Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Twenty minutes later, he knocked once on the door to a seedy motel and it swung open. Digger stood there with a gangly boy next to him. He was almost the spitting image of Mortician at that age. They stared at one another, broken only when Digger put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “This is Tyler.”

  His brother spoke quietly, almost as if he didn’t want to disturb this moment.

  Tyler, Mortician’s son. He hadn’t cared what sex the baby was because Char was carrying it. Then, she’d took it all away from him.

  He couldn’t do the same thing to this boy. He couldn’t tilt his world upside down and claim him as his son because…

  Because what?

  He rubbed his hands over his face and breathed in deep.

  “You’re my brother.”

  Tyler’s voice brought Mortician out of his thoughts.

  “Mom told me all about you. I’ve always wanted to meet you.” He stepped closer to him and touched his cut, awed.

  He felt like crying. Instead, he swallowed and pulled Tyler into his arms. “Been wanting to meet you, too, Tyler,” he said quietly.

  “You have?” Tyler asked, gaping up at him. “Father said you wouldn’t care, Luke.”

  Mortician clenched his jaw. “He was fucking wrong.”

  Tyler’s bright smile hit Mortician in the center of his chest and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “We getting out the country, Mort,” Digger said and looked at him with meaning. “Shit about Sharper’s house all over the news.”

  There was a question in his voice as if he needed to know if the MC had been responsible. But he couldn’t share shit with Digger. He wasn’t a member anymore.

  Tyler bowed his head. “Mom killed herself. Is Dad dead, too?” he said, clearly trying to be strong, despite the water in his eyes and his trembling lips.

  No, Tyler’s father wasn’t dead. Mortician glanced away, calling upon everything within him not to reveal their true relationship, but his son was traumatized enough. A true father acted selflessly. “You got us, Tyler. Me and Digger.”

  “Mark,” Tyler corrected around sniffles.

  “Okay. Mark.” Mortician offered him a smile. “Why don’t you stay with me? Dig…Mark have to leave for a minute. Stay with me and you and me can get to know each other.”

  A moment slipped by and, in Tyler’s face, Mortician saw the refusal before he spoke it. “I want to go with him and Peyton.”

  “And I want you to stay with me and my wife,” Mortician countered. “Did I misunderstand you when you said you’ve always wanted to meet me?”

  “I said that, but, Mom always said you didn’t have anywhere to live and Mark is going to Europe.”

  “I do have some place to live,” Mortician snapped. His phone vibrated again and this time he knew it had to be from Bailey. The others must’ve gotten back to the club and she was probably wondering where he was.

  Yanking his phone out of his pocket, he looked at the text. I’m in labor.

  Bailey wasn’t supposed to be in labor. Her scheduled C-section was in five days.

  “Fuck, Bailey having Harley.” He started to turn towards the door, but paused, knowing if he walked out, he wouldn’t see his son anytime soon. If ever. The battle to stay and change Tyler’s mind raged within him, but he’d lost him years ago. Perhaps, one day, shit would be straightened out. Right now, his daughter was coming into the world and his wife needed him. He grabbed Tyler in another hug and held onto him tightly. “You ever need anything, all you have to do is call.” Son, he added silently. He looked at his brother, wondering if they’d ever come across each other again. “Be safe, brother.”

  With nothing else to say, he walked away from his son and headed to the hospital to await the arrival of his daughter.

  Mortician made it to the hospital at warped speed, wondering what he’d find and hoping he hadn’t missed the birth of the baby. Her doctors didn’t want her taxing herself, so they might’ve already wheeled her to the OR and delivered Harley.

  The regular entrance was locked because it wasn’t 5AM, yet. However, Chester stood at the door and beckoned to him.

  “Bailey okay? Is Harley?” he asked, walking ahead as she relocked the doors, then waddled to catch up.

  “Bailey’s fine,” she assured him. Chester scooted around him to press the ‘up’ button for the elevator. “She’s just about prepped for surgery.”

  Mortician grimaced. “Having a baby like that is good, right? I mean, the pussy got to stay stretched forever having a little human tumbling out of it.”

