Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Any other time, Kendall would’ve taken umbrage, but the sneer in his voice spoke volumes. She wanted the old Johnnie back. She didn’t like this version of him. And it was all her fault.

  “We owe her a debt,” she rushed out. “She saved you.”

  “A debt?” he echoed. “Is that you talking? You who was determined to choose a fucking case over me.”

  “Johnnie, please,” she cried, jumping up and grabbing his sore hand. He didn’t flinch. Did he feel any pain? “Please, come back to me. This isn’t you, especially with Megan.”

  “Fuck Megan,” he spat. “This is about you and me. But that’s it right there.” He got to his feet, taller than her despite her height. “Why haven’t I seen it before?” He cocked his head to the side, staring at her as if he’d never seen her. “You can’t love me because you don’t know how to love. Your fucked-up mother planted it in your head that you weren’t worthy of love. Right, sweetheart?”

  Kendall shook her head wildly. “But I love you. I swear. I might not show it right, but, please…please don’t leave me. Don’t throw me away. Please? I’m begging you. I’d be so lost without you.”

  He gazed at something behind her from flat, lifeless eyes. She doubted he saw anything at all.

  “Do you know my grandfather?”

  How could she not? The question was preposterous. Yet she went along with it, frightened this was the end of her marriage, and nodded.

  “Logan loved me.” He grinned. “Grandda. But his love came with conditions. As long as I did everything he wanted, he loved me. When I went against him, he didn’t. He turned away from me. Wanted nothing to do with me.” His look turned haunted, sad. “Like you,” he finished on a whisper.

  She couldn’t refute that. Her actions of the past few days proved him right. But, no! No! He wasn’t right.

  He started to back away from her. She couldn’t allow him to leave, so she rushed to him and grabbed his wrist, falling to her knees and sobbing. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

  “I’m tired, Kendall.” He laid a hand on her head. “Of balancing your happiness and my life. It’s unfair of me to expect you to conform. Giving up your career wasn’t your choice. You want to practice law. And I was so fucking proud of you. My old lady. An attorney. Elegant. Classy. Kendall. You want what you want. Right now, in the heat of the moment, you’re swearing you’ll be whatever I want you to be. That isn’t in your nature. I love you, sweetheart. So fucking much. But I can’t do this anymore with you.”

  “No!” she screamed, getting to her feet and wrapping her arms around his neck. He returned her hug, but she felt no comfort or warmth. It seemed final.

  “You’re not happy just being my wife. And that’s what I want. I want a woman to love me without conditions. I want what Megan gives to Christopher.”

  Anger swirled through Kendall, and settled into her core. She yanked herself out of his embrace and slapped him with all her might. Although he laid his palm against his jaw, he didn’t move otherwise. “I’m not Megan Caldwell, you bastard. I’ve lived in her shadow since I met you. I can’t give you what she gives to Christopher, because we’re different women, with different approaches. She pretends everything is roses and sunshine on behalf of her jackass of a husband. She flits through life, calling me her friend, when underneath it all, I know she doesn’t really like me. How could she? I tried to seduce her husband. Body-wise, beauty wise, I’ll never measure up. Our personalities are completely opposite. I’m not Megan.” The words wore her out and she walked woodenly back to the bed, sitting on the edge. Defeat threatened to overwhelm her. “Maybe, you’re right. Maybe…maybe, we need to go our separate ways.”

  Just saying the words broke her heart. She thought he’d refute her statement. He remained silent.

  “Since you don’t believe I love you for who you are,” she added, hoping he heard her desperation.

  “I don’t want you to be Megan,” he said after a few tense moments. “I want you to be like her. Loyal to me. Willing to die for me. Kill for me. Able to respect me. I’m a fucking joke to you.”

  “You’re not,” she swore honestly. “There’s no other man like you.”

  “Except Christopher.”

