Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered in a trembling voice. “Christopher loves you.”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her forward before, a moment later, settling her back against propped up pillows. “I fucking love him, too. It’s fucking best this fucking way. Some fucking shit is better left unsaid. Hear me?”

  She heard him but she didn’t understand him. “I’m his family. That makes me your family, too.” She didn’t understand much about the biker culture but she understood that. She knew what brothers forever meant. Loyalty to the brotherhood also extended to the brothers’ families. She heard Granddaddy—

  “Granddaddy!” she cried, bolting up and covering her face to suck in the pain of her movements. The more lucid she became, the more the pain kicked in, but this was important. “Big Joe, please. He…Granddaddy! You have to find him. I think Cee Cee hurt him.”

  “Oh, Logan’s fucking hurt all right. Wasn’t fucking Cee Cee, though.”

  She blinked and opened her eyes a little wider, only able to see the silhouette of a big man with long hair and roped arm muscles. “Wh-what?”

  He sighed again and she wished he’d stop. He never made those sounds of regret. Barking orders were his trademark.

  “Logan’s dead, Zoann,” he said without emotion. “Another reason we need to get you put the fuck back together. You want to attend his funeral, don’t you?”

  “Granddaddy’s dead?”

  “And your Christy will be too if you ever go to the police. Do you hear me?”

  “No! I have to,” she insisted, her head pounding, barely able to think around the fog in her brain, proper grief for her grandfather trapped inside of her.

  “Bury this shit, Zoann. Deep inside you. Cee Cee’s a bad motherfucker. You go to the police, he’ll make you pay, along with Christopher, Johnnie, and Patty.”

  “Big Joe—”

  “This is club fucking business,” he said coldly. “You understand me? Club business. That means no fucking cops. No fucking hospital. No fucking anything. I had motherfuckers come in and bandage you and sew all your tears and slashes up.” He tapped the zippered pocket on his cut. “Got antibiotics, pain meds and the other pill in here. This one not available here in the states for morning after shit, but fuck it. I’m using it on you, just as if you already got a kid in you.”

  “Big Joe,” Zoann began weakly, unable to decipher his continued ramblings.

  “You want your brother to know?” he asked with a lift of his brow, changing topics. “Fine. Tell him. But if you ever open your fucking mouth to anyone else, you’re going to be responsible for ruining a lot of fucking lives. You want that on your conscience?”

  She shook her head, the horror of it all almost too much. She didn’t know all those other people she might be able to save if she reported this. Christy, Johnnie, and her mom were her family, however, and she had to protect them. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to them.

  If it meant saving them, she’d take whatever pain she had to and suck it up. If she had no one else, she’d have her mother and Christopher to talk to.

  The door opened again.

  “Open your mouth,” Big Joe ordered a moment later, his big hand cupping her chin.

  She stiffened and clamped her mouth shut, wanting to glare at him so bad.

  “Nothing fucking sexual in the request, Bitsy,” he snapped. “You’re seven or eight years older than my girl, so I’d never fucking violate you like that. Now open your fucking mouth.”

  A cool glass pressed against her cracked and sore lips and she parted them ever so slightly. The first bit of liquid hit her tongue and the need for cold water overwhelmed her. She attempted to drink more, but he pulled the glass away. Fingertips slid across her wet cheeks, tears of heartache falling at a rapid rate. Her grandfather was gone. Her virginity was gone.

  But Big Joe was right. She was Christopher’s sister, Johnnie’s cousin, and Logan’s granddaughter. She’d dishonor his memory by falling apart because stupid people lived in the world.

  “More,” she demanded, grabbing for the glass to drink from it herself. “I want more.”

  “Open your mouth wider and swallow the pills I’m giving you.”

  She shoved his hand away and splashed water onto her cheeks and hands. “No.”

  “I can shove them down her throat for ya, Boss,” Rack offered.

  Zoann decided she hated him. If all bikers were as unfeeling and mean, she’d hate them, too. To her knowledge, though, the only evil bikers in the world were Rack and Cee Cee.

