Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  And that was the truth, although he’d never believed her.

  “Ummhmm. So why the fuck you kept all that pussy hair once I started fucking you?”

  Because you liked it. “Let me up,” she demanded when the thought popped into her head. He did and she forced herself to a sitting position, shoving aside the memory of when he’d asked her to keep her pussy like that and then had given her the nickname of Puff because she had the best powder puff of pussy hair in the entire world. “I have to go. You’re nothing but a fucking pig. A liar and a cheat and a womanizer and…and…and a killer.”

  He shoved her so hard she landed on the floor on her ass.

  “FUCK!” he snarled, glaring at her. “I didn’t mean to do that, Puff,” he croaked with genuine remorse.

  Bewilderment sagged her shoulders.

  “I’m gonna try to do better. Okay?”

  Instead of responding, she just stared at him, hurting. Because she cared. She cared about each injury Val got. Each girl he slept with. Each run he went on. She cared. And she’d never stop caring. But he was incapable of real feelings. “You’re not welcomed to see Ryan ever again. I’m going to find a decent man to raise him. He deserves better than a father who’ll fuck any girl who opens her pussy to him.”

  Val wasn’t a patient type of man, and Zoann knew that. She knew, too, using Ryan hurt him the worst and he always struck back.

  “Bob Sue didn’t open her pussy,” he growled. “She opened her fucking mouth.”

  She forced away tears at the cold, cruel words.

  “As to you stopping me from seeing my son, think the fuck again. Bad enough you don’t let me see him as much as I could. You on duty at that fucking hospital a lot, bitch, but you told Ophelia you wouldn’t let her watch him if she didn’t consult with you first. Fuck you. That’s my kid. My cum made him. And if you want to get some poor fuck fucked up go ahead.”

  “You’re disgusting!” she screeched, jumping to her feet.

  “If you say so, Zoann. But if I hadn’t been fucking jumped by a bunch of pussies, I’d show you how fucking disgusting you think I am. If I wasn’t in so much fucking pain, you’d open your pussy to me with just a flick of my finger.”

  “You wish. There’s no dick in the world good enough to make me lose my dignity and just drop my panties without consequences.”

  His laugh was evil and Zoann flinched even before he spoke. “You did and it’s done and Ryan is the proof.”

  The door suddenly burst open and Zoann jumped. She expected to see Bob Sue or some other girl.

  “Oh, fuck me,” a very familiar growl came because she’d just heard it over the telephone. “What the fuck you doing here, Zoann?” Mortician rumbled.

  She drew herself up and willed all her different emotions away. These men steamrolled weakness. “I came because Val skipped out on seeing Ryan.”

  Mortician scratched his chin, the stubble on his square jaw making him look like the criminal he was. “Ain’t like the motherfucker can ride. You notice how fucked up he is?”

  She glared at him. “Very funny,” she spat when Val snickered and then moaned in pain. Dumb ass. “You’re all just like Christopher. Despicable.”

  Her earliest memories of her big brother was of a beautiful boy whom their grandfather despised. Zoann had adored Christopher, couldn’t wait to get old enough to follow behind him.

  She rubbed her hand. It still hurt from the way their grandfather had injured it when she’d asked him to be nice to her brother. Most of all her pride hurt because he’d called her all kinds of names. The same names he’d always called Christopher and Zoann knew she never wanted to hear him disparage her or hurt her ever again.

  Silence surrounded them. Val and Mortician didn’t want her around them anymore. She’d overstayed her welcome.

  “If you through bitching at your baby daddy, would you mind leaving?”

  “Don’t come in here telling Zoann what to do,” Val growled. “If I let her stay, you shut the fuck up about it.”

  Mortician sighed. “You pussy-whipped motherfuckers working on my last fucking nerve.”

  “You halfway to being pussy-whipped yourself, assfuck. But, wait. You didn’t get in the pussy yet, so that means you just fucking whipped.”

  “Go suck dick,” Mortician bit out, not looking back as he stalked through the door.

  “That, Puff, is how to put motherfuckers in their places. I’m damn near pocketing 5Gs.” Val winked at her, his amusement pulling a smile from her.

