Black Dogs Motorcycle Club: Full Series Box Set (45 page)

“You boys need to be in Eagleton
in three days.”

~ FOUR ~

Bridget

As Bridget laid another paper on top of the
ever-growing pile on her coffee table, she felt a sense of despondence sink
down on her like a wet wool coat. It felt like she wasn’t making any headway at
all; like all the energy she was expending today was just evaporating into the
atmosphere. She had really hoped to relax and untangle the growing dread in her
mind over the weekend, but life just wasn’t playing along like she wanted.
Already the sun was on its way down. The day had escaped her somehow.

She moved the pile of
yet-ungraded papers off her lap and carefully capped her red pen, putting them
both in a neat pile on the coffee table. The coffee in her mug was already more
cold than hot, but she drank it anyway. It didn’t improve her mood. She took
off her glasses and rubbed her eyes in deep circles, trying to conjure back
some little bit of energy and focus. The papers weren’t challenging, but the
student’s answers were starting to blend together.

This happened sometimes.
Her concentration would fade once the warning bells in her head, the ones she’d
earned from becoming a solider, had been set off. Those bells had kept her
alive and in one piece when she found herself in unexpectedly dangerous
situations overseas, but back home, they only made life more complicated. For
the first few years back, Bridget had felt out of place, like she was a wolf
among sheep. But time and experience had changed her view; she realized there
were more wolves at home than anyone ever wanted to admit. Danger hadn’t stayed
in the desert. It stalked everyone, all the time, no matter where they were.
Maybe she was still broken somehow, but she figured everyone was, in some way.
At least her problems kept her relatively safe, if lonely.

But she couldn’t put her
finger on what was setting off the bells this time. It was something distant
and far-away, something blurry.

Bridget kept her own life
squared away very neatly. She’d been a teacher at The Academy of Il Santo della
Florentina for almost six years now, and had established herself in the
community as a capable and trustworthy educator. It only took a year or two to
realize there wasn’t a single man in her social circles in LeBeau worth wasting
her time on romantically. The ones she could stomach were already taken, and
the rest never could settle with the fact that she was a soldier, a Marine, and
had probably already lived a far more dangerous life than they ever would
themselves. So instead, she kept a very small social circle of colleagues who
always remained at a safe distance from the solitude of her home. She took care
of herself, and of Gramps, the only family she still had around here.

No, the danger wasn’t to
her. She ran a tight ship. But someone else was sending out distress signals,
and Bridget was picking them up.

Bridget took a few deep
breaths, trying to clear her head. She picked up her phone and thumbed through
her contacts until she reached the Shadyside Retirement Community. They had a
private line for family of residents to address concerns with a liaison. The
one assigned to Gramps was called Bonnie, and she was the one who picked up
Bridget’s call.

“Hey, listen, I need to
ask you something,” she said to Bonnie after passing the security clearance
tests.

“Sure. What’s on your
mind?”

“Has Gramps been acting
okay? Does he seem like himself?”

The sounds of Bonnie’s
fingers on her keyboard filled the silence for a moment. “I’ve only seen him
myself once or twice in the past month, and he’s seemed fine to me both of
those times. According to his file, here, there’s nothing unusual… no reports
of changes in his health or temperament. No significant notes or cause for
concern. He’s made all his medical appointments. Did something happen to worry
you?”

“No, no,” said Bridget,
frustrated. She bit her thumb. “Do you know Ghost?”

“Those hauntings are just
rumors, the kids make them up—”

Bridget laughed. “No,
sorry—Ghost McBride. He’s… well, a visitor, I guess. Big guy, shaved head, he
hangs around with Gramps and his war buddies?”

“Oh!” said Bonnie with a
high-pitched squeak. “
Ghost
, yes, of course. Who doesn’t know Ghost?”

“I guess I’m late to the
party, as usual,” Bridget muttered.

“Beg pardon?”

“What’s Ghost’s story—do
you trust him?”

“Sure!” said Bonnie, typing
away at something as she spoke. “Ghost has been coming up here for quite some
time now. He spends time with the residents, and I know John Mueller in the
service area is very keen on him ever since he fixed their broken-down shuttle
in a pinch about a year back.”

Bridget frowned. “
Really?”

“Yes, he’s a very helpful
young man. It’s not unusual for members of the Black Dogs to perform volunteer
service up here at Shadyside. The father of one of them was a resident here
before he passed.”

“The Black Dogs—is that
his motorcycle club?”

“Yes, like you see on TV
sometimes—but without all that Hollywood gunfire and sex. Don’t you know they
always make that stuff up for the ratings?” Bonnie laughed.

Sure, lady
, thought Bridget with a
smirk. “So you don’t think I should be worried about Ghost being close to
Gramps?”

“I wouldn’t be, no,” said
Bonnie. “But if you’re really concerned, I’d be happy to escalate this for you.
Residents and their families are our number one priority.”

Bridget shook her head.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. Ghost didn’t do anything wrong. Like I said,
I didn’t see anything worrisome, I’m just… crossing all my T’s, I guess.”

“You’re a wonderful young
woman,” said Bonnie. “Sid is lucky to have you looking out for him. Is there anything
else I can help you with today?”

“I think I’m good. Thanks,
Bonnie.” Bridget hung up her phone and threw it on the couch, defeated.

