Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Fuck.

  Scratch being a man and going to Outlaw. The man would…would…Val halted, the thought too fucking gruesome to contemplate.

  Being on the farm to dispose of that motherfucker had been a fluke. Val probably wouldn’t see her again for months. Fucking fine with him.

  Chapter Two

  Leaning against her brother’s Harley, Zoann shifted from foot to foot and debated on whether or not she should enter the clubhouse to find him. He’d barred her, so he’d be furious if she walked in. However, she wanted to take off her itchy socks and stupid Oxfords to stretch out her toes. Although she hated the plaid, knee-length skirt and starched white shirt, she’d gotten used to the uniform. Her feet hadn’t, though.

  She lifted her book bag for the fiftieth time and unzipped it to make sure the draft of her speech still lay inside. She had to show Christopher. Mama had given her a break in helping with Ophelia’s homework and promised to make one of the others do it. Nia could help, but posing in front of their mirror kept her too busy to do anything worthwhile, like assisting their little sister with math. Dummy.

  Bev and Avery, their two older sisters, stayed out more often than not, causing Mama all kinds of worry. They were dummies, too, and Zoann seriously considered ratting them out to Christopher. Zoann had mentioned their behavior to Granddaddy, but he said they had the brains of Daddy, so they’d make stupid decisions and he wouldn’t waste his breath discouraging them.

  Sometimes, Granddaddy was so…so mean.

  Zoann massaged her finger and winced, the memory of her grandfather hurting her hand for defending Christopher still fresh after seven years. It was the only time Mama had ever threatened to stop allowing Zoann to visit. Granddaddy had lost his temper with Mama, too, though, and beat her something fierce. Zoann still remembered screaming and screaming as she watched Mama getting kicked and called a whore.

  Zoann had been furious with Granddaddy and swore she’d never forgive him for the way he’d hurt her mother. That’s the day she’d discovered Mama had gotten pregnant with Christopher through a rape. She hadn’t known the meaning of sex before then, let alone forced sex. Grandmother had gotten angry with Mama, too, and slapped her face for making Granddaddy lose his temper.

  That night, Zoann had had a really bad asthma attack and needed to go to the ER for a breathing treatment and an injection of steroids. She’d stayed home from school the next day and the moment her mother left her alone, she’d called Christopher and told him what happened. Even though she’d been sobbing, he’d understood her and gotten to the house within the hour.

  “Should I hate Granddaddy like you do?” she’d asked.

  He’d cocked his head to the side. At seventeen to her ten, he’d been her idol. He’d settled her in his lap and laid her head on his chest, stroking her hair. “What you think hate is, Bitsy?” he’d asked.

  “Mean people like Granddaddy and the mean man who raped you into Mama.”

  His hand had stilled and she’d pulled back, surprised at his horrified expression. “What?” His dark brows snapped together. “Who told you…?”

  “Granddaddy,” she admitted through more tears. Hiccupping, she drew in a deep, calming breath. She didn’t want any more of that nasty medicine. “He was beating Mama and…and…” She’d dissolved into more sobs. “Why was he so mean? He’s never been mean to me and he hurt my hand. See?”

  She’d held up her swollen pinky and knuckle.

  “Fuck.”

  Keeping her in his arms, he’d gotten to his feet and headed to the kitchen where he’d sat her on the counter to prepare an ice pack for her. Afterwards, he’d gotten her a bowl of chocolate ice cream and fed it to her.

  “Just don’t tell Ma,” he’d instructed and winked.

  Zoann had squealed in delight, melting at her big brother’s attention. As he fed her, he’d talked to her.

  “You ain’t gotta be hearin’ about no rape or sex or nothin’.” He sighed. “But since that dirty motherfucker opened his big, fat mouth, I’m gonna tell you. Yeah, a dirtier motherfucker forced himself on Ma and she ended up with me.”

  “How?”

  “Whatcha mean how?” he asked slowly.

  “You got inside Mama, but how’d he put you there? What’d he use to force you in her?”

