Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Hurt pulled down his features and she squinted at him with blurry eyes. That hadn’t come out right. He swigged from the bottle again. “You right, baby,” he said quietly.

  “There’s nothing I love more than being your wife,” she amended, not wanting him to get the wrong sentiment behind her decision. She dropped her pounding head in her hands. “If we separate, I need to know how to take care of me and CJ.”

  His chair scraped against the floor and Meggie opened her eyes to see his glare. “Separate? What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout? You ain’t happy bein’ my wife no more?”

  She was such a lightweight where alcohol was concerned. The wine had tasted good, so she’d chugged half of the twelve ounces in one, long swallow. Six ounces shouldn’t make her so lightheaded. Omigod, she couldn’t even drink like an adult. She threaded her fingers through her hair. “I live to be your wife. But Zoann’s a nurse. Bailey wants to be a psychiatrist and is in school, even pregnant. Kendall’s an attorney. You deserve a wife you can be proud of. I need to find a way to earn my own money.”

  That offended him even more and he stiffened. “You get your own fuckin’ money, Megan. From me. You got fuckin’ credit cards. A checking account.”

  “All in your name. Whatever you did so I can sign on your personal checks…well, fine, but I’m just a signor on your account. It isn’t fair to ask you for a joint account because I’m not putting money in it. Same with the credit cards. They’re in your name and I have no way to pay the bill, so they have to stay in your name.”

  Christopher lifted her chin and stared at her for long moments. His brow still creased, he leaned across the table and brushed his lips against hers. Various emotions filled his green eyes. Fear. Irritation. Concern. Love. Each and every one of them, she recognized because he opened himself to her and trusted her enough to show his vulnerability.

  “Why the fuck you talkin’ bout us separatin’? You leavin’ me?”

  “If you cheated. Yes.”

  Exasperation trumped everything else. “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

  “That I love you with everything in me and seeing all those girls around you, knowing the Bobs are being around you a lot more lately, is killing me. I never thought you’d slept with April. With the way she hung around Val, it never occurred to me until she told me.” She swallowed down her tears. Christopher didn’t need to see them. He’d been so worried about her. He needed to see her strong. “I can’t…I won’t share you.” She made little circles on the table, her fingertip skating over the grooves. “You’re different. We’re different. I-I know why. V-Val always calls you psycho stalker wild man, but you always let me know you were mine. If another woman just looked at you…”

  “Ain’t no motherfuckers stayin’ the same, Megan. Experience change us. But, baby, you can take this to the fuckin’ bank. I don’t want no other girl but you. You. You it for me. My all. My every-fuckin-thing.” He thrust his fingers through his inky black hair. “You wanna go to school, then you go to fuckin’ school. But you ain’t gettin’ a job. I’m gonna have Brooks and Johnnie add your name to wherever the fuck my name at on the shit belongin’ to me. I’m gonna get you your own checkin’ account and have money put in every-fuckin-week.”

  Meggie rolled her eyes. “What do I do but cook and keep the clubhouse clean?”

  “You listen to motherfuckers fuckin’ problems. You give fuckin’ advice when they fuckin’ ask you. You fuckin’ plan e-fuckin-vents. You run fuckin’ errands. You fuckin’ cook.”

  “I’m your wife. I’m supposed to feed you and keep your house and clothes clean.”

  She glanced around, wondering why she felt so sensitive. All before, she’d agreed to disagree with Kendall. But since Kendall had once again crucified Meggie for not being her own woman, it had bothered Meggie. This time, she’d actually cried over it. Ridiculous. Kendall had her opinion and Meggie had hers. Was she really wanting to go to school and get a job? Or was she doing it because she didn’t want Christopher ashamed of her? She wanted his respect and that of the other women. Why was she allowing any of this to bother her when she knew Kendall wasn’t in a good place right now?

  “Tell me what the fuck you want, baby.”

  Confusion clouded her head. What she wanted most of all was to be the old lady Christopher needed her to be. She wanted her house back and her mother well. She wanted to find a way to give the brothers who ate at the clubhouse vegetables. She wanted her grief to go away and she wanted to erase the memory of that deputy’s fingers stretching inside her vagina. She wanted to talk about the possibility of adopting a baby with Christopher.

