Page 171 of American Hellhound
“No.” Just a whisper. “He’s terrible. But what am I supposed to do about it?” What he didn’t say was:without ruining the good thing I’ve got.
Ghost took a step closer, forcing his gaze to return. “Collier, I promise, I’m not taking risks for fun. I’m doing this because I have to, to save this club…while there’s still a club to save. I’m not saying it’ll be pretty – but that’s club life for you.”
Collier nodded, eyes wet and afraid.
“I don’t want the club to be this scary, ugly thing hanging over our heads. I want it to be a sanctuary. I want it to be strong. And by God, I don’t want any more redneck nobodies thinking they can justtakeone of us. If I’m gonna inherit this thing, I want it to beworth it.”
Collier took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. Offered a thin smile. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”
~*~
Maggie didn’t realize she was still shaking until she parked in the driveway and shut off the engine. Then she saw that her hands were quivering on the wheel – her whole body vibrated.
“Shit,” she whispered.
It didn’t make any sense, what with Ghost being the armed, trained, ex-soldier outlaw who no doubt could handle himself in a rough situation, but she felt guilty for leaving him behind. He had Collier, and multiple guns, and unlike her, he actually knew how to use them. She would have been nothing but a bother and a security risk if she’d gone along, but she had this overwhelming sense that she’d abandoned him nonetheless.
She had no idea who those men had been, only that they had bad things planned for Roman – and Ghost too, if he got in the way.
Stupid club. Stupid outlaws. Stupid Ghost, making her care.
She popped the door and hefted her purse – it was heavier than normal with Ghost’s gun weighing it down. Jesus. What had her life become lately?
Inside, she was greeted by a rare scene: her parents watching TV together on the couch. They weren’t exactly snuggling – Denise would never stoop to such a thing – but they sat close together, shoulders almost touching. There were two wine glasses on the coffee table. On coasters, of course.
“Margaret?” Denise called as she passed through to the stairs.
Maggie paused, hand on the bannister. “Yes?”
“Is the party over?”
“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “The party’s over.”
Later, she would reflect that if she’d stayed in the living room a moment longer, she would have seen the headlights shining through the window.
~*~
At the top of the hill, they found a shantytown of cabins, outbuildings, and single-wides, some clearly unoccupied, some with lights burning in the windows. The main attraction was a white clapboard farmhouse that bore an eerie resemblance to the one Ghost had inherited from his father, down to the ivy crawling up the walls and the sagging porch. The windows blazed with light. A pack of pickup trucks was parked at odd angles along the porch.
“They’ll have him in there,” Ghost said.
“If he’s still alive,” Collier said.
“He is.” He wasn’t confident, but he had to say it. “Otherwise, why take him instead of spilling his brains right there?”
Collier took a shaky breath. “So what’s the plan,boss?” It was said mockingly, but Ghost didn’t comment on it.
“If this is like my old man’s place, then there’s a cellar. And a cellar door.”
“Lock-pick kit?”
“Always.”
They made one long, careful lap around the house. Silhouettes behind the gauzy curtains in the windows. Mildew in dark patches on the siding. Muffled voices, laughing, shouting. Stacks of gas cans. Stacks of firewood. Stacks of garbage, bottles and cans, and plastic food wrappers.
A low, mournful cry from the tree branches above: a peacock; a sound like a woman dying – or coming.
“Jesus,” Collier whispered.
