The silence stretched for so long Bailey thought Lucas wouldn’t answer. Various scenarios and longed-for responses thumped in her head. He’d always alluded to a deeper relationship with his stepmother than Bailey had picked up on. She hadn’t read too much into his words, though, simply because he was always so honest and direct with her. Over their honeymoon, she’d asked him point-blank if he’d ever been in love and he’d…dodged the question by refocusing on her and Ulner.
“Don’t you think you should’ve told me you had a son?”
“Tyler not my son,” Lucas snarled. “He belong to Charlemagne and Sharper. They made me accept that, so I’m straight. It’s fucking accepted.”
“Can we talk about it? It sounds as if it still hurts you.”
“I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I’m not interested in talking about shit that don’t concern you. Char passing my fucking kid off as my old man’s is old fucking news and before I fucking met you, so it’s not open to discussion. I have more important shit than concerning myself with your fucking jealousy and emotions and Char’s fucking lies.”
“Can you get any more callous?” she jeered, backing out of his embrace. “We’re husband and wife. We should be able to talk about anything.” About her illness. About his son. About her nightmares. About his heartache. “I love you.”
More silence. “I’m tired. I want to sleep.”
“Don’t you love me back?” The way he’d been with her right after he’d rescued her—the fact that he’d rescued her in the first place—gave her hope for their future. “I love you.”
“I’m not a weak motherfucker,” he said after a moment. “I’m almost home free to be declared the winner, so don’t fuck it up trying to make me feel sorry for you. Telling me you love me in that sweet voice of yours not making me forget about what I got to lose."
“Get over that stupid bet already,” she cried in frustration, not quite able to believe his words. “I get that you have to save face and all, but, God, Lucas, do you know how that makes me feel?” She drew in a few, deep calming breaths, deciding her lightheadedness wasn’t good. She didn’t need to open her mouth about all the potential dangers to herself and give Lucas another reason to accuse her of looking for sympathy. “You have all this money on the line to prove you’ll never fall for me.”
“It didn’t start off about you,” he shouted. “It was any young pussy. You just happened to be the one who caught me.”
“I didn’t catch you.”
“You gave me your unfucked pussy and tried to make me become attached and addicted.”
“Lucas—”
“Why the fuck we talking about this now? I only have a few more days to the bet. Ask me then how the fuck I feel about you and be happy Prez let me change the terms and put an expiration date on the shit.”
She flopped back on the pillow and glared into the darkness. “You’re so stubborn,” she complained. Thoughts centering around Charlemagne consumed her. The woman was cold, unfeeling, and ruthless. If she’d been all that she said she’d been to Lucas, then he’d learned about love from her, a thought that didn’t comfort Bailey at all. He’d believe every woman was shallow, mean-spirited, and traitorous. “I need you.” She spoke quietly. Maybe, she was speaking out of turn and assessing the situation with Lucas completely wrong. Maybe, it was just the stress and trauma and her own feelings. Right now, though, she’d take the chance. She’d gotten to know her husband and felt to her soul the side he showed her in private was the essence of him. He just needed to know someone would stand by him through thick and thin. Bailey decided to counteract his callousness with inalienable truths. On her part, anyway. She only hoped she wasn’t misguided in her beliefs. “I need you,” she repeated again. “And…and I think you need me. I’m so sorry Charlemagne hurt you so much. You don’t deserve it. But I’m having your baby now and I’d never deny you. Your son, Tyler, needs you. He shouldn’t be with them.”
“There’s no them. Char’s fucking dead. I killed her rescuing you.”
“Does that bother you? Are you ups—?”
“I’m not upset,” he interrupted before she could get the word out. “I’d kill whoever the fuck I needed to, to save you.”
“I love you,” she said for the countless time and held her breath as he moved restlessly next to her.
Finally, he muttered, “Damn you, Bailey,” drew her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers.
“If you don’t want dick from me, I understand,” he whispered against her ear, stroking between her legs.
They both needed succor and reassurance, so she allowed him to position her as he wanted and make love to her, slow and gentle. Afterwards, he kept her close to him, but didn’t speak again.
