Chapter 7 Ghost
Ghost
No one is happy to be woken up this early for a meeting. Every seat around the scarred table is claimed by tired, surly men who were deep into their shot glasses just a few hours ago. The air is thick with exhaustion and coffee.
Next to me, Stacks isn’t looking at the grouchy faces.
He’s staring at the woman curled in my chair.
His gaze is locked on my cut thrown over her shoulders, his brows lifting so high they nearly disappear into his hairline.
He looks like he’s seeing a ghost—or maybe just the one thing he never thought he’d see. Me, claiming someone.
Not even my best friend knows the depth of the quiet obsession that’s been festering in me. I kept Eliza, the very idea of her, completely to myself, a secret I never dared to speak into existence.
If Ripper took notice of her beauty, then I know damn well every other man in this room will, too.
Their eyes will strip her bare, reducing her to just another pretty face.
My cut is the only warning I can give without throwing a punch.
Even if I’m handicapped, I’d be willing to try to kick their ass.
Eliza, tucked safely under the weight of my leather, doesn’t know what it truly means to wear a man’s cut in this room. But she was happy to accept the offer, a small, trusting smile when I draped it over her shoulders. She just liked wearing something that was mine.
How would she feel if I suggested to the group to just get hitched without drawing any attention? She can’t be married off to another man if I put a ring on her finger.
Stacks lifts his gaze to me as I hover close behind her chair. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” His voice is a low tease, but his eyes are alight with genuine, burning curiosity.
“Eliza, this is Stacks.” I scoff softly, measuring out his easy smile and trying to find the true meaning behind it. Is he just amused, or is he calculating the risk she represents? “He’s the one who manages the finances of the club.”
Stacks lets out a dramatic, wounded sigh, placing a hand over his heart.
“‘He manages the finances’? That’s all I get?
After all these years? I’m the one who has put up with your anti-social behavior, and this,” he says, gesturing to Eliza with a flourish, “this monumental event, and I’m introduced like I’m the club accountant?
” He shakes his head, a mock-tragic look on his face.
“I’m hurt, brother. Truly. To think you’d land a girl—and one who looks like this—before I did. ”
A rare, dry smirk tugs at my lips as he clicks his tongue. “If you didn’t have your nose stuffed in ledgers and receipts all the time, maybe you would.”
He opens his mouth, no doubt ready with a sharp retort, but Judge’s gavel cracks against the table, the sound like a gunshot in the cramped room. The low murmur of grumpy conversations dies instantly.
“Church is in session,” Judge’s voice booms, his tired eyes sweeping over the assembled members. “We have a problem that landed on our doorstep last night.” He nods toward me, then to Eliza. “Some of you might remember a certain judge who had a hard-on for putting Stacks away.”
Stacks frowns at the memory, certainly not a good one. He’d been locked up momentarily, long enough to come back to a pile of work once I got him out.
“This is his daughter. It seems he promised her to a man named Blaze Walker under suspicious conditions.”
The name means nothing to half the table. I can see it in their blank stares. Most of these men joined after Judge took the gavel, after the worst of the wars.
Ripper scowls like the name is a trigger word for him. He’s one of the few who has been at Judge’s side since the beginning.
“Crimson Road,” Judge clarifies, his voice dripping with contempt. “They operate out of a small town called Meadow Falls. Nasty bastards with bad tempers. They deal in things we don’t touch anymore.”
Drugs are the one thing Judge refuses to let enter Willowbrook Ridge. His efforts have put him in a somewhat peaceful stand with the mayor. That’s not the worst of it. I’ve taken a look into them as well, just to add fuel to my own hatred of the man who wants what’s mine.
Trafficking. Not just drugs, but women, too.
It makes me wonder if marriage isn’t truly what this is about, but a story given to Eliza to make her go along with it willingly.
I won’t dare breathe my concerns directly to her. Finding out her father could’ve sold her to him, maybe to cover a debt, also lingers there. Blaze would see the value in her in an instant.
“They don’t know she’s here yet,” Judge continues. “But they will. And when they do, they’ll come. Our job is to make sure they leave empty-handed. We need to find them a place to lay low, somewhere off the grid.”
Every eye in the room turns to Eliza, swamped in my cut. It’s not just a symbol to say she’s mine, but to announce that she’s a part of this club. One unspoken rule is always in place. We protect our own.
Ripper’s the first one to make an offer. “They can stay at my place. If Blaze shows his face, I want to be the one to put a bullet between his eyes. I’ll stay at the club until they make a move.”
Ripper owns a cabin up on the mountain. Up there, the signal is weak, if not non-existent. We won’t be tracked, sure. At the same time, all of my technology will be deemed useless. I won’t be able to keep an eye on everything. I’ll have to put my complete trust in my brothers.
