Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “What deal, Bailey?” he asked, downing another small bottle of alcohol.

  “You finish making love to me and I’ll order your alcohol.”

  He scowled at her and stomped to the phone. “Well, fuck you then. I can order it myself.”

  “Don’t take out your bad mood on me.”

  He didn’t answer her until he’d placed his order and slammed the phone down. “You’re the fucking reason for my bad mood.”

  Pursing her lips, she turned her head away, refusing to let him make her cry. Or, if he did, she wouldn’t let him see it. “You have two options, Lucas. Deal with it until we get back to the clubhouse or send me away now. Your choice, but you are not treating me like dirt.” She also had an option—walking away herself.

  He hurried to his jeans and pulled them on. “Fuck you.”

  “Back at you, jerk. Dad always said how you thought everything out—”

  “If I would’ve been thinking, you wouldn’t be here.”

  He pulled on his shirt, a sight Bailey reveled in because he was leaving, and she could release her hurt and anger. She couldn’t hold on to her tears much longer.

  “Dad said—”

  “Fuck, man. Shut up about K-P. The man not here to protect you from my dick, so let’s leave him where the fuck he’s at. Dead and fucking buried.”

  Despite how much she wanted to, she just couldn’t hold back anymore. All the fight went out of her and she released a little sob, followed by a bigger one, until her tears overflowed.

  His hands skimmed the back of her head.

  “Fuck, Bailey. I’m sorry.” Lucas wrapped his arms around her, and his hand cradled the back of her head, urging her to his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again and kissed the top of her head. “I wish we could’ve found a way to save him. I wish you and I would be here to sneak away from his grouchy ass. I just wish he was still alive, man.”

  She couldn’t answer the grief in his voice. He sounded on the verge of tears and she suspected the last thing he’d want to do was cry at all, but in front of her would be humiliating for him. She twisted in his arms and lifted herself to kiss his strong neck before sliding down to her knees, trailing her lips over his shirt, the barrier between her mouth and his skin. The cotton material smelled of exhaust fumes, oil, and sweat.

  She kissed the length of the bulge straining against his zipper, her pulse roaring in her ears. Slow and careful, she unfastened his jeans and pulled his cock out. She swirled her tongue around the mushroom shaped head, tasting herself and his pre-cum, and licking the thick vein running along the underside of his hot, satiny flesh.

  He exhaled on a curse, empowering Bailey, his tortured sound hinting she was making him feel good. A moment later, his hand massaged the back of her head, caressed her neck and shoulders.

  “Come here, Bailey.”

  She gave him a couple more licks before resting on her haunches to gaze up at him through the fringes of her lashes.

  His heavy-lidded look arrowed to her belly and tightened her core.

  “Sit on my dick.”

  Too slow in following his instructions, Bailey found herself being lifted by the waist and planted on his lap. She still hesitated.

  “You scared to sit on my cock?”

  She nodded.

  He sat her on the bed, stood and undressed, before rejoining her and taking her into his arms. He kissed the column of her neck and she threw her head back.

  “If you stop again, I’m castrating you.”

  He laughed and took her mouth again, his hands going to the V-neck of her nightshirt and ripping it straight down the middle. He paused and Bailey protested, quieting when he skimmed his fingers over her nipples and her belly, before teasing her clit.

  Breathing harshly, he rolled onto her and slid into her, never stopping the movements of his fingers. Bailey groaned as he started deep, slow strokes, his cock matching the movements of his tongue. She buried her fingers in the thick braids of his hair, entwining some of the locks around her hand. Moving from her mouth, he sucked the skin of her neck. Bailey shivered and threw her head back.

  The speed of his hips increased, his mouth traveling from her lips to her neck and back again, his kisses frantic and passionate.

  “Come for me, Bailey,” he demanded harshly, aiding his order with the stimulation to her clit. “Come.”

  His voice serenaded her overly sensitive senses, his tongue invading her mouth, tasting her and exciting her to the breaking point. Heat and tremors swept through her. She dug her nails into his back and stars danced behind her eyelids, her world exploding around her, her being ripping open.

