Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  She turned her face toward him, her expression so pitiful he had to grit his teeth to keep from howling like an animal. But she was alive, unlike…no, he’d think about…about—

  He swallowed. Megan was alive. He needed to hold her, be inside of her to feel her warmth, have her heartbeat vibrating through him.

  “Open the door, Megan.”

  She reached out, her fingers trembling, but then paused, and stared at him.

  “Please?” he coaxed. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  She studied him a moment longer before unlocking the door. The roar of Harleys could be heard in the distance. He’d let Val deal with them. He closed the door behind him and she launched herself into his arms, pounding on his chest and sobbing into his neck.

  A “good” man handled grief and fury different than a woman. A man like him didn’t want to handle tears. Tears reminded him of all that was sweet and fragile in life, represented all that he wasn’t. He didn’t want conversation. Her licks he could handle. He’d just beaten Snake to death, hadn’t he? But he didn’t even want that. He didn’t want to understand her feelings or have any sympathy.

  Guilt washed through him and he grabbed her hands, pinning them to her sides, and ravishing her mouth. She gasped against his lips but he ignored her, bypassing the stiffening of her limbs and guiding her back. He refused to remove his mouth from hers. He didn’t want to hear her blame and hate. The salt of her tears was a bitter pill best ignored. Still kissing her, he cupped her cunt and massaged her clit. He just needed her aroused enough not to hurt her when he entered her.

  Just as her body began to soften and melt, the door opened and Megan tried to shove him away.

  “Oh, sorry, Outlaw,” Val said, sitting in the driver’s seat and slamming his door closed.

  “You, stay,” he ordered, pointing at Megan. He lifted up and cracked Val across the back of his head.

  “OW!” he whined. “What the–”

  “Get the fuck outta here, asswipe,” he growled and whopped Val again. “That’s for not givin’ Megan your fuckin’ jacket to cover her up. I’m gonna let you slide on the fact you saw her naked again. Stress and duress, under-fuckin-stand? That don’t mean Ima forget that fuckup.” He slapped him again simply because Megan was lifting herself and he had to grab her waist and hold her against him. “But, unless you a brain-dead motherfucker, ain’t no fuckin’ reason for you to sit your dumb ass in this ride when you saw me with Megan. Interruptin’ my shit cuz you upset her. Go take a smoke or a piss, and wait ‘til I call you back here.”

  Val hustled outside, so fast Christopher would’ve smiled if Megan wasn’t struggling against him now. It took him a minute to get her under control and back in position. When she lay beneath him, he pushed two fingers into her. She croaked a sound.

  “It’s okay, Megan,” he promised her, nuzzling her neck and gentling his touch in her pussy. “It’s just me. I’m so sorry, baby. I ain’t protected you.” He closed his eyes. “Or Kiera and Ellen. Or–” He couldn’t. He just couldn’t finish the last. “I deserve whatever I got,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He leaned his forehead against hers, replaced his fingers with the tip of his dick. “But none of you did.” He drew in a deep breath and exhaled a sob. She stayed still for half a second before she lifted her hand and thumbed his tears away. She thrust her hips up, allowing him to sink into her.

  He groaned, not saying a word, just moving inside of her, accepting her soft caresses on his back and tiny kisses on his chest. He wanted to bring her over the edge with him but everything was topsy-turvy. He wasn’t sure if anything would ever be right again. He emptied deep inside of her, shouting her name. As soon as he could, he withdrew and sat up. She curled up, turning her head away, making it clear she had offered him the comfort of her body but she really didn’t want anything to do with him.

  “Fine, Megan.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, smelling her pussy on his fingers. “Have it your way.” Opening the door, he ordered Val back in the car. The man handed him clothes, then started the engine.

  “Digger thought you might need those.”

  “Smart fuckin’ man,” he grumbled, pulling on jeans. “Before you cut out, lemme jump in the front with you.”

  “You don’t want to…er, okay,” Val finished when Christopher glared at him.

  He glanced at Megan again. Her eyes were closed. He didn’t know if she was really asleep or if she was just blocking him out. It didn’t matter. He got the message.

