Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  He’d won the battle about school and about hanging around Christopher more. At first, Christopher had rejected his company, but, slowly, his cousin accepted Johnnie was there as his friend and his cousin. Not to change him. Not to disparage him. But to watch out for him like he’d always watched out for Johnnie. This year, when Big Joe went to Europe, Johnnie was going, too. Of course, he could do without fucking psycho Snake, the moniker Christopher had pinned on Joey. In life, though, the fucking ugly came with the fucking pretty. Snake might’ve been pretty to look at, but he had a fucking ugly soul.

  “Just out for a drink?” the girl who’d bumped into him asked.

  “Yes,” he answered as the bartender set their drinks down. She had some type of pink drink that was probably both sweet-tasting and head-busting. Sweet drinks fucked him up quicker than straight liquor. “What about you?”

  Her wide mouth tasted the pink drink. Her pink lips and pink tongue perked Johnnie’s interest.

  “I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” she answered. “He’s running late, though. Held up at work.”

  “Don’t worry. He won’t stand up a gorgeous woman like you.”

  She cocked her head to the side, flipping her long, brown hair over her shoulder. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  “All women are,” he answered in honesty and smiled. “In their own way.” He’d learned that firsthand over the past two years. Women were magnificent creatures and he loved every inch of them. “Take you, for instance, sweetheart. Pretty blue-green eyes. A head full of shiny brown hair. A wide mouth made for co—“ He couldn’t exactly say cock sucking, so he cleared his throat and amended his words. “Made for kissing.” His gaze roamed over her body. My God. Her body was full and lush, her tits more than a handful, her ass plump and generous.

  “I’ve had a baby. Two years ago,” she added morosely. “I can’t get the rest of the weight off me and—“

  “And there’s just more of you to pleasure and love,” he interrupted. “I think you have a beautiful body.”

  She giggled and Johnnie knew he was making her nervous, when he wanted to put her at ease. He wasn’t even trying to pick her up. She just seemed in need of attention and kind words.

  “I’m thirty,” she whispered, her tone almost ashamed.

  “A pretty face, a killer body, and an experienced woman. You’re the perfect package.” Of course, he needed to tone his compliments down. The more he showered her with them, the more her eyes lit up in interest. One thing he refused to do was move in on another man’s territory. Before she got the wrong idea, he finished his drink and stood, then held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, but I need to get going.”

  Her face crumpled, but she nodded, accepting his hand in a tentative shake.

  “Who the fuck are you?” a male voice boomed over his shoulder.

  Johnnie noticed the girl shrank back a little and he glanced over his shoulder to find a hulking man, glaring at him. He turned, hoping to diffuse the situation. “Just someone keeping your girl company until you arrived, man.”

  “I don’t appreciate pretty, rich boys thinking they can move in on my territory.”

  “It wasn’t like that, baby,” she squeaked, panicked. “I bumped into him and we just struck up a conversation. He was just leaving.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said in return, “but I’ll deal with you later. As for you,” he said to Johnnie, “get the fuck out of my face before I slam you into tomorrow.”

  “Come again,” Johnnie said, incredulous, his temper flaring. No way, no how would he stand for any motherfucker talking to him the way this asshole was talking to him. He’d kill him first.

  “You heard me, boy. Now get the fuck out of my face.”

  Rage swept Johnnie’s reason away. Lately, it was harder and harder to keep the anger away and he didn’t need an asshole grating on his nerves and pulling it up. Instead of leaving—like he would come to realize would’ve been the prudent choice—he shoved the brute and head butted his nose, the spray of blood feeding the darker side of him. Before he recovered, Johnnie punched him in the throat, the girl’s scream bringing his sanity back. The man lay wheezing on the floor.

  “Sorry,” Johnnie said to the girl, exhausted to his soul. He backed away, not trusting himself and not knowing exactly who he was so angry with. Grandda, yes. And himself for almost always bowing to the man’s pressure. Stumbling away, he hurried outside into the bracing night air, pulling his shirt collar up and deciding to walk to clear his head, which he’d been trying to do by coming to the bar.

  His firm decision to go to a nearby college had liberated him. Only for a bit. His first semester he’d worked to pay his tuition because Grandda had been determined he go away. Johnnie had held firm, so from the second semester on, Grandda had covered his tuition.

