Vindication: A Motorcycle Club Romance (13 page)

“Yeah, it’s real hard to find secret
place to shoot up,” said Ghost, rolling his eyes. “Did you check between his
toes? Behind his knee? His inner thighs? Necessity is the mother of invention.”

“I don’t know how you run things out
here in the boonies, but we trust the Dogs in my den,” said Shaun with a
haughty sneer. “We aren’t some asshole institution controlling what our men do
on their downtime… drug testing, strip searching… is that what we are, now? Is
that what we chose this life for?”

“So no one pays when our freedom gets
in the way of someone else’s life, is that it?” said Ghost. “Tommy’s just a
consequence of the cowboy way?”

“No one’s saying that.” Shaun spit
every word. “But you got
zero
proof besides your fucking word that
anything’s even off with Lucero.”

“What did Will say?” said Ghost.
“Didn’t he see Lucero pass out?”

Henry shook his head. “He remembers
checking the GPS for their route, and then suddenly waking up hanging from his
seatbelt in the van. Something might come back to him when he rests, but right
now, you’re the only one who thinks Lucero passed out.”

“What the fuck does
Lucero
say
happened?”

“Something mechanical,” said Shaun.
“The suspension jerked the wheel out of his hand before he could stop it, and
he passed out in the crash.”

Ghost leaned back against the wall
and let out a bitter laugh. “That son of a bitch. He knows goddamn well I was
the last one to check those vans out before we left. Is he trying to make this
sound like it’s
my fault?
”

“He never said that,” said Shaun.

“Didn’t fucking really have to, did
he?” Ghost shook his head. “I can’t believe this is fucking happening.”

“We’ll get this sorted,” said Henry.
“And Tommy and Will will be taken care of, regardless. We just need to figure
out where the blame lies.”

“It lies on Lucero’s ugly fucking
beard.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” said
Shaun, his arms crossed over his chest. The way he asked, Ghost could tell the
question had been burning in him for a while. “If you saw the balloons and
suspected something before the run, why didn’t you tell us?”

Ghost opened his mouth to answer, but
stopped himself. He was furious at Jase for ignoring his concerns that day in
Eagleton. That rift, he would have to work out with Jase on his own. But
something didn’t sit right in his stomach about telling them what happened now.
Revealing that Jase had ignored Ghost’s concerns would only get Jase in
trouble, and would do nothing to help Tommy or Will, anyway.

Ghost swallowed his words and made a
mental note to talk to Jase later. “I didn’t want to bring it up unless I was
sure. I didn’t want to start the run on a bad vibe like that.”

Shaun shook his head. “Funny how
you’re so sure now. And you wanna make Lucero sound like the only negligent guy
around here?”

Ghost pursed his lips as his face
flushed red in anger and shame. But he didn’t reply. He swallowed Jase’s blame.

“Thanks for your offer to stay in the
clubhouse, Henry, but my men and I will find a place in town to stay while we
settle this,” said Shaun. “I think we should call this meeting done, though.”

Henry sighed, disappointed, but
didn’t argue with his peer. He held out his hand and Shaun shook it. “I’ll take
care of my part of this mess. Call me if you boys need anything.”

Shaun tromped down the stairs and led
his Eagleton Dogs out of the clubhouse without another word. Their bikes revved
away in the distance, and the men in the den began to shift into a more casual
discussion, trying to clear the air from the fight.

“So, what happens now?” asked Ghost
when Henry and Douglas both turned to him, backs against the bannister.

They both looked like very
disappointed fathers. Henry sighed. “Now, we call a tribunal and hope you were
good on the debate team.”

“A tribunal?” asked Ghost.

Henry shook his head. “Never mind.
Not tonight. Tonight is DOA—you saw to that with your little stunt.”

Ghost looked at his feet, and then
back up at Henry. He didn’t have anything to say.

“Go home, Ghost. Just go home.”

~
THIRTEEN ~

Bridget

It was just before lunchtime when Bridget found the
bruise.

The kids were arranged on the floor
in a circle, playing a game that outside of school they called Mafia, but for
obvious reasons Bridget had changed to Baker Street. It was all deduction,
memory, and trying to figure out who was bluffing—and why. It gave the kids a
chance to purposely try and trick one another, and they delighted in it. The
last rounds were typically the most ridiculous.

Bridget kept half an ear on the game
as she did some cleaning up, and then she walked quiet paces around the outside
of the circle, laughing and offering guidance and keeping playful discipline on
the would-be cheaters. Part of the game required the kids to put their heads
down in their laps while a secret cabal of random students among them plotted
their next move.

His arms were stretched out over his
head in such a way that the long sleeves of his bright orange shirt bustled up
on his forearms. As Bridget walked by Toby and looked down at him, she could
see a dark, ugly bruise burned deep on his arm, as if he had been grabbed and
twisted with powerful force.

