GHOST: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Evil Dead MC Series Book 5)

by Nicole James

  “Yeah. I’ll meet you back at the campsite,” Ghost assured him as he pulled the repair kit out of the leather bag strapped to his swing arm. The Evil Dead MC owned forty-four acres of land halfway between Sturgis and Deadwood. They’d bought the property back in the eighties and used it for a campground for their national meet during Sturgis Bike Week.

  “All right then. See ya back there.” Shades lifted his chin to him and the rest of his brothers pulled out.

  As the sound of their engines faded over the rise, Ghost bent down and got to work plugging his tire.

  It took Ghost about fifteen minutes to repair his tire. Then he mounted up and pulled back out on the blacktop. A few miles down the road, he turned off into the gravel parking lot of a remote roadhouse, the neon beer signs in the windows calling his name. The lot was crowded with bikes, but not nearly as many as it soon would be. The rain earlier in the day had slacked off and riders were starting to get back out.

  Ghost rolled slowly across the lot, gravel crunching under his tires. He found a spot and parked. Dismounting, he headed toward the front door, stretching his neck from side to side to crack his spine like some people cracked their knuckles.

  As he came through the door, he looked around. The place was medium size, rough-hewn wood floors and rustic décor, with tables on the right and a bar on the left.

  He made his way through the crowd and found a place at the far end of the bar where it curved around to form a short L shaped corner. Beyond the end of the bar was a doorway leading to a short hall that contained the bathrooms and a back door. From his spot at the corner end of the bar, Ghost could see both the front door and the back door. And that wasn’t by accident. Sturgis, Deadwood and the surrounding towns were crowded with many one-percenter clubs, many of which didn’t get along, to put it mildly. Not a problem for a member if you were traveling in a pack, not so if you were the sole patch from your club in the place when another club walked in. Some bars were claimed by certain clubs as their territory while they were in town; other small places like this were not.

  Ghost ordered a beer and surveyed the crowd. It was the typical biker crowd, riders decked out in leather against the chilly, rainy day. Although the Sturgis Rally was held in August, the South Dakota weather was always unpredictable and changeable. Temperatures could vary anywhere from the low fifties to the upper eighties. Today had started out wet and windy. It was temporarily clearing, but the horizon looked dark and the wind had picked up again.

  A couple of women with bandanas around their heads and braided hair, laughed at the jokes the men at their table in the corner were telling. A jukebox up front blasted out some music. He’d picked out only one other patch when he came in, but it was just that of a member of a military veterans club, nobody that would give him any trouble.

  Ghost quietly sipped his beer, keeping to himself. It had been an honor taking JJ to get his club tattoo today. He’d glanced over at Shades while JJ sat under the needle, and he knew they’d both been remembering when they’d gotten their ink. It had been years now, but every now and then, like today, it seemed like just yesterday.

  Ghost signaled the bartender for another beer and leaned on his elbows, his arms folded. Movement through the doorway behind him caught his eye, and he twisted his head, peering over his shoulder to see the back door open and a young woman dash in. His eyes swept down over her, taking in everything at once from the low cut bright pink tee shirt that proclaimed in big block letters, Punk Rock Rules to the pair of black leather hot pants with the fishnet stocking under them and cute little high heeled ankle boots. She may be wearing black leather, but she looked more like something off a London runway than blending in with any of this crowd. His eyes returned to her face. She had long dark hair and the heavily lined and shadowed eyes that also could be found straight out of some fashion magazine. But there was something else… something about her rang familiar to Ghost. He just couldn’t quite place it.

  That feeling was quickly pushed aside by the expression on her face. She looked frantic, terrified, and maybe even desperate. Ghost frowned.

  What the fuck?

  She jerked to a stop when her eyes hit him, sliding down and taking in his cut and the patch on his back.

  Ghost had seen that reaction in women before, the ones that saw the cut and backed away. But this was different. This was downright terror.

