BLOOD: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Evil Dead MC Series Book 7)

by Nicole James

“What’s that?”

  “A ring.”

  “A ring?”

  “Yeah, a stupid ring. That’s how it all came to a head—over a stupid ring. It was his father’s ring. He was sentimental about it. Only thing he ever gave a damn about. It infuriated him when she took it. I think she was going to use it as a bargaining chip to win her freedom and yours. Things just didn’t work out that way.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell him, right to the end. I thought maybe you had it.”

  Blood shook his head. “I don’t know shit about a ring. Maybe she didn’t have it.”

  “He believed she did.” They studied each other. “You remember that last day? The last time you saw her?”

  “Yeah. I remember.” It was burned in his brain, an image he’d never forget.

  “Remember that strange thing she said to you? Maybe it was a clue. Maybe she was trying to tell you.”

  “What thing?”

  “About the poem. I thought it was an odd thing for her to bring up, considering… well, considering the circumstances.”

  “She knew, didn’t she? She knew she was about to die.”

  Big John nodded. “I thought maybe it was in that book of poetry she always carried around. Black Jack thought so, too. We went back to the old house, tore it apart, but we never did find it. You find that ring, you might be able to make a deal.”

  Blood thought about the book of poetry. This was the second time in days he’d thought about it. Prior to that, it had been years. Black Jack and Big John hadn’t found it because they didn’t know the spot his mother always hid it in. But Blood knew.

  He glanced back at Cat. If he could find that book, if it was still hidden behind the loose board where his mother kept anything she didn’t want his father to destroy in one of his rages, then maybe he had a shot at getting Cat’s sister back for her.

  Big John interrupted his thoughts. “Think what you will, but I loved her.”

  Blood’s eyes bore into the man. “You used her.”

  “One wolf recognizes another,” Big John taunted, his eyes shifting to Cat as he did.

  Blood’s eyes flared in rage, then strayed to the laptop sitting on the table, it’s power cord connected and charging. He jerked his chin at Sandman and ordered, “Take her outside.”

  Sandman nodded, understanding exactly what was about to go down and the reason Blood didn’t want Cat to witness it.

  “Come on, girl. Let’s go.” Sandman grabbed her by the upper arm and hustled her out the door.

  When they were gone, Blood strolled over to the laptop and yanked the cord from the wall.

  Big John began talking. “Your mother did love you, whatever you thought about her, Son. Emeline was—”

  “Shut up. I ain’t your son, and you don’t get to say her name,” Blood growled. Then he calmly moved behind Big John, wrapped the length of the cord around each fist, and strangled the life out of him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cat stood with Sandman next to the parked motorcycles, waiting for Blood. They didn’t have long to wait. He jogged across the highway to them a few minutes later, the duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.

  Sandman looked at him. “You need anything?”

  Blood shook his head, tossing the bag to him and pulling his phone from his pocket. “Just need to text the address to Leroy.”

  Sandman strapped it to his bike. “Fucker’s heavy.”

  Blood’s eyes flicked up. “Shoved his laptop and cell phone inside. Figured it might have some intel we could use.”

  “Smart thinking,” Sandman replied.

  “I have my moments. Let’s roll.”

  Cat climbed on the back of Blood’s bike, her mind whirling with everything she’d seen and learned. Those men had her sister, and one of them was Blood’s father. She thought back to everything Undertaker had told her about the man, how cruel and abusive he was to Blood. But Undertaker had neglected to mention the fact that the man was Black Jack Boudreaux.

  As they pulled out, roaring onto the street, her eyes moved to the second floor apartment they’d just left, and she wondered if Blood had killed Big John. He was involved in kidnapping her sister, so she could hardly blame Blood after what he’d done. She’d kill the man herself if it would get Holly back.

  The apartment building faded into the distance, and she tightened her hold on the man who was doing everything he could to keep his promise to her.

