Page 19 of Ghoul

18

Ghoul

Ginger and I had good days and bad ones alike. She was coping with accepting the things her dad had done, not to mention the fact she was sharing a room with his killer. I really wasn’t certain what all went on in that gorgeous head of hers.

I, on the other hand, was dealing with self-blame. It wasn’t that I regretted letting her stay here for obvious reasons because I sincerely enjoyed her company. The mind-numbing problem was the guilt that always waited for me in the gallows of my subconscious. I told myself that the time I spent with her was to help her find peace and nothing more. Yet the more moments we shared, the more I wanted. This was completely out of character for me.

I respected women who deserved my respect, and if anyone did, it was her, but that was about all I was positive of when it came to the subject matter. I wasn’t a person who sat around thinking about his fucking feelings, yet here I was, doing exactly that while my tired eyes were fixated on her as she slept across the room in my bed.

When I stared at her, I didn’t see what I did the first time my eyes landed on her, a piece of ass. She was still unbelievably fucking sexy, my opinion would never waver from that, but that wasn’t all I thought now. There was so much more to her than her looks, and I couldn’t deny it.

I had never entertained the idea of having an old lady purely because I didn’t want one. I saw absolutely no reason to keep the same woman around to nag and bitch about everything I did. However, now, I could kind of see the appeal, and it pissed me off. Before Ginger dropped back into my life, I was content with the idea of filling my years as a free man with useless club whores. But now, when I sat contemplating where I would be in five years, I didn’t see any of that.

I saw a big fucking blank where I used to envision hookers and cocaine as living my best life. Of course, I would still joke with all of the guys, that was exactly where I wanted my life to head and probably would be doing so when I was old as fuck and couldn’t get it up. It was just who I was. I liked to have a good time when possible because the remainder of the time, I was required to be mostly serious. When it came to the things my brothers and I did, especially now that we were under the Fed’s magnifying glass, it took a certain finesse and concentration to carry out our jobs. When motherfuckers didn’t take things earnestly, one of us would wind up dead, but then, it wasn’t the men we were going after. I, for one, didn’t want to gamble with any of my brothers’ lives, so whenever we were on a mission, I tried to maintain a certain level of professionalism, I guess you could call it. When we were at the clubhouse, it was an entirely different story.

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