Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  In the safety of his room, he made his way to his messy bed, where two torn condom wrappers remained.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, opened his bottle and drank, uncertain how to feel. Sometimes, he resented Fee’s intrusion into his relationship with Cash. Like tonight.

  Cash’s focus had been her, until Stretch pulled it away by gripping his cock. Just as quickly, she’d regained control. Stretch might’ve been pissed at the way she’d used him to seduce Cash—if he hadn’t been using her for the same reason. The rancor between them wasn’t her fault. Cash had brought her in, without asking how he felt about the change.

  Now, Cash had given both Stretch and Fee ultimatums. Either the three of them made it together or they all went their separate ways. Again, all without Stretch’s consent or consideration.

  Cash was an overbearing, domineering bastard.

  A little more drink removed some of Stretch’s rising bitterness. He had no right to bear any grudge against Fee. Both of them had chosen to be at Cash’s mercy.

  Stretch had no idea why she did it. He, himself? Cash had stormed into Stretch’s life, full of arrogance and charm, stealing his heart.

  Setting his bottle on the nightstand, he stood and hobbled to the bathroom. He wondered if Fee had made it home safely. As soon as he showered, he’d text her.

  He proceeded to strip, then he looked in the mirror. Once again, he touched the long scar on the side of his face, not only feeling but seeing it. Remembering the hatred, the cruelty.

  Remembering Hanson, the lover Stretch had reconnected with again. Beaten, shot, and killed, because of Stretch’s supreme fucking stupidity. He deserved every pain, every mark, for leading him into that hellish nightmare.

  Turning too quickly, Stretch wobbled on his feet, losing his balance. He landed on both of his knees, biting on his lip so hard he tasted blood, to keep from crying out. Men didn’t show such weakness and he was a man.

  Well before Stretch had come across Cowboy and company, his father and uncles’ attempted to prove differently.

  He sat on the floor and massaged his leg, grimacing at the long scar and shrunken muscle. Sometimes, his damaged nerves hurt so bad he wanted to throw up.

  He could ride, but he no longer ran. He wanted to cry, but hardly ever considered laughing. He hated, when he only wanted love.

  Guilt and grief gnawed at his soul. Hanson had been his friend.

  Stretch had acted in fairness and broken it off with him when he fell for Cash. When things didn’t work out as Stretch expected and Hanson found out, they’d reconnected.

  Two loud pounds on his bedroom door snapped Stretch’s head up. Fuck, he didn’t feel like being bothered right now, but experience had taught him they wouldn’t go away until he answered.

  Pulling himself to the opened bathroom door, he grabbed the handle as leverage and struggled to his feet. Closer to the door than to his cane, he dragged his way toward it, not realizing his nudity until his hand touched the knob.

  “Fuck.”

  “I heard you,” Cash called. “Open the fucking door, Woo Woo.”

  Woo Woo. Stretch stiffened. Asshole. Cash knew he hated that fucking name.

  “What do you want?” he asked, quite aware of his nakedness and scarred body.

  “To see you. Open the fucking door.”

  He cracked it open, enough to show his face. “Are you fucking insane?” he whispered. “If any of these fuckers saw you…”

  Cash shoved his way in, interrupting Stretch’s chastisement. “If you act guilty, motherfuckers say you are guilty.”

  Stretch used the open door as a shield to hide himself. When Cash turned, he lifted a brow.

  “Close the door.”

  “No.”

  “I don’t have all fucking night. I have to get back to Daphne before she wakes up, so close the goddamn door and listen to me.”

  “Open it. Close it. Make up your mind.”

  Glowering, Cash folded his arms.

  Stretch slammed the door, averting his eyes from Cash’s face. He didn’t want to see his pity—or whatever. More than anything, he didn’t want to be seen as inferior in Cash’s eyes. He was a beautiful man, almost perfect, with an odd blemish here and there. Nothing substantial, though. Not like Stretch, who had a scarred face and body, and had been shot twice in the line of club duty.

  “I came to apologize, so can you fucking look at me?”

  “I can look at you if I want to. I don’t, so apologize and get out.”

  “What are you pissed about, babe? Fee or Daphne? Or both?”

