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

by Nicole James

  Blood grabbed Cat’s hand and led her toward the door. “We’re just a couple grabbing some lunch, got it?”

  She nodded and kept quiet.

  The inside was pretty generic with linoleum floors, small red Formica tables, and metal chairs. There was a seat yourself sign. Blood led her to a table in the middle. She noticed his eyes scoping out the place.

  A young Vietnamese girl came and took their order. Blood ordered for both of them. It was mid-afternoon and there were only two other people in the restaurant, the lunch rush apparently having died down.

  “I didn’t realize there was such a large Vietnamese presence in New Orleans,” Cat asked, her eyes moving around the décor.

  “They’re the largest immigrant population in the state.” Blood grinned at her. “I’ll have to bring you back in January. Most still celebrate the Tet holiday around here.”

  After the table behind them finished and left, Blood leaned forward and instructed, “Wait here. Any trouble starts, run out the door to Sandman.”

  Before she could ask what trouble he anticipated, he stood and headed toward the hallway that led to the restrooms, leaving her glancing around nervously. She could tell the hallway led toward the back, and she assumed he was doing a little recon to see if Big John was back there.

  A few minutes later, he came back to the table. He didn’t sit, instead he motioned her to stand. “Come on.”

  She stood, her eyes searching his as he gave her a slight shake of his head. Damn, she’d really hoped this lead would pan out.

  Movement from the hallway caught her eye, and she turned her head to see three angry Vietnamese approaching. They looked at Blood.

  “Who are you? Why you here?”

  Blood turned to face them as they closed in, pushing her behind him and against the wall. The first one shoved him back a step with two hands planted in his chest.

  Blood quickly responded, jamming his palm into the man’s jaw and forcing his head to the side while he reached up with his other hand and grabbed him by the back of the neck. He spun him violently around, face-first into the edge of a table.

  As that man went down, he grabbed an empty beer bottle off the recently vacated table and with a backhanded swing, smashed it into the forehead of the second man, dropping him to the ground. Then he turned on the third man, kicking him between the legs and watching him drop like a rock. As the second man was coming around, he kicked him in the face then jumped to avoid the multiple slashes the third man was making with a knife.

  Blood grabbed one of the small pedestal tables and rammed the edge into the man’s face, knocking him to the ground. Then he pounded the edge into the man’s face twice. Spinning, he threw the table at another man coming at him from behind. It diverted attention long enough for him to grab up a chair and fend him off like a lion tamer as the man repeatedly slashed with a knife, trying to get to his face. Fortunately for Blood, his arms were longer, and he was able to keep out of the man’s reach with ease and knocked him to the ground.

  “Watch out!” Cat yelled.

  Spinning, Blood saw the last man coming at him with another knife. He quickly grabbed a bottle and broke it on the edge of the table with a loud crash, turning to face his next assailant. The man made several slashes—right, left, right again. Blood dodged each one, then took his broken bottle and quickly slashed back and forth four times. The man’s face was a bloodied mess. He didn’t stop there; he grabbed the man’s head and brought his face down to violently knee him in the gut. Once. Twice. Three times, dropping the unconscious man to the ground.

  Then he grabbed Cat by the wrist. “Come on.”

  He pulled her out the door, and they ran across the lot toward Sandman, who drew his gun to cover them as they climbed on the bike.

  “You had a gun and knife. Why didn’t you use them?” Cat asked.

  “I just had to hurt them, not kill them. No need adding to the trail of bodies for the Homicide Division, right?”

  “Right.” She understood his veiled reference to the one she’d already left behind.

  The two bikes tore out of the parking lot and down the highway. They darted in another side street across the way and stopped on the other side of the old Folgers Coffee Processing Plant. The smell of roasting coffee filled the air.

  They paused, the bikes idling.

  “What the fuck happened?” Sandman asked.

  “They didn’t take too well to me snooping in the back.”

  “What’d you find out? Is he there?”

  Blood shook his head. “No, but they were getting together a protection payment. The cash was stacked up on the table they were all huddled around.”

  “So, maybe Big John’s on his way to pick it up,” Sandman suggested, his wraparound sunglasses aimed at the road back the way they’d come.

  Blood shook his head. “They’ll have called and warned him by now.”

  “So, now what?”

  Blood’s eyes shifted down the highway. “I say we keep surveillance on the place and—”

  Cat turned to look at him, wondering why he’d stopped talking. His eyes were like a hawk, trained on its prey. She looked back to see a ninja bike, moving fast down the highway, a young Vietnamese boy riding it with a large canvas duffel bag strapped to the back.

  “Bet you ten bucks there goes this week’s payment. Let’s go,” Blood ordered.

  They pulled out after him, staying well back in traffic and trailed him to a low-rent section where they watched from a lot half a block down as he entered a second floor apartment, its exterior door facing a side lot.

  “See the black Mercedes parked in the third spot?” Blood asked Sandman.

  “Yup.”

  “Pretty sure that’s Big John’s.”

  “You think there’s a back way out of those places?” Sandman eyed the building.

  Blood shook his head. “No, they’re backed up to that other office complex.”

