Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  When they reached the main road, Cash turned his bike on a dime, so sharp Knox knew they’d crash. They didn’t, making it to the dead-end street where the club was located, in one piece. Cash halted in the middle of the deserted road, not speaking, allowing his bike to idle. A few minutes later, he started off again. At the gate, it slid open almost as soon as they reached it.

  Cash rode to his spot and killed the ignition. “Come on,” he instructed as they dismounted.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “To fucking fantasy world,” Cash said, rushing ahead. “Where does it look like we’re going?”

  “The club.”

  “Give that motherfucker a silver dollar.”

  Cash paused long enough to glare at Knox. Opening the club door, he allowed Knox to precede him inside. Though after two in the morning, a few bikers remained in the club. Heavy breathing drew Knox’s attention to the pool tables. One of the brothers was fucking a girl. She was completely naked, not caring that the man had merely pulled his cock out through his fly since his pants were still up.

  Knox walked on. At the bar, another girl was on her knees sucking Potter’s dick. He’d never been in the club at this hour without Roxanne and the rest of them. The hypersexual atmosphere disgusted him.

  “Knox,” Johnnie called over the fuck-sounds, and laughter, and Harley pipes rumbling from outside.

  Keeping his eyes forward, Knox went to Johnnie’s table where Cash had sat.

  Johnnie poured a glass of Scotch for Knox and kicked out the chair for him to sit. “I think it’s nice that you spent a little time getting to know Cash, Stretch, and Fee.”

  Knox looked over his shoulder and nodded toward the indiscriminate sex happening. “This doesn’t bother you?”

  Johnnie and Cash exchanged confused glances.

  “Do you see something that should?” Johnnie asked. “Is a girl being mistreated?”

  “They’re engaged in public sex. Doesn’t that count?”

  “Are any of them being forced?” Johnnie persisted.

  Knox looked behind him again, then turned to Johnnie and shook his head. “No.”

  “Then what they’re doing is none of our business,” Johnnie decided.

  Knox searched Cash’s face and then refocused on Johnnie. He’d heard about the wild parties, the orgies, the Bobs, those special women who’d gotten their names because of dick-sucking skills. He’d probably even glimpsed this behavior before, once or twice. It was different now. He lived on the premises.

  “I’m going to my room,” he said and walked away.

  In the privacy of his room, he leaned against the door. Only for Roxanne would he live in a place like this, surrounded by seamy thugs and illicit activities. Once he was undressed and in bed, though, he decided he’d allow this to go on for another week or so. He missed Roxanne and wanted to be with her.

  As he closed his eyes, he didn’t think of her. Cash had given him a cover story about spending the evening at his house. He’d have to thank the man the next time he saw him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Darkness surrounded Meggie. Underneath her, cold concrete froze her naked body. She twisted, the chains imprisoning her clanking with her movements. Her determination to live, survive, seeped away like sand through an hourglass. She shivered, losing the hope she’d tried to maintain. Her strength deserted her, even as she fought the darkness threatening to claim her. Her children needed her.

  Her husband needed her.

  She wanted to live. Raise CJ, Rebel, Rule, Ryder, and Ransom to adulthood. Grow old with Christopher.

  A deep chill spread through her, stealing her breath. She gasped. The beat of her heart sped up, then slowed down. A sob escaped her as she gave into the inevitable. She drew in one last breath, but death robbed her midway. The frantic pounding of her pulse rose in her ears, then all went silent.

  Even as her brain shut down, deprived of much needed oxygen, Meggie resisted. She didn’t want to die.

  Someone was screaming…

  “Megan, baby, wake the fuck up. You dreamin’.”

  “Christopher,” Meggie sobbed. “I want to live. Please don’t let me die.”

  “Shhhh. I’m here, Megan. I got you.”

  Her husband’s scent surrounded her. Spice. Man. A hint of smoke and vestiges of alcohol.

  Safety.

  Shuddering, Meggie opened her eyes. Christopher’s arms wrapped her up. One of his hands cradled the back of her head. Tears streaming down her face, she clung to her husband and wept, angry, afraid, and ashamed. Nightmares plagued her like demons. Once in the midst of one, it gripped Meggie in its dark clutches.

