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“Cool. Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I do,” I lie.

“Good for you. He like music too?”

“No, he’s not a music guy, but that’s okay. People are allowed to like different things.”

He hums, like the answer makes perfect sense, but there’s something in the way he lingers that makes me feel like he’s not entirely done.

“Yeah,” he finally says, grabbing his bag off the counter, “people are allowed to like different things.” His tone is easy and unaffected, as though this conversation hasn’t bothered him in the slightest.

I should be relieved, but I catch myself wishing he’d say something else, wishing he’d turn back toward me as he makes his way toward the door.

Finally, he does. “Not a music guy, though. That’s a shame.” He says it like a verdict, like he’s somehow figured out that I’m making terrible life choices without me offering a single confession. Then again, maybe I did say a word or two. “Which way to the best coffee shop in town?”

I point across the street to Josie’s bakery, though I’m feeling oddly defensive about what he’s said under his breath.He glances toward me with a small smirk before pushing through the door. “Thanks for the help. See you around.”

Then, just like that, the world dulls. The spark, the tension, the unspoken weight of something out of reach. Now, I’m left standing in the aftermath, pulse uneven, wondering what the hell just happened.

Chapter Two

Ghost

When I get back to the clubhouse, Tennessee is on the front deck grilling in jeans and a T-shirt, a beer in his hand. I haven’t seen much of him lately, so it’ll be a good opportunity to catch up.

“How the hell did you ride back with all that shit?” He nods toward the record player.

“Bungee cord to the back seat. How the hell’d you think?”

He shakes his head and grins as he lifts the lid and flips a few steaks. “Made enough for everybody. You hungry?”

“Starved.” I grab a beer from the cooler and settle down in the chair next to him on the porch. It’s a gorgeous day out. Sun and heat, but there’s a nice breeze that keeps it from ever feeling too warm outside. “Where you been lately, man?”

“In the garage, doing work, like you should be.” Not unlike myself, Tennessee is a man of few words. He’s also very dedicated to getting things finished in a timely manner. Once those things are done, he’s much more pleasant to be around. Though as our club doc, he’s the voice of reason under most circumstances, which is both annoying and needed. “You finally back off that hit you were circling?”

I don’t even like the wordhitanymore. Something about it stirs up a hunger, like a dog hearing the crinkle of a treat bag, tail already twitching.

It’s not that I enjoy murder, I don’t. I enjoy freeing the world of evil people. People who have no business breathing. People whose existence tilts everything off balance.Turns out, there are a lot of them.

“The guy was on the up. I think the wife was paranoid or something.”

“And you’re done taking jobs like this, right? If Duke comes back and finds out you’re fucking around with all this, he’ll extradite you.”

Duke is our unhinged Prez, who’s taken sabbatical but told none of us how long he’ll be gone. He says he went back to Texas to clean up some loose strings, but who knows with that guy? He’s not acting right lately.

“I’ll worry about that when it happens. I can’t lie low, man. I don’t know how. I’ve got two more jobs on the horizon. I need to go check them out after I drop this shit off.”

For a second, I think about the girl at the record store. The one with the dark brown hair and flecks of yellow in her eyes. She was hiding something, but I can’t put my finger on what it is, though I get the feeling it’s about the banker boyfriend.It’s always the boyfriend.

“Dude,” Tennessee groans, “you’re fucking up. Don’t let your demons get in the way of making a real life. You were messed up for weeks after the last hit. You should talk to someone.”

“And what? Lay down on the big, long therapy couch and unload my deep, sick, perverted desire to throw every asshole off the face of the planet?”

“I was thinking you could talk about how you got that scar on your neck.”

I run my hand over the mark just beneath my chin, pushing away thoughts of that night. “No,” I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s thepast, and the past is over. Besides, a doctor would toss me on a bunch of meds I don’t need, and I’ll sit comatose in the corner of a room for eternity. Lord knows that’s no way to live.”

“I’m not sure it’s much different from the way wewereliving. All that death takes its toll.” He sighs as he says, “You’re not alone. We were all feeling it, and that’s why we slowed down. No one can push that hard for that long and not start making mistakes, and those mistakes get the wrong people killed.”