  She felt awkward, so without another word, she bowed her head and hurried out of Val’s room, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone, just needing to get away from the man who’d once meant so much to her.

  And who now viewed her as just a mean, hateful bitch. When he didn’t realize there was so much more to it than that.

  Johnnie halted his Navigator five feet from the clubhouse doors. He’d assembled an emergency meeting and, now, brothers were arriving. The only man he hadn’t been able to contact was K-P, although he should’ve since he was supposed to be taking care of Val. Of course, Dinah probably finagled him away. He was going to have to pull him aside and tell him he needed to pull back from Dinah because Johnnie had a feeling she was the reason he wouldn’t answer.

  He got that Dinah was K-P’s woman, but not even Christopher allowed Megs to interfere in Official Club Business and Megan was his entire world.

  Tapping his key on the steering wheel, he got out and slammed the door shut. He indicated to a Probate to watch over the car with a nod, then started forward. The clubhouse door opened and Johnnie started when he saw Zoann rushing out, almost running right into him.

  She blinked and stepped back. “Johnnie?” Already derision was replacing the unguarded vulnerability she’d had a moment ago.

  “How’s Val?”

  She stiffened, her whiskey colored eyes brimming with anger and pain. “A biker pig, like all the rest of you.”

  He understood her cutting words now, but damn it if his regret and pity matched—outweighed—the anger she’d always managed to bring about. And it all went back to Logan. He’d destroyed the lives of his entire family and for what? Money? Power? The Donovans hadn’t been super wealthy but they’d been comfortable. Therefore, Johnnie believed the MC had been founded solely to acquire a stronghold in the area. The club hadn’t morphed into the group they’d become.

  They’d started out to mete out death and heartache, and keep a tight rein over everyone.

  Johnnie drew in a deep breath and pulled Zoann into his arms. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He wanted her to tell him. He wanted to tell her he knew. Instead, he kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, Zoann. I promise you.”

  For one, brief moment, she clung to him. He suspected in that instant she trusted him, too. Then, she realized her softening toward one of the men she felt had deserted her. “It isn’t okay,” she spat. “It’ll never be okay. I thought Matthew…” She drew in a deep breath and sniffled, then raised her chin, her eyes glittering. “Val,” she almost snarled. “I thought Val was different. But he isn’t. He’s…I hate him. Just like I hate you and Christopher.”

  Johnnie took her face between his hands and thumbed her tears away. “Until Val…did whatever, you at least tolerated me,” he pointed out. “I’m not responsible for Val.”

  “Suppose he’d died? Val. Suppose they’d killed him? Or the shot—“

  The door opened again and Dinah stepped out, holding Little Man, interrupting Zoann’s words. Johnnie released his cousin and glared at Dinah, ruffling the baby’s black hair. “You let K-P out now?” he growled. “Will he answer his fucking phone?”

  Dinah blinked, her blue eyes widening in surprise. “I…K-P left a while ago, not long after we cleaned up Val. I haven’t seen him all day.”

  Zoann slipped around him. “I have to go on duty,” she offered in clipped tones. “I’ll see you around.

  “What time did he leave?” Not that it mattered. He�
�d only been trying to contact him for the last hour or so. Still, only Dinah would keep K-P from answering Johnnie’s call.

  Dinah chewed on her lip, focused on answering his question. “About one.”

  “And you’re sure?”

  Nodding her head, Dinah took a step back, and Johnnie scowled, knowing his impatient tone had frightened her. He couldn’t deal with this woman right now. “Slipper!” he yelled, since Val was laid up and Stretch was on gate duty, directing the incoming traffic.

  The man ran up to him. “John Boy?”

  “Get a tail on my cousin. Keep watch over her wherever she goes. If she sees the brothers and protests, fall the fuck back into the background. Anything happen to her or her son, you’ll have me to answer to. Got it?”

  Slipper nodded.

  “Escort Dinah home. I want a full fucking sweep of that house before you leave her and Little Man.”

  He rubbed a hand over his forehead, shuffled his feet a little. “What you want me to do first?”