  Once the car got on the road, he realized they were close to the compound. Although Val offered to drop Megan off there, Christopher declined. He’d put her up in a hotel and allow her to stay there as long as she wanted. She didn’t ever have to see him again, if she didn’t want to. And he imagined she didn’t.

  He ignored how the thought of never seeing her again—of having her hate him—made him feel.

  He remained in the car with her while Val took care of reservations. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was the best he could do at the moment. Weary and tired, he wished she’d say something, anything, but her silence hurt him worse than a thousand accusations. And she wasn’t asleep. He looked back at her more than he wanted and, except for the first time, found her eyes wide fucking open.

  Finally, he was opening the scratched up gray room door and urging her in. He flipped on all the lights. A girl like her would probably think the place was a dump. No matter. He was going above and beyond already.

  She stared at him, silvery tracks of tears sliding down her face. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

  “Val gonna bring your stuff and some bills, Megan. Stay here as long as you wanna. I’ll keep the room paid up.”

  She didn’t hug him back. Turning away from him, she walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

  “IT’S YOUR FAULT!” ZOANN SCREAMED, flying at Christopher the moment he stepped out of the rain and walked into the living room of her house, three days later, where all his sisters and nieces were. “It should’ve been you! You’re nothing! Nothing. I’ll never forgive you. You’re a thug and you should be put down, like the dog you are.”

  Christopher had no response because, for once, he agreed with Zoann. His mother had been undeserving of going like she had and she’d gone like that because of him. But he needed comfort, too. She’d been his mother, whom he loved as much as he could love, and she’d loved him, as unworthy as he was of it. He thought of going to Megan, but she hated him, too, so he’d done the next best thing. Sought out his sisters.

  Nothing hurt so bad as the wrath of your family. His family. His sisters and their kids all pointed fingers at him. Didn’t they know he’d have given his life to protect Patricia?

  Yeah. It should’ve been him killed, but it wasn’t. They’d just have to deal with it. He had to. For the rest of his life he had to live with the knowledge he’d caused his mother’s death.

  Christopher swallowed tightly. “Can’t change what happened, Zoann. It is what it is.” He fought to keep his tears at bay, wishing he had the right words, knowing what he’d said just made him sound like an unfeeling prick. But he didn’t need his sisters labeling him. He knew what and who he was and so had his mother. So had Megan. And they’d loved him anyway, faults and all.

  He’d loved them, too. But had he ever said it? Did his mother know he loved her? Did Megan?

  “Why are you here?” Avery sneered. Sitting on the sofa, she had her arms around Zoann. “You’ve done enough.”

  “She was my ma, too. I wanna be part of the plannin’ for her…” He couldn’t finish.

  “Funeral! FUNERAL!” Bev wailed in a strangled voice.

  Christopher sniffled, unable to summon the man inside him to hold back the tears. He’d just reconnected with her, but, at least, in the year he’d stayed away from her, he’d known she was alive. Angrily, he swiped at another goddamn tear, vowing this would be the last time these self-righteous bitches would see him cry. He pierced Zo
ann with a furious look.

  “Put your anger and disgust aside and tell me how my ass able to help.”

  Sasha scampered to him and leaned her head against his thigh. “I still love you, Uncle Chris.” She smiled up at him again. “Where’s Megan?”

  Despite what he said, he felt like crying all over again. Fuck him, he was turning into a pussy and, proven by the size of his dick, no one could call him that. He crouched down and kissed Sasha’s cheek. “I love you, too,” he got out.

  “As if you know the meaning,” Nia managed through her tears. “Get out of here, Sasha. Your uncle and I have to discuss Nana. Go outside and play with your cousins.”

  “Okay, Momma.” Sasha scampered to the door and disappeared outside.

  “At least she don’t think I’m a monster,” he muttered. Though he was.

  “She doesn’t know you like we do. Neither do the other two.” Ophelia spoke for the first time since he’d walked in.

