Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “Witches have all sorts of special powers.”

  He leaned closer to her, his mouth inches from hers, his fresh scent provoking all kinds of reactions in her. Nausea. Desire. Need.

  “Finish shitting.”

  Kendall gasped in disgust. “I wasn’t doing that, pig.”

  His white teeth flashed, his delicious mouth curving into a blinding smile. “Doesn’t smell like it.”

  Kendall slammed the door shut. “Go away, you disgusting asshole.”

  His laughter floated through the doorway. “Soon enough, gorgeous.”

  No doubt because, sooner or later, everyone left her. “Give me ten minutes.”

  A moment of silence and then, “ten minutes,” he echoed. “Then I’m storming the fortress.”

  Tempted to test him to discover what he’d do, Kendall shoved the thought aside. Bravery was one thing, stupidity was another. Challenging Johnnie was stupid. “Ten minutes.”

  After washing her face and finding a new toothbrush in the linen closet, Kendall walked to the kitchen, stopping short at seeing the contents of her purse laid out on the breakfast bar. Johnnie’s big hand swallowed her cellphone as he stood and unapologetically scrolled through it.

  Every time he moved, something jingled. The curling ends of his blond hair made him look like a fallen angel. He wore a grey suit, white shirt, and blue tie. Not at all the image of a big, bad biker. Unlike yesterday or the first night she’d slept with him.

  “I had your car delivered here.”

  She stared and he folded his arms, leaning back. Shoving down her simmering anger at his insufferable attitude, she licked her lips. “My car is outside?”

  He nodded and cocked his head to the side. Waiting.

  A heartbeat of silence that frayed Kendall’s nerves almost to the breaking point.

  His mouth curved into a cool, half-smile. “Yes.” He leaned his big body against the counter, thrusting his pelvis up, drawing her gaze to his erection.

  Kendall swallowed. “I can leave?”

  Johnnie lifted a brow and barked a nasty laugh. “No.”

  Fury surged through her at the implacable word. “You’re using me as a fall guy for whatever’s going on between you and Spoon.”

  “I can never mistake you for a guy.”

  God, she could slap him for his sardonic words. He had a quick response for everything. Just once, she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, rattle him like he kept her rattled.

  A hot, delicious gleam entered his eyes. The lazy smile responsible for turning Kendall’s insides to putty and her brain to mush curled his mouth. The Johnnie Effect. That’s what Kendall was coming to recognize whenever he switched to the wicked sex god.

  Impatient at her wayward lust, she shifted her weight, more nausea bubbling in her. “I only did what I needed to do.”

  “By fucking with my club?”

  Kendall stepped closer to him and flattened her palms against his chest. His muscles tensed beneath her touch. “Please,” she whispered. “I only did what I needed to do. And it wasn’t only you. I needed information on Outlaw, too.”

  Johnnie grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “That information was going to be used for something. To frame us or blackmail us.”

  “Let me go. The Dwellers don’t hurt women.”

  “Bitches, far and wide, are working on my ass with that refrain. We need to announce our revised policy.”

  “Which is?”

  “Any threat to Death Dwellers is quickly extinguished. Trying to bring about the downfall of Outlaw, he, we, see as a threat to Megs. It’s our new policy to terminate anyone who’s a threat.”

  Of everything else Johnnie said, Kendall honed in on one point. “Why do you call her Megs?”

  He pushed her against the wall, crowding her space, the source of the clanking noise escaping her. It certainly didn’t sound like keys. “To me, she’s Megs and always will be.”

  Kendall absorbed his scent, remembering his taste, ratcheting up her nausea.

  Irritation surged in her and she shoved against him, but he grabbed her wrist and propelled her toward the bedroom she’d used.

  He pushed her onto the bed and straddled her. He pulled handcuffs from his jacket pockets and Kendall finally identified the source of the jingling she’d been hearing.

  Her surprised squeak turned to kicks and hisses, but his strength surpassed hers and he had her shackled to the bed within minutes.

  “You’re going to pay for this.”

