Ghost approached the gravesite. His stepbrother, Tommy, younger by only a year, had been dead two months, but this was the first time Ghost had gotten to visit the grave to pay his respects. He’d missed the funeral, unable to attend courtesy of the Jefferson County Correctional Facility. He’d been awaiting trial for some bogus assault charges at the time, unable to post bail.
Tommy had chosen the military. Ghost had chosen the MC. And their lives had taken very different paths.
The girl stood forlornly, staring down at the headstone. His stepsister, Tommy’s younger sister.
His eyes swept over her. She was seventeen, way too young to have lost the big brother she’d adored, no, not adored, worshipped.
When Ghost had been thirteen, his widowed father had remarried. Collette had been the woman’s name. And as if having a new stepmother wasn’t bad enough, she’d brought two children with her when she moved in. A son named Tommy, who was twelve, and a daughter named Jessie.
He and Tommy took to each other like two peas in a pod. They were close in age and just fell into an easy friendship, bonding almost immediately.
Jessie was a different story. He supposed it was because she was only eight. Which made her the perfect age to be nothing more than a tagalong pest to the two boys. Still, Ghost had looked out for her, taking her under his wing just the same. Even though she could be a little brat, pestering the fuck out of both Tommy and himself, she’d grown on him over time.
His eyes moved past her to land on the boy waiting by the car, leaning back against it in a bored manner. Some punk kid that Ghost could tell in one glance wasn’t anyone she should be hanging around with. He had ‘bad influence’ written all over him. Tommy would have run his ass off within five minutes. But Tommy wasn’t here to do that anymore, was he?
His eyes swept over her. She looked different. He wouldn’t exactly call her new look Goth, but it certainly had a dark, wild and reckless edge to it, so totally opposite of her. And he knew right away that her brother’s death had hit her hard and had left lasting scars. Collateral damage. That’s what she was. That fucking IED had taken out more than the four men in the Humvee. It had taken out their loved ones as well. Destroying lives and causing pain that was long lasting and far-reaching.
“Hey, Jessie.”
She turned at his soft-spoken greeting. She’d always been a brat, always a pain in the ass. Always getting in their hair. Always smarting off with more backbone than anyone he’d ever known. Now she just looked sad. No, not sad. Devastated.
“You okay?” What a stupid question he realized the moment the words left his mouth. How could she possibly be okay?
“I’m fine,” she whispered, turning back to the headstone. And then she let a bit of that backbone shine through, along with that snarky attitude he always remembered, “Just peachy.”
In reality he hadn’t seen much of her the last year and a half since he and Tommy had gone their separate ways. In fact, he couldn’t remember seeing her a single time since he’d joined the MC. She’d just turned sixteen the last time he’d seen her.
“Jess—” he broke off. What the hell did he say to her? His eyes moved to the headstone and the small bunch of wildflowers that she must have just laid on the grave. “He loved you.”
“Right. That’s why he left.”
There was anger in her tone, and that confused him. “You’re pissed at him.”
She looked at him then. “Yes. I’m pissed at him.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I’m pissed he left. Pissed he ever joined up. Pissed he had to go and fight and die.”
“Sweetheart—”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your sweetheart. Thank fucking God.”
“Christ, babe,” Ghost said in a stunned whisper.
She’d stalked off then, almost as if she was embarrassed by her childish outburst. Even in her grief, she knew she was out of line, knew he hadn’t deserved that.
Ghost shook the memory free, keeping up his vigil, watching the horizon.
He’d lost track of her after that. There’d been a few phone calls here and there, but for the most part, they’d lost touch. Until that one phone call that night months ago. He’d tried to call her back, but the number had gone straight to a generic voice mail. He’d left messages, but she’d never called back. He’d even called his father trying to get her mother’s number, thinking maybe he could track her down that way. But his father didn’t keep in touch with any of his ex-wives and didn’t have her phone number.
And now the fucking Death Heads were after her. How in the hell was that possible?
After about twenty minutes of standing guard, the muscles in his shoulders relaxed, and he turned from the door, satisfied that they were out of danger. His eyes met hers, drilling into them as he tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.
“Time for that talk.”
She looked at him with wide ‘deer-in-the-headlight’ eyes.