Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Several beeps told him he had voicemail. Instead of listening to her, he’d leave and go to her. He’d chosen to live his life with her and he loved her. Eventually they’d come to a sweet spot in their relationship and—

  “Hi.”

  The feminine voice reached Johnnie’s ears and he turned to his left where a dark-haired girl with small tits and big, brown eyes sat. She was staring at him as if she wanted to swallow him whole. He smiled at her. “Hi.”

  “This seat taken?”

  Johnnie contemplated her, recognized her lust. She was a coed, out for a good time. He knew her type, had had more than his share while in college. She’d be a quick, easy fuck and he’d have the relief and warmth of a female body. Kendall’s features rose in his head and he sighed, finishing his shot. “No, sweetheart, it isn’t taken.”

  Her smile widened and she slid on the stool next to him, his dick hardening when she shifted her position and opened her legs to show him her bare pussy peeking through crotchless panties.

  Standing, he pulled out his billfold and called the bartender to him. He handed the man three Benjamins. “For my shots and for whatever she’d like to order.”

  He nodded and took the girl’s order.

  “You’re gorgeous,” she murmured, licking her lips.

  Johnnie’s gaze fastened onto her red mouth. Sucking wasn’t fucking. Per se. His nostrils flared at the thought. Licking wasn’t sticking, either. “What’s your name?”

  “Peyton. Yours?”

  “Johnnie,” he responded, his head flipping back and forth between taking her somewhere and using her until she couldn’t walk, bringing her to his Navigator so she could suck his dick, or walking away.

  “Do you want to go somewhere with less noise?”

  With the minimal crowd, the noise level wasn’t bad. A Jason Aldeen song serenaded them at an acceptable volume. Kendall might enjoy an evening with him here.

  Kendall.

  He wanted to fuck. Not make love. Fuck hard and dirty and fast. Something Kendall didn’t need but the girl next to him could provide.

  The ring weighted his pocket and he closed his eyes, Kendall’s face haunting him. Her long, strong legs around his waist as he thrust into her. Her vulnerability for so many different reasons.

  He thought about Megan. Megs. And smiled. He missed her friendship. Zoann had called him and told him what really set Christopher off. Megan had started to bleed, so rapidly her blood pressure began to bottom out.

  Zoann, his scarred, fragile cousin, had been almost hysterical. Because she liked Megan, who looked past Zoann’s hard outer shell and made her be part of the family.

  Johnnie had felt sick to his stomach. K-P’s and Caroline’s funerals had been enough to deal with. Burying Megan…Christopher had lost his shit at how close he’d come to having to do just that.

  He would’ve been without his anchor. Little Man would’ve been without his mother. And Johnnie would’ve been without his friend.

  He could share none of this with Kendall. She would’ve lost it because she wanted to hear nothing about Megan.

  All fucking fingers should point to him for this cluster fuck, the hell of it being he didn’t know how to rectify it. He remained mired between Kendall and the club he missed like fuck.

  A hand grasped his cock and he jerked, his balls tingling. “You wanna leave here?” she asked in a breathy voice.

  “I do, sweetheart,” he rumbled and she squirmed in her seat before getting to her feet. He shook his head. “You misunderstand,” he said quietly. “I’m going home to my girlfriend.”

  Disappointment pulled down her features, but she shrugged. “Okay.”

  He turned and started to walk away, running smack dab into Christopher. The girl’s eyes widened when she glimpsed Outlaw in his leathers, a cigarette hanging from his mouth and his wedding band glinting in the dimness as he flicked a lighter.

  “Bout time you turned your motherfuckin’ phone back on, assfuck.”

  “What—“ Suspecting the reason for the importance of his phone being on, Johnnie stiffened in outrage. “You put fucking tracking software on my phone?”

  How the fuck…Christopher didn’t even pay the goddamn phone bill.

  “Yeah, why?”

  As remorseless as ever. “Because that’s some fucked up shit, Christopher,” Johnnie barked.

  “Tell me that if I ever need to find your fuckin’ ass. I only track the phones for you, Mort, Digger, Val, and Stretch.”

  “And Megan.”

  He puffed on his cigarette and squinted as the smoke rose between them. “That’s a fuckin’ given. I also have it on her car in the event her fuckin’ phone off.”

