Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Meggie had left her guards behind. She didn’t need their opinions and nasty comments.

  The door opened and Dr. Will walked in. Ever since Meggie had known Jordan Will, she’d had braids. Today was no different. Her eyes were sparkling as brightly as her wedding set.

  “Hi Meggie,” Dr. Will greeted, setting her tablet on the counter. “How are you feeling?”

  “Pregnant,” Meggie said on a sigh.

  “That’s because you are.” Dr. Will smiled. “Your test came back positive.”

  “Are you sure?” Meggie persisted. “I peed in a cup here and on sticks at home. My pee might be wrong.”

  Dr. Will studied Meggie. “Would you like to come to my office so we can talk?”

  “No.” Tears rushed to Meggie’s eyes. “I want you to tell me that I’m not pregnant. We just started having sex again after his procedure.”

  Dr. Will and Viola exchanged shocked looks.

  “I haven’t been with another man,” she said.

  “Then—”

  “That means I got pregnant before the procedure,” she interrupted the doctor. “Meaning Christopher went through unnecessary pain and paid needless money. Meaning, uh…” Her voice trailed off and she sniffled.

  “Oh! Right. Mr. Caldwell won’t take too kindly to this,” Dr. Will said, nonplussed.

  Christopher had once assisted Cam to rescue Dr. Will from very violent in-laws.

  “Dr. Will, shouldn’t Mr. Outlaw’s doctor have run tests before the procedure?” Viola asked. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m just saying.”

  “He should have, but I’m not sure if he did or not. I didn’t know about this beforehand.”

  “What reason would a physician have to not do right?” Viola asked. “You could always be just a few days pregnant.”

  “I guess. In answer to your first question, it might have to do with the cash Christopher pays for his medical expenses. Since my kidnapping, he hasn’t been himself,” Meggie admitted. “I don’t know if he would’ve even thought about tests prior to the procedure. He was just looking for a way to keep me safe and, apparently, the urologist was more than willing to grab the money without doing his job properly.”

  Viola harrumphed. “Well, if that doctor was fool enough to double-cross Mr. Outlaw, then he deserves whatever he gets.”

  Turning to a cabinet, Dr. Will pulled open the door. “Let’s not panic and go through this step-by-step. First, we’ll do a pelvic exam. Just to reassure you, I’ll also send you to the lab to get a blood test. You can’t get any more definitive than that.”

  “Okay, Dr. Will.”

  Offering an encouraging smile, Dr. Will headed for the door. “Change into a gown and we’ll get started.”

  “You were kidnapped about two and a half months ago, correct?” Dr. Will asked Meggie as they both seated themselves in the physician’s private office.

  Memories of that underground prison went through Meggie’s head, and she could only nod.

  “Were you having any pregnancy symptoms before then?”

  “No.”

  “Were you under a lot of stress?”

  Other than Kendall’s lies and schemes leading Johnnie to strangle Meggie, nope, not at all. “Some,” she admitted.

  “Have you heard of women who are far into their pregnancies, or in labor before they realize they are pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “The medical term is cryptic pregnancy. For whatever reason, the fetus produces low levels of HCG. It could be a genetic quirk, a chromosomal disorder, or in response to maternal stress. In the latter case, and to put it simply, there’s a bit of self-preservation on the baby’s part. Now, that could be what’s happened in your case.”

  “I’ve just started to feel pregnant.” Not wanting to wait the day it would take to get results from the blood test, Meggie had requested Dr. Will perform an ultrasound. She’d confirmed Meggie’s pregnancy and then suggested they talk in her office after all. A horrifying thought crossed Meggie’s mind. “Is the baby okay?”

  “He’s perfect,” Dr. Will answered.

  Meggie smiled. “We might have a girl.”

  “Your baby is a boy,” the doctor responded kindly.

  Pursuing her lips and drawing her brows together, Meggie cocked her head to the side. “How, erm, the sex of a baby can’t be discovered until eighteen weeks or so.”

  “Yes. And you’re that plus a week or two.”