  She wanted a lot, all within her grasp, instead of just dealing with mundane tasks and overwhelming responsibilities and emotions.

  Her husband shut down completely rather than do emotion for too long. So where did that leave them?

  “I don’t know. I want to be who you need me to be but I also want to have my own identity. I want to be your wife and run our house, help to raise our kids, but I don’t want you ashamed of me because I have just a GED.” She twisted her wedding set, sparkling even in this setting. He spared no expense for her. “I’m just good at being a housewife and your lover and nothing else.”

  “Megan—” He snapped his mouth shut and narrowed his suddenly cold green eyes. “Fuck me, but I’m gonna fuckin’ kill fuckin’ Kendall. You better fuckin’ tell that cunt to stay at that fuckin’ psycho camp for the next ten fuckin’ years. She put this bullshit in your fuckin’ head, huh?”

  Giving Christopher another reason to dislike Kendall wasn’t about to happen. She averted her gaze, heat rising in her cheeks. “No.”

  Christopher slammed his fist on the table. “Bull-fuckin-shit. You ain’t talkin’ to that bitch no more.”

  That went over well. Still…“Yes, I am. You can’t stop me from talking to her. She’s my friend.”

  “The fuck she is. She masqueradin’ as your fuckin’ friend to have a fuckin’ whippin’ girl to build her own miserable fuckin’ ass up. Stop bein’ fuckin’ stupid and see that cunt for who she really is.”

  Meggie gasped, snatched his bottle from him and flicked the liquid in his face. “Jerk. I’m not being stupid,” she cried, glaring at him. “I’m being me. Kendall and I are friends…frenemies. You might not like the advice she gives me, but she makes me think. Anyway, I don’t care what you say. I’m talking to her whenever I want to.”

  “What the fuck ever.” He grabbed some napkins and wiped off his face. “Next fuckin’ time you talk to her, I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to her, too. Better fuckin’ yet, I’m gonna get her number off your fuckin’ phone and have a long fuckin’ conversation with that bitch.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “No, please. She’s hurting, Christopher. Johnnie needs to talk to her about a wedding date.”

  “I don’t give a motherfuck if Johnnie gotta talk to her ‘bout the Second Comin’. That bitch ain’t fuckin’ with you.”

  “You can’t order people to like me and respect me. They have to do it because they want to.”

  “Yeah the fuck I can. At least where fuckin’ respect concerned. As for likin’ you, you right. I can’t order a motherfucker alive to fuckin’ like you if they fuckin’ don’t. That shit up to them.”

  Meggie shrugged, sorry she’d suggested they come here. She was making matters worse, arguing like a child. “Who am I?” she blurted, needing to know his perception of her.

  “My fuckin’ wife,” he snarled. “You the girl who like to fuckin’ dance and laugh. You like fuckin’ jokes and you like to cook. You like to fuckin’ shop and go to the movies. You like fuckin’ children and love the fuck outta my boy. You the best aunt Ryan could fuckin’ ask for. You like to fuckin’ read fuckin’ novels.” His voice dropped. “You like dick.”

  “Yours.”

  Christopher snickered. “Wicked little bitch.” He stared at her. “It was her, huh?”

  Swallowing, Meggie’s heart beat hard
and fast at how well he knew her. They were best friends. They knew just what the other needed. Most of the time. So what was wrong with her? She was just a wreck. For the past week, she’d stayed away from Patrick’s grave, determined to move forward. But she just hurt more. Not looking at his two photos—the ultrasound one and the one after he’d been stillborn—gutted her more.

  She needed to bridge the past with her present to have a future.

  Meggie looked away. “You’ve got to back off Kendall. If not for her and Johnnie, then for me.”

  “Listen to me, baby. I already fuckin’ know the answer. We gotta lot of shit between us and I’m all kindsa fucked up. Ain’t never made a secret of that shit. But you ain’t been yourself for fuckin’ months now, so you ain’t standin’ up to her right. That’s where the fuck I step the fuck in and handle it.”

  “No. When you handled it before, you just made it worse. Then Johnnie got in it to defend her. Kendall means well—”

  “Tell me the bullshit she fuckin’ said.”

