Page 6 of Her Outlaw Biker (Vanishing With the Rebel #2)

Ghost

I’m running.

Boots thudding through dust and rubble, gunfire cracking like whips all around me. The air stinks of sweat, sulfur, and something worse—burning flesh.

“Clear the corridor!” someone yells behind me. “Maddox, move!”

I pivot, shoulder to the wall, weapon drawn. A shadow flits across my scope, too small, too fast.

I fire.

The sound is deafening. Muffled screams echo down the narrow hall.

But it’s not a man that falls.

It’s a kid.

Big brown eyes frozen wide, a stuffed rabbit clutched tight in his tiny hands. Blood blooms like a flower across his chest. He stares at me as if he’s asking why.

I lower my weapon. My hands won’t stop shaking.

Behind me, someone claps me on the back. “Collateral. Keep moving.”

No.

I whirl on him, but now it’s not a fellow soldier standing there. It’s a corpse in a leather cut, skull half-missing, and in its place…

It’s Clover.

Her lip trembles. She’s crying. “Why, Ghost?”

I blink.

Now I’m in the desert. The sun’s a harsh, unforgiving blaze overhead. My mouth is dry. My hands are bloody.

There’s a pistol in my grip.

Clover stands across from me. Her white dress is stained red. Her hands are raised like she’s trying to calm me, but there’s fear in her eyes, real, gut-wrenching fear.

“Please,” she whispers. “Don’t.”

I scream, try to throw the gun away, but it won’t move. My finger’s locked to the trigger.

I pull it.

The sound splits the world apart.

She falls.

I lunge forward, too late, always too fucking late…

I wake up choking.

My chest heaves like I’ve been drowning. Sweat trickles down my neck, soaking into the sheets. My heart is beating like a jackhammer in my rib cage. For a second, I don’t know where I am. My hands reach instinctively for a weapon that’s not there.

Then I see her.

Clover.

She’s still asleep, curled up on her side, hair a golden mess against my pillow, one arm tucked under her cheek like a kid. The sheet’s slipped low around her hips, baring the curve of her back and the sensuous dip of her ass.

I sit up slowly, raking a hand through my hair, swallowing the sour taste of guilt still coating my tongue.

I’ve had nightmares every night since I left the military, but none has ever scared me like this.

I forgot what fear really felt like until right now.

Not just because of the past I can never outrun, but because for the first time in a long time, I have something to lose.

Now, I care…

My jaw tightens.

“Fuck me,” I mutter with a ragged sigh.

Outside, the storm’s finally died. The world beyond these thin trailer walls is breathless in that eerie way deserts get after rain. Like the earth’s holding its breath.

Inside, everything’s different.

Inside, I’m not sure what the hell is happening to me. I drag myself to the edge of the bed and plant my feet on the floor, bracing my elbows on my knees. I watch Clover sleep, her breath coming out in soft, rhythmic pants.

She looks so damn young like this…too young, too soft for this world she finds herself in.

Too damn good for a man like me.

Yet…she let me touch her. Let me take her. Gave me a kind of trust I didn’t ask for and sure as hell didn’t deserve.

Her first time.

Christ.

I close my eyes, dragging a hand down my face. I should feel guilty. Should feel like the bastard I am for letting it happen. But I don’t. I feel…possessive. Grounded. Like something inside me finally locked into place the second I slid into her heat and she whispered my name like she meant it.

I didn’t just take her body last night. I claimed her.

And she doesn’t even know it yet. Hell, maybe I didn’t know it either until now, but it’s as real as the blood in my veins.

She’s mine.

I glance over my shoulder at her again. She hasn’t moved, but her lips part a little, lashes fluttering. She’s dreaming. Hopefully she’s not caught up in something as gutting as I was. If I could crawl inside her skull and pull every bad memory out by the root, I would.

I reach out and brush a knuckle down her cheek, gently running the pad of my thumb over her plump lower lip.

Everything about her is so soft…

I wonder how she survived among men like Rigs, Cutter, and the other bastards in the MC. I know how manipulative they can be, how callous…and yet somehow she’s still standing. Still fighting. Still here.

“Clover,” I whisper. Just her name.

She doesn’t stir.

I could get up now. Make coffee. Check the perimeter. Pretend I’m still a ghost who exists out here alone and doesn’t get attached. But it’s already too late for that, isn’t it?

I’m not letting her go back. Not to her father. Not to the MC. Not to anyone who’d use her like a damn pawn just to settle a debt. I don’t know what the hell comes next. But I know this—she stays with me. I’ll burn down the whole damn world before I hand her over.

Something shifts in her face, a frown tugging at her brow. She turns toward me in her sleep, reaching blindly like she knows I’m not beside her anymore.

My chest cracks open.

I slide back into bed, careful not to wake her, and pull her into my arms. Her body instantly melts into mine like it’s always belonged there. She sighs soft and sweet against my neck, burrowing further into me. I press a kiss to her temple and close my eyes, letting her scent ground me.

I’ve killed for far less than the way she makes me feel. I promised not to take a life again, but for her, I’d pull the trigger without a second thought.

She’s mine now.

Mine to protect. Mine to keep.

And God help anyone who tries to take her from me.

She’s still asleep in my arms when I ease out of bed again, careful not to wake her.

My gut’s been chewing itself raw all night. I can’t ignore the feeling any longer, especially not after that nightmare. Something doesn’t add up…the ambush, the timing, the Iron Vultures sending her down here for something so small…

No, this isn’t just about clearing her father’s debt. There has to be a catch.

