by Franca Storm
“No,” I insisted. “It’s nothing to do with my age. I have a right to know why the man who’s tasked with ensuring my safety and wellbeing thought it was okay to murder two guys like it was nothing, when they were already incapacitated. We could’ve escaped without you taking it there. I mean, should I be worried? Or, terrified, actually? Are you… unstable? Some sort of psychopath? It wouldn’t be the first time my dad’s befriended that type of person. You’d seemed sane enough when we met during your recovery, but I could’ve misjudged the situation.”
“You spoke my name in front of them. Repeatedly.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with—?”
“I had to silence them!” he snapped. “Permanently, Ashley! To protect both of us. I’m a ghost. I can’t have anybody knowing I’m still alive and kicking. A whole slew of assholes would be gunning for me and they’d never stop. While I could outrun them, you can’t. With you under my protection, you’d be put at risk, too. On top of that, if people found out your father was consorting with the likes of me, all hell would rain down on him. Hell from more than the Rogue Riders.”
I struggled to take his words in.
That was why he’d been wearing that oversized baseball cap. He was hiding. From the whole world, it seemed.
Oh God. I felt sick. He’d killed those guys, because of me! “I’m responsible for their deaths,” I gasped, slapping my hand to my chest. I could barely breathe with the knowledge.
“No,” he growled adamantly. “I put them down. You didn’t have a choice in the matter. It’s not on you.”
“It was because of me.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why didn’t my dad warn me you were coming, that you were a ghost now? I had no idea.”
“He tried.” He winced. “You didn’t answer his calls.”
Guilt slashed through me. “Oh my God.”
Looking back and forth between me and the road, he tapped my shoulder. Our gazes clashed and I saw him actually react as he saw the tears in my eyes. He looked… pained. “Hear my words, all right? You aren’t responsible for any of this. I killed them. Your father incurred their wrath.”
“I… I guess,” I eked out.
“The Rogue Riders caused this, Ashley. And, believe me, they’ll answer for it.”
I shuddered at his words. They were far from comforting. I knew exactly what it meant.
Something awful.
Something that would spill blood, take lives, and twist everybody beyond repair.
War.
3
~Wraith~
“YEAH, I’VE GOT HER,” I confirmed down the line to Scott, as I paced my living room, knocking back gulps of bourbon straight from the bottle.
“She all right?”
I cringed, knowing I had to tell him about the hit she’d taken.
“Finn?” he pressed, the anxiety in his voice palpable.
“The Rogues moved faster than we’d anticipated. Two of their enforcers made contact with her at her workplace.”
“WHAT?”
“She’s fine. I arrived in time to intervene before anything worse happened.”
A growl reverberated through the receiver. “Anything worse? They touched her then? Tell me!”
“She took a hit to her face. It’s gonna be fine, though. No stitches were needed. You can take comfort in the fact that they’ve been dealt with. Permanently.”
“Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, Finn. Know I swore you wouldn’t be doing that shit.”
“Forget it. It is what it is.”
“Still, I’m—”
“Scott,” I growled. “Drop it.”
There was a pause down the line, resistance, but then he grunted, “All right. I’ll let you go for now, yeah? Keep me posted and stay real close to my baby girl. Get her to call me as soon as you can.”
“Will do.”
We hung up and I tossed my phone onto the coffee table. I breathed a heavy sigh and slumped down onto my leather couch. Fuck. Him telling me to stay close to his daughter was a nightmare on so many fronts.
Being with her in the truck in such close proximity had been bad enough. Her sweet coconut scent driving me to distraction, that smoking body of hers, and that intoxicating innocence that just bled from her.
I needed to lock it up and get a grip.
The mission was all that mattered, all I could allow to matter.
Just focus on the task.
Sensing a sudden presence, my eyes snapped to the door, just as Ashley passed beneath the brick arch, returning from her trip to the bathroom. Those pouty lips of hers smiled a beaming smile at me, her gray eyes, such a rare shade, lighting up as she approached me. It had been an age since someone had been happy to see me. It was mind-boggling to me that such a soft little thing would feel that way about a bent bastard like me.
She shook out her damp, pink hair that flowed down several inches past her shoulders.
“Do you feel a bit better now?” I asked, as she made her way over to me, fiddling with the belt of the terrycloth robe I’d left for her.
She lowered herself hesitantly onto the spot beside me on the couch, hastily crossing her legs. “Yeah. It was nice and refreshing. Thanks for all the brand-new toiletries.” She grinned. “The toothbrush really came in handy.”
Yeah, the poor thing had chucked up all over the road. “Scott never mentioned anything about you suffering from motion sickness. Sorry.”
“It wasn’t that. I’m the daughter of a MC president, remember? I have my own Harley up at the clubhouse and I’ve been riding my entire life. Someone with motion sickness wouldn’t be able to stomach that.” She shifted her weight on the couch. “This… situation… it just hit me all of a sudden, I guess. It’s—”
“Overwhelming?”
