Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Rack attempted a sneak peek into Outlaw’s room, but he wouldn’t give the fucker the satisfaction. Fucker. Now, there was a name for Rack. Yeah, Outlaw should rip the VP patch off and replace it with Fucked up Fucking Fuckhead. Perfect.

  “You ever hear Boss talk about his other kid? A girl ‘bout sixteen, seventeen, some shit like that?”

  Although Outlaw didn’t want to remember, he did. At one time, whenever he and Outlaw went on a run, Boss talked about her. A beauty, he always bragged, who wanted to become a meteorologist.

  “She’s a beauty. Like Dinah, her mama. My girl has my eyes, though. You’d know she’s mine just by those blue orbs of hers.”

  Outlaw smiled at the reverence in Boss’s voice and awe in his eyes. He clearly loved the two. Until Boss, the only other man who’d shown him any fatherly attention was his sisters’ dad. His maternal grandfather had hated him and his father had been a piece of shit.

  Boss reared back in his seat. They were in the office, just the two of them, sharing a drink and going over profit and loss in cash and bodies. It was midday, quiet, everyone sleeping off the prior night’s events, over at the warehouses prepping gun and drug shipments, or out on club runs.

  “What’s your beauty’s name?”

  “Don’t worry about that, asshole. She ain’t for this life and you ain’t for no other life.”

  No, he wasn’t. He knew that. He knew he shouldn’t have been born. He’d come from scum and he’d become scum. It was a fact of his life, one he’d accepted a long time ago. He looked out at the bright sky, high above the tall trees edging the back of the property, a restful view framed in the office window.

  “Didn’t mean that the way you takin’ it, son,” Boss said gruffly, slamming his empty glass down. He grabbed the bottle and filled it to the brim. “I just meant my girl is my little princess. Give her whatever she wants whenever she wants. She even got my last name, just like my boy.”

  As usual, Boss was right. The bitch wasn’t for him. She sounded like a spoiled little cunt.

  “Give Dinah whatever she wants, too.” He frowned, downed half the contents of his glass. “Or I did ‘til she met the asshole she’s married to.”

  Outlaw didn’t say shit, but, fuck him, if Boss didn’t sound like a lost puppy when he mentioned this bitch.

  He smiled, his eyes red-rimmed. “Don’t need Snake finding out about my girl and I know you two assholes are friends when you aren’t involved in pissing contests.” He sniggered at Outlaw’s scowl. “Boy has enough issues. Don’t need him finding out about a little sister I never told him about.”

  Outlaw grunted, not bothering to comment. Snake didn’t take surprises well.

  Outlaw’s resentment spiked towards Boss. He should’ve known he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut about the bitch. Even if he hadn’t said anything to his psycho son, he sure as fuck told Rack about her. Just more evidence he’d never been special to Boss, like another son to the man, with secrets shared only between them. The confidences Boss shared with Outlaw was just a lie. No, he’d said all that bullshit to get Outlaw under his thumb.

  “Outlaw? You hear me?”

  “What about the bitch?” he asked, dragging on his cigarette again. How many other people knew about the bitch? Great fucking going, Boss.

  A scream rose above the music and laughter humming in the background. Then silence. Complete and utter silence. Rack winced. Outlaw pulled his nine, a reflex reaction and started down the hallway. Light reflected off the gigantic mural of the Grim Reaper, his scythe dripping blood, his eye sockets burning red.

  “Daddy!”

  The wail pierced the sudden stillness as he rounded the corner. A little blonde urchin barreled into him and semi-peaceful waves kicked into his brain. She stopped, his gun inches from her head and he loosened his grip.

  He stared into familiar eyes. Blue. Intense. Brilliant. A perfect mirror of the former president of his MC. Only these eyes were unfamiliar. And not because of the dark circles ringing them.

  They were the eyes of the daughter of the man he’d killed.

