“Think ‘bout that fuckin’ game we used to play,” he told her, making this shit up as he went along. But, fuck, he needed that fucking gun away from her head. “You used to…” What? Fuck. He calculated the risk. If Zoann followed along and dropped to the ground, would Osti automatically fire? Or would she shock the fuck out of him? Fuck it. He couldn’t do it this way, so he rolled his shoulders. “My arms gettin’ fuckin’ tired, Osti, so would your bitch-fuckin-ass shoot the fuck outta me to put me outta my fuckin’ misery?”
Grinning, Osti fell right into Christopher’s trap. He turned the gun to Christopher, who had just a split fucking second to dodge the fuck out the way before the bullet whizzed by, crossing John Boy’s fucking blade. As the bullet shattered the mirror behind the bar, the blade landed in the side of Osti’s neck.
Ignoring the gurgling, Christopher rushed to his sister’s side and hugged her, whispering reassurances to her. “Call Val,” he instructed. “Check on our other sisters.”
“Okay,” she croaked, breaking away and stumbling toward the hallway.
He turned to Johnnie. “Leave that fuckin’ knife right the fuck where it’s at so this motherfucker won’t bleed out before we get him to the fuckin’ meatshack.”
“Don’t die, motherfucker,” Christopher growled, clipping Osti’s jaw in an attempt to keep him alive just a little longer. They’d just gotten him strapped the fuck down onto Mort’s table in the meat shack. Between the club and the shack, motherfucker had nearly bled the fuck out, and hung on by a bare thread. He glared at Johnnie. “Why the fuck you gotta fuck him up with your goddamn blade, assfuck?”
“Excuse me for trying to save your fucking life!”
Mort splashed a bucket of cold water over Osti, catching Christopher and Johnnie.
Johnnie swiped at his face. “Watch where the fuck the water’s going, Mortician.”
“Then move the fuck out the way,” Mort returned, then focused on his cousin. “Stop playing possum, motherfucker. You not all the way dead yet.”
“You got fuckin’ jokes, huh, Mort?” Christopher said, snickering.
Osti moaned just as the door roared opened, and Val stormed in. “Where the fuck is he?” he roared, pausing at the foot of the autopsy table and gaping at Osti. “What the fuck? A fucking blade to the neck and that’s it? He fucking terrorized my woman. He at least deserve an hour of torture.”
“Blame John Boy,” Mort said with a shrug, lighting a cigarette. “You could’ve aimed for his fucking stomach or shoulder or something. But, no. Had to fuck him up in the neck. I hope this calm your ass down now. You fucked him up. Killing urge satisfied.”
Christopher opened his mouth to respond, but Osti expelled a short burst of breath and grunted. He frowned and stepped closer, glad they hadn’t pulled the knife out in their frustration. “Yo, motherfucker, you hangin’ the fuck on. You ‘bout to wish you had stayed fuckin’ dead.”
Catching and holding Christopher’s gaze, Osti moved his lips, attempting to speak, but gurgling instead.
“Why don’t you tell us now what the fuck you supposedly did,” Johnnie taunted. “We’re listening.”
“I gotta get to Megan,” Christopher announced with impatience, “so we gotta hurry this the fuck up.” He pulled out his nine, aimed it at Osti’s chest and pulled the trigger. He didn’t have his silencer with him today and the report momentarily defeaned him. Osti’s body jerked at the impact. “For Megan. She got popped in her chest and almost fuckin’ died.”
Val stepped up, switchblade in hand, and swiped it across Osti’s neck. “That’s for Zoann.”
A cabinet door slammed and Christopher turned as Mort plugged in a circular saw and a reciprocating saw. Cigarette hanging from mouth, he tied his black rubber apron on and stuffed his hands into matching gloves. As they all watched, he lined the floor with plastic, found a pair of goggles, then raised one of the counters used to store shit—or hide shit—and lifted his chainsaw.
Finished preparing, he took his cigarette between his gloved fingers and released the smoke. “Don’t mean no disrespect, Prez, but I need some time alone with Osti. For forcing Bailey to suck his cock, motherfucker arriving in hell in pieces.”
