Crash (Evil Dead MC 2)

“Will he turn me in?” Shannon asked out of the blue.

His eyes swung to her. “Turn you in?”

“For the reward? Will he give me up for the money?”

Crash studied her over the rim of his mug, and then he was honest with her. “Ain’t gonna lie to you, babe. It may have crossed his mind. But I don’t think even Mack would sink that low. He’s no rat.”

“He’s intimidating, isn’t he?” It was more of a statement than a question, but he answered it anyway.

“Yep.”

“He talks so calmly, but there’s an underlying edge there, isn’t there?”

Crash nodded. “Your instincts are pretty good.”

“My instincts are warning me he’s dangerous.”

“Your instincts would be right. He is dangerous. And every brother you meet tomorrow is just as dangerous.”

“Even you?”

He paused with the mug half way to his mouth. “Even me, Princess.”

CHAPTER TEN

The next day, Shannon was in the bedroom finishing putting together her outfit for the BBQ. Crash stepped into the doorway, and she looked up. “I’m almost ready.”

His eyes swept over her, and she could see the heat flare to life in them. His jaw clenched, and then he said, “No, you’re not.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” she asked looking down at her outfit.

“Nothing. It’s pretty and classy and looks great on you, but-”

“But what?” she asked, her hands landing on her hips. Before she realized what he was about, he’d grabbed her hand and was pulling her along behind him into the bathroom. Stopping in front of the large mirror, he pointed to their reflection.

“Do we make sense to you?”

She stared at the reflection of the two of them. He was in his jeans, biker boots and a black S&S Carburetor tee shirt, his muscled arms covered in tattoos. He was the walking-talking epitome of badass, dangerous, sex-on-a-stick. Her gaze slid over to herself in her peach silk tank and blue pleated trousers and her high-heeled snake-skin sandals. She looked fine. But together—he was right, they looked ridiculous, unless she was his lawyer bailing him out of jail.

“If you’re trying to blend in, that outfit ain’t it. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb.”

“I see what you mean.” She met his gaze in the mirror. “But I don’t have any clothes that will work.”

She watched as he pulled out his cell phone. “What are you doing?”

“Calling in backup.” His thumb moved over the pad, and he put it to his ear. “Angel, Crash. Hey, baby. Fine, and you? Good. Baby, I got a little situation here. I was hoping maybe you and Crystal could help.”

Forty-five minutes later they were stepping off the elevator with armloads of clothes thrown over their arms.

“Hey, sweetheart. Thanks for coming.” Crash hugged Angel, taking the burden from her arms and setting it down across the couch. Then he repeated the process with Crystal. “Crystal, this is Shannon. Shannon, Crystal.”

They nodded to one another, and Crystal eyed her outfit up and down, her arms folded. She circled around Shannon, making her feel very uncomfortable.

“I see what you mean. Hmm—I can work with the snakeskin sandals. But the rest has to go.” Crystal passed judgment.

Angel turned to Crash. “We got this. Pick her up in an hour, now shoo.”

He grinned, glad to escape the hen fest. “Yes, ma’am.”