UNDERTAKER
Page 1
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
Preview of JOKER
Also by Nicole James
UNDERTAKER
An Evil Dead MC Story
Nicole James
UNDERTAKER
An Evil Dead MC Story
Nicole James
Published by Nicole James
Copyright 2018 Nicole James
All Rights Reserved
Cover Art by Viola Estrella
Cover Photography: Grayson Wilder
Cover Model: Lasse Larsen
Back Photography: Sondem / Fotolia
Editing by CookieLynn Publishing
CHAPTER ONE
Four motorcycles turned down the quiet side street buried among the backstreets of Slidell. It was lined with cracker-box-sized houses and too many foreclosure signs. The riders slowed and turned in the drive of a rundown ranch house with gray siding, tinged green with mold.
As they climbed from their bikes, Undertaker pulled his wraparound shades from his face, his eyes scanning the place. The gutter was half hanging from the house, there were several mismatched and broken chairs near the door under the overhanging roof, the screens were badly torn, and the grass hadn’t been cut in forever. “I thought he was fixing up this place. That’s all he ever talks about, all the remodeling he’s been doing.”
“Maybe the inside looks better,” Blood suggested.
“Doubt it.” Undertaker knew the signs were all there, and they didn’t bode well for what they might find. He made a deep sighing sound, tired to his bones with this bullshit.
Undertaker, Blood, Sandman, and Bam-Bam moved through the yard, their eyes darting over the neighboring houses. Mutt’s bike was parked in the carport, so they knew he was home.
Blood didn’t bother to knock. Undertaker followed him through the door, the other men bringing up the rear.
As President, Undertaker didn’t need to be on this visit, but he’d heard the rumblings of the club, and he’d wanted to see for himself just how bad off Mutt had gotten. Rumor was he’d fallen hard and fast down the dark well of crystal meth addiction, something that wasn’t tolerated.
“Mutt!” Blood barked. As the club’s Enforcer, dealing with this kind of shit fell to his shoulders.
Undertaker glanced around the interior. A small living room led through to a dining room/kitchen combination. The tile was torn up, revealing the plywood subflooring, and the blue walls were half painted a strange peach color, the hideous shade only going halfway up the wall. The stove had been ripped out, the connections dangling from the wall, and several cabinet doors hung haphazardly by one hinge. His sharp eyes took it all in, including the used needles, pipes, and drug paraphernalia lying on the filthy kitchen counter. He picked up a small piece of foil.
“Ice,” he murmured as Bam-Bam looked over his shoulder. It was the purest and most potent form of methamphetamine. “Damn it. I was hoping we were wrong about this.”
They heard a shout from the rear hall where Blood and Sandman had disappeared. Undertaker frowned at Bam-Bam; the voice sounded feminine.
“Find him?” Undertaker called out as he headed that way, Bam-Bam at his heels. He came to stop in the hall, where Sandman was standing in the doorway to a bedroom. He glanced in.
Blood stood with his arms folded, staring down at two young girls sitting on a mattress on the floor, their backs to the wall, looking scared as shit. More drug paraphernalia lay scattered around them.
“Nope. But it looks like we’ve got us some juvenile delinquents.”
“What the fuck are you girls doing here?” Undertaker barked, his eyes skating over the teens. They couldn’t have been old enough to drive.
“W-we just came to s-see my uncle,” one of them stammered.
“Bullshit,” he snapped back. Mutt was an only child. “You’re runaways, aren’t you?”
The girls stared up at him with wide-eyes, not bothering to deny it.
“Where’s Mutt?” Blood asked.
Both their eyes shifted to him, and then slid to the closet door.
All three men swiveled.
Undertaker jerked his head toward the bedroom door. “Get the fuck out,” he told the girls, “and get your asses home where they belong. Now.”
They both scrambled to their feet and dashed out of the house.
Blood moved to the closet door and yanked it open.
Mutt was sitting on the floor, his hands moving frantically over his arms, fingernails scratching the skin. “Damn bugs. I can’t get ‘em off.”
There were no bugs crawling on him, but the men all knew the signs. Long-term meth use could cause psychotic symptoms such as paranoia, hallucinations, and delusions.
“Mutt!” Blood barked, but got no response. He bent and grabbed two fistfuls of Mutt’s shirt and dragged his body up and out of the closet, pinning him to the wall with a boom that cracked his head against the sheetrock.
Undertaker got a good look at Mutt’s dilated pupils. He was heavily sweating and gave off the stink of the drug. He’d dropped twenty pounds at least, most of it muscle.
