Sixteen
Then
“How’s the arm?”
Roman eased the shoulder of his flannel shirt down with a grunt, revealing the white edges of his bandage. “Better. Still hurts like a bitch.” He shot a grin across the table at Ghost. “It’s sweet you’re worried about me.”
“I’m not. Just don’t want you getting in the way this weekend.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be there.” He blew a kiss.
Ghost turned his shoulder toward the asshole and caught sight of James walking in the front door. Thank Jesus.
“Hey.” Ghost surged to his feet, nearly spilling his coffee in the process, and headed for the VP. “Hey, can I talk to you a sec?”
James dumped his saddle bags on the nearest table and smiled. “Can’t even let a man get some breakfast first?” he asked in a teasing voice.
At another time, Ghost might have felt guilty, but now he pressed on. “Only a sec. Then I’ll put some waffles in the toaster for you.”
“Chef Teague, here.” He clapped Ghost on the shoulder in the familiar, almost-paternal way he had with all of them. “Alright. Where you wanna do this?”
Ghost turned him by the elbow and steered him back out the door.
“Jeez, you’ve got a hair up your ass this morning,” James said once the door had thumped shut behind them. He reached in his back pocket for his smokes. “Everything alright?”
Ghost heaved a sigh. “That’s a loaded question.”
James lifted his brows as he lit up.
“It’s about Duane.” Ghost lowered his voice. “He’s getting worse.”
“Worse?”
“Okay, he’s the same. But…” He recounted the tale of the deal gone bad, Roman getting shot, killing their attacker and leaving him to rot in the woods.
James sucked thoughtfully at his cigarette the whole time, his frown polite. Ernest James was nothing if not unflappable. “Okay,” he said when Ghost was done.
Right now, Ghost wasn’t looking for unflappable – he wanted righteous outrage. “Okay?” he repeated.
“Seems to me we’ve got to be more careful about who we sell to in the near future.”
“What?”
“No more selling to idiots who wanna shoot us. I’ll take it up with Duane.”
“No, you…” Ghost took a deep breath through his nose. “You’re missing my point. I don’t think what happened was a coincidence.”
James exhaled a long stream of smoke through his lips, expression becoming guarded. “What do you mean?”
His eyes were calm, unreadable, his face wind and sunburned. He stared at Ghost, silently asking.
And Ghost…couldn’t voice his suspicions. Not when they were just suspicions. Shit, what was he doing? James was the VP, and he’d always shrugged off Duane’s unsavory behavior. He thought the best of everyone. He was, in his own grizzled way, naïve.
Ghost couldn’t ask for his help, not yet.
He swallowed hard. “You know what, nevermind.”
~*~
The thing was, the thing that made him feel weak and that he hated himself for, he felt alone. Stranded on an island, oceans between himself and his brothers. Most of the time they didn’t feel like brothers at all; Collier was his best friend, yes, always had been, but there was no sense of comradery to be found with the others. And even with Collier, Ghost had the sense the guy was just trying not to cause a disturbance.
The Knoxville chapter of the Lean Dogs MC was by no means a democracy. Or a brotherhood. Or much of anything, really, except a sad old dump poised by the river out of which they dealt enough drugs to kill the whole Knoxville High graduating class.
And so he felt alone.
He chalked his preoccupation with Maggie up to said loneliness. And he told himself he wasn’t going to have anything else to do with her. But of course…that wasn’t true.
~*~
Maggie would have liked to say the whole incident started innocently enough, but that wouldn’t be true. There were few innocent elements of this clusterfuck.
It started with a call from Darlene Cleveland three houses down, whose daughter, Stephanie, was in Maggie’s cotillion classes. The two girls knew each other in passing – “Nice jacket,” Stephanie had said of Maggie’s too-big, borrowed number, smile cruel – but weren’t friends. A situation Darlene wanted to rectify, for reasons Maggie still didn’t understand.
“The girls are going for manis and pedis tomorrow,” Denise said, hand cupped around the mouthpiece of the phone, “and then Mrs. Cleveland is making dinner for everyone. You should go.” Her gaze let it be known that this was not a suggestion. “It’ll be good for you to spend time around girls who share your interests.” Of your social station, she meant.
On a different occasion, Maggie would have refused. But in light of the car, and the grounding, and her repeated transgression of being in Ghost’s presence, she could do nothing but comply.
“Okay.”
The next afternoon, she drove the Monte Carlo to the Clevelands’ house and parked on the curb, walked up the driveway to the knot of waiting girls.
