Crash (Twisted Devils MC Book 5)

by Zahra Girard

  Josie releases me, lets out an exaggerated huff, and rolls her eyes at Crash. “The Ghost Next Door isn’t even scary. I read that one when I was six, and I didn’t even have to turn my night light on once.”

  “No, it wasn’t scary, and that was the point. It was a good, sad story and R. L. Stine gave Hannah a great redemption. Plus, it was so good that that Shyamalan totally ripped it off to make The Sixth Sense.”

  Josie puts her hand to her chin, thoughtfully. “Maybe. OK. Maybe you’re right. But even so, I want Goosebumps to give me real goosebumps. And the best one is obviously Welcome to Dead House. It’s the first one, and it’s the best. Think about it. All those evil zombies. An entire town of them and they pick one family a year to trap and eat. So scary.”

  “You like ’em scary, huh, kid?” Crash says.

  “Heck yeah,” Josie says.

  “Crash, keep her away from Snake, please,” I say. Josie gives me a funny look, but Crash just nods.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” he says and then, grinning, he adds, “Aunty Vi.”

  Rolling my eyes, I put my arm around Josie. “Come on, Josie. Your mom sent me to pick you up. She had a bit of an emergency to take care of. So you will be staying with me for a few days and Crash and his friends will keep us company. We’re going to stop by your house to pick up a few of your things, and then you’re going to have a sleepover at my place, OK?”

  “Is my mom OK, Aunt Vi?” Josie says, giving me one of those all-too-perceptive looks that kids sometimes get when they sense something is wrong.

  I smile at her. It hurts to lie to her, but it would hurt even more seeing the pain on her face if I were to tell her the truth that her mother has been abducted by a knife-wielding maniac. “She is. She just had to go back to Cheyenne for a few days.”

  “Cheyenne?” Crash says.

  “Our old place,” Josie says, nodding sagely, as if my explanation makes all the sense in the world and now it’s up to her to explain things to someone naïve, like Crash. “Where we lived before we moved here to open the Timberline Tavern with Aunt Vi. I bet it had something to do with whoever bought our old house.”

  “Like the Dead House in Goosebumps? Are you and your mom undead, Josie?” Crash says.

  “Crash, my mom and I aren’t zombies. And, if I was a zombie, I definitely wouldn’t be in school. I’d be out doing zombie stuff, obviously.”

  “Sorry, kid,” Crash says. “Obviously you’re the expert on zombies.”

  “Obviously,” she replies.

  We get to my truck and I open the door for Josie, who hops inside right away and dives into reading her Goosebumps. Shutting the door, I turn to Crash, who is watching me with a sly smile on his face. The less like an asshole he acts, the more I like him. And I know that’s a dangerous idea and I should keep as far away from him as I can — well, once he’s done rescuing Kendra, that is — but I just don’t know if I can help myself. There’s a side to him, deep beneath the gruff and prickly exterior, that is charming and smart and almost not a dick.

  “So, Goosebumps?” I say.

  “Just because I’m an outlaw doesn’t mean I can’t have good taste. I cut my teeth on those books when I was young and found out I loved a good scare and an adrenaline rush. And, well, look where I wound up.”

  He flashes me another one of his bright, boyish smiles.

  When he’s like this, it’s so easy to see myself kissing him, losing myself in his embrace, and spending long days — and nights — in his company.

  I’ve been on my own for so long, that idea kind of frightens me. But with him, it feels right, too.

  “You know, you’re real sweet with her. Thank you for all your help today. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  “Well, the credit all goes to Josie. She’s a smart kid and easier to get along with than some adults I know.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be too long before she’s calling you ‘Uncle Crash’,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t plan on staying around long enough for that to happen. Now, come on, we have a lot of work to and we can’t spend all day here chatting.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to say goodbye. He mounts his bike, starts it, and whatever meaningless words I want to say to him would drown beneath the rumbling roar of his engine before they’d reach his ears.

