Page 200 of American Hellhound
“Sure.”
But eventually, her internal clock reminded her that she needed to pack Aidan’s lunch, and her own, and put a load in the washing machine…
She flipped the covers back and climbed, shivering, into the late February morning.
Her new routine, she reflected as she smeared peanut butter over Wonder Bread, didn’t feel all that new anymore. In fact, it was hard to remember what she’d done before Ghost and Aidan came into her life.
Or maybe it was more like her coming into theirs.
It was so normal now: Aidan clomping in – “Shoes tied, sweetie” – and Ghost kissing her cheek on his way through. She’d been the child of the household her whole life, but she wasn’t anymore, was instead a parental figure: carpool line, and “have a good day,” and all.
She got to school with fifteen minutes to spare and managed to find a parking place up close by the street. She was locking up the Monte Carlo when someone hissed, “Maggie!”
Startled, she glanced up to find a face pressed to the chain link perimeter fence, a man crouched between the barrier and the high hedges that circled it.
A scream lodged in her throat when she realized she recognized him. “Roman?”
It was him. Scruffier, his clothes dirty and battered, but there was no mistaking his identity. Seeing him like that, hair dirty and too-long, Maggie wondered where he’d been staying. Then she wondered what the hell he was doing outside her school, hiding in the bushes like a fugitive.
“What are you doing?”
He stuck his fingers through the fence and motioned her closer. He looked wild-eyed, like maybe he was high, or just that frightened.
“Nuh-uh,” she said. “Answer the question.”
He made a face. “You’re turning into a real–”
“A real what now?”
“Old lady. A real old lady. Giving orders and shit.”
But from what Maggie had seen, none of the old ladies around this chapter of the Dogs gave orders to anyone besides their husbands. There was a notable lack of female influence in the club. She guessed she was just too naturally pushy to keep her mouth shut and eyes down.
“What do you want?” she snapped, eyes flicking up to scan the road. She didn’t want one of the Dogs to happen past and see her talking to him. It was a slim possibility, but still. He was persona non-grata around here these days; she wouldn’t be accused of conspiring with him. She might be pushy, but she didn’t have a death wish.
He surveyed the parking lot around her. “I need your help.”
“Right.”
His gaze returned to her face, pleading. “I do. Really. Christ, I just…I need to talk to Ghost. I was afraid to go by the apartment.”
“Good call.”
“Maggie,please.”
“I have school. And I can’t stress how much you arenot my problem.”
He stared at her, pouting, baleful as a shelter dog.
“Fuck this club,” she muttered under her breath. “Wait here. I’ll go call Ghost.”
“You’re a doll.”
“Shut up.”
~*~
It took a lot of smiling and wheedling to convince the front office secretary to let her use the phone. At this point, everyone from the principal to the janitor knew she was affiliated with “one of those damn Dogs.” But she was still listed, officially, as living with her parents and somehow, miraculously – Maggie suspected it was because the Dogs inspired no small amount of fear in the locals – she’d been allowed to go about her business without any interference from the law. The emancipation paperwork had been put in back in November, and every adult in her life seemed content to let her wait out the four months unhindered. In one month, she’d be an “adult” on paper. In light of that, everyone treated her as such – which meant no favors, no coddling, no kindness.
