Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “I know, Puff,” he responded in the same tone.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair and tipped her head. Instead of kissing her lips, he skimmed her forehead.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered, the crux of the matter.

  Matthew continued stroking her scalp. “Nothing to be afraid of. Whatever it is, don’t worry about it.” He scraped his fingers through his head and hugged her to him. “That shit came out wrong.” He sighed and got to his feet, heading for his chest and pulling out a pair of sweats, covering his taut ass and huge erection from her, although it pressed against the material as he began pacing in front of her. “Zoann, babe. I want…” His shoulders heaved. “This bullshit stays between you and me, babe. I can’t…I hate fucking emotions. Emotions and feelings not worth shit to me.” He crouched in front of her and took her clenched hands in his.

  Zoann stared at him, the sheer pain in her eyes making Val’s heart turn over. She was hurting. For him. For what he’d endured, when he’d never hurt for himself. More and more, he realized how badly he’d misjudged Zoann and unfairly maligned her. He loved his prickly, bitchy Puff, but he’d known the sweet, soft girl hidden within her first. He’d loved that Zoann first.

  It didn’t matter, though. Both the girl she’d been then and the woman she’d become now wanted him. Him.

  “I’m telling you this…fuck, Zoann. I don’t know what the fuck I would’ve done if you had died.” Lost his fucking mind. “You need me to be strong for you. But I’m just a fucking human and I’ve failed you all over the fucking place, Puff. I want you to understand why. I want to be the motherfucker you deserve. I want us to work.”

  “You need sex all the time. I can’t…it’s unrealistic to think I’d be able to open my legs to you so much. Not only that but we…I…we have Ryan.” She pressed her fingers to her belly. “And the new baby is coming. I was so tired after Ryan was born and I had to heal,” she said, sounding shy at the admission. “I need to have some control over my body and—”

  “Shhh,” Val murmured, wrapping her in his arms again. “Suppose…” He frowned and scratched his temple. “Suppose, I let you—” He coughed— “take charge?” he finished in a faint voice.

  “Take control?”

  He nodded. “Of our fucking. You dictate my dick instead of me dictating your cunt.”

  Zoann drew in a deep breath and Val saw her mind racing. In all their sexual encounters, she’d never taken the lead. Val had never forced her. Far from it, although he seemed to have the remote control to her legs. He pressed a button and they flew open for him.

  Words better kept to himself.

  The point was he dictated the direction of their lovemaking and got annoyed when it didn’t go completely his way.

  What would it be like between them if she had the chance to take it slowly and not feel so vulnerable to his demands?

  She chewed on her lip. “I can’t tonight. I’m really tired.”

  Val rolled his eyes. “You think I’m fucking stupid?”

  A brow lifted and she sniffed. “Do you really want me to answer you?”

  Smiling, he tweaked her nose and she chuckled. “No.” He got to his feet and drew her up, too. She hugged him, burying her nose in his neck.

  “You know shit’s about to get bad, right?” he asked her after a minute.

  She backed away and studied him, unable to pretend his words shocked her or claim she had no idea what he meant. She’d been shot and this incident wouldn’t go unanswered.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to talk to Outlaw. Ask him to give us just a little while so you can heal and we can go away for a weekend. Just you and me.”

  She cleared her throat. “We can go later once—”

  Val grabbed her hands and kissed her fingertips. “This not another club, babe. This fucking serious shit. The fucking sheriff, Puff. I might not get to go later because I might not be here later. Got me?”

  The defeated sag in her shoulders gave him the answer a moment before he heard her weary sigh.

  “If I end up dead, I want to roast with the memories of our moments together with you as my old lady. And if I end up locked away then I’ll have those memories to keep me going. So will you go away with me if I can get Outlaw to agree?”

  She hugged him again, tighter, as if she’d never let him go. “I want these two days with you more than anything,” she choked out.

  Yes. Val understood. If anything happened to him, she’d have memories, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cursing at the pain around the healing wounds, Zoann glanced back at Matthew, sleeping peacefully, his lashes brushing his cheekbones, his face younger than it looked while he was animated and awake. Then, it seemed as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  She loved him enough to give their relationship one more chance. A final time. If it didn’t work this time, she’d walk away. Move away with Ryan and the new baby she carried.