Her eyes lit up at me getting it. “Yeah. Knowing that psychotic club is back in operation is a lot to process. I mean, the Rogues killed my mom when I was a teenager. They destroyed our family. Even twelve years later, they’re still the source of my nightmares.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands and she fiddled with her robe, pulling it tighter across her chest, blocking out every inch of skin, including the gorgeous tattoo that sat just above her breasts, spread eagle wings designed in black and a vibrant pink that matched her hair.
My gut twisted. A fierce protective instinct surged within me. It was more than just about the job. Seeing her so broken and vulnerable as she confessed such a twisted, tragic time in her life, called to something in me, something I didn’t understand. All I knew was that I wanted to take away the hurt, put that soft smile of hers back on her face, and destroy anything and anyone who fucked with that.
A long somber silence fell between us for some time.
I was the one to finally break through it, telling her, “Your dad wants you to call him.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Ashley.”
“No!” she snapped. “Once again, he’s screwed up my life. Do you get that?”
“Yes. I do.”
She started, seemingly surprised by my response.
Fiddling with her hands, she murmured quietly, “I will talk to him. About all of this. But not… yet.”
What could I possibly say to that? She had every right to be pissed. She’d just been torn from the life I knew she’d spent a long time building. She could never go back to it, not with the Rogues knowing exactly where she’d been.
And now she was stuck in hiding with a bastard like me.
It was a hell of a lot to process.
I’d let her have a little while, but not too long. The quicker she accepted the brutal new reality, the safer she’d be. If she fought it at every turn, it’d just endanger her, and make my job a hell of a lot more trying. She had to work with me.
But I needed to make her feel as comfortable as possible first to have any hope of that happening. I couldn’t just send her to a room and be done with it. I had to do what I hated. Engage, make smal
l talk and allow enough emotion to surface to give her some semblance of warmth and reassurance.
I pushed off the couch. “Let’s get you settled in your room and then I’ll make us some dinner.”
“Okay,” she said with a nod. “I am a little hungry after that roadside situation.”
I smiled and led the way out of the living room. “Follow me.”
4
~Ashley~
“A LITTLE HUNGRY, HUH?”
I jerked my head up at the sound of Finn’s voice, my heaping fork of potpie stilling just shy of my mouth.
I took him in from across the frosted glass table in his swanky dining room. The whole house was impressive. It was a three-story gray stone mansion on the outskirts of the little town of Langton. Designer furniture filled the space. Expensive artwork lined the walls. There were vaulted ceilings with exposed beams, giving that homely, natural feel. There was strategically exposed brick, archways, fancy lighting and top-of-the-line appliances.
We’d barely spoken a word since we’d sat down to eat. I’d been too consumed with my delicious dinner and he’d been staring off into space, his mind clearly elsewhere.
“I guess I was hungrier than I realized.”
“Good. It’s important to keep your strength up.”
“Why’s that? Gearing up for battle, are we?” I jested.
A dark look flashed across his face, a very unsettling look. His eyes left mine as he picked up his glass and took a sip of his orange juice. When he looked back at me, it was gone, a smile in its place. “Nah, of course not.” He shifted his weight. “I just meant, in general.”
Not nearly convincing.
Was a big battle coming our way? Was he expecting to go to war? I’d thought he was just keeping an eye on me, that his role in this was just to keep me out of the firing line, to protect me. Purely defensive. But that look… it had me thinking otherwise.
“Finn, is this—?”
“So, what made you get into tattoo design?” he asked, cutting me off.
I hesitated. Talk about a curveball. His abrupt subject change made it clear that he wasn’t going to discuss the situation. There was no point pushing it then. He’d just continue to dismiss it. Maybe once things settled down a bit, he’d be more open to it.
Fine. I’d wait.
For a little while.
I drew in a breath and told him, “Well, I’ve been sketching since I was a kid. It was an outlet for me, something I could escape to. I liked creating something brand-new from scratch. My dad encouraged it, because it kept me busy and out of trouble. In a world where I was always sidelined and kept in the proverbial corner, I guess, it gave me a way to express myself.”
“I get that,” he said.
“You noticed it when you were there recovering?”
He nodded.
“Huh. You really are more perceptive than most.”
“Yeah,” was all he said about it. He shoveled down the rest of his pie, then sat back with a satiated sigh. “So, you’ve explained the art aspect. Why tattoos, though?” he asked, folding his inked arms across his chest, in some sort of inadvertent emphasis.
“Well, growing up around a bunch of heavily-inked men probably had something to do with it. But, really, the feeling of making someone’s vision, something so personal and deeply meaningful, come to life right there before your eyes, knowing it’s something they’re going to carry with them forever… there’s nothing like it. It’s an indescribable rush.” I took a sip of my juice. “Plus, you know, there’s the whole power element of wielding a tattoo gun,” I joked.
“Fascinating,” he said, sincerely.
“What about you?” I asked.
He fiddled with his cutlery, lining up his knife and fork dead-center on the plate. “Best if we don’t get into all of that,” he answered, skillfully avoiding my gaze.
