Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “And you got a fuckin’ stick up your fuckin’ cock,” Christopher fired back, his humor leaving him. “As well as your fuckin’ ass.”

  “At least let me bring an offer to him,” Knox said, not responding to Christopher’s words.

  “No.” Christopher spoke the word with a fucking finality Knox should’ve picked up on.

  “No? Just like that? No?”

  “Be happy Outlaw said no, Knox,” Mortician said. “If, somehow, she telling the truth about her leaving you and you get her to take you back, you still not marrying my momma-in-law if you making shady fucking deals.”

  Knox’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

  “The fuck I can’t be. Roxanne met you being a straight-laced motherfucker. She not expecting you to roll to our side. Don’t want her in no danger because you get in over your fucking head.”

  “As her son-in-law, you don’t put her in danger?” Knox sneered.

  “Sure the fuck don’t,” Mort answered with confidence. “I know what the fuck I’m doing. You don’t. Sometimes, it’s all about plain fucking luck. Motherfuckers still get the drop on you no matter how fucking skilled you are.”

  Knox stiffened. “I was a cop, trained to shoot and take down bad guys.”

  “Bruh, Knox,” Digger said woefully. “You not helping your cause.”

  “So you’re admitting you’re bad guys?” Knox asked, scowling between them.

  “How about you answer that fucking question strapped to the table in the meatshack?” Mortician snapped.

  “You’re getting a little big for your britches, Mortician,” Knox said. “You demanded you and Bailey share a wedding with me and Roxanne. You told me I couldn’t live in her house. Now, you’re threatening my life. Again.”

  “Knox doesn’t mean any of this,” Johnnie inserted, looking at each of them. “In his line of work, he meets a lot of people. One was this man in question.”

  “Motherfucker might be a fuckin’ cop or any-fuckin-thing,” Christopher snarled.

  “He’s not,” Knox said stiffly. “I swear I only want to help.”

  Christopher didn’t trust Knox one fucking bit. “Why?”

  “I want to prove to Mortician that I’d never duck out on Roxanne. I want to show all of you that I’m willing to put my freedom on the line to be with her.”

  “Roxanne ain’t gonna want you to do that shit,” Christopher pointed out.

  Knox nodded. “All of you are very important to her. Let me do this, Outlaw. And when the deal is made, you’ll see I’m trustworthy. Then, she’ll see it, too, and take me back. I can move back in with her before our wedding. See? I take care of you all and, in return, you get the hell off my back.”

  “Your fuckin’ ass ain’t gettin’ to set fuckin’ terms,” Christopher said.

  “Besides, you don’t make these types of deals overnight,” Val said. “There must be something more than that involved.”

  Knox looked from Val to Christopher. “Joyner needs to get rid of the guns. AKs will be a loss leader. The Death Dwellers and Amfinger will do good together.

  “You fuckin’ talkin’ what might be club fuckin’ business without fuckin’ permission?” Christopher asked. “With-fuckin-out bein’ patched the fuck in?”

  Johnnie winced. It was quick but Christopher still saw it. Fuck, Kendall was a fucking busybody but she got that shit from Johnnie’s dumb ass. He opened his fucking mouth too fucking much. Worse, it was to motherfuckers who couldn’t shut the fuck up and keep the shit they discovered to themselves. No, Kendall and Knox used the information Johnnie provided to try to manipulate the club into doing what the fuck they wanted done.

  Christopher tossed his cigarette away, grabbed Johnnie by the collar and dragged him closer to Knox. “Text me this motherfucker number, Knox. Ima talk to him my-fuckin-self.”

  “You got—”

  Christopher grabbed Knox and banged his head against Johnnie’s, stepping back when they fell to the ground, knocked the fuck out, side-by-side like the stupid motherfuckers they were.

  He looked at Val, who stuffed his hands in his pockets and began whistling some off-fucking-key tune. His gaze roamed to Digger, who raised his hands, as if he was in a fucking holdup. Mort merely sighed, not saying a word as Christopher stormed the fuck away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The banging on her door doubled the pressure in Roxy’s head, and she forced herself into a sitting position. It seems as if she’d been living in a never-ending nightmare for the last week. After putting out the fire in Outlaw’s bathroom, she’d made it to her house, shut the door, and began sobbing all over again. The ending of her relationship with Knox devastated her. His words replayed in her head, over and over again, seeming to confirm the horribleness of Duke’s opinion of her.

