27. Ghost
I’m leaning against the side of the club’s heavy-duty black truck, my arms crossed over my chest, watching the sliding glass doors of the terminal. Shade is beside me, unusually quiet, tapping a cigarette he hasn’t lit against his thumb.
When Oliver finally emerges, he looks like a man walking toward the gallows. He’s pale, his eyes are bloodshot, and he’s clutching a single carry-on bag like it contains his entire life. Which, given the circumstances, it probably does.
“Get in,” I grunt, nodding toward the back seat.
He doesn’t argue. He’s shaken—trembling so hard I can hear the zipper on his bag rattling. We don’t talk on the drive back. There’s nothing to say until we’re behind the gates of the compound.
Back at the clubhouse, the atmosphere is electric.
The brothers know something is brewing. I lead Oliver into the common room where Angel is waiting.
The second she sees him, she’s on her feet, pulling him into a hug.
She slides into the booth next to him, her hand resting on his arm in a gesture of comfort.
My jaw tightens. My instinct, raw and primitive, wants to rip him away from her.
I hate any man sitting that close to her, breathing her air, touching her skin.
But I force the bile down. I swallow the jealousy because this kid saved her life.
He’s practically family now, and he’s currently in the crosshairs because of us.
I look toward the back hallway. Stone is standing by the doors of the Church room. He catches my eye and nods once.
“Church in five,” Stone bellows, his voice echoing off the rafters.
The room clears in a heartbeat. I walk over to the booth and place a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. He jumps, looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes.
“Time to go,” I say.
Angel looks at me, her brow furrowed in shock. “You’re taking him into Church?”
“Stone’s orders,” I say. “He needs to hear it from the source. Stay here, baby.”
I lead Oliver down the hallway. Church is where vows are made and fates are decided.
Stone sits at the head of the long, scarred table, the “President” patch on his vest standing out in the dim light.
To his right is Bruiser, the VP, a man built like a brick wall with a temperament to match.
To Stone’s left is Riot, the Sergeant-at-Arms, his eyes scanning Oliver like he’s looking for a reason to snap his neck.
The rest of the table is a map of the club’s history.
Engine, Doc, Neon, and Ink—the older generation—sit near the front.
At the far end, Cyber is hunched over a laptop, his eyes flickering with data.
Next to him sits Slayer, his step-son, a kid who looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in a month but can hack a government satellite with a toaster.
The middle and second generations fill out the rest of the seats. Stencil, Neon’s kid, sits next to Shade. Then there’s me, Bear, and Cross. Cross was patched in a couple of years after Bear and me; he’s a quiet psycho, but he’s one of ours.
Oliver sits uncomfortably on a lone chair in the corner of the room, looking like a lamb in a den of wolves.
“Door’s closed,” Stone says, his voice a low rumble. “Ghost, Shade... explain why we’re harboring a civilian from the UK authorities.”
Shade stands up first. He’s usually good with words, but today his voice is clipped. He keeps his gaze fixed on Stone, intentionally avoiding his father. Doc is already vibrating with a suppressed fury, his eyes burning holes into the back of Shade’s head.
“Angel was in trouble in London,” Shade begins. “Ghost and I flew over to handle it. The man responsible, a fucker named Brian, put her in the hospital. Oliver, here, helped us eliminate the threat.”
Stone turns his heavy gaze toward the corner.
Oliver stands, his legs looking like they might give out.
He clears his throat, but his voice is still thin.
“I’m a medical student,” he says, looking at his feet.
“We were at a club that night. I found her in a private room. Brian had... he’d choked her. She wasn’t breathing. Her heart had stopped for several seconds. I resuscitated her.”
A low, collective growl ripples through the room. I feel the blood in my veins turn to ice. Hearing it out loud, in the cold light of Church, makes the rage fresh again. Doc’s hands are white where they’re gripping the edge of the table.
“He would have walked away,” Oliver continues, his voice gaining a desperate edge.
“So... we took matters into our own hands. I thought we were careful. But two days ago, the police brought me in. My brother is a detective in London—he pulled me aside after the interrogation. He told me, unofficially, that they found a link. They’re investigating it as a murder,
and I’m the primary suspect.”
Oliver’s head falls into his hands, his shoulders shaking. “I’m in my last year in med school,” he whispers, a sob breaking through. “Seven years. I’ve worked seven years for this. It’s all going to be for nothing. I’m going to prison for the rest of my life.”
The silence that follows is heavy. We’ve all been in the crosshairs of the law, but for a kid like Oliver, this is the end of the world.
“Cyber. Slayer,” Stone says, not missing a beat. “Look into the UK systems. Find out what they have. If there’s a digital trail, a CCTV clip, a witness report—I want it gone. Whatever it takes.”
Cyber scowls at his screen, his fingers fly over the keys. “It’s going to be a bit of a bitch, Stone. We’re not familiar with the encryption protocols the UK Home Office uses. Their systems are siloed differently than ours.”
Slayer doesn’t even look up from his tablet, a condescending smirk tugging at his mouth. “Maybe hard for you, dinosaur. I was in their database twenty minutes after the phone call this morning.”
Smack.
Cyber’s hand connects with the back of Slayer’s head with silent thud. Slayer grins, rubbing the spot.
Stone stands up, signaling the end of the session. “We’ll reconcile when there’s news. Until then, the kid stays in the compound. Church is adjourned.”
The chairs scrape against the floor. Doc is the first one up. He looks absolutely murderous, his face a mask of grief and betrayal. He doesn’t look at me; he doesn’t look at anyone. He just charges out the door like a storm cloud.
I don’t hesitate. I’m after him in a second.