  “Guess we’re goin’ in the front then,” Sandman mumbled as he chambered a round, bent, and dug a roll of duct tape out of his saddlebag.

  A moment later, the young boy bounded down the steps empty-handed.

  “Bet he wasn’t delivering lunch,” Sandman said.

  They waited until the boy had pulled out before moving in on foot. “Stay with the bikes,” Blood ordered Cat over his shoulder.

  The two men dashed across the street and toward the stairs, keeping their backs to the wall and out of sight of the upper windows. She watched them dart up the staircase and take up positions on either side of the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blood kept his back pressed to the wall. That sickly-sweet scent of a cherry cheroot—the same as he’d smelled in Black Jack’s courtyard—hit his nose. Big John was inside, guaranteed. He nodded to Sandman, who knocked twice and shouted something in Vietnamese.

  Blood gave him a questioning look and whispered, “Since when do you know Vietnamese?”

  Sandman grinned and whispered back, “I pick shit up.”

  The door opened, and they pushed their way inside, catching a stunned Big John completely by surprise. The duffel sat on the coffee table.

  “Blood,” Big John said as he took a step back from the two guns pointed at his face.

  Blood’s eyes shifted to the bag. “Since when is Black Jack in the protection business? Or is this a little side business you’re running all on your own?”

  Sandman grinned. “Maybe he’s supplementing his retirement fund.”

  “What do you want?” Big John asked, ignoring their questions.

  Blood grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Unfortunately for you, not the money.”

  Big John’s chin came up. “Then what?”

  Blood motioned for Sandman who stepped forward, dragged a dining chair over, and shoved Big John down into it. He pulled the duct tape out of his pocket and quickly had him secured to the chair.

  Blood gave a jerk of his chin to Sandman who moved off to c
onduct a search of the place while Blood kept his gun trained on Big John. A couple of minutes later, Sandman returned, shaking his head.

  “What’s this about?” Big John asked, his eyes moving between the two.

  Blood pulled out the picture of Holly. “Where is she?”

  Big John’s eyes slid from the picture to Blood. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

  Blood punched him in the face.

  Big John’s head snapped to the side, but he smiled, revealing teeth now stained red. “You think that’s gonna make me talk?”

  Blood smiled as he pulled out his phone. “I think your loyalty is misplaced. You really think Black Jack gives a shit about you? You think he’ll cry over your grave?”

  Big John’s jaw tightened, his eyes falling to the phone in Blood’s hand as his thumb moved over the screen, scrolling.

  Blood looked to Sandman. “How many Prospects we got watching the house where I was held?”

  “Two. Leroy and Pac Man.”

  Blood nodded as he chose a contact, put the phone to his ear, and waited for the call to be answered. His eyes met Big John’s as he spoke. “Prospect. Got a job for you. I need you to get a hold of a van, one big enough to load a dining chair into. Once you make the pickup, I want you to take it out to the Five Mile Bridge at midnight tonight and throw the chair over the side. And heads-up, there’s gonna be something heavy attached to it.” He paused a moment, studying Big John as he listened to the voice on the other end. “I don’t know. Let me ask.” He spoke to Big John. “What do you weigh, big fella? I’m guessing 280, 290?”

  The color drained from Big John’s face as the fate that awaited him became clear.

  Blood listened to the voice in his ear, and then spoke. “You want to know if he’s going to be alive when he goes over? Hmm, good question. Let me ask.” He tucked the phone under his chin and asked Big John. “You want to go into the water dead or alive?”

  Big John didn’t say anything.

  Blood grinned and spoke into the phone. “He’s not feeling too well right now. Let me get back to you on that. Just get the van. I’ll text you the pickup address.” He disconnected the call and leaned over Big John. “Can you imagine it? As you’re sinking, the light from above fading away as you descend to the murky bottom, your lungs exploding with the need for oxygen, the screams that won’t ever be heard as your mouth fills with water. What a way to go, huh?”

  Big John turned a shade of green.

  “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you’re dead before you go over the rail.”

  Big John stared at him.

  “Nothing on this earth makes any difference to you anymore. Are you starting to comprehend that? You might want to do one good thing on your way out. Tell me where the girl is. Did he put her out on the street?”

  The man grit his teeth, his eyes shifting to the side before he finally shook his head. “No. He has something special in mind for her.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “A buyer is flying in from Japan on Friday. She’s gonna bring in top dollar.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Black Jack has her.”

  “According to my sources, she’s not at the compound.”

  Big John shook his head. “No. He had her moved after you showed up. Hasn’t even told me where he stashed her.”

  “You see, John, he’s already cutting you out. So no need to protect him in your last hour on this earth.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “How did he get his hands on her?” Blood asked.

  “The Death Heads MC brought her to him.”

  “And why would they do that? They sell her to him?”

  “Nope. She was a peace offering for a little fuckup. You see, he’s working with them.”

  “What?” Blood asked stunned.

  There was a knock at the door. Sandman quickly put his hand over Big John’s mouth to make sure he didn’t say anything. Blood stepped to the window and drew the curtain to the side an inch to peer out.

  Cat. Damn it, she was supposed to stay put, like she’d been told. She was glancing all around like something was wrong. He quickly opened the door a crack. “Not now, babe. Go back to the bikes.”