  She stood beyond the doorway, still in the back hall, just out of sight from the crowd in the bar.

  Ghost’s frown deepened, and he straightened from the bar, but before he could react, his attention was drawn to a commotion at the front door. The crowd had suddenly gone quiet, and he saw the reason. Four members of the Death Heads MC had just come through the door. They stood there, just inside the entrance, their eyes sweeping over the crowd. And then they began moving, their eyes traveling slowly and painstakingly over every person at every table.

  They were searching for someone, Ghost realized.

  And then the terror he’d seen on the girl that had come through the back door clicked, and his head jerked back to look. She had her back to him now as she stood at an old pay phone, her shaking hand punching at the buttons, oblivious to the danger that had just come through the front door.

  Ghost glanced back to the Death Heads moving through the bar. If he was going to get involved, he had only seconds to do it. If he had any sense, he’d stay the fuck out of this shit. But something about the terrified look on that girl’s face wouldn’t let him leave it alone.

  “Fuck,” he cursed as he pushed off the bar.

  ***

  Jessie held the receiver tightly to her ear, relief flooding through her when she heard the dial tone. Thanking God the old pay phone was still functional, she punched in 911 with trembling fingers hoping the call would go through even though she had no coins to feed into the slot.

  Suddenly, she felt a presence at her back and the smell of leather enveloped her. She sucked in a breath as a muscular arm reached over her shoulder, two fingers pressing down on the cradle, disconnecting the call, the other hand yanking the phone out of her hand and hanging it up. Then, before she could react or spin around, the man grabbed her by the upper arms and was herding her into the women’s restroom. The flimsy door banged against the wall as he shouldered his way through, pushing her ahead of him.

  It was a small room with only two stalls and a low counter with double sinks and a cracked mirror on the wall above.

  She whirled as the man turned and locked the door before turning back to face her. Her mouth fell open when she realized she was staring into the face of the man she’d come to Sturgis to find. Her shoulders slumped in relief. Thank God.

  And then she watched his shocked expression as he got a good look at her face. It had been years, but something in her looks must have registered. She’d been seventeen the last time he’d seen her, and she could tell he was struggling in his mind to place her.

  “Hey, Billy,” she whispered. Her eyes moved over him. In the seven years since she’d last seen him, he’d matured. His brown hair was longer now, brushing his now much broader shoulders, with the top half pulled back in a band. He had a close cut beard now, too. And there were a few more lines radiating out from the outer corners of his golden brown eyes.

  And then he frowned as if suddenly putting the pieces together. Or maybe it was the sound of her voice that had triggered his memory.

  “Jessie?” he asked in a stunned whisper as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. They searched her face.

  She was sure she looked different. The dark eyeliner and heavy shadow giving her the signature smoky eyes she’d adopted years ago.

  She nodded.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped.

  Her eyes darted past him to the closed door. And then she watched him stiffen.

  “Christ. The four Death Heads that just came through the front door, it’s you they’re lookin’ for?”

  She nodded and watched him run
a hand over his mouth in a stunned way.

  “Holy fuck.”

  “I’m in trouble, Billy. If they find me—,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

  And suddenly he was all action. She watched as he pulled his cut off and tossed it on the counter, then he was yanking off the flannel shirt he had on under it, stripping down to a black tee shirt. He slipped the cut back on and put the flannel shirt back on over it. And then it dawned on her what he was doing. He was covering his cut. It didn’t take her long to figure out that he didn’t want the Death Heads to see it, to connect his club with whatever shit was about to go down.

  His eyes swept down her body, and all of a sudden she was self-conscious, sure she looked nothing like the girl he remembered. But she’d done the best she could with what she had. And besides, if someone didn’t like her style they could go to hell.

  “Take off your shirt,” he ordered with a lift of his chin.

  She frowned, confused, and then her eyes dropped to his hands that were already working his belt buckle. “W-what?”