  A GUN. MEGGIE HAD A gun in her face, pointed at her head. The man holding the gun could be a sex symbol women all over the world drooled after. Muscles swelled from his tatted arms. Broad shoulders and a wide chest narrowed to ripped abs and…and he stood, tall and tempting and all but naked. Despite her best effort, her eyes insisted on roaming to his unfastened jeans. Black pubic hair and part of his penis showed.

  The gun should be more important, but she’d never seen such a beautiful man before. A beautiful, unclothed man. The one man she had seen naked…God. That man and this one were worlds apart. Her stepfather reminded her of the Pillsbury Doughboy, soft and pudgy. This man had muscles rippling from his broad shoulders down his flat stomach. They defined his biceps and his legs. The tattoos on his arms and chest flexed with power.

  But his penis kept drawing her attention.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  Meggie blinked and jumped. The edge in the words hardened his voice, made him appear scary. She’d come this far, though, escaping whatever Rack intended for her over five measly dollars. She made herself meet his green gaze and ignore the weapon. “I want my daddy.”

  A heartbeat pulsed by before he lowered his gun and stuffed it partially in the front pocket of his jeans. His thick, black hair lay in complete disarray, swatches of it falling onto his forehead. Her errant gaze refused to stay on his face and insisted on traveling down to his penis and upwards over his perfect six pack to his amazing face. He smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes, as if he knew how he affected her.

  She limped a step back and winced at the pain. The heat sweeping through her body, pulling at her belly and nipples had nothing to do with her foot injuries.

  “Boss your pops?”

  She would’ve sworn recognition flashed in his eyes when he first saw her. Obviously, she’d been mistaken. She nodded. “Yes.”

  He tipped her chin up, his fingertips rough against her skin. Stubble shadowed his strong jaw. Coupled with his enticing lips, he had a dangerous aura. He smelled of musk, smoke, and something wild and ripe, mixing with the underlay of his unique scent.

  He rubbed his thumb over her lips and they parted, her heart jumping and her breath shortening. His fingers slid through her hair and exhaustion pressed in on her. She was so tired and so hungry, she could’ve stood beneath his scrutiny forever.

  He traced the tender skin under her eyes. She was so glad she’d stuffed a toothbrush and toothpaste in her backpack when she’d run away. Bad enough she wore the same, smelly clothes she’d had on for a month. At least her teeth were clean.

  The man nodded. “Yeah. I can see he your pops.”

  She leaned into his touch and he stiffened. “I need to see him,” she whispered, regretting the loss of his nearness when he pulled away and stepped back.

  Another half-smile curved his full lips, this one cold and mean, not reaching his green eyes. He folded his arms and mockery twisted his face. “He ain’t here.”

  She refused to panic. He seemed to be waiting for her to fall into a screaming heap. Although she wanted to fall into a screaming heap and have him pick her up and take care of her until her daddy returned, she wouldn’t humiliate herself in front of all these men. Men who looked up to her father. Her weakness might somehow be broadcast upon Big Joe. Her stomach growled and her feet throbbed, like they had a direct connection to one another. In a way they did, since both of them were causing her such distress and misery. She stiffened her spine. “When’s he coming back?”

  He laughed, the sound as ugly as he was beautiful. And he was very beautiful. “Probably never.”

  Women’s cackles and harsh male snickers followed that announcement.

  Meggie pressed down on her lips. If she didn’t, they would begin trembling. Okay. Now she was on the verge of breaking down. It was all just too much. All of it. Her father had been her last chance for her mother to escape Thomas.
Now, Meggie either had to go back home or live on the streets forever. She’d called her father’s cell phone, over and over, and he hadn’t answered. She couldn’t understand why. She’d clearly heard her mother say they’d talked about Meggie living with him.

  “Why isn’t my father coming back?” she demanded. “Where is he? And why won’t he answer his cell phone?”

  He lifted a brow at her, but didn’t answer. Instead, he started to turn away. She lurched toward him, grabbing his forearm. He narrowed his eyes and jerked away from her.

  “Don’t your ass never, ever put your fuckin’ hands on me. Ever.”