  Brushing off his jacket, he shrugged. “If it makes you feel better to believe that, that’s fine.”

  “Keeping hostages is illegal,” she spat.

  “Then I’m one illegal motherfucker.”

  “You could let me go,” she argued, twisting her body in a futile attempt to free herself. “Because if Spoon doesn’t hear from me soon, he’s going to get suspicious.”

  Johnnie straightened his necktie. “I give a fuck about that how?”

  She shot daggers at him. “The disappearance of a decent woman won’t go unnoticed. Kidnapping and murdering me could bring your stinking club down. Maybe not from law enforcement, but certainly from Spoon.”

  “Because you’re a decent woman?” Johnnie asked with infuriating amusement. “I learn new shit every day.”

  She growled in frustration. “Let me go.”

  “Or what? Your baby’s father is going to kick my ass?”

  “So you tie up pregnant women?”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “I swear to you all kinds of terror will be reined on you for holding me against my will.”

  He lifted a brow. “Really? By who?”

  “Brooks,” she said after a painful moment of searching her brain to come up with a name belonging to anyone who’d give a damn about her.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw and he swept his gaze over her body, his long lashes shadowing his cheekbones and hiding his expression. If she’d accomplished nothing else with her empty threat, she’d succeeded in removing Johnnie’s nonchalance. His body went rigid and the sardonic humor evaporated.

  “You think? Whoever Brooks is, he’ll understand when I tell him my cock guided my decisions since you have such good pussy.”

  “It amazes me you have a brain with the ability to think in any part of your body,” she snarled, bucking against her restraints and flinging careless words at him. “At least your dick can think. Your head is wasted space on your shoulders.”

  He laughed. The asshole actually laughed at her. “You’re priceless,” he said around chuckles.

  “You’re despicable.”

  Not that her words bothered him because he nodded and turned toward the door.

  He was really going to leave her tied to this bed. “No, Johnnie, please! Suppose I need to pee?” God, she peed more than a polecat now that she was pregnant. “When are you coming back? Are you going to leave me here and let me starve? Are you a passive-aggressive murderer?”

  Hand on the doorknob, Johnnie frowned. “What the fuck is a passive-aggressive murderer, Kendall?”

  She didn’t know. She was asking him questions so he wouldn’t leave her bound for God knew how long. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe, someone who doesn’t do the killing. Just allows death by starvation or something.”

  He stared at her in shock, like she belonged in an insane asylum. She felt like she belonged in a looney bin. “And you graduated from a law school?”

  Her insides shrank. Her brain told her he was being a smart ass, but the hurt, vulnerable part of her withered. She nodded curtly.

  He drew in a deep breath. “I have to go and I don’t trust you enough to leave you to freely walk around my house.”

  “I won’t go anywhere. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  He considered her for a moment. “I intended to take your car keys on the off chance you escaped,” he said with a smirk, knowing the task impossible. She had nothing near her to attempt to pick the lock and she
certainly didn’t have the key to the cuffs.

  He sauntered toward her and she blinked to counter the Johnnie Effect, complete with that unmatchable swagger. Moments later, he’d freed her and she sagged back in relief.

  He stared at her, his nostrils flaring, his regard intense. She lifted herself on her elbows, caught in the snare of his look. Regret and anger and desire and dislike. He balled his hands into fists and Kendall wondered if he battled himself so he wouldn’t reach out and touch her.

  He backed away and pocketed the handcuffs he’d removed from her wrists and ankles, then held up his hands. “These hands? They’re the hands of a killer. I’ve killed more men than I can count or remember. There’s nothing passive-aggressive about me. Keep that in mind.” He picked up his keys. “I have to get to work.”

  And, with that, he was gone, leaving Kendall to stare at his retreating back, speechless.

  Johnnie halted his Navigator in front of the gray, non-descript building, located outside the city limits of Long Beach, in between cities like a no-man’s land with blurred lines of jurisdiction.