Bridget’s heart stopped and she
gasped audibly. The students nearby her immediately turned and lifted their
heads to look at her, and judging by a few of their faces, she must have looked
like she saw a corpse. She quickly calmed herself before panic could spread—all
it took was one nervous authority figure and this place would be chaos.

“Miss Dawson?” asked Genevieve with a
quiet voice.

“Sorry, guys,” she said, forcing out
a chuckle. She looked at the floor and spied a stray red coloring pencil, and
bent to pick it up on impulse. “I thought I stepped on someone’s fingers, but
it was just this pencil. Scared me for a second!”

The kids laughed, satisfied, and
turned back to their game. Bridget swallowed against a tight throat and tried
to quell the tide of nausea rising in her gut. Toby’s father was escalating his
violence. She had to do something, but she didn’t know what.

It took all of her energy to keep the
rest of the day on track. She spent her lunch hour in her car, sobbing where no
one would stumble on her, and ten minutes of it in the ladies’ room trying to
de-puff her face with cold water. During independent work time, she watched
Toby carefully. He was still communicating with his friends and participating
in the class, so she figured that was a good sign. But he was also very careful
with his arm, and now that she was looking for it, she could see how hard he
was working to keep it covered. Someone had told him to do that.

Anger and helplessness raged inside
her mind. The hours dragged on with painful monotony until finally school
released for the day, and Bridget couldn’t drive away fast enough. She sped
home with tears in her eyes and threw her own purse at the wall as soon as she
got in the house. It was small, but what few little essentials she did carry
scattered across the floor.

Bridget pulled a beer out of the
fridge and uncapped it. As she swallowed three big gulps, she backed herself
against the fridge and sunk to the floor. She got lost in her own tears so
deeply that she didn’t hear Ghost until his boots were on the tile of the
kitchen floor. She had completely forgotten their text conversation about him
coming over after school let out.

“Whoa, baby.” Suddenly he was next to
her on the floor, a worried look on his face. “I figured you left the door open
for me on purpose. Are you okay?”

“I left the door open?” she said,
hazy.

“Well, unlocked. What’s got you
having a floor beer, cherry pie?”

“Fuck, I never leave my door
unlocked.”

“You’re
obviously upset
,” said
Ghost gently. He switched her beer to her left hand, so that he could wrap her
right hand in both of his and squeeze. “Wanna tell me why?”  

His touch felt incredible. The pain
of her emotions made everything hurt, but Ghost’s warmth undid it, even if it
was localized. She sighed. “Toby’s dad hurt him. I saw the bruise today in
class. Everything’s getting worse over there.”

Ghost’s hands slowly stopped rubbing.
Something in the air got thicker. “What happened?”

“I don’t know for sure. I saw the
bruise on his arm like someone grabbed him. He worked hard to keep it hidden
all day. I’ve never seen marks on him before now.” Admitting it out loud
crushed her heart with sorrow, and suddenly she was sobbing again. “I’m so
afraid he’s going to be killed.”

Bridget never cried in front of
people. She hated it; appearing vulnerable made her feel awful. But she didn’t
feel that way when Ghost wrapped an arm around her, and softly maneuvered them
both until he was sitting against the fridge, and she was sitting against him.
Then he wrapped himself around her and nuzzled his face against the side of her
hair. Instantly, Bridget began to relax as she felt the warmth of Ghost’s body,
the tenderness of his touch, and that indiscernible ache of happiness she got
when he knew exactly what she needed without her having to say it.

For a while, he didn’t ask her
anything. So she just let him hold her and cried. Not for one moment did Ghost
make her feel like a burden for her tears or her pain. He never got
uncomfortable or asked her to stop or tried to talk away her feelings. He just
held her there while they happened.

Bridget had never felt anything like
it. Nights like this would usually send her spiraling into isolation and
sadness. She’d drink too much wine, take a long hot shower, watch some show
she’d seen a million times for the sense of comfort, and go to bed early in a
cloud of self-pity and anger. Usually it would pass in a day or two. But
already, in Ghost’s arms, Bridget could feel it lifting, as if having his love
around gave her the ability to fast-forward through the painful bullshit in her
life.

Once her tears were spent, release
spread through Bridget’s chest and head, like always. She wiped at her face and
nuzzled against Ghost. He just tightened his arms around her and kissed the top
of her head.

“Any good person would be upset about
this,” said Ghost. “And you’re the best person.”

“The best person would be helping
him,” she said with a sniffle, and she meant it. “Not just crying on the
sidelines about it.”

“So let’s help him.”

“I don’t know how,” said Bridget. “This
is so sensitive. I could do more harm than good.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Only driving right up to the Cary
estate and asking to see Toby’s dad, and then I imagine I would descend into
some sort of Old Testament-like speech about vengeance and hellfire and
probably throw a punch at him and ruin the whole thing.”