  Desperation made her reach for him again. Let him hit her. So what? Her stepfather was a huge fan of whippings and he knocked around her mother on a regular basis for nothing. If this man could tell her her father’s location and give her something to eat, he could do his best.

  He raised his hand and Meggie flinched, despite her bravado, unable to stop her own hand from shielding her face while tightening her grip on him with her other hand.

  “Please,” she said in a rush.

  “Put your fuckin’ hand down. I ain’t a woman beater.”

  “Well, my stepfather is,” she mumbled, lowering her hand and her eyelids, but refusing to lose her hold on his forearm where he had a tattoo of a Celtic cross entwined with black roses. “I just want directions to where I can find my father.” Her stomach growled. “And I want something to eat.”

  His nostrils flared and the black fury on his face reminded Meggie these men were part of an MC named the Death Dwellers. He looked as if he could mete out death without a second thought while the Grim Reaper painted on the wall looked as if he’d step from the mural and hack everyone to tiny pieces at any moment. The inescapable work of art slapped you in the eyes the moment you stepped through the door and looked to the right. But her father always said his club just had a frightening name. They were actually just a group of guys who didn’t agree with society’s rules and who loved motorcycles.

  “Rack, bring this bitch to my office. Get her somethin’ to eat then get her the fuck outta here.” He glared at her and pried her fingers from his arm, shoving her away. “If you know what the fuck good for you, stay the fuck away from my fuckin’ club.”

  Rack grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the hallway. She hobbled as fast as she could behind him, peeking over her shoulder. Rack was dragging her in the opposite direction from which the other man was going and disappointment sank into her like a heavy stone. Rack opened the door and flipped on the light. Meggie noticed the word, ‘President’ painted on the shiny wood.

  “Sit, you thieving little bitch.”

  As if she had a choice. Not with Rack manhandling her and shoving her down on a brown leather sofa. He slammed the door closed and Meggie sagged in exhaustion. Now that her adrenaline was dipping again, the pain was returning. She settled one ankle on her knee and studied her foot. Dried blood, dirt, small glass shards and gravel coated the bottom. She needed to see to her feet, remove the glass, but she was just so tired. It had been a long, long month, and she’d survived by a thin thread, living off chips and cinnamon rolls the guy at the minimart gave to her after she’d traded her coat in lieu of giving him a blowjob. She drank water from the creek, the place where she spent the majority of her time.

  She hadn’t thought of the possibility of not being able to contact her father since her mother told Thomas she intended to send Meggie to Big Joe. Perhaps, he’d gone on a run. Or, maybe, they’d crossed paths. She’d been running to him in Hortensia and he’d been hightailing it to Seattle to pick her up.

  Frustration made Meggie want to scream. The adults in her life were driving her insane. She’d had to leave when the opportunity presented itself. She hadn’t been able to wait for her father’s arrival. In the span of twelve hours, Thomas had clamped down on where Meggie could go and who she spoke to. Since her mother had spoken to him, her father should’ve been expecting her. Or, at the very least, her call.

  When she’d last seen her daddy, he said he still lived at his club, where he’d resided for the past fifteen years after he and her mother separated.

  The adults—

  Meggie sank back and rubbed her temples. As of today, she, too, was an adult.

  The door slammed open and Megan jerked her head up. The beautiful man sauntered in, carrying a tray with something steaming from a bowl. She’d expected Rack’s beady face again, not the big, sexy biker whose smoldering green eyes took in every inch of her. After using his foot to close the door, he sat the tray on the desk, then stopped in front of her, leaving her eye level with the tease of his penis.

  She flushed. His penis pressed urgently against his jeans, waging a war with the zipper.

  “Wanna see all of it?” he asked. His words were clipped and anger lingered in his eyes, but laughter curled around the offer.

  She gazed up at him, searching for a sign of trouble. She was all alone with him and he might be perverted just like Thomas. She shook her head. “Would you zip your pants?”

  He mimicked her and shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t wantin’ to ruin your study of my cock.”