  He tore his mouth from hers and his lip curled. “You feeling good with my dick buried in your cunt?”

  “Yes.”

  He licked her throat and grasped her waist. “I’m coming in your pussy,” he grunted, his hard drives sending her over the edge again.

  “Fuuuuucccckkkk,” he yelled, pouring into her, his body trembling and stiffening before he collapsed on top of her.

  He rested a moment before turning on his back, his skin glistening with sweat. They remained side-by-side for a while until he leaned halfway over her and braced himself on an arm. He tucked damp strands of her hair behind her ear and thumbed her lips.

  “My dad really cared about you,” she whispered, not a lie.

  Lucas nodded. “I cared about him, too. He was the closest thing I ever had to a father.” He laughed bitterly. “Not that shit like that matter.”

  “It does,” she said fiercely. “Your feelings matter. I never thought you doubted your worth.”

  Lucas frowned at her. “Didn’t say shit about my worth. I’m an awesome motherfucker. I just said I shouldn’t have any weak feelings. That shit gets you killed.”

  “You’re human.”

  “I’m a biker.”

  Bailey rolled her eyes. “Bikers don’t bleed?”

  “We bleed fucking rivers. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “So should you,” she pointed out.

  “No room for bitch ass emotions.”

  Nothing she hadn’t heard from him before. Sometimes, demonstrating was more effective than lecturing. He might turn into that raging beast again in the next five minutes. And he might not. The only thing she could do was hope for the best and show him her own emotions.

  He stood. “I’m going out for a drink. Nothing to do in this room but fuck and if I’m not putting a ring on it, I can’t keep sticking my dick in you.”

  Hours later, Mortician stumbled into the room and swatted the wall, searching for a light switch. When he found it and flipped it on, the room lit up, allowing him to zero in on the black hair spread out on the pillow.

  There she was. His Bailey. K-P’s Bailey.

  All he’d been doing was taking pussy from her as if she were a whore. She wasn’t. She was his girl. He fucking loved her and she needed him. Her dad was gone, so Mortician had to step in and take care of her.

  He adored her...he hooted with laughter. Being drunk off his ass sure made a motherfucker honest. Honester…?

  He laughed again, the voice in his head slurring. Slurring that he lurved Bailey and he was one frightened motherfucker because of it. One fucking cunt in the world had fucked up his heart and he’d kept it in fucking check until he’d crossed paths with Bailey.

  Scratching his head, he staggered forward. He hadn’t been this fucked up in…in…since he’d started fucking drinking. Fuucckk. Plopping on his side of the bed, he reached for Bailey, his hands trembling and his vision distorted. He’d had drink after drink downstairs at the Black Jack table. He’d also lost a mint and won it right the fuck back.

  While Bailey had been in this room alone. His girl. The mother of his baby. She hadn’t told him that shit yet. More than likely didn’t know herself, but he just felt he’d made a baby with her. Besides, he hadn’t exactly covered his cock earlier. No sirree because Bailey did that shit to him and his dick. Made his
brain fucking soft and his cock fucking hard. So, now, she had all his little tadpole baby makers floating inside her. He wasn’t fucking sure before if he’d gotten her pregnant, his dumb ass just had to guarantee it.

  He saluted his miserable, little swimmers, little fucking egg-seeking missiles that he just couldn’t fucking resist shooting off in Bailey.

  Because he was Samson and she was Delilah. Maybe, he should cut his fucking locks, lose his fucking power. Or Bailey would lose hers over him.

  Fuck. And? Not like that would do shit about her being unpregnant.

  Fuck. Is she even pregnant?

  You hoping for that shit?

  He sniggered. They’d gone half on a baby. He belted out the lyrics to the R.Kelly song. Bailey bolted up, still naked from earlier when they’d fucked.

  She blinked, staring at him in bewilderment when he sang the chorus again. “You sing?”

  “I play fucking drums,” he admitted. “And electric guitar.” He laid his head in her lap and caressed her stomach. “I ever tell you that shit?”

  “No.”