  Glaring at him, Chester stomped onto the elevator. “Shouldn’t you be worried about her condition, asshole?” she snapped. “If your dick’s not big enough to accommodate stretching—although that’s a figment of your narrow little mind—it isn’t Bailey’s fault.”

  “I’m trying not to think of Bailey being at risk and shit. Just so you know, I’d rather her pussy so big I fall into it rather than having her face fucking complications. And, Chester, my dick big enough to handle the most mammoth pussy.”

  “You’re fucking disgusting,” she complained, throwing him the evil eye as the elevator rocked to a stop. “Vaginas are built for childbirth.”

  Not giving him a chance to respond, she marched toward John Boy and Val. Until they started falling in love and making babies, Mortician had rarely thought of pussies as anything other than pleasure palaces.

  “Put me down!”

  Meggie’s outraged protest made Mortician look toward the double doors where Prez was carrying her through.

  “Shut the fuck up. Bad e-fuckin-nuff you at this motherfucker with Bailey, I ain’t lettin’ you walk.”

  “I would’ve gotten her here just fine if you hadn’t gotten back in time. We were already in my car.”

  “Megan—”

  “Christopher, you’re stressing her out more by acting like a fucking Cro-Magnon,” Chester pointed out.

  Opening his mouth to comment, Prez stopped when he saw Mortician and gave him a hard stare, tightening his hold on his wiggling wife. “’Bout fuckin’ time. I thought you was right fuckin’ behind us.”

  A ready response didn’t come to Mortician and he wondered if he’d been caught. Instead of further confronting him about his whereabouts, Prez waved him back.

  “Go see ‘bout your woman. She needs you, motherfucker.”

  After being directed to scrub his hands, and put on scrubs and a surgical mask, Mortician finally got to Bailey. The sight that greeted him made him pause. He didn’t want to frighten her with the terror rearing up in him, but recognizing the cardiologist as well as the OB brought home the risk. He’d never been present for a birth, so maybe all the monitors were normal. A fetal monitor. A heart monitor measuring her heart rate, pulse, and blood pressure. An IV.

  He stepped to her side, seeing the oximeter attached to her index finger. Her closed eyes didn’t ease his fear. “Bailey,” he whispered, bending to kiss her forehead and grabbing her hand. He touched the hair peeking out from the protective hair cover that matched his. She gazed up at him. “Are you all right?”

  “Relax, Mr. Banks,” Dr. Kraus called. “For now, everything is progressing normally. We’re just monitoring her in anticipation of complications.”

  “Lucas,” Bailey said on a groan, squeezing his hand. “It hurts so bad.”

  “I’m right here, baby,” he promised her, kissing her palm. “Harley won’t be long introducing herself to us.”

  You happy, motherfucker. Your bitch ass did this to her.

  Fuck off. Couldn’t have done this shit if you didn’t get fucking hard.

  You decided to put me in her.

  But, in the end, when the doctor raised a perfect, black-haired infant up, and Mortician heard her cry and saw Bailey’s tears of joy, he didn’t care how he’d ended up making love to Bailey and getting her pregnant. The result was a beautiful little girl who screamed in protest at her debut into the world.

 
A nurse laid Harley on Bailey’s chest.

  “Do you see her, Lucas?” Bailey cried, her eyes ringed with exhaustion. “She’s gorgeous.”

  Overflowing with an unaccustomed love for his family, Mortician nodded, his heart swelling with pride. “Yeah, Bailey, I see her.”

  When Harley was taken away for examination and evaluation, he kissed Bailey on the lips, more contented than he’d ever been in his life.

  Omega

  Mortician, John Boy, and Val sat with Prez at the bar in his and Meggie’s rebuilt home. They were in an exact replica of the room Meggie had surprised Prez with over Valentine’s Day, the one where she’d recreated the main room of the club for him, right down to the bathrooms with the signs Chicks and Dicks.

  Mortician raised his glass of orange-flavored Skittle vodka. Chester had gotten instructions from Meggie and made him a batch. “Thanks, Prez,” he said. “This some generous shit you doing for my Bailey.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, Mort,” Prez answered, tipping back his bottle of tequila. “Your girl want a frilly fuckin’ remarriage, then that’s what the fuck she gettin’. But Megan ain’t leavin’ this motherfucker to go to no fuckin’ weddin’ so it gotta be here.”

