Suddenly I don’t want to let my sister win. I might be the quiet one, but even I have my limits.

My mouth opens before my brain can catch up.

“He’s my man,” I say, loud enough for her, her friends, and probably half the town to hear — before she tries to steal him too, like she did with my first serious boyfriend.

The words hang in the autumn air like strings of lights, shocking even me. The people around us fall silent, waiting for a fight.

Jessica’s eyebrows shoot up. For once she’s speechless. Then laughter peals from her perfect mouth, a sound that still makes me feel eight years old and invisible.

“Your man? Please. As if.” She tosses her long hair over her shoulder, her glossy lips pulling into a sneer. “No one wants you, little sister. They tolerate you because you have flowers and bake sweets. They pity you.”

Her words slice deep, reopening scars I thought I hid under layers of soil and petals.

Heat rushes to my face and embarrassment twists in my belly. The urge to take back my claim wars with a stubborn streak that rarely sees daylight.

My grandmother used to tell me flowers bloom brighter when they're loved, and maybe I’ve been starving for love so long I’ll claim it anywhere.

Something in him changes. He leans forward and slips his hand around my waist, pulling me in close between his knees. His grip is possessive and protective, and for a second I forget to breathe.

When he speaks, his voice carries a weight that stops my sister’s laughter cold.

“Watch your mouth,” he says to Jessica, steel threaded through every syllable. “You don’t talk to my woman like that.”

My heart stops beating.

My woman.

The words wrap around me like armor. He is playing along. He is saving me from embarrassment.

The rational part of me tells me this is a show, an act to shut Jessica up. But the way his fingers splay against my hip, the warmth seeping through my sweater, the way his eyes soften when he looks at me — it doesn’t feel like an act.

Jessica recovers quickly. “Your woman?” Her laugh is brittle. “She’s pathetic and plain. You can do better.”

She reaches out and trails a manicured nail down his chest like she’s never met a man she couldn’t seduce.

His jaw ticks. His hand tightens on my waist.

“Touch me again, and you’ll pull back less than you started with,” he says quietly, gaze like ice. There’s no anger in his tone. Just a calm promise.

Jessica’s hand freezes midair. For once, she looks nervous.

Then he turns his attention fully to me.

“Come on, sunshine,” he murmurs, his voice turning warm for my ears alone.

Without waiting for a response, he pulls me effortlessly into his lap, settling me across his thighs like I belong there.

I squeak, half scandalized, half exhilarated. He braces one broad arm around my waist to keep me steady.

The world tilts. This man is huge. His biceps flex beneath ink and leather, and he smells like gun oil and cold mountain air. His hair is dark with streaks of silver at the temples, and there are tiny lines around his eyes and mouth, hinting at years lived hard.

A jagged scar slices up his neck and disappears under his beard. He is easily twice my size and at least fifteen years older. Every logical bone in my body tells me to wiggle free and run.

Instead, I curl my fingers in the front of his cut to steady myself as he angles my face up to his.

“This okay?” he asks quietly.

I nod, because words abandoned me as soon as his thumb brushes my cheek.

He leans in and presses his mouth to mine. The kiss is unexpected, soft at first and then inexorably more. His lips part mine and his tongue touches mine, coaxing rather than demanding.

My body answers without permission. My breath hitches. My chest presses into his. My thighs tense. Heat pulses low in my belly. A whimper escapes me, humiliating in its honesty.

I have been kissed before, but it felt like a duty. This kiss feels like worship.

When he pulls back, my world is forever altered. The crowd has faded. I hear nothing but the pound of my own heart.

His eyes are dark as storm clouds.

“Mine,” he says, as if the word is a vow.

I shiver.

Somewhere behind us, I hear Jessica sputter and curse. The sound brings me back to reality with a jolt.

My cheeks burn as he shifts me gently off his lap until I’m standing between his knees. He stays there for a beat, his hand on my waist, grounding me. Then he rises behind me, towering over both me and my sister, still holding me close as he looks straight at her.

“Get gone,” he tells her. “If I see you messing with her again, I won’t be so polite.”

Jessica’s face twists with anger and embarrassment. She opens her mouth to retort, but the weight of the stares around us finally seems to sink in.

Everyone is watching. For once, she retreats without further insult. She glares at me like this is my fault, then flips her hair and stalks away.

My knees feel weak. The man beside me still holds me like I’m precious and breakable.

I realize I never thanked him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice wobbling. “I didn’t mean to drag you into my family drama.”

He studies me like I’m a puzzle.

His eyes are gray, the color of steel. “You didn’t drag me anywhere, Sunshine,” he rumbles. “I’ve been right here since you leaned against me. And now you’re mine.”

My cheeks heat again.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“I didn’t mind.” He shrugs. “You looked like you needed rest.”

I don’t know what to say to that. No one has ever put my comfort above their own.

I bite my lower lip, a nervous habit I’ve never been able to break.

“Thank you for… you know.”

He brushes a curl from my face.

“You’re welcome. Name’s Caleb. Club calls me Ghost because I’m quiet and because of some other things you’re better off not knowing.”

A chill runs down my spine. He says it like a warning, but it doesn’t scare me. It should. Any sane woman would step back. But all I can think is that whatever darkness he carries, he still pulled me into his lap to shield me.

And God help me, I want to know the things I’m better off not knowing.

“Nya,” I manage. “My name is Nya.”

“Nya.” He tests the sound of it like a promise. “You gonna run away from me now, Nya?”

I should. I should run straight back to my booth and bury myself in daisies and pretend this never happened.

But his hand is still on my waist. The warmth of his palm seeps through my sweater. People are still watching, but for once I don’t care what they think.

“No,” I say. “I don’t think I want to run.”

His lips curl. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close.

“Good.”

He reaches up and adjusts my scarf as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then he leans in again, and kisses me.

This time, there’s no hesitation. His mouth takes mine like he owns it. His tongue slides slow and deep, and I melt. My knees weaken. My hands clutch at his chest. My body hums with heat.

When he pulls away, I’m breathless.

And already his.