  The burning tips of Meggie’s ears rivaled the heat in her cheeks. She told herself she was leery of this situation but the lie mocked her. She wasn’t leery of him. Not. At. All. She wanted to study every inch of his tanned skin and explore the entirety of his hard body. She wondered how her breasts would feel if he touched them with his rough fingertips.

  Without warning, he pulled her to her feet and began patting his hands down her body. She gasped when his hand landed on her chest and unbuttoned her shirt. She was hungry and hurting and wouldn’t be able to fight his intentions long, but she would fight. He dug his fingers into her bra and Meggie threw the full weight of her body against him. Other than a brief widening of the eyes, he didn’t budge.

  His hand slid down to her jeans and she balled her fists, but he saw the hit coming and grabbed her wrists, pulling her to him.

  “What the fuck you doin’?”

  She struggled against his hold. Her stomach roiled and her vision blurred. She hated that she’d felt safe for some crazy reason, but he was no better than Thomas. “You know what I’m doing. You want to force me to have sex with you.” She kicked out and he lifted her off her aching feet. He threw her down on the sofa and landed on top of her, holding her hands above her head.

  “I fuckin’ told you I don’t fuckin’ hurt women,” he growled. “I ain’t into stealin’ pussy when I have so much thrown at my ass for free. Even if I ain’t, that’s your pussy. I ain’t got no right to it unless you give it the fuck up.”

  The fight was draining the last of her strength and energy. If she didn’t have something to eat soon, she’d faint. She licked her lips, her mouth dry and her head pounding. “What are you doing if you aren’t –”

  “I’m lookin’ for your fuckin’ ID, to see your goddamn name.”

  “You’re feeling me up for my name?” she hissed. “Why didn’t you just ask me, you moron?”

  He stilled and narrowed his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You just call me a fuckin’ moron?”

  God, nothing beyond the meal he’d promised her ran through her brain. If she’d been rational, she wouldn’t have bitten the hand promising to feed her by calling him a moron. “I’m sorry. Please. I’m hungry,” she said. She cleared her throat, appalled at the heat pooling in her belly and centering between her thighs with his hard body pressing into hers. “May I eat the food you brought in?”

  He continued his unnerving contemplation of her before removing his body from atop hers. He got to his feet, walked to the food, then brought her the bowl. He stood there, not moving out of her personal space. Her knees brushed against him and she felt…safe within the bubble of his zone. By his own doing, he’d swept her into his personal space and he had to know what an overwhelmingly sexy, virile man he was. Meggie figured he was trying to unnerve her on purpose, though she didn
’t detect any menace behind his actions. Just pure sin and wickedness. Had she been a different type of girl, she would’ve done whatever he wanted her to do. She wasn’t at all like her two best friends. Farah went into graphic detail about how she’d did most of the high school football team and Lacey made no secret of her sexual fluidity.

  Meggie kept her head bowed, slurping up the soup like the starving maniac she was.

  She’d been tempted by men before, but her temptations always focused on the cute male teachers rather than the student body, so she’d kept her mouth shut and enjoyed the male attention she got from boys her own age. She couldn’t risk sleeping with anyone, though. High school boys could be so juvenile and she’d get a reputation for whoring around even if she didn’t deserve it. And, of course, with her mother being the assistant principal at the school Meggie attended, she couldn’t risk that. If her mother found out, then Thomas would inevitably find out since Dinah found it necessary to tell him every little detail of both their lives.

  Her spoon clanked against the bowl and she frowned. She’d finished? Already? God, she’d just gotten started.

  “How long since you last ate?”

  A sexy voice to go with a sexy body and magnificent face. Meggie shivered at the timbre, promising to memorize his voice so it soothed her to sleep at night and banished the memories of Thomas’s voice and actions. “Two days.”

  He grabbed the bowl from her. “Ain’t givin’ you no more. You gonna hurl if you stuff your stomach with food after not eatin’ so long.”

  “But I’m still hungry,” she protested, hating her whiny plea. “And I haven’t had anything hot to eat in days.”