Luke folded his arms and yawned as if he were bored. It was an act he’d perfected through the years, designed to drive his father over the edge.
“I’m not living forever.”
“That must’ve fucked with your head when you discovered your money couldn’t buy you immortality.”
“Did you just cuss at me?”
Something that wasn’t ever done. Neither had Luke meant to do it, but he’d had such freedom over the past weeks, he’d forgotten all the rules and restrictions he had here.
“I’m sorry.”
“That you are,” Sharper sneered. “Sorry just like your goddamn mother.”
“She’s dead and not here to defend herself. Leave her alone.”
“You don’t get to give the orders. I do or I’ll kick your ass out of this fucking house. If I want to call your mother a sorry, whining, loser, I’m perfectly within my rights. If I want to say you’re her son and call you a loser, too, I own you. You couldn’t make it without me. That’s why you’re back.”
“No, I’m back because I promised I’d come and get my diploma. All I have to do is call K-P and he’ll send for me. Or, maybe, I should call the press corps together. You know the ones you manipulate so well? Make us seem like the perfect family when we couldn’t give less of a fuck about each other.”
“Call the press and say what? Who will they believe? A long and upstanding member of the community?”
“Or me?” Luke added with a lift of his brow, ad-libbing as he went along. He wasn’t even sure if this would work, but his father’s public image meant everything to him. “The boy who went off the deep end after losing his mother at such a young age? He had no direction because his father gave more attention to his congregation—especially the women—than he did his sons. So, yeah, Father, they may believe you, but I’m sure I can find a gossip rag or two to believe me.”
“What do you want? How much to get your cooperation?”
It was always money with his dad, but he didn’t want money. “First of all, my fucking hair.”
Sharper eyed them. “What are those things?”
“I’m growing dreads,” he announced proudly.
“As in dreadlocks?”
He nodded.
“If I concede, will you behave? No searching for gossip rags to sell your pack of lies to?”
“Might be a pack of lies to you, but it’s my life. I’ve lived it.”
“What the fuck did Kaleb and Joe do to you?”
Curiosity and unease settled into the pit of Luke’s stomach. He’d wondered, on and off, just exactly how his father was associated with the motorcycle men. He sounded well-acquainted with them.
Luke glanced at the clock on the far right wall. “Won’t you be late for your meeting?”
His father pursed his lips and he nodded slowly. “I’ll have some money transferred to your account tomorrow. You start school in two weeks.”
“Yes, sir.”
His father started past him and then he paused. “If you have any brain, hold on tight to that gorgeous girl. Otherwise, another man might come in and steal her from you.”
With advice that sounded almost like a warning, Sharper strolled by. Somehow, his dad always got the upper hand, reminding Luke just what a boy he still was.
Chapter Six: Earning the Patch
2 ½ years later
“Shut the fuck up, motherfucker.” Mortician kicked the struggling asshole as he and Outlaw wrestled the man to the hole his little brother had already come out and dug.
“No! No! God, no! I can’t be buried alive.”
Outlaw flicked a cigarette away, swaying on his feet. Mortician didn’t know how much the man had drank or how much weed he’d smoked to do this. One thing was sure, he hadn’t smoked or drank enough.
Fuck, as if an asshole would just submit to being thrown the fuck in a hole.
“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I ain’t gonna be responsible for what the fuck I do to your dumb ass,” Outlaw growled, somehow keeping a grip on the man, who was wiggling like a worm.
Mortician lifted a brow just as his phone started going off. Char was calling him, which pissed him off all the fucking more, and he almost went against Big Joe’s orders. He wanted this motherfucker buried alive. Then, Mort and Outlaw had to sit the fuck around until he smothered, dig him up, and get rid of him.
If they succeeded, Mort would finally earn his patch.
His phone stopped and started again. Frustrated, he slammed the asshole’s head into the hole, not surprised when Outlaw dropped the motherfucker’s legs and belched. Instead of keeping still like a good motherfucker, asshole sat up.
Outlaw pulled out his pistol and shot the man in the head.
“What the fuck you did that for?” Mortician complained.
“I ain’t got time for this bullshit. Besides, I’m testin’ weapons. Need one I can call my own.”