  “Yeah, son, I’m waiting for Meggie girl to stab your dumb ass,” Mortician said with a snort. “She going into her twenty-fifth week and you driving her fucking crazy.”

  “Ain’t me. It’s them two lil motherfuckers invadin’ her.”

  “Whatever,” Mortician said, deciding to drop the argument. The further along Meggie got, the more on edge Prez became. Very soon, bodies would start piling up again.

  Val shifted in his seat and tasted his rum. “Maybe, after Zoann have our other boy and we move into our new house, we can do a rewedding thing.”

  The land behind the club had become a private little island. As always, Prez was psycho stalker wild man and actually had cut a swath out and surrounded it with water, like a fucking moat. He’d given them each a section and left it up to them to build homes or not. Val’s and Zoann’s house was further along than Mort’s and Bailey’s. John Boy hadn’t gotten any farther than having the land cleared away.

  “Outlaw and Meggie did their vows over again,” Val went on. “Now, you and Bailey. I’m thinking Zoann might like all this bullshit, too.”

  John Boy stalked around the bar and grabbed another fifth of whisky. “That’s right, fuckheads. Rub it the fuck in. Just so you fucking know, if Kendall hadn’t made a fucking run for it, we wouldn’t need a remarriage ceremony. We would’ve done it correct at the get go.”

  “What the fuck ever, motherfucker,” Prez said with a snort. “If you fuckin’ think correct from the fuckin’ start havin’ a fuckin’ weddin’ at the clubhouse where my girl plan your bitch shit, then you fuckin’ dumber than my fuckin’ ass ever was.”

  “Fuck the fuck off, Christopher.” Johnnie thrust his hands through his hair. “All you assfucks, as a matter of fact.”

  “You free to get your bitch any time you see fit, fuckwad,” Outlaw stated calmly. “Right now, it ain’t ‘bout you and her. This day for Bailey and Mort. Right now, we here to help the girls lift any heavy shit they need for their bullshit decorations.”

  “No heavy lifting required, Outlaw,” Val told him, digging in his cut and pulling out a joint. In a little while, they’d have to change into their tuxedos, but they were hanging on to their comfort until the last possible minute.

  “I’m waitin’ for Zoann to start oinkin’, she so fuckin’ big. Bailey delivered Harley just six weeks ago. And ain’t no motherfucker gettin’ Megan outta bed, so shut the fuck up and bring all those ribbons, paper bells, and other shit upstairs to me and Megan’s bedroom.”

  “Acting like a decorating bitch is better than sitting here with a bunch of pussified losers,” John Boy shouted. He grabbed the decorations and stalked toward the stairs.

  Mortician admired how he just flipped them off at their guffaws.

  “So what now?” Val asked after their chuckles died down.

  Outlaw shrugged. “Now I wish I was able to use my dick in my girl good pussy.”

  “C’mon, Prez. Stop with that. You won’t ever hear me talking about how excellent Bailey’s pussy is. That’s some fucked up ass shit you do to Meggie girl. Fuckheads just going to wonder about Bailey’s pussy and wish they were me.”

  Val nodded in agreement. “Right. You don’t ever hear me discussing Zoann’s good pussy.”

  Prez frowned at Val. “That’s my fuckin’ sister you talkin’ ‘bout.”

  “Meggie your wife,” Mortician said, rolling his eyes.

  “Shit not fun no more, anyway. All you motherfuckers paired off, so you ain’t gettin’ jealous no more.”

  “Why the fuck you tried to make us jealous, Outlaw?” Val finally lit the joint and took a drag before passing it around. “If we commented you wanted to shoot the fuck out of us.”

  “Enter-fuckin-tainment,” Prez decided after getting his hit and handing it to Mort. “As soon as the girls finish decoratin’ we need to get this thing started. Get Father Wilcunt on the line. Make sure his lil fat ass on the way.”

  Standing in one of the guestrooms of Outlaw and Meggie’s house, Mortician adjusted the bow tie on his tuxedo. Outlaw, Johnnie, and Val were behind him, pissing him the fuck off with all their jokes. Outlaw had earned the right, given all the bullshit Mortician had given him because of Meggie.

