Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books
Page 199
More than a little tired now, Bailey made sure the boxes were as neat as she’d found them before turning and scowling. That stupid safe still beckoned her.
Poking her tongue out at it, she decided a quick peek wouldn’t hurt. She didn’t allow her mind to explore the right or wrong before she’d used the combination and thrown the door open. Stacks and stacks of money greeted her. More money than she’d ever seen in real life. Or on television. Or anywhere. The scent of it hit her and she stared.
She’d bet even those two rulers in her dad’s story had never seen so much money. Sinking to her knees, she ducked her head to see how far to the top it reached, finding the flashlight on her phone to get a better look.
At the back, the edges of a brown envelope peeked out and she frowned.
Don’t do it, Bailey.
She’d tell Lucas what she’d done and how nosy she’d been. He deserved to know she’d invaded his closet, opened his safe, and pulled out straps of cash, one brick at a time, until a legal-sized manila envelope stared at her.
Tingles raced through her, brought on by nervous apprehension. Her fingers shaking, Bailey snatched the envelope, surprised at its thickness.
Would this reveal more of Lucas’s private life? Was this some sort of record he kept as the club enforcer? It had to be top secret for him to lock it away in a safe.
Just one, quick peek and then she’d seal it away and return the money. Not dwelling on her actions—again—she unfastened the envelope and turned it over, easing the contents out.
She’d found the letters.
They were not only letters, though. The envelope contained photos. Photos of young girls drugged and nude. Photos of a distinguished Black man having sex with these girls, and an older Caucasian man. Photos…she gasped…photos of those same two men having…oh my God!
A name placard, barely noticeable in the background in one of the photos, caught her attention. If Lucas hadn’t discussed his father so much, Bailey doubted she would’ve noticed it, either.
But there it was. A name. Rev. Sharper Banks.
Having sex with young girls—under-aged girls. And a man.
Fingers shaking, she flipped through more photos. Photos of handwritten notes. Money. License plates. Boats. Strange men. Foreign docks.
Photos with names scribbled with a black Sharpie, in her dad’s handwriting. The names of the two men having sex.
Bailey threw the pictures down and picked up the letters, her mouth gaping in disbelief. They were love letters between these two men.
One who lived in the light and the other who lived in the darkness.
The tone of the letters changed, turned hostile. Threatening.
Ugly.
This she understood. This was the men she’d heard about. Hateful, ruthless, and racist in the case of one.
Her dad’s name jumped out at her. Meggie’s dad.
Drugs are keeping Joseph in line.
What should we do about K-P?
Kill.
Dismember.
Bury.
Get them in line, N…
Bailey’s eyes rounded at the word.
Fuck you, old man. I own you. No sluts to sell without me.
I have your son to string up. Would you like photos of him swinging from a tree?
If you touch him, my money stops.
The letters took place over years, not months. They were vicious and cruel. Many of them detailed gruesome deaths and promises of money and more spilled blood. Another one gave Sharper a South American address, assuring him Logan was, in fact, alive. That he’d decided to retire in a peaceful place.
The last letter was different. Her dad had written it. Even before she went to the second page and saw his signature of Kitchen Bitch, she knew. Instead of reading tiny snippets, she clutched the paper tighter and read it word for word.
Runt,
If you’re reading this letter, I must have chewed a bullet and been fed to Logan’s hungry pigs. Your eyes have not deceived you. The pictures you’ve seen and the words you’ve read tell the story of your father’s and Logan’s relationship.
Neither of them ever knew who, besides Big Joe, had copies of their letters. His claim of exposure in the event of his death keeps him alive. Weighing his untimely death against the money they make is a no-brainer for these sick fucks.
I have a little girl, eleven now. Big Joe’s girl is nine. I need to protect my kid even if Joe is taking a different route. I’ve started gathering information to take to the Feds. Cee Cee Caldwell has returned to town, to take me out, I’m sure. Big Joe swears my life’s safe, but Logan has a long memory.
You’re a good man and I’m proud to call you my brother. It’s been a pleasure watching you come into your own.
Use this information however you see fit. I understand this club’s home to you, Christopher and Val. I’ve done a lot of shit in my years, boy, but raping and killing little girls not it.
Kitchen Bitch
Bailey stared into space, seeing absolutely nothing, her father’s voice in her head, as if he were there reading the letter to her.
Robotically, she returned the cash to the safe and closed it, then began to gather the photos of letters, noticing a white envelope that she’d overlooked. Something else from her dad, judging by the simple word he’d written: Runt
Smiling even through her tears that he’d insisted on referring to Lucas as a runt, she removed the letter and frowned. It was dated three days before his death.
Mortician,
Logan’s return doesn’t bode well for me. I believed, like everyone else, he was dead. I would never have stopped my investigation had I known otherwise.
I’ve lived a good life with few regrets. You little roaches kept an old man young.
Bailey thumbed those words and sniffled. Her dad wasn’t old. He was only fifty.
After Logan disappeared, the club became the place it was meant to be. It became home. Once Boss went down, I thought the past was well and truly behind us. The arrival of this envelope filled with photos I’d destroyed and letters I’d long ago hidden away tells me it’ll never be over. Who sent this is a mystery.