Christopher nodded. “Get the fuck out, motherfuckers,” he ordered Val and Johnnie. At the door, Mort’s quiet voice stopped him.
“I’m glad you fucked up, Osti, but I would’ve let you go just to get my hands on fucking Sharper. He the motherfucker who deserve to be here a little more than you do.”
Sharing Mort’s sentiment, Christopher walked away. Intending to get his keys to head to the hospital when he reached the clubhouse, Zoann rushing to Val and sobbing against him changed everything.
No, not that. But her fucking words.
“They’re dead!” she sobbed. “I-I-I called ‘911’ when you left so they could check on Avery and the others. They’re dead, Val. Osti killed my sisters and nieces.”
Christopher stumbled back as if he’d been shot, Val’s words of comfort to Bitsy and Johnnie’s outraged cussing flying the fuck over his head. He dropped into a chair, fucking speechless and heartbroken and furious.
“Christy!” Zoann called, tripping her way to him and launching herself into his arms. “They’re gone!”
Hearing his little sister’s grief, he knew this wasn’t ajoke and their other sisters were gone. “All of them?” he asked in a voice hardly recognizable as his own.
Heaving in a breath, Zoann hiccuped an explanation. “All except Fee since she was on the grounds with us.”
“For fuck sake!” Johnnie snarled. “Come on, Christopher. Mort’s going to have to move the fuck over. We’re due a fucking piece of Osti now.”
Instead of complying, Christopher blinked and took Zoann back into his arms, whispering words of comfort to her. He’d always believed only Megan had the power to bring tears to his eyes.
He was wrong. He cried then.
Wrapping his hand around his cock, Digger thumbed the moist tip and grunted, caught between sleep and wakefulness. He stroked up and down in a lazy rhythm, not ready to let go of the fantasy that Bunny lay in bed with him, jerking him off. Or, even better, spreading her gorgeous long legs, and welcoming him into her pussy.
He’d seen her looks all through dinner last night. The heat in her eyes sent signals to his brain and his dick. She wanted him, but she didn’t want to want him. Quite a new experience for him, although he understood why, given all that he’d put her through and all but told her he hated her best friend.
Fuck, what a dickhead he’d been. Not only to Bunny but in his thoughts about Meggie…
No, wasn’t going there while his hand stroked his cock. He’d seen Meggie naked so the fantasy would be easy enough to go to. Here and there, he’d even jerked off to thoughts of Johnnie’s woman, whom all of them had seen without clothes at Outlaw’s bachelor party.
He stopped his hand and slowly lifted his eyelids. Odd but his thoughts made him feel as if he were betraying Bunny by thinking of other women while he got himself off. How many times had he fucked Peyton and pretended she was someone else? Anyone else but the bitch she’d been.
How many times had he thought about walking away from her? What were his reasons for not doing so again? At the moment, he couldn’t fucking remember. Maybe, if he had Tyler would still be alive.
Maybe, if Peyton hadn’t been there, Tyler would’ve taken Mort up on his offer and returned to the MC with him, instead of going on the run with Digger.
His erection deflating, Digger sat up and hung his head, so very sorry for all the heartache and trauma he’d caused. Now, he was exactly where he’d been before.
Alone.
This loneliness was different than the one that had driven him off. This loneliness was deep, not that superficial shit that made him a stupid motherfucker. Anger didn’t feed this loneliness, but regret.
If only he’d accepted, truly accepted, Meggie and Bailey. Johnnie and Val were his partners, as well, but not like M
ort and Outlaw. He hadn’t even known he had such fucking resentment until Mortician hooked up with Bailey, and left him the odd man out.
All he’d had to do was wait. His father would spout words about faith and patience.
But faith required patience, and Digger lacked both, even though he was a preacher’s son. Fucking boo-hooey sad, considering the great Reverend Sharper Banks was his father. He had vague recollections of his mother, but knew nothing about her spirituality. She might’ve possessed real, true faith and patience. Not the phony kind his false prophet father had. If Digger needed photos of his mother, he could always search the internet. Sharper had destroyed every memory of her the week after she’d been killed in that car accident.
