BLOOD: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Evil Dead MC Series Book 7)

by Nicole James

  He was about to find out. He was sure Dax knew more than he’d claimed to know at Cat’s apartment.

  “Please,” the asshole begged. “I told you everything.”

  Blood hit him again. Dax’s lip split open, and red splatter flew all over Sandman.

  “Goddamn it, man.” Sandman stared down at the stains on his vest.

  Blood grinned at him. “You might want to move, dumbass.”

  ***

  Half an hour later, the club filed into the second floor room they used for Church, the club’s weekly mandatory meetings. But this wasn’t their usual Friday night meeting. This was an emergency meeting that had been called specifically to deal with the Death Heads situation and to discuss what they had just learned from their “guest” locked up in the downstairs back room—a guest who was currently being guarded by a Prospect.

  The men settled into chairs, some standing shoulder to shoulder along the wood-paneled walls. The room was crowded with leather-clad full-patched members incensed at the invasion of Evil Dead territory by another MC, as well as the fury they felt that one of their own had been taken and held all this time.

  There were grumblings all around the room, most consisting of threats, vowing revenge and all the different ways “those motherfuckers were going to pay.”

  Undertaker slammed the gavel against the table and barked, “Settle down!”

  The room came to an abrupt dead silence. Other than the creaking of leather vests in old worn executive chairs, they could have heard a pin drop.

  “This meeting shall be called to order. We’ll dispense with the usual roll call and get right to it. First up, Bug, I want you to get on the phone with our friends in Texas. Find out everything you can about the Death Heads movements. Find out the numbers still in town, how many they think may have left town on a run, and any intel they can get. I don’t care if it’s just word on the street or unconfirmed rumors, I want to hear it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bug nodded from his place toward the end of the long table.

  “Wicked, Big Boy, Sly, I want you three to concentrate on our snitches in town. Get everybody on the look out for those motherfuckers. Find out any talk they’re hearing. Make sure they’re suitably motivated. That goes for all the hang-arounds, too. Don’t divulge too much, but make sure they know to be on the look out for any Death Head activity.”

  There were several nods around the room.

  An arm rose.

  Undertaker acknowledged the man with a nod. “Tee Ray.”

  “That sniveling cocksucker downstairs give up anything?”

  Undertaker shook his head. “He doesn’t know shit. Apparently, he was trying to save his ass from a beating when he gave up the girls to the Death Heads. They had a disagreement about an accounting issue. Not the first time, according to him. Claims he doesn’t know why the Death Heads were in town. He was brought along to make some introductions to other drug connections, but he believes there was something much bigger in the works. There was talk of a meeting the MC was going to, but he doesn’t know the other players. He wasn’t told prior that they were coming to take the second girl he’d been left guarding. Said two guys showed up, took her without a word, and left. Only thing he knows is one of them got a call; he overheard part of it. Said he heard the guy reference the Quarter, and they’d be there in fifteen minutes. He wasn’t sure that was where they were headed or not.”

  “What about Blood being taken?”

  “He didn’t know shit about that except they had a guy who needed medical treatment. He cut the deal to offer up Cat, who’s a nurse. The sister just happened to be there. She was a bonus, not the target.”

  “And now?”

  “Now we find out what the fuck those assholes are doing in our town.”

  Mud cracked his knuckles. “We need to get rolling ASAP and comb the city tonight.”

  “We wait for a few hours to gather intel before we walk blind into a trap. Then we’ll move, make no mistake.” Undertaker glanced around the table receiving nods in agreement.

  “Other chapters?” Easy asked.

  “Put the word out to Mississippi and Alabama. We may need backup on this one.”

  “Done.”

  “Let the support clubs know to keep their eyes open, too.”

  “You got it.”

  Undertaker’s eyes swung to his Sergeant At Arms. “Double up security here at the clubhouse.”

  “You want us on lockdown?” Bam-Bam asked.

  “Not yet, but let’s open it up to any ol’ ladies and family who would feel safer here than at home.”

  The man nodded. “I’ll pass the word.”

  Undertaker looked around the room. “Any other questions?”

  The room stayed quiet.

  He slammed the gavel down. “Dismissed.”

  The majority of the men shuffled out until only the club officers remained—Undertaker, Mooch, Blood, Bam-Bam, Easy, Mud, and Wicked.

  Undertaker looked over at Blood. “How’re you feeling?”

  “I’m fine,” Blood bit back.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I said I’m fine.” The two men stared at each other. Then Blood broke the silence. “I want to go down to the Quarter tonight and search for Cat’s sister.”

  “No.”

  “I can look for the Death Heads.”

  “And end up taken again? No.”

  “That won’t happen again. They caught me unaware. Now I know they’re here. And maybe they’re long gone.”

  “We just discussed this in the meeting. We’re waiting on intel before we move.”

  “I made a promise to Cat to help get her sister back.”

  “A promise you shouldn’t have made. Your club comes first, in case you forgot.”

  Blood stood. “I haven’t forgotten a damn thing, including the fact that I wouldn’t be alive if that girl hadn’t helped me. And I wouldn’t be free if she hadn’t stuck her neck out and made that call. She trusted me. I gave her my word. Or doesn’t that mean anything in this club anymore?”

