Chapter 2
GHOST
She’s wearing a bright yellow dress. Yellow.
She looks like a fucking sunflower, and she still hasn’t noticed me.
I’ve been following her ever since I first laid eyes on her at the clubhouse.
I don’t know why. She’s not in any trouble.
Xanthe seems to think no one can trace her to the club, yet she shows up at the clubhouse and hangs out with Ora and Lu.
I just need to make sure she’s safe. Watching her get into her car and leave the school, I follow her back to her house.
Only when she’s safely inside do I leave.
The camera I installed at her house allows me to watch her and make sure she’s okay without being there.
Who knew wanting a woman was a full-time job?
I’ve never liked one long enough to need more than a quick fuck or blow job, usually the latter, and Xanthe is fucking with my head. No wonder War seems so fucking stressed.
“Where have you been?” Rome, my club president, asks when I get off my motorcycle.
“Out,” I reply, taking off my helmet and running a hand over my bald head. “Why, what do you need?”
Everyone has a role within the club.
Me? I’m the one who gets my hands bloody. I’m the road captain for the club, but I do a lot more than that.
Some people might call me a stone-cold killer or a hit man.
For the right price, I also do some small side requests now and again.
Looking at me, you wouldn’t think I’ve got money, and I like it that way.
Growing up the way I did, I don’t like spending any of it either.
My father used financial abuse to control my mother and me, and now seeing the amount sitting in my bank provides me with a comfort I thought I’d never know.
If the club ever needs it, I’d give it to them.
My loyalty is with the Serpents of Chaos, and it always will be. I might fuck up from time to time, but I’d kill and bleed for every person inside this clubhouse.
“The Royal Bastard MC needs some help with something,” he murmurs with a calculated expression in his blue eyes. “Their president, Chance, will owe us a marker.”
A marker is sometimes worth even more than money, especially one coming from another MC.
“I’ll handle it.”
Prez nods and stares down at my knuckles. “You’ve been staying out of trouble. Do you need to get in the ring?”
When I got out of prison at twenty-five, I started bare-knuckle fighting in an underground circuit, which is where Rome found me. Once I joined the club, I stopped fighting and focused on them. However, when I get wound up too tight, I sometimes go back for a fight or two.
But he’s right.
I haven’t been fucking or fighting because I have a new obsession.
“No, I’ve been busy,” I murmur, and he shakes his head in amusement. Now and again, when I need it, the brothers will fight me in the ring. It tires me out, and sometimes when I’m really fucked up, I let them hit me. The pain is comfortable, familiar.
“Does she even know that you’re watching her?”
I run my hand over my head. “If she did, I wouldn’t be very good at what I do, would I?”
He smirks. “We don’t call you Ghost for nothing. But you know she’s safe, right? If Ora thought otherwise, she’d bring her here.”
I nod, even though I don’t know that. Anything could happen to her. She could get hurt crossing the road, or someone could try to break into her house. It’s just her and her cat, and I don’t like that. She needs a guard dog.
Fuck, I’ll be her guard dog if she lets me.
I want her.
But she’s so sweet. Innocent. The women I usually fuck are nothing like that. I thought keeping her safe would be enough, but now I’m not so sure. What if one of the other men makes a move on her?
I’d have to kill them, and that would be unfortunate.
Am I good enough for her? No, but I don’t know how much longer I can stay away.
She’s at her favorite café, doing something on her laptop.
I’ve noticed her little routine. After work, she either goes to a café or the library, then goes home to fix dinner.
Once a week, she attends a book club, and on the weekends, she usually catches up with Ora and Lu.
Her family lives a few hours’ drive away, and they see each other on holidays.
She has a sister, Zelia, with whom she is very close.
She goes through her life living in her head, a smile on her face.
She doesn’t pay attention to her environment, like she doesn’t believe there’s any bad in the world.
While that worries me, I hope she stays that way and nothing ever happens to her to change that.
It makes me feel protective of her in a way I’ve never felt before.
It’s two hours before she’s ready to leave. She steps outside the café and stares up at the sky, closing her eyes and enjoying the sunshine hitting her skin, and I can’t take my eyes off her. I know she’s way too fucking good for me.
As she walks toward her car, a man dressed in a suit stops her.
She smiles at him, and my chest tightens.
When she shakes her head ‘no’ and steps away from him, he reaches out and grips her arm.
Getting off my bike, I’m about to storm over there when she pulls away from him, rubbing her arm, and quickly goes to her car.
I watch her drive away, and then wait for the man to get his coffee.
I hope he enjoys it because it’s going to be his last one.
No one touches my sunshine.
No one.
“There’s blood on your T-shirt,” Bones comments, crossing his arms over his chest and studying me. “You might want to clean that up before the women see.”
I put the knife I was playing with on the bar counter and look down. I know better than to kill someone wearing white. Sliding off my cut, I place it reverently next to my knife, then grip my T-shirt at my nape and pull it off. Then I put my cut back on. “Better?”
“Who did you fuck up?” he asks, sitting down next to me.
“It was personal,” I reply, picking my knife back up and sliding it between my fingers.
“You know you can call us if you need us.”
“I know.”
It’s just rare that I need anyone, which is why Xanthe is such a fucking enigma.
“That a new tatt?” he asks, pointing toward the sun over my heart.
“Yeah.”
I don’t offer any other explanation. Frankly, it’s none of his business. His blue eyes stare at me for a moment before he shakes his head. “It’s like getting blood out of a stone.”
I shrug.
Or a white T-shirt.
Sometimes, words don’t mean shit.