  “They see that hot pink, they’re gonna know it’s you.”

  When she didn’t comply, he paused in what he was doing and reached for it, yanking it over her head and shoving it in the trashcan, the metal lid swinging back and forth with a squeaking sound. Turning back, his eyes took in her black lace bra that covered her small breasts. She’d always had a model-thin figure, all legs and arms, and she was never more aware of that than now.

  “Ghost,” she tried to protest, but he was already spinning her around and bending her face down over the counter, and then his hands reached around, undoing her shorts like a pro and jerking them down her hips along with her fishnets and panties. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “They’re gonna boot that door any second. That flimsy lock isn’t gonna stop ‘em. We gotta make this look good. Time to show me your acting skills, darlin’. And whatever the fuck you do, keep your head down.”

  He put a hand to the back of her neck, shoving her down. Her long dark hair fell over her face, effectively obscuring her identity from anyone’s view. She could feel him working his pants open, his movements just behind her ass. Then he was pressing his hips against her and bucking, although the two of them would be the only ones that would know he wasn’t penetrating, that this was all for show.

  The doorknob rattled, and two seconds later they booted it in, just like he’d predicted. It banged against the wall.

  “What the fuck, man? Can’t a guy get a piece of ass in private anymore?” Ghost snapped as Jessie heard them enter. He kept his hand at the back of her neck, holding her pinned down as he continued thrusting, giving her the pounding of her life. She could feel the front of her hips slamming into the counter with every thrust. Hell, she’d be bruised tomorrow for sure. If she lived that long, that is. Thoughts of what the Death Heads MC would do to her if they found her flashed through her mind.

  With her head still bent, she could look down and see their boots. She heard one of them move to the stalls, pushing the doors open to bang against each wall as they searched.

  Ghost kept thrusting.

  Jessie heard the other man mutter, “Nice ass.”

  She yelped as she felt Ghost smack her right ass cheek, agreeing with a growl, “Damn right.”

  “Let’s go,” the second man growled as he moved from the stalls to the door.

  A moment later they both stomped out. Jessie lifted her head in time to see Ghost stretch his arm out to slam the door shut again. The moment it was closed, he backed off, buckling his pants.

  Twisting to face him, she didn’t miss when his eyes traveled over her naked ass just before she yanked her clothes back up, her face flaming red.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed.

  “I really don’t think we’ve got time for that now, do we?” she bit out sarcastically.

  “Maybe not, but as soon as I get you the hell out of here, you’re gonna tell me what the fuck the Death Heads want with you, babe.”

  She nodded. What else could she do? She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to cover herself. “My shirt.”

  “Leave it,” he ordered. “They spot that bright fucking pink, you’re done for.”

  “But I can’t go out there like this.”

  “Why not? It matches the rest of the look you’ve got goin’ on,” he smirked.

  “Don’t be an ass.” She glared at him.

  The corner of his mouth lifted as if he was enjoying her discomfort, but a moment later he yanked his flannel shirt off and tossed it to her. “Here, put this on.”

  She slid into it quickly, knotting the tails across her stomach as the scent of him enveloped her along with the soft flannel, immediately calming her as she took a deep steadying breath.

  She watched as Ghost opened the door a crack and peeked out. It must have been all clear, because a moment later he had her by the hand and was dragging her out into the hall. He silently opened the back door and peered outside. She could hear the patter of rain as it picked back up. He hesitated only a moment before he was dragging her outside and off to the side of the building to what she presumed was his bike. He threw his leg over, quickly firing it up, and she wasted no time scrambling on behind him.

  He turned his head, saying over his shoulder, “Wrap your arms around me and stay pressed tight to my back. I don’t want them to get a look at my patch. And hold the fuck on.”

  She nodded, and he gunned the throttle. They tore across the gravel lot toward the highway. As they hit the blacktop, she saw the Death Heads running for their bikes, one of them pointing frantically toward them. Apparently, they’d fooled no one.