“Easy for you to say,” Mortician shouted, glaring. “You got your fucking patch. I don’t.”
“Find another fucking way to get it. I ain’t able to stand a motherfucker gettin’ buried alive. I turn to a frightened bitch thinkin’ ‘bout that. Karma, motherfucker. The shit you hate the most and you force the fuck on other motherfuckers come back to bite you in your ass. Bein’ buried the fuck alive ain’t for me.”
“You tellin’ me you like shootin’ motherfuckers?”
Belching again, he shrugged and knocked his fist against his chest. “Fuckin’ spicy shit. I need to fuck K-P up. Always givin’ me indigestion.”
“Fuck indigestion, son,” Mortician yelled, snatching his phone out of his pocket and throwing the noisy motherfucker on the ground. He grabbed the shovel and whacked it.
The motherfucker just kept ringing. He couldn’t take Char shutting him out of her pregnancy one minute more. That baby she carried was his. She’d told him. He’d known it, so they’d been almost inseparable for the last few months before Mortician’s spring semester ended.
He’d proposed to her. No, begged her to marry him. It had been fucking months since he’d fucked another bitch. He’d barely been able to concentrate on his studies because he’d been too busy keeping tabs on fucking Char so she could keep her pussy closed to everyone but him.
Now, she was pushing him away, laughing in his face, and tearing him the fuck up inside.
She was now insisting the baby she carried belonged to Sharper, his father. After she’d told him differently for weeks. They’d even picked out a name. How dare she fuck with him and steal his child? Needing to cool off before he did something he’d regret, he’d left Cali a week ago. Apparently, she’d just figured that shit out, deciding to blow his phone up. To fucking torture him a little more.
Despite the good ass hit, the phone rang again. He picked it up and slammed it against the dead ass in the shallow grave.
“What the fuck you doing?”
At Val’s voice, Mortician’s sense of outrage deepened. “What the fuck you doing here? You supposed to be somewhere doing your own shit to get your fucking patch, not fucking interrupting my shit.”
Instead of answering, Val gave Mortician a smug grin. Mortician scowled and considered burying Val in the fucking hole. He’d clock him, knock him the fuck out, and let him fucking smother. Patch fucking earned.
Outlaw must’ve read the simmering violence in Mortican. He thumped the side of his head and responded to Val.
“Motherfucker assassinatin’ his phone cuz Char fuckin’ ass drivin’ him.”. He rolled his eyes and blew out a noisy breath as John Boy walked up. “Checkin’ the fuck up on us?”
Ignoring Outlaw, John Boy leaned over and looked at the body, frowning between Mortician and Outlaw. “I thought Boss said bury him alive.”
“Blame him,” Mortician accused, pointing at Outlaw.
“Yo’, motherfucker, you want that fuckin’ finger you best point it the fuck atcha dick or some shit and stop fuckin’ pointin’ at me.” He flicked his nearly dead lighter a few
times before a brief flame flared, just long enough to light the joint that Mortician really, really needed.
John Boy snatched the shovel away from Mortician and started scooping up dirt to cover the body with. “Great fucking going, Outlaw. Val did his shit. You should’ve let Mortician do his.”
“Fuck off,” Outlaw growled. “He shoulda took Val’s assignment then. Droppin’ shit around, then fuckin’ losin’ you two motherfuckers in the middle of no-fuckin-where ain’t the same as buryin’ a live motherfucker.”
“Scared?” a new voice called, laughing.
Just what the fuck they needed. Fuckin’ Snake. Mortician snatched the joint from Val and sucked in deep, growling like an animal when his phone started ringing. He pitched it away, not caring where it landed.
“She one persistent cunt,” Outlaw said with disgust, getting the other shovel and eyeing Snake.
For one moment, Mortician thought he’d swing it at the man’s head. They’d be fucked for real, then.
Instead, he started helping Johnnie with the dirt.
“Imagine, that. Outlaw scared of something,” Snake taunted.
“Yo’, cunt bunny. I’m occupyin’ my hands to keep from shootin’ the fuck outta you. But see what the fuck I have in my hands, you brainless twat fart? A shovel. Meanin’ I have the means to knock the fuck outta your head and kick you the fuck on top of this stupid motherfucker who got on my last fuckin’ nerve.”