  Though he’d barely taken note of her presence, he thought she’d remained silent because she understood his pain. But, no. “Right. I’m sure you bitches gonna fix how those innocent little girls feel ‘bout me.”

  “They have eyes and they have ears. They’ll learn soon enough for themselves,” Zoann said.

  Ophelia sighed. “I don’t want to argue with you. Mom wouldn’t want that.”

  “Nope. She wouldn’t,” Christopher agreed, not wanting to put too much into Ophelia’s words.

  Bev and Avery helped Zoann to her feet, leaving them alone without another word.

  “They want me to talk to you. They thought maybe you might stop over, so they chose me.”

  “They can’t stand the sight of my ass, huh?”

  “They’re stricken with grief and anger,” Ophelia whispered. “Can you blame them?”

  No, he wanted to say. He deserved their scorn. But not their hatred. Families stuck together, no matter what, even for death. Especially for death. Couldn’t they see he was grieving, too?

  He drew in a broken sigh, experiencing emotions he didn’t know he possessed. He couldn’t handle grief. Anger, scorn, and hatred was his comfort zone.

  “What, Fee? What you bitches conjured up for my punishment?”

  “You can certainly be dramatic when you want,” Ophelia scoffed. “We’re not punishing you. We can’t do to you what it’s obvious you’re already doing to yourself.”

  “So what they wantcha to talk to me ‘bout?”

  “None of us can forgive you for what’s happened.”

  “Then don’t,” Christopher snapped, fed up. “That it?”

  “No. We don’t want you sitting with us at the services. We don’t want to hear from you after the funeral.”

  “Anythin’ else?” he asked icily, ready to get the fuck out of there. The curtains were drawn and he suddenly felt like he was suffocating, like he was still buried in that dirt, fighting for air.

  She wrung her hands in her lap and squirmed, unable to meet his eye.

  “Lemme guess,” he snarled sarcastically. “Money. You want me to fuckin’ pay for…for Ma’s funeral.” His voice cracked through the word.

  Ophelia nodded. “It’s the least you can do.”

  “Fine,” Christopher spat, stalking to the door. “Ima pay, then fuck all you bitches. I ain’t needin’ none of you.”

  Pausing long enough to say goodbye to Sasha and the other two, he got on his bike and sped away.

  A WEEK LATER, MEGGIE CLUTCHED her coat around her, the cold drizzle adding misery to an already grief-stricken day. Christopher stood on the other side of the cemetery, his brothers and their old ladies behind him. It shocked her to see him in a suit. She didn’t know bikers owned suits. Her daddy hadn’t.

  Her nostrils flared at the thought of her father and she pushed the pain aside, studying the man she couldn’t stop thinking of. In contrast to his club members, his blood relatives—his five sisters and three nieces—stood away from him. Meggie had witnessed their snub of their brother at the church. They hadn’t even reserved space for him delegated for Patricia’s family.

  All too soon, the minister spoke a few final words and then mourners were placing white flowers on the elaborate casket. His brothers patted his back, touched his arm, or nodded and kept moving towards their bikes. Christopher barely took note, instead following the progression of his sisters and nieces.

  Meggie covered her mouth with the back of her hand, terribly confused. She hadn’t slept much this past week, haunted by nightmares of all that had happened. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw blood and the dead faces of Patricia, Ellen, and Kiera. She heard Snake’s sneering words when he told her Christopher had killed her father.

  She was exhausted, sick to her stomach, and heart sore. All the plans she’d had were pushed aside to run to her daddy. She hadn’t thought, beyond escaping Thomas, about what else she’d do. Now that Big Joe wasn’t there—he wasn’t even alive—she had absolutely no direction.

  Returning to her mother would defeat the purpose of all that had happened in the nearly three months she’d been gone. Thomas would be merciless. He didn’t like to be bested and Meggie had run away, thereby thwarting his intentions for her.

  She felt Christopher’s gaze on her and looked at him. He wore dark glasses. That, coupled with his black suit and black hair, made him look like an A-List movie star.

  “Go to him, Megan,” Johnnie whispered, his hand on her shoulder.

