CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jolt
The silence in the room is deafening, broken only by the slow, steady drip of blood hitting the concrete floor.
Aggie stands motionless, her eyes fixed on Trevor's unconscious form.
The barbed wire wrapped around his body glints dully in the harsh overhead light, each point glistening with fresh crimson.
I watch her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction.
Her face is a mask, unreadable, but I can see the slight tremor in her hands, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she struggles to keep her breathing steady.
"Ghost," I say softly, using the nickname that's become second nature. "You don't have to look at him."
She doesn't respond, doesn't even blink.
It's like she's trapped in some kind of trance, unable to tear her gaze away from the man who hurt her so badly.
I move closer, placing myself between her and Trevor.
My voice is low, intense, as I speak. "I'd do this a thousand times over for you, you know that? It doesn't matter who it is. Anyone who thinks they can touch what's mine, anyone who tries to hurt you—they're dead. No questions asked."
Aggie's eyes finally meet mine, a mix of emotions swirling in their emerald depths. "Jolt, I?—"
"It's my job to protect you," I continue, my hands coming up to cup her face. "But it's more than that. You're everything to me, Ghost. Everything. And this fucker? He never should have laid a finger on you."
A single tear escapes, rolling down her cheek.
I brush it away with my thumb, my touch gentle despite the violence that surrounds us.
"I don't know how to feel," Aggie whispers, her voice barely audible. "Part of me wants to run. But another part..."
I nod, understanding. "It's okay to feel conflicted. This isn't an easy thing."
She takes a shaky breath. "Is it wrong that part of me wants to see him suffer?"
"No," I say firmly. "After what he did to you? It's human. Natural."
Aggie's gaze drifts back to Trevor, and I can see the struggle playing out across her face.
The compassionate woman she's always been, fighting against the raw, primal need for vengeance.
I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, drawing her attention back to me. "Whatever you decide, I'm here. You say the word, and I'll end it. Or we walk away right now. It's your call, Ghost."
She's quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching mine.
Then, with a soft exhale, she makes her decision.
Widow's gruff voice cuts through the tension. "Any sick fuck who did that to you will do it to another. No doubt about it."
I glance at Widow, noting the hard set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes.
As a father, I know he's seeing this through a different lens—imagining if it had been his own daughter, Zoe, in Aggie's place.
His hand rests on the butt of his gun, a clear indication of where he stands on the matter.
Turning back to Aggie, I watch as she processes Widow's words.
Her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit I've come to recognize.
I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms, to shield her from this brutal reality, but I know she needs to make this decision on her own.
My mind races, torn between my duty as a member of the Reapers Rejects MC and my growing feelings for Aggie.
The clubhouse, our home, seems a world away from this grim chamber.
I think of the life I want to build with her, wondering how this moment will shape our future.
"Ghost," I say softly, using the nickname that's become so natural. "Whatever you decide, I'm here. You don't have to carry this alone."
Aggie takes a deep breath, her emerald eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. "Aye, Widow's right. He does deserve it."
I nod, relieved and proud of her strength. "I made sure you didn't have to watch the torture, Ghost. If you don't want to see this, you don't have to."
She turns away, her blonde hair swinging with the motion. "I don’t want to see it."
I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands clench at her sides.
My heart aches for her, knowing the weight of this decision.
I pull out my gun, the metal cool and familiar in my hand.
Trevor's unconscious form is still before me, covered in barbed wire and blood.
For a moment, I see red, remembering what this piece of shit did to Aggie.
My finger itches on the trigger.
"This is for my girl," I think, aiming at Trevor's head.
The sound of the gunshot echoes through the room, loud and final.
Aggie flinches at the noise but doesn't turn around.
I holster my weapon and move toward her, my steps quiet on the blood-stained floor.
Coming up behind her, I resist the urge to wrap my arms around her waist.
Instead, I lean in close, my lips near her ear.
"Trevor won't ever bother you again, or any other woman," I murmur, my voice low and intense.
She turns to face me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Thank you, Jolt," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "For protecting me, for being willing to do these sorts of things."
I shrug, trying to lighten the mood. "It's my job, darlin'." But even as I say it, I know it's more than that. I'd move heaven and earth for this woman, club be damned.
Widow's gruff voice cuts through the heavy silence. "We gotta head back to the club, prospect. We'll get this cleaned up later."
I snap my head toward him, confusion knitting my brows. "What's going on?"
Widow's face is etched with concern, an unusual sight that sets my nerves on edge. "Paulie just rolled up with his family. Some shit went down. We need to get back to the clubhouse, pronto."
My mind races, trying to piece together what could've happened.
Paulie's one of our most reliable informants at the moment.
If he's showing up with his whole family in tow, it can't be good.
"All right," I nod, turning to Aggie.
Her emerald eyes are wide, a mix of worry and exhaustion clouding their usual fire. "You okay to ride, babe?"
She squares her shoulders, that Scottish stubbornness shining through. "Aye, I'm good."
We file out of the butcher shop, the stench of blood and death clinging to our clothes.
Widow locks up, his movements quick and efficient.
The night air hits us, cool against my skin, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head.
As we mount our bikes, I can't help but steal glances at Aggie.