Bailey would do her best to support her husband and hoped her campaign to prove her loyalty to him was successful.
Chapter Twenty-Three: My Memento
Two nights later, Mortician sat in stoic silence, watching two naked girls dancing around Johnnie. They were in a motel room near the strip club he’d accompanied Johnnie to after Kendall walked out on the wedding he’d tried to surprise her with.
When Mortician left with Johnnie, he hadn’t known the man’s destination. But he’d wanted to be with him because he was one step from jumping over the edge. Normally, that meant someone would get fucked up and the club was dealing with enough problems. They couldn’t afford John Boy to do something reckless. Now, both of them were too fucked up to ride back to the MC after an evening at a strip club.
In typical style, John Boy had procured two of the dancers and brought them back to the room. One of the girls had been for Mortician. Although his dick was hard as a rock, he just couldn’t touch another woman.
Bailey loved and needed him. She was waging her own personal war on his sanity. Not only with her determination to break him down and admit how he felt about her, but with the nightmare she’d had that haunted him.
She’d been so scared, begging to be released. Her pleas had awakened him. At first, he hadn’t known what was going on, either. Then, when she’d finally focused, finally told him what her dream had been about…Mortician couldn’t handle it.
It was bad enough imagining Bailey sucking the dick of a motherfucker she wanted to blow. Having some fuck force his dick into her mouth? No, that wasn’t something Mortician wanted to hear about. Especially since he couldn’t arbitrarily seek revenge. The shit had to be planned and plotted.
He hated to think that Bailey’s impression, that he was callous, got to him. But it did. Mainly, because she was telling the truth. Hadn’t he fucked her over and told her about it?
Bailey’s hurt when he’d mentioned he’d gotten a blow job from some random bitch haunted him.
Leaving with John Boy tonight was a good thing, Mortician decided. The assfuck would’ve tried to get back to the club, drunk off his ass, and been wiped out. He’d needed to be looked after. As club brothers, they were honor bound to look out for one another.
Except…Mortician missed Bailey. How close he’d come to admitting to her how much he needed her—how much he loved her—frightened him. She meant so much to him and Mortician knew he was nose diving into a deep love for her. He’d never get enough of her, if he didn’t put some distance between them.
Life was gone in an instant. Take Char. One moment she’d been alive, terrorizing Bailey, and, the next, she’d been dead from his bullet. He’d been blinded to Char’s true character, never wanting to believe the worst of her or making excuses for it.
No matter how much he knew Bailey and Char were as different as night was from day, for Mortician, love had never worked. Not romantic love. Parental love. Or familial love. Char had used him and abandoned him. His mother had taken her love to her grave, stolen from him when he was too young. His father was just a motherfucker, who didn’t know the meaning of love. Tyler had never been available for him to claim and love. And Digger had betrayed him.
But, according to Bailey, he’d al
so saved her life. And he’d done what he’d done to protect Mortician. Because he loved him.
Mortician rubbed his eyes. It didn’t matter. It was all too much.
Love didn’t fucking work.
Now, he was with a girl, intending to prove to himself that Bailey wouldn’t control him. Not his heart, his conscious, or his dick.
But she did.
“Lick her cunt, Ali,” Johnnie growled, unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock out to stroke it.
Jetta, the redhead, smiled. “I have a better idea,” she cooed, tweaking her nipples. “Me and Ali can sixty-nine.”
Ali climbed on top of Jetta and scooted backward until her ass covered her face. Mortician shifted in the chair he sat on. Bouncing against Jetta’s mouth, Ali pushed Jetta’s legs and buried her face against her pussy. Both of them moaned, and Johnnie added his groan.
Mortician’s phone buzzed and he drew in a deep breath. Bailey was texting him again. This was her fifth one. He should answer, but he didn’t know what to say.
Should he tell her how disappointed he was in himself? That he felt in over his head with her. When he’d gotten her from his father, all he could think about was how close he’d come to losing her.
