Chapter Two
Phantom’s fingers dig into the side of his head, pressing against the temples as he groans in utter vexation. He didn’t sleep well at all, tossing and turning as memories of our last moments together filtered through his head on repeat.
This is his morning ritual, exercising his grief mentally like a strenuous morning workout. It’s why I stick around. The poor guy can’t live without me.
“Why can’t I just let you go?” His voice, thick with that sexy husk that lured me to him in the first place, dominates the room, even though it comes out an incoherent whisper for my ears only.
His long auburn locks, disheveled and matted with ratted bedhead, cover his beautiful face. The once flawless complexion is now infected with a depressing scruff that’s on the verge of multiplying and growing into a typical biker beard.
I hate beards; they’re so filthy.
Bottles litter the floor, painful remnants of just how fucked up he truly is. But what did he expect? Losing me was a pinnacle point in his life. Letting me go was never an option, not for the man responsible for my death.
“Fuck!” he shouts when he realizes he drank all his stash from the night before.
It was surprising he even drank at all. When we were younger, he barely touched the stuff, stating that he didn’t like how it made his head feel or how much he felt like his father every time he drank.
I still remember the conversation we had about his dad like it happened yesterday…
“He was nothing but a sperm donor to me, Eve. The man was a ruthless son of a bitch, and the only thing that he ever loved was the bottom of a goddamn bottle. I hate that man, even though calling him that seems a bit far-fetched. A man would’ve stood up for his family, not fucking tear it apart from the inside out. ”
Comfort’s never really been my strong suit, so besides a massage of his shoulders and an encouraging pat on the back, I stayed silent, allowing him to vent.
Maybe that’s where our downfall started? He wanted more empathy than I could give, and I just wanted to be named his Ol’ Lady.
That’s what every good or, in my case, bad Little Annie wants. To become an Elm Street Rider’s Ol’ Lady and not just a girl he casually fucks when he’s in the mood.
Most motorcycle clubs call their club women either club whores, club bunnies, or sweet butts, but not the Elm Street Riders.
They stick to their horror themed motorcycle club in every aspect, from the street the clubhouse was built on to the club names throughout the club—club whores included.
So, that’s what they call us—their Little Annies.
Apparently, there’s some movie about a crazy reader who kidnaps the author of her favorite book and then tortures him to rewrite it.
Her name was Annie. I’ve never seen the movie myself, but I heard it was pretty good.
I guess the name fits though; most of the women who live in the clubhouse are goddamn headcases, and all of them need to get it through their thick skulls that Phantom is mine.
Not theirs. Not anyone else who dares to look his way. He’s fucking mine.
A loud knock berates the wooden door before Voorhees marches in, shaking his head in utter disappointment when he sees the mess all over the floor.
“This shit draws ants. Pull yourself together, Phantom, and clean this shit up.”
Phantom steals a glance his way and sighs.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Voorhees bellows. He can’t hide his disappointment. It’s apparent in the way he clenches his jaw and glares at Phantom from the doorway.
Phantom slowly lifts his head, shrugs, then goes back to his typical sulk. “You know what’s wrong with me. Everyone knows what’s wrong with me. I’ve fucking lost my mind. That’s what.”
“Is this about Eve?”
Aww, they’re talking about me again. How sweet.
His shoulders lift slightly, but everyone in the room knows he’s referring to me. Everything is always about Eve.
“She’s gone, man. She’s been gone for months.”
Clenching my fists, I march right up to Voorhees and wave my hands in his face. The prick ignores me, like always. “I’m right fucking here, asshole! Don’t act like you can’t see me.”
He shifts on the balls of his feet, but doesn’t say a word, just folds his arms and leans against the door as he scolds Phantom with his crummy blue eyes.
“You don’t get it, Voorhees. Nobody fucking does. I still feel her like she’s right here. You can’t tell me that no one else notices the weird shit that goes on around the clubhouse. She’s still here. She’s fucking pissed. And she wants to make my life a living hell.”
Ugh, that’s so not true. I just want to make sure he knows who he belongs to. And it’s definitely not a fucking club, Annie. Unless that Annie is me, of course.
“She’s dead, Phantom. It’s time to move on.”
Dead?
Did he just call me dead?
I’m right here standing next to them.
I’m not dead. I’m just in limbo.
My gaze migrates to my arms, my brow dotting in frustration when the semi-translucent faint outlines of beer bottles littering the ground, poke through where my faded tan should’ve been.
Well, fuck. Maybe I am dead… I wasn’t see-through yesterday, was I?
“I know. But it’s like she’s haunting me or something, Voorhees. You were there last night. Explain to me how that shit happened?”
Voorhees stays silent.
“See, even you can’t explain it. How the fuck am I supposed to move on when Peggy Poltergeist has me by the fucking balls? I just want her to leave me alone.”
He knows I can’t do that. Not when I made him a promise not to leave.
The thin scar stretching from Voorhees’s mouth to his ear moves with his clenching jaw.
The man has seen some shit. There are literal gashes all over his damn body where he’d been stabbed and mangled from an altercation he had in prison with a rival club.
How he survived? I have no fucking clue.
But the man’s still here, and as Enforcer of the Elm Street Riders MC, it’s his job to keep his club members in line—Phantom included.
“Do you really think she’s fucking haunting you?”
Phantom nods. “Yeah, I really do.”
Voorhees is always pale, but today he seems extra pasty as his fingers dig through his dark locks, pulling at the curls in frustration. “Fuck, man, this is bad. The club doesn’t need this shit right now.”
