Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “Stop here,” Cash instructed, right near the old diner where Christopher had first met Val so many years before. It was closed down and boarded, a for sale sign hanging in one of the windows.

  “How long this shit takin’ you, Cash?” Christopher asked, briefly reflecting on how different his life was compared to then.

  “Fuck, a few hours. At least. We’ll still be there when the casket is brought in.”

  The one containing his fucking ass. Well, the shit had been his idea, so he’d see it through.

  “Osti gone and most of Sharper’s loyal bodyguards,” Mortician said, “but the motherfucker got hired fucking guns. Keep your fucking eyes and ears open.”

  “That’s what the earpieces are for,” Johnnie said, then studied Christopher. “You’re sure about this? Coffins have tight confines.”

  “I know that, John Boy,” Christopher growled, annoyed the motherfucker reminded him of that. “I ain’t fond of closed-in shit and there ain’t no fuckin’ air in a fuckin’ closed casket. A real dead motherfucker don’t need no air. Only, my ass ain’t dead.”

  “Right,” Cash agreed, settling his duffel bag on the seat he’d just vacated and unzipping it. He handed Christopher a small oxygen tank. “After three hours, you’re fucked.”

  “Well, make sure my ass out of the motherfucker before three fuckin’ hours passed.”

  “Prez, you ever been to a Baptist Going Home Celebration?” Mortician asked with a knowing grin. “You need two fuckin’ tanks just to get through all the praises and speeches.”

  “Fuck me. That shit ain’t happenin’. Say something in my ear-fuckin-piece at the ninety-minute mark, then I’m comin’ out.”

  “Fuck, I wish I could capture that moment,” Johnnie said wistfully. “You’re going to give some fuckers nightmares for years to come.”

  “We through chit-chattin’?”

  “Yeah, Prez,” Mort answered as Val hopped out of the driver’s side and Johnnie slid in.

  “How fuckin’ far away we gotta fuckin’ be when the shit blows?”

  Cash turned and grinned, walking backward. “About four blocks should do it.”

  “Val?” Christopher called. “Come back in one fuckin’ piece. Bitsy love you and it would fuck her up if you got fucked up.”

  Val gave Christopher a two-fingered salute. “Not planning on going back any other way but in one piece.”

  “We’re ready?” Johnnie asked, once Cash and Val turned the corner, which put them out of sight.

  “Yeah, John Boy. As ready as my ass’ll ever be.”

  Fuck, but the noise was driving Christopher fucking insane. Music and weeping and accolades for Sharper. Disbelief that he was Gone onto Glory.

  Motherfucker wasn’t there yet, but for Christopher having to lay perfectly still, laid out like a real corpse, his piece resting on his chest, Sharper needed an extra fucking up.

  It had been relatively easy to get the funeral director to agree to the proposition. Along with the money—double what Sharper offered him to wheel in an empty casket—Christopher explained what would happen if he didn’t cooperate or if he betrayed them. As extra insurance, he had two members from the LA chapter escort Nate Jenkins’s terrified wife and three children into his office, where they would stay until the plans had been carried out.

  Christopher hated using an innocent woman and her children so he tried to make amends by allowing them to be with Nate, whom he still might fuckup because he didn’t quite believe that he hadn’t known all the shit Sharper intended.

  Nate knew everything, right down to where Sharper said he’d be sitting with his men. Three on each side of the reverend’s long lost sister. Or a fuckhead in drag who was supposed to be his fucking relative. Apparently, somebody had told Sharper he was pretty somewhere along the way. Christopher couldn’t understand why else assfuck would believe he could get away dressed as a woman.

  None of them had barely slept, working out the fine details, so nothing would go wrong. When it came time for him to actually lay his ass out, the other motherfuckers had all stared down at him.

  “You motherfuckers make one fuckin’ joke and Ima fuck you up when this over.”

  That felt like fucking hours ago. But Christopher knew only about an hour had passed. Maybe, a little longer. Entombed as he was, he’d lost all sense of fucking time and he knew he’d have a split fucking second to adjust to the lights after being in darkness for a long while.

  “We’re just about ready, Christopher.” Johnnie’s voice came through Christopher’s earpiece. “We’re in the back, able to see everything.”

  “Outlaw, you got thirty minutes to make all these motherfuckers scatter and get the fuck out yourself,” Cash warned. “This baby is set to blow.”

  In thirty fucking minutes?

  “In thirty minutes, son?” Mort asked with as much fucking shock as Christopher felt.

  “No, fucker. I’ll set it once Outlaw’s out of the fucking coffin.”

  “You should’ve explained yourself better,” Val complained.

  “You fucks didn’t give me a chance.”

  Christopher decided to tune those motherfuckers out. Listening to them bickering wasn’t helping his goddamn headache.

  “They’re about to eulogize him,” Johnnie said a moment later. “It’s show time, brother.”

  Fucking finally.

  Jenkins hadn’t closed the lid as tightly as it should’ve been so Christopher thunked his head against the inside to pop the top, then used his head to push the rest of the way out.

  The first scream blared over the microphone and Christopher realized it was the motherfucker who’d been about to do the eulogy. The second scream was high-pitched and created a chain effect, with motherfuckers running and tripping the fuck over each other to get the fuck away from a dead man coming to life.

  Jumping to his feet, Sharper froze in shock, not bothering to smooth out the hem of his black dress, and allowing a muscled thigh to show. The lacy veil Sharper wore hid his expression from Christopher, but he still pinned a glare on Sharper. A shudder rippled through Sharper’s body. He began to push through the chaos, not caring about the panic-stricken mourners running in every direction.