  She glanced up at Christopher’s cousin. He was the one who’d called her and offered her an invitation to Patricia’s funeral. She insisted to him, and herself, she’d only attend out of respect to a woman she’d liked. But, deep down, she knew she wanted to see Christopher. She’d never asked how Johnnie got the location of her whereabouts, but she supposed Christopher had told him.

  Johnnie squeezed her shoulder and she saw Christopher ball his hands into fists, his body growing even more rigid. If such a thing was possible.

  “He needs you,” Johnnie insisted. “Judging by the way he’s debating on if he should storm over here and beat me to the ground, I’d say he wants you, too.”

  “Johnnie–”

  “Go. Please. You don’t have to leave with him. Just go to him. Offer your sympathy. His sisters have spurned him–”

  That was all the impetus Meggie needed. Pressing her hand against her belly, she made her way through the damp, green grass. She stopped an inch away from him and he looked down at her, silent. A muscle ticked in his clenched jaw. Meggie noted the Death Dwellers preparing to hop onto their bikes, the chrome on the heavy machines shining like beacons in the dull day.

  She brushed off the lapel of his coat. “I’m so sorry, Christopher,” she whispered.

  He sandwiched her face between his hands and bent to kiss her. “Me, too, Megan.” He kissed her on the head and pulled away, striding toward his bike without a backward glance.

  After all twenty bikes had roared away, Johnnie walked up to Meggie.

  “Did you tell him?” he asked, twisting her hair around his fingers.

  Meggie frowned, staring into the distance until only smoke from the exhaust pipes remained. “Tell him what?”

  “About the baby.”

  Her gaze flew to his and she flattened her palm on her belly, something she did a lot of lately since confirming her pregnancy, three days ago. She’d only taken three or four—maybe, five—home pregnancy tests, but all of them were positive. She shook her head.

  “Are you going to?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Fair enough. But he’s going to find out, sooner or later. You stay here and your belly starts growing, he’s going to figure it out.”

  “He hardly comes to the area where I’m staying.”

  Johnnie raised a brow. “That doesn’t mean he’s unaware of what’s going on. He has one of the boys watching over you constantly. They have rotating shifts. So if he doesn’t see with his own eyes, they will, and he’ll find out.”

>   “He has people following me?”

  “Protecting you.”

  “Spying on me.”

  “Does it matter?” Johnnie snapped in frustration. He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, we can make everybody think the kid is mine.”

  “I-I’ll let you know,” she promised.

  He smiled. “Do that. Let’s get you out of this weather.”

  CHRISTOPHER CHECKED THE AMMUNITION IN his gun, the tequila boiling in his blood but not blotting out the hatred in his sisters’ eyes or the fact that his mother had to have a closed casket. He couldn’t forget the unreadable expression in Megan’s eyes when she’d come to him, urged on by his cousin. Not because she gave a shit about her father’s killer. She was just a good girl with good manners.

  She had absolutely no place in his world, and he had no place in hers. When their two worlds collided, death and destruction happened. He didn’t have a kind heart. Nor a forgiving one. Once he made examples of the rebels, he’d never return out of the darkness.

  The four men who’d deserted with Snake and the eight who’d been assisting Rack stood handcuffed, blindfolded and gagged. They were moments away from joining the three fucks in the corner whom Christopher had killed with a more personal touch. The ones who’d dared touch Megan and humiliate her. According to Val the ones who’d caused her to scream until she lost her fucking voice.

  He held his semi-automatic up and glared at his brothers. “This what happens to motherfuckers that betray me.”

  Remorseless, he opened fire, pumping bullets into the men who’d had no second thought of planning his demise. It was over in a matter of minutes. He stared at the carnage.

  This was his life. Megan Foy had absolutely no place in it.

  Two hours later, he stood at the bar in the clubhouse, holding a bottle of gin. He couldn’t believe it had just been this morning he’d been at the cemetery, telling his mother good-bye and hearing Megan’s sweet voice offering her sympathies.

  He wore a pair of jeans, debating on whether or not he’d take one of the bitches to his room and have his dick sucked.