  “What the fuck I told you about me?” He was guessing not much, thinking he could keep distance between them. Shit didn’t work that way, though. What he knew about her dictated how he felt. He could tell her his life story and not feel a fucking thing.

  Or he could stay tight-lipped and love her to pieces.

  She massaged his temple and he leaned into her touch “Sleep, Lucas. We can talk in the morning.”

  ‘You know I’m a rich motherfucker?” He tapped her leg. “I stole a fucking safe from my old man. That shit was mine and he was keeping it. Couldn’t let that motherfucker do that.”

  “Okay.”

  Mortician laughed, because, clearly, she didn’t believe him. “If I get taken out, you gonna be a rich bitch.”

  “You’re not making any sense—”

  “Marry me,” he interrupted, although she was right. He sure as fuck wasn’t making sense with the alcohol jumbling his head.

  “What?”

  He sat up and nodded, smiling at her wide eyes. Grabbing her by her delicate neck, he pulled her in and kissed her. “Marry me. I want you to be my wife.”

  She swallowed and blinked again, wariness entering her eyes. “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “I love you,” she said softly. “I can’t marry you because I won’t share you. I can’t marry you and allow you to share me.”

  Share her? What kind of bullshit was she talking about? “Who the fuck would I share you with?”

  She shrugged. “Whoever you wanted.”

  “Bailey, you’re mine. Your pussy is mine. If another motherfucker look cross fucking eyed at you, I’ll beat the fuck out of him.” And Ulner had done more than look at her. Mortician squinted his eyes and swayed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. Now, what the fuck about that declaration was wrong? “Marry me. There’s a little Elvis motherfucker downstairs marrying motherfuckers. I saw him. Come down with me and let’s get married.”

  Bailey giggled. “A little Elvis motherfucker?”

  He nodded and laughed along with her before kissing her. “We in Vegas. We got the little Elvis and I love you. What’s stopping you?”

  “You love me?” she whispered, her gorgeous eyes rounding.

  Blackness flirted with his pounding brain, ready to swoop in and knock him on his ass. He answered at slow speed, not sure what he was saying.

  Then, she spoke in an awed voice. “You really love me?”

  Fuck, he had just said that to her, hadn’t he? Fuck, he was a bitch ass. His first declaration of love and he was drunk as a monkey. He belched. “Let’s get married and come back to this room so I can fuck every hole you have.”

  “E-every hole?”

  “That shit didn’t come out right. I’m not into fucking ears and nostrils.”

  Bailey narrowed her eyes, working the fuck out of those motherfuckers tonight. Rolling. Widening. Narrowing. Fuck, that shit was making him dizzy. “Get some sleep. You’re drunk off your ass.”

  “Am not.”

  “You’re talking about fucking nostrils and ears. That’s concrete evidence.”

  He belched again and his stomach turned. “C’mon, Bailey. I want to fuck your mouth and your ass. I want to eat your pussy for hours and then fuck it slow and gentle and then rough and fast. I want to teach you how to suck me off. I want to come in your mouth and your pussy, but I’m not fucking you again unless you my wife.”

  He laid his hurting head in her lap again and tipped back, looking at her upside down.

  “If you ever cheat on me, I’ll be done.”

  If he cheated on her, all she had to do was cheat on him. Another drunken truth that seemed completely fucked. He opened his mouth to offer his alternative when she spoke again.

  “If you really love me, then, yes, Lucas, I’ll marry you.”

  Chapter Eighteen: SOS

  Lucas wanted an annulment. Bailey should’ve followed her instinct and refused to marry him. She’d known he was more than drunk when he’d awakened her and insisted they wed. Besides, the word commitment was not in Lucas’s vocabulary.

  Once he’d vomited everything he’d ever drank in his entire life, he’d passed out, so she’d gotten out of bed, put on the shirt he’d tossed aside when they’d returned to the room and started changing the soiled sheets after she’d freshened him up. She’d called down and requested new bed linen, refusing maid service because of his nudity.

  Removing one side of the fitted sheet and replacing it with the clean one, she struggled to turn him over. In hospitals, patients were cleaned up in such a manner by the nurse’s aides. Of course, two performed those tasks. Since she didn’t have that luxury, she’d have to improvise.