“Fuck, Outlaw,” Mortician said in warning, “don’t start nothing, won’t be nothing.”
Snake gave Outlaw an ugly glower. “Yeah, asshole, and you will start something by fucking killing me and that’ll be something even you couldn’t overcome.”
“It would be fuckin’ worth it to get you the fuck outta my face. I hate the fuck outta you.”
“Hate is such a negative emotion,” Snake said, snickering. “It just fills the air with bad vibes.”
“Morons such a waste of fuckin’ space,” Outlaw countered on a slur. “It just fuckin’ fill the world with stupidity.”
“All right, you little roaches. Enough bickering like little girls.” K-P stepped up out of nowhere and smirked between them. They were deep in the forest with no one but them around. “Got the shit done?”
“Where the fuck you motherfuckers keep comin’ from?” Outlaw asked with a frown.
“Your nightmares,” Snake snapped, glaring at him.
The joint hanging from his mouth, Johnnie walked up to Snake and swung the shovel, hitting him on the back and knocking him off his feet. “And I’m from hell, which is the cause of fucking nightmares. Leave Christopher the fuck alone. He’s drunk and he’s high.”
Silence. No one said shit. John Boy was one scary motherfucker, but he was a correct, scary motherfucker. Outlaw was in a place Mortician had never seen him. He couldn’t remember once seeing the man fucking swaying or hearing his words slurring. But he knew, to Outlaw, burying a man alive rated right up there with the time Snake and Rack locked him in the shed with the dead body that first time.
Snake groaned and Johnnie raised the shovel. K-P snatched it away just as he brought it towards Snake’s head. “Get the fuck out of here and take Christopher with you,” he ordered, tossing the shovel to Val before dragging Snake to his feet.
His face was flushed and his eyes dazed with pain. He bent over and drew in deep breaths.
“John Boy fuck you up and ain’t shit Big Joe will be able to do about it,” K-P barked. “That’s the one fuckhead Logan will kill any of us motherfuckers over, so I suggest you back the fuck away from Christopher.” He glared at Johnnie. “You, runt, get the fuck away from here before you fuck shit up.”
For Outlaw, more than anyone. No one needed to say that because it was known. If Johnnie killed Snake, he’d have Logan-type immunity. Although Mortician didn’t really believe Big Joe would ever hurt Outlaw, stranger shit had happened. Why fucking risk it?
As Johnnie led Outlaw away, K-P looked between them. “You three fucks behave.” He pulled out a small pad and pencil and began to scribble. K-P had never been strong in math until Mortician began to tutor him in it. Now there was nothing K-P liked more than fucking with numbers, except maybe eating those nasty ass raw onions.
“You two boys finish him up. Mortician, you fucking scooping him up.” He shoved the piece of paper into Mort’s hands. Instead of arithmetic problems, it was an address. “Bring him back and start the fuck over if you want your patch.”
Chapter Seven: The Evil Within
Mortician halted his bike next to Big Joe’s and stared at the farmhouse where Logan lived. He hated coming to this fucking place and dealing with that lowdown motherfucker, but Boss had been summoned and Outlaw, Val, and John Boy was on a run. Rack was staying clear of Big Joe for his own dumb ass safety. K-P was visiting his kid…wherever. And Snake was somewhere in his fucking hole, molting. Never knew what skin the motherfucker would have on when he emerged—flaming with insanity, eaten up with evilness, or just stuck the fuck on stupid. None of it was good, so, instead of committing the motherfucker to save the world, Big Joe avoided him.
“Won’t take long,” Boss promised and nodded to the porch. “Have a fucking seat there.” He rubbed his head and sighed.
“You okay, Big Joe?” For the past month, since Big Joe’s last run to Los Angeles, he hadn’t been acting right. He wore a strange expression. If Mort didn’t know better, he’d say the man was high. But Big Joe stayed away from drugs. “You not been looking too good for a minute.”
Big Joe smiled. “Getting fucking old, Mort. I guess I’m just starting to feel it.”