  He’d resigned himself to Fee’s presence weeks ago. At times, it was still hard. Cash wouldn’t listen to his grievances, so Stretch stayed silent. “Does it matter, Cash?”

  “Obviously, asshole, or I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  Stretch thrust his fingers through his hair and leaned against the wall. “I’m not sure what I’m angriest about,” he admitted, his cane coming into his line of vision.

  Without acknowledging the gesture, like a childish asshole, he grabbed it and started toward his bed as Cash turned his back, allowing Stretch to retain a shred of dignity

  “Thank you,” Stretch said, reaching his bed and pulling the comforter over his legs.

  Sighing, Cash faced him again. “I didn’t come in here earlier to fuck you and Fee. I came to escort her out. We ended up enjoying each other. I didn’t want the night to end so fucked up. Shit spiraled downhill because of Slipper and I had to do damage control. I’m sorry for Daphne.”

  At almost three in the morning, fatigue wore Stretch down. He was confused about his feelings for Fee and annoyed with himself for his inability to let go of Cash. As is usually the case, he took out his frustrations on the one closest to him. “Are you, motherfucker? As I recall, you fuck Daphne as much as you can.”

  “You’ve fucked her yourself,” Cash snapped back. “With me, so stop being a damn hypocrite.”

  “I fuck her when I want to, not because she’s forced on me.”

  “No one is forced on you.”

  If that was true, then Stretch wouldn’t feel so fucking threatened. “Fee was.”

  “Any time I’m with her, you can leave. The truth is, you don’t want to. You think she’s coming between you and me.”

  “Isn’t she?” After Cash’s dictate, that’s what she was doing. Their relationship had never before depended on someone else’s involvement. “If the three of us can’t be together, then none of us can. We had a relationship before you met her.”

  “One reason I want to put the brakes on the whole affair,” Cash admitted. “I don’t know…it was unfair how you and I became you, her and I. It was fun and games at first. It isn’t now. I don’t know how to deal. Besides, there’s the big problem of Outlaw.”

  Big problem was an understatement. But their president was fair. “All we have to do is show him we won’t hurt her.”

  A moment of shocked silence passed between them, before Cash shook his head. “You do want her with us.”

  Stretch thought long and hard about the truth. Without her near and Cash demanding Stretch accept her, he admitted he did. But he also wanted the choice. He wanted to know her as Cash did. “Whenever the three of us are together, it’s about sex, Cash. I’d like to see another side of her, too. Know her on a deeper level. I tell myself I love her. It’s so fucking shallow, based on pleasure.”

  A muscle ticked in Cash’s jaw, then he nodded. “Do you accept my apology or not?”

  “I do,” he responded.

  Cash headed for the door, but Stretch halted him with a question.

  “What now?”

  He turned to him. “I have to play tonight off. Make sure Slipper doesn’t put ideas into Outlaw’s head.”

  “If you act guilty, motherfuckers say you are guilty,” he threw back.

  Cash scowled.

  “If you fuck with Prez to try and throw him off our trail, all you’ll do is make him suspicious and figure it out
faster. Get us killed quicker if we don’t act like we deserve Fee. You fucking everything you see isn’t the way to win points with him.”

  “I don’t want him to know. Outlaw’s my good friend. I know how to distract him. All I have to do is make it seem like I’m threatening Meggie.”

  “Jesus Christ! Are you fucking insane? Fuck over everyone, including his children, and we’ll be killed. Mess with Meggie and we die gruesomely.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to do it Fee’s way? Straighten up and then tell him about us?”

  “I don’t want children,” he said with conviction. “She does. We can’t get married. It’s illegal for three motherfuckers to wed, in case you didn’t know. I know what she wants and so does Outlaw. He’ll kill me on principle alone.”

  “Just give her up, then, asshole.”

  “Fuck, what the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the past week? She came looking for me.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, Cash tipped his head to the ceiling, drawing attention to the muscles in his strong neck. “Call me selfish, but I’m not ready for us to give her up. She’s willing to accept the affair on my terms. We can’t give her up right now,” he reiterated.

