Page 38 of American Hellhound
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It wasn’t until they walked up to the truck that Ghost realized giving someone a ride wasn’t the best idea. When he wasn’t on his bike – his gorgeous, aggressive, gleaming bike – he drove an old red-and-white Ford pickup with a bench seat in the cab wide enough to sit four. There was no backseat to stick Aidan in, though, so they had to sit three across, Maggie rubbing elbows with his sick, contagious kid.
She didn’t seem to mind, though, asking Aidan what he was learning in school (not much), and if he liked his teacher (yeah, no). Ghost didn’t realize it at first, but after a few miles he noticed that his hand had loosened on the wheel, and that his muscles had unclenched. The sound of her voice, calm and soft, washed over his skin, a balm for his near-constant stress. She wasn’t chirping away like the girls at the club; and still she wasn’t cooing, but having an honest to God conversation with Aidan. Listening to his responses and offering some of her own.
Damn it, he liked this chick.
Strep throat finally started to take its toll, though. Aidan’s excited spiel about Legos slowed, and slowed, and eventually tapered off into silence. When Ghost piloted the truck to a halt beneath the pear trees, like last night, he saw that Aidan had fallen asleep and was leaning up against Maggie’s shoulder.
“Shit,” he said. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Maggie said, and sounded like she meant it. Just like it sounded like she meant that she was sorry Olivia had split, and that she’d be glad to babysit Aidan. It didn’t make any sense to him.
He killed the engine and stared through the windshield, because staring at the way his son so obviously trusted this girl did weird things to his lung capacity. “Same as before,” he said. “Not within sight of your house.”
“I really appreciate the ride,” she said, but made no move to get out.
“Might wanna look into getting a car if you’re gonna be sneaking around all the time.”
“Yeah.”
They both turned toward one another, gazes locking over the top of Aidan’s head, and Ghost – to his horror – lost his nerve. He wasn’t sure what he’d intended to ask her. Go out with me? You wanna maybe fuck sometime? Who knew. Because seeing her, beautiful, clean, sparkling, young, with Aidan took all the bravery right out of him.
He couldn’t trust her.
He didn’tdeserveher.
“Well, thanks,” she said again, smile a touch lopsided. Disappointed, maybe. She opened the door and eased out from under Aidan in a careful, gentle way that put a lump in Ghost’s throat. “I’ll see you around, Ghost.”
“Yeah,” he said, voice just a painful scrape in his throat.
He wanted to pretend, as he watched her walk up the street, that he was studying her ass. But that wasn’t the case at all, and that terrified him.
Nine
Then
“You ever think about selling it?”
Ghost ground his molars together and refused to take the bait. The late afternoon sun glinted off the wheel he was shining; the chrome reflected the blue autumn sky, his own unhappy countenance, and behind him, Roman lounging back against the picnic table.
“I mean,” the bastard continued, “it’s not like it’s getting much use anymore.”
Ghost said nothing, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from darting over toward his bike, where the FXR was parked beneath the shade of the clubhouse pavilion. It gleamed even without sun. It made his chest hurt to look at it and even contemplate Roman’s words.
“Have a kid sometime and see how often you ride,” he snarled, and kept polishing.
“Hmm…don’t think so. Not really my scene. Besides, I don’t think Duane would like me slacking off ‘cause of some brat.”
Okay, that was it.
Ghost surged to his feet, rag clenched tight in his hand, jaw clenched even tighter as he spun to face his nemesis. “You don’t know shit about Duane,” he said through his teeth. “Back the fuck off.”
“Whoa.” Roman lifted both hands, palms out, and had the gall to look caught off guard. “I wasn’t talking aboutyou. You don’t gotta be all pissed off about it.”
Ghost tried and failed to withhold a growl. Roman’s brows jumped in reaction. “God, youasshole. You think you’re so damn smart, trash-talking me to Duane every damn chance you get, trying to get in good, fucking brown-noser.” In that moment, he’d never been more disgusted with anyone…discounting himself. “What are you trying to do? You think you’re gonna be president some day or something?”
Roman’s disbelieving look faded slowly, replaced by the harsh, angry truth that always lived behind his laid-back mask. His voice changed, from that honeyed, lady-killing tone to something harsh and nasty. “I’m just doing what you won’t. You’ve got an in because you’re blood…which is why you take it for granted. You aren’t here, you don’t pull your weight.” He spat on the ground for emphasis. “Duane needs a progeny, and it damn sure ain’t gonna be you, so I’m stepping up.” He spread his arms wide. “You got a problem with that, let’s hash it out, bro. But don’t expect me to sit back and watch you piss away your chance at being an officer without taking a piece for myself. It’s the law of the jungle, Kenny.”
