Page 50 of Ghost's Obsession

Brittany glances at Tusk and winks. “You better thank your brother for this limo idea.”

“Did that fucker say it was his idea?” Tusk fires back.

Tex holds up a hand. “Hell no. It was my idea.”

I settle into one of the nearby chairs, watching Heather laugh with the other women, her towel slipping down to reveal those long waves of coppery hair. It hits me how relaxed she seems here—how well she fits in.

Tusk stretches out on the bed behind me, jerking his chin towards Heather. “You know, you might wanna lock that down before she gets away.”

I don’t answer. I know that wasn’t an insult. His old lady ran from him once, and now he gives the same advice to every brother. He just doesn’t want us to hurt like he did.

I glance at Heather again, trying to imagine her leaving me. The truth is, I can’t see her doing something like that. We’ve got a bond—a special one.

When her robe slips off, revealing one bare shoulder, I want to kiss it. When she laughs, so soft and easy on the ears, I want to hear it for the rest of my life. When she touches my hand while brushing past me to grab her earrings, I know all the way down to my bones that she’s not goin’ anywhere.

We decided to leave the women to get ready in peace and came back an hour later. Brittany is expertly sweeping blush across Heather’s cheekbones. I saw Frankie stop by earlier to do their nails and drop off a few last-minute accessories.

Clara’s lounging by the window, already done up, scrolling on her phone with one of those looks that says she’s ignoring all the drama on purpose.

Tusk immediately lays across the foot of the bed like it’s his natural habitat. Tex leans in the doorway, watching his woman with a look on his face that saysmine.

And me? I’m standing in the middle of it all like a bouncer in a ballroom, half-dazed by perfume and hairspray and the sight of Heather laughing while Brittany pins her hair.

This is not what I pictured when I thought about MC life. It’s far better than anything my weak mind could imagine. I thought club life was all about brotherhood, brawling with rival clubs, and living by the code. Never once did I stop to consider the softer side of MC life—how the old ladies bring beauty, grace, and dignity into our lives.

Out in the hallway, I hear the shift of high-heeled boots and the sound of voices whispering. It’s those curious club girls again, clearly come to be catty because they don’t realize brothers are about.

They’re upset because none of them were invited to the gala. They are not part of the public face of the Legion. Most of them understand that. A few don’t. Some understand but don’t like it.

Shayla peeks through the crack in the door. Her voice carries.

“That one thinks this is gonna make him keep her.”

Another voice, snide and low, speaks. “Outsiders are just the flavor of the moment. The brothers always come crawling back to us in the end.”

Having heard enough, I step into the hall. All the club girls freeze.

I ask coldly, “Did you have something to say, Shayla?”

Shayla blinks. The other girl shifts uncomfortably.

She stammers, “We didn’t know you were upstairs.”

“Clearly. I have to assume that if you knew, you wouldn’t be here making this half-assed attempt to harass the old ladies and my guest.”

She opens her mouth and then thinks better of it. I just stare at her long enough for all of them to fidget and glance at each other like they’ve suddenly remembered why they shouldn’t be bothering the old ladies.

I growl, “Leave before I give you a weekend ban.” Without so much as a word, they scatter.

When I walk back inside, everyone acts like nothing happened. But I see the way Brittany’s lips twitch, like she knows all too well what went on out in the hallway.

Tusk gives me a raised brow from the bed. “What the fuck was that about?”

Tex just mutters, “Damn club girls, no doubt.”

I can’t pay attention to their conversation because Heather has changed into the dress I bought her from Frankie’s. It’s dark green, beaded at the bodice, with a slit up one thigh and a delicate wrap draped over her shoulders. She looks like something from a painting.

I’m standing there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot when Tusk whistles, loud and shrill. It hurts my ears, tearing meaway from a beautiful moment with my woman. “All right, kids. Let’s take this fashion parade downstairs before Ghost loses what’s left of his self-control.”

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