  “No! He could never touch your intelligence. Your beauty. Your…your…the way you like to laugh and joke. You’re educated. You’re patient and kind. You’re fairer than he’ll ever be.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “What about the kids?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t fucking bring my children into this. You weren’t thinking of them when you gave me your ultimatum this morning.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I swear. Please. But can’t you see? Christopher couldn’t bring himself to kill you over me returning to work. He loves you. He couldn’t kill me because of your feelings for me. He’s all talk. You know this, Johnnie. That’s the only reason I talked to you about work. He might punch you around a bit. He’d never kill you, however, especially because of me.”

  He bent to her level and looked her up and down. “Do you remember the trouble you caused the last time you practiced law? You betrayed the club. Betrayed me and him.”

  “I wasn’t trying to do that.”

  “Now, you want to defend a biker from a rival club. Where is the miscommunication here? Maybe, if it was an ordinary Joe-Blow, I’d say, fuck it, I’ll take what Christopher has to give out. Not in this case. He’ll kill me. Fuck, he’ll kill me if he knows I met with Randolph. It won’t matter that I don’t remember the meeting. It wouldn’t go well for me, if Christopher found out. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  He straightened and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You were with me because you said I was too sick to drive. Leave it to you to flip the script and create chaos.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t mean to. I just can’t seem to help myself.” She started to cry again, real, true, gut-wrenching tears. “Maybe, I am no good for anything, just like my mother said.”

  “Until you feel worthy, you’re never going to do any better. You’re never going to accept that I love you.”

  Love. He said it in the present tense, not the past. Hope flared to life within her.

  “You’re never going to believe that Megan really tried to be your friend.”

  She bowed her head. “I love you, Johnnie. Please don’t give up on me. On us.”

  This time, when their gazes met, she recognized Johnnie, her husband. He was calming down, hearing her again.

  “You continually underestimate Christopher,” he said tiredly. He sat next to her and fingered her neck. “Why were you in his office?”

  Her heart started pounding all over again. “Because…”

  “Ah,” he started, placing a finger over her mouth. “Don’t lie to me. I want the truth.”

  She swallowed.

  “It was for the case, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He sighed and dropped his hand.

  “Since you didn’t want to go to him for me, I thought to do it on my own.”

  “Bearding the lion in his den.”

  She nodded.

  “Are you brave or stupid?”

  “A little of both, I suppose.”

  He got to his feet and started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Kendall cried.

  “To check on the kids since they aren’t allowed in our room.”

  “And then?”

  “To the club.”

  She blinked away tears. At night, he always invited her to go with him. She wouldn’t press him, so she asked instead, “Are you coming back tonight?”

  Another half-grin. “I live here, sweetheart. Where else would I go?”

  The relief swamping her almost stole her breath. Until another thought hit her. “Are you going to fuck one of the girls there?”

  “I have no desire to stick my cock in anyone but you.”

&
nbsp; “And Megan.”

  He scowled at her.

  Something else occurred to her. “Did you really try to strangle her?”

  “Yes.” One word. No emotion. No regret.

  Was she in the twilight zone?

  “Because of me?”

  “Yes.” Same word spoken in the same manner.

  “What would her death have solved?”

  He shrugged.

  “Where did this occur?”

  “At her house.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “To get her advice on how to stop you from going ahead with your plans.”

  Every time something went wrong between them, he turned to Megan. Kendall hated that. Perhaps, that’s why she so enjoyed spoiling Megan’s plans whenever she could. And that’s why she enjoyed tormenting Christopher.

  “Things got heated,” he confessed. “I lost my temper.”

  “You have yet to find it, from my perspective.”

  He let the comment pass. “We’re so fucking toxic for each other.”

  “I disagree.”

  “You would,” he said, in a tone lighter than he’d used since arriving.

  “We just have to find our way. You have to remember I’m me and I have to remember we’re a team.” Sadness crept into her. “I just…oh, Johnnie, for so long I had no one, so I learned to get by on sex and my wits, and I used both like a weapon.”

