GHOST: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Evil Dead MC Series Book 5) (6 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Jessie stretched, coming awake. It was daylight now, and Ghost had propped the door wide open, letting in the bright sunlight. He was squatted down next to his bike, fiddling with it. When he heard her movement, he twisted, looking over his shoulder.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Good morning,” she replied, getting stiffly to her feet. She moved to stand next to him and nodded toward the bike. “Did you figure out what happened to it?”

He looked up at her. “The bolt connecting the shift linkage snapped.”

“Can you fix it?” She watched as he continued fiddling with it. Then he stood, wiping his hands on a bandana and answered sarcastically, “Yeah, you got a couple of five-sixteenth bolts on ya?”

Her mouth pulled up in a half smile. “Right. See your point.” She eyed the door. “So what do we do? Walk?”

He huffed out a breath, and her eyes came back to him.

“I’m not leaving my bike here.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll fix it. I just have to figure out some way to jury-rig it.”

“Jury-what?”

“Jury-rig. A makeshift fix.”

When she frowned, still not understanding, he expanded.

“Improvise, Cobble something together,
half-ass it
.”

“Gotcha.”

He glanced around the shed. “Check the floor. Maybe we’ll find something I can use.”

The shed was cluttered with some garbage in the corner. What appeared to be the trash left over from when whoever emptied out whatever had been stored here long ago. They both scoured the place top to bottom.

***

Jessie dumped her meager pile of ‘found’ items next to the bike. Ghost squatted down, looking them over, moving them around with his finger. A couple of nails, a paperclip, and a fat rubber band.

She looked at him hopefully, like she’d found the jackpot. His brows rose as he looked up at her indicating he had his doubts about what he could do with these items. Did she thing he was goddamned
MacGyver?
He huffed out a breath. Maybe it was the hopeful look in her eyes. Maybe it was the memory of how she used to always look up to him as a child, believing he was capable of anything, Whatever it was, he found himself looking back at the bike and grinning.

“I’ll try, baby doll.”

She grinned back.

***

Hours passed as Jessie watched as Ghost tried one fix after another. He tried the rubber band, but the first time he climbed on and hit the shifter with his foot, it snapped off. Then he tried to fashion a fix with the jumbo paperclip, twisting it through where the bolt would connect. It popped off with the first tap of his foot. He studied the nails, and she knew he was trying to figure out a way to bend them to hold the connection, but that fix didn’t pan out either.

Through every attempt, she expected him to get more frustrated and angry, but he never did. He remained totally calm, which in turn kept her calm. She needed him calm right now to make her believe everything was going to be okay. If he had been agitated, she would have gone over the edge. But his calm confidence reassured her.

Her stomach growled loudly.

He looked over his shoulder at her, trying to suppress a grin, and lifted his chin toward his saddlebag. “I think there may be an energy bar buried at the bottom.”

She quickly moved to the bike and dug through the bag like a starving animal. He grinned, shook his head and continued to fiddle with the bike. A moment later, she came up with a bottle of water and a granola bar, holding them high in the air like she’d just found diamonds.

“Yes!”

She tore the wrapper off and took a bite. Then she looked down at him guiltily, and her chewing slowed. She swallowed and broke off half the bar offering it to him.

He shook his head. “You eat it, brat. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. But I’ll take some of that water.”

She twisted the cap off and held it out to him. He guzzled down half of it. Then handed it back to her. She continued eating the bar and watching him. Her eyes fell to his wrist, and she paused.

“You still have the bracelet I made you,” she murmured in a stunned voice.

His eyes moved to his wrist, and then he looked up at her. “Of course.”

He said it so matter-of-fact, like it was the most normal thing in the world to keep a handmade gift from a nine-year-old girl.

She frowned. “All these years? You’ve worn it?”

He nodded. “I have.”

“Why?” she asked. It was his turn to frown at her.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She shrugged. “It was just a stupid childish gift a little girl gave you. I never thought you’d keep it.”

“Of course I kept it. You made it for me.”

Her eyes again fell on the bracelet. It was a brown leather cord with knots tied in it. And between each knot was a silver nut she’d pilfered from the parts on the garage floor that summer when he and her brother had put together their first dirt bikes. Ghost had always looked the other way when he saw her sneaking the little nuts and washers. But there had always been a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, like he was on to her.

Her brother, on the other hand, would pitch a fit every time the parts went missing. She could still see him now in her mind’s eye, scrambling around on the floor, cursing up a blue streak, insisting the ‘damn’ nuts had been right there. But not Ghost. Ghost would just calmly stand up and walk over to the workbench to dig up some replacements.

She remembered when she’d given the bracelet to him. She’d purposely waited until her brother had left the garage to go get them a couple of cans of sodas from the kitchen, knowing he’d make fun of her and tease her unmercifully if he ever found out.

Ghost had made her feel like it was the coolest thing in the world when she’d given it to him. And he’d actually put it on, and for the years that followed before he’d moved out, he’d always had it on.

“I can’t believe all this time you’ve kept it?”

“It’s on my wrist, isn’t it?”

