Chapter 6 Eliza
Eliza
My priorities are a tangled, shameful mess. While Ghost hunts for a man named Judge —a search that holds the key to my entire future —I am biting my lip to keep from begging for a taste of his.
For the last hour, my world has shrunk to the memory of his mouth.
In the shower, the steam swirling around me, I’d scrubbed my skin raw and imagined his tongue tracing the path of the water droplets.
The spray between my thighs didn’t feel like water, but like the ghost of a touch that hadn’t happened, sending a shudder through me that had nothing to do with the temperature.
As I towel-dried my hair, the rough fabric against my neck made me think of the gentle scrape of his teeth there, and a full-body flush warmed me from the inside out.
And just now, watching him talk to the woman in the bar, I wasn’t listening to a word. I was only watching the shape of his lips as they formed sounds, wondering how they would feel as they formed a groan against my skin.
That first kiss had been an impulsive move on my part, lit by a sleep-fogged dream. Now, in the harsh light of day, the kindling has caught, and a slow, relentless fire is burning through all my better judgment.
There’s no more doubt. I know what I want, even if it’s absolutely crazy.
My dilemma comes to a halt when we find the man he’s looking for. Attached to the side of the clubhouse is a two-door garage. One door is open, inside, two men.
While one scowls at his bike, the other one notices us first and lets out a dramatic sigh. His vest has a patch with ‘Vice President’ in all caps. He must be pretty important, too.
“Wonderful timing,” he says, abandoning the scowling man to invade our space. His attention is on Ghost, but his presence feels like a bucket of cold water.
The intimate bubble I’ve been living in for the last hour pops. The world, with all its complications and dangerous men, comes rushing back in.
He claps a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, but his eyes flick to me with open curiosity. “Talk some sense into Prez for me. He’s in one of his moods, and my charm’s run dry. Our poor, sweet Pen—”
“Fuck off.” Behind him, Judge curses his name, all but snarling at him. Ripper.
Ghost’s hand, which had been a steady, warm pressure on my back, tenses. The shift is subtle, but I feel it—the protector snapping back into place, the lover receding. The man I’ve been fantasizing about is gone, replaced by another member of this club.
I’m left standing here, my skin still humming, aching with the sudden loss of his attention.
“Yeah, can’t do that. I’m here to make it worse.” He doesn’t bat an eye when Ripper’s smile fluctuates, revealing an expression that makes my skin prickle with fear. Something so quick, it’s gone in the blink of an eye, and I’m wondering if his smile actually disappeared to begin with.
Judge doesn’t look our way just yet. Instead, he snags a rag and wipes off his hand. “Let me guess. Has something to do with her?”
“I don’t recognize her.” Ripper puts his full attention on me, and I can say he’s an oddball compared to the biker’s I’ve already crossed paths with. As he tilts his head and takes me in like a puzzle, his eyes are assessing. “Where’d you find such a pretty face?”
Stepping closer to Ghost out of instinct, I feel the air around him change. It doesn’t get hotter with anger; it gets colder.
He makes this low sound in the back of his throat that isn’t a growl, but a quiet, almost thoughtful hum. It’s the sound of a predator noting a trespasser. His expression doesn’t twist with rage; it simply empties, his gaze fixed on Ripper with a terrifying blankness.
After everything he’s gone through, I can’t help but wonder if a man in his shoes can feel fear.
He doesn’t pull me closer or make a show of it. He just… shifts his stance, a millimeter, placing his body more squarely between Ripper and me.
“Down, boy,” he says, his tone laced with a dry amusement that’s aimed entirely at Ghost. His eyes slide off me without a second glance, dismissing me as irrelevant to whatever silent conversation they’re having.
“Wide-eyed does aren’t my type. Too much work.
I prefer my company with a bit more… bite. ”
His words are clear, almost clinical, in their disinterest. He isn’t trying to provoke a jealous man; he’s trying to de-escalate one by stating a simple, factual preference.
“Who is she?” Judge’s voice is a low rumble, suddenly closer as he breaks the silent war between the other two men.
Now that he’s near, I can see he’s older than Ghost, with the weathered look of a man who’s carried the weight of this kind of life for decades. Years of scowling have carved permanent lines into his face.
Even now, as he studies me, the bags under his eyes look less like a result of one bad night and more like a permanent fixture, the toll of a lifetime of hard decisions. He looks exhausted down to his bones.
“Remember the judge who was hell-bent on putting Stacks away for good?” Ghost’s voice is flat, but I feel the subtle shift in his posture, a readiness to protect. He jerks his chin toward me. “Meet his daughter. Eliza.”
Judge’s eyes narrow, scanning my face with an unnerving intensity. “Looks must’ve skipped a generation. Came from her mother’s side, I’d guess.”
