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

by Nicole James

  “Maybe.”

  “Blood!” Undertaker called from the picnic table. Blood’s eyes lifted over Cat’s head to the man who held up a ten-dollar bill. Then his eyes dropped back to her.

  “Guess I need to go collect my winnings.” He looped an arm around her. “Come on, let’s get a beer.”

  ***

  Blood set a shot on the bar in front of Cat. “Shoot it down.”

  Cat picked up the glass and downed it.

  He poured them both another.

  “Blood, enough.”

  “You drunk, yet?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s not enough.”

  “Can I talk to you, in private?” she bit out, and Blood could sense her anger. Just when he thought he was loosening her up. Damn. He huffed out a breath and followed her up the stairs, away from the crowded main floor.

  When they were a few feet down the upstairs hallway, she turned to him and snapped, “I don’t need to be drunk right now, Blood! And neither do you!”

  “You don’t get a say in what I do!” They stood a foot apart, both fuming, tempers clashing. At least she knew better than to say this shit in front of the club, but still, a man like him didn’t like hearing any criticism, least of all about his drinking.

  “I can handle my liquor, Cat.” He wasn’t drunk, not even close; she didn’t have a clue how much alcohol that took.

  “You’ll be useless tomorrow when you’ve got a hangover. How’re you going to go out searching for my sister when you’re hung-over?”

  “I don’t get hangovers. Ever.”

  Apparently, the nurse in her found that hard to believe. Her hands landed on her hips. “Oh really? And you’d better not be mixing pain killers with alcohol.”

  “Haven’t had a pill all day, Nurse Hotty.”

  Blood could see the fire in her eyes, and suddenly more than temper flared to life in him as he imagined her in a sexy nurse’s costume. He drew in several deep breaths, trying to get control of his emotions; unfortunately all he drew in was the scent of her. It was sweet, floral, honey, and sunshine. Was that the shampoo she’d washed her hair with? His eyes strayed down the waist-length cascade of corn silk. It gleamed against the black scooped neck t-shirt she wore.

  He ached to run his hands through the soft tresses. The ponytail she sometimes wore it in had played center stage in a hundred fantasies he’d had since he’d met her. He itched to wrap it around his fist, control her with it as he drove his dick in her mouth, her pussy, her—

  “Blood.”

  Her voice broke into his fantasy, and his eyes flicked back up to hers. He knew he should give her space, stay away from her, because keeping his hands off her was becoming impossible. But giving her space was the last fucking thing he wanted to do.

  So, he did what he did best—he acted on his impulses and backed her to the wall. Her wide eyes came to his as he pinned her there. He didn’t ask, he didn’t pause, he just took—something he’d always been good at.

  His mouth came down on hers, crushing her lips under his. Her hands came up to fist in the material over his chest, gripping, clutching the fabric. She’d been startled at first, but her mouth was opening to his, her head falling back, submitting and letting him drink his fill. Her tongue skated against his as she moaned into his mouth.

  She pressed against him, and her hips brushed the hard-on that strained against his zipper. A growl rumbled up from his chest. That only seemed to drive her on, but he wasn’t satisfied with the grazes and brushes she managed.

  He dropped his hands to her ass and hauled her up against him, grinding that erection into her. Her arms naturally slid over his shoulders, her fingers threading into his hair.

  Jesus Christ. He wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her right here.

  He needed to touch her, to do what he’d dreamed of since the first time he’d kissed her. He wanted to smell her scent, to taste her. Before he could think better of it, he had her pants open and his hand inside. She broke the kiss to gasp out her surprise, but he quickly captured her mouth again. She whimpered softly as his fingers reached their goal, finding her wet. He stroked his fingers through it, dying to yank her jeans down and bury his face between her legs.

  He pulled back to stare down at her with hooded eyes. “You’re fucking soaked, baby.” He moved his fingers in slow circles around her clit and watched her eyes flutter shut as her breathing started to come in short pants. “You like my touch.”

  She tried to shake her head, but they both knew it was a lie. He kept at her.

  “No, we shouldn’t do this.” She glanced down the hall, and he saw the panic start to form in her eyes. She was afraid someone would come. He smiled. Someone was going to come all right.

  “Blood, stop, please.”

  He ignored her pleas, choosing instead to follow the contradictory signals her body was giving him. It called out for more, begged for it. She was riding his hand now, unable to resist the instinctive thrusting as she tried to chase that elusive climax. He shifted to stroke with his thumb while his fingertips teased her entrance. She almost hyperventilated, and he couldn’t pretend her reaction wasn’t making him hard as a rock.

  “Shh, babe. Relax.” He kept stroking, and her breathing changed again. The short pants stopped as she sucked in her breath and held it. She was close, so close. It was written all over her face. “There’s my girl. Let go.”

  She did, jerking against his hand and clutching his shoulders as her body slumped against the wall. He had a thigh pressed between her legs, keeping her from sliding down to the floor in a puddle.

  They heard boots on the stairs and the muffled sound of talking.

  He slid his hand free and quickly did up her pants.

  She looked confused and stunned and disoriented as he gave her a wink and walked away to talk to his brothers.