  Undertaker bolted to his feet. “Don’t you disrespect me or this club by suggesting that. Sit the fuck down.”

  Blood took a seat.

  Undertaker stared at him. His officers stayed quiet, their eyes connecting with a meaning that wasn’t lost on Blood.

  Blood knew the conflict of the situation he was in, and he also knew the spot he was putting his President in, but he had to help Cat get her sister back and fulfill his debt to her, even though it might take time away from protecting his club.

  This was a crucial time. He knew that. He saw the dichotomy, the conflicting demands on his time, but he knew he had to try. He just couldn’t bring himself to turn his back on Cat, the woman who had risked everything to save him. So his eyes met his President’s with clear determination and resolve. “You know I’m dedicated to this club. That’s never been in question, not once since the moment that Prospect patch went on my back and through all the years I’ve held a full patch. My loyalty and dedication have always been rock solid. You, more than anyone, know how much this club means to me. You know how much I’ve done for this club. Everything you’ve ever asked I’ve done without question, without hesitation. Now I’m asking for this one thing—give me one night to search for her.” He swallowed, the last word a hard one for him. “Please.”

  Undertaker sat back in his chair, leather creaking as he did. He ran a hand over his mouth, and then stroked the back of his fingers along his beard as he studied Blood, contemplated all he’d said, and considered his request. Finally, he spoke. “One night. But you don’t go alone. Take Sandman with you, and keep in touch. I want hourly updates.”

  “Done. Thank you.”

  Undertaker jerked his chin to the door. “Get out of here.”

  ***

  After Blood closed the door behind him, Mooch turned to his President. “What the hell was that about?”

  Undertaker ran a hand over his mouth. “A whole lot
of questions in his head he doesn’t have the answers to.”

  ***

  Blood found Sandman out in the hall, leaning against the wall, just like he knew he’d be. Blood could always count on Sandman to have his back. The man probably knew exactly what Blood was in there requesting, and he was ready and waiting.

  “Don’t think you’re going alone,” were the first words out of the man’s mouth, proving Blood’s thoughts were correct.

  Blood nodded and laid his hand on Sandman’s shoulder. “Thanks, Brother. You ready to roll?”

  “Ain’t I always?”

  Blood shook his shoulder and continued down the hall toward the stairs. “Let me get Cat taken care of, and I’ll meet you outside.”

  Two sets of boots tromped down the stairs.

  Blood found Cat in the kitchen, cleaning up with the other women. He liked the fact that she pitched in. He stopped in the doorway and every eye turned toward him. Cat paused, her hand clutching a dishtowel, stilling the motion as she dried a plate.

  He spoke to Mama Ray. “I’ll be out for a few hours. Take care of her for me.”

  “She’ll be fine,” she said, her voice raspy from years of cigarette smoke and her arms elbow-deep in soapy water. “Go on, now.”

  Blood’s gaze shifted to Cat, and their eyes held a moment. He lifted his chin to her in acknowledgement. She returned the gesture.

  The side of his mouth lifted in what some might consider a tiny smile, at least for him. And then he turned and walked out to his bike where his brother waited.

  He had just swung his leg over the seat, when Cat came dashing out the door. She stopped short, her eyes searching the dark until she spotted him in a sea of chrome shining in the moonlight.

  “Get back inside,” he growled, not pleased she’d followed him.

  Moving toward him quickly, she blurted, “Where are you going?”

  “Club business.”

  “Are you going to look for my sister?”

  “Cat, get back inside. Not gonna say it again.”

  Her hands landed on her hips in the classic “you’re not the boss of me” pose Blood was familiar with, but not often the recipient of.

  “Don’t think you can order me around. You don’t own me.”

  That had Blood swinging his leg off his bike and moving toward her with such speed it had her stepping back. He got right in her space, his large presence looming over her. “Until this is over, I do.” He pointed to the ground at his feet. “Here, on Evil Dead property, I’m responsible for you. How you behave reflects on me. I expect you to show respect to me, my brothers, and everyone else here. We clear?”

  She looked pissed, and her chin came up, but she had the good sense to concede. “Crystal.”

  “I made you a promise. I’ll do what I promised. What I won’t do is be questioned about it by you. I’ll let this little display go. This time,” he warned.

  She stared back at him with fire in her eyes, but had the good sense to keep her mouth shut.

  “Get inside. Now.”

  Her jaw tightened, and Blood half expected her to argue, but she turned and did what she was told.

  He got back on his bike and fired it up. He looked over at Sandman, who grinned back at him.

  “Bitches, huh? Can’t live with ‘em, can’t leave ‘em on the side of the road.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Blood growled as he roared out of the compound and onto the pavement, gunning the throttle.

  Sandman followed, laughing as he let out a, “Yeehaw!” Gravel spewed up as he roared out of the lot and tore after Blood’s fading taillight.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blood and Sandman rolled slowly through the French Quarter. Night had fallen. and the revelry the Big Easy was famous for was in full swing. Music poured into the neon-lit streets from a dozen bars. The two men had already done one full swing down Canal, along the river and up Esplanade to the east bordering the Faubourg Marigny section and up through the Treme neighborhoods, skirting the section where the house Blood had been kept stood looming in the darkness. The place looked deserted and quiet. Undertaker had informed Blood that he had some informants in the area keeping an eye on the place, and no activity had been reported.

