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ONE
MASON “GHOST” BLACK
In the dim, smoky glow of the bar, I sit in a shadowed corner, watching her as she works behind the counter, filling drinks for the people of Hells Deep. The town is a forgotten place with not much going on—the perfect location for a motorcycle club like the Satan's Reapers MC to set up shop. Not everything the Reapers do is illegal, but there are plenty of activities that skirt the edges of the law, or outright cross the line. The club has a reputation for being ruthless and dangerous, but there's also a sense of loyalty and brotherhood among the members that is unbreakable.
I've been a member of the Reapers for several years now, ever since I got out of the Army. I've seen firsthand the things we're capable of. We're not saints, but we're not monsters either. We take care of our own, and we look out for the people in our town. But we also have enemies, and when they come after us, we don't back down.
“Damn, Ghost. How long have you been gone?” Joker asks, clapping his hand on my back to welcome me home.
I take a sip of my beer. “four months, give or take a few weeks,” I tell him. I’m too busy staring at the raven-haired beauty behind the bar to look at my best friend.
He clinks his beer bottle against mine and settles down next to me in the seat beside mine. “Earth to Ghost, you in there, buddy?”
“Shut the fuck up, Joker,” I grumble and look over at him.
He chuckles beside me. “What’s caught your eye over there, Big Guy?”
I nod at the bartender, my gaze betraying my fascination with the mysterious woman. "Who is that? I've never seen her here before," I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from her.
With a mischievous gleam twinkling in Joker’s eyes, he leans in conspiratorially, “That there is Clover Moore. She started working here a couple of months ago.”
“What do you know about her?” I question him, needing to know everything.
He shrugs. “Not much. When she first started, she was pretty skittish. But working around all these assholes, she’s toughened up a bit.”
Intrigued, I take another sip of beer, savoring the bitter taste as I contemplate my next move. The smoky atmosphere of the bar, the clinking of glasses, and the buzz of conversations fade into the background as I watch her work. “Is she claimed?” I ask, still staring.
“Her? Hell no.” He laughs loudly.
I turn away from my newfound obsession and level him with a glare. “What the fuck does that mean?”
He sighs. “Look, Ghost. She won’t let anyone near her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a cool chick, but don’t waste your time. We’ve got plenty of women here who are ready and willing,” He grins, pulling a woman who’s been hovering near us onto his lap. “Isn’t that right, baby?” He asks, then starts making out with the chick who has nothing on my girl. The two don’t even compare.
I look back up at the bar but don’t see Clover. She’s missing, and I’m instantly pissed and on high alert. I scan the crowded bar, my eyes bouncing from table to table, but don’t see her. The rational side of me tries to reason that she’s likely just taking a break from the chaos. Deep down, I know it's more than that. Something is wrong, and I can't ignore the nagging feeling in my gut.
Years of training in the Army taught me to rely on my instincts, and they’ve never failed me before. Now, they scream at me, warning me something is wrong. I need to know where she is and that she’s okay. I have to find her. “I’ll be back,” I tell Joker, but I don’t stop to see if he heard me. He’ll be busy with the chick in his lap for the next hour or two.
I head out the back entrance and find some asshole in Clover’s face. He’s screaming profanities at her, and she’s curled into herself, looking scared shitless. I’m already making my way in her direction when he raises his hand to her. Before he has a chance to swing, I grab his hand and yank it back until I hear something crack. Pop? Who the hell cares. I hurt him, and Clover is safe.
He screams like a girl and cradles his bad arm. “What the fuck?” He yells, but when he finally looks up at me, he backs up. His eyes go round as he looks my black leather vest over. I’ve got my Satan’s Reapers MC cut on like I do whenever I leave the house.
“Sorry man, I didn’t know,” He stammers, backing away from me.
“Didn’t know what?” I seethe. I’m seeing red. “That you shouldn’t put your hands on a woman?” I shout. I grab his shirt in my fists and shove him up against the brick building as his skull thuds against it. He winces but smartly doesn’t make a sound.
“Keep your distance from her. You don’t go near her ever again. Do you understand me?”
He nods.
“I don’t fucking hear you,” I growl, and shove my hand against the side of his face, knocking his head against the brick again. “Do you like being hit?” I growl. He shakes his head as best as he can in my grip. “Apologize.”
He looks over at Clover and is about to say something when I punch him in the face. “Don’t you fucking look at her.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
“Is that the best you’ve got motherfucker?”
“I’m so sorry, Clover! You won’t ever see me again. I promise.”
