Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “I needed to discuss a very important matter and the only thing you wanted was a fuck.”

  “Kendall—“ Drawing in a breath and gritting his teeth, Johnnie grabbed his jeans. More curses fell from his mouth. He should be able to show her all sides of himself, and not tip-fucking-toe around her sensibilities. “I heard every word you said. I intend to do my part and rid the world of Spoon and whoever else in the Torpedoes who are involved in this sick fucking shit. What more do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing. I don’t expect you to say anything. Just as you didn’t say anything when Outlaw put me out because his spoiled brat wife threw a fit.”

  “I couldn’t say anything,” he explained, striving for patience and understanding when he wanted to kick the fuck out of something. “He’s right. You didn’t belong in there. You’re my old lady. I want you to fit in around here.”

  “Why?” she said bitterly. “It doesn’t matter what I do, I’ll never fit in. I’m an attorney. They aren’t.”

  Johnnie sighed. “Bailey’s in school. She wants to be a psychologist or something. With the exception of Christopher, all of the club officers are college graduates. Some of the old ladies are, too.”

  “I don’t fit in here.”

  “You’ll never fit in as long as you look at the situation as you do.”

  Curling up, she turned her back to him. “I didn’t expect you to agree with me, since you never do.”

  “You’ve been through a helluva lot, but you need to fucking open your eyes. None of us are responsible for what happened to you or your sister. We want to help you—“

  “No one will help me as long as Megan forbids it.”

  “Kendall, for all that’s fucking holy, can you not bring Megan up for one fucking conversation between us? You sound fucking obsessed with her. She isn’t that fucking important to our relationship.”

  “She’s important to everyone’s relationship. Because Outlaw makes it so.”

  “And that’s not about to fucking change.”

  Silence and then a change of subject.

  “I’ll fuck you whenever you need relief,” she offered.

  “You have my dick hard as stone with your generous fucking offer,” he sneered, fed up with her bullshit for the night. After the arguments with Megan, Val, and Christopher, he wanted a respite. He thought he’d find it here with her. Wrong! Now, he needed to fucking rest for the goddamn hundredth round with her tomorrow. “If you don’t want my dick in you, keep your fucking legs closed when I try to get in you. Simple as that. I don’t need sympathy pussy.”

  “This conversation is over with,” she decreed before lifting herself up and flicking off the lamp on her side of the bed, blanketing the room in darkness.

  Weary, Johnnie climbed onto his side of the bed, feeling as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

  Chapter 10

  A delicate, warm body curled against Mortician and he mumbled, not wanting to move or open his fucking eyes. His head pounded like a motherfucker and not even the silky hair tickling his nose or the bare ass pressed against his dick enticed him.

  It took a fucking lot to fuck him up. K-P’s death shook him to his depths and he wanted to shove everything aside. He’d been grateful when Val pulled him aside and told him he needed him to make a run.

  Mortician had agreed. If he stayed in Hortensia, thoughts of K-P would pull him under all over again and he didn’t need to deal with that fucking shit. He wouldn’t deal with it. By the time he got back to the club, he’d have his head on straight again, not feel so torn up over K-P.

  Not feel so lost over Bailey leaving—

  Scccccrrrrrreeeeecccccchhhhh!

  Aww, man.

  Memories from last night seeped into his brain and he growled.

  No fucking way—

  “Will you Lucas Banks take thee Bailey Andrews—“

  No. Fucking. WAY.

  He cracked an eye open, gripped a slender hip. He jerked to a sitting position, then fell right the fuck back, his hangover bitch slapping him. “Bailey!” he snarled, shaking her. He still hadn’t seen her because if he moved too much he’d blow chunks all over her.

  It might not be Bailey. He hoped like fuck it wasn’t.

  It couldn’t be Bailey. He’d…he’d left her, hadn’t he? Just gotten on his bike, hugging the Columbia, appreciating beautiful fucking scenery and letting the wind blow through his hair and against his skin. Alive.

  Alive. When K-P was dead.