  “You still do.”

  She didn’t detect any enmity. He was merely making a statement.

  “Do you really want us to separate?” she asked.

  He studied her, long and hard, his expression unreadable. Her breath baited, and she shifted her weight, afraid. So afraid.

  “I don’t,” he said finally. “But we have to work on our marriage. We have to find a way where we’ll both be happy with each other.”

  He turned again to leave, but she didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want to lose the connection she was finally feeling to him again. But…but what had she done? All the trust Meggie had in Johnnie would be gone. Any other time, Kendall would see that as a good thing. Not now. As a result of Johnnie’s behavior, everything would be different if Meggie opened her mouth. Or changed her mind about intervening.

  Johnnie would die and Kendall would never forgive herself.

  “Will Meggie really save you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you…are you okay…I mean with…with her?”

  “Ask me that the next time Christopher puts his hands on you.” Offering her a cool smile, he turned and left her alone.

  It wasn’t until he was gone did she realize that they hadn’t seen to his battered face. In the scheme of things, that could wait. Besides, she had more important things to worry about.

  Mainly the fact that she’d already made her first court appearance with Randolph because she’d taken his case without Johnnie’s knowledge.

  “’LAW!”

  Before Christopher responded to his son’s voice, his office door burst open and CJ scrambled in, running to him and grabbing his hand. His face was red and his breath blew out in gulps of air. Teary panic filled his green eyes.

  “C’mon, ‘Law. It’s Mommie,” he cried, tugging at him. “MegAnn got fingers on her neck.”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout, son?” Christopher demanded, getting to his feet and allowing his son to pull him out of his office, down the hall, and into the main room.

  A decent sized crowd already filled the place as brothers got off for the day and stopped in for a drink or a meal. Club ass roamed around, situating themselves with their favorite bikers. As Christopher passed, they stopped and nodded to him, but no one interrupted CJ’s dogged determination.

  Motherfuckers knew better than to come between Christopher and his family.

  Outside, cold air whipped around him in the gray, blustery day. CJ had no intentions of stopping, but Christopher halted.

  “C’mon, ‘Law,” CJ demanded, pulling with all his might. “Mommie’s upset. The fingers are ugly.”

  Christopher kneeled and settled his hands on CJ’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure what his boy meant by fingers on her neck. With CJ, it could be anything. Once, Megan had burned herself while cooking and CJ ran all the way to the club to get Christopher because “fire was on Mommie’s skin”.

  Christopher had swept CJ into his arms and run from the club to his house, only to find his girl with a small burn on her hand.

  “Uncle John and Uncle Mort got rosed eyes,” CJ explained in a rush, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Mommie talk like a boy and got fingers! Please, Dad.”

  Rosed eyes? Talking like a boy? Fingers? What the fuck was CJ trying to say? Despite the fact that CJ didn’t want a fly to touch Megan, and panicked if she seemed a little off, alarm was setting into Christopher.

  Instead of questioning CJ as he’d intended, he took his boy into his arms, got to his feet and ran to his house, deciding this wasn’t a false alarm, but serious shit.

  He paused to punch in the gate code, then continued to the mud room and on into the kitchen, where he set CJ on his feet.

  Mort sat at the island, a pint of skittle vodka in front of him. One eye was swollen shut and his bottom lip was split, though not bleeding. Megan stood at the stove, her back to him, wearing a turtleneck over a dress, one of his favorites because it was short. Easy access. More than that, the blue color made her eyes even more brilliant than what they were.

  “MegAnn got fingers on her neck, ‘Law,” CJ said in a loud whisper. “That’s why she has that big neck on her shirt.”

  Mortician kept a poker face, but Megan tensed.

  Christopher released his son’s hand. “C’mere, baby,” he ordered.

  Megan cleared her throat and shook her head, still not facing him. Mortician refused to meet his eyes.

  “Whatcha cookin’, Megan?” Christopher asked, remembering CJ saying she sounded like a boy.

