Wolf (Evil Dead MC 4)

“Babe—”

“Go. It’s fine. I’ve got things to do, and so do you obviously. It’s not a big deal.” She pushed out of his arms but he pulled her back.

“It is a big deal. I meant what I said. I want to finish this conversation.”

She looked up in his eyes, and he saw maybe a hint of belief in hers. “Okay.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

He kissed her. Just a soft press of his lips to hers, and then he moved off the porch and strode to his bike. He had a lot to think about and right now blasting down the road with the wind in his face would help clear the bullshit out of his mind. It always helped him think clearly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Crystal walked out the backdoor with the trash bag and headed across the dark alley to the dumpster. It was closing time, and this was the last chore she had left. She’d just tossed the bag inside when she was grabbed from behind, a cloth slammed over her lower face. She breathed in a sickening chemical smell from whatever the cloth was drenched in, and she wanted to gag. Struggling, she fought against her attacker, but it was no use. He was too big and too strong.

The last thing she saw as everything began to get foggy was that he was moving her toward a dark panel van, its side door already slid back, open and waiting.

****

Wolf rode up to the front of Brothers Ink. The lights were still on, but he knew they were closing soon. He’d texted Crystal earlier that he would be coming by to finish that conversation they’d started. Climbing off his bike, he stepped up on the boardwalk and entered the shop. A little bell jingled above the door, and four heads turned his way. None of them were Crystal’s.

“We’re closed,” Jameson called out to him.

Wolf’s eyes searched out the man, finding him standing by the back station.

“I just came by to see Crystal.”

Jameson eyed him up and down. It had been clear when they’d been in the shop yesterday, that the man hadn’t wanted them in the place. And Wolf had no illusions that it was because they were bikers, hell the town was full of them. Nor was it the colors on his back that gave the man pause. This was personal. His dislike was all about Wolf’s interest in his employee. In Crystal.

Jameson came to stand in front of him, his arms folded, blocking his path.

“You the one she met up with in Vegas?” he asked, throwing Wolf for a loop. How the hell did he know about that? Did she tell him? Had she told him everything?

“Yeah. I am.”

“Didn’t you already do enough damage?”

Wolf straightened, his jaw clenching. “She here or not?”

“She’s out back, taking out the trash.” Wolf’s eyes moved to the brother that had spoken up. It was the one called, Max. Wolf nodded once, his eyes returning to Jameson. They glared at each other for another moment before Jameson finally stepped aside.

Wolf strode through the shop to the back and flung open the back door. Stepping out, he slammed the damn thing. Motherfucker. No man was going to keep him from seeing Crystal. He glanced around the alley, saw the dumpster to the left, across the alley, but no Crystal. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, that strange warning feeling he had tingling down his spine. He was about to look down the alley to the right, his hand already reaching for his weapon, when his head exploded in pain, and everything went black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Wolf came slowly to consciousness and found himself strung up to a tree, his arms stretched over his head and his boots a foot off the ground. His cut and shirt had been stripped off him and sweat ran down his chest. It was dark outside but there was a campfire burning a few feet away, its heat radiating over him and casting him in its golden light. It was quiet except for the crackling of the fire and the creaking of the thick rope he hung from. And then he heard the rustling and struggling, and his eyes focused into the darkness and shadows on the other side of the fire.

A man on top of a woman. He strained to focus, his mind still fuzzy, and his head aching from the blow he’d taken to the head. And then he saw the DK cut and Crystal’s long dark hair. She was struggling.

“Get off me,” she pleaded.

“You’re a little spitfire, aren’t you?” a man’s deep voice growled. “That’s okay. I like a little fight in my women. It’s so much more fun when I break ‘em.”

Taz. Motherfucking Taz.

Wolf recognized his voice. The sick bastard. Taz was a member of the Devil Kings MC. One of the nastiest Wolf had ever run up against. He was a sick son-of-a-bitch with a mean streak, especially where women were concerned. And he had Crystal pinned on the ground.

Fuck.