Shoving the covers aside, he got out of bed and decided to piss, in no mood to come. After he finished, he searched through one of the bags he’d brought in from the car last night and found a fresh pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
He needed a fucking blunt. Grumbling under his breath at the unlikeliness of having one in this goddamn house—fucking sunflower milk…
Jesus, who fucked up food like that?
At least, Walt had had a pizza delivered for them. Virginia had kept a close eye on her man, who’d only stared at the pizza with longing. A call had come through and the moment Virginia stepped out of the room, Bunny had darted to her dad and shoved a small piece of pepperoni, gooey mozzarella still stuck to it, into Walt’s mouth.
She’d pealed in laughter when Virginia returned during Walt’s mid-chew. The look she’d given him meant one thing—pussy lockout. After showing Bunny to her brother’s old room, Virginia had led Digger here, to the guest room, formerly known as Bunny’s bedroom.
He wondered how it had looked when she’d lived here. The yellow walls and brown décor was gender-neutral. He couldn’t imagine Bunny being in such a bland room. She’d probably enjoy soft pastels.
Puffing on his cigarette, dick swinging, he strolled to the single window and opened the blinds. Not much of a view. Mainly, the neighbor’s house and the rest of the Hamilton’s driveway leading to the small, detached garage.
“Mark?” Bunny’s teary voice floated through the door and he frowned at the sound.
What had her bitch of a mother said this time to make her cry?
Tempted as a motherfucker to open the door with his dick out, he decided she deserved more respect from him.
She sniffled.
“Hold up, girl,” he called, stuffing the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and then pulling on his jeans.
The moment he opened the door, she barreled into him, her arms circling his waist. At first, he stood frozen, not sure what to do since he hadn’t expected this. She trembled and sobbed, compelling him to return her hug.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh my God, it’s horrible!” she cried, jerking out of his arms and palming her eyes. “Outlaw just called my dad and…” Covering her face, she dissolved into more tears.
“Baby, c’mon,” he soothed, grabbing her arms and guiding her to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
Once she complied, he went to the bathroom and flushed his cigarette down the toilet, before grabbing a washcloth to wipe her face off. He couldn’t imagine what had her so upset.
Fuck!
Returning to her, he sat next to her and dabbed at the side of her face. “Meggie girl…?” He couldn’t even finish it.
“No,” she said, glancing at him with pitiful eyes.
“Fuck! The kid? Outlaw’s son?”
“No!” She jumped to her feet and scrubbed the towel over her face. “His sisters and his nieces. They’re dead! Avery, Nia, Bev…murdered,” she sobbed. “Do you know Sasha? His youngest niece. She was turning eight in a few months!”
She covered her mouth and doubled over, and Digger knew, without being told, his father was responsible for the deaths.
Bunny continued in near hysterics, but Digger only stared, numb inside. One way or the other, they wanted to destroy Outlaw and…
“And he’s so upset, but he still doesn’t believe Sharper’s dead…”
Those words broke through to Digger and he jerked. “What?”
At Digger’s sharp word, Bunny stilled, her chin and lips trembling. “I thought you knew about the explosion.”
“What fucking explosion?”
“At the hotel,” she said hoarsely, tears slipping down her cheeks. “In Atlanta. Yesterday.”
No fucking way would his dad die so easily. After months of living with him and watching him in action, Digger couldn’t believe his death would be so fucking anticlimactic.
“Digger, Albany,” Walt trumpeted, storming into the room, a panicked look on his face. “Get dressed,” he said, nodding at his daughter. “It’s time for you to go.”
“Wh-what?” Shock etched into Bunny’s face, the emotion coming through in her gasp. “We weren’t doing anything, Dad.”
Yeah, because they had some type of fucked-up rule where Bunny couldn’t fuck under her parents’ roof.
“Look, Walt,” Digger retorted, “have more faith in your daughter. I might’ve tried to get pussy from her, despite your stupid rule, but she wouldn’t disrespect you, so—”
“Shut up,” Walt snapped. “I just came home from my morning jog.” He indicated his running attire with a sweep of his hand, although the towel around his sweaty neck might’ve given him away if Digger had been paying attention. “A vehicle with very distinct license plate has made several circuits through the neighborhood. The personalized California plate has a cross and the letters REVSB.”
