Page 8

Chapter 8

Ghost

I meant to return to the room before Mira woke up.

Watching her sleep this morning was surreal. Her features softened in slumber, all that battle armor she wears finally lowered. I felt the irrepressible urge to annihilate anyone who'd ever hurt her. Starting with those fucking foster parents.

So, with dawn barely breaking, I dragged Cipher and Saint into an early meeting while my angel slept upstairs.

"Mark and Linda Peterson," Cipher, the club’s tech genius , mutters, as his fingers fly over his laptop keyboard. "They've been fostering kids for fifteen years."

I lean forward, every muscle in my body coiled tightly. "How many?"

"Thirty-seven kids total." Cipher's eyes narrow at the screen. "And get this—looks like they pulled the same identity theft scam on at least twelve of them. Credit cards, loans, the works. But Mira got hit the worst."

Red clouds my vision. "How much?"

"Over fifty grand in her name alone." He looks up at me. "These shitstains knew exactly what they were doing, Prez. Waited until each kid was eighteen, aged out of the system, and about to leave their house, then opened accounts using the kids’ social security numbers. As of this date, I don’t see that any of them have filed fraud or identity theft charges against the Petersons.”

My fist slams into the wall before I even realize I’ve moved. The drywall crumbles, but I barely feel it. "These motherfuckers have been systematically destroying kids' lives for over a decade?"

Saint nods grimly. "Gets worse. They're in deep with Kovalev."

“The loan shark?” That’s an interesting twist. Ivan Kovalev is a seedy, small time Russian gangster. Disorganized, hasn’t stirred up too much fuss around here, so while he’s been on our radar for a while, we haven’t looked too closely at him. “How deep?"

"About two hundred grand. They've been borrowing to cover their gambling debts. Interest is killing them." Saint pauses. “Prez…according to one of my contacts on the street, Kovalev’s been pressuring them to do a ‘trade' to cover what they owe, and Mira’s name has come up several times.”

We stare at one another, the implication hitting like a freight train. There have been rumors floating around lately that Kovalev was dabbling in human trafficking, but we thought that was all they were, rumors. I’m realizing now that we fucked up by not watching the fucker closer. By the look on both Saint’s and Cipher’s faces, they’re aware of the human trafficking rumors as well.

They’re trying to sell Mira to cover their fucking debt?!

"I want everything," I growl. "Bank records, property deeds, every fucking piece of paper with their names on it. And I want to know every detail of their connection to Ivan fucking Kovalev.”

"Already on it." Cipher's fingers resume their dance across the keys.

Now, hours later, I cradle a weak, pale-faced Mira in my arms. What the fuck’s wrong with her? Is she sick? I know one thing, she needs to eat. She’s too thin for her frame, and I’m kicking myself for not having a hot breakfast ready and waiting when she woke.

"In my bag..." she mumbles as I carry her up the stairs and back to my room. "My...my meds.”

I lay her against the pillow as I rifle through her duffle. She looks small and vulnerable.

There’s a prescription pill container at the bottom, and I scan the label before handing it to her. Metoprolol.

“Are you sick?” It’s a stupid question. Her hands are quivering slightly and her lips have taken on a blue tinge. There's a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead.

She fumbles with the child-proof cap then shakes out a pill.

I watch, puzzled as she runs her thumbnail over the face of the pill several times, carving a groove across it before carefully breaking the tiny tablet in half.

"What are you doing, angel?"

She startles slightly, like she forgot I was standing here watching her. “Oh, I... I only take half.” Her voice is quiet, matter-of-fact, but instead of looking me in the eye, she stares up at the corner of the room.

A seething fury bubbles up from my chest. "Show me the bottle."

She hands it over without argument. As I thought, the instructions clearly state: Take one tablet daily. Do not split or crush tablets.

"You're supposed to take a whole pill." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

"I know, but I need to make them last until payday." She shrugs like this is just how life works. "They're expensive.” She lets out a weary breath. “Everything’s expensive, and now that I lost the cleaning job?—”

I cut her off, fighting to control the fury building inside me. "How long have you been doing this?"

