Page 101 of American Hellhound
Aidan smiled up at him, quick, before he got sucked back into the TV. “Uh-huh.”
Ghost gave him one last pat and came to the small island that separated the two rooms, leaning on it heavily, the can light above casting long shadows down his face. He looked wired and exhausted at the same time, dropping his forehead into his palm, blowing out a breath that sent stray rice grains rolling across the countertop.
“Ghost,” Maggie prompted, pulse thumping in her ears. “Should I be worried?”
In a rush, he said, “My uncle wants to meet you and he says you have to come to the party tonight at the clubhouse.”
She took a breath. “Your uncle the president?”
“My uncle the lecherous, gross, asshole, son of a bitch president, yeah.”
Another breath. “That’s…a lot of adjectives.”
“He deserves them, trust me.”
She picked up the chicken package and put it back in the fridge. She figured it would need to wait until tomorrow. “What happens if we don’t go?” she asked when she turned back.
He gave her a truly miserable look. “Not an option.”
“Thought it was worth an ask.”
~*~
Her suitcase was open on the bed – themadebed, an improvement she’d brought into his life – and she dug through it carefully, laying items out on the bedspread and considering them.
Ghost was positive nothing she owned was outlaw MC party-appropriate. He was also positive they were going to be late enough to draw attention, and he was gritting his teeth to keep from rushing her. He knew she was nervous; her breath shivered between her lips on every exhale, too deep, too long. She was shaking; he could see goosebumps on her arms. This was the reason he’d wanted to show up early, if possible. Wanted to slide her into a dark corner, get a little whiskey in her to settle her nerves, situate himself so he shielded her from his “brothers” – he put quotes around the word in his mind – and block her view of all the depraved things that happened at every party.
But she was takingso long.
“Babe,” he prodded, trying not to sound as jittery as she did, as he felt.
“I know, I know.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed her possible outfits. She leaned forward and tugged on the hem of a long, blue skirt, the fabric thick but fluid. She’d paired it with a white tank top and sweater. “My jeans are in the wash. What do you think?” She lifted a hopeful look.
Her eyes were always hazel, but looked more blue, or green, or brown sometimes, depending on the light. Now, in his bedroom, they were a dark, rich blue. Summer skies at nightfall, the river at sunrise. Deep, and pure, and soothing. She hadn’t refused this party, hadn’t pointed out the fact that she wasn’t his old lady and wasn’t required to show up at the clubhouse on his arm. They weren’t a team, even though it felt like that now. But she was looking at him for an opinion, wanting to please him, going along with his insane biker bullshit.
He loved her for that.
Or maybe he just loved her, period.
He’d let the guilt needle at him for weeks now, since he first kissed her outside Hiram’s, but it hit him now, slammed into him full force. This thing they were doing – that he was doing – pretending like he was her man, pretending he could keep her, that it would ever be seen as socially acceptable, the two of them together – could get her hurt. Get her killed. The one-percenter lifestyle wasn’t kind to women.
“Mags,” he said, lump in his throat, and heard his voice catch.
She took another of those shivery breaths. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” Because that was a good place to start in this instance.
Her brows went up.
“My uncle wants to meet you because he thinks…thinks I’m…attached to you.” He didn’t tell her about the money. “And if…if I am, and you’re my…um, well, he doesn’t want anyoneattachedwho might not have the best interests of the club at heart.” He winced; of course he wasn’t explaining this right. “The thing is…ah, shit.” He sighed. So much for delicacy. “There’s always lots of girls hanging around the club. A guy doesn’t have to go looking for company.”
She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, but didn’t look away. She was brave like that.
“So when a guy starts spending time with just one girl, it means something. The rule is that you don’t tell old ladies anything about club business. Bitches ride bitch, and that’s the way it’s always been. But Duane doesn’t trust me. So he wants to see you with his own eyes. Take your measure and see if you’re trustworthy.”
He saw her throat move as she swallowed. “What if he takes my measure and doesn’t like what he finds?”
“That won’t happen.”