I leave this with you because it is your father involved. I’d say Sharper sent these letters, but what the hell for? He wouldn’t risk discovery. Cee Cee is as dead as dead can get.
Look through them. See what your father is capable of—and then destroy them. Going to the Feds now would serve no purpose except to send all of you to jail and bring the entire club down, which I no longer want.
I want you little runts safe and bringing this to light would leave you vulnerable to law enforcement, rival clubs, and the sender of this package. There’s Little Man and Ryan to consider. Meggie and Dinah. Most of all, there’s my Bailey to keep safe.
To do that, you have to stay alive. If you keep your dick in your pants, there’ll be no one I trust more for her. Her eyes light up at the mention of your name. Having seen you in action more than once, I don’t fucking like to think of Bailey alone with you. But she’s a good girl. You two will make a fine couple. Give me and her mama beautiful grandchildren. You have my DNA to thank for that, roach.
Let go of Charlemagne. Your hatred and bitterness has eaten you alive. The cunt was a cunt, told you she was pregnant for you then denied you were the father. Talking you out of forcing a DNA test was best, son.
Give my girl a chance, fuckhead. A real chance not just someone to fuck.
Jesus Christ, kill me now.
Whether I survive this or not, you fuck my girl, you marry her, motherfucker, or I’ll haunt the fuck out of you. Make your dick stop working.
Bailey’s not Char, Mortician. She’d never deny you or turn her back on you.
As to that fucking bet, go in my room. In my closet, to the hollow spot (you fucking know where). I have your fucking 20Gs to pay off your miserable bet. Put your pride aside long enough to admit defeat and then never open your fucking mouth again about stupid shit.
By the way, change the fucking combination, shit-for-brains. You’ve had this one since you brought the safe here.
Final thoughts, boy. Take this information to your grave. Tell no one what you know if you want to live. If you want Bailey to live. Keep watch over Dinah for me. She’s a good woman, who’s had some hard knocks. Watch Christopher’s back as he watches yours.
Thank you for the man that you are and the man that you’ve become. Your friend,
Kaleb Paul Andrews
Holding the letters tightly to her and brushing away tears, Bailey rushed to find someone who’d know exactly what to do with the letters.
After exhausting herself and discovering only Meggie, CJ, Dinah, and a handful of brothers were there, Bailey went to her dad’s room and headed to his closet. Excited at the prospect of getting Lucas off the hook to pay his own money if he lost the bet, she flipped on the light. Immediately, the sight of her dad’s clothes overwhelmed her. The faintest scent of his cologne lingered, and she paused, drawing in deep breaths to get control of herself. She’d stayed away from this room on purpose. Everything in here screamed K-P and remained just as it had been when he was killed. As if he were still with them and would return at any moment to this room.
In the corner of the closet was a bookcase with almost all cookbooks. One of the four rows was dedicated to Harley Davidsons.
“Oh, Dad,” she murmured around a tearful laugh. He took his cooking as seriously as he took his Harleys. Not even her mom was as good in the kitchen. Somehow, instead of taking away from his machismo, it added to it. “I miss you so much.”
The name Harley rolled through her head and she pressed a hand against her belly. Harley. Would Lucas like it? It would be the perfect way to honor her dad. She felt in her heart, he would really appreciate the name.
“Harley is a nice name, isn’t it, Dad?” she whispered.
Allowing herself a few moments to lament in silence and reflect, she stiffened her spine against the onslaught of emotions slamming into her. Her dad needed her to be strong. Lucas needed her to be strong.
His father had been involved in something awful, which had gotten her father and Meggie’s dad killed. All because of the games of two evil and very powerful men. Now, they were all caught in the web of deceit and lies, betrayal and heartache where they had to choose whose life was more important. As Digger had with her and Lucas.
All because of those men and these letters. The evidence that would bring the empire of the Reverend Sharper Banks crashing down. The envelope felt hot in her hands, like a gift from hell.
Still, her dad had put money aside for Lucas to pay up on his bet. Bailey wasn’t sure this would be enough to make her husband concede. She suspected winning was more important than anything, including the thousands of dollars on the line. As long as he was victorious, a lump of dirt could’ve been the prize.
After stepping carefully over almost all the boards and not finding any that sounded hollow, she gazed at the bookcase and sighed, feeling tired and drowsy. Before she gave up and decided the hollow spot was under the bookcase, however, she’d move aside the row of boots and check there.
Just when she was going to give up, Bailey found the hiding spot with the money. As she stared at it, her vision blurred, and lightheadedness made her sway.
Side effects from the medicine, she decided. Overheated and sick feeling, she dropped the letters in with the money, put the board back into place and hurried to her room. After changing out of her clothes, she laid down and sleep overcame her.
As did another nightmare.
Icy water splashed in her face and over her body and she gasped, struggling to sit up. She swiped away the hair plastered to her head and face, then rubbed her hand over her eyes, chains scraping against the bed railings.
“We thought you’d croaked.”
