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

by James, Nicole

  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, every 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.”

  Gorman wisely slid into the chair. Once he did, Crash headed to the back.

  Cole leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You know who I am?”

  Gorman shook his head.

  “I’m your new best friend, Artie. Or I can be your worst nightmare. It’s up to you. But here’s the deal. There’s already a strip club in this town. Didn’t need another one. So, Artie, this is how things are gonna go for you. You want to keep doing business here, you’re gonna kick a grand to the club, first of every month.” Cole grinned. “Think of it as health insurance. You pay your premium every month, you stay nice and healthy. You don’t, you’re gonna have some broken bones. And that’s just the first visit. You decide right now, you don’t want to play, no hard feelings. I’ll let you close up shop, and take your tacky club so
mewhere else. But that’s a one-time offer, good for today only. We clear, Artie?”

  Artie turned red. He glanced around the table, and then he gave Cole a curt nod.

  “And just to show you I’m a reasonable man, I’ll give you forty-eight hours to come up with this month’s premium. How about that?”

  Artie nodded and stood up.

  “I say you could leave?” Cole asked in a deadly voice.

  Artie sat back down.

  Crash returned to the table. Cole’s gaze slid to him, and then returned to Artie. “I’ll be back in two days. Either you have your premium, or I better find this place boarded up when I come back.”

  Artie stared at him.

  “This would be the part where you nod your head.”

  Artie nodded.

  “Good. Now you can go.”

  Crash sat down. The waitress brought their drinks and retreated with a nice tip.

  “What’d the girl say?” Cole asked, sipping on his drink.

  Crash picked up his glass. “He’s pretty touchy-feely. Groping’s pretty much a daily occurrence. Insists the girls give him private lap dances. They don’t play nice, they’re out of a job.”

  “You set her straight?”

  “Yeah. She seems to think his whole staff will jump ship. We can probably shut him down with loss of talent, alone. Still like to give ol’ Artie Asshole a personal beat-down, though.”

  “Yeah,” Cole nodded in agreement, smiling at the nickname Crash had given the guy. “Me, too.” His cell rang. Pulling it out, he looked at the display. Angel. Smiling, he put it to his ear. “Hey, darlin’. What’s up?”

  “Hi, honey. I’m on a test drive with a customer.”

  Cole frowned. “You supposed to be making personal phone calls during a test drive?”

  “No, but she’s a friend of yours.”

  “Yeah? What friends do I have that can afford a Porsche?”

  “It’s Shannon.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, tell her I said, hello.”

  “You can tell her yourself. She wants to talk to you.”