Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Digger yawned, his shoulders drooping and he looked so tired Kendall felt compelled to offer her help. It would also keep her mind off whatever had gone on at that house. “I-is there anything I can do?”

  Not answering, he indicated she follow him with a nod before shouldering his way through the crowd and leading her to an empty table, the only empty table in the entire place.

  “Sit,” he said. “This take a little getting used to, so just catch your breath. I have to get to John Boy. Find Little Man.” He shrugged. “See where my brother at.”

  Kendall nodded, unsure of herself, and sat.

  “If you need anything at all, just pull any brother aside wearing a cut. Hear? Tell them you John Boy girl and they’ll fall all over themselves to make you happy.”

  “I-I’m not his girl.”

  “You can advertise that bullshit if you want. I wouldn’t if I was you. If you not claimed by somebody, that make you available to anybody. But you was Spoon’s old lady, so you know that already.”

  She did and a part of her had never been comfortable at the MC. The members of the Torpedoes had always put her in two categories—a woman to admire and one to snicker about.

  Digger hurried away, back the way they’d come and Kendall sank into the seat, praying whatever was wrong would quickly be made right again.

  Johnnie stared at the faceless body of Logan, his hand holding the gun trembling at his side. The man who’d made them all so miserable…he was gone.

  “What. The. Fuck.”

  He blinked at the sound of Val’s voice, paralyzed with shock, disgust, and horror.

  Val shook him. “Snap out of it, John Boy. We’ll deal with this shit later. Zoann,” he choked out, stalking around him and ripping her photo down from the lineup. His eyes widened as he looked at one photo after the other. And, one after the other, he tore down and ripped to pieces. “We got to find Little Man,” he said in a slow, concise voice, not mentioning those fucking photos. He held up his hand where pieces of one of the photos remained. The others littered the blood-coated floor. “This shit don’t matter. We have to get Outlaw’s boy. Got me?”

  Little Man. Yes…Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Little Man. Megan’s son. The thought made him shove his gun back in place and step around Logan. He slid slightly in the pool of blood, just then realizing he was all bloody, too. Gore also covered Megs’s kitchen.

  “Get him to the meat shack,” he said, his heart pounding and his voice shaking. “Tell Mortician not to touch him. He’s mine.”

  “I don’t have to tell Mortician shit,” Val told him, “since he’s not here yet.”

  “Fuck.” His gaze fell on his grandfather’s body and he shook his head. “I hope Logan didn’t get to him.” He pulled in a breath. “Just find him. Dead or alive and bring him home. Get Digger and Stretch in here to start cleaning up this mess. I want no evidence of what happened in here. They’ll be home early tomorrow, so this has to be cleaned up by then.”

  He spun on his heels and searched every room on the first floor of the house, screaming, “Dinah!” His search of the second floor produced the same results—not a fucking thing. On the third floor, where the master bedroom and Little Man’s nursery was located, a hoarse scream reached him and he sagged in relief.

  “DINAH!” he yelled back. “Keep making noises so I can find you quicker.”

  Just as he asked, she continued to scream, which led him to the master bedroom and Christopher’s closet.

  “Jesus,” he managed when he flipped on the light and saw her. An awful odor assaulted his nostrils and he frowned.

  She laid on her back, naked, a mass of bruises and cuts, ropes binding her wrists and ankles. The duct tape over her mouth had been chewed. Removing one of Christopher’s shirts from a hanger, he stooped to free her, then noticed a trash can on its side, the lid partially opened and leaning against the back wall. He stared at the piece of metal, where not a sound could be heard. Knowing who he’d find in there…but…he swallowed.

  Dinah twisted and writhed, wanting his attention. He knew he had to do this and no matter what he found, he’d have to take care of things. He walked forward, turning the thing, barely paying attention to the lid sliding the rest of the way down. As he peeped inside the trash can and the overhead light angled into it, he sagged on his haunches and hung his head in his hands.

  The baby lay inside, wearing nothing but a diaper swollen with piss and shit, the source of the smell smeared on the wall of the trash can. His entire body trembling, Johnnie reached inside and pulled him out. The moment he did, the little boy’s eyes popped open and he blinked. Blinked again, then screwed up his little face and let out a high-pitched wail.