She blinked. It
was
on his wrist. What did that mean? Her hand strayed to her throat, her fingers touching the necklace she herself wore. She’d made it at the same time, out of the same dark brown leather cording. But for hers, she’d attached a large flat silver washer as the pendent. She rubbed her thumb over it now, stroking it like it was some kind of talisman. And for her, perhaps it was. The washer had come off of Ghost’s bike. He didn’t know that, of course. And whenever she thought of him, whenever she missed him, she rubbed it.

He had no clue about the necklace
or
about her feelings for him. And those feeling had nothing to do with brotherly feelings, far from it.

“I wear it to remind me of the little girl that made it for me,” he said quietly from where he was squatted down, his attention on his motorcycle.

“That little girl is gone,” she whispered. That brought his head around, his eyes to hers.

“Is she?”

She nodded.

“I don’t think so.”

She was uncomfortable with his scrutiny, and maybe with his words. The observation hit close to home, too close. So she changed the subject.

“You and Tommy were always fixing that first dirt bike you had.”

He grinned. “Yeah, because your brother wrecked it so many times. I tried hard to teach him to ride but he was such an uncoordinated guy, he laid that bike down more often than not. He just couldn’t get the hang of working controls with both his feet and hands, clutch, shifter, brakes, balancing the bike, steering. It was too much for him to keep up with. But he could shoot. Damn, that boy could shoot. Every time we went hunting, he amazed me. I knew he’d do well in the military.”

At the mention of the military, she cleared her throat, not wanting to think about how that ended.

“How old were you then?” She frowned.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Fourteen. Fifteen, maybe.”

“I remember being terrified you’d laugh at me when I gave that to you.”

“Never.”

Her brows rose. “You teased me all the time. Worse than Tommy ever did.”

He had the decency to look contrite. “I guess I did. But I wouldn’t have teased you about this. It was a gift. You’d made it for me. How could I make you feel bad about that?”

She rolled her eyes. “It was stupid, wasn’t it?”

He shook his head. “No. Not to me.”

She smiled; surprised that all these years later, his words about a long ago gift still touched something in her.

“I used to always wonder why you were constantly stealing these.” He fingered one of the silver nuts.

“You never said anything, to me or to Tommy. Never once ratted me out.”

“Of course not.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I’m not a rat.”

“I was a pest. Always getting in your hair. You used to hate when I’d get in the way.”

“Maybe a little.”

“A little?” Her hands landed on her hips.

He grinned. “I used to love watching you get all riled up. Kinda like now.”

“You used to torment me. Constantly.”

“You used to pester the fuck out of us. You were an annoying little brat half the time.”

“I was not!”

“Oh, hell yeah, you were. And you did it on purpose.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Yeah, you did, Jess. And I know why, too.”

Her brows arched. “Oh, you know why, do you? Do tell.”

“You were trying to get attention. Mine, specifically.”

“I was trying to get attention? From
you
? That’s a laugh.”

He rose and took a step toward her. “Is it now?”

She backed up a step, but then her chin came up. “I eventually got your attention, though, didn’t I?”

At the reminder, Ghost’s head came back, and he sucked in a deep breath before taking a step back. His eyes skated down her, and he ground out, “That was a mistake. It should never have happened. I told you that.”

“A mistake? Is that how you remembered it? Is that all it was to you?”

***

Ghost studied her, recalling that day, a day that was etched in his memory like glass.

She’d just turned sixteen. Had raced home from getting her drivers license, ecstatic to have passed the driving test on her first try. She’d dashed into the garage to brag to Tommy, who’d had to take his test three times. She’d skidded to a halt. The only one there was himself. He was squatted down next to his new motorcycle. The one he’d just bought the previous week. He’d been about to turn twenty-one that year. It was just before he’d moved out of his dad’s house…

Ten years ago…

Ghost looked up from the carburetor he was adjusting. Jessie skidded to a stop, the smile on her face, bright, blindingly bright. His eyes slid down her, taking in the whole package. She was not a little girl anymore, and she had the curves to prove it. Her low-cut jeans hugged her hips; a two-inch gap above the waistband giving him a peek at her bellybutton. Her short pink tank was scooped just enough to give a hint of cleavage swelling above her bra, the baby-blue straps of which showed a bit.

“I got it! In one try! I got my license, Billy.” She was practically jumping with excitement. There wasn’t anything he could do but rise to his feet and sweep her up when she practically threw herself in his arms.

“That’s great, brat. Really great.”

He lifted her off her feet and swung her around. When he set her down, he insisted in a teasing voice, “Let me see your mug-shot.”

She proudly held up the paper copy of her license.

He took it, studying it. There was that bright smile again, staring back at him. Hands down, best DMV photo he’d ever laid eyes on. “Not bad, shorty.”

She snatched it out of his hand. “Not bad?” She pointed to her head. “I did my hair and makeup and everything.”

He grinned, his eyes skating over her face. She was beautiful. “Real pretty, hon.”

Her hand went to her hip. “Well, Billy Taylor, I do believe that’s the first compliment you’ve ever paid me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is it?”

“Um hmm.”

“Well, that’s because you’ll always be a brat in my eyes.” He grinned down at her.

She smiled back, then bit her lip before saying, “Is that so? Well, then maybe you should look again.”

Oh, oh
.

He couldn’t help but drop his eyes to her mouth. Why the fuck did he just do that? She must have taken that as a sign, because she took a step closer, and her palm settled on his chest.