  Mortician chortled. “Yo’, Prez, why don’t you just have something implanted under her fucking skin?”

  “Don’t give Mr. Stalker no fucking ideas, Mort,” Val called.

  “Aren’t you all on a run?” Johnnie asked slowly, watching as Stretch and Digger joined the group.

  “Are you all real?” Peyton breathed, standing beside Johnnie and contemplating all of them.

  Christopher smirked at her. “As real as my fuckin’ wife,” he responded, releasing more smoke and dismissing her with a nod. “As for you, John Boy. Stop bein’ a stupid motherfucker. It look like we on a fuckin’ run? I ain’t a fuckin’ hologram, you know?”

  Peyton giggled. Stretch and Digger shifted so they could better see her.

  “We going, John Boy,” Mortician swore. “We just been waiting around so we could find you.”

  Puffing out more smoke, Christopher added, “We miss you, motherfucker. Shit ain’t the same without you.”

  Johnnie kept a steady gaze on Christopher. “I don’t…I’m going to propose to Kendall.”

  Christopher shrugged. “Figured you would. Who you fuckin’ marry ain’t got shit to do with me.” He cocked his head to the side, holding his cigarette between two fingers. “Kendall’s who you need. Bitch cautious and tight-lipped like a motherfucker. I understand why, but you ain’t fuckin’ puttin’ up with no girl tellin’ you every fuckin’ thing.”

  Like Megan did. Johnnie hadn’t ever considered if he’d be able to deal with that or not, but Christopher was right.

  “Her traits admirable but that fuckin’ shit have a place too.” Another puff. “Let’s stop with this epic fuckin’ War of the Bitches, okay? Yours perfect for you and mine fuckin’ perfect for me. Our stupid fuckin’ asses made it fuckin’ worse between them two.” Tamping his cigarette out in an ashtray Peyton held out to him, Christopher waved Digger forward and grabbed the cut from the man’s hands, then held the leather out. “Take it. I’m leavin’ for three days. Think about patchin’ back in. If you can’t come back, I understand.”

  The same feeling he’d had when he’d first patched in took root inside him. He grabbed the cut, then remembered Kendall. But how could he be true to her when he couldn’t be true to himself? He had to find a way to make her accept his biker lifestyle.

  Clapping him on the shoulder, Christopher turned, frowning at Digger who’d taken Peyton aside the moment Johnnie took the cut. “I’ve already lost fuckin’ road hours.” He signaled to the rest of the men. “Let’s fuckin’ ride.”

  Mortician waited until only he remained in the wake of Christopher’s departure. No doubt to provide answers at this sudden turn of events. Before they delved into that, Johnnie wanted to know about the sheriff who’d fucked over them and any ramifications from the bombing.

  Since he was out, Christopher wouldn’t have allowed any blame to touch Johnnie. It had been headline news for two weeks, fading into the background as other stories came about.

  “Brooks worth the money Prez shelling out. We officially cleared of being suspects. Outlaw fucking wild,” Mortician chortled. “Motherfucker got the American Scorpions fucking knee deep in it.”

  “Cee Cee’s MC?”

  Mortician nodded. “A final fuck-you to your old man.”

  “Big Joe would be so f
ucking satisfied.”

  Johnnie didn’t speak—or think—about Joseph Foy much, but he’d taught them all. On rare occasions he wondered what the club would be like if Boss still led. He’d always said when smoke and bullshit cleared, the strongest fucking man would still stand. Like K-P, Big Joe had had their backs. He’d been in with Logan’s business, though. That could be the only reason why Big Joe had survived some of the shit he’d done and why he’d spared Logan’s life.

  If Johnnie ever met up with Boss in hell, he’d demand fucking answers. Ask him how the fuck he demanded they not hurt women while he sold girls for profit.

  “Boss fucking somewhere kicking it with Lucifer and Logan. He taught us what we needed. He knew we’d eventually have to clean up his and Logan’s fucking mess, so let’s leave it the fuck at that. I’m still fucking celebrating the fall of the Scorpions. Feds taking them motherfuckers down.”

  “Don’t get too relaxed. No one blew up their MC, so motherfuckers can regroup.”

