CRASH: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Outlaw Series)

CRASH

Nicole James

CRASH

By

Nicole James

Published
by Nicole James

Copyright
2014 Nicole James

All
Rights Reserved

Cover Art
by Viola Estrella

Couple
Photography by Jenn LeBlanc / Illustrated Romance

Bikes
Photography by Kristina Afanasyeva

PROLOGUE

The blonde woman sat in her car at the traffic light. Her eyes, hidden
by her sunglasses, were constantly checking her rearview mirror. She’d tried to
slip away from the man pursuing her, dogging her steps, her every move. Somehow
he
knew,
he
always knew. How? How did he know where she went? Who she talked
to? What she bought? Where she ate?

She’d tried to outrun the car following her, as if that were possible.
She could never shake it. The man behind the wheel was just too good. No matter
how fast she went, or how she darted in and out of traffic, changing lanes,
making sudden turns, it always stayed on her tail.

And now she found herself stuck at a red light. She could see in her
side mirror the SUV two cars back, trying to look inconspicuous. The sun
reflected off the driver’s mirrored shades. Did he think she didn’t know he was
there, that he was
always
there?

She bit her lip, glancing up at the red light again and then at the
traffic. She saw her opportunity. A break in traffic was coming up. She could
run the light, and he would be stuck, waiting behind the car in front of him.
She jammed on the gas pedal, darting out and making a left turn. Horns blared.
Cars swerved. As she roared down the street, her eyes darted between the road
in front of her and her rearview mirror, watching to see if the driver of the
SUV would swerve into the oncoming lanes and try to pursue her, attempting to
run the light himself. She didn’t see him, so she quickly ducked down a side
street to the left, doubling back.

Taking a deep breath, and trying to calm her shaking hands, she tried to
think where she could go. None of her friends would help her anymore, they were
too afraid, and she couldn’t blame them. Going to the police would be next to
useless. Making a sudden turn, she headed her Mercedes in the direction of the
only place left that might help her.

Her last hope.

Ten minutes later, she pulled her car into a parking lot, praying to God
this worked, because if the Evil Dead MC refused to help her, she didn’t know
where else she could turn.

CHAPTER ONE

Crash
shut the acetylene blow torch off and flipped the front of his welding helmet
up. Stepping back, he admired his work. It was finally starting to take shape.
The twisted metal sculpture had begun to reveal a woman’s form, her face tilted
to the sky above, her arms and hair flowing back, and her chest thrust out.

He’d
cleared a large space to use for sculpting in the two-story industrial brick
warehouse he’d converted into a loft apartment. Pulling off the welding helmet
and gloves, he tossed them to the side and picked up a large canvas tarp. He
threw it over his sculpture, not ready for his MC brothers to see just what
he’d been spending all his free time doing.

Walking
across the polished concrete floor, he glanced at the clock as he pulled his
leather cut off the back of the barstool that faced the large granite island in
the enormous open-plan area. It was time to meet the guys. He grabbed his keys
and walked over to the metal freight elevator. Stepping inside, he slammed the
iron-gate closed and threw the lever to descend to the first level where he
kept his bike.

Twenty
minutes later, Crash met up with Cole, Red Dog, Wolf, and Cajun at a gas
station. He rolled to a stop next to them as they all sat on their bikes, Cole
casually smoking a cigarette.

“Thought
Angel made you give up those cancer sticks,” Crash teased.

“What
she don’t know, won’t hurt her. Will it?” Cole replied, his blue eyes squinting
through the smoke as he took a drag. His blonde hair hung just past the collar
of his leather cut.

“I
ain’t telling her, brother,” Crash laughed with a shake of his head.

“Damn
straight, you’re not.”

Crash
glanced around. “Where’s Green? I thought he was joining in on the fun today.
He’s always bitching about wanting to stomp some ass.”

“He’s
not answering his phone,” Cole stated.

“Knowing
him, he’s probably wrapped around some pussy and doesn’t want to drag his ass
out of bed,” Red Dog added.

“We’ll
swing by and pick him up. It’s on the way,” Cole said.

“Since
when is Green’s place on the way to Sonny’s?” Crash asked.

Cole
grinned, his thumb scratching along the scruff on his jaw. “That’s right, you
haven’t seen his new place.”

The
others laughed.

Crash
glanced around at his brothers, wondering what joke he wasn’t being let in on.
“Fuck. Every time that fucker moves, it’s to a worse dump than the place
before. Where’s he at now?”

Wolf
laughed. “Wait ‘till you see it.”