  She tucked in behind Ghost, pressing her face against his leather and hanging on for dear life as the bike surged forward, and she knew he was gunning it for all it had, winding out every gear for all it was worth. They raced on into the open country between Sturgis and Deadwood. The rain picked up and stung her face whenever she dared to peek over Ghost’s shoulder. Her arms and legs got so cold and wet that she soon couldn’t feel the sting anymore. And she knew Ghost was taking the brunt of it.

  She was afraid to look back, but she knew the Death Heads wouldn’t be too far behind them. They flew over a rise, and it almost felt like the bike went airborne for a split second. They raced on, Ghost flying around curves, weaving in and out of traffic. Bikes, oncoming tractor-trailers, it didn’t seem to matter, nor did the treacherous wet pavement. Fortunately, weaving in and out kept the bikes chasing them from catching up. On the other hand, they were still in sight.

  As they went around a bend, Ghost slowed to take a turn onto a dirt side road. Jessie couldn’t help but wonder what his strategy was, but she trusted him. Perhaps he knew they couldn’t outrun them for long and it was best to hide while they were out of sight around the bend. She hung on as they tore up the road, disappearing into the foliage of bushes and trees along the way. Her hopes that perhaps they’d slipped away were soon dashed as she heard in the distance behind her the roar of several bikes.

  Ghost made another turn, going off road across the wet grass into the trees. She couldn’t imagine what he was doing as they bumped across the ground, knowing his bike wasn’t made for riding off road. Then she saw where he was heading. There was a shed, barely visible in the bushes. It was falling apart, leaning to one side and she couldn’t even imagine how old the thing was or how it stayed standing. Perhaps the overgrown vines that wrapped around it were holding it up.

  They slammed into a hidden ditch and Jessie felt the left side of the bike jar against something hard. Ghost cut the engine, and they coasted to a stop. She scrambled off into grass that came to her knees as Ghost jumped off, pushing the bike with his hands on the grips. The 600 lb. bike wasn’t easy to move in the foot high overgrowth, but he was able to get it to the shed.

  Jessie dashed ahead to get the door open, yanking and tugging until she got it far enough for the bike to fit through. Ghost hurried
ly pushed the bike inside. She closed the door, leaving an inch gap to peer through as they heard the distant rumble of a pack of Harleys.

  She heard Ghost drop the kickstand on his bike, and then she felt his heat at her back as he, too, peered through the crack.

  “Do you think they’ll find us?” she whispered nervously.

  “I don’t know, babe.”

  At his honest answer, she turned her head looking over her shoulder and up at his face. His golden eyes remained focused like a hawk on the distance. Her eyes slid down his neck to his shoulder and down his arm. It was then she noticed the gun he now held in his hand. She didn’t know where it had come from. It didn’t matter. She was just glad he had it. It may be all that stood between her and them. He was all that stood between her and them.

  They waited, the sound of the rain pattering on the roof, and the howling wind drowning out anything else.

  “Maybe they didn’t follow us?” Jessie asked hopefully, beginning to wonder if the bikes she’d thought she’d heard following them down the dirt road were really just the sound of bikes out on the highway.

  “Maybe,” Ghost muttered, then his hand closed over her upper arm, and he pulled her from the door, stepping in front of her. “Stay away from the door until we’re sure.”

  ***

  A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and almost immediately the thunder cracked over their heads. They both flinched at the deafening sound. A moment later, the skies opened up, and the rain became a torrential downpour. Ghost eyed the sky and kept his vigil by the door. But his thoughts were half on the girl behind him.

  Jessie, his bratty little stepsister. At least that’s how he’d always thought of her years ago. He still couldn’t believe she’d turned up here, out of the blue, in Sturgis of all places. She was so out-of-place it wasn’t even funny.

  His mind went back to the last time he’d seen her…

  Rosewood Cemetery

  Seven years ago—