  Bailey leaned her full weight against him and grunted in frustration at his solid mass of muscle. She shoved him and he groaned.

  “Turn over,” she instructed, rubbing his forehead before placing a kiss on it. He was vulnerable right now and all she wanted to do was protect him, beginning with cleaning him up. He wouldn’t appreciate laying in vomit. Climbing over him with new determination, she grabbed his big hand and pulled with all her strength. However, she lost her balance. She squeaked and went flying over the other side of the bed, her arms and legs flailing wildly right before she landed with a thud. “Ow.”

  The bed shook as she struggled to lift herself, momentarily dazed from the hit to her head. A gun pressed to her temple. Lucas swayed and squinted, too unsteady to be wielding something so deadly.

  “It’s me,” she croaked, afraid to move a muscle. “Don’t shoot me.”

  He stared at her, fumes of alcohol rising between them. “Bailey?” he slurred. “What the fuck you doing here?”

  “Move your gun away from my head.” She sounded so calm, as if having a huge weapon pointed at her occurred every day. She didn’t even know he carried a gun. He was the club’s enforcer, though. A weapon must’ve been required to enforce…stuff.

  Lowering the firearm, he sat back on his haunches, his cock rising hard and thick between his powerful thighs. “Why are you here?”

  Bailey sat up, her shaking insides transferring to the outside of her. Her hands trembled, so she wrapped her arms around her waist to hide them. “I’m cleaning you up,” she admitted. “I was trying to move you and fell off the bed.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Where are we?”

  “In a hotel room. In Las Vegas.”

  His features were clearing, and she knew memories were returning. Surprising, since he’d only been asleep for about twenty minutes. But, then, again, he’d slept before he’d awakened her, demanding to know if they’d married.

  He swept her with a cold, hard stare, inspecting his surroundings. Climbing out of bed, he laid his gun aside and found a cigarette. Silent, he removed the soiled bed linen and threw each piece in the corner where Bailey had the wet towels she’d used to clean him up.

  Bailey drew her knees up and laid h
er head on them, wrapping her arms around her legs. She thought about the past few hours when Lucas had revealed his father was a minister and his stepmother was a whore. Whatever that meant, she realized she didn’t know a lot about him. That when they talked—which had been very often and admittedly instigated by her more often than not—she went into more detail about herself than vice versa. Even then, she stuck to the basics.

  Just what had they talked about? What had he said to make her believe she’d fallen in love with him? Maybe, she was one of his biker groupies and hadn’t recognized it until now. After he’d talked her into marrying him and made love to her in all types of ways. She’d given herself to him in every form he’d discussed. Between her legs felt sore. Her mouth. Her ass.

  She wrung her hands together, the heat of embarrassment rising within her. Why had she trusted him to do all those things to her body?

  However, she had to admit—not only was she sore but she was very sated, too. The first time for her had been horrid, but Lucas was a man who really knew how to pleasure a woman. Granted, he was her only lover, but he had to have skills to make her feel as he had with what he was working with and not subject her to any more pain.

  A door closed and, a moment later, the shower began. Thoughts jumbling her mind, Bailey jumped to her feet to pick up where Lucas left off with the cleaning. She threw all the little bottles of alcohol away that he’d drank last night before he’d left. She gathered the dirty towels and sheets into one pile. Using one of the sheets by placing everything on it, she then tied it closed in one, bulging bundle. He’d changed the bedclothes but he hadn’t actually made up the bed, so she did so herself. Picking up their discarded clothing, she folded their shirts and jeans carefully, before grabbing Lucas’s cut and smoothing it out.

  When she noticed the pockets on the inside, the temptation to search them overwhelmed her. Unable to resist, she found them surprisingly deep. On one side, he had cigarettes, a lighter, condoms, and a small flask. On the other side…Bailey gasped. Wads of cash, along with his ID, a photo of Megan Caldwell, a card for a brothel, and four pieces of paper, all with the names of different women and telephone numbers.