  She tried to act normal by smiling and joking, as if her heart hadn’t been torn out. It was so hard, especially during her times at the clubhouse. Knox seemed to be in the main room for dinner more than he’d had in all the months they’d been together.

  Standing, Roxy rubbed her eyes. Alone at night, she cried so much her lids were painful to the touch.

  “Roxanne, open this fucking door,” Mortician yelled, pounding on her door again.

  Her quarters were her private sanctuary, the perfect place to hide until the time came for her to get back to the clubhouse to start dinner. She was uninterested in seeing anybody, especially her overprotective son-in-law. She just wanted silence. Maybe, a day or two on her own, where she didn’t have to go to the clubhouse, would help her. Yet, she didn’t have that luxury. Not if she wanted Knox to live.

  In all honesty, she shouldn’t have been looking as if she had a broken heart. If Mortician saw her now…Before she decided on the story she’d give to him for why she looked such a hot mess—she didn’t need a mirror; a woman just felt her own wrecked appearance—the door opened.

  She hadn’t heard any wood splintering, so she knew he’d used the spare key. Sauntering into view, Mortician spied her and halted, narrowing his eyes. He gave her the once over, then folded his arms and glared at her.

  “What the fuck wrong with your ass?”

  Sliding her gaze away, Roxy shrugged. “I was really tired, so after I finished breakfast, I came home for a nap,” she told him. The words sounded truthful but, to her, felt wooden. Fake. Just as her engagement to Knox had been. He hadn’t wanted to marry her in the first place. He’d been backed into a corner by the boys.

  “You sure you broke it off with Knox?” Mortician asked with skepticism.

  Roxy nodded and turned away, heading to her kitchen. She started clearing away the dishes she’d used for herself this morning, setting them in the sink to rinse them out and place them in the dishwasher.

  She did neither. Only stared at the dishes, unable to gather the motivation for such a simple task.

  A hand touched her shoulder. She didn’t jump, though. She knew Mortician was there.

  “Why you broke it off? The real reason.”

  She’d been avoiding all the boys, the women too, to evade a detailed explanation. After her simple, ‘I decided it wouldn’t work’, they hadn’t pressed her. They’d left her alone.

  Unfortunately, her time was up.

  She shrugged, determined to keep her cool, her pain deep. She didn’t want to have this conversation, now or ever. Yet, she couldn’t keep avoiding it, so she settled on a partial truth. “He wanted me to sign a prenup.” She made herself laugh. “That shit isn’t my style, so I told him to go fuck himself.”

  “He finally fucking told you about that dumb shit,” Mortician grumbled.

  “Yep, sugar. He finally told me.” It didn’t surprise Roxy that Mortician knew. She’d known he’d had his reasons for his actions.

  Guiding her by the shoulder, he turned her to face him, backed up, and slouched, all the better to study her.

  “You sure that’s all that happened, Momma-in-law? I knew you were going to be fucking f
urious. But you broke it off, so shit shouldn’t make you look so devastated or walk around like a fucking zombie.”

  “It was that prenuptial agreement and his admission that he didn’t want to marry me in the first place. It doesn’t mean I stopped loving him. I just don’t want any motherfucker who has to be threatened into proposing to me.”

  So true. Had that been the end of it, she would’ve been one mad bitch. His words, though… His view of her…

  Mortician dropped his hands and went to the coffeemaker. The pot was empty. “Sit down,” he instructed. “Let me make you some coffee.”

  “I don’t want anything, except time to myself.”

  Pausing, Mortician kept his back to her before heaving and turning around. “What the motherfucker did to you?”

  “Nothing, baby,” she lied, lowering her lashes and moving to the stool at the counter.

  As she sat, he stalked over, halting across from her, on the other side of the counter. “Knox was a frustrated motherfucker, wanting to have my rules lifted. I know that contributed to the argument. My boys told me they heard y’all shouting after you fucking sneaked to catch up to Knox.”

  She scowled at him. “I’m a grown woman, Mortician. If I wanted to talk to Knox, that’s my business.”