Suddenly, Mutt’s paranoia gave way to rage, and he tried to take a swing at Blood. “Get your fuckin’ hands off me, asshole!”
Blood kept him pinned to the wall, his biceps bulging with the effort it took to restrain him.
“Shut the fuck up!” Undertaker snapped, drawing Mutt’s attention. His already big eyes, bugged out even more as the voice of his President penetrated his drug-fogged mind.
“Prez,” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? I came to see for myself how badly you’d let your brothers down, let your club down, let
me down!”
Mutt began a sad attempt at laughing.
Blood banged him against the wall again. “Ain’t nothin’ funny, shithead!”
Undertaker got in his face. “You better get serious about this right now, because I’m not fucking playing games with you, Brother!”
Mutt dropped his head, the laughter turning to shame.
“Look at me!” Undertaker waited until he lifted his head, his darting eyes trying to stay focused on him. “The pipe, the needles, the ice… they’re ruining your life. You’re useless to me. So, tell me, Mutt. Are you fixable? Are you?”
“I don’t know, man.” He dropped his head, shaking it.
“Is there enough Evil Dead MC still left in your blood to come out of this?”
Blood slammed him up against the wall again, encouraging an answer, encouraging the right answer.
“Yes, yes.” Mutt nodded frantically.
“You’ve got brothers for a reason, Mutt. You need help, you ask. There’s nothing these boys wouldn’t do for you.”
“I got no excuse, Prez, but shit, sometimes the drugs…they’re the only thing keeping me from eating a bullet.”
Undertaker knew Mutt had been through hell. He’d served his country, fighting in Afghanistan on more than one deployment before he got out and joined the MC. It was that fact that tipped the scales in his favor and compelled Undertaker to give him another chance. “I’m all about second chances, but you fuck up again, you’re done, you understand me? Tough love.”
Mutt nodded.
Undertaker turned to Bam-Bam. “Put him on lockdown until that shit is out of his system. Tie him to a chair if you have to, but get him through this.” They both turned to Mutt.
Mutt let his head fall back against the wall, mumbling a string of curses, obviously not looking forward to what was in store for him.
“Get him off the ice and get him back with his brothers,” Undertaker snapped.
“You got it, boss.”
Undertaker turned to Sandman. “Call Doc. Get him over here.”
“Will do.”
“And help Bam-Bam with him,” Undertaker added.
Sandman’s eyes strayed to his broken brother. “I didn’t want to believe it was this bad.”
“None of us did,” Undertaker replied.
“We’ll take care of him,” Sandman assured him.
Undertaker jerked his chin at Blood who released the man to slide down the wall to a heap on the floor and followed his President out the door.
They paused by the bikes.
Undertaker hesitated, his eyes moving to the setting sun before slipping on his wraparound shades. “Fucking hate to see that.”
“Yeah,” was Blood’s only response.
“Think we just lost a brother?”
“Time will tell.”
“Yeah. It has a funny way of doing that. Let’s get out of here.”
They mounted and roared off down the street, their bikes aimed back toward the clubhouse.
CHAPTER TWO
Undertaker and Blood strode through the clubhouse door and headed straight to the bar.
“Give us a shot, Prospect,” Undertaker ordered the kid behind the bar. A moment later two short tumblers were set before them, and the prospect tilted up a bottle of top-shelf whiskey, filling them with the amber liquor.
“Leave the bottle,” he growled.
It was set before him, and the prospect retreated to the other side of the bar, clearly able to see the Chapter President wasn’t in a good mood.
Blood rested his elbows on the bar and looked over at him. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” He downed the shot and poured himself another.
Blood had the good sense to shut up, which suited Undertaker fine. He was in no mood today. That crap with Mutt had his blood boiling. His crew knew he didn’t tolerate that kind of drug use in this MC. Recreational use was fine, but addiction like that controlled a man, and if it controlled them, then that meant he didn’t, and that he couldn’t allow.
This club could be a lot of things to a man, but his loyalties couldn’t be divided. The drugs couldn’t become more important than the MC, and he was afraid that was exactly what was happening with Mutt. Part of that responsibility fell on him. He’d made the mistake of waiting too long to intervene, and it may cost him a brother. As President, he bore the burden for everything that went on in the New Orleans Chapter, good or bad. Making mistakes was not something he liked to admit, but he wasn’t afraid to own up to them; he only hoped he wasn’t too late with Mutt.
