Page 1 of Ghost
Prologue
Mid November 2024, outside Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
I clocked her the moment she walked in the door of the seedy little dive bar on the outskirts of Oklahoma City. There were four of them, though I couldn’t tell you what the other three looked like because I only had eyes for her.
Her long dark hair fell down her back in waves. She laughed with her friends and while I couldn’t hear the sound, I could feel it in my soul simply by the smile that spread across her beautiful face.
She floated across the room with grace. My gaze never left her as she sat at a table, talking with her friends. When they got up to dance, I stood, making my way to the edge of the dance floor so I could watch her body move.
I held my whiskey in my hand, not to drink, but to keep me from reaching out for her. The clothing she wore did little to hide who she really was. Beneath the denim jeans, cowboy boots, and leather jacket was a lady.
She tried to hide behind the country music blasting through the room. She knew the line dances. Her body moved like she’d been doing it for years. But the freedom in her movements spoke of more. Ballet maybe. Like she had learned to twist her body to her will.
I wanted to bend her body to my will.
She wasn’t the type of woman that would fit inside my world. She wasn’t the kind you had one night with. But damn, what I wouldn’t give for that one night. No, she was the forever kind. The one you gave up your life for. The one you gave up your club for.
When I caught her looking back, I didn’t smile. I didn’t encourage her attention. She needed to know what—and who—she was engaging with. My tongue slipped out to run along my bottom lip as I let myself admire her body from head to toe. Letting her know exactly what I wanted from her.
That was her invitation. One night. Take it or leave it. It was all I had to offer someone like her. I didn’t expect her to accept. I expected a sneer, a disgusted look that would turn her away.
My dick, painfully encased behind my zipper, needed to see the holier-than-thou attitude a woman like her would have; anything to make him back down and realize he was barking up the wrong fucking tree.
She would never soil herself with a biker covered in tattoos. Long hair tied up in a bun at the back of my head. No, she went for the lawyers, the accountants. The boring ass men who would cheat on her any chance they got. Leaving her alone, night after night, in her gilded mansion that had every luxury a woman like her would deem necessary to live a comfortable life.
Women like her always went for the men who looked good on paper but treated her like a showpiece. Arm candy to make themselves appear as a family man while they hid their side pieces in high-rise penthouses their wives knew nothing about.
They didn’t tarnish themselves with men who would treat them like a whore in bed, making sure the pleasure they succumb to never left them wanting. A man who would worship them like a queen in front of others. Daring them to hurt her so he could lay their mutilated body at her feet like a cat bringing a mouse to its master’s doorstep hoping to be praised and caressed.
That was no less than what she deserved. To be idolized. To be lifted high on a throne.
Her body moved with the music, but her eyes never left mine. Even when her friends tried to get her attention, she answered whatever they asked as she bore into my soul.
I brought my hand up to my face, my thumb rubbing my bottom lip as I moved along the room watching her. She turned with me. A man came up behind her as she danced, his hands on her hips. Her hands covered his, but she didn’t push him away. That was her mistake.
She was mine.
Yet, another man touched her.
Her eyebrow cocked in a silent question, asking me what I would do about it. I smiled then. A salacious, feral grin, and I saw the shudder ripple through her body. The man moved closer, his head dipping too close to whisper something in her ear, thinking he was the source of her pleasure.
He was the source of mine.
I would take great pleasure in ripping his hands from his body.
No, that wasn’t a slip of the tongue. I would tear his arms from his body for touching her. I set my drink on a nearby table, my control shattered by her insolent expression, daring me to take what was mine.
I stalked onto the dance floor.
Only when I stood in front of her, did I let my eyes move from her to the man who had his hands on my possession. I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. One look combined with the primal growl that rumbled from my chest so loud it could be heard above the music and his face snapped up to mine.
I left no room for confusion. I was a master at hiding my thoughts. My face a blank mask, never letting my prey see my intentions. As an enforcer for the Silver Shadows MC, it was important that I kept my thoughts to myself. Never revealing the forms of torture I could inflict on my captive.
Only this time, I wanted him to know what I was capable of. I wanted him to see the pure rage that was coursing through my body. I wanted him to know he had risked his life by touching the woman I wanted. The woman I would have tonight.
His hands dropped so fast she lurched in the loss of stability. I reached out, pulling her against my chest as he staggered away. Fear marking his features as if frozen in place. I tracked his movements until he grabbed the jacket he’d left on a chair and stumbled out the door.
Only then did I peer back down at her again.
