Ghost (Evil Dead MC 5)

“Come on, I’m sure I have a bikini that will fit you. And a swim will get your mind off all of this for a while.” She grabbed her purse and car keys, and the three of them headed out to her car.

***

Butcher slammed into the meeting room, surveying the men already sitting at the table, as he moved around it to take his position at the head.

“Thought you could trust this bitch?” he snapped, his eyes on Ghost. “Seems she’s got some secrets.”

“Could she be working with the Death Heads?” Slick asked Ghost.

“No way,” he snapped emphatically.

“Seems she’s a little cozier with the bastards than you knew, so not sure how good I feel about your answer,” Heavy observed.

“If she’s workin’ with them, she could be feeding them information on us,” Boot advised.

“Jesus Christ, she’s not working with them!” Ghost slammed his palm on the table. “They picked her up, and she couldn’t get away, that’s all. Seems Florida took a personal liking to her.”

“I can see why,” Hammer supplied with a grin.

Ghost glared at him, almost daring the man to make one more remark about how hot Jessie was. Then his eyes returned to Butcher.

“She looks like his dead wife.”

“Interesting,” Slick said, his hand running over his chin like he was trying to come up with a way to turn that to their benefit.

“So how does her lie affect the deal we just made with the DKs?” Boot asked.

“Is it possible the Death Heads may think she knows who the plant is?” Butcher asked.

“Maybe. Which means they’ll be looking to shut her up,” Shades told him.

“We make sure they know whatever information she had has already been disclosed. Takes her out of the equation,” Ghost insisted.

Slick brought up another point. “We’re fighting to keep the coast from the Death Heads. Let’s make sure we’re not turning it over to the DKs instead.”

“Maybe we change up the deal, maybe we turn her over to the Death Heads. Maybe she buys us more from them than the DKs,” Butcher suggested.

Ghost surged to his feet. “That wasn’t ever part of this deal, Butcher. No fucking way.”

“Relax, son. We let them think that’s what we’re going to do. I didn’t say we’d actually do it.”

Ghost glared at him, standing his ground. “It’s not happening. Give me your word, you won’t try to pul

l any shit on this.”

***

Two men stood on the banks of the St. Johns River at the North Florida Shipyards, the lights of the Jacksonville skyline visible in the distance.

“I heard from our plant.”

Florida turned to look at his VP, Quill. “Yeah, he got something to report?”

Quill nodded, lighting a cigarette. “They had some interesting visitors.”

“Who?”

“Evil Dead. Had a nice little powwow.”