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Ghost

I slam down the hood of the car I’m working on with a bang. Changing out the alternator takes me exactly one hour and thirteen minutes. I’ve done it a million times before, and on a Chevy Cavalier, it’s a straightforward job.

I wash up using GOJO to cut through the inevitable dirt and grease on my hands.

I like everything about working in the Savage Legion’s garage, from the scent of motor oil, to the feeling of a job well done at the end of the day.

Today’s been a busy day, and I’m looking forward to knocking back a cold beer with my club brothers.

Evan pokes his head into the garage, “Mr. Morgan’s here to pick up the Cavalier.”

I wipe my hands on my overalls. Jerking my chin to the sedan, I tell him, “Just finished up the job. I started a ticket earlier. It’s on the desk, in the office. The job took me an hour and thirteen minutes.”

“So, we round up to the nearest quarter of an hour, right?”

I give him an approving grin. “Yeah, you’re catching on fast, Evan. Don’t forget to add tax. Dutch got us a card with all the percentages already calculated. He even ordered us some wholesale merch that you can upsell.”

He smirks at that, “Yeah, those calendars with the club girls have been selling like hot cakes.”

I shrug and toss the shop towel into the laundry bin. “Every man likes pin-up girls, and our club’s got some beautiful ones.”

“I guess,” he says before turning towards the small office in the corner of the garage.

“The keys are in the ignition, Evan,” I shout after him.

Evan is one of the youngest prospects in the club and Rigs’ adopted son. It seems like he’s trying out every job our club has to offer. It’s a good strategy if he’s trying to prove his worth.

Once I’m finished up at our auto repair shop, I head on over to the clubhouse on the other side of the parking lot.

A large bar runs down one side of the huge main room, and several arched openings run along the far wall, each with a pool table on the other side.

The bar always smells like leather and beer, with a hint of whatever the prospects are cooking wafting in from the back patio. Tonight, it smells like steak.

It’s early, so there are only a handful of brothers and club girls.

I walk over, put some coins in the jukebox, and hit a couple of my favorite tunes.

Then I turn and head for the bar. Crow is on the other side of the bar.

He likes to mix drinks and still does it for fun sometimes.

He got a taste for it back when he was prospecting.

I come out and slide onto one of the barstools.

“Your mom got the boys tonight, Crow?” He glances up at me and grins.

“Yeah, my twins are hell on wheels. She’s the only fuckin’ person they listen to. I’d give a lot to know her secret.”

“If you ever find out her secret, be sure to pass it along. It’s the kind of intel every brother’s gonna need some day.”

He just laughs and asks, “You drinkin’ beer tonight, Ghost?”

“You know it, brother. I like to keep it simple.”

He pours me an ice-cold draft and slides it across the bar to me. “Enjoy. And let me know if you need a refill.”

“Will do,” I tell him before turning around in my barstool to see who’s coming and going.

As the overhead fan spins overhead, cooling me down, I take a long drink of my beer.

My throat is parched, and it soothes the dryness away.

My shirt is damp with sweat and sticks to my back a little.

Truth be told, my muscles are sore from stretching over various vehicles all day.

But I like a little ache to remind me that I’m alive and kicking.

I leave the barstool and head to a more comfortable chair with a cushioned seat at a scarred wooden table near the back of the room.

This is one of my favorite tables because it gives me a decent vantage point to people-watch.

I like seeing my club brothers happy and relaxed.

They deserve it. And after spending eight hours on my feet, it is nice to stretch my legs out.

It doesn’t take me long to work my way through my beer. Just when I’m thinking about getting a refill, Patch comes over holding a tray.

“I grabbed you some steak and fries because you’re always hungry after your shift in the garage.”

“Damn, doc. They’ve got you running food now. Is there no end to your humiliation?”

Patch just laughs, a deep, genuine laugh. He’s actually our new club doctor, but he’s doing his time like a regular prospect. “Our club officers expect me to prove my worth, just like every other brother that joined this MC.”

“Yeah, I heard Rider was being especially strict about that,” I tell him empathetically.

