Page 240 of American Hellhound
“Why do you want Reese so bad?” he asked. “You gonna take over a third world country or something?”
It was amazing how powerless a man looked when he was down on the ground. Badger had his legs drawn up, red-faced, panting. “Go to hell,” he gasped.
“Yeah, sure. Not yet though. What were you trying to do?”
“Fuck you,” Badger said. And then, like a dam breaking: “Fuck you, asshole! Like you don’t fucking know! You and your fuckingempire. The rest of us don’t have uncles who leave us clubs. We scrap for every damn bit of real estate we have, and it’s still not enough. It’llneverbe enough, because youfuckingDogs squeeze everyone else out!”
Ghost said, “What?”
“You don’t get to own the whole damn world, Ghost. I won’tlet you.”
“That…is the stupidest damn shit I’ve ever heard.” He laughed. “What, you want a piece? You were gonna use your walking weapon to pick apart the Dogs so you can be the big bad outlaw boss? I gotta tell you, man, that plan was doomed from the start. Andthis? This is just sad.”
He felt a sudden sharp pain across his arm, like a bee sting. Snapped his head up and saw one of Badger’s men at the end of the alley, already lining up another shot.
Ghost dove for the ground.
And Badger rolled toward him.
Shit.
In a flurry of hands, and elbows, and knees, Ghost’s head cracked back against the pavement. His hand came open in the struggle, and his gun slid away – a terrifying clatter. Badger loomed over him, wicked edge of a knife catching the light.
He was right: Badgerwasstrong, and heavier too.
Ghost threw a sharp right that connected with his jaw. Pain in his hand. Grunt from Badger. He listened for another shot, but it never came.
“Dad!” Aidan’s voice. Slap of running feet.
Later, he wouldn’t be able to recreate this moment blow-for-blow. It was like shaky handheld camera footage. Like breath lodged in his throat and knuckles hot and wet with blood. He called on his body, and it answered – it was reliable that way: it rallied when he asked it to; it cradled his baby; brought his wife pleasure. He shouldn’t abuse it the way he did. He needed it still, for so much longer,forever…for as long that ended up being for him. He wanted to watch Mercy turn into a shotgun dad when Millie started dating. Wanted to give Ash his first bike. Wanted to love his Maggie every night. Wanted to fortify his club so that, eventually, when Aidan had the president patch sewed to his cut, he would rule over the strongest outlaw organization known to man.
He was theking, damn it,theLean Dog, an American hellhound. Andfuckidiots like this who tried to challenge him.
When Aidan reached them, Ghost was upright, straddling Badger – who gasped up at the sky, drowning in his own blood, his own knife buried in his throat.
“Dad,” Aidan said; he was shaking. “Dad! Shit! Here, let me–” He stepped in and hooked his arm around Ghost’s shoulders.
Badger made one last wet sound and went still.
“I’m alright,” Ghost said, and he reached to brush Aidan’s arm off.
Tried to, anyway. His arms felt heavy and uncooperative. One was burning – the bullet graze, he remembered – and both seemed made of lead. He…shit, he was tipping over. He was…
Oh. That hurt. That…
“What…” he started, and the pain became sharp and discreet, right in his gut, beneath the edge of his flak vest.
His head was too light. He was…
“Dad.” Aidan’s face was soworriedas he pushed it in close to Ghost’s. “Lie down. Come here.”
That sounded like a good idea. And Aidan was helping him, also good.
The sky was a magical clear blue, darkening at the edges as evening crept in. A perfect spring day. And now Badger was dead.
And he thought he might be dying too.
“Hey.” He grabbed Aidan’s jacket as he leaned over him, a supreme effort. Huh. He was on his back now, firm pressure covering the pain in his abdomen.