  When he glanced back, she was still where he’d left her, staring after him, her lips parted and swollen from his kisses, her face flushed and her eyes dilated.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was barely dawn when Cat snuck out of her room and headed to the kitchen in search of coffee. She’d pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee, slipping her feet into tennis shoes. A few minutes later, she had her hands wrapped around a steaming mug when she heard some conversation through the screen of the window over the sink. It was barely light out, the first traces of pink and yellow lighting the horizon.

  She peered outside and saw Blood and Sandman already dressed and standing near their bikes. Sandman lit up a smoke and shoved the lighter back in his hip pocket.

  She ducked back out of sight, but stayed close enough to listen.

  “Blood, we’re rolling out at four. Mooch is taking one team, and you’re supposed to lead the second. We don’t have time to be searching all over for this chick.”

  “I fucking know what the plan is. I’m just asking for a few hours. We’ll sweep the Quarter, check in with some bouncers, follow up with our contacts, and show her picture around again.”

  “We did all that. They know to call if they see her.”

  “I can go alone, then.”

  “Bro, we’ve got bigger fish to fry than some missing chick. Get your priorities straight.”

  Cat heard a boom, and the wall shook. She peeked out to see Blood with his fists in Sandman’s leather cut, pinning him to the side of the building.

  “Don’t you ever fucking question my priorities or my dedication to this club,” Blood growled into his face.

  Sandman held up his hands. “Okay, man. Lay off.”

  Blood released him with a shove.

  “I’m just trying to tell you, Blood. You go too far with this, guys are gonna start to wonder.”

  “You been hearing talk?”

  “No… I mean, other than wondering why you brought a fine piece of ass back to the clubhouse and ain’t touched her. But you start to blow shit off, you’re just gonna stir the pot.”

  “I can go alone. Go back to f
ucking bed.”

  Sandman let out a frustrated breath. “You can be a real dick, you know that?”

  Blood got on his bike.

  Sandman huffed. “Fine. I’ll fucking come with you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Like I’d let you go alone. Somebody’s got to watch your fucking back.”

  Cat stood back, thinking, her eyes darting frantically over the Formica. Then she put her mug down and dashed through the club and out the door.

  Both men looked startled as she rounded the corner on them.

  Blood frowned. “What are you doing up so early? Go back to bed, Cat.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

  “You’re going to look for my sister. I heard you.” She jerked her chin to the window ten feet down the wall.

  “Shit,” Blood grumbled. He and Sandman exchanged a look.

  “Don’t look at me, bro. She’s your fucking problem.”

  “I’m going with you,” Cat reiterated.

  “The hell you are,” Blood snapped back.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Get inside.”

  “No.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a stubborn thing?”

  She glared, her hands landing on her hips. “Yes, and it’s a good thing I am. Maybe that stubbornness was what saved your ass when the Death Heads had you.”

  There was a tick in his jaw. He knew she was right, but he didn’t like being reminded. “Cat, not gonna say it again. Get inside.”

  She folded her arms and glared back at him. “Fine. You go and I tell Undertaker where you’re going.”

  Sandman shook his head. “Well, she’s a hellcat, ain’t she?”

  Blood ignored him. “You won’t be telling anyone anything when I gag you and tie you to the bed.”

  “Don’t you threaten me!”

  “Not a threat, it’s a fact.”

  Sandman whistled. “Girl, you better be careful.”

  She bit her lip and changed her approach. “Blood, please. Take me with you. I can help. Maybe I can get people to talk. People who won’t talk to you.”

  He said nothing, but he stared at her, like maybe he was considering, so she pressed. “Please, Blood. She’s my sister. I need to feel like I’m doing something.”

  Sandman looked to Blood for his answer, almost like, he too, was pulling for her. “She might be right.”

  Blood glared at him. “Stay outta this.”

  “I can go back to bed and let you two fight it out.”

  After a long moment, Blood reached back, dug in his saddlebag and jerked out a spare helmet. “Put it on and be quick about it.”

  She gave him a big smile as she reached for the helmet and scrambled on the back of his bike.

  ***

  “I’m starved,” Sandman whined.

  “When are you not?” Blood snapped as they walked down one of the side streets in the Quarter.

  “Come on, don’t that smell good?” he asked as they passed another restaurant.

  “Christ. Shut up about food,” Blood growled.

  “Come on, man. Can’t you smell that Etouffée? Hey, maybe we could split a Po-boy or some Red Beans and rice. I know. We could stop at Central Grocery for a Muffuletta or Pat O’s for some shrimp and grits, or Jambalaya. Come on, I’m dyin’ here. Just a quick bowl of gumbo, anything.”

  Blood ignored him and kept walking.

  “Come on, I’m starved, and every place we pass smells so fucking good.”

  Blood came to an abrupt stop and glared at him. “You’re not gonna shut up about it, are you?”

  Sandman grinned. “Nope.”

  “Fine.” Blood pivoted on his boot and pulled Cat into an establishment with a courtyard.

  They sat at a table and watched people walking past. After they placed their orders and each had a beer, Blood murmured low to Sandman, “Black Jack’s involved, I feel it in my bones.”

  “You want to pay him another visit?”

