Page 141 of American Hellhound
“How are you?” he asked, quietly, in the tone he only used when they were alone. His free hand lifted to trace aimless patterns down her arm where it rested across his chest.
It was the first time he’d asked that today, she realized. Asked it and truly meant it. During the day, all rush and worry, every “how are you?” had been a way of checking in. You alive? You sick? You holding up? But this, now, rain drumming on the roof, safe for the time being on a lumpy sofa mattress, he wasasking.
She nodded, cheek sliding against the sleek warm skin of his shoulder, tender right at the crease. He hadn’t showered and he smelled like smoke and musk, a faint whiff of leather from his cut. “I wasn’t as sick today,” she said, because she hadn’t been. She wasn’t sure if that meant the morning sickness was passing, or if she’d been too busy to let her body’s urges take charge.
“No? That’s good.” He circled the bones of her wrist with his hand, a gentle squeeze.
She started to voice her concerns about the weeks to come, this war kicking off with the Saints, her efforts around town, her plans to bring the city down on the side of the Dogs. But then she decided not to. This moment, the bubble of darkness, and closeness, and rain sounds, wasn’t a place she wanted the club to intrude. He was all hers now, and she wanted to keep it that way as long as she could.
“The kids seem to be taking it pretty well,” she said, and he hummed in agreement. “I’m a little worried about Aidan, though.”
“What, you think he’s gonna be jealous of a baby?” A beat passed. “Yeah, well. He might.”
“It would be nice if you spent a little extra time with him. Some father/son bonding.”
He snorted. “When do I have time for that?”
“Fair point. But you could bring him in close on this Dark Saints thing.” When he took a breath – to protest no doubt – she said, “You could think of it as officer training. You know he needs more one-on-one guidance if you ever want him to be president one day.”
She’d scored a hit if his quiet swear was anything to go by. “Not like I had any guidance,” he muttered.
“An example of what not to do,” she agreed, shuddering a little when she thought of Duane. Roman had brought the man back to the forefront of their minds and she didn’t appreciate that; she’d managed to go years without thinking about Duane, his dark laugh, the heat of his breath on the back of her neck. “Be better than he was,” she urged. “Show Aidan how it’s done.”
Ghost traced circles in her palm with his thumb. “I can do that.” His voice faraway, thoughts sliding back to the past.
In a quieter, shakier voice, he said, “You really think you can do it? Get the city on our side?”
She’d never thought of herself as confident. When problems came along, she tackled them, solved them, dragged herself through rough patches – sometimes by ragged fingernails alone. But when Ghost started to doubt himself, his leadership, the reach of the club, she felt something surge inside her, hidden reserves of assuredness that turned her reckless, wicked, and daring. Crazy enough to do what she had to, stupid enough to think she’d succeed.
“IknowI can,” she said, kissing his chest. “You supply the troops, I’ll supply the public support.”
He snorted at her metaphor.
“I’m dead serious.”
“I know you are.” His arms curled tight around her. “Just be careful.”
“I always am.”
But that wasn’t true – it never had been – and they both knew it.
Twenty-Five
Then
Everyone around the table in the chapel looked half-asleep. Ghost couldn’t decide if that was a point in his favor, or if everyone was twice as likely to start throwing cigarette butts at him. His stomach was a mess of nerves; he felt sweat gathering under his arms and between his shoulder blades. Shit, here went nothing.
He cleared his throat and opened up the manila file folder he’d brought. He’d recopied his plan onto fresh, unfolded paper, and laid it out sheet-by-sheet, the new ink black beneath the lamp. “Okay. So. Um.”Damn it. Be confident.
He thought of Maggie’s sweet face sitting across from him on the kitchen floor, and started again. “You guys know I’ve been wanting to open up a garage – here, on club property – for a while now. I still want to, and I think now’s a good time. Some of the shit that’s been happening on deals lately” – he glanced at Roman, saw him wince – “ain’t good. We need a backup plan; we could make money fixing cars and bikes. Capital” – thank you, Mags – “we could invest in other places.”
He tapped page one in his lineup. “This is my plan. I’ve already talked to some contracting firms and gotten estimates for the construction, already picked out a location on the property. If we run promotions, take out ads, we could turn a profit in the first year.”
Graciously, James said, “Walk us through it, son.”
And so he did, gaining momentum as he went. He recalled everything Maggie had hammered into him, all the line items and eventualities, ROI, ideas to grow the business. Some interested gazes fastened on him: Hound, Bruno, even Desi. Justin stared glassy-eyed into his coffee, but that was normal. Collier smiled at him and flashed a covert thumbs-up.
Duane was the one he couldn’t read. Though his uncle had told him to bring this to the club, he sat slouched back in his chair, arms folded, the picture of disinterest…unless you bothered to notice his eyes. Dark and sharp, they cycled constantly around the table, judging the reactions of others.
