Page 2 of A Witchy Spell Ride (31 Days of Trick or Treat, Bikers and Mobsters #15)

Chapter Two

Ghost

The smell hits me the second I roll through the compound gates, gasoline, sweat, blood, and bourbon.

Home.

It feels like breathing in war and calling it comfort.

I kill the engine and swing my leg off my Harley.

Chrome is still hot from the ride, desert dust clinging to my boots.

I haven’t set foot in New Orleans in almost a year.

Doesn’t mean shit had changed. The clubhouse still leaned like it was daring a hurricane to take a swing.

Plywood over the back windows from the last bar fight.

One of Rattle’s boots hanging from the flagpole like a warning or a joke.

Vex is the first to meet me.

“Look what the fuckin’ storm dragged in,” he grins, arms wide. I grunt and pull him in anyway. My blood brother.

“You still alive?” I mutter.

“Barely. Reaper runs a tight goddamn ship.”

“Good.”

He steps back and gives me a once-over. “You look meaner.”

“I am.”

“Hotter too. You do prison time without telling me?”

“No prison,” I say, then add, “This time.” We both laugh, though mine is quieter.

Inside, the clubhouse is chaotic. Bones has a girl on his lap and a bottle of whiskey in each hand, like he is trying to prove balance wasn’t just for tightrope walkers.

Cross sits at a corner table with a laptop and a pile of receipts, muttering numbers to himself like he is trying to summon demons with math.

Rattle and Ash are in the middle of a bet involving knives and a dartboard, both already half drunk and shouting insults loud enough to shake the walls.

Reaper isn’t in sight yet, but he knows I am here. That man misses nothing.

I drop my duffel behind the bar and take the beer Vex slides my way. Cold. Bitter. Just how I like it.

“What’s the real reason you’re back?” he asks, leaning on the counter.

“Club visit. Restless.”

“Bullshit.”

I shrug. “Maybe.” Before he can press, the front doors open again.

And everything in me goes still. Selene walks in like sin wrapped in leather and attitude.

Same eyes I remembered. The same mouth that used to mock me when we were kids and I couldn’t figure out my bike’s clutch.

She’s grown into all the sharp corners, jawline tight, hair long and dark, tattoos peeking out from beneath a rolled-up sleeve.

Behind her, Briar practically skips into the room wearing a leopard print crop top, combat boots, and the energy of a raccoon in a Red Bull factory.

“Hide your knives,” Vex mutters beside me. “It’s the chaos twins.”

Briar makes a beeline for Cross, jumps in his lap, kisses his cheek, then steals one of his receipts and folds it into a tiny paper crane while he glares at her like he was doing taxes in hell.

Selene, meanwhile, scans the room. Doesn’t look at me at first, didn’t have to, she knows I’m here. We all grew up in this world, her, Vex, me. Her brother Reaper watching over everything like some brooding biker god, Cross keeping the books, the rest of us following orders and spilling blood.

But Selene has always been something else. Not just Reaper’s little sister. She is fire with no leash. And I’ve wanted to get burnt since I was seventeen. She finally looks at me. One second. Two. Then she blinks, cool and collected.

“Ghost.”

“Selene.”

Briar flops onto the barstool beside me and sticks her face in my beer. “Are you gonna finish that? I raise a brow. “You want a glass?”

“Glass?” she snorts. “I’m not at brunch, sweetheart.”

Vex grins. “Still making friends wherever you go?”

“Always.”

She spins on her stool and kicks her boots up on the bar like she owns the place. “Where’s Reaper?”

“Church,” Vex says. “Handling a border deal.” She nods like it was normal conversation. “Tell him he owes me pie.”

“Noted.”

Selene stays near the door, arms crossed, gaze flicking between club members like she was scanning for something. Or someone. That’s when I notice Banks.

Prospect. New kid. Always too eager. He is standing off to the side, pretending to fix something on the wall. But he ain’t watching the drywall. He’s watching her. His stare is off. Not just admiration or club-level respect. It is… possessive. My jaw tightens.

He doesn’t blink when she moves. Doesn’t smile when Briar makes some stupid joke. He just watches. Predator quiet. I slide off my stool and cross the room. Boots heavy, steps deliberate. He doesn’t notice me at first. He should’ve.

“Banks.”

He snaps out of it. “Oh—hey, man.”

“You got a job?”

“Uh… yeah, yeah. I was fixing—”

“Don’t lie.”

He straightens a little. “Reaper said patch the wall. So, I’m patching the wall.”

I glance over his shoulder. No tools. No bucket. Just drywall dust smeared on his jeans like a costume. I lean in slightly. “Eyes forward. Not on what doesn’t belong to you.”

His throat bobs. “Wasn’t—”

“Don’t insult me.”

He nods quickly and moves, muttering something I didn’t care enough to hear.

I turn back to the room and find Selene watching me. Not a smile. Not a smirk. Just… watching. Her eyes slide to where Banks had been. Then back to me.

The night stretches, whiskey poured. Briar gets bored of tormenting Cross and decides she is now the club’s entertainment, climbing onto the pool table and announcing she is going to perform “karaoke without music.” Half the brothers cheer, the other half groan, and Cross buries his head in his hands.

She makes it through half a mangled rendition of Sweet Caroline before she slips and lands on the table in a fit of giggles. Ash whoops and tries to crown her “VP for the night,” which earns him a glass thrown at his head.

The chaos makes it easier for everyone to forget the tension in the room. Everyone except me. My eyes find Selene again and again, like magnets refusing to break. She keeps her distance, but she isn’t blind to me. Every time I catch her glance, she holds it for a beat too long before looking away.

Banks tries to keep busy, wiping down already-clean tables, fetching drinks no one asked for, but I clock him stealing glances still. He is smarter about it now, but not smart enough. That itch in my gut tells me this won’t be the last time I have to put him in his place.

By the time midnight hit, the air in the clubhouse is heavy with smoke and heat. Laughter ricochets off the walls, whiskey bottles clink, and the music pounds low from the old jukebox.

I should feel at ease here. This is my place.

My people. But my focus hasn’t left Selene since she walked in.

She isn’t laughing like Briar. She ain’t tangled up with some brother like the other club girls.

She stands at the edge of the chaos, eyes sharp, arms folded, like she is both part of this world and apart from it. Same as me.

Vex leans close. “You look like you’re about two seconds from combusting. You gonna talk to her or just burn holes in the air?”

“Shut up.”

He smirks. “Better you than Banks.”

My teeth grind together.

When I finally stand, it ain’t because I have a plan.

It’s instinct. The weight of her stare, the pull in my chest, the restless ache that has dragged me back to New Orleans in the first place.

But Selene moves first. She pushes off the wall, says something low to Briar, and slips out the door into the night.

I freeze, my boots itch to follow. My fists itch to knock sense into myself.

Slow burn or not, one thing is clear, this wasn’t just a visit.

I wasn’t back in New Orleans for the club. I was back for her.