Stephanie always wore her blonde hair in a sleek twist during cotillion events, but at school, and now, she wore it loose to her shoulders, a fluffed-up bob that framed her severe cheekbones. She had legs for days, a perfectly flat stomach, and slender, model-worthy arms. Maggie thought she looked thirty instead of sixteen, in her miniskirt, wide-necked sweater, and heels. Her friends – Kelly, Maureen, and Sonja – were similarly dressed, but not half as elegant.
They turned as a unit when Maggie approached, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt.
Stephanie’s smile was all teeth, no lips. “Hey, Maggie Lowe.” She said it almost like a catcall.
Maggie resisted the urge to smooth her shirt. She knew she looked nice, if not as nice as the others. “Hey.”
“That your car?” Maureen asked, tipping her head toward the curb. She blew a large, pink bubble with her gum and popped it with a loud crack.
“Yeah.” Maggie stole a glance over her shoulder; she was never going to tire of looking at the sleek, black beast. “I just got it.”
“Got it where?” Sonja asked, making a face. “I’d be so pissed. I told Daddy I wanted a Benz.”
“From a friend,” Maggie said. “And I love it.” She sent the other girl a challenging look.
“Cool,” Stephanie said. “We’re taking my car. Let’s go.”
Mrs. Cleveland stepped out the side door of the house to wave them off and wish them a good time. Squished between Kelly and Sonja in the backseat, Maggie breathed in the smell of the BMW’s new leather and wished she was somewhere else.
They were a mile or so from the house when Stephanie said, “Okay, so, you have connections with the Lean Dogs, right?”
At first, Maggie didn’t realize she was talking to her, and then she startled forward against her seatbelt. “What?”
“The Lean Dogs,” Stephanie said like she thought Maggie was an idiot. “Rachel said one of those guys was at the Peterson brothers’ party, and you totally went off and got lost with him.”
Damn it, Rachel.
“You fucked him, didn’t you?” Stephanie’s nose scrunched up in her rearview mirror reflection, half-disgust, half-delight.
“No!”
“Why not? Rachel said he was hot.”
Beside the point. “Ghost is just a friend,” Maggie said, and then realized her mistake.
“Ghost?” Maureen asked, twisting around in her seat to gape at Maggie. “Wait…not, like, Ghost Teague?”
His last name was Teague – it was what he’d signed on their bill of sale for the car. And one of the cops the other night had called him “Kenny.” Kenny “Ghost” Teague. She’d been carrying his names – real and club-given – around in her pocket like a delicious secret, and in a matter of seconds, these girls had her admitting them out loud. Even worse, they already knew his name. How many teenage girls did he buy beer for on the regular? How many had he kissed up against the rough wall of the liquor store? She felt very young and foolish, suddenly.
She shrugged, affecting disinterest. “Maybe. How many Ghosts are in the club?”
“Oh my God.” Maureen’s eyes lit up inside their thick rings of black liner. “Like, the Ghost Teague. My uncle” – he was a cop, Maggie thought – “says he’s like, totally on the Knoxville most-wanted list.”
If he was, he’d probably be behind bars already. Probably.
“Didn’t he kill his wife?” Sonja asked with horror.
“No,” Maggie snapped, unable to help it. She didn’t want to tell these idiots anything, but she couldn’t let them lie about the man that way. “She left him. They got divorced.”
“So you know him,” Stephanie said, triumphant. “Good. You can get us a discount on weed and beer.”
“What? No!”
“She doesn’t wanna share the love,” Kelly huffed, flopping back against the seat. “Told you.”
Stephanie found Maggie’s gaze in the mirror. “You’re gonna share,” she said. “Or we’ll tell your mom what happens tonight.”
~*~
Ghost had spent the day making runs – a few bike part pickups, some marijuana drop-offs. The usual. He swung by the clubhouse on his way home to relieve Rita, dropping the cash he’d made for the club into the safe.
“Good haul?” Collier asked behind him.
“Same old, same old.” Ghost shut the safe door and spun the dial back to zero. When he turned around, he noted his friend’s clean white shirt, new jeans, tidy hair. How the hell did the man stay so put-together? Ghost suspected it had a lot to do with Jackie.
Collier fell into step beside him as he started down the hall. “For what it’s worth,” he said, tone hushed, “I think your garage idea is a good one. If you want to bring it up in church again–”
Ghost sent him a tight smile. “Nah. But thanks. I’m okay for now.”
Collier made a doubtful sound, but didn’t argue.
In the common room, Roman was busy stuffing a backpack with the little candy tins they used to disguise and distribute pre-rolled joints.
“You off on a drop-off run?” Ghost asked, more out of instinct than interest.
Roman slanted him one of his more mischievous looks. “Got a load of goodies for some cute little kids.”
Ghost sighed. “Why do we gotta sell to minors, huh? And why do you gotta enjoy it so much?”