  All the way to Vegas, he’d held onto the feeling, appreciating his surroundings more than he had in years. In Oregon, he’d relished the serene coastline, feeling the salty breeze of the Pacific before entering Northern Cali, where he’d ridden through the Avenue of Giants. The first time he’d seen a real redwood tree he’d been on a run with Prez, John Boy, Val, Boss and K-P, and Mortician had been in awe that something so fucking tall and ancient could be so majestic. Seeing was believing and he’d wanted to show Bailey…

  “I Bailey Andrews take you Lucas Banks—“

  FUCK. NO.

  Fuck him up the dick with a spiked pitchfork. If he’d married her—

  “Bailey, wake up. Did a little Elvis motherfucker marry us?”

  The warm body stirred, pushing her ass against his hard dick. Now how the fuck would this shit work? Should he fuck her and risk hurling? Or ignore his hard-on and risk blue fucking balls?

  Even though his entire being rebelled at the idea he’d married Bailey—that he held Bailey in his arms—logic told him the truth. He smelled her. Her hair. Her skin. Her pussy.

  Her eyelashes fluttered against his arm and she sighed, the sound so sad his heart hurt. “Lucas,” she whispered.

  Mortician gritted his teeth against how she affected him. “Are we married?”

  Silence. A heave of her shoulders. And, then, a small nod.

  “Get up,” he ordered, removing his arms from under her head and making a minute move away from her. “We getting an annulment.”

  “We’ve already consummated the marriage.”

  Of all fucking days for him to have gotten piss-fucked drunk, it was last night, leaving him without the ability to rage and scream. Then, again, if he hadn’t gotten piss-fucked drunk, they wouldn’t be in this fucking position.

  “Did I cover my dick?”

  “No.”

  Of course fucking not.

  “Did I come in your pussy?”

  “Amongst other places,” she muttered.

  Other fucking places didn’t concern him. As a matter of fact, other places sounded like music to his fucking ears right about now. Ass. Mouth. Belly. Thigh. Cheek. Fuck, eye. Just not the pussy. Coming in pussies led to babies coming out of them.

  “How many times I came in you?”

  “Um—“

  “Not the other places either. The pussy is my main concern.”

  She cleared her throat and he cracked his eye open again. Still dizzy like a motherfucker. He squeezed his lids shut. “Bailey?”

  “Tw-twice.”

  “Tell me you got on the fuckin’ pill in the two weeks since we first fucked.”

  He’d bet she hadn’t. The day he’d taken Bailey’s virginity, Logan had killed K-P. Birth control would’ve been the last fucking thing on Bailey’s mind.

  “Why the fuck you accepted my invitation to ride with me?”

  Another sigh from her and more gritting his teeth. He felt like a blind fucking mouse, unable to see Bailey’s expression, so fucking hung over he couldn’t bear to open his eyes.

  “Why’d you invite me?”

  He heard her hurt and grief and misery, but, fuck he hurt and grieved, too. “I just wanted to spend fucking time with you, girl.” They’d spent time together, too, and he’d kept his hands, dick, and mouth to himself for the entire three days it had taken to get here. Out of consideration for her, he’d stopped every evening. If she hadn’t been with him, he would’ve made piss stops, then continued on. “Let you kn
ow I’m here if you need me.”

  “You could’ve told me without asking me to come on the run with you.” Tears laced her words and Mortician felt like the dirtiest dog alive. “I’d already told you goodbye.”

  “You would’ve been gone by the time I fuckin’ got back. You jetting. Remember?”

  “D-does it matter?”

  Yes. “Fuck, Bailey,” he bit out. “Why the fuck…did I propose to you or did you fucking sweat my dick and drag me to the altar?”

  She sucked in a breath and a big sob broke free. Mortician balled his fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her. He ignored her tears for as long as he could, the same way he’d tried to ignore her solitary walk next to the motorcycle hearse carrying her dad’s body.

  The movement on the bed turned his stomach and vomit bubbled up, expanding his cheeks. He tried to swallow it, but the nasty shit kept filling his mouth, a disgusting fucking tsunami, determined to break free.

  It leaked from his nose.

  Fuck. No.

  No fucking choice but to open his mouth and let it all out. Alcohol he’d fucking drank twenty years ago heaved from him, spattering his chest, his dick, his thigh. Everywhere.