  The two bikes rode slowly up and down each one-way street, traversing back and forth like a search team clearing a quadrant. There were a few bikers in the French Quarter, like there always were, but they were civilian, just out having a good time, their bikes parked, rear-wheel to the curb, the owners standing on the sidewalk within sight.

  Blood and Sandman finally circled back and parked in the courtyard by Blood’s place. They backtracked toward Bourbon Street, showing Holly’s picture around to some of the bouncers that stood in open doorways. No one had seen her.

  Blood noticed that none of Black Jack’s girls seemed to be out on the streets in the neighborhood by his place. He thought that odd.

  The more he thought about it, the more it ate at him.

  “Sandman.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The Treme neighborhood is where Black Jack’s compound is. It’s where I was headed the night I was jumped. Now the Death Heads were supposedly headed toward the Quarter with Cat’s sister. I can’t help but wonder if this is all tied to Black Jack somehow. Or is it just a coincidence?”

  “Do you believe in coincidence?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “You think Black Jack’s involved?”

  “He hates bikers. Can’t stand the fact that the Evil Dead MC exists here. I just can’t see him getting involved with the Death Heads. Besides, he’s runs all the prostitution from the Ninth Ward to Canal St. and all the way up to Lake Ponchartrain and out toward the Vietnamese section.”

  “Little Saigon?”

  “Yeah. What do you know about it?”

  “I know they have the best Bahn Mi.”

  “The Vietnamese version of a po-boy?”

  “Yeah. They’re awesome. There’s this little place off Michoud Blvd. Been there a couple of times.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Can we get back to the problem at hand?”

  “Right. Black Jack.”

  “My point is, he sure doesn’t need an MC cutting into his business.”

  “Maybe they sold her to him.”

  Blood nodded, eyeing the end of the street. “Guess we should go ask him.”

  “Fuck, I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve always wanted to see his place.”

  “Don’t be so eager. His compound is well guarded. We’ll be outnumbered. He has a lot of men. Some you’ll see, some you won’t, so don’t go doing anything stupid.”

  “Me, stupid?” Sandman scoffed, holding a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded, Brother.”

  “Shut up and come on.”

  They walked the eight blocks toward the compound, pausing halfway down the street to observe. They watched for twenty minutes to be sure there were no Death Heads anywhere near the compound. Blood wasn’t about to be caught off guard again.

  This time when they approached, they skirted the alley and went in through the front entrance. Inside a small courtyard was the front door.

  Blood hated the setup, with its one way in and out; they could easily be cornered here. His eyes darted around the area and up to the windows and galleries above. There was a set of French doors two floors up that opened into a gallery. Sheer curtains were softly billowing in the breeze. Quiet classical music drifted down.

  “Watch our backs,” he ordered.

  Sandman kept an eye to their rear. “On it.”

  Blood used the old doorknocker; its loud banging echoed around the small courtyard and up to the French doors above.

  There was a tiny square window in the heavy wooden door covered by intricate iron scrollwork in a fleur-de-lis design. A shadow moved at the glass. and after a long moment the door swung open.

  A large bull of a man stood in the doorway. “Can I help you?”

  “Here to see Black Jack.”
<
br />   “Mr Boudreaux isn’t receiving visitors this late.”

  “Tell him Blood is here to see him.”

  The man’s eyes ran over him, and he stepped back, gesturing them into a parlor. “Wait here.”

  Another man stepped forward to guard them as the big bulldog went to inform his boss. Blood smirked, sizing up the man who watched them. He was quite sure Sandman was doing the same thing, thinking just where he’d stick his knife—just under the ribs where it could do a lot of damage.

  The big man returned.

  “Follow me.”

  Blood noticed, as they headed up the stairs, that the second man brought up the rear, his eyes on them the whole time. They were led down a long hallway with beautiful décor, old world paintings, soft lighting, and polished woodwork.

  The big man tapped on a door to the left and opened it. He motioned them inside. Once they were in, the two men took their positions just inside the door.

  Blood glanced around the room. He’d been here before, and not much had changed. Black Jack sat at his large antique desk, surrounded by all the trappings his ill-gotten wealth had afforded him. The man was in his early sixties, his still dark hair was slicked back, and he had a moustache that came down along the sides of his mouth.

  His fathomless eyes lifted to Blood and moved over him before skating over to Sandman. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Something I can do for you, boys?”

  “How’s business?” Blood asked snidely. If looks could kill, the one Black Jack gave him back would do the job.

  “I’ve got things to do. How ‘bout you just tell me what you want. I’ve got no reason to be nice to you, so let’s not screw around.”

  Blood reached to his vest to pull the photo of Holly out of the inside pocket. When he did, the two men behind him drew guns. He put his hands up. “Easy fellas. Just got a picture to show your boss.” When they didn’t move, Blood looked Black Jack in the eye. “You want to tell Frick and Frack to relax?”