Ghost (Evil Dead MC 5)

She nodded. What else could she do? She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to cover herself. “My shirt.”

“Leave it,” he ordered. “They spot that bright fucking pink, you’re done for.”

“But I can’t go out there like this.”

“Why not? It matches the rest of the look you’ve got goin’ on,” he smirked.

“Don’t be an ass.” She glared at him.

The corner of his mouth lifted as if he was enjoying her discomfort, but a moment later he yanked his flannel shirt off and tossed it to her. “Here, put this on.”

She slid into it quickly, knotting the tails across her stomach as the scent of him enveloped her along with the soft flannel, immediately calming her as she took a deep steadying breath.

She watched as Ghost opened the door a crack and peeked out. It must have been all clear, because a moment later he had her by the hand and was dragging her out into the hall. He silently opened the back door and peered outside. She could hear the patter of rain as it picked back up. He hesitated only a moment before he was dragging her outside and off to the side of the building to what she presumed was his bike. He threw his leg over, quickly firing it up, and she wasted no time scrambling on behind him.

He turned his head, saying over his shoulder, “Wrap your arms around me and stay pressed tight to my back. I don’t want them to get a look at my patch. And hold the fuck on.”

She nodded, and he gunned the throttle. They tore across the gravel lot toward the highway. As they hit the blacktop, she saw the Death Heads running for their bikes, one of them pointing frantically toward them. Apparently, they’d fooled no one.

She tucked in behind Ghost, pressing her face against his leather and hanging on for dear life as the bike surged forward, and she knew he was gunning it for all it had, winding out every gear for all it was worth. They raced on into the open country between Sturgis and Deadwood. The rain picked up and stung her face whenever she dared to peek over Ghost’s shoulder. Her arms and legs got so cold and wet that she soon couldn’t feel the sting anymore. And she knew Ghost was taking the brunt of it.

She was afraid to look back, but she knew the Death Heads wouldn’t be too far behind them. They flew over a rise, and it almost felt like the bike went airborne for a split second. They raced on, Ghost flying around curves, weaving in and out of traffic. Bikes, oncoming tractor-trailers, it didn’t seem to matter, nor did the treacherous wet pavement. Fortunately, weaving in and out kept the bikes chasing them from catching up. On the other hand, they were still in sight.

As they went around a bend, Ghost slowed to take a turn onto a dirt side road. Jessie couldn’t help but wonder what his strategy was, but she trusted him. Perhaps he knew they couldn’t outrun them for long and it was best to hide while they were out of sight around the bend. She hung on as they tore up the road, disappearing into the foliage of bushes and trees along the way. Her hopes that perhaps they’d slipped away were soon dashed as she heard in the distance behind her the roar of several bikes.

Ghost made another turn, going off road across the wet grass into the trees. She couldn’t imagine what he was doing as they bumped across the ground, knowing his bike wasn’t made for riding off road. Then she saw where he was heading. There was a shed, barely visible in the bushes. It was falling apart, leaning to one side and she couldn’t even imagine how old the thing was or how it stayed standing. Perhaps the overgrown vines that wrapped around it were holding it up.

They slammed into a hidden ditch and Jessie felt the left side of the bike jar against something hard. Ghost cut the engine, and they coasted to a stop. She scrambled off into grass that came to her knees as Ghost jumped off, pushing the bike with his hands on the grips. The 600 lb. bike wasn’t easy to move in the foot high overgrowth, but he was able to get it to the shed.

Jessie dashed ahead to get the door open, yanking and tugging until she got it far enough for the bike to fit through. Ghost hurried

ly pushed the bike inside. She closed the door, leaving an inch gap to peer through as they heard the distant rumble of a pack of Harleys.

She heard Ghost drop the kickstand on his bike, and then she felt his heat at her back as he, too, peered through the crack.

“Do you think they’ll find us?” she whispered nervously.

“I don’t know, babe.”

At his honest answer, she turned her head looking over her shoulder and up at his face. His golden eyes remained focused like a hawk on the distance. Her eyes slid down his neck to his shoulder and down his arm. It was then she noticed the gun he now held in his hand. She didn’t know where it had come from. It didn’t matter. She was just glad he had it. It may be all that stood between her and them. He was all that stood between her and them.

They waited, the sound of the rain pattering on the roof, and the howling wind drowning out anything else.

“Maybe they didn’t follow us?” Jessie asked hopefully, beginning to wonder if the bikes she’d thought she’d heard following them down the dirt road were really just the sound of bikes out on the highway.

“Maybe,” Ghost muttered, then his hand closed over her upper arm, and he pulled her from the door, stepping in front of her. “Stay away from the door until we’re sure.”

***

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and almost immediately the thunder cracked over their heads. They both flinched at the deafening sound. A moment later, the skies opened up, and the rain became a torrential downpour. Ghost eyed the sky and kept his vigil by the door. But his thoughts were half on the girl behind him.

Jessie, his bratty little stepsister. At least that’s how he’d always thought of her years ago. He still couldn’t believe she’d turned up here, out of the blue, in Sturgis of all places. She was so out-of-place it wasn’t even funny.

His mind went back to the last time he’d seen her…

Rosewood Cemetery

Seven years ago—