Not convinced, Mort still nodded. He might not agree with Big Joe’s methods all the time, but he respected the man a lot. Maybe, it was just the wear and tear of his lifestyle getting to him.
“Be right back. When I’m done, let’s find Hopper and fuck her.”
As appealing as that sounded, Mort shook his head. “Char’s calling tonight. We’re going to talk about the possibility of getting back together.”
“Right.” He looked away but not fast enough to hide his disapproval. “Let me do this shit.”
Ten minutes later, shit must still be getting done. Big Joe hadn’t emerged and Mort was lounging on the porch. It just occurred to him how strange it was that Big Joe never visited Lowman without someone with him. More often than not, it was several someones.
Mortician didn’t want to think about what that meant. Nor did he want to think about the fact that Boss was usually in and out of this motherfucker in five minutes. So where the fuck was he now and what the fuck was Mort supposed to do about it?
Go inside and interrupt something and risk Big Joe’s wrath and Lowman’s craziness? He was finally talking sense into Char. It would be just his luck to try to do good by checking on his president and getting his head blown apart. And, fuck, his face was just too fucking handsome to suffer such an indignity.
Fuck, but he should’ve stayed at school this weekend. He shouldn’t be fucking around here. If he’d still been at college, he wouldn’t be waiting for Char to call. He’d already have her in his bed. The girl drove him crazy, but Mortician enjoyed every moment of it. The challenge of her made all the hours he spent missing her worth every brutal moment of her behavior. She’d promised they’d work shit out and she’d let him see their baby.
Of course, if they worked things out, then he’d have to walk away from the club. And that was fucking fine. Maybe, he had a chance to redeem himself and find forgiveness for the five men he’d killed since joining the club.
Another twenty minutes crept by. Mortician’s nerves stretched and he glanced at the entry door. The one that Boss had disappeared behind and never emerged from.
Was he dead?
He felt in his cut for his phone and yanked it out. Instead of dialing anyone’s number, he regarded it. Everyone was miles away. Calling would do nothing. By the time motherfuckers arrived, he’d probably been planted somewhere, never to be seen again.
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If Boss was dead—if Lowman had seized the opportunity to strike while he was alone—Mortician was compost, too.
Unless he got the fuck out now.
He rose to his feet, intending to skulk off. He could always say he and Boss had gone their separate ways after the visit to Lowman. Pretend he was fucking clueless when Boss didn’t fucking return.
The sun gleamed off the black paint of his bike. K-P had helped finance it and Big Joe had given Mortician the runs to pay for it. The man could be an asshole—he’d punched the fuck out of Mort more than once. But he’d stood up for him, too.
He couldn’t leave him. Brothers took care of their own.
Stomping back up the steps and to the front door, Mortician pushed it open. He heard grunts and moans. A girl’s sob. Fear bubbled up inside of him. He didn’t want to die, but death was in the air.
He smelled it.
Sweat began to pop up on his skin and he stopped, finding his phone again. He put it on silent, pulled up Outlaw’s number and texted: shit not right at Lowman.
That would explain everything. Shit was never right here, but for it to be commented on made it really bad.
A girl cried out.
Although he wanted to wait for Outlaw’s response, he couldn’t. He turned off his phone and crept forward, his heart beating fast enough to sprint out of his chest.
As he got closer to the sounds, he picked up on a low, coaxing voice.
“You want her to live, Joe? Just one line. How many more girls will it take?”
Mortician peeped in and froze. Two, dead girls lay on the floor, the small lake of their blood coating half the kitchen. Another girl was tied up, laid out on the table in front of Logan, almost dead. She had stab wounds everywhere. Then, there was Hopper, standing near Big Joe, dazed and trembling, sobbing.
“I should fucking kill you,” Big Joe spat, although his voice sounded slurred.
Logan laughed. “You should but you won’t. Cee Cee would take over and the first thing he’d do is kill your precious Christopher. Sneak up on him and shoot him in the back of his head. All your years of protecting him would be for nothing.” He spread his hand around. “You keep my secrets and I let Christopher live.” He pressed a hand on the girl’s belly and raised the bloodied knife. “I let you live today, too.”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 181