Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  She arched against him and cried out. He aligned his chest against her narrow back and suckled her earlobe, his nuts hurting with the need for release. Right where he needed to come. Inside of Bailey.

  She hooked her arms around his, gripping his fingers and moaning in pleasure, the sound swelling his dick a little more.

  “You want to come with my dick in you? Or you want me to eat your pussy until you come?”

  At his words, she squeezed her pussy around him.

  “Fuck.” He brought one hand to her tit and tweaked her nipple.

  “Lucas,” she gasped, rocking her pussy and rotating her hips. “How do you want me to come?”

  “With my dick deep in your hot cunt.”

  Her head lulled forward and she trembled against him, her nipple tightening between his fingers, throbbing around him as she came. He yelled, so much cum shooting into her she’d probably have reserves swimming in her for years. He wouldn’t even have to fuck her again to get her pregnant a second time.

  Pulling out of her, he rested on his haunches and covered his dick, still dressed in his leathers from Val’s wedding. Mortician would wear them to the fuckhead’s funeral, too. Chester would fucking kill him when she recovered.

  Mortician got to his feet, not knowing what the fuck to do now. He hadn’t come over here to fuck Bailey. He’d come over to…

  What?

  Deciding he didn’t want to know the answer, he went to her and helped her to her feet. Her flushed cheeks and swollen mouth made him want to fuck her again. He had to get from under Bailey’s influence—

  Bailey sucked on her lower lip. “I’ve only been with you,” she said in that earnest way she had, her soft voice revealing her sweetness. Her chin wobbled. “I…Finley…tonight…we were going to…”

  “You was giving him your pussy tonight?” The idea of any motherfucker seeing Bailey without clothes on, looking so gorgeous and ripe with his baby, infuriated Mortician. And the thought of her letting some random fuck’s cock into her…

  “Will you come to bed with me? I-I need…” Her lashes lowered and she glanced at her toes. “I miss you. Just talking to you. And…and m-my doctor said it…wanting more sex is normal during pregnancy.”

  Mortician’s nostrils flared and he told himself to turn on his heel and get the fuck out. The longer he stayed, the more susceptible he was to her. “I’m not a motherfucker who can fall in love,” he said carefully. Never again.

  Char’s bullshit had destroyed him. Even now, a part of him didn’t fucking trust Bailey not to decide she wanted to pin her pregnancy on another motherfucker and pretend Mortician didn’t fucking exist.

  “I want the kid to have my name, but that shit up to you, too, Bailey.”

  “I’ve never done anything to you. I don’t know who hurt you so bad, but it’s unfair for you to take it out on me. You need to give me a chance. Give us a chance.”

  No fucking way. He wanted to tell her that, but he refused to extinguish the hope flickering through her tears. He had to figure this shit out, without his brothers knowing and without Bailey sweating him about another motherfucker. He hadn’t handled anything with Bailey in the best way, over the past four and a half months. Besides, as long as he didn’t fall in love with her, he wouldn’t lose the bet and he wouldn’t get all Outlaw-wild behind her.

  Once she had their daughter, then he’d tell her they could have an open marriage.

  For real, motherfucker?

  Don’t fucking start.

  Shut the fuck up.

  He already talked to and answered himself. Once he started arguing with himself, that shit was a wrap. He’d be certi-fucking-fiable.

  Maybe, he’d just tell her he’d fuck other bitches and her, too, but she’d best keep her pussy to herself if she didn’t want to be responsible for a bunch of castrated motherfuckers walking around. For now, he’d keep his dick in his pants if he wasn’t putting it in Bailey until after she delivered. The only reason he’d do that bullshit was for the baby. He didn’t want Bailey stressed and having his cock around other bitches would stress her out.

  He wasn’t a one-woman man. It was ingrained in his fucking DNA not to be. His mother had been in her fatal car accident after finding Sharper fucking one of the deaconesses in the church office and Char had taken care of the rest.