  Perhaps, they were too toxic for each other. She just didn’t know.

  Realizing she didn’t have her robe, but only the nightgown she’d found already laid out on Matthew’s bed, she scowled and found Val’s T-shirt to use as an additional cover. She only needed to walk down the hall, anyway. Aware that it was just after six in the morning, she opened the door and crept down the hallway to Christopher’s and Meggie’s room, knocking softly. A moment passed before she knocked again. She wanted her son. She hadn’t held him properly in days and—

  The door flew open and Zoann gasped. Christopher stood before her, without a stitch of clothing, his erection hard to miss. God, she needed brain bleach, quick, fast and in a hurry.

  “What the fuck…Bitsy?” Glaring at her, he stepped behind the door and closed it until only a crack remained. “Ryan sleepin’ along with CJ.”

  “Go put something on,” she snapped, her cheeks still burning. “Do you have to have such a lack of regard? I could’ve been anyone at this door, even one of those club whores roaming around after you all are finished fucking them.”

  “Ain’t a bitch around comin’ to this fuckin’ door if it ain’t fuckin’ Megan or one of her fuckin’ friends that she invite. Since most of them bitches either asleep in Seattle, under fuckin’ Mort, just gettin’ out the hospital, or at a fuckin’ psycho center, I ain’t expectin’ a girl at my door.”

  “You’re naked!” she charged. “Why would you want anyone to see…” her voice trailed off at his smirk and she looked at her toes, surprised at her amused laughter. “You’re just shameless, Christy,” she said softly.

  Tenderness gentled his eyes. “Gimme a second to cover my dick.” He shut the door before she could respond, leaving Zoann to shift from foot to foot, the coldness of the concrete breaking through to her nerve receptors.

  The door opened again and Zoann heard Meggie stirring. Christopher immediately turned away, his jeans riding low on his hips, the opened door forgotten as Meggie questioned where he was going.

  “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m goin’ talk to Zoann, baby.”

  She mumbled something and Christopher stretched across the bed to kiss her. A moment later, he grabbed his lighter and cigarettes and sauntered to Zoann. Once he reached her, he grabbed her elbow and guided her to a table in the darkened main room, urging her to sit. He flipped on the overhead light, rolled his shoulders and sighed, glancing toward the double doors leading to the kitchen. Before he joined her, he lit a cigarette, grabbed an ashtray and joined her, placing his nearly empty pack and lighter in front of him on the table.

  In silence, they stared at one another, the pain of the past dancing between them, a wordless commiseration of all the wrongs that had occurred. Tears rushed to her eyes and her insides shriveled at how mean and bitter she’d been to Christopher. Two wrongs didn’t make a right and she’d been so wrong on so many different occasions. After all, she wasn’t responsible for his actions or his feelings, but she was more than responsible for
her own.

  She sniffled. “I’m so, so sorry, Christopher,” she whispered. She bowed her head and sobbed into her hands. If she could redo the past, she wouldn’t shut him out during their mother’s funeral. He’d needed her and she’d let him down.

  A chair slid closer to her and, a moment later, his arms enveloped her, his fingers threading through her hair. He kissed the top of her head. “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, Zoann.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried harder, wetting his warm skin.

  “Don’t be upsettin’ yourself over past shit. You got the new baby to think about and if you upset, it upset, too.”

  She huffed in a sob, knowing she should let it go. They were making peace and dwelling on the past ruined the future. Still, she needed to know why he’d just left her when she’d been so hurt. No matter how she tried to help herself, Patricia or Big Joe stopped her. But, then, she realized how his entire demeanor differed. “Meggie told you, didn’t she?”

  “What the fuck Megan told me?”

  She leaned back, watched as he picked up his cigarette from the ashtray and took a drag from it. “About our conversation yesterday.”

  “Nope. She fuckin’ told me she gonna tell me today cuz she fuckin’ promised you she gonna wait.”

  Swallowing, Zoann nodded. Now that she had Christopher’s undivided attention, she didn’t know where to begin. If she’d still been angry with him, she would’ve spat the accusations at him, insisted she hated him. And that would’ve been so easy. Hatred and mean words served as the best cloak-and-dagger defense in the world. Hide the pain behind the veil and hurl knives to strike back at the most opportune times.