The comment hits a nerve I didn’t know was exposed. I have no mother to compare to—just the story of a woman who died due to complications, a tale I’ve never had the courage or reason to question. The grimace is involuntary, a small, private pain I quickly try to smother.
“But she’s not just a ghost from the past,” Ghost continues, his voice dropping, taking on a new, graver tone. “She was a transaction. Promised to Blaze Walker in some form. He says marriage, but I don’t buy it. Not when he’s desperate to get her back.”
The air in the garage vanishes. The name lands not like a name, but a curse.
Ripper’s casual amusement evaporates, replaced by a cold, sharp fury that transforms his face into something ugly. “That fucker is still breathing?” he spits, the words laced with a venom that speaks to a deep, personal history.
Judge lifts a single, calloused hand, a simple gesture that instantly silences Ripper’s brewing storm. His scowl deepens, but his eyes are calculating, weighing a thousand variables in a second. “That doesn’t explain what she’s doing here, Ghost. You bringing a war to our door?”
“I don’t want to be involved with them,” I cut in, my voice small but clear, reminding them I’m more than a problem to be discussed. It wavers, betraying my fear. “If I don’t do as I’m told, I have nowhere else to go. Nowhere that’s safe.”
“They don’t know she’s here. If we lie low for a while—just for a few weeks—it’ll pass over.
We shouldn’t have to worry about Crimson Road.
They won’t be a problem.” Ghost doesn’t sound confident, and I’m sure we can all tell.
“I’ll keep a close eye on them. You know I wouldn’t risk the club unless I felt the need to. ”
Judge’s gaze doesn’t soften. “You can’t stay here. I can’t take that risk on a gut feeling. This is the last place I want them sniffing around.”
Ghost’s jaw tightens. “We don’t have anywhere to go. That’s why I brought her here.”
“Is there anyone we can send her to? Any family, friends?” Judge presses, his voice gruff with impatience. “Anyone not connected to this mess?”
The answer is immediate, a low, resonant vow that leaves no room for argument. “She’s not leaving my side.”
The sheer, unshakable seriousness in his voice sends my heart into a frantic, hopeful rhythm. Ghost makes me feel safe even when he doesn’t try to.
Judge turns away with a sharp curse, running a hand over his weary face.
“Damn it, Ghost. Is it too much to ask for one fucking month where you boys don’t add to my gray hairs?
” He turns back, his expression grim. “They’re going to come snooping.
I can feel it in my gut. Ripper.” The VP straightens up, all traces of humor gone.
“I’m calling church. Go put out the word. ”
With an order, Ripper doesn’t waste time slipping out of the garage, already pulling out his cellphone to wake up who knows how many people.
Judge pinches his brow, sighing through his nose. “Now. We need to figure out where the hell you can stay in case they connect the dots. Even if you are good at what you do, there are always blind spots. Witnesses. Telltale signs that can be pieced together for a bigger picture.”
There’s only so much they can figure out here. Wishing I could be more helpful, it’s the moment that I start feeling useless that Ghost puts his attention on me. Like we’re on the same wavelength, and he can read my thoughts, he turns to squeeze my shoulder.
He’s not shy when it comes to making sure I’m alright. His gaze holds a weight behind it, steady and assessing. Has he always watched me like this, this silent concern tightening his features each time he saw me fraying at the edges whenever he hacked into our cameras?
The best I can offer him in return is a small, hopefully reassuring smile. I’m okay. Maybe a little uneasy, but I’m here. As long as I don’t have to go back to the loneliness I accepted as a normal part of life, I’ll be alright.
“They may get the sheriff involved,” Judge states, his eyes boring into us.
“But the law’s the law, but she’s old enough to make her own decisions, right?
” I nod, and he continues. “The only way they’re taking her that way is if she stands in front of him and agrees to go voluntarily.
” His focus momentarily drifts to me, the question blunt and unavoidable. “Is she sure she wants to be here?”
Ghost stays silent, and I understand why. He can’t answer for me. He doesn’t know the war in my head, the way my thoughts keep circling back to the feel of his mouth on mine. That kiss probably confused everything for him, too.
But this, at least, is clear.
“This is the best place for me,” I say, the conviction solid in my chest after a night of mentally unraveling a lifetime of controlled habits. To seal the words, I reach up and brush my fingers against his where they rest on my shoulder—a sincere, soft touch. “With him.”
Something shifts in Ghost’s face, and I don’t miss it. It’s not a grand transformation, but a subtle dawn. The stormy intensity in his eyes softens, the hard line of his jaw relaxes just enough to notice. It’s the look of a man who has braced for a rejection that never came.
“Whatever it takes, Judge,” he says, his voice low but ringing with absolute finality as he looks at the brooding man. His hand turns under mine, his fingers lacing with mine in a firm, undeniable grip. “I’m not giving her up.”
With the words set in stone, all I can do is wait for the inevitable future.