I grab my burner phone from the drawer and step outside. The desert’s quiet, sun already climbing. Heat crawling in. Buzzards circle high above like they know what’s coming.

I dial a number I swore I’d never use again.

It rings once.

“Thought you were dead,” comes the voice on the other end, gravel-thick, half-surprised, half-annoyed.

“Close enough,” I mutter. “Rafe. I need intel.”

“Jesus, Ghost. It’s been what, three years? You crawl outta your grave just to ask for a favor?”

“Not a favor. Truth.”

He goes quiet for a second.

“Alright. Talk.”

I glance back at the trailer, heart thudding. “A girl showed up at my door. Said she was sent by Rigs. Her daddy owed a debt. Rigs wanted her to find me. Said it’d clear the books.”

Rafe whistles low. “So they finally made their move.”

“What move?”

Another pause. Then he says, “You ever wonder why the Iron Vultures left you alive, Ghost? After what happened in Mexico?”

I clench my jaw. “I figured I went ghost before they could decide.”

“No. They let you go. Fed your name to the Feds behind your back. Made you the fall guy for that botched op—guns, cash, two dead agents. You remember that?”

My stomach turns. “They pinned that shit on me?”

“Yeah. You were the cleanup man. The only one who knew how to disappear. They figured if the Feds ever came knocking, they’d point at you and keep their hands clean.”

“Fucking bastards,” I mutter, pacing in the dirt. “And the girl?”

“Bait,” Rafe says flatly. “To flush you out. Rigs didn’t think you’d come back on your own, so he sent someone you couldn’t ignore. She’s probably got no clue what’s really going on.”

“She doesn’t,” I say, voice rough. “She’s just a scared kid trying to save her old man.”

“Then get her the fuck away from them. Fast.”

“Too late,” I mutter. “They already came for us. Looked like a rival MC. But it was too clean. Too surgical.”

“You ever hear of the Ted Devils?” Rafe asks.

“Yeah. But they don’t operate out here.”

“They do now. Or at least, the Iron Vultures want people to think that. It was them wearing Devils cuts. Meant to muddy the waters and keep their hands clean.”

My fingers twitch around the phone. “So they want me dead and buried before the truth leaks?”

“Exactly. There’s chatter about a hit going down tonight. Quiet. Precise. No survivors. You and the girl both.”

My blood turns to ice. “She didn’t sign up for this.”

“They don’t care. She’s a loose end now. You both are.”

I grip the phone so tight I hear the casing creak. “How many?”

“At least six men. Maybe more. Rigs is not taking chances.”

I look toward the trailer. Clover’s silhouette is just barely visible through the window, curled up in my bed. Still sleeping. Still innocent, even after everything.

“I won’t let them touch her,” I growl.

“Then you gotta move fast, Ghost. You’re sitting on a goddamn landmine.”

“I owe you.”

“You owe me a bottle of whiskey and to stop being a stubborn son of a bitch. Now go.”

I hang up. Every part of me is buzzing now, instincts flaring like they used to overseas, before the club, before the chaos. Just pure, lethal clarity.

The call left a bitter taste in my mouth. I stand there a minute longer, staring at the dead phone like it might say something else…something better.

But it doesn’t.

The Iron Vultures. Those bastards faked a rival ambush just to get a shot at me. And Clover…she was just the bait. A pretty decoy tossed into the fire. They knew I wouldn’t be able to resist saving her. They were counting on it.

And now they’re coming.

Tonight.

I grind my teeth, shove the phone into my back pocket, and head to the tiny kitchenette at the edge of the trailer. I crack a window for air and move on autopilot—eggs, toast, a couple pieces of jerky from my stash.

She’s going to need food in her belly. Hell, we both are.

I glance back at the bed. Clover’s still out cold, one bare leg hooked over the blanket. She looks so…peaceful. And vulnerable as hell.

Too vulnerable.

I plate the food and set it down on the rickety table, then move to the bed. For a moment, I just stand there, watching her sleep. It does something to me…twists something deep in my chest. This girl has no idea the kind of storm she’s caught up in.

But I’ll do anything to keep her safe. That’s for damn sure.

I lean down and press a kiss to her temple. Then another, just at the corner of her lips.

She stirs, lashes fluttering. “Mmm…Ghost?”

“Morning, little bird,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Time to rise and shine.”

She blinks up at me, confused, still half dreaming. “What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I slide an arm under her back, helping her sit. “I made breakfast. You’re gonna need all your strength. We’ve got a long day ahead.”

She frowns a little, but doesn’t argue. Just nods and stretches, the sheet falling away from her bare shoulder. I make myself look away before I do something foolish, like crawl back into bed and forget the world’s trying to burn us alive.

While she eats—quietly and delicately, like she’s not used to someone cooking for her—I unzip the storage bench and pull out my old army duffel. The weight of it is familiar, grounding.

I lay out my weapons one by one. Pistol. Another pistol. Combat knife. Ammo. The sawed-off shotgun. My hands work fast, muscle memory from a life I never fully left behind.

Behind me, Clover speaks up, voice soft. “You’re loading up.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

Slowly, she sets down her fork. “What’s going on?”

I hesitate. I could lie. Say it’s just a precaution. Say it’s routine.

But I don’t want to lie to her.

“We need to leave,” I say instead. “Soon.”

She watches me, eyes steady, then nods. “Okay.”

No panic. No protests. Just trust.

I look at her again. really look at the wild, brave little bird who showed up at my door with secrets and fire in her eyes. She’s more than a girl caught in the cross fire now. She’s the only thing keeping me from slipping back into the dark.

“Finish eating,” I say quietly. “Then pack light. We’re not coming back.”