  The memory of Kendall standing in his kitchen, wearing his pajama top, her red hair falling in luxuriant waves around her shoulders, had haunted him the entire drive to the lab. He couldn’t imagine what in hell was wrong with him. She’d offered free pussy to him and, instead of taking it again, he was resenting the hell out of her. No, more than that, he didn’t like her at all. He wanted to fuck the shit out of her again, but, she had more fucking secrets than a dossier at the Pentagon.

  Scowling, Johnnie got out of his SUV and slammed the door shut.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” Mortician called.

  He was leaning against his Harley, arms folded, the cold rain not seeming to bother him. It clung to his dark skin, plastered the black T-shirt to his biceps. It wasn’t raining hard, but Johnnie figured Mortician must’ve been waiting for a while since he was running late thanks to Kendall.

  He’d opened his bedroom door in time to see her dash across to the bathroom and his intention was to leave her in peace. As she pointed out, he had her phone and her purse. Then, he’d heard sounds…retching sounds.

  And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, down to his bones, Kendall was pregnant. Her refusal to admit as much made him wonder why. Any man with a reasonable amount of sense would wonder…if he’d fathered the child of a woman who turned up pregnant after he’d had her a few weeks before.

  No. It couldn’t fucking be. He’d worn a condom both times and he hadn’t noticed a leak or a break. What the fuck happened to the luck of the Irish? So, maybe, he was Irish, three or four times removed. Still…

  A muscle ticked in his jaw and he shoved aside thoughts of her, focusing on the lab where he’d called and given the staff the day off. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Mortician shrugged. “Rain against my skin letting me know I’m alive. Feel me?”

  Johnnie nodded, walking toward the employee entrance, Mortician in step beside him. “We’re going to get through this.”

  “Fuck, John Boy. I’d say the same thing. We could get through anything. Even Lowman, if Outlaw knew everything.”

  “We’re going to get through this without Christopher knowing anything.”

  “He’ll hate you.”

  Johnnie wouldn’t consider that possibility, but, if that was the price he had to pay, then so be it.

  “We need to round up every motherfucker who share DNA with you and Prez and fuck ‘em all up. Straight up. This bullshit out of hand.”

  “It all goes back to Logan. I should’ve known when Cee Cee slinked on the scene, Logan wouldn’t be far behind. But…FUCK!”

  “Did you know…?”

  “Who the fuck Cee Cee was? Not until Megs said it.” He balled his fists at his side and flipped on the lights, needing to release the tension building in him.

  “Yo’, John Boy. I don’t need you slitting my fucking throat cuz you lost you fucking mind.”

  “I haven’t done that in years,” he snarled. “I learned to control myself.”

  “Don’t give a fuck. You related to Lowman and he one deranged motherfucker. You and Prez keep your psycho murdering in check when Lowman not fucking with your head.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Mortician. This isn’t the time for your stupid fucking jokes.”

  “No joking. Lowman is fucking tick tick boom. As in needing a check-up from the fucking neck up. And when he fucking blow, he taking motherfuckers with him.”

  “I can’t help but wonder if all of Logan’s sins are coming back to haunt us. Cee Cee and Big Joe…they both had deep ties to my grandfather.”

  “That’s what the fuck I’m thinking. A house built on shit going to crumble one fucking day.” Mortician shook his head as if he tried to shake off the bleak meaning behind that statement. “I think we need to call Christopher, Johnnie. On the real.”

  “No.”

  “Fuck, man—”

  “How the fuck you think Christopher would feel knowing we had the same piece of trash for a father because our grandfather…when it comes right down to it, he blamed Christopher because Cee Cee raped Aunt Patricia. He doted on me because he sold my mother to the fuckhead, then had his son raise me. My uncle.”

  Mortician eyed him. “Prez’ll feel about the same way he’ll feel if he find out you didn’t fucking bat a fucking eyelash…never let on your connection to Cee Cee when that motherfucker was causing all that havoc a few weeks ago.”

  It had been there, on the fringes of his brain and his conscience. But Johnnie had built his own house of cards and once he removed one, all of them would collapse, leaving behind shambles. He and Christopher had endured their own forms of hell to get to this point in their lives. And Christopher was finally fucking happy. “You’re knee deep in this pool of diarrhea, too, you know, Mort? He’ll think we all betrayed him and—”

  “Okay, John Boy,” he said quietly. “We gonna fix this for Prez. Protect him like he protect us and he never going to find out.”

