Page 12 of Ghost

“Devil-man,” I laugh. “What about down that way?” I ask, nodding to the hallway on the left.

Devon grins, clearly enjoying himself. “That’s where we keep the fun stuff.”

He stands, offering me his hand again, and leads me down the hall. The air smells faintly of motor oil and metal, and thewalls are lined with framed photos of the club—rides, parties, moments frozen in time.

The first door opens to the armory, and my jaw practically hits the floor. Rows of weapons gleam under fluorescent lights, from handguns to rifles, and more knives than I can count. Everything is meticulously organized, far too neat for what I’d imagined a biker gang’s stash would look like.

“You guys planning for war or something?” I ask, trailing a finger along the edge of a shelf.

“Always good to be prepared,” he replies, his tone light but carrying an edge of seriousness.

He closes the door and moves to the next one. The garage. My eyes widen as I take in the space—rows of bikes, tools hung neatly on pegboards, and a massive lift in the corner.

“This is where the magic happens,” he says, running a hand lovingly over the closest bike.

I glance at him, smirking. “You mean besides your charming personality?”

“Funny.” He tugs me closer, pressing a quick kiss to my temple.

The last stop is a smaller room at the end of the hall. Devon opens the door with a flourish, revealing what looks like a makeshift war room. A massive table dominates the center, its surface covered in maps, papers, and a few empty beer bottles. Monitors line the far wall, showing grainy feeds from cameras I assume are stationed around the building.

“This is where we handle club business,” he says simply, his tone turning more serious.

I nod, the reality of what this place truly is settling in. It’s not just a hangout or a hideaway. This is their fortress, their command center. And now, whether I’m ready for that or not, it's mine too.

“Alright, Ghost,” I say, crossing my arms as I turn to face him. “You’ve sold me. But there better be a good bottle of whiskey stashed somewhere around here if I’m supposed to call this home.”

His grin returns, slow and teasing. “Oh, I’ve got more than that. Come on. Let’s get the full tour done.”

As he leads me back to the common room, I feel something unexpected stirring in my chest. Maybe it’s the promise of safety, or maybe it’s just the way he looks at me, like I’m the missing piece he didn’t know he needed.

Either way, for the first time in a long while, I think I might actually be okay with putting down roots. And if Devon keeps looking at me like that? Well, I might just call this place home after all.

Chapter Eleven

Ghost

“Come on,” I say, taking her gently by the waist and steering her back toward the common room. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”

She twists to look over her shoulder with a teasing grin. “Do I get my own suite, too? Just point me to the one with the biggest closet and the best bathroom, and I’ll take it.”

A chuckle slips out before I can stop it. “Noted,” I reply, leading her back through the shockingly clean common room toward the far hallway that leads to crew quarters andoursuite—the one with all the features she just mentioned.

Her brow arches at that, but she doesn’t argue, her eyes flicking over the open-plan space as we walk past. The warm light of the recessed fixtures highlights the cozy but modern furnishings—the plush sectional in the living area, the oversized island surrounded by mismatched but comfortable barstools, and the sleek kitchen beyond. The smell of fresh pine lingers, faint but grounding.

We reach the far end of the hallway, and I stop to key in my code. “041583,” I say, glancing at her. “You’ll need it for the whole clubhouse. My office, too.”

Her head tilts, and her eyes widen slightly. “That’s my birthday,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“Luckiest day of my life,” I murmur, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her stunned lips. She blinks, speechless, and I savor the rare moment. Smiling, I press a softer kiss to the tip of her nose before taking her hand again.

“Come on,” I say, leading her further into the suite.

The entry opens directly to the bedroom, dominated by a massive king-sized bed with soft gray bedding and a hint of cedar and pine in the air. The room is sleek and minimal, just the essentials—perfect for someone who values function over clutter, like me, though something tells me my life is about to get a whole hell of a lot more cluttered. And I couldn’t be happier about it.

“This is the main area,” I say, gesturing to the bed. “Closet’s on the right. Bathroom’s on the left. Check them out.”

Her face lights up, and she lets out a delighted squeal. “Biggest closetandbathroom? Sold!” She spins on her heel, darting toward the bathroom door first, then freezes halfway and pivots toward the closet. She does this two more times, practically vibrating with indecision, before finally making a beeline for the bathroom.

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