  Christopher had choked and set the half-empty bowl down to glare at her before thrusting his hands through his hair. “Boy and girls…no, fuck that…men and women play Connect The Uglies. If there ain’t protection, boys—men—get females pregnant.”

  That hadn’t been good enough. “I still don’t understand. How do you play Connect The Uglies? Do you play? Where are your uglies, anyway, Christy? That sounds like a really stupid game. No wonder somebody had to force…ack…” She’d gagged when he’d shoved the ice-cream filled spoon into her mouth.

  “It ain’t a stupid game and even if it is, no motherfucker alive got the fuckin’ right to force you to do that or any bullshit you don’t fuckin’ want to do. That type of forcin’ especially. Death ain’t good enough for fuckheads like that.”

  Zoann had tried to process everything Christopher told her. A lot of the bad words he’d said, she hadn’t understood. Once she’d worked out what he meant in her head as much as possible, she’d responded. “At recess, Myrtle James told me she got her period and now she could have babies so that makes her an official woman.”

  “No the fuck she ain’t,” he’d growled, slamming the bowl aside, even though a lot of ice cream remained. “How fuckin’ old she is?”

  “Ten and—”

  “You tell her she fuckin’ talk like that to you again and I’m spankin’ her little ass, since she ain’t got a fuckin’ daddy to do it.”

  “That’s fine. She wants to marry you one day. She said her big sister slept with you, although that doesn’t sound any funner than the Connect The Uglies game.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, please shut—”

  “But her sister is such an ugly thing, so bumping her makes sense.” Swinging her leg, she frowned, genuinely confused as she studied Christopher. “Where’s your ugly, though?”

  “Shut. Up.”

  Her silence had lasted thirty seconds. “So when do you think I’ll get my period?”

  “I ain’t got a fuckin’ clue, Bitsy.”

  She’d never heard him look or sound so outraged and embarrassed. She pointed at him and fell into peals of laughter. Pleasure shot through her when he started laughing, too. He ruffled her hair then picked up her bowl of melted ice cream.

  “You wanna suck it up with a straw?”

  She nodded, eager at the prospect. Mama never let her do cool things. After getting the straw, he leaned against the counter again.

  “Zoann, me and Logan, ain’t ever liked each other. You always loved him and he always loved you. People you love fuck up sometimes. Nobody got the right to put their hands on you,” he said harshly. “After he cool down in a coupla days, I bet he’s gonna apologize. Know what else?”

  “What?”

  “He ain’t ever gonna lay his fuckin’ hands on you again.”

  As usual, Christopher had been right. Granddaddy had apologized and…Shoot! She’d forgotten her promise to Granddaddy that she’d cook dinner for him today. He’d been so sad since Grandmother’s death and he liked Christopher even less—an amazing feat considering his behavior before—loved Johnnie more—amazing feat number two—and relied on Zoann and Mama to keep him company, prepare his meals, and clean his house.

  A raindrop hit the center of Zoann’s head and she scowled, glancing up at the sky. That cloud hadn’t been there two minutes ago. Well…

  The door opened and she straightened her shoulders, her regard touching upon her big brother before falling on Matthew. She hadn’t seen him since the day in the kitchen, several months before.

  Matthew smiled, his turquoise eyes twinkling, his perusal flooding her cheeks with heat. The sight of his single dimple made her heart speed up. She lowered he
r lashes to hide her reaction to him.

  Sunlight broke through the clouds and two additional drops of rain splattered on her head.

  Glancing at the sky, Christopher stepped in front of Matthew, blocking him from Zoann’s view and drawing her into his arms to kiss her forehead. “Bitsy, whatcha doin’ here?”

  “You’re coming to my graduation next week?”

  Christopher blew out a breath and thrust his hands through his hair. “Motherfuck, Zoann. What day next week?” he asked gruffly, the regret in his green eyes hitting her in the center of her chest.

  “You can’t come, can you?”

  “I’ll try. I’m leavin’ tomorrow on business.” Opening his cut, he withdrew his cigarettes and matches. He stepped back and lit one before returning his smoking stuff to where he’d gotten it. “What are you doin’ here anyway?”

