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

by Nicole James

  “Gee, a memento of our lovely day together,” he bit out sarcastically with a grin. Already shoving them in his pocket.

  Her eyes got big. “You’re not keeping those, are you? I was only being…”

  “A brat?”

  That shut her up, a feeling he had to admit he enjoyed the hell out of. He moved to his bike and bent down to dig through his saddlebag. A moment later he pulled out a pair of chaps and tossed them at her. “Here, put these on. At least they’ll keep your legs warm.”

  She caught them to her. “Thanks.”

  Holding them out, she looked at the strange looking garment, and he could tell she had no clue how to put them on. He blew out a breath. “Come here.”

  She did, and he squatted down in front of her. He wrapped the belt around her hips and buckled it across her pelvis. Then he wrapped each leg in leather and zipped each side up from ankle to thigh. They were too long for her, but at least they’d keep her warm.

  They framed her crotch, drawing his attention to it, and thoughts of how her pretty naked ass had looked swam before his eyes. He glanced up and found her staring at him, wide-eyed, and he knew she’d caught him looking, knew exactly where his eyes had been aimed, maybe even knew exactly what he’d been thinking. Shit, he shouldn’t have thoughts like that about her. She thought of him as a big brother, and he couldn’t destroy her trust like that.

  He looked away uncomfortably and mumbled, “Better?”

  “Just peachy.”

  He rose to his feet and made a move to step toward the door, but the touch of her hand on his arm stopped him. He looked back to see her looking up at him with big eyes, looking at him like she used to look at him when she was a child. Like he was her knight in shining armor. Like he could do no wrong. Like he could fix anything.

  He remembered that look on her face when she was nine, and he was fourteen. She’d been walking home from school, and some bullies were teasing her. They’d cornered her by ol’ Man Walker’s picket fence. They’d knocked her book bag to the ground, and its contents had scattered all over the sidewalk. He’d come up and bloodied the biggest bully’s nose, threatening him with worse if he ever dared bother her again or if he ever told who’d hit him.

  The boys had run off, scared shitless.

  He’d bent down, wiping the tears from her face with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. She’d looked up at him then with those same big eyes. Thinking he was her hero.

  Up until that point, she’d always been Tommy’s bratty little sister, the one who pestered them to no end, the one who was always tagging along, always being a nuisance.

  But after that day, things changed, he was more tolerant with her, more patient. He’d begun to look out for her, to care for her like a real big brother would. It was a responsibility he took seriously.

  He’d known she’d idolized him back then. Maybe even had a crush on him. But she was always just a little kid to him.

  That is, until she grew up, and he began to take notice.

  “Are we going to be okay?” she asked softly, shaking him from his memories.

  He had no clue what the hell was going to happen with the Death Heads, but he’d die before he’d let them get their hands on her. He lifted his hand and cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, brat. Understand?”

  She just stared up at him.

  “You trust me?” he asked when she didn’t reply.

  She nodded, but that wasn’t good enough for him.

  “Say it.”

  “I trust you, Billy.”

  “Ghost,” he corrected. “I go by Ghost now.”

  “Ghost.”

  He studied her a long moment, and then nodded. Dropping his hand, he lifted his chin toward the wall she’d been sitting against earlier. “Get some rest.”

  She sat as he moved toward the half opened door, dropping down on the floor next to it, leaning back against the wall to keep watch.

  “When it stops raining will we be able to leave?” she asked.

  He kept his eyes on the landscape. “Not until I fix my bike.”

  “Fix your bike?”

  He turned back in time to see her frown.

  “What’s wrong with your bike?”

  “Did you feel when we jarred against something right before I shut it off?”

  She nodded.

  “We hit something. Broke the shifter.”

  “The shifter?”

  He nodded, pointing toward a metal piece that was flopping down on the bottom left of the bike. “The shift linkage. Can’t ride if I can’t shift gears. Hopefully, I can fix it when we’ve got daylight tomorrow and I can get a better look at it.”

  “So we’re stuck here tonight?”

  “Looks that way.”

  As hours passed, the rain slacked off. Eventually Jessie put her head back against the wall and drifted off. Ghost kept his vigil by the door, determined to stay awake and make sure the Death Heads didn’t return searching for them.

  As night fell, the temperature dropped, and Ghost cursed the fact that he’d left his leather jacket back at camp. Not for him, but for Jessie. He knew she was cold.

  As if his thoughts communicated to her, she came awake, shivering. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm. Her eyes moved to him. He could see them in the dim moonlight that shone through a hole in the ceiling.

  “Why don’t you sit over here? Isn’t it cold over by the door?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe our body heat would help keep each other warm,” she suggested.

  “Then come over here.”

  “Ghost.”

  He knew she thought he was being difficult. That wasn’t it at all. He might as well admit it. “I have a problem with small spaces.”

  He watched her frown.

  “You do? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, well, I do.”

  He felt her studying him, like she was trying to figure him out. And then she tilted her head to the side as if something had just dawned on her.

  “Is that why you always took the stairs instead of the elevator?”