  “True but Outlaw had this shit planned like a fucking general on the battlefield.”

  Johnnie laughed and bumped fists with Mortician. Christopher had done them proud.

  Them?

  Yes, them. First, Johnnie needed to know a few things.

  “What the fuck is this about?” Johnnie asked. “I saw you five hours ago and you were leaving then. Now, Christopher comes in here and tells me he’s been waiting for me to turn my phone back on. It was on at that time.”

  Mortician pulled on his leather gloves. “What the fuck you think happened that would have Prez turn the fuck around to come and get you, motherfucker?”

  Only one person Johnnie could think of. “Megan?”

  “Meggie, brother. Your woman reached out to her and whatever the fuck Red told her, Meggie got to Outlaw and put a fucking bug in his ear, so here we are.”

  “Kendall called Megan?” he asked stupidly, not quite catching up to what the two of them had orchestrated.

  “I wasn’t fucking there.”

  He turned Christopher’s words over in his head and scowled. “Christopher came only because Megan demanded him—“

  “Don’t be a dumb ass, John Boy. Has Meggie been upset about what went down with you two? Fuck, yeah. She loves your dumb ass. But Prez been meaner than a fucking rattlesnake and the only one keeping him from going completely psycho on all us motherfuckers is his girl, man. He misses you. We all do.”

  “So—?”

  “Does it fucking matter why the fuck Prez came? If he didn’t want you back, he wouldn’t have turned around.”

  “Of course he would have.” Dickhead alert. Fuck. He didn’t want to go back to the same fucking bullshit that had caused him to leave in the first fucking place. It would defeat the fucking purpose. “Because Megan told him.”

  Sighing, Mortician gave him a hard stare and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look, brother. Yeah, Meggie got him wrapped around her little finger. She drive him. That bullshit when she tried to knock his fucking rock off with that bottle? Just made him hotter behind her. Crazier about her. He’s the first to admit he’s pussy-whipped.” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. They all knew one of Christopher’s golden rules included not mentioning Megan’s pussy in any way, shape or form. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “Anyway, part of his stalkery, pussy-whipped, obsessed, crazy fucking in love shit is he’d either tear anybody who hurt her a new asshole, or he’d just fucking bury them. Tearing of the new asshole is rare and reserved only for a special few. Me, you, Val and Zoann. Possibly Digger and probably not Stretch. Since you now encompass Kendall, he taking that approach with her.”

  “When she was still recovering—“

  “Check your bullshit, John Boy and put blame where the fuck it belong. Meggie got placenta something. Abrupt placenta…I don’t know what the fuck it was. But she’s healing. Prez can’t give her no more babies for about six months. She’s not my wife and it fucking killed me watching her cry over the baby she lost and the babies she might never get to have. That fucking day at the hospital? You was lost in your own pain. As it should be because your girl was hurting, too. Outlaw was…fuck, me, too…Val, too. Meggie was dying. I’m so fucking tired of trying to get you and Kendall to understand this bullshit.”

  “About that…you don’t have to get Kendall to understand fuck all. Keep your counseling to yourself.”

  “Glad to, assfuck. Not like Red listened any-fucking-way. So I’ll tell your motherfucking ass. Meggie earned her place at the club. Not by fucking impossible demands, either. She let us get to fucking know her and she got to know us. She tell Outlaw almost everything. The rest the motherfucker figure out on his own. He stalk her too close not to. But me and Val and Stretch and Bunny and Gypsy and…fuck, a roll call of fuckers, know if we got a fucking problem or whatever, we can call or text Meggie and shit ain’t going no fucking further. What the fuck we knew about Red except the bitch came to fuck with Outlaw and spy for Spoon? Kendall a beautiful chick and a smart chick, too, but she one of the dumbest motherfuckers I ever fucking saw.”

  Balling his fists, Johnnie growled. “Say that again to me, motherfucker,” he snarled.

  “Fucking Spoon aside, Red need to do some growing up herself. No smart bitch can think to come in and have motherfuckers just trust her like that or move another chick out cause her dumb ass man loved her. If Red knew how many bitches you stuck your dick in who still around the club, she’d make you fucking miserable. I understand Red got issues. I’m not apologizing me and her talk or are friends because you was a low down motherfucker the way you treated her, so go blow your own fucking dick.”