  “You do that, boy,” Johnnie said, laughing through his tears, hugging Little Man’s body close to him and reveling in his foul smell. Not wanting to let him go, but knowing he had to help Dinah, Johnnie laid the now-red-faced child on the floor and crawled to the woman.

  Taking his dagger out of his boot, he cut Dinah free, wincing at the rope burns on her ankles and wrists.

  Before he did anything else, he helped her into Christopher’s shirt, then put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “I have to remove the tape.”

  She nodded, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Or do you want to remove it?”

  She shook her head and looked away from him. As gently as possible, he worked the tape away from her lips and cheeks. She gripped his arm and the moment he freed her mouth, she said, “I did the best I could. I knocked over the trash can to make the lid fall.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t do enough, did I? I couldn’t save him.”

  Little Man was about to burst Johnnie’s eardrums with his screams and Dinah gave no indication she heard the boy. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at Johnnie. He attempted to help her to her feet, but her legs buckled, so he swept her into his arms and brought her to the bathroom, not speculating on the reason for the pretty white settee situated against the wall, directly across from the huge bathtub. He laid Dinah on it, praying she didn’t bloody it.

  Logan’s blood had already dried on Johnnie. Pushing the thought aside of Logan’s dried blood sticking to him, he returned to the closet and lifted Little Man, talking to him in a calm, steady voice. He went back to the bathroom and found Dinah just where he’d left her, trembling and staring.

  One thing at a time. First, he removed Little Man’s overloaded diaper, wincing at the angry red patches on his bottom. He put the drain stopper in place in the bathtub and started the water, finding no baby wash.

  “Fuck it,” he mumbled, deciding it was more important to get him cleaned up than search for baby stuff. Five minutes later, he had the baby cleaned and somewhat calmed, although he cried louder—if that was fucking possible—when Johnnie pumped a small bit of pink soap into his hand to make sure he was clean and smelling better.

  “Fuck.” He sighed in frustration when he saw he’d forgotten a towel to wrap him in, so he lifted him out of the water, cursing roundly when he dripped his way to the linen closet. Of course, it would be Megs’s and it would contain an unopened box of tampons. Not that she’d need them anytime soon, since she was pregnant. Scowling, he pulled a white fluffy towel from the second shelf and wasted no time in wrapping Little Man in it.

  A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, spinning around to see Dinah.

  “I’m not feeling good,” she said quietly, shifting from foot-to-foot. The short sleeves on Christopher’s shirt reached past Dinah’s elbows. “W-would you meet Meggie at the bus stop? It’s almost time for her to get home from school.”

  “Sure, Dinah,” he said.

  “There’s a bad man out there.” She shuddered. “There’s always bad men.”

  “K-P isn’t bad.”

  She stared at him, her look blank. For only a moment. “K-P?” she whispered. “He’s here?”

  He hoped like fuck he was.

  She blinked and frowned, focusing on the squirming b
undle in his arms. “That’s CJ?”

  He nodded slowly.

  Her gaze never leaving his and blinking through her tears, she drew in a deep breath. And Johnnie saw the exact moment she came back to the present. She bent over and sobbed into her hands. “He’s alive.”

  Johnnie didn’t think her capable of holding the baby just yet, so he repositioned Little Man to allow Dinah a glimpse of him. He’d quieted—thank fuck—and now chewed in contentment on his fist.

  “He didn’t die.” She reached out to touch him. “L-Logan put him in the trash. Christopher’s and Meggie’s son. He threw away like garbage.” She backed up, her eyes widening. “Where is he? Logan?”

  “Dead.”

  Gasping, Dinah’s hands flew to her mouth and her gaze took him in. He must’ve looked frightening, which was the reason he’d ignored the mirrors. “You killed him?”

  Johnnie shrugged, not trusting Dinah with the truth. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “That’s what Meggie said about Thomas.”

  “This is hard enough,” he said gently but firmly. “Don’t bring up your husband right now.”

  She reached for Little Man and Johnnie raised his hand to block her. “Go clean up. Are you in a lot of pain? Do you think anything is broken?”