  ***

  A half hour later, they rolled up to the clubhouse gates. Blood watched as a line of bikes was pulling out. Mooch waved the others on before pulling over next to them as they coasted to the curb to let the bunch pass.

  When the thundering bikes had roared down the street, Mooch said, “You’re late. First crew already left with Undertaker. I’m taking the second. You and Sandman are taking the third; they’re still waiting for you.” He jerked his head back toward the compound.

  Blood nodded. “Go on. We’re right behind you.”

  Mooch nodded and gunned his throttle, peeling off down the road.

  Blood and Sandman pulled their bikes into the compound. There were still six bikes parked, waiting. Blood dismounted and grabbed the duffel Sandman tossed to him. Then he approached Easy who stood near the building waiting to head out. Pulling the laptop and cell phone out of the bag, Blood shoved them into the man’s chest. “I need you to stay behind and go through these. They’re from Black Jack’s second in command and bound to have all kinds of intel.”

  Easy looked down at the electronics. “Yeah, sure thing.”

  Blood tossed him the duffel. “And lock this is the safe.”

  Blood walked back to where Sandman stood by his bike. “Gotta ask you to do something.”

  “You’re just full of requests today, aren’t you?”

  “I need you to cover for me.”

  “And what are you gonna be doing?”

  Blood gave Sandman a penetrating look. “I’m heading to the swamp. I have to at least try.”

  Sandman looked disbelieving. “No fucking way. You’re going to look for that fucking ring? Now?”

  “It could be the only chance I’ve got to get this girl. You heard the man. In two days she’ll be on a private jet to Japan. I’ve got no clue where she is. This may be the only shot I’ve got.”

  “To do what? You don’t have the fucking ring to trade.”

  “But I do know where that poetry book is… at least where it used to be. If I can get my hands on it, then it may lead me to the ring.”

  “And where the fuck is that?”

  “The fish camp.”

  “That old shack in the swamp you told me about? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Blood stared him down.

  “Brother, we have our orders.”

  “Just this one night.”

  Sandman shook his head. “Look, man. I know that asshole dumped a lot of shit on you tonight. Finding out your father killed your mother—”

  Blood grabbed him with a fist in his leather vest. “Shut up about that. Understand?”

  Sandman shoved him off. “I’ve been your brother for a lot of fucking years, Blood. So, I’ll let that slide, but don’t fucking push it.”

  Blood ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Sorry, man. I just need to get through this week. I just need you to cover for me on this, Sandman.”

  Sandman looked at the horizon and shook his head. “Goddamn you.” He looked back at Blood. “Fine, but you better be back and done with this shit tomorrow morning.”

  Blood grabbed his shoulder, patted it, and headed to his bike.

  Cat watched him swing his leg over. “Wait. I’m going with you.”

  “Aw, not this shit again,” Sandman grumbled.

  “No, you’re not,” Blood bit out, firing his bike up with a twist of his wrist.

  She approached him, putting a hand on his arm. “Please, Blood. I can help you.” She didn’t know to what exten
t the information that Big John had told him would affect him, but she knew he might need her when it all started to sink in. Plus, she’d just watched him put finding her sister before his club duties again, and that meant something to her. “Please.”

  He huffed out a long frustrated growl. “Damn it, Cat. You don’t even know where the hell I’m going.”

  “To a fish camp?”

  “Yeah, and it’s in the middle of the fucking swamp. With bugs and snakes and gators. And all that that implies.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  Sandman chuckled. “Only thing you’ve got to be afraid of darlin’ is Blood.”

  Blood glared at him.

  Surprisingly, Sandman threw his weight behind her and backed her plan, telling Blood, “You want me to cover for you, then you take her ass with you.”

  Blood stared him down. “What the fuck for?”

  “’Cause I’m worried about you, Brother. You’ve got a lot of shit in your head right now you’re gonna have to deal with. And as soon as you take a moment to breathe, all that shit’s gonna come crashing down on you. I think it’s a good idea if she’s with you when that happens.”