  I hop into my truck and start it up. In my rearview mirror, I watch Crash drive away, heading towards Kendra’s house. I know he’s right, we don’t have much time, but oh, how I wish he were wrong.

  “I like him,” Josie says, watching Crash in the rearview mirror.

  “Me too.”

  And that could be a big problem.

  Chapter Eight

  Crash

  She’s waiting for me with hands on her hips when I pull into the space beside them in the parking lot of the Timberline Tavern. Eyes wide, more than a little angry, and a defiant tilt to her chin. Even furious, she’s more attractive than I’d like to admit. Which is exactly the reason I’m showing up here, late — more than half an hour behind her and my brothers in the Twisted Devils. My brothers all poke their heads out the door or put them up at the windows to give me confused looks as I kill the engine of my bike and hop off.

  But what none of them know is that this ride was necessary. I needed space to clear my head because, for a few moments back in the parking lot, when I was chatting with Violet and watching Josie happily read a good book in the front seat of Violet’s truck, things felt too good, too real, too normal. And that’s the kind of distraction I can’t allow myself to have.

  “You’re late,” Violet says.

  “I am. I was busy.”

  “What? Being an inconsiderate dick? Because you don’t have to go for a joyride to do that; you’ve done an outstanding job of it right here, without abandoning your friends and the people who need you.”

  “If you’d rather I leave, I can do that.”

  She folds her arms over her chest; she probably intends it to show that she’s angry, but all I can see is how her crossed arms accentuate her shapely tits. This woman is the kind of irresistible distraction that’s more than a little dangerous.

  “You know I don’t want that. I’m sorry to just snap at you, but I can’t stop thinking about Kendra. So, please, stay. Just let me get you and the others some drinks and then can you keep an eye on Josie for me?”

  “You want me to play babysitter?” I make it sound like I’m reluctant but, with the way her tits look I’d be hard pressed to actually say ‘no’ to this woman. And besides, Josie ain’t that bad of a kid to spend time with.

  “Yes. You, or Blaze, or Mack. Just while I finish getting everything ready to open up the bar again for tonight.”

  “You’re still working tonight? After everything that’s happened?”

  “Like you’re always talking about, I’ve got business to take care of. This bar is my life, Crash. I sunk my savings and inheritance into it, and so did Kendra. If I let things slack off or go to waste just because I’m worried about her, I’m throwing away everything that she and I worked so hard to build.”

  It’s the kind of answer has me nodding my head with respect.

  “Fine, I’ll watch the kid.”

  “You will?” Her face lights up, and the warmth cuts through the chill Colorado mountain air.

  “Yeah. We’ll sit and read Goosebumps. It won’t be so bad. You take as long as you need.”

  She throws her arms around me in a hug that makes any residual anger and resentment feeling melt into a puddle of something I’d rather not admit is damned close to affection. Or even something more.

  “Thank you,” she says, and then she plants another kiss on my cheek.

  “Don’t mention it,” I say.

  We head inside. The bar is still half a mess, but Violet’s done a good job of scrubbing away the blood — which is probably the first thing she did, so that Josie wouldn’t ask any troublesome questions — and the place just looks like i
t was the site of the world’s angriest rave.

  My brothers approach me as soon as I’m through the door. Mack’s got a bottle of beer in his hand and Snake is holding a nearly empty glass of what I’m sure is bottom-shelf whiskey.

  “What now, Crash?” Mack says, taking a swig from his beer.

  “You want us to go—” Snake starts.

  But I cut him off. “No, Snake, just no.”

  “—I was going to ask if you wanted us to search the town.”

  “Yes. Since you’re not offering to kill someone, yes,” I say, relieved.

  “That sort of thing is more my job, Snake,” Mack says.

  “Keep telling yourself that, Mack. But we both know which one of us is better at it,” Snake says. “And which one of us has gone soft since he’s become a father.”

  “I’d trust Sophia — or even Matyas — to pull a job before I sent you to do it,” I say. “But, let me just stop you both right now. Mack, I want you to go check in with Blaze, make sure everything is still good at Max’s repair shop. If Blaze needs a break, you relieve him. If not, I want you to go scout around. Maybe do a little surreptitious drive by of the Death’s Disciples clubhouse, see if you see anything. Snake, I want you to stay here. In the corner. Out of the way.”