  Real, raw vulnerability opened the wounds, though, and left them exposed to deeper cuts until the heart and soul drained away.

  Christopher sighed and took her face between his hands. “Megan ain’t have to tell me fuck all cuz I already know what the fuck happened, Zoann. I ain’t found out til a few weeks ago, though. If I woulda known somebody forced themselves in your pussy, ain’t nothin’ in this fuckin’ world woulda fuckin’ stopped me from findin’ them and cuttin’ them the fuck up piece by piece. I woulda did it while their heart was still pumpin’. Hear me? I woulda fuckin’ buried them and I woulda been there wherever and whenever you fuckin’ needed me.”

  Another sob escaped her and she wanted to believe him. So, so bad. “Big Joe—”

  “Was a motherfuckin’, lyin’ fuckin’ fuckhead,” Christopher growled. “I told you this shit when Megan was recoverin’ in the hospital. I ain’t never know fuck all—”

  “I heard you that day,” she managed. “H-he called you and t-told you I-I was th-there and y-you s-said, Fuck me. I’m so sick of that fuckin’ aggravatin’ cunt. I wish like fuck Ma had fuckin’ listened to me. I wouldn’t have to fuckin’ deal with her whiny bullshit. I hate that fuckin’ bitch.”

  She could recite those words in her sleep. They day she’d heard them something inside of her had died.

  For a moment, confusion clouded Christopher’s green eyes, then they narrowed and he shoved back. “Motherfucker!” he roared, the veins on the side of his neck and in his forehead popping. He stood and backed away from her, his fury making her shrink back. When he kicked the chair into the wall, she screamed and covered her head. “If I could fuck his motherfuckin’ ass up the fuck over again, I fuckin’ would,” he snarled, just as Meggie, Val, Johnnie and Mortician reached them.

  Zoann jumped to her feet seeing the weapons the men were brandishing. Then she gasped and spun around. Not one of them had clothes on. A moment later, she heard Meggie’s squeak.

  “Get fuckin’ over here, Megan,” Christopher ordered, “and you three motherfuckers cover your dicks.”

  “What the fuck, Christopher?” Johnnie snapped. “A loud fucking crash interrupted my fucking sleep—”

  “Probably a wet dream about Red,” Mortician chortled.

  Val sniggered, then hushed at Christopher’s growl.

  “Yo, Prez, you might be smothering Meggie with the way you have her face pressed against you to keep her from seeing our dicks,” Mortician grunted.

  “She couldn’t miss them,” Johnnie shot back. “They are rather outstanding.”

  “Do you all have any shame?” Zoann grouched, tapping her foot, the intensity of the moment broken by three of her reprobates. For which she was eternally grateful.

  “No.”

  Meggie led the chorus of answers and Zoann smiled, not quite imagining some of the sights her sister-in-law had been subjected to. She peeked over her shoulder and saw Christopher clutching Meggie tightly, his hand over her eyes until the others heeded his murderous glower and disappeared.

  As Zoann turned around, Christopher released Meggie, who was frowning at the damaged chair. “What happened?”

  Christopher shoved his hands in his pockets. “Joseph fucking Foy what the fuck happened, Megan,” he yelled, then snapped his mouth shut and scrubbed his hand over his face.

  Meggie’s face crumpled but she recovered quick enough. “My father has caused a lot of damage.”

  “Under-fuckin-statement. You know what the fuck he fuckin’ told my little sister?”

  She shook her head, her shoulders sagging. “Who was he talking about, Christopher?” she asked once he’d finished repeating Zoann’s words.

  “A bitch Ma was tryin’ to fuckin’ set me the fuck up with. I made the mistake of fuckin’ her thinkin’ she knew it was a fuckin’ hookup. Until I met fuckin’ Dinah and Kendall, that bitch was the whiniest fuckin’ cunt I ever fuckin’ met.” He glared at her. “I don’t fuckin’ see how the fuck that matter, though. What matter is your fuckin’ pops hurtin’ Zoann and makin’ her think she was fuckin’ all alone. Every time I make some kinda peace with that motherfucker in my fuckin’ head, I find out somethin’ more fucked up. Well, you know what, Megan? I hate your fuckin’ father. I wish I woulda stomped him the fuck to death instead of just blowin’ his fuckin’ ass off.”