  “You can sit the fuck down. The minute we get back to the fucking clubhouse, I want to talk to you in my office.” A moment of silence before fingers clutched her chin. “Stop being difficult. These pills won’t fucking poison you. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve shot you in the fucking head and been done with it. Would’ve made my life fucking easier.”

  “Still should fucking do it. I know why you ain’t. That motherfucker gonna be your downfall one day.”

  Instead of responding to Rack, Big Joe tightened his grip on her. “This is a pain pill, an antibiotic, and a pill to remove any fucking possibility of a kid being in you. And you are taking them. We can do this the easy way—my preference for you—or we can do this the hard way.”

  She ran out of time considering her options. Before she had a chance to cooperate, a pill was forced into her mouth and the cup shoved against her lips. He tipped it and water slid onto her tongue. She swallowed in reflex, but struck out her hand. Hearing the shatter and Big Joe’s curse told her she’d knocked the glass away and spat the rest of the water along with the nasty pill out.

  “Fuck, Bitsy.” His words held no heat, just fatigue and weariness. “Rack, hold her for me. She has to take these fucking pills.”

  She didn’t want Rack anywhere near her. He frightened her. Using the last of her meager strength, she swung blindly, satisfied at the grunt. One of them caught her swinging fists and wrenched them behind her back, settling her against him. A soft belly and a big erection poked her back and Zoann stilled. Rack maneuvered behind her. She’d seen Big Joe without a shirt and his entire body was a solid muscle mass.

  But Rack—evil, stinking Rack—already had signs of a beer belly.

  “Fuck.”

  “Problem, Boss?” Rack grunted, thrusting against her.

  “No fucking water.”

  “I’ll keep her in place until you get her some.”

  No. Absolutely not. She didn’t trust Rack one bit. She licked her lips and let out an ear-splitting scream. “MOMMA!” she yelled, struggling for her life. “MOMMIE, PLEASE!”

  Hands clamping over her mouth cut off another scream, but she’d gotten her mother’s attention.

  “Let her go, Rack,” Patricia demanded in a steely voice.

  “Fuck, woman! Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “If you don’t let her go, I’m carving your heart out, feeding it to him, and then cutting his dick off.”

  Rack released her abruptly and Zoann squinted, attempting to see for herself this new side of her mother. A few curses, grunts, sobs and shouts later, silence fell.

  “Momma?”

  No one answered and Zoann shivered, another sob welling.

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  “Patty is fine,” Big Joe responded, sounding out-of-breath. A door slammed, then the snick of a lock followed. “Rack, hold her tight. I need to get these fucking pills in her so I can get on with my fucking life and forget this shit ever happened.”

  Six weeks later

  Zoann wished days were equipped with pencils and erasers. She’d delete the last forty-five days of her life. She wouldn’t visit Christy and she wouldn’t flirt with Val. Her grandfather would still be alive and her rape wouldn’t happen.

  Nothing in life could ever be undone. It could be rectified and forgiven, but the memories would remain as would the scars.

  Today, on a rainy, drizzly day, determination fil
led her. Christy had been back in town for weeks—Momma finally told her this morning that he’d called a month ago.

  Zoann intended to describe every horrifying moment to him, so he’d listen to her, tell her how to make it go away. Make it all better. He’d even let her cry over Granddaddy. He’d hated him and wouldn’t mourn his death, but he wouldn’t begrudge Zoann’s love for their grandfather.

  Momma seemed to have shut down. Zoann had asked her where had she gone while Big Joe and Rack forced those pills into her, then stripped her completely naked. As her vision had cleared, hour-by-hour, she’d seen Big Joe pacing and Rack cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a very lethal looking knife. Then all the cramps and the blood had started and they’d given her more pills.

  Patricia still hadn’t come in.

  Now, days later, Zoann floated around, performing all the regular tasks but with horrible circles ringing her eyes, although her wrist had just about healed.

  Glancing at the sky, Zoann stared at the clubhouse door, reminiscent of the day that changed her life forever. Sometimes history had to repeat itself and this happened to be one of those times. She’d called Christy over and over again for weeks and he hadn’t answered.