  Omigod, that urologist was so dead. “No!” Meggie protested. “That can’t be right. I was still getting periods. I just started to get nauseated two or three weeks ago.”

  “I took the measurements during the ultrasound. He’s six point three inches and weighs about ten ounces.”

  “But…but…No! Dr. Will, no! What about the fight I got into with Kendall? Are you saying I was pregnant then?”

  “Yes. You were pregnant when you were kidnapped.”

  Christopher’s doctor would be tortured for a very long time with that news. “This can’t be happening. I’ve always known when I was pregnant.”

  Standing, Dr. Will came around the desk, stooped in front of Meggie, and took her hands into her own. “Every pregnancy is different. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “What am I going to tell Christopher?”

  Dr. Will’s look turned thoughtful. Releasing Meggie’s hands, she stood. “You can tell him you’re pregnant but the fudge the number of weeks. Your blood pressure was slightly elevated. You’re stressed out today, so I’m not concerned.”

  “Christopher always knows when I lie.”

  “You can also not say anything until he notices since your belly is still relatively flat.”

  Meggie nodded. “I’m sure it won’t hurt if I wait a few days before breaking the news to him. Maybe, he’ll take it better if a little more time has passed between memories of the pain of his procedure and my announcement.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  It did, though Meggie felt no comfort. Sometimes, the best laid plans were the ones that went the most awry.

  Spooning with his girl on the sectional in the family room, Christopher laughed at her giggles after he’d told her a raunchy joke. Diesel was in his room, waiting for his now-nightly talk with Christopher. He didn’t want the motherfucker to feel unwanted or isolated, so he made it a point to go to Diesel’s room to check in with him once Christopher and Megan checked on their younger children one last time.

  CJ, Rule, and Rory were asleep—or in CJ’s room. Knowing his oldest boy, he’d taught Rory how to fucking fake sleeping, so they could get into shit together. Only once had CJ gotten into such serious shit that Christopher had to spank him and that was when he’d decided to chop fucking onions like his Ma, then cook the motherfuckers.

  The fire extinguisher had been enough to kill the flames.

  Somehow, CJ had neither burned nor cut himself.

  Tonight, Rebel and Matilda were having a sleepover with Harley, and Doc Will’s kid, Ava. Ransom, Ryder, and JJ were in the nursery, while Christopher and Megan…

  Yeah, life was fucking good.

  Thrusting his hard cock against Megan’s ass, he nosed her hair then nipped her earlobe. She hooker-moved against him, her sigh mingling with his groan.

  “Want me to fuck you right here?” he whispered.

  She shivered. “Yes,” she breathed, then released a breath. “But, first, I have to tell you something.”

  Because he took up most of the space, even on their sides, Megan was one fucking move away from rolling the fuck on the floor. Whenever she gripped and tugged his hand, he knew he needed to sit up and then hold onto her as she did the same.

  Once they were side-by-side, she sidled a look at him, then bowed her head.

  “I’m having a baby,” she mumbled.

  Of all the fucking things he was expecting, that sure the fuck wasn’t it. “Say that shit again.”

  She scowled at him. “I’m pregnant.”


  Cocking his head to the side, he narrowed his eyes at her. “For fuckin’ real, Megan?”

  “Yes! Why would I lie about that?”

  He could think of a few reasons. For instance, she always worried about his fucking soul. Ignoring the fact that he’d fucked up so many motherfuckers he’d lost count, she thought stopping him from continuing his fucking-up of assfucks that fucking deserved it, would save him from hell. He didn’t want to burst her fucking bubble, but he’d gotten his fucking invitation from that pitch-fork motherfucker years ago.

  “My cock a-fuckin-mazin’, huh, baby? Motherfucker knocked you the fuck up already.”

  She nodded, hard and fast, enough to snap her fucking neck. Now, Christopher understood where his boy got those exaggerated head fucking movements.

  “When you found out?”

  “Today,” she answered. “I…yeah…I went to Dr. Will. I haven’t been feeling well the past several weeks and—”

  “Past several fuckin’ weeks?” he said, seizing on her slip.