  “Fine, but Josie and I were talking earlier about watching a movie. She wants to see Dead Snow.”

  “Dead Snow?” I say. “Do I even want to know what it’s about?”

  “It’s some Norwegian film. Arty. Classy. I thought it’d be good to teach the kid a bit of culture.”

  “Bullshit,” Mack interjects. “It’s about a bunch of fucking Nazi zombies massacring students in the mountains in Norway. I heard you talking about it.”

  “Snake, that movie sounds fucking amazing. And maybe later we’ll get drunk and watch it. But you’re not showing it to Josie. Because she’s fucking eight years old. She’s too young for you to corrupt, all right? So go sit in the fucking corner by the window, keep an eye on the parking lot, and play guard duty until I come up with something better for your creepy ass to do. Mack, you better get a move on and check on Blaze. You know he can’t sit still for long.”

  “Got it,” Mack says.

  Snake says nothing. He takes his drink to the corner and slumps into a chair.

  I ignore him, because I’ve got something more important to do: be a babysitter to a surprisingly entertaining eight-year-old.

  “All right, Josie, you ready to read some Goosebumps?” I say as I sit down next to her at the table.

  She smiles at me. And then turns her attention back to her book. “I am, Crash. But you’re late, I’ve already started without you, and I only have the one book, so I hope you don’t expect me to start back at the beginning and catch you all up.”

  I burst out laughing. From over by the bar, I see Violet look over at us in surprise, a smile on her face. Damn, that woman glows when she smiles.

  “No, kid, that’s fine,” I say. “Besides, I was thinking about reading something else. Something really scary.”

  She lowers her book just a little and gazes at me across the top of it, her eyes glowing with curiosity.

  “I’m listening,” she says.

  I take out my phone and, with a few swipes of my finger, I have a truly creepy book on my screen.

  “You ever hear of Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “Seriously? Here, check it out.” I hold out the phone to her. She takes it, looks it over, and her eyes get wide with delight.

  “This is gross. I love it,” she says. “Oh, look at one! This story’s about a severed head!”

  Maybe it would be all right to show her that Dead Snow movie.

  “Are you corrupting my best friend’s daughter?” Violet calls out. She’s got a rag in one hand and she’s wiping down the bar, but most of her attention is focused on me and Josie. “Josie, your mom is not going to like it if she hears you were spending this whole sleepover staring at severed heads. You should get back to your reading.”

  “Yes, Aunt Vi,” Josie answers. But she takes her time — and swipes through a few more pages, letting out a couple ‘oohs’ as she does — before she hands me back my phone.

  “We’ll look at it later,” I say to her, quiet enough that Violet can’t hear. Then I raise my voice, “But your Aunty Vi is right. You should finish that Goosebumps before we do anything else.”

  And so, for almost two contented hours, while Violet restores her bar to looking like the massacre last night never happened, I sit at that table, with my feet propped up and a children’s book of scary stories on my phone, while next to me, the coolest eight-year-old I’ve ever met reads a book of her own. Then, with a satisfied look on her face, Josie slaps the book down on the table.

  “Finished,” she exclaims.

  I hold out my hand for a high five, and she slaps it.

  “Good work, kid,” I say.

  Then I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see Violet standing behind me, with a glass and bottle in her free hand.

  “Looks like you two have been working hard,” she says. She puts the glass down on the table in front of me and fills it halfway. “This is your reward. It’s a little Kentucky bourbon I got from a small distillery out there, and I’ve added a few little infusions and twists of my own. I think you’ll like it. And Josie, if you finish the report that I know you have to write on that book, you’ll get yours: I’ll order pizza for dinner.”

  Josie’s eyes light up. And, once I take a sip of the bourbon she’s poured for me, my own might light up a little, too.

