Page 100 of The Wild Charge

“Great. What the hell are you doing here?”

Neither woman seemed offended. Cassandra hid a grin behind her hand a beat too late.

Raven chuckled, low and throaty. “Oh, Ilikeyou.”

Albie stepped up beside his sister. “Quit flirting.”

She lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Albert, please. You know I don’t do bikers.” Then, like a switch flipping, the façade dropped. “I take it my idiot brothers didn’t tell you we were coming?”

“Definitely not.”

“It’s not like you gave us much advance warning,” Albie said.

Raven ignored him. “I’ll leave them to inform you about our situation. But at least we won’t be in your hair for” – she gestured toward the clubhouse with a flick of her dark-painted nails – “all ofthis. An opportunity arose for Cassandra” – she laid her hand on her sister’s shoulder – “at a moment that was convenient for me to step away from my agency. It didn’t seem wise to fly commercial, so Ian’s agreed to take us to New York this morning on his private jet.”

Ghost waited a beat – Maggie and Ava had been hounding him about that sort of thing for years, wanting him to think before he blew his top; but he was always thinking, thank you very fucking much – and felt a headache sprout to life along his temples. “Alright. Several things.” He held up a finger. “Opportunity?”

“Cassandra’s been accepted into a prestigious art clinic.”

A second finger. “New York?”

“Yes. At the Parker-Holloway gallery. It only opened last year, but it’s highly exclusive. They host artist showings and offer instruction to a select handful of applicants.”

A third finger. “Ian’staking you in hisprivate jet?”

“He’s an absolute dear, as I’m sure you know.” The last she punctuated with a close-lipped smile that dared him to argue.

Ghost nodded. “Right. ‘Scuse me for a sec.”

He whirled, grabbed Ian by the wrist, and marched him across the parking lot away from listening ears.

“Bruce!” Ian protested.

“Oh, Bruce can’t help you now,” Ghost hissed, half-pushing, half-pulling, all but dragging…

And belatedly realized that Ian had gone stiff all over, that his breathing was quick and audible, and that he’d just manhandled a former rape victim without a second thought.

Shit.

He let go, and offered both empty palms in apology. “Okay, I didn’t mean–”

“If you ever,” Ian hissed, massaging his wrist, glaring daggers over the rims of his shades, face pale and drawn, “attempt such a thing again, I will–” He cut himself off with a strangled sound and turned his head away, lips trembling on a deep exhale.

Ghost’s stomach dropped, hollow and achy. “I’m sorry,” he said, too quiet for anyone else to hear, trying hard for a gentle tone.

Ian took a step back, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Ghost edged forward a half step, trying to take back some of that distance. He knew he was an asshole, and most of the time he didn’t even care that he was – but he’d crossed a line just now. After the past few years, and all this club’s challenges, all the ways he’d tried to bebettersince becoming president, he’d just regressed unreasonably.Shamefully.

“Ian. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you. I didn’t–”

“You’re stressed,” Ian said, tightly. He nudged his shades back up, made a visible effort to school his features, and faced him again, black lenses hiding his eyes. “It’s understandable.”

“I don’t–”

“It’s fine.” His lips quirked in a tight, humorless smile. “Raven’s a friend ever since London. I agreed to take her, and see she was settled with her sister, and then I’ll be back in Knoxville should the club need me. I’ll help you in any way I can – but it’s my jet. And Raven isn’t a member of this club.” His voice lilted toward light…but the words were plain.You don’t own me.

If anything, Ghostowedhim.

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