She was much smaller than her sister, Ellen, had been. If she hadn’t produced proof of her relation to Ellen, Digger never would’ve believed it.
Licking her lips and glancing at him through her lashes, she tweaked her nipples. “I’m back from tagging along with Osti to pick up Tyler, Sharper, and our latest sales items,” she announced as if she wasn’t standing right the fuck in front of him.
He huffed at her reference to the brutalized girls as sales items.
“You missed me?”
“Didn’t even know you were gone, girl.” Truth. What in fuck did that say about their relationship?
“You’re mean,” she pouted.
Ignoring her, he focused on his father. “Where you went?”
“Nowhere to concern yourself with,” Sharper answered.
Before Digger responded, Peyton stood on her tiptoes and placed her mouth on his. When he didn’t bend so she could put her arms around his neck, she balanced her palms against his chest and ground her body against him. The dead girl didn’t bother her. The other chicks and the sounds of their pitiful weeping and sniffling went over her head, too. The dying girl didn’t faze Peyton, either.
She was one heartless fucking cunt. He almost hated her and cursed the day he’d found her in the bar. He’d seen her as a way out. She’d seen him as a way in. They’d each had their own agendas when they’d met.
Suffocating under the weight of regrets and self-recriminations, Digger pushed Peyton away and started for Mort’s son, sliding in a pool of blood and scowling. “I said get dressed.”
“No.” Tyler’s one word didn’t change his calm expression. He, himself, was a cold little motherfucker. The sweet boy Digger took under his wing over a year ago had begun to change as the weeks wore on. Peyton had a lot to do with it. Tyler’s genes didn’t help matters, either. His mother had been one of the most vicious cunts around before she’d been killed and put out of her fucking evil misery.
Sometimes, Digger felt like putting Tyler out of his misery, too.
“Let my boy stay,” Sharper ordered, puffing out his chest. His dick lay against his thigh. For all intents and purposes, his father was impotent. It took a lot to get his motherfucking cock to work, but from the stickiness on his thigh, he’d succeeded today. “Reward for that.” He nodded to the dead girl.
He wasn’t a bitch. He wasn’t a bitch. He wasn’t a bitch.
Over and over, Digger silently chanted the reminder. It didn’t help. He still felt like one at his father’s announcement. A fucking rough dude like him wanted to fucking boo-hoo down, hearing that Tyler had killed one of those girls. Granted, Digger was a killer, but he’d been a grown fucking man when he’d become one.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he wasn’t sure what to do with his helplessness. If Mort was there, he’d knock some sense into Tyler, the stupid little fuck. But, Mort wouldn’t have ever found himself in this situation. Generally, Mortician was a laid-back motherfucker, at peace with himself and comfortable in his own skin. His happiness came from within. As fucking corny as that was, it was also true.
On the other hand, Digger needed things to make him happy. He needed approval. Until he’d veered from the path he’d been riding alongside his brother, he’d never realized the reason he’d thrived. In the back of his mind, he’d always known it was Mortician he wanted to impress and emulate. He’d also always resisted the slight resentment he felt toward his brother, even before Bailey. Simply because he’d idolized him so much. Kind of like Johnnie with Outlaw.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Digger sighed. Mort wasn’t there to straighten up Tyler, so that left Digger to do it.
“We don’t hurt chicks,” he reiterated for what must’ve been the thousandth time. Fuck. He realized his mistake immediately. It should’ve been they didn’t hurt girls because to be with them meant he was against Sharper. The rule of not hurting women was a Dweller code, not a Sharper dictate.
“Hear what this motherfucker said, Unk?” Osti chortled, circling Digger like a fucking shark on the scent of blood. “Sound to me like I was right and he’s still loyal to Outlaw.”
“Fuck you, you overgrown motherfucker,” Digger said, his short fuse on the verge of igniting. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t armed and Osti was. “You not fucking questioning my loyalty and getting away with that fucking insult.”
“There’s no loyalty amongst thieves and madmen,” Peyton called, twirling around, her dark hair swinging with her. It had grown out a lot since they’d met her. “Remember that saying?”
“The word should be honor, not loyalty,” Digger corrected with impatience.
