Aidan’s fingers dug into his t-shirt, tight enough to pop seams.
Ghost kissed the side of his head. “Love you.”
Aidan nodded, his tears hot against Ghost’s skin, sliding down his neck and over his chest, his heart.
He felt like he’d been given a second chance, one he didn’t deserve, to finally, finally get it right with his firstborn. He vowed not to mess it up this time.
~*~
Ghost was going stir-crazy. He was due for release in the morning, but he wanted to go home now. Sleep in his own bed, gun under the pillow, Maggie at his side, Ash screaming them awake at three a.m.
Every available surface of his room was covered with flower arrangements at this point. In vases, in baskets, in clay pots, one in an expensive crystal chalice signed from Ian and Alec. Why anyone thought he wanted flowers, he had no idea. (Though the gesture tugged at his reluctant heartstrings.)
Alone for the moment, bored out of his skull, he walked next door in his sweats and flip-flops, knocking once before he let himself in.
By contrast, Roman’s room had one arrangement: a small cluster of lilies in a white ceramic vase.
The man himself was sitting up in bed, dressed in sweats and a faded Harley shirt, watching crap reality TV.
Ghost propped a shoulder in the threshold, ignoring the way the positon pulled at his stitches. “Who’re the flowers from?”
Roman stared at the TV. “Kris. I think Maggie helped her pick them out. So thanks, I guess.” His voice was flat.
“Sure.” Roman didn’t offer any further interaction, so Ghost said, “She been by? Kris?”
“A few times.”
“You ever gonna ask her out properly?”
“No sense bothering her with that shit.”
Ghost sighed. “Roman.” He finally looked over. “Thanks for looking after my old lady. I mean that.”
Roman grimaced. “I oughta be the one thanking her. She’s the fucking Terminator.”
Ghost smiled. “Yeah, she is. And it’s hereditary.”
“Jesus.”
He moved deeper into the room, standing beside the bed. “So look. I’ve been thinking while I’ve been stuck here.”
Roman’s brows went up.
“You were right before, when you said I was the boss and that precedent didn’t matter. If you want back in…I think there’s a path for that.”
Roman opened his mouth –
“But only if you’re straight with me. The second you get squirrelly, is the second you’re out on your ass. And I’m gonna strongly suggest you think about getting an old lady. You ain’t gonna make it as a bachelor.”
Roman blinked at him, face carefully blank. “That sounds…more than fair.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“No. I won’t…boss.”
Epilogue
Six Weeks Later
Over the years, Maggie had learned a lot of things about ghost stories. The truest was this: They were always rooted in fact.
In the decades to come, the Lean Dogs would pass down stories of great foes: the Carpathians, the Dark Saints, and all those who would come after them. They would stand around fires, faces hot with alcohol, and tell tall tales about their twenty-first century outlaw Round Table, and all the dragons they’d slayed, cheering and wincing in turn. Modern day ghost stories for modern day legends. There would never be a shortage of dragons; when you were the castle on the hill, challengers came to your doorstep rather than the other way around.
Lucky for Maggie, her kind and her princes weren’t shining knights – no, they were more durable than that. They were hellhounds.
“Alright,” Ghost called down the line of bikes. “We roll out in ten. Say your goodbyes, and do one last check.”
Maggie’s stomach fluttered with nerves. Her boys were off to flush out the rest of the Saints and be rid of them for good. Knoxville wasn’t entirely sold on the cover-up story, but they had strong allies in Vince; in loyal friends around the community like Stella and Julian; like their stolen hitman, Reese, newly dedicated to whatever his new boss wanted; like old rivals turned reluctant friends, Roman and his boys committed to the cause.
The bikes were dazzling in the sunlight, black and sleek and wicked. The Dogs were tricked out in cuts and soft colors, wallet chains and rings glinting, modern-medieval, and nothing anyone wanted to mess with.
Ghost detached from the group and walked toward her. Her heart turned over like it had when she was sixteen, and she was smiling by the time he reached her, one hand going to her waist, the other resting on top of Ash’s head. She could just make out the flick of his eyelashes through his sunglasses.
“Hi, handsome,” she greeted, low and throaty, the way she knew he liked. She felt the vibration of a growl through his chest as he crowded into her, and through his lips as he kissed her, indecent, wet, and messy.
Quiet, just for him when he pulled back: “Be careful, baby. Come back to us in one piece.”
“I will,” he said, solemnly. He didn’t take it lightly, she knew, coming back to her. The knowledge was a comfort when she was alone at night, staring at the ceiling and praying for his safe return.
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He kissed her again. And the baby. And Ava, too, pulling her away from Mercy for a fast hug.
Ava came to stand beside her, Millie on her hip, as they watched their boys mount up.
“Mom, I think we might be crazy,” Ava said with a sigh, all dreamy, her lips swollen and pink from kissing Mercy goodbye.
Maggie knocked their shoulders together. They were bloody, the two of them, souls red with the lives they’d taken in defense of their men, their families, this club. A lot of things kept them up at night, but not those lives they’d taken. Maybe that made them sick. Twisted. Maybe there was something wrong with them.
But this was the life they’d both chosen, leaping in with both feet, eyes wide open, hearts throbbing wildly.
She smiled as the bikes started up, that perfect wall of sound. “Oh, I know we are, baby. The crazy’s never been in question.”
She wouldn’t trade it for a second.
THE END
~*~
This concludes this installment of the Dartmoor Series,
but your favorite characters will be returning soon!
Some of the loose ends left dangling were left for a definite reason. Be on the lookout for tie-in stories from
Ian, Roman, Kris, and others, coming soon.
Until the next ride, thank you so much for reading the Dartmoor Series. The Dogs can’t wait to get back in the spotlight.
~*~
Lauren Gilley is the author of twenty novels and several short stories. She lives in the South, quietly obsessing about fictional characters.
Get Connected:
Hoofprintpress.blogspot.com (blog)
Facebook.com/Lauren Gilley – Author (FB)
@lauren_gilley (Twitter)
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[email protected] (email)
Other Works by Lauren Gilley
Walker Series
Keep You
Dream of You
Better Than You
Fix You
Rosewood
Standalones
Walking Wounded
Whatever Remains
Shelter
Russell Series
Made For Breaking
God Love Her
“Things That Go Bang In The Night”
Keeping Bad Company
“Green Like The Water”
Dartmoor Series
Fearless
Price of Angels
Half My Blood
The Skeleton King
Secondhand Smoke
Loverboy
American Hellhound
Lean Dogs Legacy Series
Snow In Texas
Tastes Like Candy
ren Gilley, American Hellhound
American Hellhound Page 56
