Page 13 of Ghost
But this, at least, is clear.
“This is the best place for me,” I say, the conviction solid in my chest after a night of mentally unraveling a lifetime of controlled habits. To seal the words, I reach up and brush my fingers against his where they rest on my shoulder—a sincere, soft touch. “With him.”
Something shifts in Ghost’s face, and I don’t miss it. It’s not a grand transformation, but a subtle dawn. The stormy intensity in his eyes softens, the hard line of his jaw relaxes just enough to notice. It’s the look of a man who has braced for a rejection that never came.
“Whatever it takes, Judge,” he says, his voice low but ringing with absolute finality as he looks at the brooding man. His hand turns under mine, his fingers lacing with mine in a firm, undeniable grip. “I’m not giving her up.”
With the words set in stone, all I can do is wait for the inevitable future.
7
Ghost
No one is happy to be woken up this early for a meeting. Every seat around the scarred table is claimed by tired, surly men who were deep into their shot glasses just a few hours ago. The air is thick with exhaustion and coffee.
Next to me, Stacks isn’t looking at the grouchy faces. He’s staring at the woman curled in my chair. His gaze is locked on my cut thrown over her shoulders, his brows lifting so high they nearly disappear into his hairline. He looks like he’s seeing a ghost—or maybe just the one thing he never thought he’d see. Me, claiming someone.
Not even my best friend knows the depth of the quiet obsession that’s been festering in me. I kept Eliza, the very idea of her, completely to myself, a secret I never dared to speak into existence.
If Ripper took notice of her beauty, then I know damn well every other man in this room will, too. Their eyes will strip herbare, reducing her to just another pretty face. My cut is the only warning I can give without throwing a punch. Even if I’m handicapped, I’d be willing to try to kick their ass.
Eliza, tucked safely under the weight of my leather, doesn’t know what it truly means to wear a man’s cut in this room. But she was happy to accept the offer, a small, trusting smile when I draped it over her shoulders. She just liked wearing something that was mine.
How would she feel if I suggested to the group to just get hitched without drawing any attention? She can’t be married off to another man if I put a ring on her finger.
Stacks lifts his gaze to me as I hover close behind her chair. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” His voice is a low tease, but his eyes are alight with genuine, burning curiosity.
“Eliza, this is Stacks.” I scoff softly, measuring out his easy smile and trying to find the true meaning behind it. Is he just amused, or is he calculating the risk she represents? “He’s the one who manages the finances of the club.”
Stacks lets out a dramatic, wounded sigh, placing a hand over his heart. “‘He manages the finances’? That’s all I get? After all these years? I’m the one who has put up with your anti-social behavior, and this,” he says, gesturing to Eliza with a flourish, “this monumental event, and I’m introduced like I’m the club accountant?” He shakes his head, a mock-tragic look on his face. “I’m hurt, brother. Truly. To think you’d land a girl—and one who looks like this—before I did.”
A rare, dry smirk tugs at my lips as he clicks his tongue. “If you didn’t have your nose stuffed in ledgers and receipts all the time, maybe you would.”
He opens his mouth, no doubt ready with a sharp retort, but Judge’s gavel cracks against the table, the sound like a gunshot in the cramped room. The low murmur of grumpy conversations dies instantly.
“Church is in session,” Judge’s voice booms, his tired eyes sweeping over the assembled members. “We have a problem that landed on our doorstep last night.” He nods toward me, then to Eliza. “Some of you might remember a certain judge who had a hard-on for putting Stacks away.”
Stacks frowns at the memory, certainly not a good one. He’d been locked up momentarily, long enough to come back to a pile of work once I got him out.
“This is his daughter. It seems he promised her to a man named Blaze Walker under suspicious conditions.”
The name means nothing to half the table. I can see it in their blank stares. Most of these men joined after Judge took the gavel, after the worst of the wars.
Ripper scowls like the name is a trigger word for him. He’s one of the few who has been at Judge’s side since the beginning.
“Crimson Road,” Judge clarifies, his voice dripping with contempt. “They operate out of a small town called Meadow Falls. Nasty bastards with bad tempers. They deal in things we don’t touch anymore.”
Drugs are the one thing Judge refuses to let enter Willowbrook Ridge. His efforts have put him in a somewhat peaceful stand with the mayor. That’s not the worst of it. I’ve taken a look into them as well, just to add fuel to my own hatred of the man who wants what’s mine.
Trafficking. Not just drugs, but women, too.
It makes me wonder if marriage isn’t truly what this is about, but a story given to Eliza to make her go along with it willingly.
I won’t dare breathe my concerns directly to her. Finding out her father could’ve sold her to him, maybe to cover a debt, also lingers there. Blaze would see the value in her in an instant.
“They don’t know she’s here yet,” Judge continues. “But they will. And when they do, they’ll come. Our job is to make surethey leave empty-handed. We need to find them a place to lay low, somewhere off the grid.”
Every eye in the room turns to Eliza, swamped in my cut. It’s not just a symbol to say she’s mine, but to announce that she’s a part of this club. One unspoken rule is always in place. We protect our own.
