Page 31 of American Hellhound
“Sometimes,” she said, hesitantly, “family treats us worse than anyone else.”
When she lifted her head, Ghost was staring at her, gaze intense, but hard to read. “True,” he said, quietly, and the smoky sound of his voice made her shiver.
“Earlier today,” she said, her pulse accelerating. She didn’t know if she was leaning toward him, or he was leaning toward her, but they were even closer now. “Why were you trying to scare me?”
“I wasn’t really,” he said, and his lips were just a fraction from hers. Close enough for her to feel their warmth. “I just wanted to kiss your pretty mouth.”
Maggie sucked in a breath. “You–”
“Cops!” someone shouted, and the moment was gone.
“Fuck,” Ghost muttered, rearing back from her. He turned his head away and wiped a hand down his face, snatching his other hand out from under hers. “Jesus, of course. Fucking amateurs.”
The sounds of stampeding kids echoed through the living room beyond, terrified shouts and the thunder of running feet.
Maggie’s pulse jumped from a steady pound to a gallop, rushing through her ears. She leapt to her feet. “Shit, I have to get out of here. If I get caught…”
“You’re not getting caught,” Ghost said, rising too. She’d forgotten how tall he was. “At least you won’t if you come with me. Stay with that bunch and you’ll need bail money for sure.” He jerked a thumb toward the doorway, and the chaos unfolding beyond it.
Sitting here with him, a roomful of witnesses just on the other side of the wall, she’d let her guard down. But now, hearing him say she ought toleavewith him, her fear returned, a little shiver that rippled down her back and brought goosebumps out on her arms.
“I…” she started to protest.
Ghost grabbed her arm. “Come on, sweetheart. We can’t just stand here.” With his other hand, he picked up the Jack and handed it to her. “Here, hold on to this for now.”
She heard sirens, faint, but growing closer.
It was no doubt a bad idea to go running off into the dark with a near-stranger. A near-stranger who was a Lean Dog, at that.
But what choice did she have?
Maggie stuck the whiskey bottle into her jacket and nodded. “Lead the way.”
~*~
Maggie lived on the kind of street where the residents looked at passing bikes with alarm and disdain. Thankfully it was the middle of the night, so there was no one to ogle the two of them now. Though he didn’t doubt his tailpipes were going to wake someone; there was a good chance one of these stuffy residents was going to call the police and say there was a bad biker man disturbing the peace.
As far as nighttime rides went, this had been one of his favorites as of late. Maggie – no surprise – hadn’t ever been on the back of a bike before, and so she’d held tight, hands locked together at his waist, the lush softness of her breasts, and the hard edges of the whiskey bottle digging into his back. She was nervous; he could feel the tremors of energy moving through her. But she leaned when he needed her to, and shifted her weight in a way that was helpful and not a hindrance. He liked her back there; liked the feminine shape of her, the way she kept his back warm, the way little puffs of breath struck the back of his neck, just under the edge of his helmet.
He pulled to a halt at the curb when she tapped his shoulder, as per their discussion earlier. They were five houses down from her own, parked beside a stand of pear trees whose autumn foliage concealed them in a pool of shadow. Ghost killed the engine and braced his feet on the pavement, the night still and quiet around them.
Maggie let go of him, pushed lightly on his back with both hands as she sat back and then slid off the bike. She bobbled on the landing and he caught her around the waist, holding her steady.
“Whoa. You got it?”
“Yeah.” She sounded a touch breathless.
He let go of her with reluctance, but needed both hands to take off his helmet and put the kickstand down. The breeze ruffled his hair, cold against his sweat-damp scalp, sharp on the back of his throat.
This was, he realized with a start, the soberest he’d been at any point in the last month. This was the first night in a long time that hadn’t ended with a drunken stupor, a dorm room bed, and a girl or two.
Well, there was one girl. But despite her borrowed leather jacket and her eye makeup, she wasnothinglike the women who warmed his bed at the clubhouse.
He watched, smiling to himself, as she fought with the strap of the spare helmet he carried, somehow managing to tighten it rather than undo it.
“Here.” He swung off the bike and closed the distance between them, reaching for the stubborn strap. “Let me get it.”
Maggie froze.