“I know.” The sorrow in Phantom’s deep blue eyes makes me whimper. He’s in pain because of me. The loss of me is just too much for him to bear.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m right here.”
Kneeling in front of him, I take his hands and whisper, “Don’t worry, Blake. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
His hand abruptly jerks away, and he shakes it vigorously like they just bathed in acid. “God, I hate that fucking feeling.”
“What feeling?” Voorhees tips his head to the side, his long torso leaning against the doorframe as confusion etches into those damn bushy eyebrows of his.
They’re like furry little caterpillars crawling across his face, but bitches still fawn all over him like he’s a fucking rock star or something.
He’s cute, I guess, but he doesn’t hold a candle to my Phantom.
No one does. But in this life, it’s all about the patch, and as long as Voorhees rocks that Enforcer patch on his chest, the girls will continue throwing themselves at him like he’s a Greek Adonis.
I never got the attraction. He’s not my type at all.
But that never stopped him from trying to get with me, even when I was solely committed to Phantom.
The jerk. He’s just lucky I’m a strong-willed woman, one whose morals don’t involve getting tied up with another man.
Unless you count…
No, we aren’t going to talk about that.
Not right now at least.
I may have been a club Annie, but I’m Phantom’s Annie. Nobody else’s.
Phantom’s voice cracks with emotion, maybe even a tinge of fear.
He looks absolutely distraught, and I hate it.
I just want him to smile again. “Like she’s touching me.
My hands get this icy sensation like someone with frigid hands is holding them.
I feel it on my neck sometimes too. It’s just fucking creepy. ”
Does he really hate my touch that much?
“Look, I have no idea if the ghost thing is real or not. Weird shit does seem to happen in this room, but I shrug it off as being posted up on Elm Street. The thought of Eve still being here is a little hard for me to believe, Phantom. I mean, come on, I know we call you Phantom, but do you really think you’re being haunted by her ghost? ”
A cup goes flying across the room, almost nailing Voorhees in the head, but the bastard moves before it can hit him.
My aim is off.
His eyes widen as he gulps, taking a step back. “Then again, maybe you’re on to something, Brother?”
Was that a smile on Phantom’s face? God, that smile brightens the room. It makes my belly do cartwheels and somersaults.
“I don’t know what to do, Voorhees. If it is Eve, she won’t fucking leave.”
“I told you I’m not going anywhere.” Sticking my tongue out at him doesn’t seem to help the situation. That beautiful smile fades, and he’s back to looking forlorn and dejected.
“Hey, you know what? Drac just ran into a girl from our high school a few months back. She’s supposedly a medium; those are the people who talk to ghosts.
Apparently, Eddie’s dad had a message for him from beyond the grave, and she used Drac’s wife to get in touch with him.
Maybe I can have Drac track her down and get her to swing by?
I kinda knew her in high school but not as well as Drac and Krampus. ”
“There’s no way in hell I’m letting some psycho ghost talker come in here with my man.
Voorhees, you’ve lost your ever-loving mind.
” The glass bottle shatters against the wall; shards of green litter the ground in pure mosaic bliss.
His carpet was already stained from years of lazy behavior, but it’s getting worser every day.
All thanks to me. I think he likes the glass puzzles I leave for him to clean up.
“Come on, Eve. We all know it’s time for you to go,” Voorhees shouts toward the ceiling, his eyes wide and a bit frantic as he searches the room for me.
“Hell no, we won’t go! Hell no, we won’t go!” I chant, throwing another bottle at his head. This time, a glorious piece of brown glass slices through his cheek, leaving a beautiful red gash just below his eyeball.
The dude was looking right at me and still didn’t see me throw it.
He swipes at his face and grimaces when he sees the blood. “Yeah, I’m having Drac call Autumn as soon as possible. This shit’s crazy.”
“Now do you believe me?” Phantom grumbles from the bed, his eyes swiveling around the room as if he’s looking for me. “I never know when she’ll strike next. I’m exhausted, Voorhees. I can’t even fuck without my psycho ex ghost-blocking me from beyond the grave before I can even get my dick wet.”
“I’m right here, baby. Don’t worry, I’m the only girl you’ll ever need.
” I reach out to hold him, but my arms go straight through him, giving him nothing more than a brush of cold wind over his skin.
Touching him like that is off limits. Sure, he can feel my touch sometimes when I really concentrate, but I can’t hold him or satisfy him like I used to.
What I wouldn’t give to be a fucking succubus right now. Those bitches get all the dick.
“I got you, Phantom. Just give me a few days to track Autumn down, then I’ll send her your way. Hopefully, she can get rid of Peggy Poltergeist once and for all.”
You know, I’m beginning to hate this Peggy Poltergeist reference. It makes me sound like a horrible person, when all I’m guilty of is protecting my man from dick-chasing Annies, and skanks who can’t take a hint when it’s literally thrown at their heads.
“I hope so, Voorhees. I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take. I’ve thought about biting bullets more than I’d like to admit lately.”
My heart sinks. If he takes his life, would I even exist anymore? He’s my whole reason for sticking around. If I lose Blake, will I fade into nothing? Would I wander around aimlessly like the other fuckers that hang around here? No, I can’t let that happen.
Phantom has to live.
If he doesn’t…
God, I don’t even want to think about it.
He just has to live; that’s all.
Both of our lives… or what’s left of them, depends on it.