  For whatever reason, Meggie felt compelled to protect Kendall from Christopher’s wrath. Maybe, she and Kendall really didn’t like each other. Maybe, they were just connected to each other because of Spoon and the horrors he’d put them through. Right then, Meggie wasn’t sure. She just felt sick to her stomach, overheated, and overloaded with feelings.

  Mortician had suggested Meggie not mention having another baby to Christopher, so Meggie hadn’t brought it up. She hadn’t mentioned Patrick, either. Or visited his grave or looked at his ultrasound photo. Or the other one. The one where he looked as if he was sleeping and she could wake him up and cradle him, coo to him. Laugh with him.

  The one where his life was an illusion.

  Because he wasn’t sleeping. He was dead.

  “Fuck. Don’t you dare start fuckin’ cryin’.”

  Blinking fast and furious, Meggie smiled. “I’m fine.”

  “Megan, however you gotta be, I’ll fuckin’ take you as long as you take me. You gotta be educated, I’ll take you. You gotta be at a fancy job, fuckin’ fine. You just gotta be my wife who pussify the fuck outta me, you still have me. But what I ain’t doin’ is watchin’ you suffer cuz of a stupid bitch. I ain’t riskin’ your life puttin’ another baby in you. I ain’t riskin’ us by fuckin’ over you. That shit not fuckin’ hard to understand. Tell me, where the fuck in my statement ain’t nothin’ and no-fuckin’ body—not even my boy—more fuckin’ important than you?”

  “I understand,” she said, irrationally hurt that he continued to speak of just CJ. They had two boys. Not only their living son. She wouldn’t respond on repeat and tell him that she just wanted to be who he needed. It was just a broken record. She rubbed her forehead. “I’m going to text Zoann and see if they are still at the rally. Maybe, we can meet them there.”

  With a heavy sigh, Christopher nodded. “Yeah, you do that, baby. Cuz our fuckin’ night goin’ to shit.”

  Chapter Three: Tame Shit

  Brimming with fury and shouldering his way through the crowd of the biker rally being held in an old warehouse near the Willamette, Christopher kept a tight hold on Megan, his mind filled with images of garroting Kendall. They could’ve been fucking friends, once upon a time, but she instigated shit every fucking way she could think of. Fucking divorce proceedings with Bailey and Mort. Dropping her stupid fucking comments about her holier than though law fucking degree compared to Megan only being a housewife. Her fucking brilliant observation that Megan needed to face the other girls’ pregnancies.

  No fucking shit. While Kendall only mentioned her lost baby at times most convenient for her, Megan was just about losing herself in grief.

  Kendall wanted to fucking help Megan? Then why not fucking ask her about her grief and pain? Why fucking berate her and judge her?

  Although passing her fucking opinion about shit was one fucking thing—they all fucking did it with each other. Inter-fucking-fering was a completely different motherfucker. And fucking Kendall had a way of passing her opinions and passing fucking judgment all in one, especially on Megan.

  That shit was fucking stopping or Christopher was killing her. End of fucking story. He’d have to fucking kill John Boy, too, because the dumb fucking ass would want to fucking avenge his woman. Under-fucking-standable. But Christopher would save all the bullshit and shoot the fuck out of both of them at the same fucking time.

  Just thinking about killing Johnnie hurt Christopher. They always had each other’s backs. They didn’t try to fuck up each other. However, since Kendall’s arrival, they’d gotten into several fights. Not even Zoann slapping the fuck out of Kendall had gotten through to her.

  “Think I should enter?”

  Megan’s question interrupted his thoughts and he paused. He’d plied her with water after she’d drank that sweet shit and she seemed fine. But she had to be fucking drunk off her motherfucking ass if she thought he’d allow her to vie to be Miss Biker Babe.

  A line of half-dressed bitches stood like ducks in a fucking row, near a table marked ‘registration’. The seven girls had tank tops that only went to their stomachs. Bikini bottoms covered their pussies, and their tits almost spilled the fuck out of those small tops.

  Christopher glanced at Megan. She had to be fucking with him. But, nope. She kept up a triangular study between the bitches, him, and herself.

  A couple of the girls smiled at him and he sighed, not in the mood to be there. He just wanted to be in his room, locked away with Megan and CJ. There, she was herself again. She knew who she was and how much he needed her.

  Turning her to face him, he knuckled her jaw. “Go ahead and enter, baby. Just fuckin’ have my fuckin’ bail money ready for when I fuck up motherfuckers for lookin’ at you.”