“You are just the most perfect
woman.” Ghost laughed and twisted her playfully in his arms so that he could
nibble on her neck. Despite the tears still glistening on her face, Bridget
laughed and squealed in his grasp until he stopped.

“That being said,” continued Ghost, “I’m
not sure that’s the best plan, tactically, baby. Best case scenario, a guy like
Cary is just going to pull his kid from your school if you hassle him like
that. Or try to get you fired. Or both. And then Toby might be out of our
reach.”

“I know,” said Bridget with a
frustrated sigh. “Planning raids on Afghani cave systems seemed less
complicated than this does.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

Bridget turned so she could look back
at him. He smiled at her, his eyes bright as always, and moved some of her hair
out of her face. She stared at him for a moment, and felt something hot and
bright growing in her chest. Ghost just watched her, amusement slowly falling
over his expression.

“Am I wearing someone else’s face, or
something?” he said. “I hope it’s hotter than my old face.”

Bridget smiled. She put her hands on
the side of his face and softly rubbed her thumbs against his beard. “I like
this face.” She leaned down and kissed his lips. Beneath her, she felt a shiver
run down Ghost’s body as he pressed back against her mouth in happy surprise
and slid his arms around her tighter. Against her hip, she felt the hardening
of his bulge.

“Then I guess I’ll keep it,” he said
in between kisses.

“Ghost,” she said. There was nothing
in her head but the sweetness of his touch against her, but somehow the words
were there anyway, spilling out. “I want to keep you.”

He didn’t laugh, but he did release a
breath like he didn’t believe what he was hearing. He searched her eyes with
his hungrily. “Wait, you… what?” He blinked. “Really?”

She kissed him fiercely, and he
returned it, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

“I don’t know how to talk about this
stuff,” she admitted. Her voice was shaking now. “But I mean it.”

Ghost’s smile was sweet, and came
from some deep place she couldn’t explain. He tucked her hair behind her ear
and said, “You don’t have to say anything else.”

Bridget was overcome with want for
him and the perfect way he melded with her, despite all the flaws she’d fought
for so long. She turned until she was facing Ghost, straddling his lap, and
then she devoured his lips with hers while he rubbed his hands all over her
body, groaning her name, pulling her clothes off in messy, half-hearted moves.
It was like neither of them wanted to stop kissing, or let even an inch of
space come between their bodies.

Ghost pulled her shirt over her head
and ran his tongue and lips all over her chest as he unclasped her bra. Bridget
moaned and rubbed his shaved head against her as he took his time licking and
sucking at each of her breasts, kneading them in his hands, lapping up her skin
like he was starving. He bit at the sensitive skin on her neck as he lifted his
hips up into her, pressing his bulge between her legs. Bridget cried out, her
pussy already on fire, aching for his touch.

She was burning for him. Bridget
pushed Ghost’s chest with her hands until he moved like she wanted, lying back
on the kitchen floor with her straddling him. As she moved down to unbuckle his
pants and jeans, Ghost whipped his own shirt off and watched her with hungry,
lustful eyes.

“Fuck, baby,” he said. His hands
washed over her head and hair.

Bridget gave him a wicked half-smile
as she pulled his jeans and boxers off his legs. His huge cock sprung up from
his body, pink and hard as diamond, precum already dripping from the tip.
Bridget licked her lips and wrapped her mouth around his cock, and the sound
Ghost made was almost as satisfying as the taste of him on her tongue. He
leaned his head back and closed his eyes, taking in every second of her
exquisite torture as she slowly sucked his length, her tongue twisting around
his shaft and over the silky head. Ghost’s fingers tangled in her hair and
encouraged her rhythm while she groaned against the skin of his cock.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” came his
heated voice.

Bridget sucked his length a few more
times before she moved up his body with her mouth, licking and biting, until
her hips were parallel with his. She didn’t give him any warning before she
threw her leg over his. The pink head of his cock quivered against her pussy,
and in one fluid motion, Bridget sank down on top of it and felt every thick
inch impale her. She didn’t even want to use a condom; she wanted nothing
between them this time. She trusted Ghost, and knew he trusted her as well.

Ghost cried out her name, and all she
could do was moan desperately at the feel of the hardness she could barely fit
inside of her. Bridget wanted to fuck him slow and sweet, but the cock inside
her was too incredible, and she couldn’t stop driving herself down hard on it.
Every thrust felt like ecstasy as Ghost’s hands groped blindly at her body. His
left hand sank down between her legs to rub her clit as she bounced on top of
him, and Bridget howled.

“Oh, fuck, Ghost, you’re gonna make
me cum so hard,” she pleaded.