  Sitting at this table, with this kid and with this impressive woman behind me, is a feeling I could get used to. I wouldn’t even mind if Josie called me ‘Uncle Crash.’

  While Josie starts in on her report and I sip my bourbon with Violet’s hands resting on my shoulders, I’m content like I haven’t been since things ended with Rosa.

  Then, after only a minute of writing, Josie puts her pen down and gives me one of those looks kids give when they’re being far too perceptive for their age. The kind of look that leads to trouble.

  “Crash, are you in a gang?”

  “Josie,” Violet says behind me. “Don’t be rude.”

  “It’s all right,” I say. “Josie, what makes you say that?”

  “You wear the same kind of clothes as those guys that are always bothering my mom. And she says they’re some kind of gang of criminals. So I just thought…”

  I finish my bourbon. Without even asking, Violet fills it up again. The stuff is damn good, and I give her a grateful nod.

  “I’m not in a gang, Josie. Me, Mack, Blaze, and Snake are part of a group, like a club, and sometimes we do some stuff that the police wouldn’t like to find out about. But mostly, we keep to ourselves, we do a little work for our town, and we spend a lot of our time fixing up trucks, motorcycles, and transporting cargo. Our president, Stone, is a businessman, and he and his wife run our group’s clubhouse, which is a bar kind of like the Timberline Tavern — though, not as nice, I’ll admit — and he also runs a mechanic’s shop and a trucking company,” I say. I spare the kid a few of the gorier details. She might be old enough to like zombie movies, but she’s not nearly old enough to hear about some of the dustups our club has gotten into or the bodies we’ve buried in the California desert.

  “Are you really here because you’re guarding me and Violet? Did something happen to my mom? I’m not dumb, you know, I can tell when someone is watching me and that Snake guy isn’t very sneaky. He stares out the window even more than my friend Rachel’s cat when she’s watching birds.”

  Violet opens her mouth for an explanation, but I silence her by putting my hand over hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Josie, have you ever read The Princess Bride?”

  “I’ve seen the movie. It’s OK.”

  Violet and I trade a surprised look.

  “Just OK?” Violet says.


  “It’s better than OK, kid, but I’ll excuse your lack of taste because of your age. Anyway, what’s happened is your mom’s gotten herself in a little bit of a mess, like that Princess Buttercup.”

  Josie’s eyes go wide. “She’s been kidnapped?”

  I reach across the table and put a hand on Josie’s arm. She’s trembling. I lower my voice a bit, make it warmer; I don’t want her to be scared. But I know she’s too smart to lie to her, either.

  “Something like that. The guy who’s bothering her is like Prince Humperdink, except he’s uglier and dumber than Vizzini.”

  “Wait, wasn’t Vizzini the smart one?” She says.

  “No way. He was overconfident and dumb enough to get himself killed with that stupid poison trick. He’s a total moron.”

  “OK. So, are you the man in black? That Wesley guy?”

  I shake my head. “No, if I’m anyone, I’m Inigo Montoya. Except my dad is still alive — he’s in Florida, and he spends most of his days with his butt in a golf cart. The thing I’ve lost is different.”

  “What did you lose?”

  My heart, I think, as I feel the twinge of pain that comes anytime I poke the raw wounds that I still carry from ending things with Rosa, the woman who meant so much to me for so many years. Then I look up at Violet, who is looking at me with a warmth that I feel warm me to the deepest parts of my heart. Maybe I could find happiness again.

  “Just something else,” I say.

  “Then who is the man in black? Because he’s the one who has to beat that stupid Humperdink guy.”

  “Your Aunt Vi is the man in black. Except for you — and sorry, kid, but you’re not the man in black — no one else cares about your mom as much as she does. And I’ve seen her swing a baseball bat; anyone who is on the other side of Vi’s bat is as good as done for.”

  Josie looks up at Violet, her mouth open in awe. “Aunt Vi, did you really smash someone with a bat?”

  “She did,” I say, speaking up over the wordless protestations of Violet. There’s an embarrassed flush to her cheeks and chest that has my heart running in overdrive.