Page 9

Chapter 9

Mira

My body feels lighter than it has in months—maybe years—as I nestle deeper into Ghost’s soft sheets. Thanks to finally getting a full dose of my medication and some much-needed rest, the flutter in my chest is now more butterfly wings and less angry hornets.

The morning drifts by in a haze of catnaps and quiet contemplation.

I appreciate Ghost’s kindness tremendously, but I can’t dispel the nagging hunch that he brought me here for a reason. That there must be a price to pay for his generosity. Nothing in life comes free—that's one lesson the foster system taught me well.

A knock on the door is followed by a voice that calls out, “Mira? Can “I come in? I've got lunch for you."

It's the prospect who brought my medication earlier—Rash is what Ghost called him, which is a strange name. He's been bringing me snacks intermittently all morning, each time with an earnest, eager-to-please smile. I’m beginning to suspect someone is trying to fatten me up.

"Come in, Rash," I call out, yawning and raising my arms in the air to stretch the sleep from my body.

He enters carefully balancing a tray loaded with a steaming bowl of soup, fresh bread, and what looks like homemade cookies. “I’m supposed to tell you to eat all of it," he announces proudly. “Prez’s orders."

My heart does a funny little skip when he mentions Ghost, one that has nothing to do with my medical condition. "Speaking of Ghost, where is he?" I try to keep my voice casual, but Rash’s knowing grin tells me I'm not fooling him.

“Taking care of club business.” He carefully sets the tray across my lap. “I think something big might be going down. Prez and the club officers have been in church all morning."

“Church?” I gape, unable to picture the hard core bikers on their knees in a chapel.

“It’s what we call members-only meetings.”

“Oh." I stare down at the soup, watching the steam curl upward. "Is everything okay?"

Rash shrugs. “I’m just a prospect. I won't be clued in on the details of club business until I earn my patch. Even then, club business is on a need-to-know basis, and Ghost runs a tight ship. Best president the Shadow Reapers have ever had, from what the old-timers say."

I absorb this information as I spoon up the rich chicken soup. There's so much I don't know. Actually, I know almost nothing about the inner workings of a motorcycle club. Part of me wants to get out of this bed, out of this room, and wander around the clubhouse, maybe find some members and ask some questions so I can learn about this world—Ghost's world, but I’m too chicken shit.

Earlier, I peeked out into the hallway, only to spot the two meanest of the mean girls from this morning—the blonde with big boobs and the redhead—lounging by the stairs. The blonde's cruel words echo in my head. Half the girls here have worn that shirt.

Is that what Ghost expects from me? To become one of them? The thought makes my stomach churn despite the delicious soup.

"Rash is an interesting name,” I say, trying to make conversation. I don’t know what I expect, but it’s not the look of pride that transforms his expression.

"It’s my road name." He straightens, squaring his shoulders. "First week of prospecting, a truck cut me off on the interstate. I had to lay my bike down, and I got dragged a good fifty feet." He pulls up his pant leg to reveal a web of silvery scars. “Doc said it’s the worst case of road rash he ever treated. The name kind of stuck after that."

I wince in sympathy, but he just grins. “Yep, I earned it.”

"Rash, I have a question,” I say hesitantly. "The women here...the ones I saw this morning…”

His face darkens slightly. "Don't pay them any mind. They're just..." He trails off, clearly searching for a polite word.

“They’re what?” I ask quietly.

“They hang around to…uh…” His ears turn red. “To service the patched members.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, they’re…” my voice trails off.

“Whores.” He nods, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Each one is hoping to snag a patch—to become an old lady."

I reel at the term. Old lady? What does that mean? I thought it was an insult when Blade said it this morning, but now I’m not so sure.

Still appearing embarrassed, Rash collects the dirty lunch dishes swiftly and efficiently and before I get the chance to question him further, he’s gone.

After Rash leaves, I curl up in the leather armchair by the window and watch the comings and goings in the compound below. Motorcycles rumble in and out through the gates while big, burly men in leather cuts gather in small groups, talking.

