Outlaw (Evil Dead MC 1)

Chapter Three

Angel jerked awake to the sound of a gunshot.

She sat straight up, blinking in the early morning light, and immediately felt Cole’s left arm come around across her chest and pull her back against him. She grabbed at his forearm with both her hands. She noticed his right arm was extended, and he was holding the 9mm handgun he carried in his shoulder holster.

He pulled the trigger, and another blast made her jump.

He was shooting at something on the ground. She followed the direction the gun was aimed and saw a large snake writhing on the ground not ten feet from them. “Oh my God.” Angel kicked her legs, trying to back up.

Cole tightened his hold on her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s dead.”

“Are there anymore?” she asked in a panic, her eyes darting around.

“Could be.” He holstered the gun and nudged her. “Come on, babe. Get up. My legs are falling asleep.”

She leaned forward, and Cole got to his feet and stretched. “Goddamn. I’ll ache all day from sleeping like that.”

“What time is it?” she asked, her eyes squinted at the horizon.

Cole took out his phone and flipped it open. “Nine.”

Angel stretched. When she turned, glancing back at Cole, she caught him watching her, his eyes running over the long slender lines of her body.

Quickly looking away, he announced, “I, uh, gotta take a piss, I mean, I have to use the…facilities.”

She smiled. “Good save. Me, too.”

Cole smiled back and pulled her to her feet. “Take your pick.” He motioned with his arms, indicating all the rock formations and scrub brush surrounding them. “Yell if you see any snakes.”

“You can count on that,” she replied.

When she came back, he was rolling the blanket up. As she watched, he attached it to the front of his bike with a bungee cord. Then he bent and stuffed the bottle of whiskey back into the saddlebag.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

He glanced back at her. “My clubhouse. Get those cuffs off you. Then we’ll see.” He handed her the helmet and watched as she put it on. “No more questions?”

“Wasn’t that your clubhouse we just left?” she asked.

“Nope.” He turned, letting her look at the patch on his back. “Different club. Different patch on my cut.”

She saw that his said Evil Dead on it. She knew that the others had all said Dead Souls. “Cut?”

“This.” He reached up, slid a thumb in the armhole pulling it slightly away from his body, indicating the leather vest he wore. “It’s called a cut.”

“Oh. The picture on it, what is that?”

“That’s the angel of death. Our symbol.”

“Oh. But… I don’t understand. Why did that guy do what you said if you’re not in the same club?”

“Because they’re a brother club of ours.” He could tell she didn’t understand. “We’re the big dogs. They do what we say.”

“Oh,” she nodded. “And where is your clubhouse?”

“San Jose area. Couple more hours’ ride.” He threw his leg over his bike and turned back to her. “Come on, babe.”

She climbed on behind him.

Two hours later, as they approached the outskirts of civilization, Cole pulled to the side of the highway and made a call.

Angel could only hear his side of it.

“Yeah. Can you meet me at the clubhouse in about fifteen minutes?”

A truck roared past, and the wind rocked them.

“I’ll explain when you get there.” He put the cell back in his pocket and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “You keep your mouth shut about what happened to you. Understand?”

She nodded.

He pulled back out onto the road.

A few minutes later, he turned down some side streets in a not-so-nice section of town and pulled into what looked like an old industrial park. They drove to the end of a dead-end and rolled into a lot surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence. Cole pulled around behind some type of old two-story, red brick warehouse. Angel noticed about a dozen bikes parked in the back lot. There was a sign over the door with the same design as she had noticed on the back of Cole’s cut. There was also a squad car parked, and she saw a cop standing talking to a couple of the club members.

Cole rolled the bike to a stop on the opposite side of the lot near the back fence. Beyond the fence there were some overgrown bushes, and on a bit of a rise Angel could make out the silver reflection of a couple of sets of railroad tracks.

The cop glanced their way, and Cole motioned him over, then he turned back to her. “Let me do the talking.”

The cop walked up. Angel took him in. He was tall and lanky, middle-aged, probably in his forties. His hair was cut in a flat top. His face had thin, pointed features; his eyes were beady. Angel thought he looked like a weasel.

He glanced at Cole’s passenger. “Cole. What’s up?”

Cole cut the bike off, but made no move to get off. He looked at the officer and raised his shirt, revealing Angel’s cuffed wrists wrapped around his stomach.

“What the hell? Why did you put cuffs on her?”

Cole’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t. Can you get them off?”

His eyes ran over her. “She runnin’ from the law?”

“Nope.”

The cop stared at him dumbfounded, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out some keys. He fumbled with the cuffs and finally got one wrist released.

Angel’s hands came apart from around Cole’s waist.

Cole reached back and helped her off the bike, then stepped off himself.

The cop worked on the other cuff and soon had them off her. He looked at her bruised and cut wrists. “Jesus Christ, Cole. How long has she been in these things?”

“Couple days.”

The officer looked at him, stunned. “Are you insane?”

***