“I don’t always.” She won't meet my eyes. “It’s just… Sometimes...sometimes I have to choose. When rent is due, or I’m out of groceries…” She twists her fingers in her lap.

“There’s no other way?”

She looks up, a spark of anger in her eyes now, which is better than the resignation of a second ago. “Last winter, I had to pawn my mother's locket—the only thing I had left of my parents—just to afford a refill."

The confession hits me like a physical blow. My beautiful, proud angel having to sell her only connection to her deceased parents just to stay alive. While those foster parent fuckers bled her dry.

I stride to the door and yell down to the common room in a booming voice, "Prospect!"

In two point three minutes, a kid rushes in panting. “Yes, Prez!”

“I hand him the prescription bottle. Get your ass to the pharmacy. I want this prescription refilled. Now."

"On it, Prez!”

I grab my cell and punch in a number. "Doc? Yeah, it's Ghost. I need a favor. Got a woman here with a heart condition needs to see a specialist. I want the best… Two months? Fuck that! She needs to be seen ASAP. I don’t care what favors you need to call in, Doc, this can’t wait.”

When I hang up, Mira is staring at me with wide eyes. "Ghost, you don't have to?—"

"Yes, I do." I sit beside her on the bed, cupping her face in my hands. "Listen to me, angel. You never have to choose between medicine and food again. Never have to pawn a piece of yourself just to survive. You understand?"

Tears well in her eyes. “I don’t want to be a charity case, and I can't pay you back?—"

"You're not a fucking charity case," I growl. "You're mine. Taking care of what's mine isn't charity."

A blush stains her cheeks pink. She looks like she’s about to argue, but thinks better of it. “Okay. I should get ready for work..."

“Fuck no." The words come out sharp, commanding. "You're resting today."

"But I need the money?—”

"What you need is to rest, get your strength back, and let me take care of you."

She sets her jaw stubbornly. "I can't just no-show for my shift. I need that job, and I’m not comfortable depending on someone else. I've always taken care of myself."

And there it is, the core of her resistance. My fierce survivor, so used to standing alone she doesn't know how to let anyone stand beside her.

I gentle my voice. "One day of rest won't kill you, angel. Stay home today, let the medication kick in properly."

She bites her lip, considering. "Just today?"

"We'll start with today." It's a compromise I can live with. For now. She needs time to learn she can trust me, to understand that depending on someone doesn't make her weak.

"I have to at least call Dave and let him know.”

At the mention of her sleazy manager's name, I grind my teeth. “What’s the number?”

She hesitates, then recites the digits. I switch the phone to speaker before handing it to her. The asshole answers on the third ring.

“Hi, Dave. It’s Mia.”

"Where the hell are you?" His voice drips with petty authority. "Your shift starts in five minutes.”

I snatch the phone. “Listen, Dave, ” I spit his name out with a sneer. "This is the President of the Shadow Reapers MC. We met last night.”

Silence. Then a choked sound of recognition. He knows who we are, and he knows who I am. Our reputation precedes us in this town.

"You’ve been working Mira too hard and she needs R&R time. She’ll be taking the week off. With pay." I continue in the same low, menacing tone. "And when she returns,”—I almost say if she returns, but I don’t want to rile Mira any more than she already is—“you're going to treat her with respect. Because if you don't..." I let the threat hang.

"Y-yes sir! Of course. A week off, paid vacation, absolutely.”

I end the call, satisfied by the tremor of fear in his voice. When I look at Mira, she's staring at me with an expression I can't quite read.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” she whispers.

"Believe it." I pull her into my lap, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. "Nobody fucks with what's mine, angel. The sooner you understand that, the better."

She tenses slightly, then gradually relaxes against my chest.

I press a kiss to her temple, already planning my move against her foster parents. They think they can fuck over my woman and get away with it? They're about to find out exactly how wrong they are.