  Johnnie patted Slipper’s jaw and smiled at his wince, since the pat had been more of a slap. “You can’t fucking handle your duties, assfuck?”

  “Of course I can, John Boy,” he said, lifting his chin, “but—“

  “Then prioritize and figure it the fuck out. You fuck up and I’m going to bury you.” Not waiting for the man to say anything else, he stalked between Slipper and Dinah. He needed to find his grandfather, then get back to Kendall.

  He didn’t need to hold a motherfucker’s hand and give him a blow-by-blow on how to get everything done.

  Chapter 20

  Kendall stared at her naked body in the mirror attached to the dresser, swaying on her feet. She was hungry. Baby Biker kept her hungry nowadays. And she felt lonely and isolated. Not knowing what else to do, she’d gone to the liquor table and discovered Stoli, so she partook. And continued to partake until she was shit-faced.

  She’d already gained weight in the days since she’d first met Johnnie and every extra pound showed on her body. That’s why Johnnie didn’t want her anymore. She’d gotten fat and ugly with monstrous breasts. The only thing she’d ever liked about herself was her hair. Her red hair set her apart and, after she’d gotten out of treatment, it had once again become a shiny mass of glorious fire.

  Everything else was worthless.

  Fingers trembling, she touched her belly. It wasn’t soft, like her thighs, like the pillows of her breasts.

  You fat, stupid giraffe.

  Kendall covered her ears to drown out the words, but they wouldn’t go away. Because they were no longer spoken aloud. It was worse. They were stuck in her head. She stumbled to the bed where she had a bag of chips and a plate of scrambled eggs. She sat, ripped open the bag and began stuffing the chips into her mouth, barely stopping to breathe. She crunched a couple times, her teeth breaking them apart only enough so they wouldn’t strangle her as she swallowed them.

  Chips fell over her fat, pale thighs, onto the bed, and onto the floor. Nausea churned in Kendall’s belly and she paused, determined not to let this take away her control. She’d control this situation. Not the food or the bile rising in her.

  She moaned. No, it was controlling her. She was eating, stuffing food into her body.

  When she’d emptied the bag, she grabbed a handful of eggs and shoved it into her mouth, gagging, holding onto the contents of her stomach by sheer will. Sweat was pouring off her and her belly was hurting so bad, but she wanted somebody to like her and care about her.

  She shoved more eggs into her mouth and let out a desperate sob, pressing the palm of her egg-less hand against her cheeks and forehead to wipe away her mother’s brain and bone fragments. It was all over her. Marie hadn’t wanted to stay with her fat, ugly daughter. She’d thought Caroline dead and preferred leaving the daughter she knew was still alive to be with her favorite.

  Kendall’s skin crawled and she swiped at her neck and face and nose. Blood plastered her hair to her head. It had to be blood. Marie’s head had blown apart, spraying Kendall everywhere. She scraped her nails through her scalp, not understanding why she didn’t see blood dripping from her fingertips when she looked at them.

  It was there. She knew it was. She needed to wash away the blood and gore until the water ran clear, just as soon as her mother’s body was removed.

  She shoved the last of the eggs into her mouth, fogginess clouding her mind and vision, blotting out the body of her mother. All that blood and gore. Taking away the feel of a million little bugs crawling over her skin.

  She fell to the floor, holding out her hands to soften the landing. Her breasts jiggled with her movements, hung in grotesque heaps. If she’d had a knife, she would’ve cut them off.

  “Fat slut. The only thing men want you for is your big titties. Who’d want an overgrown giraffe like you, you bitch? You have the nerve to call me a whore? At least I look like a woman. Even with those tits, the only way men are sure what you are is when they see your used-up pussy. That’s why you’re always spreading it.”

  Who’d said those words to her? Her mother? Caroline? No, not either of them. She couldn’t place those words with their voices. One of Spoon’s lovers, a woman he’d been flaunting while he held Kendall captive…?

  Kendall jammed her fingers down her throat, gagging around the unexpected invasion. She held her breath, kept her fingers stuffed in her mouth until her belly heaved and the contents of her stomach came spewing out, slipping over her forearm and thigh in a mess of chewed up eggs and potato chips, vodka and bile.