  Today was Ophelia’s 14th birthday and she wanted Christopher to visit, so Zoann had promised to get him for her. Of course, she had her own selfish motives, too. More important, though, she had a reason to see him since he refused to respond to her messages.

  The crowded parking lot and bikes everywhere hinted at something big going on. Bracing herself, she pulled open the door and marched in, determination filling her. She hadn’t crept across the graduation stage with a ton of makeup to cover the fading bruises and she hadn’t put on a brave front around everyone, but Big Joe and Rack especially, just four days after Cee Cee’s assault, for no reason. Neither had she sat in church, unable to see Granddaddy one last time with his closed casket, and held in her sobs because of her shattered heart, just for the hell of it.

  She’d done everything so no one would suspect anything. She needed to suck it all up and protect her family. Only, now, Christopher was back. She’d tell him and he’d figure out a way to keep them all safe. If she couldn’t go to the police or find someone to talk to, she’d have him.

  The door slammed shut behind her and the noise hit her full force. She froze at the sight of all the bikers and naked women roaming about. To her left, where the pool tables were, a woman bent over one of them while a man pumped into her. In the corner, another biker sat, legs splayed, and a girl’s head bobbing up and down.

  Turning around, she headed for the door, nauseated. The girls were consenting to sex, but her rape rushed back to her. Stepping back into the light drizzle, she stumbled a few feet from the main door, dropping down and throwing up the peach yogurt she’d eaten an hour ago. Her entire body shaking, she fell onto her backside, swiping her hands across her mouth. Burying her face in her hands, she enjoyed the rain falling onto her head.

  Not caring about the dampness or the water seeping through her pants, she drew up her knees and leaned her forehead against them, needing just a moment.

  Rocking herself back and forth, she thought of her brother. Everyone expected something of him. Big Joe? Allegiance. Johnnie? Acceptance. Momma? Assistance.

  Now, she expected something from him, too.

  Poor Christy.

  “Zoann?”

  Matthew’s surprised voice slid through her like warm honey and she lifted her head, raising her gaze to his, finding him standing in front of her and studying her before crouching down.

  Curiosity danced in his eyes. “What’s up, babe? Are you all right? Why are you on the ground?” He studied her wrist. “What the fuck happened?”

  She darted her gaze away, unable to bear his probing, questioning eyes. Abstract answers with no meaning and even less logic floated to her, but she remained silent, wishing she knew him better. She liked him a whole lot, but suppose he went off half-cocked, not believing her? He might tell everyone, too.

  His fingertips thumbed her cheeks and she realized tears mixed with the rain, the ground’s wetness now soaked through to her underwear. A chill traveled through her. For six weeks she’d been cold inside, though. Feeling the dampness, smelling the earth reaffirmed the fact she had survived. Besides being able to sob her heart out on Christopher’s shoulder and have the safety of his embrace to comfort her, being alive mattered the most.

  “Somebody fucking hurt you?”

  Should she tell Matthew the truth? His scent and his touch affected her and confused her. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to have sex with him or anyone else, and oral sex would be out of the question.

  No. She could never say anything, so she latched onto what she’d seen today. “I fell a few weeks ago. Today, though, I walked inside and…and…people were having sex out in the open.”

  He studied her another moment, then nodded. “Okay, babe. That’s why we don’t fucking want you around here,” he said gruffly. “No place for an innocent girl.”

  “Val, that new bitch, Ellen’s here,” Big Joe interrupted from behind Zoann and she stiffened, jumping to her feet and glaring at him. He lifted a brow and drank from his bottle of beer. “She’s in a dick-sucking mood tonight and she’s asking for you. Outlaw’s promising to let her give him head if you don’t get your ass in there soon.”

  Transferring her glare to Matthew, Zoann wrapped her arms around her waist as if she could protect herself from all the bad in life and hating the fresh rush of tears forming in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Get him for me,” she said, not needing to say who. They knew.

  Matthew stepped around her, undecipherable emotion in his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do, babe.”