I could get used to being here. These guys might be hardcore bikers, but they seem like a family. The smart thing would be for me to leave now, before I get too attached. But I remember Ghost's words from this morning: "You're mine."

What exactly did he mean? Two simple words that somehow managed to sound like both a threat and a promise.

When the door opens, this time without a forewarning knock, I expect to see Rash again, but it’s Ghost himself who enters carrying a dinner tray. The sight of him filling the room with his commanding presence makes my breath catch.

"You're looking better," he observes, setting the tray on the small table by the window. "The rest and proper medication dosage helping?"

I nod, unable to deny it. "I feel stronger than I have in ages," I admit. "Though I hate being idle."

"You've got an appointment tomorrow with Dr. Cariloha—best cardiac specialist on the west coast." He says this casually, as if getting an appointment with a top specialist overnight isn’t an absolute miracle.

"How did you...?" I shake my head in amazement. "Those appointments usually take months to get."

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

He dishes up two plates of what appears to be homemade lasagna, and we eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he speaks again.

"Cipher's been looking into your foster parents," he says carefully, watching my reaction. "Seems they've stolen from other kids too.”

The fork trembles slightly in my hand as the implications of his words hit me. I don’t know why I thought I was the only one. "They cycled through foster kids like changing seasons." The food in front of me has lost its taste. I was just a resource for them to use up and throw away.

When I glance up, Ghost is watching me. His dark eyes are unsettling, and I need to know what’s going on here between us.

"Ghost?" I set my fork down, gathering my courage. "Why am I here? Really.”

His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

“Why did you bring me here? " I gesture to the room in general, then to myself. “Is this… Am I supposed to become one of those, um, club girls?"

The glass in his hand shatters.

I jump at the sound, my heart racing as he slowly uncurls his fingers, letting the broken shards fall to the table. A thin line of blood wells up on his palm, but he doesn't seem to notice as he points an angry finger at me.

"Never," he growls, the word vibrating with fury. “That will never happen. You are mine , angel. Not the club's. Not anyone else's. Mine." His eyes burn like flames. "No one else will ever touch you."

“So, I’m your whore?”

“You’re not a fucking whore!” The fury in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it sends a shiver of delight down my spine. “You’re my queen, my ol’ lady. My other half.”

His answer takes my breath away. His other half? That’s what it means to be an ol’ lady? No wonder the club whores are hoping to “snag a patch” as Rash phrased it.

“You said no one will touch me, but will you?" I whisper. "Touch me, I mean?”

His response is immediate and overwhelming. He crosses the space between us in one fluid motion, pulling me into his arms. His kiss is both fierce and tender, claiming and cherishing. And in that moment, I surrender. I’m his.

Ghost's kiss deepens, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. His body is hard, muscled, and I can feel the heat radiating off him, warming me from the inside out. My hands tremble slightly as I reach up to touch his face, the stubble on his jaw rough against my fingertips.

He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze intense and searching. "Are you sure you're feeling better, angel?" His voice is rough with desire, but there's a tenderness there that makes my heart ache.

I nod, unable to find the words to express the depth of my feelings and how much I want him. "I've never in my life felt better."

He smiles, a slow, sensual curve of his lips that makes my stomach flutter with anticipation. "You're so perfect, baby,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to cup my ass, lifting me effortlessly. "My perfect angel."

I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, as he carries me to the bed. He lays me down gently, his body covering mine as he captures my lips in another searing kiss. His hands roam over my body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if it were sacred ground.

I gasp as his fingers find the hem of my shirt— his shirt, whatever—pushing it up to expose my stomach. His lips follow the path of his hands, trailing kisses across my skin that leave me breathless and aching for more. He unbuttons my jeans, sliding them down my hips along with my panties, leaving me bare and vulnerable beneath him.

His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me, naked and exposed. "God, you make my dick so fucking hard," he growls, his voice dripping with lusty desire.

I blush under his intense gaze, but I don't try to cover myself. I want him to see me, to know me, in every way possible.

