The Dead Girls' Dance Read Online Free

to the far side of the bed…and stepped in front of her. Claire looked frantically around for a weapon. Anything. She picked up a heavy-looking skull, but it was plastic, light and utterly useless.
    Eve yanked a field hockey stick from under her bed.
    â€œLet’s do this nice,’” the man said. “That little stick isn’t going to do you any good, and it’s only going to piss me off.’” His lips widened in a grin, revealing big, square, yellow teeth. “Or get me all excited.’”
    Claire felt sick and faint. This wasn’t like Shane coming into her room the other night, not at all. This was the flip side of men, and although she’d heard about it—you couldn’t grow up without that—she’d never really seen it. Some jerks, sure, but there was something horrible about this guy. Something that looked at her and Eve like pieces of meat he was about to devour.
    â€œYou’re not touching us,’” Eve said, and raised her voice. “Shane! Shane, get your ass up here now !’”
    There was a touch of panic in her voice, although she was putting on a good front. Her hands were shaking where they gripped the hockey stick.
    The man glided around the end of the bed, prowling like a cat. Six feet tall, at least, and as broad as two of Eve, maybe bigger. His bare arms were ripped with muscle. His blue eyes looked shallow and hungry.
    Claire heard the thump of footsteps outside, and then a bang as Shane fetched up against the locked door. He rattled the knob and pounded hard. “Eve! Eve, open up!’”
    â€œShe’s busy!’” the biker yelled, and laughed. “Oh yeah, gonna be real busy.’”
    â€œNo!’” Shane screamed it, and the door shook with the strength of the blows he put into it. “Stay away from them!’”
    Eve backed Claire up, all the way to the window. She took a swipe at the biker, who just stepped back out of range, still laughing.
    â€œGet your dad!’” she yelled at Shane. “Make him do something!’”
    â€œI’m not leaving you!’”
    â€œDo it, Shane, now !’”
    Footsteps pounded down the hall. Claire swallowed, feeling suddenly even more alone and vulnerable. “Do you think his dad will come?’” she whispered. Eve didn’t answer.
    â€œSwear to God, you come near us and—’”
    â€œLike this?’” The biker sidestepped a slash from the hockey stick, grabbed it on the way, and yanked it out of Eve’s hands. He tossed it over his shoulder to land on the floor with a clatter. “This near enough? Whatcha gonna do, doll girl? Cry all over me?’”
    Claire hid her eyes as the biker reached out for Eve with one tattooed hand.
    â€œNo,’” Eve said breathlessly. “I’m going to let my boyfriend beat the crap out of you.’”
    There was a dull thunk of wood meeting flesh, and a howl. Then another, harder thunk, and a crash as a body hit the floor.
    The biker was down. Claire stared at him in disbelief, then looked past him, to the figure standing there with the field hockey stick in both hands.
    Michael Glass. Back from the dead, again, a gorgeous blond avenging angel, breathing hard. Flushed with anger, blue eyes flashing. He glanced at the two girls, making sure they were okay, and then put the blade of the hockey stick on the biker’s throat. The biker’s eyes fluttered and tried to open, but didn’t make it. He relaxed into unconsciousness.
    Eve flew toward Michael, leaped over the biker’s body, and fastened herself around Michael like she was trying to be sure he was all there. He must have been; he winced from the force of the impact, then kissed her on the top of her head without looking away from the man lying limp at their feet.
    â€œEve,’” he said, and then glanced at her and gentled his tone. “Eve, honey, go open the