CRASH: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Outlaw Series) (4 page)

Crash
grinned. “Now that’d be a damn pretty picture. Her at my feet.”

Marty
snorted.

Crash
nodded toward her drink sitting on the bar. “What’s that called again?”

“Mudslide.”

“What’s
in it?” He picked it up and sniffed it.

“Kahlua,
Bailey’s, and supposed to be vodka. Your girl asked for coconut rum, so, not
sure what
that
tastes like.” He
nodded toward the drink in Crash’s hand.

Crash
took a sip, studied the glass and said, “Not bad. A little sweet for my taste.”
Then he downed another big sip before setting the glass back.

When
Shannon returned a few minutes later, she sat, picked up her glass and looked at
it. Then her eyes cut to Crash. “Did you drink this?”

When
he just grinned in return, she set the glass back down with a little too much
force.

Crash
stood up. “Let’s roll, Princess.”

They
moved to the door, and he held it for her. They walked out to the parking lot
and stopped at his bike. Crash picked up the helmet that Cole had left sitting
on his seat and held it out to her.

She
looked at it and then at him. “I’m in a dress.”

“See
that, babe. It’s real pretty.”

“I
can’t ride in a dress, Crash.”

“Sure
you can.” When she still didn’t take the helmet, he took a step toward her and
set it on her head. Then he buckled the strap. He strapped his own on, slung
his leg over and lifted the bike up off its kickstand. He watched her face,
waiting for that moment when she’d notice. And here it was.

“Where
the hell am I supposed to sit, in your lap?”

He
fired up the bike and grinned. “On the fender.”

“The
fender?”

“Yeah.
You’re ridin’ the fender.”

“Like
hell I am.”

“You
coming or not?”

She
lifted her hands in the air. “Can’t I just call a cab? Just give me the
address.”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“No.
Get on, Princess.”

“But-”

“Shannon,
get on.”

“Is
that even legal?” she asked, motioning toward the rear fender of his bike.

“I
don’t see any cops.”

She
put her hands on her hips.

“If
you’re going, let’s go. I’ve got shit to do.”

Still
she stood there glaring at him, and he got the feeling she thought if she could
outlast him, she’d get her way. Wrong. “Princess, I’ll say it one more time.
You going or staying? Makes no difference to me. I ain’t the one with the crazy
ex stalking me.”

At
his words, he watched her eyes quickly lift to the street, her gaze darting
around almost as if she expected the dude to pop out somewhere. A feeling of
protectiveness snaked through him. His eyes skated down the street and then
back to her. And then he whispered in a low voice, “You’re really fucking
scared of this guy, aren’t you?”

Her
eyes met his, and her hands dropped from her hips. Without saying a word she
took a hesitant step toward the bike. He slid his shades on and nodded toward
her bag. “Put on your sunglasses. They suck for riding, but they’re something.”

She
dug through her bag, coming up with the designer shades, she slipped them on. He
watched as she hiked the hem of her dress up a bit and slid onto the fender.
She put her feet where he told her and slipped the strap of her bag over her
head, tucking it between them.

“Hold
on tight,” he instructed, his eyes meeting hers over his shoulder. He waited
until he felt her hands slid around his waist, and then with a twist of the
throttle, he gunned the bike out onto the street. He felt her tuck up against
him, her arms tightening around him, and he smiled.

CHAPTER THREE

Shannon
hung on for dear life. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
She’d been on a bike only once before. That day years ago when Cole and his
group of guys had pulled her out of that van. She’d been too scared that day to
remember much about it or to have enjoyed it at all.

Now
she took the time to really take it all in. The wind in her face, the vibration
of the bike, the roar of the engine. She smiled. It was actually fun. Sitting
on the fender really wasn’t all that uncomfortable, except when he hit a bump.
She’d been afraid she was going to slide right off, but she stayed on rather
easily. Of course she was holding on to him.

Him.

Crash.
What kind of a name was that? Dear God, she hoped it wasn’t indicative of his
riding skills. Surely Cole wouldn’t have left her with this man, if he didn’t
trust him. Right?

Of
course, Cole hadn’t seemed too pleased with her. She supposed she’d given him
cause, bringing Angel into this and all. But she’d had no choice. Surely he
could understand that. If only she could have stayed with Cole and not this
guy. Cole was scary in his own right, but this man, he hit a nerve with her.
The way he grinned at her like she was some kind of a joke. She’d never been
treated like that before, and it stung. More than she cared to admit.

Shannon
knew her looks got her a lot in life, especially when it came to men. They were
all too easy to manipulate to do her bidding. But she had a feeling those
tactics weren’t going to work with a man like Crash. She was out of her
element. Way out of it. And she didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

He
took a corner, and her hands tightened over his hard abs. She could feel his
muscles moving under her palms, as well as his back muscles that were flush
against her front as she clung tightly to him. She could smell the leather of
his vest under her cheek. Coming out of the corner, he straightened the bike up
and slowed at a traffic light. She relaxed back, loosening her hold. He braked,
setting his boots on the ground to hold the bike up as they waited for the red
light to change.