  “I can’t. Those men drove by,” she hissed in a whisper.

  Blood opened the door, yanked her in, and slammed it. Her eyes got big when she saw Big John taped to the chair.

  “Stand there and be quiet.” Blood got in her face, drawing that wide-eyed stare up to him. She nodded mutely, and he turned back to the job at hand, snapping, “The Death Heads. Explain.”

  “It’s true,” Big John stated.

  Sandman huffed out a laugh. “Black Jack, the man who hates the Evil Dead MC with every fiber in his being, is working with the Death Heads? Bullshit. No way.”

  Big John glared at him. “I never said it was smart.”

  “What was the fuck up?” Blood pressed.

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “They found out the man they’d shot was none other than Black Jack Boudreaux’s son.”

  “What?” Cat whispered.

  Blood turned to see her stunned eyes on him. He pointed to her. “Stay the fuck out of this, Cat.” He watched her mouth slam shut, the expression on her face filled with a new wariness. He turned back to Big John. “Explain.”

  “I’m guessing that’s why they patched you up. They realized their mistake. Then the girl, well, she was…compensation for fucking things up.”

  “The girl?” Cat took a step forward, her eyes moving between Big John and Blood. “He has my sister?”

  Blood whirled on her. “Not one more word, do you understand?” He pointed to the couch. “Sit down!”

  She sat.

  Big John huffed out a laugh. “I’m guessing the little lady didn’t know you’re the son of the biggest crime boss in the city. Surprise, surprise.”

  Blood whirled on him and punched him in the mouth again. “What was the deal?”

  Big John spit a mouthful of blood out and laughed. “Why not? Might as well tell you all of it. He made a deal with them. They’re going to stock him in women.”

  “And in return?”

  “They want a foothold in Louisiana—New Orleans, specifically. But then, you knew that, right? They’ve wanted an ‘in’ for a long time. Black Jack’s giving them one. Six thousand oil rigs in the Gulf… That’s a lot of lonely men away from shore for weeks at a time. Then there’s the drug traffic in and out of the port. It could be a lucrative business for both parties. And I think he figures if it destroys your club in the process, you’ll come crawling back to him. You’d have no other choice.”

  “No way in hell that’s ever happening.” Blood stared at the man. “Why now? After all these years.”

  “Your father has always been pissed you turned your back on the family business. But with you having the Evil Dead at your back, there was little Black Jack could do, and that drove him crazy.

  “When you started messing with his business, trying to save his girls, it pushed him over the edge. That’s when he made that deal. You see, the Death Heads and your ol’ man had the same goal—to push the Evil Dead MC out of New Orleans and out of Louisiana.”

  Blood stared at him. “That son of a bitch. None of that will ever happen. I’ll see to it, personally.”

  “As long as I’m making my last statement, there’s more. It’s time you knew.”

  Blood noticed Cat’s reaction to the part about this being John’s last statement.

  “Blood?” she whispered.

  He pointed a finger at her, not even turning his head, his eyes staying on the man. But he got the intended effect. She shut up.

  “Speak,” he ordered Big John.

  “Your mother didn’t run off.”

  That was the last thing Blood expected to come out of his mouth. Before he could even formulate a question, Big John continued.

  “Black Jack killed her.
”

  Blood tried to jive this up with the story he’d always been told as a child—that his mother had abandoned him. Blood knew what kind of a man his father was, knew all too well just what the man was capable of, but he’d never once considered this possibility. His eyes drilled into the man. “Why?”

  “She was going to leave him.”

  “Then why not just let her go?”

  “Because she was going to take you with her. He wasn’t about to lose his son.” The corner of Big John’s split lip lifted in a smirk. “Guess he lost you anyway, huh? He wanted me to dump her body in the swamp.”

  Oh my God. Blood thought he was going to be sick at the vivid image that flashed through his brain of his mother’s body disposed of in such a horrible way. His eyes burned into Big John’s. “You son of a bitch. You let him kill her.”

  “I couldn’t stop him, but I made sure she had a decent burial. I couldn’t dump her like that. She was an innocent. She didn’t deserve any of the shit he did to her. She’s got a nice grave in Metairie Cemetery. Paid for it myself. I lay flowers on it every year on her birthday.”

  “You think that makes it okay? You think that washes your sins away? You think any of that is going to save you?”

  Big John shook his head. “No. I know I’ve got sins to pay for. I know I’ve got retribution due me. I feel like I’ve been running from it all these years. And I’m tired, Son. So, you do what you gotta do.”

  “Black Jack know any of that?”

  Big John shook his head. “No. He thinks I followed orders.”

  “And why didn’t you?”

  “She was a sweet girl. I… cared about her.”

  “And yet after he killed her, you continue to work for him.”

  Big John nodded. “I did. I shouldn’t have, but I did. If he had suspected I had feelings for her; I’d have been the next to die.”

  “Anything else you want to confess?”

  His eyes slid to Cat for a moment before shifting back to Blood. “I don’t know where the girl is, but there’s something you might be able to use to get Black Jack to bargain with you. Something your mother had.”