  “I wanted to read my speech to you,” she said with uncontained excitement, not discouraged by Christopher’s grimace. She jabbed his shoulder and he laughed at her mock outrage. “I’m salutatorian and I get to have a speech.”

  “Outlaw, rain’s gonna start for real.”

  Matthew’s sexy voice reached Zoann’s core and she wished she’d gone on a date with him rather than the one date she’d gone on with the captain of the football team from the all-boys school. He was tall and built and funny, but just a wimp, allowing Christopher to frighten him off. Their schools coordinated sports events together with the girls from the school she went to, serving as cheerleaders to the varsity teams of the boys from the other school, so she’d meet someone else since her romance with Toby had fizzled out after her afternoon with Matthew.

  The annoying raindrops went to an outright downpour, falling from the sky and drenching all three of them. Christopher scooped her into his arms and ran with her to the clubhouse.

  “My books!” she cried, squirming in his hold.

  The door banged shut behind them and they stood just inside the main room, dripping wet. Shaking his head, Christopher set her on her feet and brushed the water from his brow. “Stay here.”

  “I need my books.”

  “I have them, Zoann,” Matthew said from behind her and she bit down on her lip to stop another nervous giggle, unable to hide the fire rising in her cheeks.

  Christopher scowled over her head. “On second fucking thought.” Grabbing her elbow, he steered her through the main room toward the hallway.

  She’d never been inside the MC before. The long bar and clean tables surprised her. Whenever Christopher talked about his MC, she imagined a dark dungeon-like room with scary looking men and skinny women with nasty hair and hollow eyes. Though not bright in here, it wasn’t death-dark, either.

  “I thought you two assholes were halfway to getting your dicks sucked,” a voice boomed, halting Christopher’s stride.

  Zoann sloshed to a stop and peeped around the wall of her brother’s body. Maybe, they had a dungeon somewhere on the property and kept the scary bikers there. Rack, the black-haired biker with the bushy beard and beady eyes would frighten her more if not for Christopher’s presence. She’d met Rack a few times and he always gave her the creeps.

  “Shut your dumb fuckin’ mouth,” Christopher snapped. “Bitsy with me.”

  “Find a fucking mop for her so she can clean up this fucking mess you’re making on her behalf.”

  Tightening his hold on her, Christopher started forward again. “Kiss my fuckin’ asshole, motherfucker,” he grumbled. The booms of thunder and pattering of rain added to the tension. The scent of damp dirt and foliage seeped through the a/c vents and Zoann wrinkled her nose, a feeling of gloom and doom settling into her.

  “Hey!” Rack yelled. “That bitch cleaning this mess, Outlaw. She got a cunt and that automatically make her the maid.”

  Zoann slid closer to Christopher, sorry she’d waited outside for him, but she had before and it had never caused a problem.

  “Valentine,” Christopher called and Zoann frowned. Someone else had come in? Who was Valentine? She didn’t know him. “Take Bitsy to my room. You touch her, motherfucker, and I’m putting your dick in a slip knot and yanking it the fuck off.”

  Um, ouch. She glared at her brother, mortified by his warning. Aware of his threat of violence against anyone who touched her, she didn’t want him to use his stupid intimidation tactics against Matthew. Christopher didn’t need to hear her speech. She’d leave and walk home in the rain.

  The tension in the room tied her stomach in knots. Sometimes, Granddaddy went off and, right before he did, pressure weighted everything down. The memory of the day he’d beaten her mother returned full force and her hand throbbed. It had healed but it still hurt sometimes.

  She didn’t want to witness anything like that ever again, so…“It’s okay, Christy,” she whispered, reverting to the name she’d called him since forever. She tried not to use it too often. “Christy” didn’t fit anymore. He’d once been her sweet, older brother who’d looked out for her like most brothers did for their little sisters. That boy had been Christy. Now? He was her badass biker brother, who protected her with threats and fists. Definitely not a Christy. “I can leave.”

  “No!” two male voices growled and she jumped.

  “You cleaning this,” Rack snarled at the same time Christopher barked, “no the fuck you ain’t. It’s stormin’ out there. Get the fuck in my room and do that inhaler bullshit.”