“Settle down, all three of you,” Sharper cut in, stepping into his pants. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Almost time for our daily Bible class.”
Tyler sucked in a breath at the statement and scrambled to his feet, mimicking Sharper and pulling on jeans. It was almost time for the mad man to become the fucking crazy reverend. A motherfucker didn’t suddenly shed insanity because he preached the gospel.
“What are these chicks doing here?” Digger asked, flipping Osti off when he gave Peyton an open-mouthed kiss that she returned. Like him, Osti wore his hair in dreads, but his cousins were uneven and unkempt. Kind of like his fucking brain. “If bitches start turning up missing in the area, don’t you think motherfuckers might start a manhunt?”
Using his church as a front for his sex ring had been bad enough. But at the fucking outpost where they were hiding out?
Digger glanced at the girls again, wanting to get them away. The other girl was paling and Digger knew the wound on her neck was just deep enough to where she bled out slowly.
Yeah, fuck it. He was a bitch. Nausea roiled through him. He couldn’t fucking figure out how to save these girls and undo the evil that had claimed Tyler.
“These girls are just like the others,” Sharper explained calmly, shrugging into his shirt. “Throwaways.”
And to Sharper, throwaways were trash. Disposable. He didn’t take into account that they were human. Just like Big Joe hadn’t when he’d started on his fatal, drug-addicted path.
“Throwaways. Throwaways. Throwaways,” Peyton chanted, dancing around the girls, who sat in the middle of the floor. She paused and kicked the only blonde girl in the face.
Flinching, Digger turned, already knowing the blonde would die an even slower death than the girl whose light of life slowly faded away from her eyes. Knowing why, too. Which was part of the reason why he hadn’t gone back to Prez and begged for his life. Begged to be patched back in. The sanctions against him wouldn’t have mattered. Even the beating he would’ve received.
He’d once again underestimated his father’s vileness. On the spur of the moment, he’d called Sharper. He wanted back in the States and he was afraid Outlaw would immediately be alerted. Motherfucker seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere.
If only he would’ve thought the shit out further. Then, he’d arrived, frustrated by the changes in Tyler and outraged by Peyton’s behavior. The bitch was supposed to have fallen in love with him, just like Meggie, Kendall, Zoann, and Bailey had fallen in love with the others.
But, no, she’d been on a personal mission, not a quest for love. She wanted to kill Meggie and avenge her sister, Ellen’s, death.
“We’ll be leaving soon again,” Sharper announced, looking shrewdly at Digger. “We’re days away from getting on club grounds.”
Only the death rattle of the girl and the weeping of the others broke the sudden silence.
“You moving against Outlaw?” Digger asked to be sure he understood.
Sharper nodded and Digger’s skin crawled with unease.
Fear glinted across his father’s face, then smoothed out into serenity again. He cleared his throat. “I’d prefer not to leave myself vulnerable to Outlaw.”
Yeah, retaliation was due. No, apparently, that shit was imminent, after fourteen months of planning. Sharper wanted revenge for Outlaw blowing up his house,
killing some of his bodyguards and ruining his reputation along with his church.
Digger understood it was a get-them-before-I’m-fucked-up-tortured-and-praying-for-death type of deal.
It said something about the sanity of Outlaw, if the man who saw himself as invincible, the mega-rich, crazier-than-crazy, Sharper Banks, was pissing himself in fear, scared to shit that Outlaw might find him first.
Was it because Sharper had sent Logan back to the club? Because of K-P’s death? Did it have anything to do with the girls who were kidnapped and sold? Not really. That would be a dividend in Outlaw’s rage for fucking with his girl.
“Then there’s the hydro-grows on the compound,” Sharper went on. “The money this shipment will bring in is supposed to be astronomical. I need to get the key and the letters from wherever they’ve been hidden at the clubhouse.”
“Holy fuck,” Digger exploded, the smug words tipping him off. “You got a fucking informant in the club, don’t you?” That was the only explanation Digger had for Sharper’s knowledge.
“Ye of little faith,” Sharper retorted. “You don’t believe in my abilities to discover information on my own? Perhaps, my long association with the club provides me with built-in knowledge.”
