The prospect freezes.
Ghost doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't need to. He just turns that flat, empty stare on the kid, and I watch every drop of colour drain from his face.
"You had one fucking job." Ghost's voice is calm. Almost conversational. That's what makes it terrifying. "Watch the perimeter. Keep her safe. And you went inside for a goddamn coffee."
"I was only gone for?—"
"Someone put his hands on her." Ghost takes a step closer, and the prospect stumbles back. "Someone left bruises on her fucking skin. While you were gettingcoffee."
"I'm sorry, I didn't think?—"
"No. You didn't fucking think."
The prospect's mouth opens, closes. He looks like he might be sick.
Ghost holds him there for a long moment, letting the silence do the work. Then he turns his back on the kid — a dismissal more brutal than any words — and walks to where I'm standing on the porch steps.
The shift is immediate. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, tilting my face toward his. His eyes search mine.
"You okay?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He takes my wrist gently, examining the marks. His jaw tightens. A muscle ticks in his cheek.
"Harris." My voice sounds far away. "He was waiting. There was a cat, and I just stepped outside the fence for a second, and he was justthere?—"
"I know." His thumb traces carefully around the bruises, not touching them. "I know."
"He didn't hurt me. Not really. He just grabbed me and?—"
"He put his hands on you." Ghost's voice is still calm. Still flat. "He left marks on your skin."
"Ghost—"
"I'm going to kill him."
He says it simply. Matter-of-factly. Like he's telling me the weather.
"You can't just?—"
"He touched what's mine." His eyes meet mine, and there's nothing cold about them now. They're burning. "Nobody touches what's mine."
Behind us, the prospect hasn't moved. King appears in the doorway, takes one look at the scene, and jerks his chin toward the front of the building. The prospect goes, head down, knowing his time with the club might be measured in hours now.
Ghost doesn't watch him leave. His focus is entirely on me.
"Inside," he says, softer this time. "Let me take care of this."
I follow because I don't know what else to do.
Inside, the brothers are already gathering. King, Lock, Diesel — all of them with the same hard look on their faces. Ghost stands at the center, radiating fury, and lays it out.
"Harris Grey. Her old head of security. He's been stalking her for months and today he got close enough to put his hands on her." He looks around the room. "That ends now."
"What do you need?" King asks.
"Everything we have on him. Where he's staying, how he's tracking her, who's helping him. I want to know every move he's made since he got to Tucson."