  Tapping his fingers on the counter, he studied her. “If you broke up with that motherfucker only because of the shit you said, you’d be cross with my fucking ass for interfering. The fact you not, proof that more shit than what you admitting to happened.”

  Frustration filled Roxy and she glared at Mortician. “I’m not one of your fucking marks that you interrogate before you decide on my fate.”

  He smiled at her, but it wasn’t nice. She’d heard rumors about the club enforcer—Mortician, her son-in-law, Bailey’s husband, her grandchildren’s father—but she’d never witnessed his chilling countenance firsthand.

  “You fucking crushed, Roxanne. It’s written all over your goddamn face. You not a mark, but that motherfucker is. I warned him not to fuck with you. Fucking with you, fuck with Bailey, and not a motherfucker in this world fuck with my woman.”

  “What do you want me to say?” she shouted. “I’m not giving you the go ahead to fuck Knox up.”

  “I’m not asking you for permission,” he shot back. “I don’t like seeing you like this. Eyes all red and swollen, like you have a fucking industrial-grade pink eye that’s so contagious your fucking eyes popping out of your goddamn head any second. Even your nose and lips look fucking swollen. You well fucking past a hot mess. You more like a blistering cauldron of fuckedupness.”

  “Boy, fuck you,” Roxy growled. “In a minute, my foot is going to be a blistering cauldron straight the fuck up your goddamn ass.” She jumped to her feet. “What the fuck do you want me to say? Knox and me are over. That doesn’t mean I don’t love the motherfucker. We just don’t fucking belong together.”

  “ROXANNE!”

  The earsplitting call boomed into the house. Lawd, Jesus! Was Knox fucking insane?

  “ROXANNE!” he cried again.

  Mortician rolled his eyes. “Some motherfucker been watching too much of A Street Car Named Desire.”

  “PLEASE COME BACK TO ME! I LOVE YOU!”

  Amusement lit Mortician’s eyes.

  “Not a fucking word,” Roxy ordered over her shoulder, hurrying to the door. She needed to stop this disaster-in-the-gruesome-making. Before Knox said something he shouldn’t, she needed to get matters in hand.

  Outside, she found Knox sitting in a chair on her porch. It was the one he always sat in whenever they enjoyed fresh air in the mornings or evenings.

  His amber gaze fell on her and he drew in a shuddering breath. “Roxanne,” he breathed.

  “Hey, sugar.”

  He swigged from a bottle of scotch. His eyes lit up and he tried to stand, but dropped back into his seat.

  “I’ll do anything,” he slurred, staring at her as Johnnie, Outlaw, Val, and Digger arrived.

  Val’s eyes widened as he stared at her. “Fuck, babe, what the fuck happened to you?”

  “That’s not how you talk to a woman, asshole,” Johnnie chastised.

  “What you mean, John Boy?” Digger countered. “She not a woman. She Roxanne.”

  “She got a pussy, motherfucker,” Knox snarled, drunk off his ass. He almost sounded like one of the guys. As if he belonged in the club with the rest of them. “That makes her all woman.” He slammed a fist against his chest, his attitude quite a distance from his usual walk on the uppity side of life. “My woman.”

  He looked at her again. Regret and pain shone in his eyes.

  “Knox,” Roxy blurted, “come inside so we can talk in private.”

  He shook his head and swayed where he sat.

  Digger laughed. “Motherfucker full.”

  Outlaw and the others snickered. By now, Mortician had joined them on the porch, the only one who didn’t look amused.

  “You’re not ignorant, Roxanne,” Knox started. “Or classless. Or a gold digger.”

  Her insides quaking at his words, she laughed, high-pitched and loud, then rushed to him, snatching the bottle from him mid-drink. Liquor sloshed all over. “Shut the fuck up, Knox,” she whispered. “If you want to walk away alive.”

  “No!” he yelled, blowing fumes of alcohol in her face. “I don’t want to live if I don’t have you.” He pounded his chest again. “You’re not a gold digger, my love. I’ve been such a stupid motherfucker.”

  “In a minute, you’re going to be a dead motherfucker,” she snapped under her breath, so he alone could hear her.

  As if that worked.

  On cue, Mortician said, “Gold digger? What the fuck he talking about?”

