Black Dogs Motorcycle Club: Full Series Box Set (54 page)

Shaun finally joined the
conversation, impatient, his bottled anger finally coming to boil. “Lucero
isn’t fucking shooting up! You think we wouldn’t have noticed track marks on
his arms by now?”

“Yeah, it’s real hard to
find secret place to shoot up,” said Ghost, rolling his eyes. “Did you check
between his toes? Behind his knee? His inner thighs? Necessity is the mother of
invention.”

“I don’t know how you run
things out here in the boonies, but we trust the Dogs in my den,” said Shaun
with a haughty sneer. “We aren’t some asshole institution controlling what our
men do on their downtime… drug testing, strip searching… is that what we are,
now? Is that what we chose this life for?”

“So no one pays when our
freedom gets in the way of someone else’s life, is that it?” said Ghost.
“Tommy’s just a consequence of the cowboy way?”

“No one’s saying that.”
Shaun spit every word. “But you got
zero
proof besides your fucking word
that anything’s even off with Lucero.”

“What did Will say?” said
Ghost. “Didn’t he see Lucero pass out?”

Henry shook his head. “He
remembers checking the GPS for their route, and then suddenly waking up hanging
from his seatbelt in the van. Something might come back to him when he rests,
but right now, you’re the only one who thinks Lucero passed out.”

“What the fuck does
Lucero
say happened?”

“Something mechanical,”
said Shaun. “The suspension jerked the wheel out of his hand before he could
stop it, and he passed out in the crash.”

Ghost leaned back against
the wall and let out a bitter laugh. “That son of a bitch. He knows goddamn
well I was the last one to check those vans out before we left. Is he trying to
make this sound like it’s
my fault?
”

“He never said that,” said
Shaun.

“Didn’t fucking really
have to, did he?” Ghost shook his head. “I can’t believe this is fucking
happening.”

“We’ll get this sorted,”
said Henry. “And Tommy and Will will be taken care of, regardless. We just need
to figure out where the blame lies.”

“It lies on Lucero’s ugly
fucking beard.”

“Why didn’t you say
anything?” said Shaun, his arms crossed over his chest. The way he asked, Ghost
could tell the question had been burning in him for a while. “If you saw the
balloons and suspected something before the run, why didn’t you tell us?”

Ghost opened his mouth to
answer, but stopped himself. He was furious at Jase for ignoring his concerns
that day in Eagleton. That rift, he would have to work out with Jase on his
own. But something didn’t sit right in his stomach about telling them what
happened now. Revealing that Jase had ignored Ghost’s concerns would only get
Jase in trouble, and would do nothing to help Tommy or Will, anyway.

Ghost swallowed his words
and made a mental note to talk to Jase later. “I didn’t want to bring it up
unless I was sure. I didn’t want to start the run on a bad vibe like that.”

Shaun shook his head.
“Funny how you’re so sure now. And you wanna make Lucero sound like the only negligent
guy around here?”

Ghost pursed his lips as
his face flushed red in anger and shame. But he didn’t reply. He swallowed
Jase’s blame.

“Thanks for your offer to
stay in the clubhouse, Henry, but my men and I will find a place in town to
stay while we settle this,” said Shaun. “I think we should call this meeting
done, though.”

Henry sighed,
disappointed, but didn’t argue with his peer. He held out his hand and Shaun
shook it. “I’ll take care of my part of this mess. Call me if you boys need
anything.”

Shaun tromped down the
stairs and led his Eagleton Dogs out of the clubhouse without another word.
Their bikes revved away in the distance, and the men in the den began to shift
into a more casual discussion, trying to clear the air from the fight.

“So, what happens now?”
asked Ghost when Henry and Douglas both turned to him, backs against the
bannister.

They both looked like very
disappointed fathers. Henry sighed. “Now, we call a tribunal and hope you were
good on the debate team.”

“A tribunal?” asked Ghost.

Henry shook his head.
“Never mind. Not tonight. Tonight is DOA—you saw to that with your little
stunt.”

Ghost looked at his feet,
and then back up at Henry. He didn’t have anything to say.

“Go home, Ghost. Just go
home.”

~ THIRTEEN ~

Bridget

It was just before lunchtime when Bridget found the
bruise.

The kids were arranged on
the floor in a circle, playing a game that outside of school they called Mafia,
but for obvious reasons Bridget had changed to Baker Street. It was all deduction,
memory, and trying to figure out who was bluffing—and why. It gave the kids a
chance to purposely try and trick one another, and they delighted in it. The
last rounds were typically the most ridiculous.

Bridget kept half an ear
on the game as she did some cleaning up, and then she walked quiet paces around
the outside of the circle, laughing and offering guidance and keeping playful
discipline on the would-be cheaters. Part of the game required the kids to put
their heads down in their laps while a secret cabal of random students among
them plotted their next move.