Until all he could think about was how close he’d come to losing her. In a completely different angle, though. His relief and thankfulness had evaporated on a cloud of despair. No matter how much heartache a motherfucker faced, the world kept fucking turning. No one cared about motherfuckers drowning in fear. A hopeless fuckhead who’d submerged himself in sadness and denial.
If he rejected Bailey enough, she’d leave him in fucking peace. Leave him the way most of the other fuckers he’d loved did. Because he was him, one hilarious motherfucker who didn’t give a fuck at the empty shell he’d become.
Every time she tried to talk to him, he shut her out. Maybe, if he ignored it, it would go away.
Don’t start nothing, won’t be nothing. He didn’t need to fucking know any more than necessary. Maybe, his worry for her would be mitigated. She wasn’t raped, but she’d been hurt. He’d allowed her to be hurt. Now, he was still hurting her, hiding behind the excuse of winning when it went deeper than that.
All it did was piss him off more, though. He was always right there for Meggie, Red, and Chester, but he was failing his own woman. But, fuck, as much as he cared for those three, he could offer them an objective perspective. With Bailey? What hurt her hurt him. Even him hurting her was fucking with him.
“Come finish me off, Jetta,” Johnnie ordered. “Now,” he gritted when Ali and Jetta ignored him, continuing their mutual pussy licking. He got to his feet and dragged Ali away, ignoring her frustration and kneeling next to Jetta’s head to stuff his dick into her mouth. He threw his head back and grunted, “Kendall.”
Fuck. John Boy loved Red but even he was getting relief with another girl. It was what they did. Fucked women. Bet or no bet.
“What about you?” Ali asked, crawling towards him.
His body rigid with tension, Mortician didn’t move as the blonde came to him and caressed the outline of his hard dick. She slanted her mouth over his, allowing him to taste Jetta’s flavor stuck on her lips. He grabbed Ali by the waist and guided her to his lap, their lips still locked together.
But he…couldn’t. He snatched his face away and leaned his head back, wiping his hand over his mouth. Ali leaned against his chest, allowing Mortician to see Johnnie guiding Jetta onto his condom-covered dick.
Ali licked the pulse point at Mortician’s neck and reached for his cock again, but he grabbed her hands and smiled at her.
“I can’t, girl.”
She licked his chin and rocked her bare pussy against him, trailing her scent all over him. If Bailey got anywhere near him before he changed his clothes, she’d smell Ali’s perfume and cunt.
“I’m married.”
“Lucky me,” Ali purred. “I can fuck you and send you back to your wife so she can bore you with her every day, ordinary life.”
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her off his lap, not letting her go until she was steady on her feet, her big tits right in his face.
“I want dick from you every day,” Jetta gasped, bouncing on Johnnie in a fast rhythm.
Mortician balled his hands into fists, his heart pounding and his balls feeling as if cum swelled them ten times their normal size. He wanted to fuck so bad, he could taste Bailey on his tongue, because she was the one he wanted to fuck. No other girl would fucking do.
Getting to his feet, he yanked out five one hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and handed them to Ali.
“I’m not fucking over my wife,” he said, low. John Boy was finishing up, so he didn’t want his words to be overheard.
Motherfucker was drunker than fuck, but Mortician bet his dick if Johnnie overheard Mort say anything about Bailey, he’d sober the fuck up.
“Can I at least suck you off?” Ali asked, licking her lips.
“No.”
Taking the money out of his hand, she shrugged. “When you’re ready for a change of pussy, just seek me out.” She smirked at him. “Married men are my specialty. I get dick without the daily demands. They get pussy without constant complaining.”
Jetta was dressed now and ready to leave. Mortician wasn’t interested in commenting on Ali’s jaded words. It wasn’t her fucking business anyway.
“I’ll wait outside for you, Ali,” she said, counting the money Johnnie had given to her.
“I won’t be long,” Ali promised.
And she wasn’t, silently dressing and leaving within five minutes.
Mortician’s phone started ringing and Johnnie jumped at the sudden sound. Lighting a cigarette, Mort saw Bailey’s name on his screen. He declined the call. A moment later, he received a text.
Lucas?