  She bowed her head, then shook it. “I’m aching,” she admitted, “but nothing…nothing a few days of rest won’t cure.” She cocked her head to the side, her face crumpling. “When’s Meggie coming home? Why is Christopher keeping her away from me?”

  “Motherfuck me,” a voice said from the doorway. “I ain’t keeping no-fuckin-body from your whiny ass.” Christopher strolled into view, narrowed his eyes at Dinah, then glared at Johnnie. “Give me my son, John Boy. Dinah, you get the fuck to your room and clean up.”

  “Where’s Meggie?” she said around a miserable sob.

  “At the fuckin’ clubhouse, doin’ what she do best, takin’ care of every-fuckin-body.”

  “K-P?”

  Regret flashed in Christopher’s eyes before he scowled at his mother-in-law. “Stop askin’ fuckin’ questions and go.”

  Dinah ran away, her sob floating to them. The moment she left, Christopher snatched Little Man from Johnnie, roamed his gaze from Johnnie to the open linen closet door. “I’m gonna fuck you up later for seein’ Megan’s personal shit. Right now, I wanna fuckin’ know what the fuck’s goin’ on? Why the club on lockdown? And, most of all, why the fuck Logan fuckin’ in my wife’s fuckin’ kitchen with half a fuckin’ face? I thought I’d seen the last of that motherfucker, ten years ago, when you motherfuckers snuck him the fuck away. So talk, motherfucker. Now.”

  Chapter 26

  Speechless, Johnnie looked at Christopher. “You knew Logan was alive?” If he knew that, what else did he know?

  Little Man reached up and dug his fingers into Christopher’s chin. “Da, da, da.”

  “Yeah, boy, Daddy’s home.” He leaned down and kissed his forehead, then slanted a glance to Johnnie. “Rule number fuckin’ one about runnin’ this outfit, John Boy. Know who the fuck your enemies are and always know where them motherfuckers at.”

  “But—”

  Christopher held up his hands. “No, buts. I’ll explain some other time about how I knew about that motherfucker.”

  “But—”

  He snickered. “Whenever I thought about his ass—which was often before Megan—I never thought about the evil, old fucker as alive or dead. To me, those two states don’t make a fuckin’ difference. He was a fuckin’ demon on earth and he’s gonna be a demon in hell, so what the fuck?”

  “What else do you know?”

  His smile slowly fading, Christopher cocked his head. “Is there anything else?”

  There was a lot more fucking else. “Another time,” he said, determined to dispose of Logan himself. If Christopher heard everything, he’d probably shoot Logan a few more times before he started working on him in the meat shack.

  Speaking of which…“You seem terribly calm considering Logan’s actions.”

  “I’m holdin’ my shit together for my boy and Megan. With the group over there and everything in fuckin’ chaos, she got her hands full. But as soon as I get my son to her and get her to bed there, I’m gonna be somebody’s worse fuckin’ nightmare.”

  Johnnie winced. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it together.”

  Christopher frowned. “You shittin’ me? The way I see it, you did a grade-fuckin-A job. This shit ain’t fuckin’ easy, John Boy, but you worked with what you had and that’s all I asked for.”

  He shoved Johnnie out of the way and moved some of Megan’s things aside, reaching into the closet. Little Man whined in protest. When Christopher straightened, he held up a diaper. “Last fuckin’ one in there.” Returning Little Man’s babbling, he went to the settee and laid his son down, removing the towel Johnnie had swaddled him in. He frowned. “Why the fuck his ass, balls and dick all red?”

  Nervous tension filled Johnnie. “You do know what happened here, right?”

  Christopher nodded, scooping a naked Little Man into his arms and heading back to the linen closet, shoving things aside. “Fuck me, boy,” he grumbled. “You pissed on my arm.” He rifled through it a moment more, then pulled back. “No more fuckin’ baby powder or any of that shit she use.” He yawned. “Yeah, I know what the fuck happened, John Boy. You ordered a lockdown—haven’t quite figured that shit out yet. But Logan fucked up Val and popped K-P and—”

  “WHAT?”