Roman shrugged and zipped up the backpack. “Their money’s good as anyone else’s. And,” he added, smiling, “these kids say they’re friends of yours.”
“Ha. Sure.”
“Nah, for real. Some chick. Midge? Margo? Marge?”
Ghost’s heart turned over. “Maggie?”
Another shrug. “Sure. Maybe.”
Ghost told himself not to jump to conclusions. Maggie wasn’t an uncommon name, and his Maggie – he wasn’t going to analyze the fact that he thought of her as his right now – wasn’t into drugs. Surely it wasn’t–
“Got a buncha high school kids meeting me at Hamilton House,” Roman said. “One of the little bitches says this Maggie chick is with you or something – wants the family discount.”
So it was his Maggie.
He wanted to kill something.
“Don’t leave without me,” Ghost said, and dragged Collier along by the sleeve as he headed out to the parking lot.
Collier was already making a face when Ghost turned to him. “It’s her, isn’t it? The one you chased across the street the other day? Jesus, Ghost, what are–”
“Yeah, I’m an idiot. No arguments here. Right now, I need to go make sure Roman minds his damn manners.” And make sure Maggie wasn’t getting herself into the kind of trouble that would get her shipped off to boarding school.
“What about Aidan?” Collier asked.
“Shit.”
Collier looked pained. “You’re going to go no matter what, aren’t you?”
“I have to.” And in that moment, it felt like a true statement.
“Fine.” Deep sigh. “I’ll call Jackie and get her to watch the kid. I’m coming with you.”
~*~
Maggie had never head of something as stupid as going to Hamilton House while the sun was still up. Everyone in the city knew that kids got up to all sorts of no-good at the old mansion, but they turned a blind eye, for the most part, because they weren’t willing to drag themselves out of bed and investigate in the dark of night. But going at four p.m. was asking to get arrested.
“You can’t be serious,” Maggie said as Stephanie put her Beamer in park. “We aren’t doing this.”
“Yes we are,” Stephanie sang. “Now come on. You’re my coupon.”
“I hate you,” Maggie said as she slid out of the car.
“Right back atcha.”
The house looked more frightening and dilapidated during the day. Its front windows could have been shuttered eyes, dripping black mold tears down the siding.
Another car waited in the drive: Stephanie’s boyfriend, Chad. His silver Mustang had a decal in the back window that read: hate me if you want. Loser.
He stood on the porch, hands in his jacket pockets, wind messing with his perfect hair. “Where are they?” he asked as the girls approached.
“They’ll be here,” Stephanie said. She didn’t sound confident.
Please don’t be here, Maggie prayed.
She heard motorcycles approaching.
Shit.
She climbed up the porch steps, ducked past Chad and stepped behind an ivy-covered column. Maybe she could stay out of sight for now.
Or, maybe, she could catch a ride back to town with Ghost. If he was here. Hopefully, he wasn’t the one who’d agreed to Stephanie’s stupid-ass plan.
Again, she wondered if he made a habit of leading underage girls on, and winced to herself. It didn’t seem likely, not given the way he’d reacted to learning her age – but then again, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been proven stupid and easily-led.
The rumble of the bike engines died, and in their absence, the quiet seemed to vibrate.
A voice she didn’t recognize said, “Now what’s this whole business about a discount you were telling Justin about over the phone?”
Curiosity got the best of her. Maggie inched forward, hand braced on the grimy plaster of the column, and peeked through the ivy leaves. She saw three men sitting astride Harleys. One of them was Ghost; her stomach gave a little flip.
“Maggie’s seeing one of your guys,” Stephanie said, hands on her hips, playing the princess for the biker boys. “And she’s…” She glanced over her shoulder. “Seriously? Maggie, where are you?”
Maggie didn’t move. From her hiding place, she watched Ghost scan the front of the house, frowning to himself, looking for her.
“Seriously?” Stephanie repeated.
A hand clamped over Maggie’s wrist. “Hey!” It was Chad, and he was strong enough to drag her, resisting, out into the open. “Let go of me, asshole!” She snatched away as soon as she could, but it was too late: all eyes were trained on her now.
“Get it together,” Stephanie hissed at her.
“Bite me, bitch.”
“Ooh-hoo,” one of the bikers exclaimed. It was the one who’d spoken before, the one with the sharp nose and lion’s mane of surfer hair. “This is Maggie? I like her.” He shot a grin Ghost’s way. “Whaddya think, Ghost? You gonna give her the family discount?”
Ghost swung off his bike and started toward the house.
“I don’t want the discount – I don’t want the drugs either,” she protested. “Just charge them whatever you want. I’m leaving.”