His arms were stretched
out over his head in such a way that the long sleeves of his bright orange
shirt bustled up on his forearms. As Bridget walked by Toby and looked down at
him, she could see a dark, ugly bruise burned deep on his arm, as if he had
been grabbed and twisted with powerful force.

Bridget’s heart stopped
and she gasped audibly. The students nearby her immediately turned and lifted
their heads to look at her, and judging by a few of their faces, she must have
looked like she saw a corpse. She quickly calmed herself before panic could
spread—all it took was one nervous authority figure and this place would be
chaos.

“Miss Dawson?” asked
Genevieve with a quiet voice.

“Sorry, guys,” she said,
forcing out a chuckle. She looked at the floor and spied a stray red coloring
pencil, and bent to pick it up on impulse. “I thought I stepped on someone’s
fingers, but it was just this pencil. Scared me for a second!”

The kids laughed,
satisfied, and turned back to their game. Bridget swallowed against a tight
throat and tried to quell the tide of nausea rising in her gut. Toby’s father
was escalating his violence. She had to do something, but she didn’t know what.

It took all of her energy
to keep the rest of the day on track. She spent her lunch hour in her car,
sobbing where no one would stumble on her, and ten minutes of it in the ladies’
room trying to de-puff her face with cold water. During independent work time,
she watched Toby carefully. He was still communicating with his friends and
participating in the class, so she figured that was a good sign. But he was
also very careful with his arm, and now that she was looking for it, she could
see how hard he was working to keep it covered. Someone had told him to do
that.

Anger and helplessness
raged inside her mind. The hours dragged on with painful monotony until finally
school released for the day, and Bridget couldn’t drive away fast enough. She
sped home with tears in her eyes and threw her own purse at the wall as soon as
she got in the house. It was small, but what few little essentials she did
carry scattered across the floor.

Bridget pulled a beer out
of the fridge and uncapped it. As she swallowed three big gulps, she backed
herself against the fridge and sunk to the floor. She got lost in her own tears
so deeply that she didn’t hear Ghost until his boots were on the tile of the
kitchen floor. She had completely forgotten their text conversation about him
coming over after school let out.

“Whoa, baby.” Suddenly he
was next to her on the floor, a worried look on his face. “I figured you left
the door open for me on purpose. Are you okay?”

“I left the door open?”
she said, hazy.

“Well, unlocked. What’s
got you having a floor beer, cherry pie?”

“Fuck, I never leave my
door unlocked.”

“You’re
obviously upset
,”
said Ghost gently. He switched her beer to her left hand, so that he could wrap
her right hand in both of his and squeeze. “Wanna tell me why?” 

His touch felt incredible.
The pain of her emotions made everything hurt, but Ghost’s warmth undid it,
even if it was localized. She sighed. “Toby’s dad hurt him. I saw the bruise
today in class. Everything’s getting worse over there.”

Ghost’s hands slowly
stopped rubbing. Something in the air got thicker. “What happened?”

“I don’t know for sure. I
saw the bruise on his arm like someone grabbed him. He worked hard to keep it
hidden all day. I’ve never seen marks on him before now.” Admitting it out loud
crushed her heart with sorrow, and suddenly she was sobbing again. “I’m so
afraid he’s going to be killed.”

Bridget never cried in
front of people. She hated it; appearing vulnerable made her feel awful. But
she didn’t feel that way when Ghost wrapped an arm around her, and softly
maneuvered them both until he was sitting against the fridge, and she was
sitting against him. Then he wrapped himself around her and nuzzled his face
against the side of her hair. Instantly, Bridget began to relax as she felt the
warmth of Ghost’s body, the tenderness of his touch, and that indiscernible
ache of happiness she got when he knew exactly what she needed without her
having to say it.

For a while, he didn’t ask
her anything. So she just let him hold her and cried. Not for one moment did
Ghost make her feel like a burden for her tears or her pain. He never got
uncomfortable or asked her to stop or tried to talk away her feelings. He just
held her there while they happened.

Bridget had never felt
anything like it. Nights like this would usually send her spiraling into
isolation and sadness. She’d drink too much wine, take a long hot shower, watch
some show she’d seen a million times for the sense of comfort, and go to bed
early in a cloud of self-pity and anger. Usually it would pass in a day or two.
But already, in Ghost’s arms, Bridget could feel it lifting, as if having his
love around gave her the ability to fast-forward through the painful bullshit
in her life.

Once her tears were spent,
release spread through Bridget’s chest and head, like always. She wiped at her
face and nuzzled against Ghost. He just tightened his arms around her and
kissed the top of her head.

“Any good person would be
upset about this,” said Ghost. “And you’re the best person.”

“The best person would be
helping him,” she said with a sniffle, and she meant it. “Not just crying on
the sidelines about it.”

“So let’s help him.”