Mooch walked up and took the seat next to him. His VP had been with him for a lot of years, and every line showed on his face. The two of them had been through it all together. One look at his expression, and Undertaker knew he was about to drop another problem in his lap. “What now?”
The corner of Mooch’s mouth pulled up. “Hello to you, too.”
“You’re about to tell me some shit. I can always tell. You’ve got that look on your face like you enjoy it too much.”
“I resent that. This is my normal face.”
Blood snorted.
Undertaker cocked one brow, doubtfully. “So you don’t have something shitty to tell me?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Well…? You gonna tell me, or do I have to pull teeth here?”
“Your girl’s having another episode.”
“Fuck, why didn’t you say so?” Undertaker stood, tossed back what was left in his glass, and headed for the stairs.
“I just did!” Mooch yelled after him.
Undertaker flipped him off over his shoulder as he kept walking. He took the stairs two at a time and strode down the hallway to the room Holly was staying in. He paused outside the door, took a deep breath, and knocked. “Baby girl. It’s me.”
He leaned one hand on the doorframe and listened. The bed creaked and then the door swung wide. Her face was tear streaked, her eyes red, but he only had a moment to take it in before her arms were clamped tightly around his waist and her head was tucked under his chin. His arms wrapped around her, and his palm stroked over her hair.
Her voice trembled as she asked, “W-where were you? You were gone so long. I w-waited and waited.”
“I had club business to tend to. We talked about this, baby. You know I always come back.”
“I tried calling you, but it went right to voicemail.” She pulled back to stare up at him accusingly.
“When I’m on the bike, I can’t always hear it.” He walked her backward into the room and kicked the door shut with his booted heel. “Did something happen?”
She folded her arms defensively, one hand coming up to wipe the tears from her cheeks, then she shook her head, looking away. “No, but when you’re gone, I start to panic. I can’t help it.”
He reached out, tilting her chin up. “Hey, look at me.” He waited until her glassy blue eyes latched onto his. “I always come back. Have I ever lied to you?”
She shook her head.
“Then believe in that. You’re safe here. You know that, right?”
She nodded.
“Then why the panic?”
She shrugged.
“You know I have an MC to run. Responsibilities are going to pull me away sometimes. You said you understood that.”
“Yes.”
He studied her a long moment, thinking that perhaps he’d put off this talk long enough. He gestured to the side of the bed. “Sit down, babe. We need to talk.”
Nervousness came over her, like she was afraid what he might say next. Her palms rubbed down the thighs of her jeans, and she bit her bottom lip.
He reached over and took one of her hands in his. “Holly, maybe this isn’t the best place for you—”
“Please don’t make me leave,” she interrupted in a panic.
“I’m not going to make you do anything. I know you’ve been through hell, baby. I know you were frightened. I’m just saying you can’t stay locked up in he
re forever. You have college to get back to and a life to lead. Hiding out here can’t be the solution.”
“Cat is with Blood now. Even the thought of going back to school, of going back to the old apartment all alone terrifies me. I can’t do it. Please don’t make me leave.”
He studied her face, hearing every word she said to him. He didn’t dismiss her fears. He knew they were very real for her. “Have you talked to your sister? Have you told her everything?”
She looked away and swallowed.
He waited, knowing eventually she’d tell him.
“She’s tried to get me to talk, but I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
She turned, her blue eyes laced with a trace of ice. “Can’t.”
“You talk to me, and before the night of the fire—”
“You don’t have to sugarcoat it. You don’t have to refer to it as the night of the fire. To me, it will always be the night you saved me from those men,” she corrected.
He nodded. “All right. And before that night you didn’t even know me. You’ve known your sister your whole life. How is it you can talk to me, but not her?”
She shrugged her shoulders and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You make me feel safe.”
He dipped his head and stroked his palm over her hair. “You are safe. No one is ever going to hurt you again. That’s a promise. You need to start believing it.”
She looked up, searching his eyes, and he lost himself in their depths. He saw the devotion reflected there. She’d developed some type of hero worship for him, as crazy and misplaced as that sounded.
She reached up and cupped his bearded face gently. “I do believe it.”
She was lovely, and she idolized him. That was a powerful pull for a man, and he’d been tempted. Hell, she tempted him still, looking up at him like that, but he knew it would never be serious for him. Yeah, he could take her, and totally enjoy his time with her, but she’d never be ol’ lady material, at least not for a President like him who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He needed more. He needed a woman who could be strong for him when he felt that weight slipping off his shoulders, and someone as young as Holly just didn’t have the maturity for that yet. And it wasn’t her fault; it was just who she was.