Cole
pitched his cigarette and fired his bike up. The others followed suit. They
pulled out, the five of them roaring down the street.

Ten
minutes later, they were pulling into a ratty trailer park on the east side.
Cole rolled slowly down the lane, the rest following. Crash noticed one
piece-of-shit trailer after another. The further back into the park they got,
the worse the trailers looked, if that were possible.

Cole
finally pulled into the dirt and gravel, next to what had to be
by far
the worst place of all of them.
But, sure enough, there was Green’s metallic-orange bobtail chopper parked next
to his other two bikes.

Crash
parked next to Cole and looked over at him. Cutting off his bike, he said, “You
have got to be shitting me.”

Cole
laughed.

“There’s
no way he’s got pussy in there. No chick would step foot in the place,” Crash insisted
as he swung his leg over the bike and stood. “Hell, all he’s missing is a
big-headed banjo-playing boy sitting on the front porch.”

The
guys collapsed into hysterics.

“You
would know. Isn’t that typical of where you grew up?”

“Shut
the fuck up, Dog,” Crash snapped.

Cole
got off his bike and headed up the porch steps, chuckling. “Well, come on. If
it’s good enough for carnival folk, it’s good enough for us.”

“Fuck,
carnies live better than this shithole,” Crash declared.

“Maybe
some of you should wait outside. Don’t want the place to tilt,” Cole suggested
with a grin.

“Hell,
maybe we all should,” Wolf advised, laughing.

“Could
be worse,” Red Dog mumbled.

“How
could this place be worse?” Crash looked at him, dumbfounded.

“Could
be parked on a hill.” Another round of laugher burst out.

They
all trouped inside, Cole not bothering to knock. “Green!” he yelled. Not
receiving an answer, he stomped through the tiny corridor that led from the
combination living room/dining room/kitchen, toward the back bedroom.

Crash
glanced around the place as he followed. The inside was just as bad as the
outside. Ratty gold shag carpeting, wood paneling, empty beer cans, overflowing
ashtrays and a shit-ton of crap piled around the place.

Red
Dog plopped down on a barstool that sat next to the counter, separating the
living room from the tiny filthy kitchen. He picked up a bottle of tequila
sitting on the counter, unscrewed the cap and took a long pull.

Crash
followed Cole down the hall, his shoulders barely clearing the walls.

Cole
entered the bedroom, stood next to the bed and kicked it with his boot. “Get
your ass up, fucker. We got shit to do today.”

Green
groaned and rolled over, flinging the arm of a woman off him.

Cole
leaned over and pulled the cover back to look at her naked back and ass. She
was out cold. “Nice ass. She one of Sonny’s girls?”

“Yup,”
was all the answer Green gave as he sat up, swung his legs over the side and
rubbed his hand over his face and the dark hair on his head, which was shaved
so close, he was nearly bald. His green eyes squinted over Cole to Crash. “You
bring coffee?”

“No,
we didn’t bring fuckin’ coffee, asshole.” Cole grinned and shook his head at
Crash. “You believe this fucker?”

Crash
glanced around the trashed bedroom. “
Shit, Green, you’re an embarrassment to respectable white trash like us.
Christ, e
very time
you move, it’s to a worse dump than the place before. At this rate, you’re
gonna be ‘living in a van down by the river’.”

“Fuck
off, dickhead.”

Red
Dog, Wolf and Cajun apparently heard the joke, because their laughter could be
heard coming from the next room. Red Dog yelled down the hall, “You save up
your money, Green, and maybe someday you can park a van outside and use it as a
guestroom.”

More
laughter followed.

“Shut
the fuck up, dickhead. Your ol’ lady will be my first guest,” Green hollered
back at him.

Red
Dog bolted off the barstool, barreling down the hall.

Crash
held him back at the doorframe, which wasn’t an easy feat when the man was
six-foot-four of angry pissed-off vengeance. His long beard and hair with its
tinge of red giving hint to his Viking ancestry.

“Let
me at the little fucker!”

“Relax,
Dog. He’s too ugly for Mary to touch.”

A
half hour later, they rolled into the parking lot of a new strip club called
Queen of Hearts. The six bikes parked in a line in front of the doors. Crash
threw his leg over his bike and turned to Cole. “So how long’s this place been
open?”

“Six
weeks,” Wolf replied from his other side.

“Yeah.
Six weeks too many according to Mack,” Cole added.

“So
what are we here for?” Green asked, yawning.