  “Wanna talk about it?” Christopher asked.

  His subdued tone made her cry harder. “You shouldn’t have disturbed your sleep, Christopher.”

  “Baby, you was screamin’ like a motherfucker. Woulda had to be fuckin’ grounded for my ass not to wake the fuck up.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He released her, lifted himself up and braced on his forearm to look at her. His look tender, he thumbed away tears from her cheeks. “If you ain’t sleepin’, I ain’t sleepin’. That shit simple, so don’t fuckin’ apologize. We in this shit together.”

  She nodded, grateful to be alive, thankful for the beautiful man who was her husband.

  “Neither of us motherfuckers ain’t understandin’ that you fine. You alive. I just keep dreamin’ I get to you too fuckin’ late and you keep fuckin’ dreamin’ almost the same shit.”

  “I don’t understand what’s going on. Things have happened to me before.”

  “Yeah, baby. I guess you just fuckin’ outta practice. Shit been goin’ fuckin’ good, so ain’t no motherfuckers been tryna fuck you up.”

  “I’m out of practice to be harmed?” she asked, to be sure she’d heard him right.

  “Fuck, yeah. My ass outta practice for havin’ you fucked up.”

  “That sounds a little—”

  “Fuckin’ psycho?”

  She giggled. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  He grinned at her. “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, baby.” Rolling onto her, he nuzzled her nose with his own. “We gonna get through this, Megan,” he promised on a rough whisper. “It ain’t a good three fuckin’ months since we fuckin’ found you. Ain’t no wonder that we both trauma-fuckin-tized.”

  “We’d reached such a happy place.”

  “Life what the fuck we make it. We gonna make it a happy fuckin’ place again. We just gotta fuckin’ work through you bein’ snatched the fuck up in broad fuckin’ daylight when we wasn’t at war with nobody. That shit right there e-fuckin-nuff to fuck with any-fuckin-body.”

  Her lips trembled.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, low and sexy, brushing his mouth over hers. “I ain’t able to pro-fuckin-tect you from what the fuck goin’ on in your fuckin’ head, in your fuckin’ dreams, but I gotcha back in every-fuckin-thing else.”

  “I’m so angry with Mystic. And-and afraid.” She thumbed his mouth. “And-and ashamed that I’m so affected.”

  “I shot the fuck outta that motherfucker and my ass still fuckin’ furious with Mystic. I wish I coulda brought him the fuck back to fuckin’ life and killed him five, ten more fuckin’ times. I ain’t even able to chop the motherfucker the fuck up cuz of your fuckin’ ball.”

  Caressing his jaw, she gave him a gentle smile. “It’s okay. You saved me.”

  “No, it ain’t okay. Motherfucker hurt my fuckin’ soul when he snatched you. And, yeah, my ass scared like a motherfucker something else gonna happen to you. More than fuckin’ that, Megan, I’m shame, too. You trust me to protect you. You trust me to protect our boy.”

  “Stop that,” she ordered. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You—”

  He put a finger over her lips. “Ain’t sayin’ that for you to comfort my ass. You had the motherfuckin’ nightmare, not me. I just wanna let you know that my ass angry, afraid, and a
shamed, too, and that shit pissin’ me the fuck off so fuckin’ much.”

  “We’re quite the pair.”

  “Yeah. Mr. and Mrs. Fuckin’ Pussified Motherfuckers.”

  They met each other’s gazes and broke into laughter.

  Christopher stole another kiss. “Megan, baby,” he croaked. “You my fuckin’ world. You the air that keep my breathin’. You my fuckin’ everything and I ain’t ever gonna get tired of sayin’ that to you. If I…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed. “If you woulda been…gone…” He paused. “I told my-fuckin-self you woulda fuckin’ know how fuckin’ much I love you cuz I tell you all the fuckin’ time.”

  “If I would’ve been, er, gone, when you found me, I would’ve departed having no regrets about my life with you, except that it ended too soon. It is an honor and a privilege to be your wife and the mother of your children. I would’ve left knowing I am well-loved and knowing I let you know how much I adore you.”

