Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “Run, Meggie,” she screamed, landing on the floor along with Spoon.

  She’d caught him off guard. Just as he’d done to her that day in her office. Balling her fist, she punched his jaw, knowing she only had a few seconds before the other man pulled her away and killed her. Or subdued her so Spoon could kill her.

  A loud thud distracted her from a third hit to Spoon’s face. He shoved her away, toppling her to the floor. The other man yanked her to her feet and rapped her hard on the side of her head before wrapping his arms around her to contain her struggles.

  Spots danced in front of Kendall’s vision, but she renewed her fight when she heard Meggie’s scream of pain. A moment later, Spoon dragged her back into view and pulled her to her feet using her hair to maneuver her. Kendall glimpsed two other men in the background, laughing when he punched Meggie and she dropped to the floor.

  Bile rose to Kendall’s stomach and her belly heaved.

  Spoon dragged Meggie back to her feet, He bent and slanted his mouth over Meggie’s, yelping and jumping away from her. He massaged his bleeding lip where Meggie had bitten him, his eyes going from anger to fury.

  “Meggie, stop,” Kendall cried. “Please. God, please.”

  But she wasn’t listening. When he grabbed her hand and forced it to his erection, she squeezed, the defiance and determination in her eyes alarming Kendall.

  Spoon screamed in agony until one of the men stepped forward and assisted in prying Meggie’s fingers from his dick. He stared at her, his chest heaving, a couple of tears sliding down his cheeks.

  He dropped into a nearby chair…and laughed. “Outlaw got himself a live one.” He glared at her. “You wild fucking bitch.”

  Bouncing to his feet, he stalked toward Meggie, stopping until one of the other men yanked her arms behind her back and held her in place.

  Spoon turned to Kendall. “Since you didn’t have the pleasure of watching Caroline fuck herself up, I’ll be nice enough to allow you to watch Megan Caldwell die.” He aimed a blow right in the middle of Meggie’s body.

  Crying out and crouching over, Spoon’s next blow landed on the back of Meggie’s head. The man who’d been holding her released her and she crumpled to the ground.

  Seeing Meggie’s body on the floor snapped something in Kendall, made her want to watch Spoon die if she couldn’t kill him herself. She elbowed her captor, stumbling at his abrupt release. Although she wouldn’t win, she charged Spoon and swung wildly, kicked blindly, screaming in anger and humiliation, heartache and fear.

  She wanted to kill him and make him suffer the way she’d suffered. She wanted to tell Johnnie how much she loved him. She wanted to sit with Meggie and discuss their growing babies.

  Instead, someone grabbed her around the waist and looped rope around her wrists, nearly cutting off her circulation.

  “Go find a fucking Mini Cooper,” Spoon ordered through bloodied lips, not taking his gaze from Kendall and rattling off Meggie’s license plate number. “Park it outside and get these two bitches in there.” He turned toward the door. “Make sure the meeting doesn’t start without me. It won’t take me long to finish these two and dump their bodies.”

  Signaling his men to move Kendall, he turned and lifted Meggie into his arms, leading the way out the door to bring Kendall and Meggie to their deaths.

  Chapter 22

  “How fucking many do you want in the clubhouse, Christopher?” Johnnie growled, on edge. More than being blown to bits and pieces could go wrong. They were going to firebomb the Torpedoes’ MC. If they survived and could be identified, they’d go to jail for a very long time. Not to mention a fucking bombing would be headline news.

  “That’s motherfucker number twenty-five,” he said calmly.

  The building took up half a block, flanked by a street on the left and green space on the right, including a huge white oak. Thick branches pressed against the windows on the side. At night—through drunken and high eyes—those branches appeared to be able to burst through the windows and snatch fuckheads out of the beds. One motherfucker had simply pulled his dick out of the whore they’d been taking turns with and ran the fuck away.

  “Five more, then I go and do it.”

  Johnnie tightened his hand on the steering wheel, glancing around for Mortician, Digger, Val, and Stretch. They’d each offered to do the actual bombing, but Christopher refused, insisting it was his idea and his vengeance.

  “I wonder if Megan okay?” he asked, frowning as one man hurried from the club. He felt in his pocket for his phone for the fifteenth time since their arrival.