  But those other two fuckheads?

  “Yeah, no matter what the fuck I do, I never cried like a pussy and kept a cum-filled condom as my goodnight blankey.”

  Johnnie straightened, a beet red hue sweeping over his face. Although he didn’t verbally admit to that bullshit, his actions gave it away.

  Outlaw’s eyes twinkled. “What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout, Mort?”

  “Just imagining that some disgusting sounding shit,” Val said.

  “Try fucking living it,” Mortician said grimly.

  “Wanna explain that fuckin’ shit, Johnnie?”

  “Fuck you. Fuck no. Fuck off.”

  “You one lucky motherfucker Mort was witness to that bullshit and not me,” Outlaw said, grabbing his bottle of tequila from the bureau and swigging from it.

  “Who said he was talking about me?”

  “Just say the fuck he was. I woulda shot the fuck outta you and put you the fuck outta your misery.”

  “Outlaw, I can’t stand how sentimental you are,” Val chortled.

  “I’m one sentimental motherfucker.”

  Chester opened the door and found them still laughing. “Five minutes, reprobates,” she called. “Johnnie, Val, come on. Let the Antichrist and his best man have a last few minutes alone.”

  “I love you, too, Chester baby,” Mortician called, nodding when she smirked at him and herded Johnnie and Val out.

  “Ever thought you’d be wearin’ a fuckin’ monkey suit for your own weddin’?” Outlaw asked.

  “Fuck no. I never thought I’d be wearing the motherfucker for your wedding.” He grinned, remembering Meggie’s SOS, pleading for his help when Prez told her she wouldn’t attend the wedding. “I might put it on at your fucking funeral when Meggie fuck you up.”

  “We fuckin’ compromised, so what the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?” Prez responded offhandedly, checking the ring boxes.

  “Yeah, Bailey agreed to it, so we fucking cool.” Mortician hoped like fuck this new setup worked out.

  Johnnie opened the door, his now-perpetual scowl firmly in place. “I forgot my fucking corsage,” he grumbled, stalking to the other side of the room to where the sitting area was. “Any other motherfucker get fucking married and I’m not attending.”

  Mortician opened his mouth to speak but Prez’s glowering toward the door stopped him. He turned toward it and widened his eyes.

  Kendall, ripe and round in her pregnancy, smiled and lowered her lashes. “Hello, Johnnie,” she said softly.

  Johnnie froze at the sound of her voice and
she bit down on her lip.

  “Which one of ‘em invited you?” Prez snapped.

  Mortician realized Kendall wore a dress similar in style and the burgundy color of the other girls.

  “Meggie,” she mumbled and blushed when Outlaw narrowed his eyes.

  Knowing what she’d done in Hawaii, Mortician understood why.

  She inched a little more into the room. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Prez gnashed his teeth together and thrust his fingers through his hair, stalking past Kendall without responding.

  Her lower lip trembled.

  Mortician went to her and hugged her. “Hey, Kendall,” he greeted, kissing her on the cheek. “What’s up?”

  “I-I’m not Red anymore?” she asked in a small voice.

  “That’s who you want to be, girl?”

  She nodded and Mortician thumbed an escaping tear away.

  “Then that’s who the fuck you are. Red,” he added with a smile.

  A grateful look in her eyes, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  He pulled back from her. “You staying?”

  “I want to.” She peeped around him and glanced at Johnnie. “Can we talk?”

  “About?” Johnnie asked coldly. “The fact that you walked away from me? Or the fact that I haven’t fucking heard from you since the day you left?”

  “John Boy, shut the fuck up. You know your dumb ass want Red back, so put your pride the fuck aside and listen to what she got to say.”

  Johnnie looked at his watch. “Five fucking minutes. Talk.”

  Mortician started around Red, but Johnnie stopped him.

  “No. Stay. You fucking accused me of deserting her. I want you to hear what the fuck desertion is.”

  “Johnnie—”

  “You’re going to defend her and use up some of her time?”

  Unable to beat the fuck out of Johnnie with so little time before his vows got underway, Mortician folded his arms. As soon as he could, he was fucking John Boy up, though.