Ghost was pretty sure all logic went in one ear and out the other the minute her fingers intertwined with his. How the hell was he supposed to be all pissed off now when all he wanted to do was smile goofily and stare at her ass? As she pranced and prattled in front of him though, he realized he could do at least one of those things. And man, it was a nice ass.
He’d heard a gist of what she was saying and he rolled his eyes. Did she forget that he came here often? How the hell did she think he got those pictures of her in the first place? Of course he knew the guy that owned the club. He went by Bones but Ghost had heard through the grape vine that he was born Francis, the fucker. Upon entering the club, Ghost had made his way in front of Isla, protectively almost. It was easy spotting him at the bar all fat and gross looking. Ghost gave the redhead a quick look before stepping into action.
There was a series of events that happened simultaneously. And lets just say there was very little talking, like Isla requested. Ghost’s hands wound up clenching the guys faux leather jacket and slamming him on top of the bar he rarely moved from. The threat he made was all over the place. From explaining that Isla was his now, to if the chunky monkey fat-tard didn’t lay off on her he’d be in for a real treat. A crazy treat that involved sticking the owner’s dick in scalding hot chicken grease—- still attached by the way, while butt fucking him with a pair of pliers. But that’d only be the beginning, and Francis really wouldn’t care to find out what other sick and twisted things the younger boy had in store. Because Ghost was crazy, and he explained that. How his mom was stuck in the 50′s where drinking and snorting coke was still a norm while pregnant so to say he had a few loose screws was an understatement. He didn’t want to find out just the level of crazy he could rise to.
Ghost ended it all with a peck on his cheek, a sarcastic wink, and a salute before grabbing a handful of beer nuts before whispering to him, “btw, I fucked your mom and I think she’s going to make me your new daddy.” He nodded at the fearful man who was now even too afraid to look in Isla’s direction. Ghost made sure of that as he swung an arm over her shoulder and made his way out of the club, not paying mind to all the stunned people watching him. “Oh, also, he’s a Trump supporter. I’ll leave you all with that!” He called out. Ghost knew this wasn’t America, but you didn’t have to be a citizen to hate the shit out of that orange baboon. That fact was proven when as they exited and a couple of men yelled ‘what?!’ in pure outrage and Ghost smiled as he heard the oncoming riot as they crowded the owner who was denying it all. He couldn’t hear it after awhile—- the sounds of punches was overpowering his protests.
“Scary enough for you?” He spoke after a moment, to the quiet redhead under his arm. He wanted to say he’d forgotten to remove it but, let’s be honest here, he was just enjoying the way she felt to him. Close.
Isla couldn’t tell if she was rendered speechless by the chilly Irish air shocking her system or the poison his words carried as he spat them at the victim. The whole time she’d stood wide eyed as ivory features held a stone cold expression.
Relief crashed into her like a tsunami as the stranger led her away from scene he’d caused. She hadn’t left the oddly comforting and warm embrace as they lingered in the dim lit alleyway. “Better than your practice round, that’s for sure” bitten petals parted as Isla caught the breath she hadn’t realise she’d been holding. “Here” she’d shifted out from under his arm, still keeping close proximity as she held out the camera she’d taken hostage. “Look, I’m sorry -- I shouldn’t have forced you into doing that... but thanks” petite digits wrapped around his wrist, squeezing swiftly before she pulled away. Before he could even reply the redhead had turned her back, desperate to flee the scene before he could grab her name. She wasn’t about to give him the power of knowing this secret and her identity.