  It was like making a deal with the devil. Grandda was relentless, drilling him about his grades, his image, and Johnnie’s loyalty to him. Grandda did his best to keep him weighted down with responsibilities so he wouldn’t get to the MC on weekends. Mostly, visiting Grandda because the man claimed a deep loneliness in the year since Gran’s death and handing over the reins of the club to Big Joe.

  Christopher damned near lived at the clubhouse now, although he wasn’t a full patch member yet. Big Joe had taken a shine to his cousin and what the man, now known as Boss, said, no one questioned. Boss was a law unto himself and, unlike Grandda, he let everyone know it.

  That, Johnnie supposed, was the most infuriating. Grandda’s standing in the community was the complete opposite from the sometimes ruthlessness he displayed behind the scenes. And he wanted Johnnie to be the same hypocritical way, share the same narrow-minded views he did.

  Sometimes, he hated Grandda and that fact was what made Johnnie angriest. It made him want to kill and howl and rage. Growing up, viewing the world with the eyes of a man, was the hardest and most heartbreaking. It stole away a child’s innocence and made him realize his hero-worship had been misplaced. Grandda was a controlling, manipulative, mean-spirited bugfuck. Not to mention homophobic, racist, and so sexist it stretched into misogyny.

  Footsteps crunched behind him and Johnnie paused, glancing over his shoulder. The street lights revealed the overgrown hulk from the bar. “I suggest you turn the fuck around and leave me the fuck alone,” he called, starting forward again.

  “Fuck you, asshole. You want to sneak an attack in on me. I’m going to make you fucking pay. Embarrassing me in front of my girl.”

  “Go pay attention to your girl, motherfucker, instead of courting your own fucking death.”

  Not that he’d ever killed. But Johnnie had the ability to do it. He knew he did. He couldn’t have so much bloodlust and rage in him without being able to end someone’s life with no compunction.

  He was yanked back and before the man got a good hold on him, Johnnie elbowed him in the chest, earning his freedom. This time, though, there was no girl to scream and pull him back. There were no witnesses. No filter to his overloaded brain.

  He only stopped when the man lay on the ground, at Johnnie’s feet, unmoving. Blood ran from his nose, his mouth, and his ears. His eyes. And Johnnie knew before he knelt down and felt for a pulse, he stared at a dead man. Murdered with his bare hands.

  His stomach turned and he leaned over, unable to pull his expensive loafers back before the vomit hit the ground. He fell on his ass and stared at the man before hanging his head in his hands, realizing he was crying when he felt the wetness on his fingers.

  What…? Jesus, he’d killed someone. He’d…Grandda had created monsters in him and Christopher, using different techniques but with stunning completeness.

  Grandda? No, John Boy. Not his grandfather. His grandfather might’ve been at the heart of Johnnie’s rage but he hadn’t made him beat a man to death.

  Johnnie swallowed and swiped at his tears, not knowing what to do. He was just a hanger-on at the club, so the brothers wouldn’t help him. His life was over.
The murder would be discovered and he’d be arrested.

  His fingers shaking, he pulled out his cellphone, wishing like hell he’d walked away earlier or not taken such a little used pathway where his shoe prints could be tracked in the snow. He dialed Christopher’s number, not sure what he’d say to his cousin. Not sure what his cousin would say to him.

  “Yo’, John Boy?” Christopher answered, yelling over the noise in the background. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “I killed him, Christopher,” he croaked.

  “Johnnie, you there?” Christopher growled in frustration. “Get the fuck away from me, bitch. Hold on a minute, Johnnie.”

  He’d hold on the rest of his life, but it didn’t take long for the background to fall silent.

  “What’s up, John Boy?”

  “I-I k-killed h-him, Christopher.” His voice broke. “He’s dead. I beat him to death. I killed a man with my hands.”

  “Fuck me. Where the fuck you at?”

  Johnnie looked around and shrugged, like Christopher was there to see him.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Christopher chanted. “I can’t fuckin’ help you if I don’t know where the fuck to find you.”

  “He’s dead, Christopher.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing,” Christopher barked. “But your ass is fucked if I don’t get there, so snap the fuck out of it NOW.”