  Her eyes rounded and her face crumpled. “Uh, the past several days.”

  Folding his arms, he glared at her. “You about two, three weeks?”

  She swallowed, rung her hands together, and averted her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “If a lil’ motherfucker happen to fall outta your pussy in the next…eight and a half months, that just fuckin’ mean you deliverin’ early, huh, baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “That mean I ain’t got to go fuck up no motherfucker cuz I got fuckin’ unneeded cock trauma, yeah?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “If this lil’ motherfucker arrive a fuckin’ day be-fuckin-fore you reach nine months, my killin’ drought fuckin’ over. Hear me, Megan?”

  Tears rushing to her eyes, she sniffled. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  Vulnerability shone in her blue eyes, stealing Christopher’s anger. He drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he said gruffly. “I ain’t meanin’ to act like a mean fuckhead. Of-fuckin-course, my ass happy.”

  “I am, too.”

  “That’s what the fuck important.” While that was true, he didn’t appreciate a motherfucker fucking over his dick when it wasn’t fucking necessary.

  Oh, yeah. There was also the fucking money.

  She kissed his chin. “I need to check on CJ, Rule, and Rory.”

  Helping her off his lap, Christopher nodded. “Okay, baby. Ima go check in on Diesel, then meet you in our fuckin’ room.”

  “Okay.”

  Once Megan left him alone, he glowered in the direction of the door. Now that he thought on it, he believed she’d last had her period about six or seven weeks ago, which meant one fucking thing.

  Christopher was going to hack off that urologist’s cock, then torture him, and fucking see to it that he was deader than dead.

  Case fuckin’ closed.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Two days after Knox almost ended up in the meatshack, Roxy walked into the quiet clubhouse in early dawn. Knox and Johnnie were still in their respective rooms, for which she was grateful. After Mortician assisted Knox to the clubhouse, he’d stumbled and staggered like the drunk motherfucker he was. He fell onto the bed, gave her a goofy grin, and fell asleep…passed the fuck out.

  “C’mon,” Mortician had ordered.

  “No. He might need something.” The words were for pretense. They came automatically, unbidden.

  “Motherfucker dick drunk anyway,” Mortician said. “He can’t do nothing.”

  Roxy scowled. “The motherfucker is drunk,” she countered.

  Nodding, Mortician sighed and his look softened. “I’ll be in the main room,” he said, then left her alone with Knox.

  His face was flushed from the abundance of alcohol he’d consumed. Every now and then, a snore had escaped him, and she’d grinned.

  After studying him while rooted to her spot, she’d sat on the bed before curling up against him. For a few stolen moments, she’d allowed herself to remember the intimacy they’d shared. He went to oncology checkups with her and enjoyed her healthy lifestyle. Food that was good for a motherfucker, generally wasn’t good to that motherfucker. Knox kept her spirits up when she missed some of her old favorites. When she’d stray to far away from her diet, he’d reel her back in.

  In the evenings, he’d discuss cases with her, especially the crazy ones. Grinning, one in particular had come to mind. A man’s wife had gotten rid of the family parrot. Knox had been hired to track the bird down and interview him. The husband was sure the parrot had witnessed the woman’s infidelity and would tell all.

  As it turned out, motherfucker was right on all accounts. The wife had been cheating and the bird talked his ass off. In the end, Knox had reunited the bird with the poor husband.

  Roxy chuckled at the silliness of it all, wishing for those times again and knowing they were gone.

  “Roxanne,” Knox had mumbled. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

  The miserable words dug deep into her. She’d already forgiven him. She just couldn’t forget because she couldn’t trust Knox not to resort to the same tactics whenever they argued. He looked down on everything she liked, including tattoos and motorcycles. They’d never find a gray area.

  Kissing the base of his neck, Roxy had gotten out of bed. She hadn’t even taken her shoes off. At the door, she’d turned and taken a last look at him, then she’d found Mortician and told him she was ready to leave.

