Page 160 of American Hellhound
Except maybe Aidan, who shuffled thoughtlessly around the apartment, dark circles under his eyes, cheeks hollow because he refused to eat. Yesterday morning, when Ghost went to wake him for school, he pulled the covers up over his head and proclaimed he wasn’t going. When Ghost tried to pick him up, he kicked, and thrashed, screaming, “No! I hate you! I hate you!” He thought Ghost had done something to drive Maggie away, just as he’d driven Olivia away.
One night, half-a-bottle deep, he’d contemplated leaving the kid with Jackie and Collier and riding his bike into a tree. He was a Teague through and through, though, and he could never make life simpler and take the easy way out.
Just like he couldn’t say, “Sure, baby, let’s go to a kid party and make out.” He couldn’t bring himself to be civil to her. She’d left to help him, and he understood that – he couldn’t comprehend that kind of generosity, but he understood that’s what she’d been showing him. But he couldn’t be half-in with her. Stolen kisses and whispered phone calls. He couldn’t live off scraps like a teenage boy. He had to cut her off, no matter how much it hurt to hear the quaver in her voice.
Collier was waiting for him at the clubhouse. He leaned in to clap Ghost on the shoulder and made a face. “Bro, did you take a bath in booze?”
“Something like that. Duane here?”
“Roman too. He wants him to come with us.”
“Great.”
Roman was at one of the tables inside, hiding baggies of weed in candy packaging. “Boys,” he greeted, smiling, in high spirits. “It’s Hamilton House tonight.”
Ghost stopped short. “That high school party?”
“Yeah. How did you–” Roman barked a laugh, delighted. “Wait. Your jailbait’s not gonna be there, is she? Shit.”
Ghost clenched his jaw so hard he thought it might crack.
“Roman,” Collier sighed, “just don’t.”
“This isn’t gonna be all awkward for you, is it?” Roman asked, badly masking his glee behind feigned concern.
“Punch him in the face,” Ghost old Collier. “If I do it, I can’t promise I won’t kill him.”
“Nobody’s killing anybody,” Duane said, stepping out of the back hallway. “Ken, come have a word.”
As he passed, Roman whispered, “You wanna stop and get her flowers on the way?”
Ghost paused long enough to kick him in the back of the knee.
“Ow! Jesus.”
“Kenny!” Duane called.
“Coming.”
In the office, Duane settled behind the desk. Idly flipping through his ledger, he said, tone mild, “The Ryders are gonna show up. Let ‘em have Roman and there won’t be a fuss.”
Ghost didn’t respond at first, struck dumb with shock. When he found his voice, he said, “Uh…what?”
“They know what he looks like,” Duane explained, unconcerned, paging through spreadsheets. “They won’t mess with you.”
He knew he shouldn’t be surprised; he’d witnessed Duane’s callousness firsthand for most of his life. But there was grinding a prospect’s face in the mud, and then there was blandly signing off on a hit on one of his members.
“You want me to go over there and let one of my brothers get shot. Justlet it happen,” Ghost said.
“Are you deaf? Yeah, that’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Duane.”
His uncle heaved a deep sigh and finally looked up from his desk. “Quit acting surprised. I told you Roman had to go.”
“Yeah, and that’s a stupid plan.”
“Why?”
