Crash (Evil Dead MC 2)

rs, tire drums, and other scrap metal to make it into works of cast iron art. He showed him how iron, coke—a coal product, a few pieces of limestone and a furnace that brings it all to three thousand degrees Fahrenheit turned it all into molten iron that was then poured into sand molds they designed.

He also introduced him to some of the other artists.

Crash had seen a variety of their work and was especially interested in the different methods they used to sculpt with metal. He’d never known there were so many techniques. It was like his world was opening up to him, expanding his narrow view of what he currently did with his wrought iron, expanding his possibilities, inspiring him in a way he hadn’t been inspired in a long fucking time. It was exhilarating and humbling. Goddamn, he wanted to try this shit!

Ace looked over at him, and seeing the excitement in Crash’s eyes, he grinned. “Wanna try it?”

“Hell, yeah!”

Ace jerked his chin up, motioning him over.

Late that afternoon Crash and Cole returned to Letty’s shop. Walking back into the store, they could hear two feminine voices laughing and joking. Moving toward the back of the shop, they found Letty and Skylar talking near the cash register.

Letty had changed out of the overalls and into a pair of low riding jeans, biker boots and a halter top that left her belly bare. Both wrists held multiple strands of beaded bracelets, and there were more funky necklaces around her neck. The hippie child look fit her.

Crash’s eyes moved to Skylar. His gaze moved over the girl that had been his little sister’s best friend all through high school. She still wore her dark silky hair long, almost to her waist. She, too, had low waist jeans, but instead of a halter top, she had a simple white racer-back tank that hugged her like a second skin. Her slender body had always been on the athletic side, but her curves had filled out a little since he’d last seen her. She looked more womanly than the girlish eighteen year old he remembered. Well, what did he expect, it had been ten years. No biker boots for her, though, she wore a pair of black high-heeled sandals. Skylar always did have a bit of class to her. Her jewelry showed it to. The simple silver hoops in her ears and the matching silver cuff at her wrist.

She turned to them, her eyes following Letty’s. He’d forgotten how beautiful her blue eyes were, especially in combination with that gorgeous dark hair of hers.

“Crash!” she yelled, moving toward him for a hug.

He squeezed her tight. “Damn, Skylar. Haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I know. It’s been too long.”

He released her, stepping back. “You look gorgeous as ever, squirt.”

She grinned up at him, and then looked back at Letty. “Same old Crash. Still calling me squirt.”

Cole stepped forward. “Remember me, Sky?”

She turned from Letty, and her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Cole!” She flew into his arms next. “I can’t believe it. It’s been forever!”

He laughed, hugging her back. When he released her, he reached up and ruffled the top of her head. “You coming to the party tonight, little sister?”

She looked back at Letty. “Umm, I don’t know.”

“She’s going,” Letty answered for her with a grin.

Crash pulled Skylar by the hand, stealing her away from Cole. “Come on, squirt, you’re on my bike. Sorry, Letty, but not showin’ up at the club with my own sister riding bitch on the back of my bike.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember your stupid rule about that.”

Cole grabbed Letty’s hand. “Come on, girl. You’re with me. I don’t mind you wrapping those long thighs around me,” he teased.

Twenty minutes later, they rolled up to the clubhouse of the Birmingham chapter of the Evil Dead. It was buried back in the poor neighborhoods that bordered the old steel plant. They rolled up several side streets coming to a huge old two story clapboard house that sat, looming large, on a big corner lot. Next to it sat an empty lot with overgrown grass. The two properties consumed the entire short block that ran between two side streets. The back of the clubhouse was surrounded by a six-foot privacy fence and backed up to an alley that faced a junkyard on the other side. Across the street was a burned out house, next to that an abandoned house. Obviously, the neighborhood was not primo real estate, and they liked it that way. The fewer people and neighbors to fuck with them, the better. The front yard was overgrown, the sides overrun with tall bamboo and kudzu vines. There was a waist-high chain link fence around the front yard and a rusty gate no one ever used. The metal mailbox out on the street was painted black with Evil Dead MC in white stencil across it. Up on the front porch in a chair by the door sat a skeleton holding a scythe like some leftover Halloween decoration, except for the Evil Dead support tee shirt it wore.

The bikes turned the corner and circled around back to the alley, which led to the only entrance members used. There was a double wooden gate with the club name, Evil Dead painted, top-rocker style across it. One word on each portion of the swinging gates that when closed formed the name. Up on the back side of the house was painted a winged skeleton holding a scythe, looking down at the back of the property as if guarding it.

Crash and Cole rolled through the back gate and into the large gravel lot that took up over an acre. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, its bright setting light hitting at a sharp angle and turning everything a brilliant golden and a bonfire had been started in an old oil drum in the center. About a dozen members were gathered around it, more members at picnic tables or milling around. The place was packed, the wake being a mandatory turnout. In addition to club members, there was also a strong showing of support clubs. A line of bikes three deep were parked around the outer edge of the property, backed up to the wood fence. Cole and Crash rolled along the line and backed their bikes into a couple of open spots.

Climbing off, they stashed their helmets, as well as the girl’s. Crash looped his arm around Skylar’s neck and walked toward the fire. Cole did the same with Letty, pulling her close. They greeted several of their brothers, recognizing some faces from the old days. Others were new members they’d never met, but brothers just the same.

An older man who had shoulder length gray hair, a beard and wire rimmed glasses that had always reminded Crash of Jerry Garcia, came forward as they approached the group by the fire. The patch on his cut read President, just like it had fifteen years ago when Cole and Crash had first prospected with this chapter.

First Cole and then Crash enfolded him in a bear hug, slapping his back. “Butcher, good to see you.”

“Cole. Crash. Wish it could have been under other circumstances.”