  By a miracle, he pushed out his location and disconnected the call.

  Ten minutes later, the roar of a motorcycle barely breached Johnnie’s shock, He saw Christopher rushing to him, along with a young Black guy and another guy Johnnie didn’t know.

  “Lucas, Matthew, get rid of this dumb fuck,” Christopher ordered, crouching down and staring at Johnnie. He dug in his cut with the word Probate on it and pulled out a small bottle. “Drink this.”

  Johnnie’s hands shook too bad. Besides, his own blood and the dead man’s blood stained them.

  “Fuck.” Christopher shoved the bottle to his mouth. “Drink, motherfucker.”

  Obeying because his brain wouldn’t allow him to do anything else, Johnnie swallowed every drop.

  “Now fuckin’ look at me and tell me what the fuck happened.”

  With slow precision, Johnnie repeated the events of the evening.

  “This is what we gonna do,” Christopher said, pulling Johnnie to his feet and coming to his own. “Call fuckin’ Logan and I’m gonna call Big Joe. Tell him me and you was out and tell him this dumb fuck…tell him the fuckin’ story you told me. Just take your fuckin’ name out of it and put mine in where all the fuckin’ up comes in.”

  “Witnesses,” he said, although it was dawning on him this was the least of his problems. And as big as this situation was, that said a lot.

  “We got that covered,” Christopher murmured with certainty, squeezing Johnnie’s shoulder. “Hopefully the bitch still there. I’d bet my fuckin’ life dumb fuck was mean to her. I’m gonna take her back to the clubhouse and get her in my bed. Give her a few drinks. By the time, I’m finished with her, she won’t remember a fuckin’ thing.”

  “Jesus.” Johnnie scrubbed his hand over his face. “You’re…you’re going to kill her?”

  “Ain’t you fuckin’ listenin’ to me?” Christopher said impatiently. “I’m gonna take her back to the clubhouse, give her pussy a good licking, then fuck, and then drug her.” He shrugged. “Can’t stomach the thought of drugging a bitch to fuck her. That’s kinda like rape, so I’m gonna let us fuck on her free will.”

  “And if she’s gone? Or if she doesn’t agree? Or—“

  Christopher grabbed the lapels of his coat. “Listen, bugfuck. Ain’t got fuckin’ time for twenty fuckin’ questions. We got a fuckin’ corpse on our hands that we gotta disappear and he ain’t had fuck all against the Dwellers. That shit fuckin’ murder, straight the fuck up, John Boy. And, personally, I’d prefer not to get fuckin’ caught cuz now I’m a fuckin’ accessory to your bullshit cuz instead of knockin’ the fuck outta Logan years ago, you have all this fuckin’ anger in you that you gotta take out on other stupid fuckheads.”

  Johnnie’s eyes widened and he wondered if he was so transparent with his feelings.

  “Killin’ a man ain’t a easy thing to do, John Boy,” Christopher said quietly. “But I ain’t got no soul, so I don't give a fuck. Don’t believe in God cuz he deserted me when I was born. He sent me to Logan. No God of mine would do that. Lucifer? Yeah. God? No.”

  Johnnie backed away as the other two guys came up, blowing from exertion.

  “Got him loaded up in the truck, Outlaw,” the Black guy said.

  “Outlaw?” Johnnie echoed. “Who’s Outlaw?”

  “That’d be me, John Boy,” Christopher said, his nostrils flaring. “Since you was fuckin’ shell shocked when I arrived, this is Lucas.” He pointed to the Black guy, then nodded to the other dude. “And that’s Matthew.”

  Johnnie nodded to them and Christopher smirked.

  “I think I’m gonna start callin’ you three motherfuckers disciples. Luke, Matthew, and John.”

  “There was a Saint Christopher, too, you know?” Lucas said, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his laughter.

  Christopher shrugged. “What the fuck ever. I can go down a list of men with the names of saints that’s associated with the club. Instead of the Death Dwellers, we need to be called the Disciples.”

  “Don’t, Christopher,” Johnnie began.

