"Woman leaned against me and fell asleep," I say finally. "Her sister showed up, started running her mouth. Girl panicked, told everyone I was hers. I rolled with it."
"You kissed her," Havoc points out, smirking. "In front of that sister of hers, what’s her name? Jessica. The one who thinks she runs Lovestone Ridge. She looked like she swallowed a live grenade when you pulled the quiet one into your lap."
Funny thing is, I never noticed that other woman before. Not really.
Just mySunshine.
“She looked like she was going to cry,” I mutter. I run a hand down my face, over my beard.
Truth is, seeing her close to tears cracked something open in me. I’ve been shot, stabbed, seen hell up close. Nothing hit like the look in her eyes when her own sister tried to tear her down.
“So you kissed away her tears?” Viper laughs. “That’s some fairytale crap, brother.”
“Watch it,” I warn, voice flat. No heat, but they know the edge.
Havoc raises both hands. “Easy, Ghost. We’re just giving you shit. None of us begrudge you a little...fun.”
“It’s not like that,” I snap, sharper than I mean to.
Funis disposable. Fun fades by morning.
This felt like...claiming.
When she curled her fingers into my cut, something primal lit up in me. A man like me doesn’t get soft. Doesn’t get sentimental. But I’ve killed men for less than the things that sister said to her.
I spent almost two decades slipping in and out of warzones. Navy SEAL before the ink, before the bike. Damned Saints patched me in two years ago.
I didn’t survive what I have to play games in a hay bale. I stepped up because something in me wanted her. Like I wanted air after drowning.
Havoc’s expression shifts. He may be the loudest man in the room, but he reads people better than most therapists.
“You good?” he asks, voice low.
I stare into my glass of iced tea, jaw tight. “She’s young. Too young for me.”
There’s at least fifteen years between us. I’ve got a body full of scar tissue and a head full of ghosts.
She grows daisies and knits scarves and wears cinnamon in her damn hair. She smiles like the world hasn’t touched her yet.
Viper shrugs. “She’s grown. And so are you. Age don’t mean shit when fate’s got its teeth in you.” He claps my shoulder. “Besides, you deserve something good. And you know we’ve got your back.”
“I don’t think I ever seen you smile, Ghost,” Havoc adds. “If she can get you to lighten up, hell, I’ll bake her a cake myself.”
Then his voice hardens. “But don’t screw it up. And don’t bring her drama unless you’re ready to handle it. We’ve got our own war coming. Cartel’s already breathing down our backs. We can’t afford sloppy.”
“Understood,” I reply.
It’s not a promise to stay away.
It’s a promise toprotecther.
The cartel won’t touch her. Not while I breathe.
After the meeting breaks, I climb the stairs to my room. The second floor smells like pinewood and old tobacco.
It’s quiet here. Safe, in a way nowhere else is.
My space is bare. A bed, a dresser, a chair by the window. My cut hangs on a hook.
