Page 102 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

My hog kicks dust into the desert air as I turn off the main drag and follow my brother. I smile to myself. I wonder if Ghost will remember me.

It’s been a long time.

The Ghost Whisperers’ Clubhouse, Colton, Nevada

We park up in front of the clubhouse. Well, at least they’ll be keeping the local tradespeople busy as they finish constructing yet another grey eyesore in Colton. At present, it’s just the building itself. Nothing has been fenced off, so there’s no compound, and most likely no security.

These buildings are built in layers. Bombproof, bulletproof layers. Throw on some security, a tequila-filled bar, some scantily clad eager-to-be-dicked women, and a bucketful or two of fresh cum, and it’ll look and smell just like any other MC clubhouse.

I watch as my brother shakes hands and man hugs the prez of the Ghost Whisperers. He’s still an arrogant asshole, pretty much naming this club after himself. I mean, who even does that?

Both of them look in my direction. I lean my ass against my hog and fold my arms.

Ghost smiles at my brother then pats him on the shoulder, and Tadgh grins, glancing at me once more before heading inside.

Yup. The topic of conversation is standing right here.

Ghost turns and walks towards me. He’s filled out over the years. He’s taller and broader. He’s no longer a boy. He’s all man. His skin is tanned from the sun and covered in ink. His black hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, so it’s difficult to tell just how long it is these days. His eyes are as black as a demon’s. Eyes that perfectly match his condemned soul and set on a face that’s lost all traces of adolescence over the years. He's also grown a beard which does nothing to disguise those angular features he’s got going on. He’s one beautiful son of a bitch. And doesn’t he just know it?

“Tyler.”

“Jay.”

I raise an eyebrow at the man I gave my virginity to when I was sweet sixteen.

“Oh, so youdoremember my name from that conveyor belt of women you were fucking around the time you were eighteen. Well, holy shit. Ishouldfeel honored.”

He smiles, rubbing one hand behind his neck.

“Aww. Have I made you feel awkward, Ty?”

“Not at all. I was just hoping you’d forgotten. Or at the very least that you’d managed to rein in that outspoken mouth of yours. Unfortunately for me, it’s neither. I was eighteen years old, Jessie. I was wearing a prospect cut so damn new the smell of the leather was potent. I felt like I was king of the hill.”

“Really?” I laugh exaggeratedly. “So, as usual, this is all about your conceited self. Did the potency of the leather drug your brain, leaving you with no consideration for others? Well, let me tell you, Mr. Biker Hotshot, I was a virgin. And no one ever forgets their first time. So, how can I ever forget the fact you used me and then tossed me aside like I was a cum slut?”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Not as sorry as I am, asshole.”

“It was fifteen years ago.”

“It still happened.”

“Interrupting something?”

“Of course you’re interrupting. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a private…”

I swing my head towards the deep voice and immediately take in the tall, lean biker who’s walking toward us. His blue eyes are searching my very soul with his penetrating gaze, and his hair hangs way down his back in inky waves. He has a short beard, which displays perfectly the chiseled features underneath. Damn, he is one mighty fine specimen.

He smiles at me, and I smile back.

“Has anyone ever told you you have really wolfish canines?”

His grin widens. “My wife tells me that most days.”

“It’s good to finally meet you, Ace.”

“It’s good to meet you too, Jessie.”

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