  Mortician’s solid word gave Johnnie a measure of peace, knowing they’d work together on Christopher’s behalf. What they decided, Val and Digger would follow suit. Besides, Val had a lot at stake, too. He had the power of Zoann’s mental stability in his hands. She adored Logan and Johnnie doubted she could handle what he’d done to her.

  “You realize we digging deeper holes for ourselves? Secrets have a way of coming back to bite you in the ass.” Mortician paused and met Johnnie’s gaze, his own haunted. “I never fucking forgot. That day…that day was a deal made with the fucking devil. And that day wasn’t a deal with Boss. It was a deal with Lowman cuz he the fuckhead who blurted that shit. Big Joe was gonna tell you the truth.”

  About Zoann. About the fact Logan had gambled away her virginity and fed her to the wolves.

  “I wish Big Joe wouldn’t have covered for him. I would’ve killed him myself, and then Prez would’ve known the truth then not years later.” Mortician pulled in a breath. “You got to wonder why the fuck Big Joe let that shit go. What other shit they were into that he’d put Lowman on a fucking plane to South America.”

  Johnnie studied Mortician grimly. “I never thought about it,” he confessed. “I was too busy coming to terms with the bombshell my grandfather dropped on me.”

  “Well, you had ten fucking years to come to terms with the fact that Christopher your half-brother. Get the fuck over it and figure out what the fuck them two—three if Cee Cee was involved—dirty motherfuckers was hiding.”

  Johnnie stalked around the room, incredulous at how fast his days of beer and pussy had fallen apart. “I don’t need this shit, Mortician. Not now. We’ve been enjoying booze, weed, and women for a little over a week. All of a sudden, problems are hitting from all different directions. Logan. The Torps. Kendall.” He glared over his shoulder. “Your dick aimed directly at Bailey’s pussy.”

  “Don’t fucking talk about Bailey’s pussy,” Mortician growled and,
although they had a fuckload of other problems, discussing women was always a better topic. “If you like having fucking teeth stuck in your gums.”

  “Oh, I can’t talk about what’s between Bailey’s legs but you can undress Kendall and feel her the fuck up?” Johnnie rifled through his keys until he found the one for the door. It had been months since he’d been there, so it took him a moment to remember the correct one.

  “Feel that fucking bitch up? You crazy?”

  Stepping aside and allowing Mortician to walk in first before following behind and locking the door again, Johnnie rounded on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It mean I got fucking eyes in my head, assfuck,” Mortician bit out, shoving him back. “I don’t trespass when a motherfucker tongue drops the fuck out his mouth every time he see a bitch.”

  “I don’t do that shit. I don’t even know her.”

  “Don’t give a fuck. And you might not know what’s in her head, but you know how her pussy feel and sometime that’s all the fuck it take to drive a dude over the edge into mad dog territory.”

  Johnnie lifted a brow. “I thought that was young pussy.”

  Unable to meet his gaze, Mortician sniffed and glanced around, picking up empty tubes and unused needles. “Yeah, John Boy. That, too.”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to be out of a lot of fucking money pretty soon.”

  “Bailey and me friends. That’s it.”

  “You two aren’t even supposed to be that. K-P would fucking castrate you.”

  “Fuck, John Boy, can you blame him? I ever have a daughter, I sure the fuck wouldn’t want her involved with a biker.”

  And if he ever had a daughter? He already knew the answer and understood what Mortician was saying. Still, the heart was going to lead you where it led you.

  He waited while Mortician explored the lab, before squeezing the bridge of his nose and blurting, “She’s pregnant.”

  Mortician’s hand stilled in the air as he held a glass specimen jar. “Who? Bailey?” he asked in a strangled voice that revealed more than words ever could.

  Any other time, this would’ve been prime fuck-with-Mort material, but not now, so he shook his head. “Not Bailey. Kendall.”