Crash (Evil Dead MC 2)

She moaned, her legs wrapping around him, locking him to her.

He lifted his head, his eyes piercing hers. “Is that mine? Is that all mine, Shannon?”

She nodded, her gorgeous eyes big, the pupils dilated fully, they, too, taking him in.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“It’s yours. All yours.”

“You good with that?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t want to give it back, you good with that, too?” he demanded.

“Yes, baby. I’m good with that.”

He smiled as he slammed into her. “Better than good?”

“Better than good.” She smiled back. “Always pushing for more, aren’t you?”

He slammed into her again. “That can be a good thing, too, baby.”

“A real good thing,” she agreed.

Late that afternoon, Shannon walked out of a boutique wearing a cute little super-soft stretch lace halter top in gold that she’d purchased. It looked nice with the low rider jeans she bought. She had her other outfit in the bag as she walked out to the street. Pausing on the sidewalk, she looked down at Crash, where his bike was parked at the curb.

He was asleep on his bike waiting for her to come out of the shop. He lay backwards, his ass in the seat, his shoulders leaning back against the gas tank and his legs propped up on the rear fender. His arms were folded, and his eyes were closed. She couldn’t begin to imagine how he was balanced so perfectly that he didn’t fall off.

Shannon smiled and quickly pulled her camera from her bag and took a photo of him. Looking down at the screen, she knew it was a good shot and grinned, thinking she’d have to show it to him later. Tucking the camera back into her bag, she happened to glance down the street. What she saw had her freezing in place.

Two men were walking out of a restaurant about a block down. They were dressed in dark suits and stuck out like a sore thumb. One was average looking, but big with a goatee. The other was shorter and stockier with a shaved head. Even from a distance, she recognized them immediately. She’d spent enough time with them following her everywhere like her own personal shadow. They were Nicklaus’s men. The men he had constantly keeping track of her. She knew it wasn’t for her own protection, but rather so he could keep her under his thumb at all times. Somehow they’d tracked her here. Did that mean they knew about her going to the MC? Did they know about Crash? Did they know she was with him?

As she watched, they got in their black SUV and pulled out, thankfully turning in the opposite direction.

Shannon felt her heart race, and a cold sweat break out all over her skin. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach had her staggering a step. She had to get out of here. She had to get Crash to take her out of here. She glanced down the street. How could she possibly get Crash to leave town without raising his suspicions? They’d just gotten here. Her mind scrambled for a way out.

She stared down at Crash and bit her lip.

After dinner that night, Crash was standing at the counter of the local mom and pop drug store flipping through a magazine and waiting for Shannon. Finally, she met him at the counter. With her shopping basket over her arm, she began unloading the few items onto the counter.

Crash glanced over. What he saw had him pausing mid-page-flip. What the fuck? When she’d insisted he stop here, he’d assumed it was for tampons or some other chick shit.

Not this.

“Fuck no!” His exclamation had her pausing, the box of hair dye in her hand hanging in mid-air as she looked at him quizzically.

“What?”

“You are not dyeing that beautiful blonde hair that god-awful Goth black shit.”

She stared at him and started to protest, “What do you care what I-”

He grabbed the basket out of her arms, peering inside. Pulling out another item, he held it up in front of her. “Black nail polish, Shannon? Really? What the fuck, babe, you trying to look like Elvira? Fuck no. That shit creeps me out.” He tossed it back in the basket and pulled out the next item, his eyebrows arching up as he glared at her and held the offending item up in front of her face. “Scissors? Oh, hell no. You cut your fucking hair, I’ll leave your ass out on the street right fucking here.”

“What is your problem?” she blurted.

“What’s my problem?” He handed the basket to the wide-eyed cashier, who up until that moment had remained mute, and probably terrified watching their exchange. “Sorry, ma’am,” Crash apologized. “But the lady, here, won’t be needing these.”