  They fell silent, staring at one another, drinking in their closeness, their love, and their friendship.

  Ever so slowly, Meggie opened her legs, offering her husband a cradle between her thighs.

  He turned onto his back, grabbed her hand, and tugged her toward him. “Fuck my mouth.”

  Her nipples hardened at Christopher’s command. Removing her nightgown, she climbed onto him and settled her pussy onto his mouth, the stubble on his face abrading the skin on her inner thighs.

  The warm pad of his tongue lapped her inner lips, circling her clit, and thrusting into her opening. She moaned, riding his lips, her juices hot and flowing. Her legs trembled. He worked her pussy with his tongue, lips, and mouth, tasting her, sucking her, and licking her.

  “I’m coming,” she screamed, out of her mind with ecstasy, unable to contain her loud, breathy moans or the trembles in her body.

  His tongue still buried in her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her onto her back. Meggie stretched her legs open, arching her back and pushing against his face.

  “Your pussy delicious,” he told her in a thick voice that threatened to make her come again. “Ima keep your cunt in my mouth and devour it.”

  “Christopher,” she groaned, squeezing her nipples almost to the point of pain. “Get my pussy off.”

  He raised her legs, resting her knees on her shoulders before burying his face against her and sucking her opening, his nose teasing her clit.

  “The smell of your pussy the best scent in the world,” he growled, sniffing her seam and inhaling like a man lacking oxygen. Using his fingers, he opened her pussy lips, and met her gaze. “Ima lick your cunt til you come. Look at my fuckin’ tongue eatin’ your pussy up.”

  She nodded, frantic, lifting her hips to offer her hungry clit to him.

  He swirled his tongue around her bud, gentle touches that hinted at what he intended. He abraded her mound by rubbing his hair-roughened cheek against the delicate skin. He tongued her, gently at first, until he finally gave her what he always did. A relentless assault on her clit that made Meggie wild in her movements, her words, and her screams. She exploded over his tongue and he slurped her cream in wet laps. Lost in her orgasm, her body floated to another plateau where nothing but pleasure resided. A place where her flesh burned and her nerve endings crackled.

  “You so fuckin’ wet.” He released her legs and braced himself above her. His green eyes were dark and hooded, smoldering with desire. Sinking into her, he closed his eyes and groaned, withdrawing and then slamming into her again.

  “You feel so good,” Meggie gasped. “I love having your cock inside of me.”

  He pumped into her harder, faster. “My cock yours, baby. Put it in you wherever you want.”

  She loved the power he gave her, while still remaining so firmly of control. He swiveled his hips, grinding against her swollen clit. Clinging to him, Meggie arched, exposing the column of her throat to his probing lips. He rained kisses up, paused to nip her chin, then claimed her mouth, thrusting his tongue between her lips. She tasted the remnants of her orgasm, met his deep thrusts. When he withdrew, she lifted, rotating against him.

  “Fuck, Megan. Fuck,” he repeated. “I’m about to flood your cunt with my cum.”

  “Give it to me,” she demanded, jerking against him, tremors starting in her center and spreading throughout her body. “I want every last drop,” she got out, trembling.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  Powerless to deny him anything he wanted, Meggie met his gaze. Passion flushed his face; his labored breathing fanned across her skin. His dazed expression gave way to a curled lip. His body stiffened and his cock jerked inside of her before warmth flooded her insides. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding and caressing him through his most vulnerable moment, their souls and hearts laid bare.

  He rolled onto his back and pulled her into the crook of his arm, then kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, Megan,” he whispered. “I got you. Always and forever.”

  “I love you,” she whispered drowsily, snuggling close to him.

  As she drifted off, his words, “I love you more,” reached her, and she smiled, thankful, once more, that the Fates had put Christopher in her path.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “What was your childhood like?”

  Dr. Briscow posed her question as she had the others, with calm detachment. She was an older woman, who wore horn-rimmed glasses and a severe bun that pulled at the skin of her temples. Despite her no-nonsense attitude, similar to all Kendall’s previous psychiatrists, Dr. Briscow seemed different. Interested. As if what Kendall had to say really mattered.