  “I’m thinking maybe we need to get inside without them knowing. Search the place.”

  Sandman rubbed his hand over his jaw. “That’s gonna take some doing. The place is guarded well.”

  Blood nodded.

  Their food came, and they ate.

  Blood wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and tossed it on his plate.

  Sandman pushed his plate away and looked over at him. “Come up with a plan, yet?”

  “To get into Black Jack’s? Not in the light of day. Anything I can come up with involves darkness.”

  “Definitely.” Sandman finished off his beer.

  Blood glanced over his shoulder at the people passing by on the street. A second later, he was stiffening in his chair. “Christ, there’s Ivy.”

  Sandman and Cat watched stunned as he bolted out of the courtyard after some woman walking past.

  “Fuck. Come on, girl,” Sandman snapped to Cat as he dug into his hip pocket, pulled out a wad of cash and dropped it on the table. They both ran out after Blood.

  They made it to the street in time to see Blood dash around a corner. They tore down the block after him and spotted him down an alleyway.

  Cat could barely keep up. She was huffing when she came to a stop in what appeared to be a dead-end. A scared woman was backing away from Blood.

  “You’re running out of alley, Ivy,” he said to her.

  “What do you want?” The woman continued to back up, stark fear written on her face.

  “Take it easy, girl. I just want to ask you some questions.”

  Her eyes darted frantically between him and Sandman, who was also closing in on her. She made to dash past them both for a small gangway that led between two brick buildings.

  Blood was on her in a split second, pinning her against the wall. “Easy, babe. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

  “And who told you that?”

  Cat saw Sandman glance back down the alley, watching for anyone who might have seen them chase the girl back here. Cat followed his eyes, but no one in the crowd of people traipsing down the street seemed to care. She turned back to Blood and the girl.

  He shook her. “Who told you, Ivy?”

  “Big John.”

  Blood pushed the hair back from her face, examining it. She tried to pull away. “Easy.” Then he looked in her eyes. “He the one who gave you that shiner?”

  She looked away.

  “You can’t cover everything with makeup, darlin’. Did he do that?”

  She nodded.

  Blood pulled Holly’s picture from his back pocket and held it in front of her face. “Have you seen this girl?”

  She studied the picture, and then shook her head.

  “Why are you so nervous, Ivy?”

  “I told you, I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

  “You ever wonder why that is?”

  She stayed mute.

  “Because they don’t want you girls thinking anyone can help you.”

  She looked away, and Cat saw her eyes glaze with tears.

  “Please,” Cat pleaded softly. “She’s my little sister.”

  Ivy met her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled.

  “Tell us what you know,” Blood said.

  “I don’t know if it’s her, but…”

  Cat felt her heart jump to her throat, and she took a step toward her.

  “But what?” Blood pressed.

  “I heard Big John talking on his cell phone. It was something about ‘the young blonde.’”

  “What about her?”

  “Nothing, I don’t know, just that she’d be ready Friday when the buyer came.”

  Cat looked to Blood with a stricken expression. “That’s two days from now.”

  “What buyer?” Blood shook Ivy again.

  “I don’t know,” she pleaded. “He’s flying in. That’s all I know.”

  Blood le
t her go and turned to Sandman, running a hand down his face. “We need to get into that compound.”

  “She’s not there.”

  Blood turned back to Ivy. “What?”

  “She’s not there. I was at the compound for a party last night. There’s no girl being kept there. They must have her somewhere else. But Big John knows where she is. He knows everything.”

  “And where can we find Big John?” Sandman asked.

  “It’s Wednesday. He makes collections in Little Saigon on Wednesdays.”

  “Collections?”

  “The Pho Yen Restaurant. Cherry says they collect protection money for Black Jack from all the Vietnamese businesses.”

  Blood dug in his pocket, pulled out a couple of twenties, and pressed them into Ivy’s hand. “You don’t say a word about seeing us, you hear?”

  Ivy clutched the money to her chest and nodded.

  “You see Holly, you call me.”

  “I promise.”

  Cat met her eyes, her own filled with tears, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  ***

  They jogged back to the bikes parked side-by-side on St. Peter. Cat put her hand on Blood’s arm, halting him from climbing on his bike. “Maybe…” She looked toward the street. “Maybe we should go to that compound you were talking about.”

  “Hey, look at me.” When she did, he stared her in the eyes. “I can kill Black Jack. I have no problem doing that. But it’s no guarantee it would get Holly back for you.” He slid his hand to her nape. “Our best bet is finding Big John.”

  She nodded and climbed on the bike with him. They wove through the city until they picked up Chef Hwy heading east, which rode right through the Vietnamese section.

  They passed Michoud Boulevard and slowed down. A couple blocks down, Blood turned left onto Alcee Fourtier Boulevard, then turned into the lot of a strip mall and parked near the entrance to the Pho Yen Restaurant.

  Cat climbed off and stared at the establishment. There was a glass store front, the bottom half of the windows covered in red curtains. A neon sign in the window read, OPEN.

  Blood looked at Sandman. “Stay here. Keep an eye out.”

  Sandman nodded, his eyes like a hawk moving over the building, the lot, and the adjacent side street.