  “No. No fucking way.” He shook his head.

  “You want my help or not?” Sandman gave him the ultimatum.

  Blood grit his teeth, his jaw tightening, but gave in. Pinning her with a look, he ordered, “Get the fuck on. But I don’t want to hear any bitching. The first complaint out of your mouth, I’m dropping you flat, I don’t care where we are. We understand each other?” She nodded her acceptance of his terms, but Blood could see she was wondering if he was serious about leaving her. He didn’t bother to ease her mind. “Get the hell on, then.”

  Before she did, she ran to Sandman and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Sandman grinned. “Go on now, girl. Before he leaves your ass behind.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dusk was falling as the bike rolled up to a tiny run-down shack on the edge of the bayou. There was a rusted sign that read J&P Bait Shop. The building was made of corrugated metal with a faded red roof.

  “Why are we stopping here?” Cat asked as they dismounted.

  Blood strode toward the door. “We need a boat, come on.”

  Cat frowned at him as he held the door for her. She walked into the tiny building. There were a few shelves with merchandise, motor oil, fishing line, bait cans, Styrofoam coolers, all of it coated in dust. She followed Blood as he moved to the counter and pounded on a bell.

  “Jean Michel? Pierre? Get your coon-asses out here!” There was a small curtained doorway that led to a back room where some banging stopped.

  “Who dat?” A heavily Cajun accented voice carried to the front.

  “Come find out, boy.” Blood walked over to an upright cooler and pulled two Cokes from the top shelf. He passed one to Cat and twisted the cap off his, tilting it up and guzzling down a third of the bottle.

  A moment later the dingy green curtain was shoved aside and a man stuck his head out. He was about Blood’s age, from what Cat could surmise, about a foot shorter, and dark haired. His brown eyes crinkled as he smiled, then turned to shout back into the room behind him. “Coo-wee, Pierre, gar ici. Cousin Etienne.”

  “Dit mon la verite’!” came a voice from the back room.

  “I’m tellin’ you da truth, Couillon!”

  Blood grinned as the two men argued, then he moved forward to embrace the first man, slapping him on the back. “Been a long time, Jean Michel.”

  “True, dat.”

  A second man came out and stopped in his tracks. “Well, hot damn. Etienne!”

  Cat could see that the two men had to be identical twins.

  Blood moved to embrace him as well. “Pierre. How’s your mama an’ them?”

  “Bon. Bon. Still makes the best crawfish gumbo in Terrebonne Parrish. You should come round.”

  Blood nodded. “Oui.”

  The man’s eyes moved to Cat. “Qui C’est q’ca, Boo?”

  “That’s Catherine Randall. And you call me that nickname again, I’ll beat your ass.”

  “What? Boo? I always call you Boo, since I was dis high.” The man held his hand knee high.

  “Beck moi tchew!” Blood snapped with a grin.

  The man grinned over at Cat and informed her, “He just told me to bite his ass.”

  Cat laughed, her eyes moving to Blood. She was amazed at how quickly he slipped into the Cajun language he must have grown up around.

  “Cher, pay him no mind.”

  Cat smiled at the man and held her hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Jean Michel. How do you do?”

  The man looked at her hand, and then grinned over at Blood. “Owee. She’s a formal one, eh?” Then he took her hand and pulled her in for a hug instead of a handshake. “You with Boo, then you family. We family, we don’t shake hands, we hug.”

  “I see, Mister…?”

  “Jean Michel Robichau.”

  The second man came forward and extended his hand. “Some of us have manners. Pierre Robichau, Cher.”

  Cat shook his hand.

  Jean Michel looked to Blood and jerked his head toward her. “Gaienne?”

  Blood let out a huff of laughter. “Non, Jean Michel. She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “You been out to see Tante Marie?” Pierre asked.

  Blood shook his head. “Non. Headed to the old place. If it’s still standing.”

  “Oui, it’s still standing.”