His father had had that plate for as long as Digger remembered. The motherfucker wasn’t dead and he wasn’t in Atlanta. Not if his car was rolling around this neighborhood.
Last time Digger had seen the Benz was in the church parking lot two nights before Outlaw had blown up the Banks mansion. Unless his father was dead and Osti was using it. That was the logical explanation. But, fuck, they’d been hot on Digger’s and Bunny’s trail to have so quickly tracked them to her parents’ house.
“Fuck! Bunny, I have to leave,” he said, turning and blindly grabbing his belongings. “I’m not bringing her with me, Walt. It’s safer for her here with you.”
“Digger—” she began, but her father interrupted her.
“I’m begging you,” he said, desperation threaded into his tone. “They’ve killed three of Outlaw’s sisters and his three nieces. Someone gave away your location and now none of us are safe. Take her with you.”
“No. It won’t be safe with me.” No matter how much he wanted to use this as an excuse to keep her.
She glanced at him and the panic in her eyes gave him pause. “I’d like you to take me back to the club,” she said. “You need them to face your father.”
“Bunny, you was happy enough yesterday to be seeing the back of me. This is just stress talking, so—“
“Please, let me come with you,” she begged, laying her palms against his chest. “I didn’t want you to go alone then. I just didn’t know how to ask you.”
“You don’t want to leave me?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side.
“What’s going on in here?” Virginia called from the doorway.
“No, I don’t,” Bunny answered him, ignoring her mother.
“For real?” he persisted, to be absolutely certain.
“I want to come with you.”
“Absolutely not,” Virginia hissed, sailing into the room and offering Digger and Walt an evil-bitch face. “If you wish for a real reconciliation between us, you’ll not go anywhere with this person.”
“Hush, Virginia. There’s extenuating circumstances.”
“Don’t you hush me, Walter. Not after all your lies.”
“Lady, please shut the fuck up,” Digger growled, not wanting to lose this crucial moment between him and Bunny because of her mother’s demands.
Virginia drew herself up and folded her arms. “Us or him, another bik
er,” she spat.
Fuck. Now, he got why Bunny had tried so hard to convince her mom he wasn’t a biker. She couldn’t see beyond that one detail. Danger didn’t matter. Friendship. Feelings. Nothing but that he was a biker.
“Mark isn’t like Traer, Momma,” Bunny said softly.
“That’s your vagina talking. You’re not happy unless it, and you, is being used.”
Bunny sucked in a breath, mortification blending with her grief.
“You’re angry with me, Virginia,” Walt began, red-faced and unable to meet Bunny’s eyes. “I know my words will only make you angrier, but you’re not running Albany away again. If she wants Digger, that’s up to her. It’s her life, not yours. Right now, she has to go with him so she’d have a life to live.”
“Come with us, Dad,” Bunny said frantically, her eyes wide with all kinds of things Digger wished he could take away from her. “You and Mom and—”
“No. We’re staying here.”
“Dad, but—”
Walt pulled Bunny into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “They need a diversion so you can escape.”
She opened her mouth to speak again, but Digger interrupted her.
“Bunny, girl, get your stuff, so we can get on the road. I’m going to do whatever I can to protect your folks, but we have to go and we don’t have time to argue about this.”
She gave her dad another tight hug but stumbled away.
“Albany!” Virginia called, stalking behind her daughter.
“I have a thousand dollars in my safe and a loaded .38.” Walt’s frantic look halted Digger from following Bunny and her mom. “Get my daughter to safety.”
Walt believed that Digger could look after Bunny. Bunny believed in his abilities. Their faith in him boosted his confidence and he nodded. “I will. Now, do me a favor? Find me the telephone number to the rectory for Epiphany, then get dressed. I have an idea.”
Walt opened his mouth to argue and Digger glared at him.
“Just fucking do it.”
“That’s her,” Christopher said in a toneless voice, identifying the final body. The last of six. Three women and three little girls, all related to him.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 257