Looking
over to her right, she noticed a woman in a minivan look over at her on the
back of the bike. She wondered what the woman was thinking. No matter that her
outfit cost almost a grand and that her handbag cost three times that, she was
sure that to that woman, her sitting on the back of this bike with her skirt
inching up, revealing a good amount of leg, that she looked every bit a tramp.
Shannon lifted her chin. Let her judge, sitting in her boring minivan, probably
on her way to pick up her kids from soccer practice.

The
light changed, and they pulled off. A few minutes later, Crash was getting on
I-880 heading north. The sun was sinking low, and the lights of the city were flashing
by them. It was almost a half hour before Crash exited and took several more
turns before finally slowing in front of a small two-story brick building that looked
like some type of abandoned manufacturing company. In old peeling paint on the
side of the building were the words Amalgamated Machine Works, and below it in
smaller script were the words,
Machining
Since 1885
.

Shannon’s
eyes dropped to the steel rolling garage door that looked strangely new
compared to the rest of the building. It began to raise up as Crash rolled the
bike slowly off the street and pulled under it, stopping just inside. As the
door began to slowly roll back down, she noticed that the inside of the
building was much cooler than outside. There were no windows, just a couple
metal lights hanging down that had been left burning. There were iron beams in
the ceiling overhead, a cement floor, an old sixties era pickup truck towards
the back and not much else.

“Get
off,” Crash ordered over his shoulder as he shut off the bike. She immediately
dismounted, moaning as she felt the muscles in her ass and thighs protest. Mmm,
she was going to feel that tomorrow.

Crash
lowered the bike to its kickstand and swung his leg over, standing up. He
pulled his helmet off, and then reached up and removed hers, hanging them both
on the bike. She noticed the smile on his face as his eyes slid to the hand she
was rubbing her backside with. “Sore, Princess?”

“A
little.” She raised her chin, wishing he’d wipe that smirk off his face. “Your
driving skills leave much to be desired. Seems if there was a pothole between
San Jose and Oakland, you found it.”

She
watched him move off toward what looked like some type of security alarm
control panel. He began punching in a code, rearming it and said over his
shoulder, “My driving skills are just fine, babe. Hit every one of ‘em, didn’t
I?”

Her
mouth dropped open. “You mean you were trying to hit them?”

He
grinned.

“You’re
insufferable!”

Not
missing a beat, Crash fired right back, “You’re arrogant.”

“You’re
infuriating!”

“You’re
stuck-up.”

“Neanderthal!”

“Spoiled
brat!”

“Bastard!”

“Bitch.”

“Arrgg!”

He
grinned. “I can do this all day, babe.”

She
stomped her foot. “What did I ever do to you? Why are you being such as ass to
me?”

“You
walked in the room with your nose in the air. Askin’ for help, and the whole
time, there you were, lookin’ down at us like the scum you just scrapped off
your shoe,” he replied, moving slowly toward her, and she couldn’t help but
take a step back.

“I
did not,” she insisted, but looked away, pretty sure that was exactly what she
had done.

“Right.
Come on.”

She
looked back at him, but he was already moving away. “What is this place?” she
asked, looking around at the mostly dark interior. “Why did we come here?” When
he didn’t answer she saw him stepping inside what looked like an old metal
freight elevator.

“You
comin’, Blondie? Or would you rather stay down here? In the dark. With the
rats.” She twisted her head, her eyes searching frantically, practically
wanting to jump out of her skin. Rats? She moved quickly toward him, only to
find him standing there, one hand on some type of ancient metal lever, waiting
and watching her with a grin. He was probably making the whole thing up. Her
eyes glanced around again. Was that movement she saw in the corner? Suddenly
she felt his hand clamp around her wrist and tug her onto the elevator. She’d barely
cleared the entrance before he was slamming closed some type of metal gate, and
then the elevator began its ascent, rocking under her feet.

She
watched as he leaned back against the interior wall of the elevator, one hand
on the lever, the other resting on a bar at his hip, and their eyes met. The
elevator shook and rocked. Almost losing her balance in her high-heeled pumps,
Shannon grabbed the bar and hung on, her eyes lifting to the rough bricks that
slid by, visible through the iron bars of the elevator. “Is this thing safe?”

When
he didn’t answer, her eyes moved to him. He grinned and shrugged. “Don’t know.
I’m no elevator inspector, darlin’.”

The
elevator shuddered, the gears squeaking and creaking. “Oh, God,” she murmured. A
moment later Crash threw the lever, it jarred to a stop, and Shannon was flung
sideways into him. He caught her, his hand landing on the small of her back,
clutching her up against him. She felt his hard muscled chest pressed up to the
softness of her breasts. He was a tall man, taller than her by a head, even
with her four-inch heels. Her eyes skated up him, past his neck, his strong jaw
covered with a close cut beard, finally to his eyes. They were a smoky-grey,
not really green, not really blue, and up-close they were mesmerizing. And
right now they were boring into hers, and she could swear she saw something
flare to life in them.

