Page 156 of American Hellhound
Had Maggie known what awaited her at her own car, she would have ditched her doctor plans and begged Rachel to go get ice cream or something.
As it was, she was all alone when she walked up to the Monte Carlo and found Roman Mayer leaning against the driver’s side window, blowing smoke rings up toward the afternoon sun.
“Shit,” she said, grinding to a halt.
He flashed her a tight, nasty grin and flicked his cigarette away. “I take it you remember me, then.”
“Unfortunately.” She curled her hand tight around her keys, sliding some of the longer ones through her fingers, makeshift claws.
“Then you probably remember that conversation we had.”
“You mean when you accosted me in the dark hallway? Yeah, I remember that.”
He pushed off the car with a deceptively lazy movement, the kind that looked relaxed, but which left a steamy handprint on the window, a symptom of nervous sweat, and which pulled his jacket tight at the shoulders, all his muscles tense. Two long strides brought him into her personal space. His eyes glinted, unruly lock of sandy hair falling onto his forehead.
“I thought you were gonna keep Ghost distracted?”
“If you’ll recall, I didn’t agree to anything.”
He smiled again, deadly flash of teeth, warning glimmer. “You’re a real smart bitch, huh? You keep talking like that, you’re gonna get slapped by somebody one of these days.”
“By you?”
“No. I’m a gentleman.”
Maggie sighed. She softened her tone, let some of the fight bleed out of her. She was tired and running late. She didn’t think he’d hurt her – that would do nothing but set Ghost off – but she didn’t think it would help her cause to keep needling him. “Roman, what do you want?”
He eased a fraction, sharp anger bleeding into frustration. “I want…” He caught himself, glancing away, lips pressed together in a tight line.
Ghost had told him about the loan, then, and apparently about their separation.
“You think I broke up with him, and that now he’s going to be focused on the club,” she guessed, earning a narrow-eyed, suspicious glance. “I thought so. Okay. I didn’t break up with him. I just…You know what, that’s personal, and I’m not telling you. And you’ve got to get over this thing with Ghost. It’s his uncle’s club; he needs to step up.”
He ground his molars.
“I’m not going to distract him because you don’t like competition.”
He was still a long moment. Indistinct shouts of students floated across the parking lot. The breeze sent felled leaves scurrying along beneath cars.
Maggie said, “You–”
He moved like a snake striking. Standing in front of her one second, crowding her back against the side of a pickup truck the next. Caging her in with his arms. Leaning close into her face, breath hot against her mouth. “This ain’t your damn club,” he hissed. “You don’t get a say.”
She felt his heart thundering against her own where his chest was crushed to hers; felt the feral rhythm stuttering under her skin, pounding through her throat, choking her.
Her voice trembled, high and breathless, finally scared. “I’m not – not trying to have a say. I’m just looking after Ghost.”
“Fuck him,” he growled, “and fuck you.” He slapped the truck’s window – she closed her eyes and gasped – and shoved away from her, stalking between the cars.
Maggie was shaking so badly she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her up, but she staggered to the Monte Carlo and fumbled the keys, managed to get it unlocked. She waited until the door was open and she was poised to slide in before she called after Roman: “It’s not Ghost you ought to worry about. It’s Duane who’s trying to get you killed.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond, just climbed in the car and locked the door.
It was ten minutes before she felt steady enough to start the engine, and by that point, Roman was long gone.
~*~
When Maggie stepped out of the exam area of the doctor’s office, she found her mother in the waiting room, paging through aGood Housekeeping.
