branded (phantoms mc #2)

twelve: in which she doesn't tell ghost

"You say you'll never change; nobody can help you now" – Dylan Charbeneau & Graham Fink, Enough

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Someone had given Ghost the dumb idea of having live music on Wednesdays at The Wreck.

This was why I was currently being subjected to a crowd of female groupies who all wanted the same type of cocktail—"It's a pink drink, and it's hella strong!"—at the same time. Pink drink. So fucking helpful.

Ripper was working tonight as well, so I pulled him aside when I'd had enough.

"Everything okay?" he wanted to know, staring down at me with concern in his eyes. I rarely took a break only thirty minutes into a shift.

"Yeah," I yelled over the music. "I just need a break."

"Sure. Go ahead."

I breathed a sigh of relief and slipped under the bar top and into the throng of dancing people. I missed the regular crowd; the bikers I could chat shit with, the overworked nine-to-fivers who just wanted a cold one before heading home. These barely-twenty-ones pissed me off with their communal giggling and high-pitched voices. And also, the band tonight was trash.

It was cold outside, and I briefly considered going back inside to grab my jacket. Briefly.

The cold air was doing me good, though. I needed it. Inside, the bar was clouded with cigarette smoke, sweat and cheap perfume. Clearly, breathing was optional tonight.

I saw Sin materialize from the shadows like a demon.

"What is it now?" I muttered, already on the defensive.

He stopped a few feet away from me and leaned against the wall like I was doing. "Look, Pussy. I don't want shit to be weird between us," he replied, putting his hands up.

"Things aren't weird because I hardly see you. I'm cool with that."

"You're clearly gonna be in Ghost's life for however long," he continued, ignoring me, "so I guess I gotta deal, right?"

"Is that your apology?"

"I have nothing to apologize for," he said sharply. "I meant every fucking word."

"Great. Then leave me alone."

"Gladly. I just wish Ghost would do the same."

I wanted to say something, but what was there to say? Sin stalked off, leaving me to mull over his words. He made a pretty damn good point. Ghost needed to leave me alone. I needed to leave him alone. But maybe he'd started the detachment process, because we hadn't spoken since my kitchen run-in with Sin.

It was for the best.

Ghost would inevitably pry out information about Tyson's murder and his subsequent disposal in Mrs. Wilson's pigpen. He'd always had a way of getting things out of me that the most seasoned CIA interrogator definitely wouldn't have. But I couldn't put this shit on him. It was bad enough that he had to deal with what went down with Camila. He didn't need the added stress of a potential club war if it ever got out that Eve murdered a Cursed member.

Then there was the fact that Eve was...broken now. She wasn't broken into a million scattered pieces, the way Camila was. No, she was broken in only an Eve way: Baking every single fucking day, which made Leo easily and quickly adore her. Skipping work to play with him. Saying the most asinine things, like, "Pussy, we should sit and have dinner together. Like a family," each and every damn night. Camila hated it, because she hated anything that involved anyone but Leo and me. She was still incredibly antsy, and now we had her nightmares to throw into the mix.