 
Their eyes held a moment, his fingers
tightening on her waist, and then he was setting her away from him, and the
spell was broken. He unlatched the gate and shoved it open. She followed him
out, only too happy to be off the thing. He threw a switch off to his right,
and lights came on, and she took in her surroundings, her mouth falling open.
She was staring at what could be as fine an upscale industrial loft as she’d
ever seen. Except for the eclectic way it was decorated, that is. The walls
were brick, the ceilings were very high – a good thirty feet, with exposed iron
beams and skylights staggered between them at intervals. The floor was a polished
concrete.

There
was a pool table to the left, a light hanging low over it. Beyond that was an
open kitchen with a huge island with a higher bar-top on one side and three
barstools. The countertops were granite and the appliances stainless-steel.
Funky industrial pendant lights hung over the island. Across, off to the right
was a large U-shaped sectional sofa, a coffee table and a couple of overstuffed
chairs grouped around a thick brightly colored area rug that gave the place
some color.

Beyond
the kitchen and living area, Shannon could see an area sectioned off by what
reminded her of a beaded curtain, but appeared to be hundreds of strands of
some type of shiny, silver, metal chain hanging down from a metal rod that was
suspended horizontally from the I-beams. Each length of chain was about as big
around as a dog leash. Shannon had to admit, it really made for quite an
unusual, yet stunning room divider. She’d never seen anything like it. Beyond
that, Shannon could just glimpse the most amazing, huge four-poster bed she had
ever seen. Its massive carved posts were as big around as dinner plates.

Crash
pointed around the place, drawing her attention from the bed. “Kitchen,” he
gestured, “living room, bedroom, bathroom beyond there.” He pointed to the other
side of the short end of the L-shaped kitchen, across from the bedroom.

“Is
that it?” she asked.

“Is
it not grand enough for you, Princess?”

“That’s
not what I meant.” When he just stared at her, she clarified, “One bed. Is that
all you have?”

She
watched him grin. “Isn’t one bed generally enough?”

“Not
when there are two of us.” Her eyebrows shot up, and her hand went to her hip.

His
grin deepened, and she could tell he was enjoying this. “Well, it’s a really big
bed, sweetheart.”

“Yes.
It’s massive,
honey!
But I won’t be
sharing it with you.”

“In
your dreams, Princess.”

“In
my…Oh, you’re insufferable!”

He
chuckled. “Believe you told me that already. Settle down, darlin’, I’ll take
the couch.”

“Well
for five grand, I should hope so.”

He
moved to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer. He twisted the
top off one and held it out to her. “Truce?”

She
took it, watching as he twisted the top off his own and tipped it up for a
drink. Her eyes fell to his throat, watching the muscles move as he swallowed.
Clearing her throat, she looked away. “And where do those stairs lead?” she
asked, noting a set of about six metal steps on the far side of the loft that
led up to a metal door.

“Up
to the side roof,” he replied. “It’s got a real nice view of the bay and downtown.
Especially at night when you can see the lights of the cars crossing Bay Bridge
and the planes landing at the airport.”

Setting
her purse down on the island, she took a sip of beer and looked toward the
clutter scattered around the walls near the elevator and pool table. There was
something big standing to the far corner, opposite the pool table. It was
covered with a drop cloth. Next to it there was a punching bag hanging from one
of the I-beams and imbedded into the wall was a bar used for chin-ups. Her eyes
traveled around the rest of the walls. All kinds of eclectic stuff decorated
the place. Old metal signs, old tools, handlebars, a bison’s head, snowshoes, there
was even an old motorcycle suspended from the ceiling. “You have a lot of junk,”
she commented looking up at it all.

“Sorry
if all you see is junk. I think of it as Americana.”

Her
eyes fell to him. Obviously, he’d taken it the wrong way. “I didn’t mean-”

“I
know what you meant. I know the accommodations aren’t up to your standards, Princess,
but you’re just gonna have to suck it up.”

Choosing
to ignore his combative comments, which were contrary to the so-called truce
he’d just called for, she walked around, looking at things, sipping her beer.
On the brick wall, over near the pool table was a large framed black and white
photograph of a line of six guys sitting on motorcycles with what looked like the
Teton Mountains behind them.

“I’m
sure I haven’t been half the places you’ve been,” she heard him say.

Her
eyes still on the photograph, she replied, “Funny. I was just thinking the same
thing about you.” Her eyes turned to meet his, and she thought she saw
something flare in them. She moved along, noting a large framed black and white
of Marilyn Monroe. With a smile pulling at her mouth, she looked back at him.
Typical man, but at least his choice of pin-up was excellent. And a lot
classier than a poster of a bimbo on the back of a bike, which is what she
would expect to find.