  “Don’t, John Boy,” Christopher bit out, tension radiating from him, the distant look that he always got when something hurt him entering his eyes.

  K-P’s death…Johnnie stopped the thought. It was harder for him to imagine K-P gone than it was for him to think of Logan in the same state.

  They’d known the man since they were ten. Pain spread through his being, but he had to hold it in and keep it together. K-P would want it. He’d expect it.

  He’d call them roaches if he saw the moisture in Christopher’s eyes and the man’s jaw clamped so tight, teeth would start flying out at any moment.

  He’d accuse them of being pussies if Johnnie allowed tears to escape his eyes, so he didn’t. And neither did Christopher. They kept up the façade that nothing breeched their cold blood. Not even grief.

  Death came to all of them, sooner or later. When it did, the world continued to rotate on its axis. The sun still rose in the east and set in the west. Life went on.

  With K-P.

  And without.

  “K-P dead and Logan did it,” Christopher said in a flat voice but Johnnie saw the devastation he’d only express to Megs. “Then he got Dinah and brought her here and beat the fuck out of her. Before you started searchin’ for her, you fucked him up.” He shrugged, the club president who kept a tight rein on his emotions. “And here the fuck we are.”

  Out of all the other atrocities Christopher knew about, he didn’t know about the biggest one of all—what had happened to his son. And the photos must’ve already been taken down.

  Johnnie glanced toward the closet as Christopher passed it up and headed for the door, turning toward the nursery.

  “Christopher!” Megs shrieked, just as they stepped into the oversized room.

  “Fuck me,” Christopher said, low. “What the fuck she doin’ here already? She don’t know about K-P yet.” He jabbed Johnnie’s shoulder. “You better hope the rest of that fuckin’ blood gone.”

  Fast clicks pounded down the hardwood floor in the hallway. She barreled into Christopher the moment she stepped into the room and reached for Little Man. “Who did this?” she cried. “My mother looks like she’s been used as a punching bag.”

  “I know and I’m sorry, baby. We need to call our fuckin’ MC Resurrection fuckin’ City. Motherfuckers risin’ the fuck out the fuckin’ ground from every-fuckin-where.”

  “I don’t care!” she snarled on a sob. “If my mother hadn’t thought to do what she did, my son would be dead. Dead
, Christopher.” She threw her arms around her husband and cried against his chest, standing on tiptoes—even in her heels—to kiss him.

  Christopher stood in stunned silence, his shoulders heaving as his breathing grew shallow. “What the fuck she talkin’ about, John Boy?” he asked, wrapping one arm around Megan and loosely holding Little Man against him.

  “Our grandfather came here out of the blue, Megan,” Johnnie said quietly, instead of answering Christopher. “Aunt Patricia’s father.”

  God, he hoped…if she knew what had happened to Little Man, then she’d know the significance of Logan putting him in a trash can, then leaving him to smother. She turned and faced him. Johnnie’s gaze fell to the slight bump in her belly, the new baby she carried for Christopher. Her bigger breasts. Her gorgeous face…her blue eyes…and he knew she understood when they widened and more tears rushed to her eyes, as much for Christopher this time as it was for their son.

  “Answer me! What the fuck she mean? What did that motherfucker do to my boy?”

  She turned and nuzzled Little Man’s belly and he gave a gummy laugh, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She laughed and the baby squirmed against Christopher, reaching for Megs. “He was with Momma,” she explained, drawing in a shuddering breath. “Locked in the dark for hours. You know how he hates the dark. If she hadn’t been there…” Her voice broke.

  Johnnie looked at the ceiling hearing her distress.

  Silence.

  “You sure that’s why you losin’ your shit, baby?” Christopher asked.

  Bowing her head and heaving her shoulders, she sniffled but nodded, then nosed Little Man’s black hair. The baby’s babbling crescendoed and Megs drew in a few more breaths. “Wh-what were you doing?”

  “Tryin’ to cover our boy dick.”

  “Okay. Go take a shower. I’ll take care of CJ, then I have to get back to the club.”

  Christopher leaned down and kissed her. “Why don’t you take a shower with me?”