  She hated Johnnie.

  She hated Spoon.

  She hated Baby Biker.

  But, most of all, she hated herself.

  Unlocking his door and walking into the house, Johnnie frowned at the silence and the darkness. Entering the kitchen and flipping on the light, he took in the empty egg carton, the shells of a dozen cracked eggs strewn across the counter. A pan and spatula sat on the stove, coated with dried egg. A bottle of Stoli lay on the floor, drained of its contents. The cabinet door where he kept chips and other snacks gaped open.

  What the hell happened?

  Knowing he’d only find answers from Kendall, he made his way to the guest room and knocked. She didn’t respond. “Open the goddamn door, Kendall.” Johnnie pounded on the door. “I’m not playing.”

  She didn’t answer, so he turned the knob, preparing to blast her. He stopped short when he saw her curled up in a pool of vomit and naked.

  “Fuck! Kendall.” Fear curdling his stomach, he rushed to her and lifted her in his arms. She was warm, overly so as a matter of fact, and smelled strongly of alcohol. A soft snore escaped her. Spinning on his heel, he slid in some of the vomit and cursed. His intention was to lay her on the bed until he started the shower, but he saw the empty bag of chips, the plate, the food crumbs and pieces of egg on the bed.

  He redirected his steps and headed to his bedroom, laying her on his bed, praying for a small bit of luck. If she remained still, she wouldn’t soil his bed and he could devote his time caring for her instead of trying to find a clean place for them to lay once he got her out of the shower.

  Ripping open his shirt, he grimaced at the smears of dried blood on his chest. He thought he’d washed away all the blood after Digger had come and removed an asshole who’d gotten on the wrong side of club business. Once Johnnie stood nude, he went and started the shower, adjusting the water so it wouldn’t be too cold, although he wanted it cool.

  Then, he got her and brought her into the shower. He wrapped his arms around her to hold her up. When the first beads of water hit her back, she moaned and swayed in his arms.

  “Easy, gorgeous,” he whispered, tightening his arms around her. Her soft body pressed into his and he tightened his arm around her. He reached for the bar of soap before laying her head on his shoulder and walking her further under the water, making sure she was completely wet. Moving her hair in a wet heap over her shoulder to cover one of her breasts, he spread the
soap over the elegant line of her back down to her buttocks, working up a lather on her before turning her to face the water.

  He allowed the water to hit the top of her head, her brow, and each cheek. She gasped, an encouraging sign, but if she’d really drank an entire bottle of vodka, he wouldn’t let her go. He ran the bar of soap over her breasts, belly, and thighs, replacing the smell of vomit with a clean, citrusy scent. Deciding to press his luck, he grabbed his shampoo and poured it on her head, soaping her hair, then washing it out and slathering conditioner on it. When he finished cleaning her up, he glanced down at her and saw she was staring at him, a dazed look in her eyes.

  He got them out of the shower and wrapped her body and hair in towels, then lifted her trembling body into his arms.

  “Johnnie?” she whispered as he laid her on his bed and pulled the covers back to tuck her in. She blinked at him and he knuckled her cheek. “You didn’t leave me.”

  Her brown eyes filled with tears and he wondered who this tortured, vulnerable woman truly was. He wanted the real Kendall. If this fragile woman was, he’d take care of her and protect her. If the sexy, confident beauty who’d strutted into the club in all her naked glory, then he had to find a way to fucking remind her of her worth.

  He grazed his lips over her temple. “Rest, Kendall. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “No!” she screeched, grasping his wrists and jerking him to her. “You’ll just leave again. I know your true reason for not wanting to touch me.”

  She was struggling to pull him onto her, fighting to place her lips on his, but in order to do that she had to free one of her hands to turn his head toward her. Johnnie turned his head to the side and caught her wrist, pinning them above her head, her breasts pressing into his chest.

  “It’s the baby, isn’t it? The baby’s making me fatter than I already am. I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m getting rid of it. The abortion is scheduled...was scheduled…I couldn’t…I’ll reschedule it.”