“Outlaw too fucking criminal minded to let shit like this get out or to keep the same MO. He know how to cover his fucking tracks.”
“He was until Megan got there,” Sharper shot back.
Digger wouldn’t comment on the truth of Sharper’s words. He wouldn’t say that he regretted that they hadn’t killed her when she’d first arrived. Thinking it was one thing. Speaking it aloud seemed a betrayal. He certainly wouldn’t express his thoughts on Meggie. She was a cool chick, even though she’d fucked up everything by coming into their lives.
“What do you say to that, Mark?” Sharper asked.
What the fuck was he supposed to say? Yippee-yi-yay? Hie-ho, hie-ho, off to the fucking club we go?
“I get to pop Mortician,” Tyler called.
“No! No, the fuck you don’t, little motherfucker,” Digger snarled, reacting immediately and advancing toward his nephew.
Osti jerked him back, but before Digger punched him, Sharper spoke again.
“Lucas’s with them and Tyler’s with us. He’s loyal. He deserves to take out your brother.”
“What the fuck, man?” Digger yelled. “Do you see what you did to the kid? What you turning him into? Do you?” he repeated when Sharper blinked in surprise as if he really didn’t know. “Tyler was good. He had a fucking future. Now—”
“Now, he still has a future,” Sharper interrupted.
“Now, he’s nothing but a motherfucking killer. You turned him into this on purpose. Your ultimate revenge.”
Sharper chuckled softly, neither denying nor confirming Digger’s accusations. “The attack on the club is close. Time for you to decide if you’re with them or us.”
“Fuck you!”
Osti drew out his gun and pressed it against Digger’s temple, cocking the trigger.
“Brain him, Uncle Sharper, or what?” he asked casually.
Fuck it. Digger was tired of being on the run with these madmen and didn’t care how he escaped his father. Death would be fucking better than what was about to go down.
Anticipation lit Osti’s eyes. “I can let Tyler slit his throat.”
Sharper buttoned his shirt and studied Digger as if they shared no blood at all. “That depends.”
They were toying with him, treating him with the same disregard they did anybody outside their little group. Fury surged through Digger and he didn’t give a fuck that he’d probably die in the next few minutes. He wanted to fuck Osti up.
“On?”
“Fuck all,” Digger spat, interrupting Osti’s amused question. He hated the hurt and disappointment he felt toward his father. It let him know he still expected better from the man.
But hadn’t Mort warned him?
Hadn’t Outlaw?
“Fucking fire,” he bit out. Fuck, he really didn’t fucking care anymore. Mort hated him. The whole fucking club hated him. “Just get it fucking over with.”
“No!” Tyler said.
At first, Digger’s heart sped up at his nephew’s pleading tone. It hadn’t changed its pace in fear, but now it did with regret. He wished he’d done better by Tyler, If only he’d known how. The thought of using his fists on him like Sharper once did to Digger wasn’t appealing. But, maybe, there was a way to atone for how ruined Tyler was. Maybe, if Digger found a way to survive, he could somehow warn Mort about Sharper’s intentions. The idea renewed his determination to make it out of the shed alive.
“We can test his loyalty, Father,” Tyler explained.
Sharper’s brows lifted. “How, son?”
Shifting his weight, Tyler thought for a moment, then nodded to the frightened girls. “Make him kill one.”
No. He didn’t fucking kill women. He just didn’t. Since he’d been with his father, he wasn’t proud of some of the things he’d overlooked, but it was survival of the fittest.
Besides, he’d tried to make up for his shortcomings by saving Bailey’s life.
“How bad do you want to live, son?” Sharper transferred his gaze and his term of endearment to Digger.
Bile rose in his throat at the word son in reference to him. He’d been his mother’s son. He wasn’t his father’s anything. Nor did he want to live bad enough to hurt…at that moment the girl with the cut throat gurgled, blood dripping from her mouth.
Osti waited, his eyes glinting with amusement and the same fucking craziness that infected Sharper. Either madness was ingrained in their fucking DNA and insanity bred fucking insanity or living so close to it had driven Osti to the other fucking side.
