Unholy Ghosts by Stacia Kane

Yes, definitely Terrible. No wonder he’d blushed when she teased him about his sideburns. She’d never even thought of him as actually being interested in women. He seemed totally asexual to her, like instead of fucking he preferred beating people up. A silly assumption. He was a man, after all.
But then, she herself generally preferred drugs to fucking. In an ideal world she’d take both. So why expect he might not?
Taking a furious drag off her cigarette she turned away, intending to lose herself in the crowd until he was available for talking, but her heel caught a crack in the pavement and her slightly sore left ankle twisted. She didn’t fall, but the scrape of her shoe on cement and the tiny yelp she couldn’t keep inside was bad enough.
Heads turned. Including Terrible’s. “Chess. Where you been, girl? I waited outside your place hours, you never show.”
The little blonde gave Chess a look of smug venom. Bitch. If she pressed any closer to Terrible’s side she’d start to sink into him like some sort of lusty Siamese twin.
“I got stuck at work,” she managed. “Sorry. I didn’t have your cell number or anything, so…”
“Aye, okay. Remind me, I give you the digits.” He nodded toward the line forming at the door. The band must be getting ready to play. “You coming in?”
“Um, yeah. Thought I might, you know. Get a drink.”
If she’d ever pictured herself feeling awkward around Terrible, it was because she imagined him getting ready to break one of her bones. Not because she’d just caught him practically having sex against a building. She didn’t care that he’d been practically having sex up against a building, it wasn’t as though she wanted to be the one against the building with him or anything. It was just…strange. Like imagining one of the Elders getting it on with a Goody in the chapel.
He introduced her to the girl—Amy—and they shuffled their feet for another minute or so before heading up to the doors. Terrible never paid to get into anywhere, by virtue of who he was. Chess never paid either, by virtue of her tattoos.
Inside the club sweaty bodies crushed together under the reddish glow of the neon Exit signs and the filters on the stagelights like a torch mob out for blood. Chess tried to make her way to the bar but gave up after having her toes stepped on three times. Great. Her hand still ached, her ankle was weak, her toes crushed.
Getting through a crowd wasn’t a problem for Terrible. He shoved his way through like a plow through snow, and after the first few seconds people realized who he was and moved out of his way before he reached them. He parked both Chess and Amy in one of the booths at the far end and left to get drinks. He didn’t ask what they wanted. Beer was the only option.
“Chess. Hey. I thought you might be here.”
The words, practically shouted into her right ear, made her jump. Her discomfort did not ease when she realized who’d spoken them.
“What are you doing here, Doyle?”
“I like this band.”
“I’ve never seen you at one of their shows before.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ve never been to one.”
“They only play in Downside, as far as I know. Since when do you come here?”
She had to admit, he looked almost as if he belonged there. He was dressed in de rigueur black, from boots to jeans to thin car jacket. With his hair shining around his pale face his eyes seemed to leap out of their sockets at her.
“I come here sometimes. I thought maybe we could hang out.”
“You thought wrong.”
Terrible appeared, beer bottles dangling from his enormous hands. He didn’t speak, just stood like a tree next to Chess, staring at Doyle with one eyebrow raised.
Doyle offered his hand. “Hi.”
Terrible didn’t move. Doyle stood for a minute with his hand out before sticking it back in his pocket. Even the red lights couldn’t hide the color creeping up his face.
Terrible handed her a beer. “Cool, Chess?”
Was her body language that