  “He’s just repeating what Duke said to me,” she blurted, turning to face Mortician, and shielding Knox with her body.

  “No, my love! It was me. All me. I called you so many horrible names. I don’t deserve to live. I don’t want to live if you won’t forgive me.”

  The intakes of breath and heated curses alarmed her.

  “I forgive you, Knox.”

  “NO! NO!” He pointed at her. “You listen to me, Roxanne,” he slurred. “You’re not a cougar who is trying to lead me around by my dick. You’re not trying to force these degenerates on me. I know you don’t think I’m Santa Claus.”

  “Knox—” she started.

  An arm wrapped around her waist. She struggled against the iron-hold, winning her freedom. On her feet again, she met Outlaw’s grim look.

  “Time for us to take the fuck over, Roxanne,” he said.

  Mortician yanked Knox to his feet. Roxy rushed to his other side and grabbed his hand, tugging with all her might.

  “No!” Knox cried. “Let them kill me. I don’t deserve to live.”

  “You sure the fuck don’t,” Mortician answered, yanking Knox toward him.

  Roxy stumbled. Outlaw’s quick reflexes allowed him to steady her.

  “This is personal shit, boys. This is between Knox and me. It’s not your business,” she added, because nothing she said seemed to matter. She rushed to Knox again as Mortician bent and started to toss Knox over his shoulder.

  “Not our business?” Outlaw lifted her again, set her down, and then blocked her way. “What the fuck that mean?”

  “Yeah, Rox,” Digger added, “me and Mort fucked up our own old man. The club helped us get him and that was fucking personal.”

  “The fuck it was,” Outlaw said in a hard voice. Harder, since he’d been sounding pretty fucking cold for the last several minutes.

  “Prez, for you it wasn’t,” Digger responded. “For me and Mort? Yeah. If Sharper didn’t come in our momma we wouldn’t been born. That make it personal as a motherfucker.”

  Snickering at the discussion of cum and mothers, Mortician started down the steps, a limp Knox thrown over his shoulder. Roxy didn’t know if he’d passed out or if Mortician had knocked him out.

  “John Boy,” Mortician called,
the words floating over his shoulder, “stay with Roxanne, while we work on Knox in the meatshack.”

  “No, no, no!” Roxy cried, starting down the steps to stop this death march.

  Johnnie blocked her, allowing Mortician to continue on, with Outlaw, Digger and Val behind him. Only one way she could stop them.

  Later, when Knox was safe, she’d send him away. Only a drastic reversal would sway her to marry him, so this was a temporary fix to save his life.

  “Stop them, Johnnie. I love Knox. We just had a misunderstanding.” She heaved in air. “I still intend to marry him.”

  Johnnie’s eyes widened. He studied her a moment, so she nodded, to reaffirm her statement.

  “Fuck,” he growled, and turned on his heel. “Call Meggie,” he ordered, then took off running.

  “This can’t be right,” Meggie mumbled, using the syringe to suck up pee from the cup, then squeezing drips out onto the stick. Sitting on the toilet, she put the timer on her FitBit, ignored the other pregnancy tests that told the tale, and waited.

  Days ago, she’d told Doc Will that she needed to see her—the night of Meggie’s fight with Kendall—but she hadn’t gotten around to it. A visit was imperative now.

  She kept putting off her visit to Doc Will, but she could no longer do so.

  The urge to vomit had awakened her early this morning, so she’d rushed to the bathroom and gave into the nausea demon.

  She hadn’t been feeling well for a few days. Since the fight, she’d been dragging.

  On so many levels, that confrontation had just devastated Meggie. She’d taken up for Kendall, against her own beloved CJ, and that witch still put her hands on her child. Even when she said she wouldn’t, Meggie had given Kendall chance after chance. For every reaction Kendall had, Meggie had felt an action had precipitated it.

  But Kendall would never change. She didn’t take her illness serious. She didn’t take her family into consideration. And she didn’t look toward the future. All in all, she was so poisoned with hatred that it would take drastic actions for Kendall to change.

  That realization, too, had devastated Meggie. Then the news of Roxy and Knox’s break-up had taken precedence and Meggie had set her hurt over Kendall aside. On the days she hadn’t felt well, she’d chalked it up to stress and worry.