  Christopher raised his head. “Shut the fuck up, John Boy. I’m a grown ass man, so I say what the fuck I want. I don’t need to get into a spiritual debate with you, especially right now when I’m one fuckin’ step away from bein’ sent the fuck to prison and havin’ to guard my asshole for a good, many years cuz I went and fucked up and killed a stupid motherfucker for mouthin’ off in front of some bitch.”

  The four of them glanced between each other, realizing Christopher had just assumed responsibility for Johnnie’s crimes without the blink of an eye.

  “Speakin’ of the bitch, I better go try to get her pussy. I hope the fuck she still there. One of you call Boss. Johnnie get Logan the fuck down here. Tell him to bring a bunch of bills cuz if he don’t you goin’ to jail as an accessory to my crime.”

  “He’s going to want your blood,” Johnnie said, feeling less than a man and lower than dirt.

  “As if I give a fuck. Motherfucker always been wantin’ my fuckin’ blood, so that shit ain’t fuckin’ new, John Boy. But you? He dotes on you. We can’t have him change that.”

  Turning on his heel, Christopher started off.

  “Christopher,” Johnnie called, halting him. “I can’t…you’re not a martyr.”

  Christopher spun back around and narrowed his eyes. “Boo fuckin’ hoo hoo. I’m cryin’ all over the fuckin’ place, moanin’ about my plight.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean you’re sacrificing you’re…you always push me away because you want better for me, take the blame for me so Grandda won’t look at me different. That’s martyrdom.”

  “No, bugfuck,” Christopher said impatiently. “That’s fuckin’ family. You think I’d do this shit for any motherfucker? You gotta be stupid, John Boy. Me and you, we kinda went our separate ways for a while but you ain’t ever stopped bein’ like a brother to me. Ain’t many motherfuckers I’d die for. Ma and Zoann. You and Big Joe. That’s fuckin’ it. My other cunt sisters can go fuck themselves on a fuckin’ railroad track with a big fuckin’ freight train comin’. Well, maybe, not Ophelia, since she only ten. But Avery, Nia, and Bev? Definitely. Now, I gotta fuckin’ go, so would you shut the fuck up?”

  He couldn’t. He needed to talk, needed to confess, understand. “Killing that man gave me a rush. A feeling of power.”

  “Tell me somethin’ I don’t fuckin’ know cuz when it all came down to it, you liked it.”

  Slow and hesitant, Johnnie nodded.

  “Luke, go make sure that body covered up, then take Matt back to the bar. If you see a bitch with big tits, a big as
s, brown hair, and a wide mouth, go talk to her ‘til I get there. Cuz, obviously, bugfuck here gotta purge his soul.”

  After the two men left and Christopher had lit cigarettes for them, Johnnie hung his head.

  “Why, Christopher?”

  He didn’t even know what the fuck he was questioning.

  “A zillion fuckin’ whys exist in the world, John Boy. I hardly ever know the fuckin’ answer to one why.”

  In silence, then took drags on their cigarettes, the smoke floating in the crisp air, evaporating into nothingness.

  “You got some hard fuckin’ choices to make,” Christopher began, tipping his head back and blowing more smoke in the air. “You can’t go around killin’ motherfuckers for being idiots. With all the stupid fuckheads in the world, you’d be killin’ at least once a day.”

  “I know.”

  “And you can’t patch-in thinkin’ you can kill random fucks. You fuck with us and you don’t straighten it the fuck out, then you got problems. Otherwise, we leave civilians the fuck alone.”

  He knew that, too.

  “You gotta decide who and what you are. Logan’s grandson. My cousin. Or your own man.”

  “I am my own—“

  “I hate to be the fuckin’ bearer of news you seem oblivious to, but no the fuck you ain’t. When you with me, you like me and wanna please me. When you with Logan, you wanna make that fuckhead happy. Who’s you?”

  Unable to answer because he had no clue, John kept quiet.

  Christopher flicked his cigarette away. “If this help any, I ain’t ever gonna give a fuck who you are. You’ll always be my family. You wanna patch in? Fine, but do it for you. Not for me cuz if you need to back away from me and live your life in the mainstream, my doors’ll always be open to you. Got me? But Logan? Not so much. He gonna make you choose and that ain’t gonna be easy.”

  Johnnie wasn’t so sure about that, but Christopher was right. He needed to think this through on his own and decide, once and for all, who he was. Who he wanted to be.