Page 162 of American Hellhound
“You came!” Rachel cheered when Maggie reached her, and grabbed Maggie up in a hug. “Yes!” When she pulled back, Maggie saw that her pupils were blown; figured she was high, they weren’t the sort of friends who hugged.
“What did you take?” Maggie asked.
Rachel shrugged. “Dunno. The Lean Dogs are bringing the weed.” She giggled. “Well, more of it. Oh, hey, is your boyfriend gonna be here?”
So that was what Ghost was up to tonight. She felt a stirring of anger…and of hope, the latter against her will. She was angry with him for being short with her before, and angry at herself for feeling more hurt than anything else.
“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “Probably.”
“Dude,” Cody said, leaning in. “Stephanie’s here, and she’spissedat you.”
“Yeah, so? What else is new?”
“No.” He had beer-breath; sweat glistened on his forehead and upper lip. “Like, your mom talked to her mom, or something, and now she’s grounded forever and her folks took her car away.”
“How’d she get here?” Rachel asked.
“Snuck out.”
Maggie frowned. “Wait. What? My mom talked to…about what?”
“Maybe about how she’s a huge fucking bitch. Who knows.”
~*~
Ghost didn’t know if he was furious or thrilled when they parked their bikes in a driveway three addresses down and found the Monte Carlo hiding behind a clump of hydrangeas.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
“You gotta get better control of your woman,” Roman said. “If I had an old lady–”
“Shut up,” Ghost barked, with such force that Roman actually shut up. He and Collier were just shadows in the dark, but they were staring at him, that he could tell. “Look, the plan’s changed. Our wise and powerful leader’s got some kinda deal going with the Ryder clan. They’re set to show up here, at the party, in a half hour.”
“What are you–” Roman started.
“Shut it. Roman, Duane knows about the deals you’ve been making behind his back.”
Soft chuff of a gasp.
“And he’s decided the best way to handle it is to let the Ryders have you. That’s why they’ve shot at ustwicenow – they were after you.”
In a careful voice, Collier said, “You can’t know that.”
“Hetoldme that. You think I’m lying?”
No response. Dead hydrangea blossoms rubbed the Monte Carlo’s windows, quiet rustling.
“I don’t care if you believe me,” he snarled. “But Duane’s out of his goddamn mind. Wait here if you want, go home, hell, flag down the rednecks when they get here. Whatever. But I’m gonna go break up this party and get Mags the hell out.”
He’d gone three steps when Collier sighed and said, “Fuck, like I’m not gonna come with you?”
They were almost to the street when Roman called, voice unsteady, “He knows?”
Ghost paused and turned, looked back. Roman stood in a patch of moonlight, hands clenched at the back of his neck, expression wrecked.
The guy was an asshole, always trying to make Ghost look bad, or one-up him, sucking up to Duane like some prep school jackass. He might have been scheming and doing shit he shouldn’t. But he wasn’t evil. He didn’t deserve to get killed by hillbillies. Ghost couldn’t help but feel sorry for him in that moment.
Ghost said, “According to him, he knows everything.”
