Page 12 of Ghost

My nails dig into the leather cushion I’m sitting on as all eyes are on me, and I’ve never felt so alone in a room full of people.

No one speaks, and I assume they’re waiting for Steel to say something.

Steel is respected in his role as president of the club. He’s ruthless but honorable. He’s fair.

He’ll do whatever is necessary to protect his club, but he’s always smart about it. He’s known for being decisive but not rash and acting with the intent of justice over brutality.

Still, as he watches me now, I can’t help but squirm, wondering why he’s looking at me like I’m the enemy.

“You guys are making me nervous.” I try to force a smile, but it dies on my lips with my laugh as nerves skitter out.

There’s little empathy radiating from the ranked club members in the room, even if I do sense hesitation.

“We need to talk about Albuquerque,” Steel breaks the silence, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

“Albuquerque?”

Of all the things he could have said, I wasn’t expecting him to say that. There’s nothing to note about my time there. It was an escape after I left Glendale. I picked anywhere at least one state away from the foster family that haunted me, and that was it. I worked odd jobs I found on the internet and took classes online.

My time in Albuquerque wasn’t interesting.

If Steel was going to bring me in for anything, I expected this meeting to be about the fact that I’ve been skirting the club’s firewalls to play my online multiplayer game, and Ghost must have found out about it.

Worst case scenario, I thought they might have brought me in here to tell me they need my bed for a girl who wants more from them than a place to stay.

But Albuquerque?

I haven’t thought about New Mexico since I left.

Steel nods.

“What about it?” My voice pitches, and I hate that it gives away my nerves.

Steel taps his fingers on the table, watching me. “When was the first time you heard about the Twisted Kings?”

There’s no friendliness in his tone, and a chill runs through the room. This isn’t a conversation; it’s an interrogation. And I’m at the center, waiting for the gavel to drop and decide my fate.

I glance at Ghost, who is still watching me, and try to read his expression. But it’s nearly impossible. His cool-blue eyes are the gravity in a room that’s slowly starting to spin out of control, and I grab it for what it is—something to hold me in place.

A looming sense that everything is about to change settles when I wish my gut hadn’t been right about this.

I’ve been rejected by so many people—so many families—I don’t fit anywhere anymore. But I hoped with the club that had changed.

“Luna.” Steel’s voice snaps my attention back into focus. “When was the first time you heard of the club?”

“When I met Ghost.” I glance at him. “We ran into each other at a coffee shop, and I saw the logo on his cut. I asked if he was from somewhere else because it said Vegas on it.”

I called it a vest back then because I had no idea how motorcycle clubs worked. A couple of my foster siblings rode, but it was recreational.

My run-in with Ghost was my first official interaction with someone in this world. Over time, I’ve picked up their lingo, but back then, I was new to all this.

“What were you doing at the coffee shop that day?” Steel continues.

“Drinking coffee.” My eyebrows pinch as I think back. “Studying…”

“Anything else?”

My nose scrunches as I think, trying to remember that day. “Working. I was finishing up a job.”

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