  Big Joe clapped him on the back. “Get the fuck in there,” he urged. “I’ll get Outlaw.”

  Matthew started off, then stopped and sighed, returning to her side. He kissed her forehead and took her face between his big hands. “You need me for anything ever, all you have to do is let me know what it is.” He stared into her eyes, like he knew, like he expected her to say something.

  But her chance to talk to him had passed. Big Joe wanted her to bury what had happened to her. If she said anything to anyone other than her brother, something bad would happen to all of them. Big Joe had even insinuated he should bury her. Fear shuddered through her and she thought she’d vomit again. “I just miss Granddaddy,” she said dully.

  Big Joe snickered and Zoann decided to add him to her list of bikers she hated.

  “Val, don’t mention this visit and I won’t fucking mention your attempts to get your dick in her.”

  Stumbling back at the same time as Matthew dropped his hands away, horror and shame washed through Zoann and she pressed her fingers to her belly. Her vagina was healed. The gross doctor Big Joe sent over said because Cee Cee beat her mostly on top of her feminine mound and not around her more sensitive tissue, she wouldn’t suffer nerve damage.

  “Get Christopher,” she demanded in a shrill voice, angry her trauma wouldn’t go away.

  Matthew frowned and thrust a hand through his hair. “I’ll see what I can do, babe,” he repeated and stalked off.

  She stared at Big Joe, praying he followed Matthew and left her in peace. He snickered again, his dilated pupils and red-rimmed eyes focusing on her.

  “Stop calling here, Zoann,” he said in a hard voice. “Christopher saw you when you came inside a while ago and he’s not interested in your fucking bullshit whining.”

  “That isn’t true! He’d never—”

  “Don’t you think he gets sick and tired of you? He’s a grown fucking man having to placate you.” Big Joe smirked and rocked back on his heels. “Or as he said, a spoiled, snotty little cunt.”

  She recoiled at the words and attempted to bypass Big Joe, determined to hear for herself those mean words coming from her brother’s mouth about her or any woman.

  Big Joe caught her forearm. “Don’t you
fucking dare. You don’t believe me? Wanna do a hear and tell?” He yanked out his cell phone and pressed number three, the speakerphone allowing the dial tone to pound through Zoann’s rioting emotions.

  “Yo?”

  “Chr—”

  Big Joe slapped a hand over her mouth and yanked her against him. His tight hold didn’t allow her to struggle. “Outlaw, she’s here. Told you she wouldn’t listen and would come back.”

  Her brother growled. “Fuck me. I’m so sick of that fuckin’ aggravatin’ cunt. I wish like fuck Ma had fuckin’ listened to me. I wouldn’t have to fuckin’ deal with her whiny bullshit. I hate that fuckin’ bitch.”

  “I’ll get rid of her.”

  “I ain’t ever wantin’ to see another fuckin’ seventeen-year-old in my fuckin’ life.”

  Female laughter cut through Zoann’s turmoil and she shivered at her brother’s lewd response, embarrassed and sick to her stomach.

  “Lemme add this bullshit. I fuckin’ saw Bitsy in this motherfucker.”

  Zoann squeaked and Big Joe extended the hand still covering her mouth to include her nose.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he growled in her ear. “If you don’t want me to fucking smother you.”

  She went still, almost collapsing at the agony of it all.

  “You there, Boss?”

  Christopher’s voice bounced through her head in dull waves, her every moment she’d spent with her brother, every smile he’d given her rising up and taunting her. All these years she’d loved him and, now, she needed him, but…

  He didn’t want her. He’d never wanted her.

  Big Joe snickered and loosened his hold on her, but her muscles felt atrophied.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I can talk to Zoann if you’d like.”

  “Nope. Ain’t your problem,” Christopher responded, his aggravation clear. “She my fuckin’ sister. No-fuckin-body ain’t tellin her what I gotta fuckin’ say but me. By the time my dick was finished comin’, she was fuckin’ gone.”

  Big Joe snickered and shoved her away. “Dealing with a seventeen-year-old’s shit, I can see how you’re tired of her.”