“I meant your current line of work, not all of that in the past,” I clarified. “You mentioned that you own a gym here in town, right?”
He noticeably relaxed. “Yeah, I’m trying to keep busy.”
“And in your spare time you act as a bodyguard to high-maintenance women everywhere.”
Rising to his feet and easing back his chair, he grabbed his plate and reached for my empty one too, piling them on top of one another. “You’re far from high-maintenance, Ashley.”
“Then you must have blocked out my tantrum earlier in the living room.” I rose to my feet, too. “By the way, I’m sorry. I’m not usually—”
“Relax,” he said, holding up his hand. “It was nothing. You’re handling things shockingly well.”
I followed after him into the sleek, modern kitchen, all high-end stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. He began rinsing one of the plates, then placed it in the dishwasher.
“Let me take care of it,” I said, stepping forward.
“I’ve got it.”
“It’s the least I can do after you cooked such a nice meal.”
I reached for the glass in his hand, thinking he would relinquish it to me and let me help. Instead, he held tight, my fingers inadvertently closing around his. I jolted at the unexpected contact.
His gaze speared mine, heat burning through me.
His thumb brushed the back of my hand, just that brief touch from him sending sparks of pleasure zinging through my body.
He was such an overwhelming force.
He had such a seductive way about him without even trying or actively turning it on.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t form the words to speak.
His hooded eyes drew me in, holding me captive, just the slight feel of his warm skin on mine causing desire to bloom deep in my belly.
And then he blinked, severing the charged moment between us.
He eased the glass from my hold and choked out unsteadily, “You’re my guest, Ashley.”
“Guest? It’s more than that.”
He stilled, his hand hovering inside the dishwasher. “You should get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
I stared at him for a moment, his refusal to make eye contact, to barely acknowledge my presence any longer, feigning great concern with sorting the dishes.
“Ashley,” he ground out. “It’s late.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, dejectedly. “It’s almost nine. Majorly late.”
I saw him tense.
And then he spun around, startling me.
He reached into his back pocket and shoved his phone at me. “If you’re still too wired to go to bed, take the opportunity to call your father.”
At my hesitation, he added, “Before he tears me a new one, considering I promised I’d have you connect with him right away.”
I didn’t want him facing my dad’s wrath, because of me. He didn’t deserve that.
I nodded. “I’ll use my own phone. Thanks, though.”
“Yours is no longer available.”
“What?”
“I tossed it when you took that brief nap in the car.”
“You did what?”
“It wasn’t secure. Mine is.”
I glared at him and snatched his phone. “Unbelievable.”
“The first priority is your safety. That’s going to infringe on your privacy sometimes,” he informed me, clearly wanting to lay down the rules right out of the gate, letting me know how it was going to be. Basically, his way. Period.
What could I really say? He was just doing his job, protecting me. “All right,” I offered. “I get it.”
“Good,” he said, evenly, our gazes clashing.
I couldn’t suppress a frustrated huff, which no doubt made me look like an immature fool, before turning on my heel and getting the hell away.
As soon as I was far enough away to have at least some semblance of privacy, I scrolled through to the only entry in his strange phonebook that was an actual name, rather than a series of numbered and lettered combos. Who coded their phonebook?
My dad’s full nam
e stared back at me.
I dialed and braced myself to deal with yet another stoic, ridiculously secretive, closed-off person.
5
~Wraith~
I RELAXED IN MY ARMCHAIR.
I eyed the bottle of bourbon in hand. The thing was still far too full for my liking.
I chugged back a few more burning gulps.
So much for my plan to stay sober all the while Ashley was here under my care.
Unfortunately, things were far more complicated than that. I just needed one night to sublimate, to get used to all of this.
Being pulled back into this messed-up world.
The killing.
Her.
The alluring beauty was doing a number on me.
Ashley Tate flew in the face of all of my tried and true methods of compartmentalization, my ability to shut down and do only what needed to be done without interference from any sort of emotional bullshit.
She was under my skin.
Hell, the truth was that she had been since she’d played nursemaid to me all those months ago.
She was a knockout, for sure, but it had little to do with that.
There was a jolting earnestness to her that made a closed-off, jaded bastard like me stand up and take notice. She’d seen the darkest parts of life, but she held tight to her innocence. She believed in the best in people, even though she’d experienced the worst that humankind had to offer. And she remained a force of optimism, despite the despair that often surrounded her.
All of that was exactly why I needed to keep my distance.
She was beautifully innocent and that didn’t belong in the hands of a monster like me.
Fuck.
I needed to get a grip.
She was a mission. The stakes were too high to screw around and blur the line between business and pleasure, protection detail and client.
At least she was in the guestroom and down for the night now. It was affording me time to get my head on straight and squash the remnants of the desire that’d flamed between us earlier.
Jesus Christ.
It had been intense. I’d never felt that intensity right off the bat with any woman. Even before I’d become a ghost, it’d always taken me a long time to warm up to people, to let my guard down. Maybe it had a little something to do with the fact that most of the people I’d come into contact with back then had been either full-on psychopaths or straddling the line.