“Give
notice. We either get a shakedown from the new owners or he takes his business
elsewhere,” Cole explained. With the MC invested in Sonny’s Gentleman’s Club,
Mack wasn’t about to stand for the competition, not unless the MC was getting a
piece of the action. To make matters worse, this new place had opened up only a
couple of blocks from Sonny’s.

“I
hope they push back. I really feel like beating some ass and busting some heads
today,” Green grumbled, a hangover headache burning through his skull.

“We’re
here to deliver a warning. They get one warning,” Cole clarified.

“Nice
and polite like, huh?” Wolf scoffed.

“Right.
Then we come back for the beat down,” Red Dog chuckled.

“Fuck.
So why am I here?” Green growled.

“Shut
the fuck up, and come on. Or don’t you like strip clubs anymore?” Crash asked.

“And
who the hell was that sweet piece you had wrapped around you this morning?” Dog
asked as they moved toward the door.

“That’s
Angeline. One of Sonny’s new girls.”

“They
don’t last long before
you
tap ‘em,
do they?” Crash commented.

The
corner of Green’s mouth turned up in a cocky grin. “Nope.”

“She
any good?” Wolf asked.

“Absolutely.
Gives great fuckin’ head, too.”

“Shit!
You offerin’ to share?”

“Not
today, asshole.”

They
walked in the place. Unlike Sonny’s, this place lacked any class. In fact, it
exuded tackiness. This time of day, there was only one guy on the door. He
looked them over, saw there were six of them and wasn’t about to try to prevent
their entrance and sure as hell wasn’t going to demand the cover. Cole wouldn’t
have stopped if he had.

Crash
and the rest followed Cole to a table, center stage. The few customers the
place had, scattered to other tables when they saw the six MC members coming.

They
sat down. A moment later, a cocktail waitress approached to take their drink
order.

Cole’s
eyes ran over her, knowing waitresses could be a font of information, if he
used his charm. Going with that, he smiled up at her. “Bourbon, darlin’. Your
boss in?”

She
nodded.

“What’s
his name?”

“Artie.
Artie Gorman.”

“He
the owner?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Be
a sweetheart, and get him for me.”

She
nodded. “Yes, sir.” She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist gently, and
she turned back to him, her eyes big.

“He
treat you girls well?”

She
barely shook her head in the negative and whispered, “Not really.”

Cole
slid a card across the table and noticed how she glanced around the room,
checking to be sure she wasn’t being watched, before taking it. She read it.
“Sonny’s Gentleman’s Club?”

“It’s
a big step up from this place. He takes care of his girls. Tell him Cole sent
you. He’ll treat you right. The other girls, too.” He nodded towards the stage.

“Thanks,”
she whispered, pocketing the card and heading off.

Cole
turned back to the table. The guys’ attention was all on the dancer on stage.
Cole ignored the woman gyrating up there, his eyes instead sliding to the back
doorway, where the waitress had headed. He had a clear view down the hall. He
could see a big man grab a girl, obviously one of the dancers, by the arm and
maul her. Pinning her up against the wall, he forced a kiss on her while he
felt her up. Cole elbowed Crash, who looked back at him. Cole nodded toward the
hall.

Crash
followed the direction of his eyes and commented, “That ain’t right.”

“That
look like a man who takes care of his girls to you?”

“Nope.
That looks like a man who thinks he’s entitled.”

“When
he comes out, go have a word with the girl,” Cole ordered.

Crash
nodded. “Will do.”

A
few minutes later, Cole saw the waitress reappear, followed by the guy from the
hall. She gestured toward their table, and the man followed the direction she
indicated, spotting Cole. He headed over to their table. Cole sized him up. He
was in his fifties, a big guy with a beer gut and black rimmed glasses. He
looked smug and full of himself. Cole’s favorite kind. It was always a pleasure
to take his type down a notch or two.

He
stopped at the table and stared down at Cole.

“Have
a seat,” Cole issued the invitation, which wasn’t an invitation at all, but an
order. He nodded to an empty chair.

The
man glanced at the chair, but made no move to sit. “Got no business to discuss.
You want to drink and stay for the show, fine. Otherwise, you need to leave.”

Crash
stood up, so did all the brothers, except Cole, who just smiled up at the man,
not breaking eye contact.

“You
heard the man, sit down,” Crash growled.

The
man broke eye contact with Cole to glance over at Crash and the four brothers
at his back. “You try anything I’ll call the cops,” he threatened.

Crash
laughed.
“Right. Go
ahead…call the cops. It’ll take ‘em ten minutes to get here. That gives me nine
minutes to beat your ass.”