She's perched behind me, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
Despite the circumstances, her touch sends a jolt of electricity through me.
The ride back to the clubhouse is tense, the roar of our engines doing little to drown out the thoughts racing through my mind.
What kind of shitstorm are we riding into?
Who the fuck knows, but one thing I do know is that we’ll deal with it, no matter what.
As we dismount, I notice a beat-up minivan parked haphazardly near the entrance.
Must be Paulie's.
Inside, the air is thick with tension.
Paulie and his family are huddled in a corner, looking shell-shocked.
The rest of the brothers are scattered around, their faces grim.
Aggie squeezes my arm, her voice low. "I'm going to head back and help Sienna clean up from painting. See if she needs more help."
I nod, grateful she won't have to witness whatever's about to go down. "All good. I'll catch up with you later."
As she slips away, I can't help but feel a pang of longing.
Part of me wants to follow her, to lose myself in her warmth and forget about the chaos brewing around us.
But duty calls, and I've got a job to do.
I head inside the clubhouse with Widow just as Damon clears his throat.
His gravelly voice cuts through the tense silence. "Now, say what happened again."
I shift my weight, eyes darting between Damon's stoic face and Paulie's trembling form.
Paulie's clutching one of his kids, a little one, no older than five, like a lifeline.
His wife sits nearby, a girl of maybe seven on her lap, while a newborn sleeps in a car seat at her feet.
The picture of domesticity, shattered by fear.
"It... it was Serpent," Paulie begins, his voice cracking. "He found out I was feeding the club information."
My fists clench involuntarily.
Serpent—the Kodiak MC Prez.
That motherfucker's been a thorn in our side for too long.
Paulie swallows hard, continuing, "They... they burned down our house. Serpent probably thought I was inside."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Jesus Christ.
I've seen some fucked up shit in my time with the club, but torching a family home?
I glance around the room, taking in the reactions of my brothers.
Widow doesn’t seem surprised in the least bit, while Dixon looks like he's aged ten years in the last ten minutes.
The kid in Paulie's arms whimpers, and I'm struck by how small, how fragile they all look.
These aren't hardened bikers or ol’ ladies who know the threats that come with club life.
They're innocents, caught in the crossfire of our world.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath.
This changes everything.
It's one thing to go to war over territory or business, but when families get involved?
Hell, that's when shit gets real.
Damon nods slowly, his eyes hardening. "Yeah, he probably did think you were inside. Sick bastard."
The tension in the room is palpable.
I can feel the anger radiating off my brothers, a living, breathing thing.
Paulie's wife clutches their daughter tighter, as if she could shield her from the danger that's followed them here.
Damon's gaze sweeps the room, landing on each of us.
When he looks at me, I see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
He's weighing options, calculating risks.
This is why he's our president.
In moments like these, he's always ten steps ahead.
"All right," Damon says, his voice low and controlled. "I'll make a call. We've got connections south of the border. I can probably get you and your family to Mexico."
Paulie's eyes widen, hope flickering across his face for the first time since he arrived.
His wife lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging with relief.
But Damon's not finished. "There's a catch, though. You'd be one of us, Paulie. You'd be prospectin' like the rest of these guys have."
I can't help but smirk at that.
We've been prospects for what feels like forever, jumping through hoops to prove our worth to the club.
But this?
This is different.
Paulie's not just looking for a patch—he's looking for salvation.
Damon continues, a hint of amusement in his voice, "Hell, they've been prospectin' too damn long if you ask me."
My heart skips a beat. Is he saying what I think he's saying?
I exchange a quick glance with Turmoil, seeing the same surprise mirrored in his eyes.
As Paulie processes Damon's words, I find myself torn.
Part of me is thrilled at the prospect of finally earning my patch, of truly belonging. But another part of me knows that bringing Paulie in, protecting his family, it's going to bring a shitstorm down on all our heads.
Paulie takes a deep breath, his gaze darting between his wife and kids before settling back on Damon.
His voice is rough with emotion when he speaks. "We'll take it. The spot in Mexico. We'll leave as soon as we can."
I watch as his wife clutches their newborn closer, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
It's a mix of relief and fear—I've seen it before on the faces of those who've had to leave everything behind.
Dixon steps forward, his presence commanding attention even in the crowded clubhouse. "We'll make calls first thing tomorrow," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Then, his voice softens slightly as he looks at Paulie's family. "Until then, we'll have our ol' ladies get you and the family set up. What size clothes do y'all need? We'll make sure you're taken care of."
I can't help but admire how much the club is willing to help others.
It just proves we’re good people, not scum like so many people want to think.
Paulie's wife speaks up, her voice barely above a whisper. "The baby's in newborn sizes. Our girl's in 3T, and our other girl's in 5T." She pauses, looking down at herself. "I... I don't know what size I am anymore. After the baby..."
Izzy steps forward, her braids swinging as she moves. "Don't worry, honey. We'll figure it out."
Her eyes, dark and determined, meet mine for a moment. I know that look—she's already planning, already thinking of how to make this family comfortable in the midst of their upheaval.
As the others start discussing logistics, my mind wanders.
I think of Aggie, of how easily it could be her in this situation.
The thought sends a chill down my spine, makes my fists clench at my sides.
I'd burn the world down before I'd let that happen to her.