Page 17 of Ghost's Angel

“The fucker squealed like a sow giving birth,” Saint chuckles, as he leans back on the worn leather couch in my office.

Blade, sprawled next to him, adds sound effects as he uses his switchblade with methodical precision to clean beneath his fingernails. “Oink, oink, ooh-wee, little piggy.”

“One less scumbag walking the streets." Cipher’s amber eyes hold a satisfied gleam as he hunches over his laptop.

I grunt in agreement, feeling no remorse whatsoever for the torture session I treated the lawyer who cornered my angel to before I put an end to his miserable existence.

Some might call us monsters for dealing with predators our way—swiftly and harshly—but I've seen the damage slimy motherfuckers like him leave in their wake too many times to lose a second of sleep over wiping him off the face of the Earth. I have no sympathy for assholes who prey on the innocent. None of us do.

"Good riddance," Saint says, stretching his long legs.

Cipher's fingers fly across his keyboard, the rapid-fire clicking a familiar soundtrack to our morning meetings. “Prez, you need to see this." His voice carries an edge that has us all straightening. "Got the full intel on Kovalev and the Petersons."

My jaw clenches as I move to look over his shoulder. The screen fills with documents, bank statements, text messages—a digital trail of depravity that makes my trigger finger itch.

"They were definitely going to sell her?" The words come out as a growl, my vision clouding red at the edges. "To that piece of shit?"

Cipher nods grimly. "The Petersons owe Kovalev nearly two hundred grand. They couldn't pay, so they offered him Mira instead."

The arms of my chair groan under my grip. Those bastards looked at my angel—my pure, kind-hearted angel who helps old ladies count their change and pay for their meals—and saw nothing but a commodity to trade.

"Kovalev's been setting up a trafficking ring right under our noses," Saint says, his accent thickening with anger. "Small scale, staying just quiet enough to avoid attention."

"Until now." I straighten, cold rage settling in my chest like ice. "He made a mistake targeting what's mine—and in my very own fucking territory!”

Saint enters, his face set in hard lines. "Just got word from our contact at the docks. Kovalev's got a shipment coming in tomorrow night."

Fuck. We all know what he means byshipment.Women. Girls. Lives to be sold and destroyed.

"Time to remind that cockroach whose territory this is,” I say, my voice deadly calm. The others nod, the air crackling with shared purpose.

We spend the next hour planning, marking entry points on dock blueprints, coordinating with our inside sources.

A soft knock interrupts our strategizing. The door opens and Mira peers in, her presence instantly transforming the energy in the room. She's wearing another of my shirts, the hem hitting mid-thigh. I love seeing her in my clothing. I may have gone asfar as to hide the shirts she brought with her, replacing them with my own.

My club brothers exchange knowing grins as they wordlessly stand and file out, Cipher clutching his laptop. Saint winks at Mira as he passes, making her blush prettily.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says softly once we're alone. "I just...missed you."

Four simple words that pierce straight through my hardened shell. This woman has no idea the power she holds over me.

I cross to her in two strides, gathering her close. She fits perfectly against me, like she was made to be there. Her hands curl into my leather cut as she tilts her face up to mine.

"Never apologize for wanting me, angel," I murmur against her hair.

I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in her sweet scent. Tomorrow, I'll paint the docks red if I have to. But right now, in this moment, I just hold her close and let her gentle presence soothe the violence in my soul.

Chapter 11

Mira

“But, Ghost, I’ll be fine.” I smooth my hands over Ghost's leather cut. "You’re the president of an MC. You have important business to handle.”

"Nothing's more important than you, angel."

His words wrap around me like a cozy blanket, warm, soothing, and comforting. After a lifetime of being nobody's anything, being somebody's priority is overwhelming. In a good way—in an awesome way.

But I know something’s going down with the club today. I heard him tell Blade, the VP, and Saint, the club Sergeant-at-Arms, that he wanted the plan to be foolproof since he wouldn't be with them for its execution. Ghost has already done so much for me, I’d feel like a spoiled princess if he had to miss important club business to accompany me to the doctor’s office.

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