  “Mortician, for someone who calls me a fucking sociopath, you don’t fucking mind pissing me the fuck off.”

  He laughed. “True that. Luck of the fucking draw, motherfucker.”

  “I could use my blade.”

  “And? I could have your fucking ass shot the fuck off before you pulled it.”

  “Stop calling Kendall stupid and stop calling her a fucking bitch and we won’t have to put it to the test.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. I call you fucking stupid then. Your college education affected your common fucking sense.”

  “Mortician—“

  “Last thing about Red. I almost told Meggie and Bailey to revoke her fucking chick card. I asked Bailey about Aunt Flo and your bitch asked if that was Arrow’s wife. Ain’t no bitch alive don’t know who the fuck Aunt Flo is.”

  “Kendall doesn’t use slang,” Johnnie bit out, considering putting a hole somewhere in Mortician.

  “Maybe not street slang, but pussy slang? No excuse not to fucking know, whether she say it or not.” Mortician scowled at him. “That shit’s in the past, though. I don’t know what the fuck Red did this evening. She made the first move and Meggie took care of the fucking rest. Meggie and Kendall did their parts. Prez did his. Now, the ball’s in you court, brother. Use it wisely.”

  Chapter 29

  Johnnie stared at the house he shared with Kendall, wondering if she’d fallen asleep and thinking about all the events of the past two and a half months. He honed in the eventful day when Kendall had gotten the bee up her ass to get Spoon’s USB. No matter what, she’d done everything with good intentions. No matter what, she’d lost as much as Megan and deserved the same treatment.

  He hated to admit, even to himself, but Kendall had been the catalyst for their shared tragedies. What Mortician had been preaching was wise advice. And Christopher’s talk with Kendall in the hospital? Kendall had told Johnnie the part of the conversation he’d missed. Christopher’s words had been harsh and out-of-line, but…real. They’d been true, too.

  Just like tonight. He had made it worse, seeing only Kendall’s need for acceptance and nothing else. Her arrival at the club had been under the wrong circumstances. The brothers wouldn’t have so readily trusted her.

  Johnnie had set aside his suspicion about her and expected everyone to fall right into place behind him
. Even Megan, who’d had more than enough reason for her wariness toward Kendall.

  As it was, Megan had been the one who’d gotten Christopher to allow Kendall to stay. The day Kendall revealed her association with Christopher, he’d told her to leave. In spite of everything, Megan stepped up on Kendall’s behalf because of him, Johnnie.

  Had he ever fucked up more in his life than he had with both of them? He’d lucked out and kept his head on his shoulders, although Christopher almost blew it away more than once.

  He’d apologize to Megan. First, he had to fix everything with Kendall.

  Swallowing, Johnnie flipped on the overhead light to better see his cut. He wanted Kendall and the club. He hated this fucking house. It was small and quiet. Kendall needed quiet. Maybe, he did, too. He’d lived his entire life around chaos and anarchy.

  Fuck. He hated fucking peace and quiet.

  Christopher, Zoann, Ophelia, Nia, Avery, and Bev were the only family Johnnie had and he didn’t want to lose them. Nor did he want to be out of Mortician’s and Val’s fucking confidences.

  Once upon a time, it had been K-P, Rack, and Big Joe; and Christopher, Johnnie, Val, and Mortician. Johnnie scowled. And fucking Snake…

  Fucking hell.

  K-P? No. No.

  K-P couldn’t have known about the little girls Logan and Boss peddled. Rack? Yes. Even Snake. K-P, though? No, never.

  He had to have known, though, and participated. He was amongst the core of the club, even before he’d become an officer.

  Motherfucker. Johnnie hoped he was rotting in fucking hell with the rest of them.

  Five minutes later, he’d pushed aside his lingering grief over a motherfucker who didn’t deserve it and was inside the house, heading to his and Kendall’s bedroom. Light shone from the cracked door and hit the floor of the little hallway. He walked into the room and halted, his heart sinking.

  Kendall sat on the chair near the bed, fully dressed. His duffel bag gaped open on the bed, and filled with her things. She was leaving him.