Judge clicks his tongue. “The goal is not to spill blood. Not unless they attack first.”
Ripper hums his disagreement, but he keeps the words on his tongue.
Judge pins him with a look. “And you’re going to behave if they’re holed up in your place? No side trips to go hunting?”
Ripper’s smile is all teeth, a predator’s promise. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Prez. You have my word.”
A collective, silent disbelief hangs in the room. Every single one of us knows it’s a lie. Judge just sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion. He just wants this wrapped up so he can sit at the bar, his usual hobby.
“Fine. Ghost, pack your bags. You’re heading up there while the fog still gives us cover.
Lay low until this storm runs its course.
” His gaze flicks to Diesel. “Get a few of your prospects together. You’ll ride escort, just in case they’ve already planned an ambush.
Warden leads.” Finally, he looks at Hammer.
“Check the armory. Make sure everyone riding out has what they need.”
The orders fly fast, the club’s machine snapping into motion. It’s a whirlwind, a sudden plunge into a possible war Eliza didn’t ask for. I look down, worried the speed and the violent implications are too much, that she’s pale with fear.
But her face is flushed. A high, warm color paints her cheeks, and her eyes are wide, not with terror, but with a daze like she’s lost in her head.
What is she thinking? Is this overwhelming? Or is it… something else?
I want to ask her, but Judge is already calling an end, hitting his gavel hard enough to send the men into action.
Leading her back to the clubhouse and to my room, the sanctuary that’s about to be abandoned, I try to swallow down my sorrows. The door clicks shut, and I pause, my gaze sweeping over the space. My systems, my laptop filled to the brim with encrypted data, my tools.
A low curse forms in my mind. I’m going to be pissed if anyone touches my stuff. The laptop alone is a vault of club intelligence and my own private work. Is leaving it behind even an option?
It’s safer here, I think. Maybe I can stuff everything beneath my mattress…
The grimace must be plain on my face because her voice is small when she speaks. “I’m so sorry. I’ve put you in an impossible situation.”
The apology is a blade twisting in my gut. I don’t want her to ever be sorry. Not for this, or anything.
Seeing the guilt shadow her features, I don’t think twice. I cross the room in two strides, my hands coming up to cradle her face. Her skin is soft, warm.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice low. “Being at your side isn’t some kind of punishment, Eliza. It’s my choice, okay? I wouldn’t have gotten involved if I didn’t know what could happen as an outcome.”
Her breath hitches. “So… we’re really going to be staying in a place together? For days? Just the two of us?”
“It could be weeks,” I tell her, the reality of it settling in. “Maybe months.” I want to grimace at the confinement, the isolation from my duties, but the thought doesn’t get a chance to form, because she smiles.
It’s not a scared smile. It’s a slow, blooming curve of her lips that holds a universe of unspoken thoughts, and one look at that curve is all it takes to reveal how weak I am.
I can’t help myself. I kiss her.
The second our lips meet, the control I wear like armor cracks. I nip at her bottom lip, a bite that coaxes a gasp from her, and I use it, tilting her head back to lick deeper into her mouth.
I am drowning in her. The world outside this room evaporates before me. There is only the soft sound of her breathing, the heat of her skin under my hands.
When her hands come up to grip my arms for support, her fingers digging into my muscles, I groan in the back of my throat.
I break from her mouth, my lips trailing a hot, wet path down the delicate line of her jaw, finding the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. I feel it hammer against my tongue.
“You taste sweet,” I growl against her skin, the words rough and foreign to my own ears. My hands slide down from her face, over her shoulders, running possessively over the leather of my cut on her body.
“I want you to wear this from now on,” I murmur into her ear, my voice thick with a greed I’m no longer trying to hide. My hands settle on her hips, pulling her flush against me. “I’ll get another.”
She makes another cute little gasping sound when my teeth graze her pulse.
Just as my hands slip beneath my cut, tracing the sides of her body, a sharp knock is immediately followed by the door swinging open.
Privacy doesn’t exist here. Damn whoever to hell.
Ripper leans against the doorframe, a single key dangling from his finger.
His eyes take in our flushed faces, our proximity, and a knowing smirk plays on his lips.
“Take good care of the place, bud. I’ll swing by later to grab my things.
” He tosses the key. I catch it on reflex.
With a final, unreadable glance, he’s gone.
Our shared moment has been interrupted, leaving us both in a rough shape. I look back at Eliza. Her lips are swollen, her breath still uneven, and there’s a longing in her eyes so potent it steals my air. She’s biting her lip, holding back the words.
But she doesn’t say what she wants. Instead, she takes a shaky breath, collects her small backpack from the floor, and slings it over her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine, clear and resolved.
“I’m ready,” she says. “I’ll follow you wherever you want to go.”