  “To get to the root of your problem, we have to dig deep, Kendall.”

  Nodding, Kendall rung her hands together. “When my father died, my entire world changed.” In low tones, she explained how her mother had lost her mind—literally—and ended up in an insane asylum. Her father had adored her, but she’d figured out early that her mother didn’t want her or like her. She’d sought her mother’s approval for years, even after her little sister, Caroline, had been born. “When Caro hanged herself, Mother preferred to die, too. She shot herself in the head, sitting a few feet away from me.”

  The image of the blood streaming from Marie’s head replayed in Kendall’s head. She sniffled. After typing a moment, Dr. Briscow handed Kendall a box of tissues.

  Dabbing at her eyes, Kendall twist her wedding ring. It—Johnnie—was the reason she’d sought a new psychiatrist. She was so afraid, she’d lose her husband, whom she truly loved. She just couldn’t seem to stop herself from ruining her life.

  “My childhood was lonely,” she finished. “Deprived of love. My mother was a very strict disciplinarian, though she withheld her affection.”

  Dr. Briscow continued typing her notes. “Do you withhold affection from your children?”

  Kendall opened her mouth to answer with a definitive NO! She couldn’t get the word out, though, recalling Rory’s little face during the times she’d forced him to sit at the table to finish his meals. That practice had ended because of Johnnie. She’d barred Rory from wearing jeans and demanded he call her and Johnnie by their first names. As if she wanted to disassociate herself from being a parent. She didn’t allow any of her children in certain rooms in her house, but it had been her first born, Rory, who had gotten the brunt of her…her mistreatment.

  “Yes,” she answered, shame ringing in her voice. “I-I thought I was raising Rory to be…”

  “To be?” Dr. Briscow pushed when Kendall couldn’t find the words to continue.

  “Not to be,” Kendall corrected. “Not to be a biker. Not to be like his cousin, CJ, or his uncle, Christopher. I wanted my son—all three of my children—to be better. But it came out as resentment and hostility toward Rory.”

  “I see.” Dr. Briscow tapped on her keyboard. “Have you ever beat your children?”

  “I’ve disciplined Rory when he was bad. I’ve spanked him.”

  “And y
our other children.”

  “Matilda is a little girl and JJ is too young.”

  “You’ve never abused your children or any minor in your care.”

  Kendall thought of CJ, but quickly pushed the incident with him out of her mind. He hadn’t been in her care. Besides, what he needed went beyond disciplining. That boy was out of hand.

  “You have to be honest with me about everything,” Dr. Briscow chided, as if she knew Kendall withheld information. “You’re wasting my time and your own if you don’t be completely open with me.” She gave Kendall a knowing look.

  Shifting in her seat, Kendall nodded. “I understand, Dr. Briscow.”

  The woman waited a moment longer, but Kendall refused to budge. “I promise I will never lie to you, doctor,” she swore. “I want help. I want my life back. My husband. My family.”

  “I understand,” Dr. Briscow said. “I will get to the bottom of your problems. As long as I have your cooperation and honesty, you have my promise.”

  “Thank you,” Kendall responded, determined to pretend she’d never hated a little boy through no fault of his own at first. It was simply due to who his father happened to be. Now, she couldn’t stand his lack of manners and his determination to emulate everything Outlaw did.

  This wasn’t about Outlaw and CJ, though. This was about Johnnie, Rory, Matilda, and JJ, and how meaningless her life felt without them.

  “My lady.”

  Roxy smiled at Knox’s words as he held open the back door of Bailey’s Escalade. This morning, as she’d cleaned up from breakfast, a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses had arrived. A gift from Knox with a dinner invitation on the enclosed card.

  For the entire day, she’d went over in her mind how she’d style her hair; if she wanted dramatic makeup or sexpot; whether she’d wear panties or not. In essence, she’d floated on a cloud. She hadn’t been momma of four with a son who hated her or glam-ma or club mother. She hadn’t been divorcee or cancer survivor or anything but Knox’s lady. His fiancée. She’d reveled in that wonderful feeling.