  Scratching his cheek, he contemplated Bailey. He’d missed talking to her so fucking much and, with her, he had the opportunity to participate in all that pregnancy shit he’d been so fucking curious about while Char was expecting.

  Bailey wanting him to participate in her prenatal bullshit and be in the delivery room with her had nothing to do with his decision. Every conclusion he reached was solely for his benefit.

  Not hers. Not to see her gorgeous green-brown eyes light up. Not to hear her sweet voice or her mischievous giggle. And definitely not to get in the only pussy he desired nowadays.

  “Bailey, girl, we married,” he pointed out, advancing toward her. When he reached her, he gazed down at her and stroked her cheek. “Let’s…I don’t fucking know. I just don’t want you giving your pussy to no other motherfucker—” He frowned at how that sounded—like he was a jealous fuckhead. “Not while you have my daughter in you. Feel me?”

  She glanced at him through the sweep of her lashes. “What…what does that mean?”

  That he didn’t want to lose her. “Fuck, Bailey…I don’t fucking know, man.”

  She studied him, concentrating deeply and Mortician half-hoped he wouldn’t measure up to whatever she was looking for. But, then, his heart, that traitorous motherfucker, twisted at the thought she’d find him lacking.

  She sucked on her lip again, prompting him to taste it. “What about Finley?”

  He crowded her against the wall and pressed his hard dick against her baby bump. “You fucking love him?”

  “I love you,” she whispered in return.

  “That’s not answering my fucking question,” he returned, determined to ignore her exhilarating declaration and nuzzling her neck.

  “We’re best friends. We grew up together. He thought this would be…” Her voice trailed off and she pushed away from him. “S-sex, Lucas. I-I…didn’t trust anyone else to be with me.” She twisted her fingers. “I asked him to make love to me. He’d already suggested we get married and already agreed to move in.” She shifted from foot to foot. “I-I can’t sleep at night. My back hurts a lot and I’m not even that big yet. And…do you know Daddy would visit me sometimes at nine or ten o’clock and…now…he’s gone. And you’re gone. I’m trying to figure out how to get my life back on track for me and…and the baby. Finley came with me the day I found out I was having a girl and…and he said we can pick out a baby’s name together and—”

  Everything else Bailey said flew the fuck out of his head and nothing else she said mattered. Finley Abbott would name his baby over Abbott’s dead fucking body.

  “You and me friends, Bailey,” Mortician said quietly, trying a different tact with her.

  “Are we?” she whispered.

  “If we nothing else.”

  Her relief fueled his and when she smiled through her tears, his grin broke free, too.

  “I’ll tell…I’ll tell Fin I’ve changed my mind. I hope he’ll still let me ride with him to school, since my car is broken and I’ve been using my paycheck to get baby things. Daddy isn’t here to fix it and Uncle Arrow is really busy looking after Dinah.”

  He’d fucking missed her chattering so fucking much. Bailey could look at a fucking rock and make a fucking conversation about it.

  “I’ll fucking bring you and pick you up from school for the next few days.” How was he going to do this shit? He didn’t want to lose that fucking bet. Maybe, he should just buy her a ride.

  No. She’d reject it out of stubborn pride and then call Finley for rides.

  He just had a few more weeks and then he could do what the fuck he wanted with Bailey. It wasn’t about the fucking money, either.
He had it in spades in the safe he’d fucking stolen from his father. No, it was about the fucking principle and the fact that he hated to fucking lose. “I’ll stay here with you on weekends. Okay?”

  “Couldn’t I stay at the club with you on weekends? I can spend time with Meggie.”

  “I don’t want them in my business, girl.”

  She stepped back, giving him another searching gaze. He didn’t like what she might find, so he’d relent. He had to keep her stress-free.

  “Okay, how about this? I stay here three weekends and bring you to the club once a month.”

