12. Ghost
The roar of the wind at eighty miles per hour is nothing compared to the roar in my head.
We fly back toward the clubhouse, the sunset bleeding out behind us like an open wound.
My hands are locked on the grips of my Harley so tight I can feel the vibration of the engine in my teeth, but I don’t feel the cold.
I don’t feel the wind. I only feel the ticking clock in my chest.
We skid into the compound, gravel spraying against the corrugated metal of the garage. I’m off my bike before the kickstand is even down.
“Slayer!” Shade bellows, his voice cracking as he storms into the common room.
Slayer, Cyber’s stepson, looks up from a laptop near the bar, his eyes widening at the sight of us. He’s young, but the kid is a goddamn magician with a keyboard. He sees the look on Shade’s face—the raw, bleeding edge of it—and he doesn’t ask questions.
“I need two tickets. First class, private, cargo hold—I don’t give a shit. LAX to Heathrow. Fucking now,” Shade commands.
“What’s going on?” Slayer’s fingers are already flying across the keys.
“Angel,” I rasp, finally finding my voice. It sounds like someone dragged a chain through dirt. “Emergency. Doc can’t know. Not yet.”
Stone, the club’s President, is standing by the pool table, his brow furrowed as he watches the exchange. He looks at me, then at the frantic light in Shade’s eyes.
“Go,” Stone says, his voice a low, steady anchor. “I’ll handle Doc.”
I give him a single, sharp nod. It’s all the brotherhood I can stomach right now.
Four hours later, the world is a blur of high-speed asphalt and airport terminals.
We ditched our cuts in the trunk of a car at the LAX long-term parking lot.
Walking through the terminal in plain black t-shirts and jeans feels like being stripped naked, but I don’t care about the leather. I only care about the girl. My girl.
Now, we’re thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, the cabin lights dimmed to a ghostly blue. Shade is slumped in the seat next to me, staring at the seatback in front of him, his jaw tight.
I can’t sit still. My soul is pacing the length of this plane.
Assaulted.
Every time I close my eyes, that word hits me like a physical blow. I see her small, pale hands. I see the way she used to tilt her head when she was trying to convince me to give her an extra piece of candy. I see her in that black dress, desperate and beautiful and so goddamn brave.
And I see the man who touched her.
I don’t have a name yet. I don’t have a face. But I have a promise. I am going to find him, and I am going to show him why men like me don’t belong in the polite society. I will tear the life out of him with my bare teeth if I have to.
But more than the rage, there is the hunger.
I’m never letting her go again. I was a coward.
I was so afraid of the shadows in my own head, so afraid of what the brothers would think, that I let the only light in my life walk into the dark alone.
I thought I was protecting her by pushing her away.
I thought I was giving her a chance at a normal life.
Look where that got her.
I’m done with normal. I’m done with noble.
The second I lay eyes on her, she is mine.
I don’t care if she’s broken, I don’t care if she’s screaming, I don’t care if she hates me.
I will gather up every shattered piece of her and I will hold them together with my own two hands until she’s whole again.
I’ll drag her back to California if I have to.
I’ll lock the doors. I’ll stand guard at her window.
And the second she’s strong enough to stand, I’m dragging her to the town hall.
I’m putting my name on her. I’m making her legally, spiritually, and physically mine so that the whole world knows that to touch her is a death wish.
She wanted to be my wife? Fine. She’s got her wish.
“Ghost?”
Shade’s voice is quiet, cutting through the static of my thoughts. I turn my head slowly. He’s looking at me, his eyes searching.
“Back there,” Shade says, his voice low so the other passengers can’t hear. “You said she was yours. You said she’s always been yours. What the fuck did you mean by that?”
I take a long, slow breath.
“After her eighteenth birthday,” I say, staring straight ahead. ”She came to my room. She told me she was done waiting. She told me she was ready to claim her place as my wife.”
Shade goes dead still. I can feel the tension radiating off him.
“I told her she was delusional,” I continue, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat.
“I told her she was a kid who didn’t know what she wanted. I pushed her away so hard she ended up on a different continent. But apparently... she meant every goddamn word. And I was too much of a pussy to admit that I wanted it just as bad as she did.”
I wait for the explosion. I wait for him to swing at me, to tell me I’m a freak, to tell me he’ll kill me if I ever touch his sister.
Instead, silence.
Then, a huff of air. A chuckle. And suddenly, Shade is laughing. It’s a dry, tired sound, but it’s genuine. He shakes his head, leaning back into the headrest.
“Man,” he sighs, a ghost of a smile on his face. “That girl. She’s got the stubbornness of ten men. Dad always said once Angel sets her sights on something, you might as well get out of the way or get run over.”
I blink, looking at him in genuine shock. “You aren’t... you don’t care? I’m fourteen years older than her, Shade. I’ve watched her grow up.”
Shade looks at me, his expression turning serious.
“I’ve seen you the last three months, Ghost. You’ve been a walking corpse. And I know my sister. If she decided you’re the one, then you’re the one. There isn’t a force on earth that’s going to change her mind. I’m just surprised she actually managed to crack that stone heart of yours.”
For the first time since that night at Onyx, the weight on my chest lightens—just a fraction. I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to run. I have the blessing of the only brother whose opinion truly mattered in this.
The future starts to take shape in the darkness of the cabin. A house. A garden. Her. Me. No more secrets. No more ghosts. Just a man and his girl, and a world that knows better than to get between them.
But first, I have to save her.
I look out the window. Below us, the sprawling, amber-lit veins of London begin to emerge through the thick layer of clouds. It looks cold. It looks indifferent.
The wheels hit the tarmac with a jarring thud, the engines roaring as the plane slows down. We’re here.
I unbuckle my seatbelt before the “Fasten Seatbelt” sign even turns off. My blood is humming, a low-frequency vibration of violence and devotion.
“Let’s go,” I say to Shade.
We move toward the exit, two men from a different world, stepping into the grey London morning. I don’t have a weapon, I don’t have a plan, and I don’t have a map.
But I have a heartbeat to find.
I’m coming, Angel.