  He grinned, wondering how she’d never put it together before now. But then he had to remind himself she’d just been a child. “Yeah, brat. That’s why.”

  His use of the nickname he’d had for her back then made her smile and roll her eyes. Then he watched her stand up. His eyes followed her in the dim light as she moved toward him and sat next to him. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against his body. “Might also explain why I prefer riding a bike to being closed up in a car.”

  She laughed. “Probably.”

  They were quiet for a few minutes.

  “Do you remember the year we came to live with you and your dad?” she asked.

  “Of course. I was thirteen. And Tommy was twelve. And you were, what? Eight?”

  “Um hmm. I remember when we walked inside for the first time. You were sitting on the couch, all sullen and pissed off, looking like it was the last place you wanted to be.”

  “I tried to take off, sneak out the back. Dad caught me. Threatened to ground me if I didn’t stay and meet you.”

  “No wonder you looked so pissed off when you looked at us.”

  “Sorry, brat. I was an adolescent boy that had lost his mother and didn’t want a new one.”

  “I know. I didn’t want a new father, either, or a new brother. Until I met you, that is.”

  He gave her a squeeze.

  “Do you remember what you used to call me?”

  “Brat?”

  “No, before that.”

  “What did I call you?” he asked with a frown, struggling to recall.

  “When we met I had on a polka dot dress, and all that summer you called me Polka Dot.”

  He grinned. “I did, didn’t I? Hell, I’d forgotten that.”

  “I hated that dress.”

  “You hated all dresses back t
hen. You were a little Tomboy, always wanting to tagalong with us. Remember when you wanted to enroll in Little League with us?”

  “Yeah, Mom made me take ballet class instead.”

  “You hated it.”

  “Want to know a secret?”

  “Sure.”

  “I really didn’t hate it. I liked it. A lot. I just hated that I couldn’t play baseball, too.”

  “Really?” He dragged the word out. “Interesting.”

  “I used to love when you’d let me play ball with you in the neighborhood.”

  “Well, you were the best third baseman we had,” he admitted in a teasing voice.

  She grinned, lifting her chin proudly. “I was, wasn’t I?”

  “Yup.”

  “We had some fun times, didn’t we?”

  “Sure did.” He pushed her head down on his shoulder. “Get some sleep, brat.”

  She eventually drifted off. He could tell when her breathing changed, deepening, and her weight settled heavily against his side. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and continued to stroke her hair, his fingers sifting through the silkiness.

  The curves of her warm body, soft against his side, reminded him that she was no longer a child. She was a grown woman now, and his body reacted to hers accordingly. He tried to tamp those feelings down, knowing the last thing he should be feeling toward her was desire. Somehow it felt wrong. He’d always been more like a big brother to her. And he was sure that wasn’t the type of relationship she’d sought him out for. She needed protection, someone to look out for her, someone to fill the role of the big brother she’d lost. And he was fine with filling that role. He’d be whatever she needed. It was the least he could do for her. The least he could do in Tommy’s memory.

  His mind drifted to the trouble Jessie was now in, going over in his head everything she’d told him about the Death Heads and the plans she’d overheard. If it were true, it was damned valuable information. Information his club could use. Information the DKs would also find valuable. And there was the rub of it. His club would use her and that information to make a deal with the DKs.

  Question was, would he be comfortable with that? Using her like that didn’t sit well with him. It put her smack in the middle of an escalating biker war. Could he live with that?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jessie stretched, coming awake. It was daylight now, and Ghost had propped the door wide open, letting in the bright sunlight. He was squatted down next to his bike, fiddling with it. When he heard her movement, he twisted, looking over his shoulder.

  “Mornin’,” he said.

  “Good morning,” she replied, getting stiffly to her feet. She moved to stand next to him and nodded toward the bike. “Did you figure out what happened to it?”

  He looked up at her. “The bolt connecting the shift linkage snapped.”

  “Can you fix it?” She watched as he continued fiddling with it. Then he stood, wiping his hands on a bandana and answered sarcastically, “Yeah, you got a couple of five-sixteenth bolts on ya?”

  Her mouth pulled up in a half smile. “Right. See your point.” She eyed the door. “So what do we do? Walk?”

  He huffed out a breath, and her eyes came back to him.

  “I’m not leaving my bike here.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ll fix it. I just have to figure out some way to jury-rig it.”

  “Jury-what?”

  “Jury-rig. A makeshift fix.”

  When she frowned, still not understanding, he expanded.

  “Improvise, Cobble something together, half-ass it.”

  “Gotcha.”

  He glanced around the shed. “Check the floor. Maybe we’ll find something I can use.”

  The shed was cluttered with some garbage in the corner. What appeared to be the trash left over from when whoever emptied out whatever had been stored here long ago. They both scoured the place top to bottom.

  ***

  Jessie dumped her meager pile of ‘found’ items next to the bike. Ghost squatted down, looking them over, moving them around with his finger. A couple of nails, a paperclip, and a fat rubber band.

