Page 126 of Price of Angels

He hung up and the cold morning air rushed across his ear as he pulled the phone away. He wanted another smoke. He wanted a full bottle of Jack. He wanted to be in the barn with his uncle, pouring oats to the cow and tromping through straw and sawdust, knowing that his girl waited sleeping for him in the house, safe and warm, and well away from this place.

But those things weren’t attainable in this moment, so he swung his leg over his bike and headed inside.

The Jessups were still waiting, dozing on the sofa, leaning against opposite arms. Walsh still sat vigil, like he hadn’t even moved since last night, the only change a steaming coffee mug in one hand.

The three prospects were bustling around, mopping, sweeping, taking out the trash. Carter had made the coffee, because he was at the bar pouring another mug.

Walsh glanced over but said nothing, his face unreadable.

When Carter brought the coffee to him, Michael asked, “Ghost?”

Carter winced. “He went home last night when you didn’t…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Michael let his gaze slide over to the sofa, where the Jessups snored. Completely at ease. They had no doubts that the MC president would keep them alive and whole, given who they were working for.

Wouldn’t it be fun, he thought, to slit their throats now.

“You,” a voice barked behind him.

He turned and found Ghost striding into the common room, expression murderous.

“Or I don’t need to let him know,” Carter said, taking up his post behind the bar again.

Michael stood rooted and let his president pass him, turn around, gesture for him to follow. It gave him a small satisfaction to rebel that much, to be difficult when he never had been before.

Ghost didn’t bother with closing the doors when they reached the chapel. His voice was low, vibrating with anger. A voice he usually reserved for his son. “What the hell are you thinking?”

Straight-faced, unmoved and blessedly calm on the inside, Michael said, “I’m thinking we’re gonna have to go to Plan B, ‘cause Holly’s not coming, and there’s no more Plan A.”

“Jesus Christ, Michael…”

“I know this makes it difficult,” he said, “but I won’t give her to them.”

Ghost gave him a long, measuring look, and then sighed. “You picked a damn inconvenient time to get in touch with your emotions.” He glanced around the room, eyes becoming distant. “Get comfortable, then. I’m calling everyone in. Everyone. We’re gonna put it to a vote.”

Ava rapped once on the central office door before she let herself inside and pulled it shut behind her, sealing off the whirlwind of cold air she’d created. It stood open almost all year, propped by a brick, for ease of coming and going, and to keep the cramped interior from making Maggie claustrophobic, but that wasn’t always an option in the winter.

“Wind’s picking up,” she said with a shiver, working her fingers together, wishing she’d worn gloves.

“I know.” Maggie’s mouth twitched to the side, expression unsettled. “Supposed to be more snow coming in tonight.”

“Tonight? I thought later in the week.” Ava moved to take one of the chairs across from her mom’s desk.

“Tonight’s what I heard on the radio.” Maggie pushed her wheeled chair back from the desk and rested her hands on its arms. “Did Mercy make you come with him?”

Ava curled her lip and nodded. “ ‘Mon Dieu,’ ” she said in a poor imitation of his more-colorful-when-agitated Cajun accent. “ ‘You’re crazier than I always thought if you think I’m leavin’ you here to get bricked in the head while I’m gone.’Insistentis too a delicate a word.”

“Good for him.”

“You only say that because you want me rolled up in bubble wrap. If it was you being treated like this, you’d have something to say about it.”

Maggie grinned. “Sweetie, I always get treated like this. It’s just less dramatic when you’ve been married twenty-three years.”

Ava snorted.

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