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“Ghost upstairs?” Monster asked.

“Monster,” Jackhammer said his name in warning.

“Holy shit,” Monster breathed. Angel started laughing, and Jackhammer rubbed a hand over his face. Monster slapped the bar. “You fuckers actually did it.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Jackhammer asked.

“Do what?” Angel asked.

“Whatever the hell this is,” Jackhammer said.

Monster grinned at Angel. “These two idiots have been talking about finding a woman to share for months.” Angel's laughter stopped.

Jackhammer wanted to strangle his Prez. “Monster.”

“What?” Monster asked, feigning innocence.

“You talk too damn much,” Jackhammer said to his Prez.

Angel looked at him, then toward the stairs, and then back at Jackhammer. “You planned this?”

“No,” he said.

“You just said—” she started.

“We talked about it,” Jackhammer interrupted. “We didn't plan on you, though.” Something about that seemed to calm her just a little.

Monster took a drink of coffee. “Anyway, Halloween party's in three weeks.”

Jackhammer frowned. “Four.”

“Three and a half,” Monster corrected.

“You're rounding down now?” Jackhammer asked.

“I'm the Prez. I can round however the fuck I want,” Monster said. Angel smiled, and Monster pointed toward the skeleton. “Larry's helping decorate.”

“Larry doesn't have hands,” Jackhammer pointed out.

“Don't discriminate,” Monster joked. Angel burst out laughing, and Jackhammer stared at him. Monster shrugged. “You brought her down here looking like she was about to bolt. I'm trying to help.” Jackhammer hated that Monster had noticed.

Angel walked over to the bar and looked at the skeleton. Larry wore a Toxic Monsters support shirt, sunglasses, and a cheap plastic devil-horn headband. “This is disturbing,” she said.

“Thank you,” Monster replied.

“That wasn't a compliment,” she insisted.

“I took it as one,” Monster said. Jackhammer leaned against the bar. The Halloween party had been an annual tradition for as long as he'd been patched into the club. Monster went overboard every damn year. Cobwebs, skeletons, fog machines, and pumpkins. Women in costumes that barely qualified as clothing. Usually, Jackhammer couldn't care less, but this year suddenly felt different.

He looked at Angel. “What are you doing on Halloween?” She stiffened. There it was again—that strange flash of something in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or sadness. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“I don’t have any plans for Halloween,” Angel admitted. Monster whistled under his breath, but Jackhammer ignored him.

“Come here,” Jackhammer said.

“To the party?” she asked.

He shrugged, trying to play off the fact that his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest. “Yeah.”