  Wrapping her arm around Christopher and inching closer, she scooted halfway behind his body. “Okay.” Not. She didn’t want anyone seeing her as an invalid. “I can clean this, Christopher,” she offered instead. “He’s right. I made the mess—“

  “We got club bitches to do this shit, Bitsy. Even they gettin’ out of it this time, though. I’m gonna make this motherfucker lick this fuckin’ floor dry for talkin’ to you like that.”

  She scrunched her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

  Christopher shrugged, already dismissing her and looking over shoulder. “Take her, Val.”

  “Who is—”

  “C’mon, babe,” Matthew rumbled.

  It hit her. Matthew was Val…Valentine. His road name. She didn’t like it. Valentines reminded her of romance and she didn’t want to think of Matthew doing romantic things with other girls.

  She scratched her fingers through her wet hair, still plastered to her head and cheeks.

  “I can clean this up,” she repeated to Christopher. Rack was right. Though Christopher didn’t pay attention to her words, no one needed to come to blows because of her mess. Besides, she cleaned all the time at Granddaddy’s. She’d even learned how to use baking powder and vinegar to cut down on the costs.

  None of them responded. Matthew’s thick fingers circled her wrist and tugged her around Christopher. Her gaze focused on the wall just inside the opening to the hallway and she stumbled, the sight of the grim reaper with the red, glowing eyes and bloody scythe hitting her in the eyes like a physical punch. It was fearsome and frightening. A chill travelled through her and she got the oddest feeling in the pit of her belly.

  “Close your eyes,” Val whispered, breaking into her ominous premonition that something really bad would soon happen. “I’ll tell you when you can open them again. Okay?”

  She hesitated a moment longer, until she heard Rack’s cry of pain. Swallowing, she glanced over her shoulder, to the doorway where the loud voices were screaming threats and obscenities. She turned toward the sounds. “Christy might need me.”

  Something crashed and Zoann pulled harder to free herself from Matthew’s hold.

  “He’s fine, babe,” Matthew whispered in soothing tones. “I promise. Now close your eyes.”

  “Okay,” she responded, squeezing her eyes shut.

  Stepping closer to Val, she clung to him, glad he protected her, one of the few members whose name she actually knew. Rack (unfortunately), Big Joe, and K-P she’d known most of her life. Every now and then, she ran across Joey, a pompous idiot who she had no pa
tience for.

  “You can open them,” Matthew rumbled close to her ear, sending shivers through her.

  His nearness making her feel giddy and vulnerable and odd, Zoann raised her lids, disappointed at the dimness in the hallway.

  “We’re making a fucking mess, babe. Rack’s familiar with using his fucking tongue for licking but even the strongest tongues tire.”

  A flush swept through her body, the throbbing in the very place he alluded to tightening her belly.

  He laughed. “Innocent lamb,” he teased, taking her hand into his and leading her down the long hall to Christopher’s room, her thoughts running wild. He’d asked her in Granddaddy’s kitchen if she’d ever had her pussy licked and her dominant thoughts were him between her legs using his tongue on her and teaching her to use hers on him.

  Opening the bedroom door and flipping on the light, Val led Zoann into the place where her brother spent the majority of his time. She didn’t begrudge that he’d found a place where he belonged, but it saddened her not to have him as part of their everyday lives, anymore. They lived in the same city, but a certain disconnect now existed between them. The essence of him slipped away with each passing day. She was losing him. Maybe, she’d already lost him. He was getting harder and harder to pin down, and it frightened her. As long as she had him in her life—as long as Christopher loved her—she was content.

  Through the window on the back wall, she glimpsed the beautiful greenery of the evergreens and the rain still pouring down. The neatly made bed stood beneath the backdrop of the woods and, next to it, a nightstand where a box of condoms sat between two bottles of tequila.

  Gross. She didn’t want to imagine her big brother having sex, however naïve that might be.

  Her book bag thumped to the floor and Matthew cleared his throat.

  “I’ve never been in here,” she admitted quietly, running her hands along the dresser and finding not a speck of dust. “Is he happy? I-I mean here at the club?”