  She shrugged. Not talking. Not turning around.

  Christopher studied the kitchen, assessing each corner, every surface, and narrowed his gaze to the center of the island. Something was missing from it. He searched his mind and realized what it was.

  “Where those cannisters?”

  Megan had searched everywhere for just the right ones. Besides, when they were entertaining and he was keeping tabs on her, he’d seen the fuckers enough to be able to miss them when they weren’t there.

  Smelling a fucking rat that stank to high fucking heaven, he walked to his wife, set his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. Her eyes were overly bright. Before he questioned her, she laid her cheek against his chest and hugged him, her body shuddering.

  He kissed the top of her head. Glanced at the stove. A pot of boiling water sat atop it. Nothing else.

  “Show Dad your neck, Mommie,” CJ demanded.

  She stiffened, making no move to do as CJ suggested. Out of patience, Christopher grabbed the hem of her shirt and snatched it up. Automatically, she raised her arms and allowed him to slide the turtleneck over her head.

  Bruises circled her throat. Ugly, dark spots shaped like the tips of fingers. He twisted her hair and lifted the heavy mass, allowing the light to shine on his evidence that someone had tried to strangle her.

  His heart started pounding in his chest and he thought he might throw up. Someone tried to take her from him. Kill her.

  “Fuck, baby,” he said gruffly, pulling her into his arms and nosing her hair. The scent of cherry blossoms hit him. It was familiar, comforting. Her. “Megan…” He didn’t know what to say, unable to even feel anger as thoughts of losing her overwhelmed him.

  He drew in a deep breath, knowing he had to get himself together to hunt down the motherfucker who did this to her. His everything. His heart and soul.

  Words failed him right now. He couldn’t get a coherent sentence together to ask a motherfucking thing. Where did this happen? Where had she gone? Was it the Imperials?

  H
e didn’t know she’d gone anywhere today. They were supposed to workout together, so she should’ve been waiting for him.

  Who’d been on her detail today? He didn’t think it was Mort or…or Johnnie. Hadn’t CJ mentioned Johnnie, too?

  Clinging to Megan, Christopher glanced in Mort’s direction. His black eye registered. That’s what his boy meant when he’d said rosed eyes.

  “Where John Boy?” he croaked into the silence. “I fuckin’ need to talk to you and him, Mort. Find out what the fuck happen.”

  Megan stiffened, and Mortician’s jaw clenched. Not the reaction he expected. Not…his thoughts trailed off as an image of Kendall rose in his head. More specifically, the fact that she’d sought him out in his office and then threatened to expose his secrets to Megan.

  The fact that he’d…he’d choked her.

  Johnnie…wouldn’t…Christopher lifted Megan into his arms, set her on the counter and stepped back. She looked tired. Sad. Devastated.

  But not particularly frightened. If a random motherfucker had tried to fuck her up, wouldn’t he see fear?

  And why was Mortician beat up? If a fuckhead was attacking Megan, why didn’t Mort shoot the fuck out of him? They all knew Christopher expected quick and fast retribution when it came to his woman. If he wasn’t available to do it, then any motherfucker who rescued her should proceed.

  That’s why all his boys had the code to the gate. They had spare keys to the house. Normally, however, Megan left the mud room door opened for Christopher to come in on the days she expected him home in the middle of the day. Otherwise, he expected her to be behind locked doors.

  He thought about Val. The secret Megan and Mortician kept from Christopher that had everything to do with his friend, and the club’s RC. He had to play it smarter this time. For instance, if he hadn’t shot the fuck outta Val, when Christopher first suspected him of attacking Megan, he’d have answers by now.

  “What the fuck happen, baby?” he asked, low. His voice shook. “Talk to me.”

  She nodded, lowering her gaze. “I-I was upstairs,” she started.

  Mommie sound like a boy. She was so hoarse, she sounded like a teenager who’s balls was just beginning to grow to adult size.