  Now, her long, sleepless night had finally drifted into morning. She was dragging her ass, just as she had since she’d awakened. Not even her coffee and chicory had stimulated her tired brain. She needed to get herself together.

  Members would be stopping in soon, on their way to work for coffee, breakfast, gossip, or the smorgasbord.

  She had to get a move on. She flipped on the lights, righted a chair that must’ve been knocked over and forgotten about, then adjusted the thermostat to remove the chill from the air.

  It didn’t take long for her to start the coffee to brewing. Afterwards, she headed to gather what she needed for breakfast. Today’s menu would be simple: scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast.

  In the midst of cracking eggs and allowing the contents to fall into a big bowl, she saw Knox sprawled on the ground, heard the awful words he’d spoken to her, and felt the weight of his great-great grandmother’s ring, back on her finger to save his life.

  She paused and held out her hand. The center diamond sparkled and gleamed, the brilliant appearance a direct contrast to her hollow feeling.

  Knox had honored her with it. If he felt as he did about her and the prenup and so many other things that had shocked her, why would he give her a Harrington family heirloom?

  Drawing in a deep breath, she leaned against the butcher block table, so fucking angry with him. However, she was even more hurt, and very afraid. If she made one misstep, Mortician and Outlaw would discover the truth, and kill Knox.

  Picking up another egg, she tapped it on the table, then opened it along the fissure line and allowed the contents to drop into the bowl. There was a comfort to the rhythm she adapted. Yet, her problems—her heartache—lurked just beneath the surface of the monotony.

  Just as she cracked the twenty-fourth egg, her last for the morning, the door swung open and Knox stepped in.

  He resembled an extra for The Walking Dead with his pale skin and green undertones, hideous gashes and bruises, red-rimmed eyes, and slow walk.

  “You are wearing it,” he breathed, staring at the ring.

  Fuck, but he was banged up.

  “I have no choice,” she said, refusing to comment on his appearance.

  “There is always choice, Roxanne.”

  She shrugged, grabbed the whisk she’d set out on the table, and started whipping the eggs together. “A fucking pity your ass didn’t choose right and kept your goddamn mouth shut.”

  “I’m sorry,�
�� Knox told her.

  She whipped faster.

  “I didn’t mean anything I said.”

  They’d been through this already. How many times would the motherfucker apologize to her?

  “You’re a fucking liar,” she retorted. “You meant everything.”

  “I was frustrated.”

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Roxanne—”

  She recoiled at the way he said her name. Any other time, she would’ve melted into his arms at the sexy sound. Enough of this bullshit. “You can be frustrated. The bullshit you threw at me was plain fucking mean. It showed your true colors.”

  He thrust his fingers through his hair, then gave her a pleading look. “I love you.”

  Those words from Knox still held power over her. Whenever he said it, giddiness lightened her head and sensuality invigorated her body. Now, though, she only felt gutted.

  Because she still loved him—and almost admitted it—she clenched her jaw. She’d ride the storm. Her feelings for him would flicker out in due time. She just had to keep reminding herself what a motherfucker he turned into when he was angry.

  “I know you still love me.”

  She glared at him. “What the fuck is it to you if I do, motherfucker?”

  “You do,” he insisted. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t put on this charade to save my life. You’d let them kill me. I want to die, Roxanne. My life is meaningless without you.”

  She had so many responses to that, but she refused to continue this conversation. “Knox, I’m busy. I don’t have time to talk to you.”

  “I’ll do anything if you forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven,” she stated. “Too much fucking trouble to hold a grudge. Anything else?”

  He pulled her into his arms, thrusting his hard cock against her. “Remember the last time you and I were alone in the clubhouse in the early morning?”

  They’d fucked each other on a barstool, one of their intimate moments that would live in her memory forever.

  Without warning, he covered her lips with his own. Roxy’s body responded immediately, and desire shot through her.

  This motherfucker was out of his fucking mind or thought she was. Dick whipped and dumb bitch were two entirely different things.