Hearing it from Bonnie
only made her surer that it wasn’t Gramps that was in trouble. Bridget had to
admit, she hadn’t really suspected Ghost was a bad guy—at least, not in any way
that put her family in trouble. If he was in a biker gang, he was most
definitely doing bad guy things. But it didn’t seem like he brought that
trouble to Shadyside.

The memory of his handsome,
smirking face rose in her mind, and Bridget felt both excited and annoyed.
Honestly, it wasn’t just the feeling of doom that was nipping at her
concentration like teething puppies—it was thoughts of Ghost, too. It had been
a very long time since any man had caught her interest in such a way that she
didn’t instantly forget him when he was out of sight.

She’d thought about him
all night Friday as she ate a light dinner, drank tea, and caught up on the
shows backing up on her DVR; he was in her mind the second she woke up Saturday
morning, and she almost brought those thoughts with her to the shower. If she
was honest, it was throwing her a bit off-kilter. The men around here were so
boring that he was like Technicolor in a black and white world.

Getting hit on by men was
nothing new for her. Even in the military where she worked so hard to be taken
seriously, there were cocksuckers among the ranks who only saw her as a piece
of ass. Ghost being attracted to her wasn’t world-shattering. But something else
about him—his razor wit, his big smiling eyes—had seeped through the hairline
fractures in her mind’s walls. But she couldn’t decide what she wanted more—to
kiss him, or to slap the smirk off his face.

Suddenly, Ghost’s name
seemed very appropriate, because Bridget felt haunted by him.

“Ugh, girl,” she said to
herself with a sigh before forcing herself up and grabbing her coffee mug. She
took a small break and brewed another pot, lazily watching the birds in her
backyard picking at the freshly mowed grass. She thought about going out for
dinner, but her yoga pants were just a bit too comfortable to seriously
consider that option, so instead she took some chicken out of the freezer and
left it in the sink to thaw.

Her mind felt a little
clearer when she returned to the couch with a fresh, steaming cup of black joe.
As she lowered herself cross-legged on the couch, Bridget noticed her phone was
alight. She had missed a call while she was in the kitchen from a number she
didn’t have stored in her contacts.

Bridget sat and put the
coffee down as she thumbed through the phone with her other hand. The number
was local, and for a second her heart skipped a beat and she thought:
Ghost
.
She waited, staring at the phone in her hand, hoping an alert for a voicemail
or a follow-up text would pop up. Every passing second made her feel more and
more like a fool.

How would he even have
your number, dummy?
She thought, shaking her head.
You think Gramps is just
handing it out
?

Feeling silly, she put her
phone down on the table. But before she could pull her hand away, the phone lit
up again—the number was calling back.

Heart in her throat,
Bridget answered the call. “Hello?”

The other end was quiet,
but not silent. She could hear the rustle of cloth, and the faint sounds of
breathing.

The warning bells in
Bridget’s mind turned to air raid sirens. She sat forward fast. “Hello? Is
someone there?”

Whoever held the other
phone had it to their ear, but they wouldn’t reply. Instead Bridget heard the
smack of lips as they swallowed against a dry, tight throat. She could hear
rapid, shallow breathing.

Instantly the pieces
started falling into place. Most of the unknown numbers that called her
belonged to her students. She gave them her number so they could get a hold of
her if they ever needed her help. Bridget took her responsibility as a lifeline
for her kids very seriously and she had no problem helping them at all hours of
the night.

Judging by the sounds of
the breathing and quiet crying she could hear on the other end, this was not an
adult calling her. It was a child. One of her kids.

When she heard the
sniffling, Bridget’s heart tore in her chest. “Hey,” she said, trying with
great difficulty to keep her voice even. “Hey, this is Miss Dawson. Are you
from my class?”

The person on the other
end held their breath. It was as good as a yes for her.

Fuck, what do I do?
“Do you need help?” she
said. “What’s happening?”

The child began to breathe
again, this time with rapid intensity. They could no longer keep their crying
quiet, and tiny, piping sobs burst through the ragged inhales.

Three tears escaped and
ran like angry rivers down Bridget’s face. Before she could speak again, the
sounds of yelling erupted on the other end of the line. Even though the voices
were muffled and far away, it was clearly between a man and a woman. The kid on
the phone had to have been hiding from it; whoever this kid was, they weren’t
talking because they were trying to stay quiet.

Fear gripped Bridget’s
chest. Wrong moves in a situation like this could make everything worse. “It’s
okay if you can’t talk,” she whispered. “Just listen. If you are in a safe
place that’s hidden, stay there. Stay quiet.”

She jumped off the couch
and rushed to the kitchen. On her fridge was a list of numbers to various
agencies and businesses she kept on-hand to help her job, and near the top of
the list was the direct line to a personal friend at Child Protective Services.
She copied the number down with shaky hands on a post-it note. “You did good by
calling me. I can get you some help, honey, but I need to know who you are.
Your phone number doesn’t say.” She tried to keep her voice calm and quiet.

In the background of the
other line, the yelling grew louder. Bridget couldn’t make out the words being
said. Suddenly something wood and glass crashed loudly behind the sound of a
woman’s scream, and the caller on the line gasped with full voice and inhaled before
he could help himself.