Page 39 of Price of Angels

“We’re meeting tomorrow morning to sample the product,” Ratchet was saying. “If it’s decent, you wanna walk them through the rulebook?” he asked Ghost.

“I want to meet them personally,” Ghost said. “We can’t afford another fuckup right now.”

“I’ll come,” Michael offered. As sergeant at arms, his presence would be expected at something like this, there to protect his president.

But Ghost shook his head. “Merc can tag along. He’s already met the guys. And” – he sent a smirk down the table at his son-in-law – “if anybody’s gonna put the fear of God in them, it’ll be him.”

Mercy gave an elaborate mock bow over the table.

“Shithead,” Ghost said, affectionately.

“Gramps,” Mercy shot back.

Several of the guys chuckled.

Michael studied the dirt under his fingernails. Dark, rich dirt, from the farm, from scraping the sticky-backed targets off the plywood.

When the meeting was adjourned, Ghost said, “Michael, hold back a second.”

Michael complied, dread pooling in his belly. He stood with his arms folded behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart, soldier-alert and ready for his general’s instructions as his brothers emptied out of the chapel behind him.

Tango was the last out, and closed the doors with a tactful, respectful gesture of bowed head and silent hands against the knobs.

Then they were alone, as chatter erupted down the hall, and spilled into the common room.

Ghost lifted his abandoned cigarette from the ash tray and took an absent drag, leaning a hip against the table and fixing Michael with a pointed look.

“What’s wrong?”

Michael frowned. “Nothing.”

Ghost shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you say so many words at one time before. You wanna tell me what’s up? You tired? Things were crazy for a while.” He gestured absently toward the air, smoke swirling off the end of the cig. “I was serious about you taking some time off, if you need to. Dublin’s got plenty of help at the garage, and I’m hoping I won’t need anybody six-feet-under for a little while, at least.” He grinned, a thin, emotionless gesture. Ghost was never truly casual and happy save with his old lady.

Michael wasn’t causal and happy ever.

He said, “I don’t need time off, sir. I’m fine.”

Ghost studied him a moment, his dark eyes – so much like those of his children – fathomless. “Do me a favor, though. Take the time anyway. Don’t you usually go see your uncle at Christmas anyway?”

Michael nodded. He had turkey and stuffing at the big dining room table at the farm with his Uncle Wynn, while the Great Danes and hounds looked on.

Ghost said, “You know you’re welcome at the house if you don’t have other plans” –

No way did either of the Teague women, or Mercy, or probably even Aidan want him at the family table.

- “but either way, I think you need a break. You’re tense.”

Michael took a deep breath. “Is that an order?”

“A suggestion. From one stressed bastard to another.” Ghost grinned. “You’re twitchy, and that’s not normal.”Or helpful, was the unspoken sentiment.

“I’ll think about it,” Michael consented.

Ava was pulling the cling wrap off the brownies when church let out, and the boys came into the common room.

Aidan reached her first. “Shit. Are they poisoned?” He lifted one of her double chocolate brownies with green and red sprinkles, holding it to the light with a grimace. “Am I gonna die if I eat this?”

“Of sheer bliss,” she said in a falsely sweet voice that she saved just for her brother. “They’re pretty good, if I do say so.”

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