Shades (Evil Dead MC 3)

“No, I’m staying right here. The two of you aren’t deciding my future. Don’t even think it.”

“Sky, I need you to do what I say.” Shades dipped his head, staring into her eyes. Something must have clicked, because she swallowed, looked between him and her father, and then surprised him by actually obeying him. She rose to her feet.

“All right. But don’t be long. I want to go home.”

“Darlin’, you are home,” Undertaker clarified with a look that told her she’d better not argue.

Shades watched her move toward the door, and then it slammed shut behind her. A moment later, the brother that Undertaker had summoned came through the door, shaking his head as he looked back down the hall. “She slammed right into me. Didn’t say a fuckin’ word.”

“Feisty little thing, ain’t she?” Undertaker commented, his eyes falling to his desktop. “Come on in, Mooch.”

“She’s not staying here.” Shades wasted no time laying that out as Mooch walked across the room, folded his arms and leaned against the credenza against the wall to the right.

Undertaker leaned back in his chair and studied Shades. “Butcher told me about you.”

“Yeah, what did he say?”

“He said you want to make her your ol’ lady.”

“That’s a done deal. She’s mine.”

“Maybe she is, maybe she’s not.”

Shades surged to his feet. “You think you can stop me from seeing Skylar, think again!”

Undertaker stood just as fast, planted his palms on the desk and shouted back in his face, “I think I can stop you from seeing next week.”

The two stared each other down, neither willing to back down. Finally, Undertaker straightened and snapped, “Sit down. We got more to discuss.”

“We’ve got nothing to discuss until you understand she’s mine.”

“We’ll see,” was all Undertaker would concede as he sat back down. “I don’t like this shit with the DKs. That’s gotta be dealt with. And I mean fuckin’ now.”

“Agreed.”

“This is the safest place for her.”

“I’m not leaving her. Just fuckin’ get that out of your head. She may be your daughter, but she’s my woman.”

****

Ghost sat at the bar. A while ago, a couple dozen brothers had clomped down the stairs and were now busy drinking at the bar or playing pool. Skylar’s boot heels clicked angrily across the floor as she headed toward where Ghost was sitting. He turned his head to look at her.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

She stopped, crossed her arms over her chest and threw her hip out. “No! They think they can just boss me around! Decide my life! Screw that. Arrg! Men!”

Ghost’s brows rose sarcastically. “Yeah, so men suck. Guess there’s nothing left to do but pull up a stool and pick a liquor.” He nodded toward the shelf of assorted bottles on the wall behind the bar.

She plopped her butt on the stool next to him.

“So? What happened?” he pressed.

“He’s my father.”

Ghost nodded and bumped her shoulder with his, grinning down at her. “Tough break, kid.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Ghost. Not now.”