For a moment, Bailey frowned then the memory of Digger walking into her apartment and knocking her over the head hit her. “Where’s Meggie?” she demanded.
The woman lifted a brow and smirked. “Dead.”
“No!” Bailey cried, unable to stand because she was chained to a daybed. “You’re lying.”
As the woman closed the distance between them, Bailey sobbed, and fear sliced into her. She didn’t know this woman, but somehow instinct told her she should be very afraid of her. Especially now, tied up, helpless, in all kinds of pain, and at an unknown location. All she really knew was the woman had hurt Lucas emotionally.
“Who am I?”
She was still grieving for her father, still unsure about her relationship with her husband, and, now, she’d lost Meggie, too. Bailey felt alone and scared and…her head snapped to the side at the blow she received.
“Who the fuck am I?”
“I-I don’t really know,” Bailey snapped with a sob.
“Mrs. Williams.”
Mrs. Williams? The Mrs. Williams who’d been calling her and grilling her about her dad? Charlemagne?
She wished her dad was there or Lucas. She’d never see her dad again and Lucas didn’t know where she was. Did they know what happened to Meggie?
Organ music blared through the room and Bailey jumped.
“Sunday church service starts in five minutes,” Charlemagne announced, then headed for the door, where she paused to impart these words, “I’ll remember to say a prayer for you,” then slammed the door closed.
Bailey screamed, hoping someone would hear her, but the organ music drowned out the sound. She twisted and screamed again, remembering the diagnosis she’d received and the fact that she needed monitoring due to the beta blocker she had to take.
Her doctor didn’t even want her to give birth. Bearing down could make the small tear in the valve rupture and she’d suffocate on her own blood. Her pressure had been elevated and she had something else with a very long name that, in essence, meant shortness of breath.
When she’d called her mother with the news, Bailey had been shocked by the response. “Nothing serious, sugar. MVP can be hereditary. I have it. Just a few blips here and there.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bailey asked, too shocked to do anything else. “Why didn’t Dad tell me?”
“K-P didn’t know. It doesn’t cause me many problems, so why should I tell you. Unnecessary damn worry on your part.”
Now, Bailey wasn’t only worried, she was scared shitless. The cardiologist Dr. Will had sent her to gave her the worst case scenario. Her mom glossed it over. She hadn’t even told Bailey’s dad. Nor had she had any problems delivering Bailey or any of her siblings.
That’s the reasoning she offered herself for not telling Lucas. Now, though….she’d been kidnapped by Charlemagne who’d been calling her asking about photos that her father supposedly had.
And Meggie…Meggie was dead.
A voice was saying a prayer and Bailey drew in deep breaths to calm herself. Amidst her panic, the door opened, and Digger walked in.
Seeing him made her fear go away and she strained against her chains. “You bastard,” she yelled. “You took me and let Meggie be killed.”
The door closed with an ominous thud and he hurried to her, clapping the hand not in a sling over her mouth. “My brother out there, Bailey. Meggie not dead. The four fucks left behind is, though. That’s not important. I’m getting these chains off you and I’m leaving the door unlocked. You have a set of stairs to go up to get to the main floor and then two hallways before you reach an exit.” He unlocked the chains on her feet, and she kicked him.
“You’re just leading me to a trap. I don’t believe you. That bitch said Meggie’s dead.”
“I don’t know why the fuck that cunt told you her name is Mrs. Williams. Didn’t even add the fucking hyphen to include my father’s last name. She cou
ld’ve identified herself as Mrs. Williams-Banks.”
There was a moment of silence, so Bailey screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Fuck! That fucking hurt my damn ear.”
“Fuck off,” she spat hoarsely.
Grabbing her ankles, he held her down. “Are you listening to me? I know you fucked off because you pretty fucked up. But you don’t have time for this bullshit. Mortician—Lucas—in church. I know he’s here for you. I’d take you to him. Sacrifice my life saving yours to show him and Outlaw…” His voice trailed off. “As my penance to them. They probably hate me right now. But I have to get Peyton and Tyler out. My girlfriend and his son.”
“I’m naked,” she said, the realization just dawning on her when cold air swept over her skin.
“I know, Bailey. And I’m sorry. This the only thing I can do, though. Other than knocking the fuck out of the guards at the top of the stairs. You won’t have much time, so you’re going to have to move quickly to get out the fucking door and get to Mortician.”
She was starting to shiver, and she didn’t know if she was cold or frightened, angry or traumatized.
Digger moved away from her and, a moment later, her hands were free. He pulled her to her feet, and she stumbled against him. He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
“You can do this,” he told her. “This your only shot. After this, you’re dead or sold off.” He sighed heavily. “Probably better off dead in that situation. It’s almost the end. I don’t know if he alone or not…fuck, Bailey. What the fuck I’m thinking? If Outlaw with him, this motherfucker is about to get blown to bits and fucking pieces.” He dragged her to the door and then stepped out before her. “When I fuck up those two fuckheads at the top, you fucking make a run for it.”
Bailey nodded and Digger gave her a quick hug.
“Be safe, Bailey.”
And, with that, he hurried forward, ordering her to follow behind.