After everything went down, Pres reached out to them again, pretending to have a change of heart. They agreed to meet up, but I think they only did it to feign interest in the guns, the guns I know they have.
Now here I sit, watching this meeting between my Ghost Rider brothers and the Five Aces play out. I’m only up here as back up in case shit goes down, but I’m itching for a shot. Rolling my shoulders, I try to push some of the tension from my body. I miss the shitty headsets I had in the Air Force, wishing I had ears on the ground. Now I have to rely on gut instinct, and I can tell things are getting heated. I can’t see any of my brothers’ reactions, with their backs to me, but all the Aces are facing me, and it’s getting intense. I train my gun on their VP, and I wait.
My world narrows down and I focus. I feel the wind against my skin, telling me how it will affect my shot. My breathing slows and I wait. I’m ready.
Then he does it. The Aces’ VP reaches for his gun, but he’s too late. I’d already taken the shot that hits him in his right shoulder. The bullet will destroy the ball-and-socket joint, and no surgeon on earth will be able to put it back together correctly. He’ll never use his right arm to its full function again. Good luck using one of my guns now, asshole.
Everyone jumps back and my Pres throws his hands in the air, yelling. I’m sure he’s telling them if they make another move I’ll start popping them off one by one. One of the Aces makes a move to go to his VP, and I squeeze the trigger. The bullet flies through the air and hits the concrete at his feet. Chunks of rock explode and he second guesses his move.
“You don’t move until I say,” I whisper to myself.
Pres points to the Five Aces VP, indicating for them to leave. When they finally clear out, I feel my phone vibrate against my ass. I reach back and pull it from my pocket.
“Cas, get your ass out of here. I’m sure the cops will show up soon if someone heard the shots. Don’t go to the club.” The line goes dead.
Crawling off my stomach I dismantle my rifle, putting it back into the box. I don’t have my motorcycle with me when I carry my rifle. I quickly make my way over to my truck and rub my chest as I climb in. The worst part about lying on the ground for hours is the pressure it puts on my breasts. Most women wish for bigger boobs, I, on the other hand, find them to be a hindrance.
Sliding the rifle under the truck seat, I fire up the engine and pull out, hitting the first highway I can. It’s still early and adrenaline is coursing through my veins. Only one thing ever fixes that. Sex. And it’s been too damn long.
Pulling my hair from my ponytail, I let the black strands fall loose and hit my shoulders. I’d love to head back to the club and hear about what was said on the ground, but the Pres told me to stay clear. Looks like sex it is.
Leaning back in my chair, I throw my booted foot up to rest on the table. The night is early and only a few people are in the bar. The same bar I always use when I’m looking for a quick and easy lay. Not only is it close to my little two-bedroom house, there’s also a cheap hotel next door.
This bar is my own place to unwind, away from my brothers. Sometimes I go with them to the bar down the road from the club, but never when I’m looking for cock. This place is mine. A place where no one knows who I am. I can sit back, enjoy a few beers and if I get lucky, see a few bar fights.
It’s better than heading back to my place alone with all this adrenaline still buzzing through my body. I’m sure in a few hours my brothers will be at our regular bar, Denim and Diamonds, but sometimes I feel out of place when trying to get laid there.
They call me Casper, the not-so-friendly ghost. They were calling me that before I was patched in. They like to say I pop up out of nowhere, and I guess the name just kind of stuck. Pres and most of the brothers had no problems when I got patched in years back. They knew me from our days in the service, and knew I was loyal to a fault. I saved their lives countless times. Times when they didn’t even know I was there, until the night air came alive with the sound of my bullets. But some of the other brothers did have a problem with me becoming a full member. The only female to be patched into the Ghost Riders. It’s nothing new to me. It’s something I’ve faced my whole life, so I let it roll off me now. I don’t give a shit if you don’t want me here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere unless the Pres gives me the order, or unless I end up six feet under. The club’s the only real family I’ve ever had.
I’ve spent years proving myself, first to my father, then to my country as I busted my ass training to be a sniper, and then when I first joined the Ghost Riders. Now I just don’t give two fucks. I know I’m the best at what I do. As does the Pres. That’s why when shit went down shortly after I got out of the service, and I still had fresh blood on my hands, he told me to get my ass to Kansas City, that he had a place for me. I was there the next day.