  A moment later, the Torp fell face-forward, blood spurting from the area of his head. No sound of gunfire because they all had silencers on their weapons. Mortician ran forward and moved the man before Johnnie counted to ten.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Okay back to fuckhead twenty-five.” Christopher pointed to another man entering the club, then sighed. “She worried bout this shit, of course.”

  “You fucking told her, asshole?”

  “What the fuck was I supposed to do? Better her be prepared in case my ass blown off, John Boy. She’d be fuckin’ hatin’ my dead fuckin’ ass.”

  “You fucking fuckhead, she’s probably fucking worrying herself into a stupor.”

  “No the fuck she ain’t. She fuckin’ stronger than that.”

  “Just call her, asshole. Let her hear your voice.”

  Christopher was one stubborn motherfucker because he shook his head. “Nope. Don’t even have my fuckin’ phone on right now. I turned it the fuck off just like the rest of you turned yours off. Can’t have no fuckin’ distractions today. Megan’ll understand.”

  Johnnie wouldn’t argue. That was between Christopher and Megan. He had enough problems with Kendall. The way he’d handled the entire situation once they returned to their room pissed him off. Yes, fucking sexual frustration had led him to general frustration.

  The door opened and Johnnie jerked. While he’d been lost in his concerns over Kendall, Christopher must’ve reached his magic number. He started the pickup and backed out of the immediate range of the building.

  When he faced forward again, he didn’t see Christopher and dread pitched through him. Christopher wouldn’t have…?

  Mortician jumped in the backseat and grabbed Christopher’s Bushmaster. “I’m gonna fucking murder Prez if he go get his ass killed.” He spoke so fast, his words jumbled together. He grabbed a clip and stuffed it in his pocket. “Kamikaze motherfucker. I can’t believe he doing this shit. What the fuck gonna happen to Meggie if something happen to him?” He didn’t wait for an answer to his rant, just jumped out, and ran, getting halfway before the explosion burst blew glass, concrete, and wood in every direction.

  Johnnie couldn’t process what his brain told him before he saw a figure on the opposite end climbing out of the second story window.

  Christopher reached for a tree limb, a knife between his teeth. The moment he reached the ground, another explosion ripped through the middle of the building and he dove for cover.

  Debris rained around them—glass, wood, and dust.

  A pickup sped by—Val saluting him as he passed. Fire blazed from the roof, another explosion shaking the ground.

  Christopher sprinted across the street, grabbing Mortician’s shoulder and dragging him toward the truck. They entered the truck, the noise of car alarms and crackling wood and distant sirens splitting the air around them.

  “Go, go, go, motherfucker,” Christopher ordered, the third and last explosion bringing the rest of the building down, his eyes bright, blood smeared on his hands and cheeks.

  Johnnie sped away, unable to talk, his heart not yet recovered from thinking Christopher had been blown up. “What did you do?” he asked after ten solid minutes of silence.

  By now, Christopher had found something to wipe the blood from his face. He paused. “What the fuck you mean, what did I do?”

  “Did I fucking stutter?�
�� Johnnie snarled, furious at Christopher’s selfishness. How could he have risked his life in such a way? “I thought you had one cylinder, asshole. One would’ve—“

  “Let’s see what the fuck I did?” He narrowed his green eyes in concentration and swiped sweat from his brow. “Walked the fuck in and locked the fuckin’ door. Didn’t want no brother-shootin’, house-fuckin-up, little-girl-peddlin’ motherfuckers gettin’ the fuck away. I went the fuck upstairs and slit the fuckin’ throat of the motherfucker who fucked up my wife’s house. Placed some explosives there. Looked for the assfuck who shot you. Ain’t fuckin’ found him. Went the fuck back down, placed the big fuckin’ explosive and ran like a motherfucker up-fuckin-stairs when I realized the motherfucker explodin’ in fifteen fuckin’ seconds instead of fifty. Any-fuckin-thing else, John Boy?”

  “What the fuck happened to the remote controlled detonation?”

  “You askin’ me this shit now? Shoulda fuckin’ asked me earlier. Yesterday. Two days ago—“

  “I thought you were going the fuck in there and planting the shit,” Johnnie interrupted.