  “Co faire? You ain’t been back in years.”

  “None of your business why, Jean Michel.” Blood looked to Pierre. “I need a boat.”

  The man nodded. “Mais yeah, we got those. You wanna take da pirogue?”

  Blood shook his head, grinning. “I was thinking something with a motor.”

  “I make you a deal. I loan you da boat, you promise to go see Tante Marie.”

  “Mais yeah, if I’ve got time.”

  “You make time, Boo.”

  Blood rolled his eyes. “Oui.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, Cat sat in a small motorboat with Blood behind her, his hand on the outboard, steering them through the bayou. They rounded a bend, coming into a wider body of water, and Blood opened up the motor, moving them quickly across it. There was the heavy scent of salt in the air, and Cat turned to the west to see a dark wall of gray clouds on the horizon as a storm rolled in, and with it, Cat felt a sense of foreboding.

  Finally, Blood slowed the boat and turned down a narrow inlet. He seemed to know the terrain like the back of his hand, and she supposed that made sense considering he grew up here.

  Still, she didn’t know how he did it. It seemed like just a mass of twisting turning jumble, one bayou leading to the next. They moved deeper and deeper into the swamp. The Cypress trees stood black against the darkening sky as the storm blew in off the Gulf like the scent of smoke warned of a forest fire.

  The scent of the salty ocean breeze mingled with the smell of the bayou, a mix of decaying wood and flowering blooms. They coasted past large swaths of Water Hyacinth that covered the water with green waxy leaves and pale lavender blooms. Cat spotted purple Iris near the shore. They moved through the water, following a narrow path of clear glassy water that seemed to be cut through the trees and lily pads by years of boats traveling through. The trail twisted and snaked through the swamp like one of the anaconda that were taking over.

  The thought of the snake—and what else may be lurking under the surface of the murky water—had Cat tensing a bit.

  “Afraid of something, Cher?”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, the swamp is the prowling ground of North America’s largest reptile.”

  “Are there…many?” Her gaze darted around.

  “About two million in the state.”

  She shivered, and he chuckled. “Largest one ever recorded was more than nineteen feet long.”

  “Stop. Please.” />
  He chuckled again, but kept quiet.

  They moved through a tunnel of overhanging branches and low hanging trails of silvery Spanish moss. Cat reached out and touched a feathery branch, surprised to discover how soft it was.

  Journeying out to the swamp was like going back in time, back to an uncivilized primitive time. And she supposed for Blood, he was going back in time— returning to the home of his childhood, one she was pretty sure he hadn’t returned to before now.

  The dark waters they moved slowly through gave an eerie feel to their trip. They turned one way and then another, winding this way and that, as Blood led them so far into the dark swamp Cat wondered if he’d ever find his way back.

  It made Cat think of his twisting journey to get to the truth of what had happened to his mother. To think that his father had killed her was so horrible; she couldn’t imagine how he focused on anything right now, let alone help get Holly back. How could that be more important to him?

  Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this trip was a way to keep his mind off dealing with everything Big John had revealed to him. But she couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen when he came face-to-face with his childhood home. That would have to bring up all sorts of memories.

  As a chill blew across her exposed arms, she ran her hands back and forth over her skin and thought of her sister. Big John said a buyer was coming on Friday. That was just two days from now, and the clock was ticking.

  And it all boiled down to this trip out into the swamp.

  Blood steered the boat around another bend and slowed the engine. Cat looked around, almost missing the shack all together. A house up on stilts sat just back up the shore from a dilapidated pier. It was so overgrown with vines that it was barely visible.

  She swallowed as Blood coasted the boat to the pier, jumping off to tie it to one of the posts that stood listing to the side.

  Cat’s eyes moved over the property. There were several old appliances rusting in the yard to the side—a stove, a refrigerator, and several motors. Old gas cans and a plethora of junk littered the ground. Cat couldn’t imagine Blood’s life as a child growing up in a place like this.