  She looked at him hopefully, like she’d found the jackpot. His brows rose as he looked up at her indicating he had his doubts about what he could do with these items. Did she thing he was goddamned MacGyver? He huffed out a breath. Maybe it was the hopeful look in her eyes. Maybe it was the memory of how she used to always look up to him as a child, believing he was capable of anything, Whatever it was, he found himself looking back at the bike and grinning.

  “I’ll try, baby doll.”

  She grinned back.

  ***

  Hours passed as Jessie watched as Ghost tried one fix after another. He tried the rubber band, but the first time he climbed on and hit the shifter with his foot, it snapped off. Then he tried to fashion a fix with the jumbo paperclip, twisting it through where the bolt would connect. It popped off with the first tap of his foot. He studied the nails, and she knew he was trying to figure out a way to bend them to hold the connection, but that fix didn’t pan out either.

  Through every attempt, she expected him to get more frustrated and angry, but he never did. He remained totally calm, which in turn kept her calm. She needed him calm right now to make her believe everything was going to be okay. If he had been agitated, she would have gone over the edge. But his calm confidence reassured her.

  Her stomach growled loudly.

  He looked over his shoulder at her, trying to suppress a grin, and lifted his chin toward his saddlebag. “I think there may be an energy bar buried at the bottom.”

  She quickly moved to the bike and dug through the bag like a starving animal. He grinned, shook his head and continued to fiddle with the bike. A moment later, she came up with a bottle of water and a granola bar, holding them high in the air like she’d just found diamonds.

  “Yes!”

  She tore the wrapper off and took a bite. Then she looked down at him guiltily, and her chewing slowed. She swallowed and broke off half the bar offering it to him.

  He shook his head. “You eat it, brat. I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. But I’ll take some of that water.”

  She twisted the cap off and held it out to him. He guzzled down half of it. Then handed it back to her. She continued eating the bar and watching him. Her eyes fell to his wrist, and she paused.

  “You still have the bracelet I made you,” she murmured in a stunned voice.

  His eyes moved to his wrist, and then he looked up at her. “Of course.”

  He said it so matter-of-fact, like it was the most normal thing in the world to keep a handmade gift from a nine-year-old girl.

  She frowned. “All these years? You’ve worn it?”

  He nodded. “I have.”

  “Why?” she asked. It was his turn to frown at her.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  She shrugged. “It was just a stupid childish gift a little girl gave you. I never thought you’d keep it.”

  “Of course I kept it. You made it for me.”

  Her eyes again fell on the bracelet. It was a brown leather cord with knots tied in it. And between each knot was a silver nut she’d pilfered from the parts on the garage floor that summer when he and her brother had put together their first dirt bikes. Ghost had always looked the other way when he saw her sneaking the little nuts and washers. But there had always been a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, like he was on to her.

  Her brother, on the other hand, would pitch a fit every time the parts went missing. She could still see him now in her mind’s eye, scrambling around on the floor, cursing up a blue streak, insisting the ‘damn’ nuts had been right there. But not Ghost. Ghost would just calmly stand up and walk over to the workbench to dig up some replacements.

  She remembered when she’d given the bracelet to him. She’d purposely waited until her brother had left the garage to go get them a c
ouple of cans of sodas from the kitchen, knowing he’d make fun of her and tease her unmercifully if he ever found out.

  Ghost had made her feel like it was the coolest thing in the world when she’d given it to him. And he’d actually put it on, and for the years that followed before he’d moved out, he’d always had it on.

  “I can’t believe all this time you’ve kept it?”

  “It’s on my wrist, isn’t it?”

  She blinked. It was on his wrist. What did that mean? Her hand strayed to her throat, her fingers touching the necklace she herself wore. She’d made it at the same time, out of the same dark brown leather cording. But for hers, she’d attached a large flat silver washer as the pendent. She rubbed her thumb over it now, stroking it like it was some kind of talisman. And for her, perhaps it was. The washer had come off of Ghost’s bike. He didn’t know that, of course. And whenever she thought of him, whenever she missed him, she rubbed it.

  He had no clue about the necklace or about her feelings for him. And those feeling had nothing to do with brotherly feelings, far from it.

  “I wear it to remind me of the little girl that made it for me,” he said quietly from where he was squatted down, his attention on his motorcycle.

  “That little girl is gone,” she whispered. That brought his head around, his eyes to hers.

  “Is she?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t think so.”

  She was uncomfortable with his scrutiny, and maybe with his words. The observation hit close to home, too close. So she changed the subject.

  “You and Tommy were always fixing that first dirt bike you had.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, because your brother wrecked it so many times. I tried hard to teach him to ride but he was such an uncoordinated guy, he laid that bike down more often than not. He just couldn’t get the hang of working controls with both his feet and hands, clutch, shifter, brakes, balancing the bike, steering. It was too much for him to keep up with. But he could shoot. Damn, that boy could shoot. Every time we went hunting, he amazed me. I knew he’d do well in the military.”

  At the mention of the military, she cleared her throat, not wanting to think about how that ended.