  In response, she stood on her tiptoes and tugged his head down to kiss him. Apparently, his words had satisfied her. Now, he just had to find a way to make sure Bailey didn’t hate him by the time all was said and fucking done.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Zoann opened her eyes and blinked, frowning at the sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Sunlight.

  Though the bright light hurt her eyes, she soaked it in. She was alive to see another day. Hold her son again. Smell roses. Hear the patter of rain. She could laugh. Whenever the mood hit, she could laugh and smile and cry. Hug her big brother and tell him how much she loved him.

  Whether or not he loved her, no longer mattered. She loved him, and life was too fleeting to nitpick over who said what. If he hated her that was on him, not her. She was only responsible for her own emotions and actions. No one else’s. Other than her baby boy’s. It was her primary job in life to see to his upbringing and set him on the right path for life.

  She touched her belly. She was responsible for this baby, too. Her doctor had advised her to continue the pain meds until she adjusted to walking around and sitting up. Later today they’d get her out of bed and he worried that too much pain would stress her out, which, in turn, would stress the baby out. First and foremost, she needed to heal. In the process, they’d monitor the baby as closely as possible.

  An itch hit her nose and she scratched it, the ring on her finger bumping against the bridge. She frowned and slid her thoughts backwards. A ring?

  The last time she’d awakened, her finger had been bare, hadn’t it? Yes, she was sure of it. A bunch of people had been in the room, even Father Wilkins…

  Shifting uncomfortably and gritting her teeth against the pain, Zoann paused. Why in the world would Father Wilkins have come? Unless she’d died…hadn’t she seen her mother…?

  But why the ring? And why the sensation in her body, the sheer joy in her soul?

  “Puff?”

  Startled, Zoann glanced toward Matthew as he halted next to her bed. She gasped at all the hideous swelling and bruising in his face.

  “What happened to you?” she whispered, horrified at the pain he must be in. He looked strange, uneasy, and she shook her head, giving him a shy smile. He had to know after all she’d been through, the past no longer mattered. She loved him and she’d stop focusing on the stupid decisions they’d made collectively.

  The fact that she might lose him one day to his violent lifestyle had to be disregarded, too. Having him now to hold and to love was the most important thing.

  “Hey,” she said. When she got out, she’d find out what happened to him. He didn’t seem too inclined to talk about it.

  “Hey, babe,” he croaked through his cracked lips.

  God, he looked horrible, with his nose swollen and slightly crooked, ugly purple bruises ringing his eyes. Heaving in a deep breath, he swallowed and pinned her with an inscrutable look, his swollen-lipped smile touching her.

  His smile connected her to him in a way nothing else could and she shifted. Her attempt to lean toward him pulled a groan from her mouth.

  “Keep still,” he ordered. Not content with the words, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

  The heavy gold band on his finger caught a ray of light. Blazing like Glory touched it. His wedding band. Matthew wore a wedding band. He’d gotten married and she’d lost him.

  “You said you loved me,” she whispered, his sobbing voice so clear in her head. “I heard you.”

  Instead of responding, he sighed heavily and shoved his hand through his hair. Hair no longer hers to touch. She blinked away her tears. As long as Matthew found happiness, then she was happy for him.

  She took his hand and placed it on her cheek, regretful when he winced.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked gruffly, thumbing away her tears.

  “I’ve lost you,” she admitted.” Not that I ever really had you.” Her lame attempt at a joke fell flat with the truth of her words.

  “Does it matter so much if you’d lost me?”

  She nodded and kissed his life-roughened palm. “What matters more is I love you and I want you happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. For us. I just didn’t know how to give you what you wanted. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve ever done to you. Please forgive me.”

  His tenderness bore down to her soul and she’d cherish these last moments with him forever.