  She tilted her head back.

  “C’mon,” he said, headlocking her playfully and dragging her away. A heartbeat later, he released her and kissed her, glad when she started forward again.

  “Excuse me,” a redheaded woman purred, brushing against him and winking, running her tongue along her fat lips suggestively. He shoved the bitch away, the sight of the slut bringing Kendall’s miserable fucking ass to his head again.

  Christopher didn’t give much of a fuck about what she’d been though. Small bits of sympathy for her hit him from time-to-time, but she needed to get the fuck over herself. That was the only fucking way she’d ever fucking get better. She needed to fucking realize butchers and bakers and candle-fucking-stick makers made the fucking world go round. Lawyers and housewives, nurses and psychiatrists did, too. One fucking job was just the fuck as important as the fucking other. It was about fucking choice and personal fucking freedom.

  Megan’s head was fucked up enough already. Fuck. His motherfucking head was fucked up enough already. One thing was fucking certain. He preferred Megan to be in Kendall’s face rather than allowing Kendall to make Megan doubt herself and her marriage to Christopher.

  He weaved through the press of people, dragging Megan along to one of the four main areas, all with separate bars. Outside the zone they entered, a registration table for amateur boxing was set up. He needed to pay the two hundred fifty dollar registration fee required to sign the fuck up and beat Johnnie’s ass for a variety of bull-fucking-shit. Maybe, just to fucking remind him that stupid fucking comments got human motherfuckers fucked the fuck up.

  Entering the place, Christopher halted to take in the bare knuckled fighting going on. Two motherfuckers pummeled each other in the ring. Motherfuckers fighting he could deal with. Grown men making asses of themselves at karaoke contests and fucking stripper competitions where they were the dancers? That shit was something else entirely.

  “There they are,” Megan said, pointing to Zoann who was shrugging off Val and bouncing up and down to get Christopher’s attention.

  Christopher chuckled at Val’s frustrated scowl. By the hand he had on Zoann’s shoulder, it was obvious he was trying to keep her still because of her pregnancy. Of course
, the dumb ass hadn’t kept her the fuck away from the rally. On the other hand, stopping Bitsy from doing what the fuck she wanted wasn’t going to happen. He was just happy to see his little sister’s smile.

  Val was a solid motherfucker. Dumber than a fucking brick sometimes, but, fuck it, he made Zoann happy and that’s what counted.

  “Hey, Meggie girl,” Mort greeted, pausing in front of Christopher and ruffling Megan’s hair.

  Motherfucker lifted a brow at Christopher, waiting for him to jump in his shit for touching his girl. Fucking odd that he was getting secure with the knowledge that she loved him and a friendly touch wouldn’t take that away when she seemed to begin to doubt him.

  “What up, Prez?”

  Nothing much, except…“Where the fuck Digger?” Christopher also wanted to know where the fuck Bailey was tonight. She should’ve been with Mort or Mort should’ve been with her. This was the wrong setting to point that shit out with assfucks getting knocked the fuck out. Other fuckheads did countdowns. Dickheads shouted and yelled. An announcer called two new fuckheads to the ring. Not the best place at all, so he kept to the fucking topic. “Why Digger ain’t brought his ass to the MC yet?”

  “Fuck, I wish I fucking knew what’s going on with him. He said he in Cali with our old man.”

  “Fuck me. Sharper the last fuckin’ motherfucker he need to be round.”

  “Stupid fuck got to realize that shit on his own, Prez,” Mort responded.

  Christopher wasn’t about to police grown ass men. They knew what the fuck they were supposed to do. “He ain’t got long, Mortician. Hear me? He should have his fuckin’ ass right the fuck there workin’ to put our MC back the fuck together. He ain’t asked for no fuckin’ leave or nothin’. He just fuckin’ disappeared. I ain’t getting’ a good fuckin’ feelin’ ‘bout this shit.”

  “C’mon, Prez, you know my brother solid.”

  Yeah, he hoped like fuck Digger was. Brothers got hairs up their holes and got out bad. Others just got fucking tired of the life and fucking patched out. Christopher preferred to think that was going on with Digger. He was fucking over motherfuckers close to him fucking him up the ass.