  Fuck, how women fucking put up with morning sickness, he’d never understand. If he was a girl, he’d sew his pussy the fuck up instead of bringing up demon vomit every day. And Meggie suffered with it again.

  Kendall was fucking pregnant, too. What the fuck went wrong with their dicks? Shooting fucking industrial strength sperm or something? Bailey better not be pregnant. He groaned again, his head fucking hurting worse.

  Who the fuck was he kidding? He hadn’t been lucky then and he doubted he’d be lucky now.

  A cool cloth brushed his brow and he jumped. It slid over his face, her scent close enough to him to remove the smell of stale alcohol, sour food, and bile stinking to high fucking heaven. He might be a lucky motherfucker to have that shit out of him.

  “I can help you to the bathroom,” she offered in her soft, sweet voice.

  Mortician popped open an eye again. His head still hurt but blowing the chunks helped his nausea.

  “I have to piss and you wouldn’t help me one fucking bit. I’m twice your fucking size—” And then some—“I’ll squish you like a fucking bug when I fall.”

  “You might not fall, Lucas.”

  “Trust me. I will fall flat the fuck on my ass.”

  “Then how are we going to clean—“

  “You’re not,” he barked, sounding like a cruel dickhead. “Welcome to the real fucking world, Bailey. K-P didn’t want you with me for a fucking reason. He knew all about fucking Sharper Banks. Reverend Sharper Banks, my father,” he clarified.

  “Your father’s a minister?” she squeaked.

  “And my stepmother’s a whore, so don’t fuckin’ feel sorry for me.”

  Blessed silence passed for long moments and Mortician wondered what Bailey made of his statement.

  “Okay, Lucas. We can file an annulment. Afterwards, please drop me off at the bus station. I’ll be out of your life by the end of the day.”

  Mortician should’ve felt relief, instead of feeling as if her words had ripped his heart right out of his chest.

  Chapter 11

  Mr. Gillson closed the lid on Caroline’s casket and Kendall clutched Johnnie’s arm, unable to stop her tears, wanting to see her little sister once more. All the things she should’ve said to her in life bubbled up. Too late. She was gone.

  The good died young so they wouldn’t be corrupted by the bad and the bad lived to overcome their sins. Or so someone said.

  What a crock of shit. Most bad seeds never overcame their sins. Case in point—Logan Donovan. He’d been evil right to the very end and, yet, he’d lived seventy-five years. Caroline had been good and only had sixteen years.

  Kendall regretted all the time she hadn’t spent with Caroline. She saw her two or three times a month. Took her to the mall or a movie, or dinner, on a spa date. Perfunctory outings she felt obligated to do as Caroline’s big sister.

  Mr. Gillson and his assistant began rolling the casket away and Kendall reached out to touch it, her heart breaking. A sob escaped her and she felt dizzy and nauseated with her grief and guilt.

  “I’m so sorry, Caro. So, so sorry,” she cried.

  Arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a warm embrace.

  “Kendall, sweetheart,” Johnnie murmured, hugging her tight and holding her against his body. He caressed her back and whispered soft words to her.

  Hysteria flirted at the edge of her brain. “I need to tell her how much I love her. I don’t think I ever did.”

  “She knows,” he reassured her.

  Kendall doubted it. She’d treated Caroline as Marie had treated Kendall. Standoffish. As if there were always something more important than her. Kendall knew why. She knew it then and she knew it now.

  Worse, if Caroline was still alive and Spoon hadn’t taken her, Kendall wouldn’t have treated her sister any differently. There would’ve been no reason to recognize her worth as a family member—a human being—and Kendall would’ve continued on stewing in resentment. Of a child. Her sister.

  She wailed at the realization and trembled. She’d never make up the lost time she could’ve spent with Caroline. Somewhere, deep down, Kendall believed she had time to overcome her negativity towards her. Caroline was sixteen, so time should’ve been on their side. But no. Time never stopped.

  Like Mother Nature, Father Time showed no mercy and took no prisoners. Life happened. Seasons changed. Time moved…forward. Always, always forward.

