Page 37 of Ghost

Istood with Trigger beside the open rear doors of the Bellamy truck, watching Tamsin, the manifest braced against one forearm, check each numbered seal as the last cases were secured inside. The warehouse fire had left the rear section unusable, and the access breach made keeping controlled material there an invitation for whoever had already walked through company security twice. Bellamy’s secondary storage property had reinforced magazines, individual access, and on-site Black Crowns, so the shipment would be safer once it reached the other end. Canceling the transfer would tell anyone watching that we no longer trusted Bellamy’s schedule, while moving it as planned gave the crew left short by the interrupted fundraiser theft a target too tempting to ignore.

I watched Tamsin bend to compare a seal against the number on her page, the denim over her ass tightening enough to make every useful thought compete with the memory of that body naked beneath mine. Two nights had done nothing to blunt the effect of knowing I had been her first. I adjusted my stance before Trigger noticed where my attention had gone. The bastard saw damn near everything, and I had no interest in giving the brothers fresh material while Tamsin was still within hearing distance. Stryker would call it a distraction. I considered it motivation to finish the job and get her home.

“The count is verified, every seal matches.” Tamsin closed the manifest with a decisive snap before turning toward the company driver. “I should ride with the truck.” Her vivid blue eyes moved to me before anyone else could answer, which meant she already knew who intended to ruin that plan. “I signed the transfer, I know what’s inside, and it falls under my safety responsibilities until it reaches the other property.”

“No,” I refused, holding out my hand for the manifest.

Her chin rose, and the stubborn set of her mouth made it clear she had expected more than one syllable. “That was a remarkably detailed explanation.”

“You’re welcome.” I stepped closer and took the manifest when she tried to turn back toward the truck. “You verified the load, route, and seals. Now you’ll monitor Bellamy dispatch from the compound with Cipher.”

“I can monitor the shipment from the passenger seat,” Tamsin argued, reaching for the paperwork when I lifted it beyond her fingers. “If something is damaged or a seal breaks, the driver needs someone who knows the cargo.”

“If this crew hits the truck, the cargo won’t be my first concern with you sitting beside it.” I lowered the manifest but kept it between us, forcing her to look at me instead of climbing inside while my back was turned. “You’ll have the live dispatch screen, the inventory list, and Cipher beside you. You’ll see every change made through Bellamy’s system, and he’ll pass anything important over our comms. But you’ll be behind walls thick enough to make me happy.”

Her mouth tightened because the arrangement left her no honest argument about being excluded. She could see every company-side change as it happened and make the calls only her expertise allowed, but she would be behind the compound gates rather than inside a box truck we expected armed thieves to attack. Tamsin hated the logic enough that frustration brightened her eyes, and I liked the fire even while I refused to feed it what it wanted.

With that decided, I took her back to the compound while the sealed truck remained under guard at the warehouse.

Stryker, Hawkeye, Nomad, Trigger, Wraith, Smoke, and Breach were already gathered around the route map in the operations room, with club vehicles marked on parallel roads and likely interception points circled. Cipher had Bellamy’s dispatch system open across two monitors at a second station, one screen showing the approved route and the other tracking the company truck.

Prez looked around the room once everyone was in place. “Ghost owns the road after that truck moves. His call, you fucking follow it.”

“Nomad runs ahead and keeps the route clean.” I traced the main road toward the secondary Bellamy property. “Trigger and Wraith stay close enough to cover the truck without sitting on its ass. Hawkeye takes the rear cage with Smoke and Breach. Prez holds the forward cutoff near Quarry Cut.”

Stryker gave a short nod.

“If they move on the cargo, we keep the driver breathing and the truck sealed,” I continued, looking from one brother to the next. “Nobody gets stupid chasing a runner while controlled material is sitting in the road. We take whoever we can, mark anyone who gets loose, and clean up the rest after.”

“Where’s the fun in not getting stupid?” Smoke asked, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

Breach looked over at him. “Your idea of fun usually ends with somebody digging your bike out of a fucking ditch.”

“It came out fine.”

“It came out in pieces,” Hawkeye corrected.

“Still came out.”

I left before the brothers could turn the briefing into a full debate over Smoke’s relationship with gravity. Tamsin was waiting in the lounge, and I guided her into the secure room.

Cipher waved her over, and she sat beside him with the route glowing across the screens and displeasure written into every delicate line of her face.

She checked the information, spoke to the driver through the company system, and gave the final authorization for departure before looking up at me with obvious displeasure.

The glare she gave me would have burned the skin off a lesser man. I braced one hand on the back of Tamsin’s chair, tipped her chin up with the other, and kissed the corner of her mouth before she could sharpen the next argument. Her breath caught as my thumb dragged once across her lower lip, and I enjoyed the sweet, startled parting of her lips.

I wanted to lock the door, shove one hand beneath her shirt, and remind her exactly how well she responded when my requests became orders. The flush spilling beneath her freckles told me the thought had crossed her mind too, but the brothers waiting outside and the shipment ready to move made indulging it a poor use of time. I let my thumb linger for one more second, then forced my hand away.

“The truck may become a rolling target,” I explained, keeping my voice low. “If you’re inside, every brother on that road has to choose between the cargo, driver, and getting you clear. You know how that would go.”

Tamsin’s expression softened when she caught my meaning.

“So you know what the safer choice is.”

She sighed, and her shoulders eased as she accepted the same conclusion I had. “If dispatch changes anything, I make the call.”

“You make the company call,” I agreed, brushing my knuckles beneath her jaw. “We handle the road.”