Page 24 of Eternally Ginger

15

Ghoul

“How’s Ginger’s mom?” Spider’s voice asked in my ear.

“Doctors said she might have permanent brain damage, but they’re hopeful she might regain the ability to talk at least.”

“So, that girl still doesn’t know who she is?”

“No.” I sighed, placing the tiny box in the perfect spot, so there was no overlooking it.

“Damn, I hate that, Boss.”

“Me too,” I admitted, my finger hooking the curtain and pulling it back to check our driveway. “Fuck, where is that woman?”

“Today’s the day, huh?” he said in an all-knowing voice with a chuckle. “February nineteenth.”

“I guess we will see if she ever comes back home.” All of this was planned to happen on Valentine’s Day, but it was spent in the hospital at Karen’s bedside, which was where Ginger was now.

The well-known roar of her Softail rattled through our small apartment, and a genuine smile touched my lips. “She’s here.”

“Good luck, brother.”

“Thanks, Spider, for everything.” None of this would have been possible if he hadn’t sprung me from the pen over ten years ago. Of course, it was because of the hit he ordered that I was in there in the first place, but I didn’t dwell on that. To me, killing somebody for my club was never a burden. Being a member of the Royal Bastards Motorcycle Club was a privilege not everyone had. Our club was ever-growing across the nation, and there was no doubt in my mind, we would be all over the world soon.

Ginger opened the door, and a gleam of authentic happiness danced behind her eyes. I was one lucky son of a bitch, and I would spend the rest of my life proving it to her if she would let me.

“What’s all this?” she said in an almost inaudible voice.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” I beamed, nervously scratching the side of my neck and pulling at the collar of the dress shirt.

“I thought we agreed to wait until next year.”

“I didn’t agree to shit,” I clarified. “You said maybe we should wait until next year to celebrate. If you’ll recall, I didn’t answer.”

“You didn’t. Did you?” She grinned. Her fingertips traced the heart-shaped candy box, and her tongue wet her lips. “You’re a sneaky shit.”

I laughed. “Open it.”

As her hand lifted the lid, I bent down on one knee and prepared myself to do one of the things I never imagined I would.

She sucked in a shocked breath. “Is this?”

“Ginger, will you marry me?”

“For real?” she questioned, and I glared up at her.

“You are kind of ruining the whole storybook proposal here.”

“That’s okay. I don’t need any of that shit. The only thing I need is you,” she promised, holding her left hand out.

Being the dick I was, I cleared my throat. “So is that a yes?”

“No,” she replied in such a serious tone, I almost believed her. “It’s a hell yes.” She smiled, and I removed the ring from the small box in her palm, sliding it onto her finger.

There was no promise made that every day we would share would be perfect because we both knew that was unrealistic to expect. I would be lying if I didn’t say after learning what she put Kingsley through, she didn’t intimidate the shit out of me. I had tortured countless people over the time I’d spent riding with the Bastards, and never once did I jam a screwdriver into someone’s ear, not one time. Honestly, it made me think twice about leaving tools lying around our place, but I would take my chances. I was a president of the Royal Bastards Motorcycle Club, and she was my lethal old lady.