  “Me and Stretch decided to do shit different.”

  What could he say? He didn’t know when Christopher had made the plans. Over the past few days, Christopher had invited him to the board room. When Johnnie declined, opting to stay with Kendall, he hadn’t insisted.

  “How’d you…set this…this took more planning than what we talked about with Brooks.”

  Christopher pulled out his phone and turned it on, pressing a number. “One, I needed to know I had that motherfucker’s full loyalty and cooperation.” He put the phone to his ear and continued. “Riley fuckin’ checked him out and he passed. I don’t pay that motherfucker for nothin’. He a good ass PI. Brooks told me who did what because motherfuckin’ Spoon told him.”

  “Where was I? You planned all this—“

  Frowning, he pressed another button on the phone before dialing again. “Look here, Johnnie, shut the fuck up. I’m tryin’ to let you make your bitch feel safe. I wasn’t bringin’ you in those fuckin’ meetins when your mind woulda been on her.” A mixture of anger and concern dropped into his face as he pulled the phone away from his ear. “I left fuckin’ Spoon for you and had Brooks summon other motherfuckers. So take care of your fuckin’ woman, get her fuckin’ straight, and then worry the fuck about meetins.”

  “This club means as much to me as it does to you,” Johnnie fumed, slapping the dashboard, the stress of the last few hours pushing through. “You make it sound like—“

  “Answer this motherfucker, Megan,” Christopher ordered and rubbed his eyes, repeating his dialing and resuming the conversation. “I don’t make it sound like shit. I’m fuckin’ tellin’ you the fuck like it is. Kendall need to get her shit together, so you can get your shit together.”

  “I resent that—“

  “Don’t give a fuck,” Christopher snapped, slamming the phone into his lap. “I ain’t got time to hold your fuckin’ hand while you holdin’ Kendall’s fuckin’ hand. With or without you, them motherfuckers had it fuckin’ comin’. You know what the fuck it did to me seein’ you fuckin’ shot, motherfucker? After Megan’s and my house was burnin’ before my fuckin’ eyes. One is bad e-fuckin-nough,” he yelled. He picked his phone up again, but, instead of dialing, he opened an application. “Both was un-fuckin-forgivable. Then, when me and Brooks found out not only fuckin’ Logan and Spoon peddled those little girls…I wanted to shove fuckin’ pins up their dicks and dynamite up their ass. So fuck the fuck off. You made your fuckin’ choice sittin’ out there with Kendall.”

  Johnnie met Mortician’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He’d been angry with Christopher for running into the building, but he’d been bugging out over Bailey’s departure, so he wouldn’t have known all the plans, either. Just that they were hitting the Torps’ clubhouse that day.

  “Kendall wants me to leave the club.”

  For a moment, neither Christopher nor Mortician spoke.

  Christopher’s clenched his jaw. “Do what you gotta do, Johnnie,” he said without any of the emotion he’d just shown. “I’m gonna support you no matter what.”

  “You want to leave?” Mortician asked, subdued. The morning had affected him. No, Bailey had affected him.

  “No. But I understand why she’s asking, given her experience with Spoon.”

  No one answered. They wouldn’t pressure him one way or the other.

  “You want to leave, John Boy, go ahead. Do what you need to to make you and your woman happy,” Mortician offered. “But Prez left Spoon for you at your request. You got to put him to fuckin’ ground.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Wassup, Prez.” Peeping over the middle seat to the raised phone in Christopher’s hand, Mortician choked.

  “Megan, baby…what…?” Frantic, Christopher dialed the phone again.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Johnnie demanded.

  “Meggie’s car was parked near the Torps’ clubhouse, an hour ago,” Mortician answered, sliding back into his seat.

  “Mort, pull that app up,” Christopher ordered, his voice and hands shaking. “See where the fuck her car at now.”

  They all had the app because Christopher wanted each of them to have the ability to find Megan if he was unavailable.

  “Johnnie, call Kendall. See if she answer.”

  The fear in Christopher’s voice twisted Johnnie’s gut and he grabbed his phone out of his pocket, realizing his own fingers were shaking as he turned his phone back on and dialed Kendall’s number, getting the same result as Christopher. No answer. But he wouldn’t panic yet. A couple of times, he’d called Kendall and she didn’t answer. He’d had to leave a message.