“I don’t expect any special favors. I want to prospect just like anyone else. Besides, doing it this way I feel like I belong.”

I scratch the back of my neck, thinking they could’ve just given Patch duties better suited to his background, but I admire the man’s dedication. “I guess that makes sense. If you’ve got food for me, I’ll sure take it off your hands and be grateful for the offering.”

He lifts the plate from his tray and sets it down in front of me. “The steak’s medium rare, and the fries are fresh. And I saw you were getting low on beer.”

“Thanks, dude.” Sitting up straighter in my seat, I enjoy the scent of my food. My stomach growls—loud and ferocious enough for both of us to hear.

Patch chuckles. “Damn, Ghost. Time to get some food in your stomach.”

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled the food.”

“Well, I’m going to let you get to it.”

After thunking down the new beer mug, he shuffles off in the direction of the kitchen.

I throw a couple of fries into my mouth.

They’re hot, crisp, and salted to perfection.

It brings back memories of when I slaved over the brothers’ food as a prospect.

They fuckin’ loved my cooking. It was always Nick, make more of this, Nick, make more of that.

I could hardly keep up with the hungry bastards.

Now here I am—the one being served like a king.

I look down at the grime still lurking around my fingernails and cringe inside. I’ve got enough self-respect to want to eat with clean fucking hands, so I haul my hefty ass up and make my way to the restroom to have a more thorough go at cleaning up.

When I come back, Tusk is sitting on the other side of my table with a cold beer. I’m thrilled he stopped by to sit with me, but when his hand comes out to hover over my plate, it gets my hackles up. Just as I slide into my seat, he casually plucks up a fry and pops it into his mouth.

When he goes for another, I swat his hand away playfully. “Leave off my fries, you fat-fingered fucker.”

His eyes find mine, dancing with merriment. “It’s just one fry. Why you gotta be so greedy?”

I toss him a fry, which he catches midair and throws into his mouth. “I don’t remember you being quite this bold before. You been drinking all afternoon, or do you think I won’t beat your ass for messin’ with my food?”

Tusk gives me a feral grin. “You ought to know better than to abandon your food. I was just eating them before they went cold.”

“Don’t try to frame stealing my food as some kind of public service,” I tell him, trying to sound stern and failing.

“Damn, Ghost, didn’t know getting patched in would make you so fuckin’ dramatic.”

“I’m not fucking dramatic.”

I catch Patch walking by and ask, “Got any more food back there? Tusk is one step away from getting his ass beat for stealing my fries.”

Patch rolls his eyes. “Sure thing, Ghost. If there is one thing the Savage Legion is famous for, it’s keeping a plentiful table.”

“Yeah,” Tusk agrees. “It’s because being hangry makes us a little stabby.”

I smother back a smile as Patch wanders off to bring more food.

Tusk leans back and makes himself comfortable.

I cut off a slice of my steak and eagerly put it in my mouth.

This particular brother has a way of making himself at home no matter where he goes.

Tusk is the kind of man who’s comfortable in his own skin, lives in the moment, doesn’t take shit personally. I like his easy-going demeanor.

When Patch drops him off a plate of his own and another full plate of fries for us to share, Tusk digs in. I pick up my fork again, slice another piece of my steak off, and cram it into my hungry mouth. Perfect. I savor the nice juicy bite as I chew.

I’m right where I’m meant to be at long last. After a solid year of prospecting—protecting the clubhouse, fetching and carrying, making myself useful in every capacity possible—I’m now a full-fledged brother, on equal footing with the men I once served. I’ve finally found the place I belong.

Tusk speaks again, around a mouthful of food. “How’s it going with that cute brunette from the auto parts store? What was her name, Diane?”

“Don’t ask.”

He frowns. “She ghosted you, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, not wanting to talk about it.

“Well, shit,” Tusk grumbles. A short silence spins out between us as he crams another fry into his mouth. “That’s like the third one in a month, right?”

I grab my beer and take a big gulp, letting it wash away the shame. “Let’s just say I earned my damn club name and leave it at that.”