  Shocked, Zoann’s hands flew to her mouth. God, she’d always suspected Christopher knew what happened to Big Joe, but…but…

  God! The horror seeped into Zoann’s brain and she looked to Meggie as the color dropped from her.

  “Your grandfather was just as involved as my father,” Meggie spat in a thick voice, her tear-filled gaze flying between Zoann and Christopher.

  Zoann reached out blindly, swaying on her feet, then rejecting the implication of Meggie’s words. Granddaddy was dead. Right? Yes. But was she insinuating Logan was still alive? Or did she mean something more heinous? Like Granddaddy had known about Zoann’s rape?

  No. Zoann’s rejected both notions immediately and stared at Meggie and Christopher, just as he bellowed, “Shut the fuck up, Megan.”

  “Why, Christopher? It’s okay for you to hate my father when your grandfather was just as evil and vile. He put my son in a trash can, something my daddy wouldn’t have ever done.”

  “Ain’t bettin’ on it, baby,” Christopher snarled and drowned out Zoann’s, “Granddaddy’s dead.”

  The room spun and she grabbed onto the nearest chair.

  “Puff?”

  Matthew’s arms wrapped around her trembling body, but didn’t block out the shouting match.

  “I don’t give a fuck, Megan. You shoulda shut the fuck up. This ain’t your fuckin’ business. This between me and my sister and all the damage your fuckhead fuckin’ caused.”

  Silence met Christopher’s out-of-character words and before anyone could say anything, he turned a cold green gaze to Zoann. “Boss the one fuckin’ raped you?”

  Nausea kicked up in Zoann’s belly at the dull horror on Meggie’s face and the odd resignation in Val’s. Why? He already knew who raped her. She was in the Twilight Zone, where nothing was as it should be. Where grandfathers who had been dead for a decade had put her brother’s son in a garbage can and that same brother had killed his wife’s father. That same brother had blood vessels popping out of
his neck and forehead and a wild anticipation swirling in the air around him.

  “No,” she responded in a scratchy voice, as if her world were collapsing all over again. “Big Joe didn’t assault me. A-a man named Cee Cee and—”

  “Oh God!” Absolute and complete horror washed over Meggie’s features and Zoann knew the revelation wouldn’t help. She knew an awful fallout would take place.

  Christopher stilled, not moving one muscle, emptiness replacing his fury, hollowness not present since their mother’s death, seeping into his eyes.

  Meggie, all outrage gone, started towards him. He held his hands up and she halted. He glanced between Zoann and Meggie before his gaze fell on Val and then Mortician, before finding Johnnie’s, who seemed stricken and speechless, but the sympathy in his eyes was all for Christopher.

  Zoann hadn’t even realized Johnnie and Mortician had returned.

  “Christopher—”

  “Don’t, Megan.”

  Chills travelled up and down Zoann’s spine at the deadly calm in Christopher’s voice.

  He swept them all with the same icy indifference before brushing past Megan. She hurried behind her husband.

  “What…” Zoann’s voice trailed off, her thoughts crisscrossing in all directions. Her mother had always insisted Zoann never mention her rape to anyone. She resented it, too. How many in the family knew about Patricia’s rape? She hadn’t gone to the authorities, but she’d had so many people who knew about it. Zoann had only wanted one person in particular to listen to her. And, yet…yet…the revelation hadn’t done anyone any good. It had harmed more than helped. If only she found the crucial piece of the puzzle she was missing. She swallowed and drew in a sob. “Granddaddy’s dead.”

  Matthew rubbed his eyes, planted his elbows on the table and hung his head. Mortician stared at her, the kindness in his eyes alarming her. This tale was ugly and he wanted to spare her.

  She pressed a hand to her belly, trembles traveling through her. “Johnnie?”

  Sorrow softened his gaze and tears slipped down Zoann’s cheeks. She hugged herself and began to rock.