  “Selfish,” Stretch spat. “But I’ll also call you fucking dead. That’s what you’re going to be once Outlaw figures this out, asshole, or if you fuck with Meggie in any way.”

  With a last glare, Cash stormed out, leaving Stretch alone once more.

  Bracing his wife against the shower wall and gripping her legs, Christopher Caldwell bent to adjust to her height. She wrapped her legs around him, rolling her hips to stimulate her pussy. Steam rose around them, the water from the shower head drenching his clothes.

  When he’d come into the bathroom to kiss her goodbye, he hadn’t intended to fuck her. He’d expected to find her blow drying her hair. Instead, he’d spied her through the shower door, her skin pink from the heat, her golden hair plastered to her head.

  Unable to resist her, he’d removed his cut, then joined her, startling her for a moment. Until he’d cupped her tits and nuzzled her neck. She’d pushed her ass against him before turning. Seeing him clothed, she’d giggled.

  “You’re insane!”

  Smoothing her hair out of her face, he hadn’t responded, just plastered his mouth to hers as he took his dick out.

  Now, he was seated inside of her. She tipped her head back, giving him access to her throat, her soft sigh music to his ears. He lapped the beads of water from her skin, his own hair saturated.

  Each time he sank into her, she tightened her pussy muscles, urging him to a faster rhythm. His heart pounding as he lost himself in Megan, he threw his head back and came. Hard.

  She laid her head on his chest, her breathing as erratic as his. He hadn’t meant to get off before she did, but, fuck, she drove him fucking insane.

  Setting her on her feet, he stepped back and stroked her chin, smiling and humbled as always at the love shining in her eyes. He stole a quick kiss, securing his cock back in his jeans, then dropping to his knees. Throwing her leg over his shoulder and opening her pussy lips, he sniffed her, breathing in the scent of her soap and his cum.

  He dragged his tongue over her clit, intending to give her a quick orgasm. The moment her fingers tightened in his hair and she moaned, he knew he’d feast at the altar of Megan for more than a few minutes. He didn’t lift his head until the water ran cold and she begged him to stop, too sensitive for him to make her come one more time.

  Standing, he kept an arm around her waist, while turning off the shower.

  “I’ma change, baby,” he whispered, when he thought she wouldn’t collapse in a fucking puddle, stealing a quick kiss.

  “Okay.”

  Grinning at her dazed tone, he stepped out of the shower.

  “Motherfuck me,” he grumbled at the large puddle forming. He was fucking soaked through and through. He considered the sofa on the other side of the room, directly across from the bath tub, then decided against it. The last time he’d fucked it up with water, he had to hire someone to remove the stains.

  The shower door opened and he stepped aside, allowing his wife space to get out. He grabbed her towel.

  “I’m makin’ a fuckin’ mess,” he said, holding the towel out to her.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll clean up when I get back from brunch with Kendall.”

  Deciding to hold his fucking opinion to himself about that bitch, he nodded. Towel wrapped around herself, she started to lift his T-shirt over his head, her fingers skimming over each spot she bared.

  Christopher shivered. “Fuck, baby, stop!” he demanded, his cock still hard from when he’d eaten her pussy. He caught her fingers. “You start fuckin’ with me again and you ain’t ever gettin’ to the bitch. I mean the brunch.”

  Pulling away, she rolled her eyes. “Behave.”

  “What the fuck I’m doin’?”

  She poked him in the chest. “Hello? Kendall.”

  “I’m just fuckin’ sayin’,” he grunted.

  After lifting Johnnie’s suspension over the holiday season, Christopher hadn’t said one fucking word to his bitch. She wasn’t going anywhere. Christopher had resigned himself to the fact that the fucking club was stuck with her. Johnnie loved her. How-fucking-ever. If Christopher didn’t talk to her, she might leave some of her fucking crazy behind and stop trying to get him to talk her.

  Bitch still did little shit to annoy the fuck out of him and get his attention. Installing Fee in Kendall’s house would keep him clued the fuck in about what that bitch intended. He’d promised to pay for Fee’s college degree, wherever she decided to go. Whenever she decided to go. Also, Kendall had a way of befriending motherfuckers and convincing them of her sanity. Christopher had warned Fee not to trust her, but Kendall cavorted with black magic and got into people’s heads, leading them to believe whatever the fuck she said. He fucking hoped Fee heeded his warning.