“I don’t know how,” said
Bridget. “This is so sensitive. I could do more harm than good.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Only driving right up to
the Cary estate and asking to see Toby’s dad, and then I imagine I would
descend into some sort of Old Testament-like speech about vengeance and
hellfire and probably throw a punch at him and ruin the whole thing.”

“You are just the most
perfect woman.” Ghost laughed and twisted her playfully in his arms so that he
could nibble on her neck. Despite the tears still glistening on her face,
Bridget laughed and squealed in his grasp until he stopped.

“That being said,”
continued Ghost, “I’m not sure that’s the best plan, tactically, baby. Best
case scenario, a guy like Cary is just going to pull his kid from your school
if you hassle him like that. Or try to get you fired. Or both. And then Toby
might be out of our reach.”

“I know,” said Bridget with
a frustrated sigh. “Planning raids on Afghani cave systems seemed less
complicated than this does.”

“I love it when you talk
dirty.”

Bridget turned so she
could look back at him. He smiled at her, his eyes bright as always, and moved
some of her hair out of her face. She stared at him for a moment, and felt
something hot and bright growing in her chest. Ghost just watched her,
amusement slowly falling over his expression.

“Am I wearing someone
else’s face, or something?” he said. “I hope it’s hotter than my old face.”

Bridget smiled. She put
her hands on the side of his face and softly rubbed her thumbs against his
beard. “I like this face.” She leaned down and kissed his lips. Beneath her,
she felt a shiver run down Ghost’s body as he pressed back against her mouth in
happy surprise and slid his arms around her tighter. Against her hip, she felt
the hardening of his bulge.

“Then I guess I’ll keep
it,” he said in between kisses.

“Ghost,” she said. There
was nothing in her head but the sweetness of his touch against her, but somehow
the words were there anyway, spilling out. “I want to keep you.”

He didn’t laugh, but he
did release a breath like he didn’t believe what he was hearing. He searched
her eyes with his hungrily. “Wait, you… what?” He blinked. “Really?”

She kissed him fiercely,
and he returned it, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

“I don’t know how to talk
about this stuff,” she admitted. Her voice was shaking now. “But I mean it.”

Ghost’s smile was sweet,
and came from some deep place she couldn’t explain. He tucked her hair behind
her ear and said, “You don’t have to say anything else.”

Bridget was overcome with
want for him and the perfect way he melded with her, despite all the flaws
she’d fought for so long. She turned until she was facing Ghost, straddling his
lap, and then she devoured his lips with hers while he rubbed his hands all
over her body, groaning her name, pulling her clothes off in messy,
half-hearted moves. It was like neither of them wanted to stop kissing, or let
even an inch of space come between their bodies.

Ghost pulled her shirt
over her head and ran his tongue and lips all over her chest as he unclasped
her bra. Bridget moaned and rubbed his shaved head against her as he took his
time licking and sucking at each of her breasts, kneading them in his hands,
lapping up her skin like he was starving. He bit at the sensitive skin on her
neck as he lifted his hips up into her, pressing his bulge between her legs.
Bridget cried out, her pussy already on fire, aching for his touch.

She was burning for him.
Bridget pushed Ghost’s chest with her hands until he moved like she wanted,
lying back on the kitchen floor with her straddling him. As she moved down to
unbuckle his pants and jeans, Ghost whipped his own shirt off and watched her
with hungry, lustful eyes.

“Fuck, baby,” he said. His
hands washed over her head and hair.

Bridget gave him a wicked
half-smile as she pulled his jeans and boxers off his legs. His huge cock
sprung up from his body, pink and hard as diamond, precum already dripping from
the tip. Bridget licked her lips and wrapped her mouth around his cock, and the
sound Ghost made was almost as satisfying as the taste of him on her tongue. He
leaned his head back and closed his eyes, taking in every second of her
exquisite torture as she slowly sucked his length, her tongue twisting around
his shaft and over the silky head. Ghost’s fingers tangled in her hair and
encouraged her rhythm while she groaned against the skin of his cock.

“You’re so fucking
perfect,” came his heated voice.

Bridget sucked his length
a few more times before she moved up his body with her mouth, licking and
biting, until her hips were parallel with his. She didn’t give him any warning
before she threw her leg over his. The pink head of his cock quivered against
her pussy, and in one fluid motion, Bridget sank down on top of it and felt
every thick inch impale her. She didn’t even want to use a condom; she wanted
nothing between them this time. She trusted Ghost, and knew he trusted her as
well.

Ghost cried out her name,
and all she could do was moan desperately at the feel of the hardness she could
barely fit inside of her. Bridget wanted to fuck him slow and sweet, but the
cock inside her was too incredible, and she couldn’t stop driving herself down
hard on it. Every thrust felt like ecstasy as Ghost’s hands groped blindly at
her body. His left hand sank down between her legs to rub her clit as she
bounced on top of him, and Bridget howled.