These girls tripped him out at the way they used the correct grammar and punctuation for texts. It was a fucked up pet peeve to have, but the shit worked on his fucking ass.
Cigarette hanging from his mouth, he allowed the smoke to curl around him.
“Kendall’s gone,” Johnnie slurred. “She fucking left me. All alone.” He swayed to his feet and his dick plopped against his pants, condom still attached.
Glaring at Johnnie, Mortician snatched his cigarette out of his mouth. “Man, clean yourself the fuck up, then cover your fucking cock.”
Johnnie frowned and pulled the condom away before raising it. “Kendall’s pregnant for me.”
“You not ever meeting your kid, either, motherfucker, if you don’t get that nasty shit the fuck out of my face.”
Johnnie staggered to the bed and fell onto it, still holding the condom. “This is my memento. I’ll always look at this and remember the day Kendall left me.”
“Wouldn’t you remember that anyway without having a cum-filled condom you used on another chick?” Disgusted, Mortician walked to the other bed and sat, finishing his cigarette as he spoke. “I mean, fuck, Red haven’t been gone twelve fucking hours and you fucking another girl.”
“Because I don’t need fucking Kendall. I haven’t fucked one girl since I’ve been with her,” he snarled angrily. “I haven’t fucked her in a month. I would’ve fucking waited a year. Ten years. However fucking long she needed me to. But, no, she left me. She couldn’t look at the good side of what I did. All she could see was Megan did it.”
Johnnie sniffled and Mortician threw him a horrified look. This motherfucker better not be about to set manhood back forty fucking years by fucking…crying.
“John Boy,” Mortician called, wincing at the man’s heaving shoulders.
“She fucking left me.”
“And she’d fucking stay gone if she see your dumb ass crying like a little bitch.”
Anger overtook Johnnie’s flushed face, his cheeks wet with tears. “Fuck her.”
Obviously, Johnnie was hurting bad, but Mortician wondered if it was his pride hurting or was it really because he loved Red. She deserved bet
ter than being an afterthought in John Boy’s life. She had enough fucking issues. The drunken mind supposedly spoke the truth. Removing his boots, he stretched out on the bed and put his hands behind his head.
How the fuck to do this shit? Only one way. “What about Meggie? Maybe, you could find a way to fuck her. Finally, put that shit behind you.”
“I don’t want to fuck Megan. I just want to be her friend. I want her and Kendall to be friends.”
“Red not ever going to really accept Meggie with the way you acting. What the fuck was your dumb ass thinking? Asking Meggie to plan Red wedding was like asking Lowman to give me a fucking hug. That shit not realistic. You need to jet from Planet Stupid Motherfucker and come back to Earth. And, you still picking up on blondes and redheads. What the fuck that shit mean?”
“The blonde girl was for you. There was no other redheads there.” He heaved in a breath. “I know this has been a clusterfuck. Christopher doesn’t trust me. Megan hated me and Kendall left me. I’m just doing the best I can. The best I know how to do. Kendall was so broken, Mort. So…” He sniffled again. “I thought if I treated her normal, she’d see how much faith I had in her life. If I coddled her—”
“It just meant she needed coddling, Johnnie. Red do. I feel why you sent her away. Prez fucking hate her. I think he fucking know his hating her not all the way fair, but he is who he is. Red commented about everything—”
“She had every right to,” he cut in bitterly.
“She needed to shut the fuck up. Prez might always hate her, but Meggie couldn’t get through to him as long as Red antagonized the fuck out of him. So you sent your woman away to keep her alive. But…” Mortician scratched his jaw, then flexed his fingers and looked at his skull ring. “You turned your back on Red. No way Prez would let a motherfucker get him to send Meggie away.” He thought of Bailey and how he’d pushed her away, hid their intimacy, and pretended he didn’t give a fuck. Fucking hypocrite. Scowling, he continued talking to Johnnie. It was easier to solve other people’s problems. “I don’t have much room to talk about your shit,” he admitted. “But, John Boy, we all know every motherfucker Red had in her life just fucking left her. Her dad was fucking killed. Her momma didn’t give a fuck about her. Spoon fucking used her.”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 197