37. Ghost
37
Ghost
T he calm before the storm. I’m sure everyone has heard that saying before.
“Go get dressed. I had Sarah go do a little shopping for you. Hopefully, you like what she picked out.”
Little Killer places her empty coffee mug into the sink, walking to her room where she has been since I brought her here except for last night, but that’s a conversation for another day. Today we are going to be walking on a tightrope. A rope built purely on trust.
She comes back into the kitchen not even fifteen minutes later.
“Ahem,” she grabs my attention, and I stare at her in awe.
Sarah did good. Real good.
Little Killer stands before me, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck and sleek dark jeans that hug her just right. A leather jacket rests on her shoulders, making her look both dangerous and untouchable. Her hair is pulled back, exposing the sharp lines of her face and the fire in her eyes. And the tattoos she wears do justice to it all. She is fucking perfect.
I smirk. Deadly.
“Damn,” I mutter, standing from my seat. “You look like you’re about to start a war.”
She tilts her head, smirking right back. “Maybe I am.”
I chuckle, but the weight of what’s coming presses against my chest. The storm isn’t just on the horizon—it’s already here.
“Let’s go,” I say, grabbing my gun and keys from the counter. “I want to take you somewhere. It’s only right in an outfit like this.” I look her up and down, picturing what’s underneath it all.
She hops on my bike, and we take off. I can sense that she is nervous by the way she holds on to me like her life depends on it. The last thing that I would ever do is harm her. She is my rose and my thorn all in one.
The ride is smooth, the wind slicing between us as the city blurs into streaks. I feel every breath she takes against my back, the rise and fall of her chest, every squeeze of her fingers digging into my ribs. She’s holding on like she thinks I might disappear.
I pull into the parking lot of Steel & Chrome, a custom bike shop with blacked-out windows and the faint scent of oil and leather in the air. This place has serviced nearly every crew member I have with getting bikes. Killing the engine, I glance over my shoulder.
“Time to pick one out,” I tell her.
She hesitates as she swings her leg off the bike, eyes scanning the rows of gleaming machines inside. I watch her walk, the confidence in her stride masking the flicker of uncertainty in her expression.
“You brought me here to buy a bike?” she asks, arching a brow.
I nod. “Something that suits you. A bike is more than just metal and wheels—it’s an extension of who you are. And if you’re riding with me, you need something that speaks for you before you ever open your mouth.”
She bites her lip, studying the options in front of her. The shop owner, a grizzled man with tattooed arms, steps forward.
“What’s her style?” he asks.
I glance at Little Killer. “Dark, dangerous, and a fighter.”
She smirked but said nothing as she ran her fingers along the sleek body of a matte black Ducati. I can already see it—her riding next to me, the two of us cutting through the city like demons of the night. I’m getting a little ahead of myself here.
“This one,” she finally says, gripping the handlebars like she was born to own it.
I grin. “Good choice. Now let’s see if you can keep up.”
Once the paperwork is handled and she’s got the keys, I swing my leg over my bike and rev the engine. She follows suit, her hands steady on the grips, her eyes burning with something wild.
“Try not to fall behind, Little Killer,” I tease before peeling out of the lot.
She doesn’t hesitate.
She rides like she’s got something to prove.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The roar of her engine is music to my ears. She rides like she was born for it—fast, fearless, determined. I push my speed, weaving through traffic, testing her, daring her to keep up. And she does.
The city’s traffic reflects against our helmets as we cut through, the world blurring past in streaks of silver and black. She’s right behind me, never hesitating, never backing down.
Good.
I lead her out of the city onto the open road where the road stretches wide and endless. Out here, it’s just us—the hum of engines, the rush of wind, the steady drum of my heartbeat.
After a while, I slow, pulling onto a secluded overlook that gazes down at the city. She follows, her tires kicking up gravel as she comes to a stop beside me.
The silence between us is thick, charged with something unspoken. She removes her helmet, shakes out her hair, and turns to me with a smirk. “Not bad for my first ride back.”
I chuckle, resting my forearms on the handlebars. “You kept up. I’m impressed.”
She exhales, glancing at the city lights below. “You brought me here for a reason, though. So talk.”
I study her for a moment, then take a slow breath. “Trust, Little Killer. It’s the only thing that matters in this life.”
She stays quiet, waiting.
I continue. “Loyalty without trust is useless. Fear without trust is dangerous. Love without trust? That’s just asking to be broken.”
She shifts in her seat, her fingers drumming against the gas tank. “And what about us?”
I turn to her fully, my voice low, steady. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
The air crackles between us, thick with something neither of us wants to name just yet.
“You trust me enough to bring me this far,” she says, tilting her head. “But do you trust me enough to tell me everything?”
I smirk, but there’s no humor in it. “I guess we’ll find out.”
I clear my throat.
“There is something that I need to tell you.” I prepare myself. “But you have to promise to hear me out fully before you do anything else.”
“I promise.”