  Neither Megan or Kendall knew of Fee’s fucking spying, so he’d play this carefully. He didn’t give a fuck what Kendall would think. But Megan? Yeah, she’d be fucking pissed.

  He bent and kissed her again, frowning at the tension in her body. She’d been a relaxed little motherfucker before he brought up Johnnie’s bitch.

  “You sure you okay, baby? I mean you don’t have to see that fuckin’ cunt today if you don’t want.” Megan had come home last week fucking furious. Something went the fuck on at that house. Something Fee hadn’t fucking told him, and still swore up and fucking down everything was a-fucking-okay. “I can stay the fuck home, too. We can fuck some more.”

  Pursing her mouth, Megan lowered her lashes, then gave him a fake smile. “Everything’s fine, Christopher.”

  Bull-fucking-shit. He knew her too well to believe that. His sole consolation was Megan no longer gave that bitch a pass for fuck-all. Supposedly back on her fucking meds again, Kendall had no fucking excuse if she pulled fucking crazy shit.

  Making sure she stayed drugged was Christopher’s main reason for encouraging Fee to work for Kendall, achieved by blurting out Megan intended to offer Fee a job position with her and Zoann. Kendall might’ve been better, but she remained a jealous psycho cunt, proven when Fee came to them a couple of days later and announced Kendall asked Fee to work for her.

  Megan had been disappointed. Christopher doubted she suspected why Kendall really offered the job. It had nothing to do with not having an assistant like she’d had at the law firm, as she fucking said.

  She wanted to play her fucking games? Christopher was more than ready and equipped to match her move for move. Whatever it took to protect Megan, he’d do. He better not fucking regret installing Fee in the lion’s den.

  Taking Megan’s face between his hands, he bent and kissed her again. “Wanna suck my cock real quick, baby?”

  She stood on her tiptoes and nipped his chin. “Yeah.”

  Just as she started to sink to her knees, th
e door opened, and CJ barreled in. Megan squeaked, nearly losing her balance and her fucking towel as she tried to stand straight. Christopher grabbed her waist, torn between amusement at the situation and irritation at the situation.

  “’Law!” CJ skidded to a halt, blinking between the two of them. His little face scrunched. “Mommie okay?”

  She busied herself with her towel, refusing to meet their boy’s eyes, her face, chest, and shoulders, beet-fucking-red. “Fine,” she mumbled.

  Squinting, CJ checked her, her shifting from foot-to-foot, not helping. He raised an accusing glare to Christopher. “Step away from the mommie, ‘Law,” he demanded, the phrase he’d made up both funny and mystifying.

  “I’m fine, CJ,” Megan swore.

  CJ ignored her, not giving a fuck about her reassurance. He glanced up-and-down at Christopher, and frowned. What his boy thought, with him dripping fucking wet, who the fuck knew?

  “My mommie, ‘Law.”

  His kid stayed focused on the matter at hand. His ma. If he would’ve walked in while Christopher had been fucking Megan, CJ might’ve tried to beat his ass in the mistaken belief his ma was hurt.

  “My wife, boy,” Christopher reminded him.

  “You’re both right,” Megan said, stepping between them and kneeling, pulling CJ to her. “Daddy has to dry off.”

  “Mommie okay?” he asked, to be certain.

  She nodded. “Perfect, buddy. I have two of my favorite guys in the whole world with me.”

  Megan loved all their kids and would die to protect them. However, she adored CJ. He was her first-born and her favorite. If Christopher ever told her that, she’d deny it to high fucking heaven. No fucking matter. The way she treated CJ gave her away.

  CJ pointed at Christopher, then screamed with laughter. “You all wet.”

  Recovered now that she’d rescued her towel, Megan’s amusement joined their boy’s. “Daddy’s silly, huh, sweet potato?”

  He nodded. “Uh huh.”

  She kissed his cheek.

  CJ grabbed her wet hair and lifted the long strands in the air before letting it fall. From the time CJ had been a baby, he’d loved Megan’s hair. No, he’d loved her.