  “Jesus, Zoann. You know how to bring a motherfucker to his knees, don’t you?” He sank into the chair next to her bed. Another heavy sigh escaped him. “I need to tell you something. Actually, a couple of somethings.” Resting his elbows on his knees, he hung his head. “I-I have a problem. Sex. I’ve always thought I couldn’t live without having it as much as possible, preferably at least once a day.” He shrugged. “Maybe, my folks are responsible—”

  “They are,” Zoann inserted with certainty. She hated them for what they’d put him through. He said he loved them and they loved him, but she doubted it. “What they did to you was abuse, plain and simple.”

  “I don’t know, Puff,” he said, sounding bleak and heart sore. “Maybe, it’s all bullshit excuses on my part.” He squeezed his temples between his thumb and forefinger then rubbed his brow, his wedding band snaring her attention again.

  Sniffling, she swiped at her cheeks. Her rings brushed against her and snatched her hand away to stare at the beautiful set, cut in a similar way to Matthew’s.

  God, what…?

  Halting her thoughts, she narrowed her eyes and glanced between her rings and the single band Matthew wore.

  He saw her concentration and winced, rising to his feet as quickly as he could, considering how badly he’d gotten his ass beaten.

  Wait a minute. Hadn’t Mortician said he’d been shot, too? Kendall had been there as well, whispering that she needed to tell Zoann something.

  “We’re married?”

  “Zoann—”

  It all came rushing back to her. Matthew hovering over her, swearing to her they’d marry that day. Or yesterday. Or whenever. Oh. My. God. “Fucking asshole,” she snarled, unable to go into her marriage to him while he believed he could stomp all over her right to make decisions in their relationship. She lurched up, but fell back on the bed in pain. “How could you marry me while I was fucking sedated?”

  How many times would men take away her right to choose? Especially this man.

  “You have no fucking right. You should’ve waited until I was lucid. You can’t always take away my choices. I have a brain.”

  Matthew’s pained expression gave way to frustration. “Enough. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up what I did, but it’s time for us to stop bullshitting and get married.”

  “According to who?”

  “According to me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Whatever, Puff. I love you. You love me. We’re married. It was my decision. That’s what you wanted, so it’s done. Fucking deal with it.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “So you’ve said over and over. My actions over the past few days prove you’re right, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m not letting you go and you want me too, so shut the fuck up and be happy we’re married. I didn’t come to this decision lightly, Puff.”

  “You know what, Matthew? I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I’ve deci
ded you’re a fucking idiot. As soon as I’m out of this hospital, we’re unmarrying. That’s according to me. You can’t take over my life. When you find some sense, we’ll go from there.” She groaned at the pain, sincerely wishing she could find a brain and bestow it on Matthew. Or, maybe, a heart. Just getting her hands on a knife and gutting him would solve a lot, too.

  A tear slid down each cheek at the fierce pain in her side and chest. Gunshot wounds fucking hurt and some of these assheads had been shot on several different occasions.

  “Let me call the nurse for medicine.”

  “No. Just leave.”

  He stared at her with sympathy. “They’re coming in here soon to get you out of bed. It’s going to be real hard on you. Just let me fucking stay until after…”

  Turning her head away, she glowered at the blind. “Don’t talk to me.”

  That lasted all of ninety seconds, just long enough for him to settle into the seat. “Instead of consummating our marriage when you’re healed, you’re going to have it annulled when you’re released?”

  She wouldn’t answer him. Maybe, he’d shut up.

  “You honestly think you’re going to move on with another motherfucker?”

  He had nothing to worry about there. She intended to get another vibrator or two, and that little butterfly thing just for her clit and be fucking done with it. Every man she’d halfway trusted except her grandfather, fucked over her.

  “I need to fuck, Puff.”

  She winced, even more nervous now, than she had been before, of intimacy. She’d liked and trusted Adam Moncette. Although she didn’t have romantic feelings towards him, it could’ve grown into that.

  “You understand me?”

  “What do you want me to say? As you can see, I’m just rearing to go.”

  He chuckled. “Didn’t think you were now.”

  Unable to help herself, she glanced at him. “Then what are you talking about?”