  “Kendall, dear, should you go to the grave?” Charlotte Redding, Brooks’s wife, clucked with concern and cleared her throat. “Maybe, you should take her back to…wherever, Mr. Donovan. She is in a family way.”

  Johnnie stiffened against Kendall’s cheek at the disapproval in Charlotte’s voice. “She’s right, sweetheart. You’re getting too worked up to go to the cemetery.”

  She didn’t want to go but she had to go. Caroline deserved better than only a handful of strangers. Heaving in a breath that ended on another sob, Kendall straightened and swiped away her tears. But more fell. “I’ll go. I have to go.”

  Mr. Gillson frowned back at her, hovering near the entryway with the casket. Father Wilkins, halfway down the aisle, glanced over his shoulder at her. She didn’t know who’d gotten the church or the priest. Probably, Johnnie, she thought dully. She’d have to thank him. Caroline’s body deserved to be blessed.

  Kendall’s gaze fell on Meggie’s. Tears glistened in her blue eyes and the sympathy in her features…Kendall didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to recognize the girl’s sadness and exhaustion. Or her paleness.

  She wasn’t there because she wanted to be there. She attended as Outlaw’s old lady, meaning she had no choice in the matter. She certainly hadn’t known Caroline for her to cry over her. Who cried for a stranger?

  Seeing her gaze on Meggie, Outlaw tightened his hold on the girl, his look mocking Kendall. Even, now, in Kendall’s grief, he’d side with his wife over her.

  Digger and Val stood in the pew behind Outlaw and Meggie. It surprised her to see Arrow sharing a pew with Stretch, Brooks and Charlotte. Derby, president of a support club, and his old lady, Gypsy, were there as well as Bunny and her Dweller boyfriend. A Black guy with a President patch sat next to a pretty Black lady. Other Dwellers—Bowlie, Slipper, Cowboy, and Shady—were there, too.

  Most of these people, Kendall didn’t know. But they’d come for her and Caroline. Because Johnnie had asked them to.

  The thought strengthening her, she straightened her spine and took her place behind Father Wilkins, not having to look to see if Johnnie followed her.

  She just knew he did, his presence strong and sure behind her.

  Johnnie kept a close eye on Kendall as the motorcycles accelerated their engines and formed a single-columned convoy with Arrow leading. The hearse and the single limou
sine in which Johnnie and Kendall rode in divided the formation at the middle mark. Val rode in front of the hearse, Christopher and Digger flanked each side, and Stretch fronted the bikers behind the two vehicles.

  When they’d arrived at the church, it had been drizzling. Now, the sun broke through the clouds.

  He hated Kendall’s distress, and wanted to reach out and comfort her. But he didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t want to do anything to further damage her and, yet, he almost wished Kendall opened up to him the way Megan told Christopher everything.

  Fuck. Megan again. This time, his thoughts of her were different, though.

  Johnnie didn’t think he was comparing the two women. He just wanted a way to help Kendall and he couldn’t help her if she wouldn’t open up to him. He understood her distrust. After all she’d been through, she had every right. Trust issues wouldn’t allow her to just readily open up. He even got her bitterness. At times, though, it overwhelmed him.

  Four days ago, she’d been pissed because he hadn’t come to her defense when Christopher ordered her to leave after Megan’s tantrum and offered him her pussy whenever he needed a fuck. Since that night, she’d become even more distant toward him.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face.

  He couldn’t say one fucking word about Megan. If he wanted to walk away from the bar for a minute to talk to any of his brothers, she panicked. He had to stay within her sight at all times.

  Trauma and fear instigated most of the demand, but, some of it, was control and manipulation.

  “Th-thank you, Johnnie.” She twirled the buttons on her black dress, one of the outfits she’d purchased yesterday when they went shopping.

  Her voice slivered through the wall he’d began to erect between them. “For?”

  She indicated outside. “This. The church. You’re giving Caroline a wonderful send off. You got some of the brothers to stay for the services and invited your friends from the local clubs. You—“

  Fuck. Sighing, he squeezed the bridge of his nose. His admission would breach his No Bullshit Zone. He should fucking lie to her to have some peace. No. If he had to lie to her to have a relationship with her, he should just walk the fuck away. “It wasn’t me, Kendall.”