Page 52 of American Hellhound
Ghost had no idea what his guys were doing behind him, but he figured they had their game faces on.
“Ah, don’t treat the boy like that,” Roman complained.
Ghost sent him alook.
Roman lifted both hands and stepped back, pacing toward the edge of the deck.
“Tell me about your club,” Ghost said, and folded his arms, relaxing his back and settling in.
Behind him, Mercy snorted, and Ghost bit back a smile.
“We’re small,” Boomer said, wetting his lips. “But growing.”
“You got your start in Denver?”
“Yeah. We’ve got chapters in Tulsa, Kansas City, and now here.”
“Why here?”
“The East coast is where the big money is. Here and out west. And the Dogs and the Knights are neck-deep in a turf war out there.” The kid’s voice wavered with nerves, but his gaze held steady, and he didn’t stumble over his story.
“You didn’t think setting up shop here might start a whole new turf war?” Ghost asked.
“No, sir. We don’t sell what you guys sell. The Dark Saints aren’t interested in fighting with you. The way I figure it, we can both make use of the territory. Fill in each other’s gaps, so to speak.”
“An alliance.”
“Yeah.”
Ghost looked over at Walsh. His VP gave a tiny shrug with one corner of his mouth. They needed to talk it out, but he wasn’t opposed to the idea.
This whole scenario was unfolding quicker and easier than expected. The fact niggled at the back of Ghost’s mind, a low headache he couldn’t dismiss as good luck.
“Well,” he said. “God knows I’m tired of crushing rivals.”
Boomer’s blue eyes widened a fraction.
“I’m a businessman. So long as my business isn’t getting screwed in the deal, I’m reasonable. I don’t see why we can’t work something out.”
Boomer exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, kid.”
Roman braced his hands back behind him on the boat’s rail, smiling, pleased with himself, as the setting sun turned his hair to bronze.
~*~
Maggie intended to clock out and head home all day. But afternoon turned to evening, and before she knew it, night had fallen beyond the office windows. The kind of thick, inky night of autumn and winter that hid dark secrets in the shadows. Her car looked an awful long way away where it glittered beneath the security light, and she had piles of paperwork to catch up on. So she switched the phone off and stayed, clicking away on her keyboard until she heard the drone of the new boat pulling up to the slip.
Something loosened inside her, a hard fist of tension she hadn’t known was sitting in her stomach.
It was another half hour before a shadow fell across the glass door – a familiar one; she’d know the set of those shoulders anywhere – and Ghost entered, accompanied by the jangling of the bells above. He looked tired; she knew the red Solo cup in his hand contained whiskey.
“Hi, baby.”
He grunted a hello, but came around the desk, leaned down and braced his free hand against her waist so he could kiss her. His lips tasted like Jack Daniel’s. He lingered a moment, longer than she expected, slow to pull back.
“Hi,” she repeated, softer this time, a little dizzy now.