“There’s only one fucking bullet in this gun,” Osti taunted. “Either you get it or one of those cunts.”
She was nearly dead, he reminded himself grimly. He needed to live long enough to find a way to get a message to Mort. Tell him they intended to hit the club soon.
Snatching the gun from Osti’s hand and so fucking tempted to shoot that fucker, he raised it and fired at the girl with the slit throat. She might already be dead. He prayed that she was. While he was at it, he prayed for the souls of the girls left and the one who’d been dead when he walked in. He prayed for Tyler, too, even if he felt his nephew was long past the point of redemption.
Blood sprayed from the gaping hole in her head. Luckily, from his position, none of the other girls had been in his line. Otherwise, they would’ve gotten fucked up, too, instead of the bullet exiting the back of her head and embedding itself in the wall.
The other girls screamed while Digger’s stomach churned.
Unable to resist, he raised the weapon and fired at Osti. Click.
“Told you,” Osti said with a smirk. “One bullet.”
Sharper laughed as Digger backed away. “He’s just a little peeved that you intended to shoot him, Osti. No harm done.”
Osti nodded his big ass head. “Of course, Unk.
Digger turned and walked back out into the frigid weather, bent over and vomited.
His father may have thrived on the throwaways. Digger had come to hate when they arrived.
Five days later, tension knotted Peyton’s belly. Not because of all that had happened with the girls in the storage cabin since their arrival. She’d come to look forward to when Sharper brought in new merchandise. Months ago, she’d gotten used to the perks of knowing Sharper. He didn’t judge her, but applauded her ingenuity, including the murder of her mother, an event not even Digger knew about. Sharper had a way about that convinced a woman to open up to him with promises of the good life. But his latest promise that she could kill Megan Caldwell fired her up. Peyton’s anticipation ran deep. She intended to make that bitch’s death slow and painful.
Standing in the middle of the small living area in the cabin she shared with Digger and Tyler, she thought of the woman responsible for her sis
ter’s death. Happy. Alive. Married to the man Ellen should’ve wed. Bearing the children Ellen should’ve had for him.
That night in the bar when the now-missing Sheriff Moncette had Peyton to get Johnnie alone for an ambush, she’d wasted her chance with Outlaw. Mistake number one had been her awe of those men, starting with Johnnie and his silver eyes and blond hair, like some immortal sun god. His looks and his voice immediately captured her. He’d been the perfect gentleman. Classy. Charming. Dangerous.
Yet, he’d refused her repeated attempts to lure him away. Moncette’s bone-headed plan hadn’t concerned Peyton. He wanted revenge and she wanted Megan Caldwell…no not Caldwell. She wouldn’t give that cunt such respect. That should’ve been Ellen’s last name. Megan Foy.
Then, Outlaw had sauntered in. Immediately, she saw why Ellen had fallen in love with him. His green eyes were like emeralds amidst fire. They burned. With confidence. With arrogance. With life. But they were also blind to anyone other than fucking Goldilocks.
Val, the road captain, had merely nodded at Peyton. Mortician had been too interested in Johnnie patching back in. That had left only Digger, who resembled Mortician in many ways. They both wore dreads, although Digger’s was only shoulder-length. He was a fraction taller than his older brother and much leaner, but they were both panty-dropping handsome. Digger had been the only one available who could help her reach her goal. Not that he’d known her true intentions. At the time, he hadn’t even known her connection to Ellen. They’d exchanged numbers and he’d promised to call her when they returned from whatever run they’d interrupted to find Johnnie.
Since she hadn’t been able to lure Johnnie away, she’d hoped to get any information from Digger and bring to Moncette. But Digger hadn’t caved. Moncette had been furious that she’d allowed Johnnie to slip away and only days of fucking him had soothed his anger.
Turnabout was fair play, she supposed. Meeting Moncette through Ellen had afforded her a casual acquaintance with the lawman. Once her sister had been killed, though, she’d gone to him and cried on his shoulder. She’d wanted Megan to suffer ASAP. But he’d calmed her and asked her to have patience. If she helped him, he’d help her. She hadn’t told him about Audra. Sharper was the only person who knew she’d killed her own mother.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 228