Page 145 of Moonlight & Mayhem

Levi was hit in the chest, and Ghost dragged him through the dirt, down the back alley. His hands were covered in blood, and he screamed Levi’s name the whole way as though that might bring his brother back to him. By the time the other guys arrived, Levi was gone, and all Ghost could do was sit in the middle of the alley, holding his foster brother against his body. He was alone again, and that made his heart hurt.

That night, Ethan Kane died too. He stopped smiling, stopped laughing, and stopped letting anyone get too close to him. His MC brothers started calling him Ghost because he moved like one—quiet, dangerous, untouchable. And he let the name stick.

Ghost never fell in love. There was no point—not really. Women were distractions, warmth for the night, but nothing he let get under his skin. Every time someone tried, he remembered Levi’s blood on his hands, and the thought of losing someone again was enough to shut him down.

The only man who ever got past the walls he had in place was Jackhammer. Maybe because Hammer carried the same kind of emptiness, or maybe because they’d both buried too many people they cared about. Either way, Ghost trusted him, and that was a rare thing.

But deep down, Ghost still wanted what Levi never got to have—someone to fight for, someone to keep. He just didn’t believe it was possible, even after he had made that stupid deal with Jackhammer. They promised each other that they’d be patient and wait for the right woman to walk into the clubhouse. When she did, they agreed that they’d share her. That way, neither of them would have to go and get involved with a woman and take on something that they both wanted, but neither of them was prepared for—a relationship. He never thought that a relationship would work for either of them.

Not until Angel walked into Monster’s Madhouse and turned their worlds upside down.

Ghost had seen a hundred women come through the clubhouse doors. Most of them were loud, too made up, and chasing patches like they were tickets to heaven. They came, and they went, but none of them stuck around for very long. But when she walked in—Angel—he felt the air shift, and it felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

She moved like she belonged there, with her chin high, eyes sharp, hips swaying. She was hot as hell without even trying. Every head turned in the club, but she didn’t seem to give a damn. That was the first thing Ghost noticed about her. The second was the way she ordered her whiskey. No hesitation, no sweet mixers, no pretending. Straight. Clean. A woman who didn’t flinch.

He leaned against the bar, watching her. And he wondered if someone like her would ever give him the time of day. All he could do was try to get her attention, because he knew that if he failed, there would be ten other guys lined up behind him to take their chances with the beauty.

“I don’t usually see a woman drink whiskey straight unless she’s got stories worth hearing,” he said, voice low, smooth. Ghost hoped that his assessment of her might get him a second look, and it seemed to work. She turned, her gaze boring him with enough heat to make most men choke. Not him. He was used to staring ghosts in the eye, and this woman was definitely a ghost.

“Maybe I do,” she said. “But my stories aren’t any of your business.” Ouch, that one stung a bit, but his best friend was standing on the other side of her, ready to take his turn up at bat.

Jackhammer slid up beside her, steady as always. “Then maybe you’re in the wrong place. We don’t run from stories here. We drink to them.”

Her gaze moved between the two of them. Bold. Curious. Like she saw something under their kuttes and under their scars. Ghost almost laughed at her inspection of him. If she thought she could read him so easily, she was dead wrong.

He pushed off the bar, closing the space just enough to make her feel his presence. “Name’s Ghost. That’s Jackhammer. And you are?”

She hesitated, and he wondered if she’d actually give them her name. She had already blown him off when Ghost asked to hear her story. She seemed like she’d be a handful, and Ghost’s hands were itching to find out if that was true or not. “Angel,” she breathed.

The name coiled in his chest like smoke. Angel. It was a good name, but it didn’t seem to fit her. He had a feeling that she was anything but an angel. For the first time in years, the ice in him cracked—just a little, not that he’d admit that to anyone.

He was about to ask Angel if he and Hammer could buy her another drink when the front door burst open. A prospect stumbled in, blood on his shirt. “Hammer, Ghost—we’ve got trouble!”

Ghost’s hand went to his piece without thinking. Adrenaline hit, sharp and electric. “It’s a rival crew,” the kid stammered. “North road going into town. They have two trucks and are armed.” Shit—that was the last thing that the Toxic Monsters needed right now. They were trying to lay low and play by the rules for a while, but something like this wouldn’t allow them to do that.

The room shifted instantly—brothers grabbing guns, boots pounding against the floor, the hum of violence in the air. Ghost thrived on that hum. He was born for it, shaped by it. But his eyes didn’t leave Angel. Most women would’ve bolted. Screamed. At the very least, gone pale. But she stood there—jaw tight, eyes lit, her hand curling into a fist on the bar. Ready, steady. Like she’d seen worse.

“She doesn’t flinch,” Ghost muttered, almost to himself. Jackhammer’s jaw ticked, seeming to catch the same thing.

Ghost slung his kutte on, loaded his weapon. His body was already humming with the need to ride, to bleed, to end whoever thought they could touch his club. But the thought that threaded through his mind, louder than the chaos, was one he hadn’t felt in years. Don’t let her go.

Angel had walked into their world, into his shadows, and she hadn’t blinked or been scared off by him or Hammer. Ghost didn’t believe in fate, even though he lied to Hammer and told him that he did. How could he believe in something that he had no power to control? He couldn’t—not anymore. Ghost had decided once he left foster care that he’d never give up his control ever again. But for the first time since Levi died, he felt the old hunger—for something permanent, something worth fighting for. And tonight, with blood about to spill, Ghost knew one truth—Angel was already his.

“Do me a favor and stick around,” he whispered into her ear. Angel gifted him with a smile, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign.

“And why would I do that?” she asked.

“Because you’re the best thing to happen to me—to us,” he said, nodding over to where Hammer stood waiting for him. “Just hang out here, Angel. My friend and I will make it worth your while,” he promised. She smiled again and shook her head. Ghost’s heart sank.

“Fine,” she whispered, “I’ll stick around for an hour, but no longer.” Ghost nodded his agreement. He could kill some mother fuckers in less than an hour and get back to the bar in time to convince Angel to give him and Hammer a chance—he was sure of it.

Angel

Angel Sanchez walked into the biker bar, not sure if it was a good or bad idea that she was there. Her life had turned to shit lately, and losing her job was just the icing on the cake that had her spiraling. She wanted a night out to be carefree and ridiculously ignorant of the world around her. She could worry about all her problems in the morning, but tonight, she just wanted to forget. And what better way to forget about her shitty life than to find a willing man to play with? Angel just wasn’t counting on two willing men, but it only seemed to make things twice as fun—at least she hoped that was the case, because if they were serial killers who weren’t going to give her a hot night of sex, she was going to be pissed.

“You two aren’t serial killers, right?” she asked.

The big one—Jackhammer laughed, and Ghost just shook his head at her. They were getting along well when a young guy ran into the bar, bloody and shouting something about a rival gang shooting. She should have gotten up and left right then and there, but there was something about the two big bikers who were talking her up that had her glued to the barstool. And when the one named Ghost asked her to stick around and wait for him and Jackhammer to get back, she found herself agreeing to give them an hour before she gave up waiting for them.