  “Where the fuck Arrow?” Christopher barked into his phone. He’d called the club, a good thing. Kendall might be involved in something with Megan on premises. “He’s fuckin’ where?”

  He slammed the phone to the floorboard. He drew in deep drafts of air and hung his head in his hands. “Torps took out Gem. Val called Arrow to help with the cleanup.”

  “Prez,” Mortician spoke, a hint of relief in his voice. He shoved his phone at Christopher. “Meggie car is here now. On Fortification. Got there about twenty-five minutes ago.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Johnnie growled, swerving into the next lane and ignoring the angry horn honkers. “Torps place. That’s where they’d taken Kendall when they got her.”

  Christopher nodded, not saying a word, just staring straight ahead.

  “Meggie fine, Outlaw,” Mortician said quietly.

  A muscle ticked in Christopher’s jaw and he balled his fists in his hands. “She better be,” he responded in a low, vicious tone. “If she ain’t, whoever fuckin’ responsible is gonna wish they’d been blown the fuck up with the rest of them motherfuckers.”

  Chapter 23

  Matthew “Val” Taylor straightened his white Tee shirt and shrugged into his cut, cursing the slowness of the sinking pickup, along with the body of the Torp Mort had picked off. Things were about to get rough. Not only had the Dwellers set off a bomb, they’d done it out of the jurisdiction of their police payoffs and in broad fucking daylight.

  Outlaw had the biggest set of balls of any man Val had ever known. Now, they had to get rid of evidence. Clothes. Bodies. Weapons. Anything and everything that might be traced back to them. They also needed an alibi. They’d each put suggestions on the table, fine-tuning any holes. Only John Boy and Mortician hadn’t been in on the planning and Val wondered if they might not be their weakest links in this do or die situation.

  John Boy was dick deep in Kendall and Mort…Who the fuck knew? Bailey had gone on the trip with him and Val was pretty fucking certain Mort had put his dick out of its misery and finally gotten it in Bailey. Then, she’d fucking left and Mort was losing his shit, left and fucking right. They’d deal with that soon. At the moment, they had more important things to concentrate on than Bailey’s pussy being acquainted
with Mort’s cock or that fucking bet the assfuck had yet to pay up on.

  “I think it’s done,” Digger said.

  Bubbles broke the surface of the river, but the pickup was finally submerged.

  Stretch flicked a cigarette butt into the water. “You don’t have much time to get to Zoann’s.”

  No, he didn’t, but he’d chosen this area because of its close proximity to her house. He’d called her and used all the powers of his seductive skills so she’d agree to let him look after their son. Tough to crack, but he’d worn her down. He’d arrived early this morning, along with another brother who had remained in the pickup until Zoann left. Then, Val waited for a while to make sure she wouldn’t return before calling the brother in and leaving him with Ryan. They’d chosen a brother as close to him in build and looks as possible. More people than Zoann needed to see “Val” with Ryan.

  She’d called two times already to check on their boy and Val admired her dedication and adoration of his son. She might despise him—or tried her damnedest to—but she loved Ryan.

  Bidding Stretch and Digger farewell, Val started toward Zoann’s house, hoping none of them ran into any complications. By the time he arrived, he had exactly ten minutes to spare before she arrived home and discovered his underhanded misdeeds. He banged on the door, scowling at the loud music and glancing at his watch.

  He wasted two fucking minutes trying to get assfuck to hear. With the clock ticking and frustrated at what he needed to do, he yanked his knife from his boot and slit the screen to unlock it. Yanking it open, he tried the knob to the door and found it unlocked. We Will Rock You blasted through the house. He hurried to the source of the noise—Zoann’s stereo system—and turned it off. The moment he did, he heard Ryan’s whining and his heart dropped to his balls. Following the sound, he came to Zoann’s bedroom, where he found his son in the middle of her bed with no sign of the man he’d left in charge.

  Ryan’s diaper bulged and Val thought about what he’d heard about the condition of Little Man. The moment Ryan saw Val, he held out his arms, his whine turning to cries.