The guy with the hair laughed.
Ghost reached the porch stairs and scaled them in two strides, catching her upper arm in his big hand and squeezing tight. “No, you’re not,” he told her, and marched her through the half-open front door and into Hamilton House.
“What? No – stop!” she protested, but it was no use. He was a lot stronger than Chad. She wasn’t going to stop until he wanted her to.
He finally released her when they reached the ballroom. Maggie spun away, pulling her arm loose and putting some distance between them. It didn’t occur to her, as they stood amidst the cobwebs and wreckage of parties past, alone with a criminal, to be afraid of him. She was furious.
“You – you,” she sputtered, “can’t just manhandle me.”
He folded his arms and stared her down as if to say can and did. “What are you doing here?”
“First off.” She held up a single, quivering finger. “It’s none of your business. And second off.” She let out a deep breath. She was shaking she was so unhappy. “I didn’t want to be here. I got tricked into it.”
A single brow lifted. She was learning that little tic – if she wasn’t so put out, she would have admitted she thought it was super sexy. “You got tricked?”
“Don’t act like I’m an idiot.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“It was supposed to be manis and pedis, and my mom said I had to go – she would just love for me to be friends with those bitches. And since I’m grounded, because of the car, I had to go along with it, and…” She deflated, shoulders slumping, arms flapping down to her sides. “I’m an idiot,” she groaned.
A smile softened Ghost’s mouth. “Well, you do tend to think the best of me, so…”
“Watch it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Something fluttering and light unfurled behind her breastbone. But she shouldn’t have enjoyed the feeling. No. She had to stop. Couldn’t let it distract her.
“Did you tell her I could get them stuff for cheap?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“No, that would be Roman.” He frowned. “I didn’t know any of this was happening ‘til ten minutes ago.”
“Not a nice feeling, is it?”
“No,” he said, emphatically. And then some barrier seemed to crumble. He ducked his head, and rubbed the back of his neck, and swore softly to himself. “Fucking Roman.”
“I take it that’s Malibu Beach House Ken doll out there?”
He barked a startled laugh. “Yeah, that’s him.” When he lifted his head, his expression was serious. “Mags, the rest of the guys in this club are dangerous. Do you understand me?” He took a step closer. “They’re not bad boys, or whatever. They’re bad. I know today wasn’t your fault, but I want you to promise me you’ll stay away from them.”
He stepped into a beam of sunlight that fell through the poorly-boarded windows, and his eyes sparkled, electric and frightened. He wasn’t kidding.
Maggie found her mouth suddenly dry. “What about you? Should I stay away from you?”
The muscles in his throat rippled as he swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice took on a rough edge. “You should. But we keep running into each other, don’t we?”
Too late, she realized she was leaning toward him. Into the smoke-and-leather smell of him, the warmth that radiated through his clothes. She was magnetized. The pull had snuck up on her, and now she was caught.
Just stress, she told herself. She was pissed, and a little scared, and trying to lean on the one safe shoulder in the immediate vicinity.
But it was more than that. It was the kind of attraction she’d only ever read about in novels.
“Ghost?” She had to wet her lips. “Will you take me home?”
His hand twitched, and she wondered what he’d almost done – what he’d wanted to do. “Yeah, sweetheart. Sure.”
~*~
She had him take her to Stephanie’s house so she could pick up her car. She spent the ride over – clinging to him, watching the road come at her over his steady shoulder – debating with herself. By the time they’d pulled up at the curb in front of the Monte Carlo, she’d decided to keep her mouth shut. Those girls might hate her, but they’d make a narc’s life miserable.
“You want me to follow you to your place?” Ghost asked when she handed back his extra helmet. She might have imagined it, but she thought there was a spark of…of hope in his eyes. Like he wanted that.
She wanted it too, if she was honest. She wanted more than that. An image of him tumbled back onto the white sheets of her bed popped into her mind and she knew that she blushed. But she shook her head. “No. Thanks for the ride.” On impulse, she leaned forward and brushed a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” she said again, quiet, pulse hammering in her ears.
Ghost stared at her in wide-eyed shock. “Uh…” he started.
“You don’t have to follow me.” She turned around before she could find too much meaning in his gaze.
~*~
“Margaret?” Denise called as she slipped in through the kitchen door. “Is that you?’
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Denise appeared in the doorway, brows plucked together in their perpetual look of concerned disapproval. “I wasn’t expecting you until after dinner.”
“Maureen got sick,” she lied, slipping off her shoes and setting them on the rack. “I decided to just come back and do my homework.”
“Oh…”
Maggie slipped past her.
“Well, that’s too bad.
It was too bad, Maggie thought, that she was seen as the delinquent.