GHOST: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Evil Dead MC Series Book 5) Read Free

locate the nail he’d picked up.
    At least he had a repair kit with him, and as bike problems went, this was an easy fix.
    He stood back up as the three bikes rolled back up to him. “Picked up a nail.”
    “You got a kit?” Shades asked.
    “Yeah. I got this. You boys don’t need to hang here with me.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yeah. I’ll meet you back at the campsite,” Ghost assured him as he pulled the repair kit out of the leather bag strapped to his swing arm. The Evil Dead MC owned forty-four acres of land halfway between Sturgis and Deadwood. They’d bought the property back in the eighties and used it for a campground for their national meet during Sturgis Bike Week.
    “All right then. See ya back there.” Shades lifted his chin to him and the rest of his brothers pulled out.
    As the sound of their engines faded over the rise, Ghost bent down and got to work plugging his tire.
     
    It took Ghost about fifteen minutes to repair his tire. Then he mounted up and pulled back out on the blacktop. A few miles down the road, he turned off into the gravel parking lot of a remote roadhouse, the neon beer signs in the windows calling his name. The lot was crowded with bikes, but not nearly as many as it soon would be. The rain earlier in the day had slacked off and riders were starting to get back out.
    Ghost rolled slowly across the lot, gravel crunching under his tires. He found a spot and parked. Dismounting, he headed toward the front door, stretching his neck from side to side to crack his spine like some people cracked their knuckles.
    As he came through the door, he looked around. The place was medium size, rough-hewn wood floors and rustic décor, with tables on the right and a bar on the left.
    He made his way through the crowd and found a place at the far end of the bar where it curved around to form a short L shaped corner. Beyond the end of the bar was a doorway leading to a short hall that contained the bathrooms and a back door. From his spot at the corner end of the bar, Ghost could see both the front door and the back door. And that wasn’t by accident. Sturgis, Deadwood and the surrounding towns were crowded with many one-percenter clubs, many of which didn’t get along, to put it mildly. Not a problem for a member if you were traveling in a pack, not so if you were the sole patch from your club in the place when another club walked in. Some bars were claimed by certain clubs as their territory while they were in town; other small places like this were not.
    Ghost ordered a beer and surveyed the crowd. It was the typical biker crowd, riders decked out in leather against the chilly, rainy day. Although the Sturgis Rally was held in August, the South Dakota weather was always unpredictable and changeable. Temperatures could vary anywhere from the low fifties to the upper eighties. Today had started out wet and windy. It was temporarily clearing, but the horizon looked dark and the wind had picked up again.
    A couple of women with bandanas around their heads and braided hair, laughed at the jokes the men at their table in the corner were telling. A jukebox up front blasted out some music. He’d picked out only one other patch when he came in, but it was just that of a member of a military veterans club, nobody that would give him any trouble.
    Ghost quietly sipped his beer, keeping to himself. It had been an honor taking JJ to get his club tattoo today. He’d glanced over at Shades while JJ sat under the needle, and he knew they’d both been remembering when they’d gotten their ink. It had been years now, but every now and then, like today, it seemed like just yesterday.
    Ghost signaled the bartender for another beer and leaned on his elbows, his arms folded. Movement through the doorway behind him caught his eye, and he twisted his head, peering over his shoulder to see the back door open and a young woman dash in. His eyes swept down over her, taking in everything at once from the low cut bright