He kneels between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs, spreading them wider. I tremble with anticipation as he lowers his head, his breath hot against my most intimate place. When his tongue flicks out, tasting me, I cry out, my hips arching off the bed.

He chuckles, a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through me. "You taste so sweet, angel," he murmurs, his fingers joining his tongue, stroking and teasing until I'm writhing beneath him, begging for release.

When my climax hits, it's like nothing I've ever experienced before. Waves of pleasure wash over me, leaving me panting and trembling in their wake. Ghost looks up at me, a wicked grin on his face, his lips glistening with my arousal.

"That was just the beginning," he promises, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine.

He stands up, stripping off his clothes with quick, efficient movements. My eyes widen as I take in the sight of him, naked and aroused.

"Holy shit." The words escape my lips before I can stop them, but how can I help it with his cock jutting straight out like that—long, and hard, and fully erect.

He's magnificent, every inch of him sculpted and chiseled, from his broad shoulders to his narrow hips, to the thick length of him standing proud.

He climbs back onto the bed, his body covering mine once more. His weight is a comfort, a shield against the world outside. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, all of him.

He kisses me again, his tongue sliding against mine in a slow, sensual dance. I can taste myself on his lips, and it's strangely erotic, a reminder of the pleasure he's already given me.

His hand slides down between us, guiding himself to my entrance. I tense slightly, a sudden flare of nervousness making me pause. He senses my hesitation and pulls back, his eyes softening as he looks down at me.

"We don't have to do this tonight, angel," he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently against my cheek. "We've got all the time in the world. We can wait as long as you need."

I shake my head, my voice steady and sure. "I don't want to wait. I want you now, Ghost. I want all of you."

He smiles, a slow curve of his lips that makes my heart flutter. "Then you'll get all of me."

He presses forward, slowly, carefully, giving my body time to adjust to the invasion, and...oh, my god! There's a brief moment of pain, a sharp, burning sensation that makes me gasp. He stills immediately, his eyes searching mine.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice thick with concern.

I breathe through the discomfort. "It's okay," I whisper. "Just a sting. It's already fading."

He waits until I give him a small nod, silent permission to continue. He moves slowly at first, his hips rocking gently against mine, each thrust pushing him deeper inside. The pain fades, replaced by growing pleasure, a warmth that spreads through my entire body.

I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him closer, urging him on. He groans, his forehead pressing against mine as he increases the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster.

"God, angel," he growls, his voice husky and gruff. "You feel so fucking good. Never felt this... Oh, fuck!"

I cling to him, my nails digging into his back as his thrusts pick up momentum, growing more and more erratic. The pleasure builds with each thrust. I can feel my orgasm coming, a wave of sensation that threatens to consume me.

"Ghost," I gasp, my body arching against his. "I'm... I feel..."

He growls, a low, feral sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Come for me, angel," he commands, his voice rough with need. "Let me feel you come around my cock."

And I do. It rolls over me like a tidal wave, sweeping me away in a rush of pleasure so intense it's almost painful. I cry out, my body convulsing beneath him, my inner muscles clamping down around him.

He follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he shoots warm spurts of his seed deep inside me, filling me, marking me as his.

We lie like that for a long moment, our bodies still joined, our breaths mingling as we come down from the high. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes closed, a look of utter contentment on his face.

"That was..." I trail off, unable to find the words to describe what just happened between us.

He smiles, a slow, lazy curve of his lips that makes my heart flutter. "Yeah, it was," he agrees, his voice rough with satisfaction.

He rolls onto his side, pulling me with him, our bodies still tangled together. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing gently against my skin.

"You're my ol' lady now," he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. "You get that, right?"

I nod, a tear leaking from my eye as I experience something I've wanted for so long. Something I've longed for, but never dreamed I'd ever truly have—a sense of belonging.

"I'm yours," I whisper the words like a vow.

He smiles, a soft, tender expression that makes my heart ache. "And I'm yours, angel. Always."