  Before Sharper melted into the crowd, Christopher fired his nine, determined to stop the motherfucker. The shot hit him in the shoulder, propelling him forward and into a man in front of him. The suited dude spun, gazed at Sharper and the veil hanging half off his face.

  “A ghost!” Suit screamed at the top of his lungs. He elbowed Sharper away from him and plunged over two other people.

  The bodyguards Sharper hired were finally getting a fucking clue as to what was happening and turning toward him. Bullets flew in all directions.

  Laying back in the coffin, Christopher raised his hand and fired blindly. Innocent motherfuckers might get hurt, but the bodyguards didn’t care, so Christopher couldn’t either.

  Not if he wanted to survive.

  If he wanted to live, he needed to get the fuck out the casket.

  “It’s fucking hilarious how quick motherfuckers have cleared out.”

  Christopher barely heard Johnnie’s voice through the gunfire.

  “Get the fuck up here,” he ordered. “I’m outta fuckin’ ammo.”

  One of the bodyguards loomed above him and pointed the gun at Christopher’s head. He knocked the gun away and the shit landed in the raised lid. Undeterred, the bodyguard re-aimed. Christopher grabbed the motherfucker hand, attempting to dislodge his fingers. Their struggle put Christopher at another disadvantage. If only he could leverage himself and get the fuck out of the casket before his ass really needed one.

  The fuckhead punched the side of Christopher’s head, momentarily stunning him. He wasn’t going to survive this. After all the gunshots, knife wounds, and injuries from fistfights, this would be his end. Meeting the eyes of the motherfucker who’d gotten the drop on him, Christopher prepared himself for the impact of the bullet to his head, thinking
of Megan. The image of her in his mind’s eyes brought him comfort, even as he knew his death would destroy her.

  Gunfire exploded and Christopher waited for the sudden burn before he drifted into nothingness. It never came. Instead of having a bullet in his brain, a dead motherfucker suddenly slumped over him.

  “Prez!” Mort called, clearing the dead ass and holding out his hand to assist Christopher out of the coffin.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Johnnie roared through the earpiece. “Badges are turning the fuck in.”

  “We have Sharper secured in the back of the vehicle, Outlaw,” Val reassured him before Christopher could even form the thought.

  “We need a diversion,” Cash said with amusement. “Lucky you, I have just the thing.”

  Near the altar—the one Christopher had just ran from—an explosion blasted around them, sending pieces of wood and upholstery, plaster, and paper, in all directions.

  “Fuck you, Cash,” Christopher snarled, as another explosion rocked the side of the building.

  “It’s either this or get fucking caught, Outlaw,” Cash snapped. “Take your fucking pick.”

  They finally reached outside, where police officers were ushering a sea of people back.

  “This way,” Mortician said, cutting between the church and the Life Center that stood next to it.

  “Tell me when you’re fucking clear,” Cash demanded.

  “You’ll see our fucking asses, son,” Mort said, as they came to a side street, where the black SUV awaited them.

  After Mort and Christopher jumped in, Johnnie swerved away while Cash reset the timer on the explosives.

  With a few adjustments, glass, metal, wood and plaster flew high into the sky, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Just like that, the church belonging to the Reverend Sharper Banks was no more.

  Tomorrow was the day Bunny would ride his dick. If not for that, Digger would’ve been more upset than he was because he’d been left behind, while Outlaw and the others headed to LA.

  “You weren’t strong enough to go,” Bunny pointed out for the tenth time since she’d arrived in his room with breakfast a little while ago. Yesterday evening, she’d just let him rage, although he suspected she’d tuned him out after an hour. She hadn’t even raised her head from the game she’d been playing on her phone whenever she muttered ‘uh-huh’ or ‘I understand, Marcus’.

  “I’m not too fucking weak to hold a fucking gun, Bunny,” he said, now that he had her full attention. She sat at the foot of the bed, looking so pretty in a long-sleeved, ankle-length dress. This morning, she wore no makeup and she allowed her hair to hang free. He liked the look. Eight times out of ten, she had her hair in a ponytail.

  If he asked her to wear her hair unencumbered more often, would she agree?

  “You aren’t weak at all,” she said finally, as the silence stretched.

  Yes, he really did have her attention. He preferred this comment much more than he had the distracted one from yesterday.

  “I don’t believe they trusted me to cover them.”

  “Give it a chance. You’ve just gotten back. It’s going to take time for everyone to get comfortable again.”

  Snatching his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and shoving one between his lips, he shook his head. “Time, huh? Time is fine if I knew where I stood with them.” He grabbed the lighter and lit the cigarette.

  Bunny leaned forward and snatched the cigarette away, tapping it out in the ashtray that also sat on his nightstand.

  “What the fuck, girl?”

  “Smoke enough of those and you don’t have to worry about getting shot. Cancer will do a better job than any bullet ever could.”

  “Everybody around this motherfucker smoke.”

  “I’m not concerned with everyone. Only you. I want you to stay healthy.”

  Although he’d continue to smoke in the future, her sweetness melted his irritation away. He grinned. “Yeah?”

  She nodded.

  “You mean that?”

  “With all my heart.”

  Her simple words didn’t declare everlasting love, but, still they affected him. He heard her sincerity, saw how much she cared about him by the tender look in her eyes.

  “Want to fuck?”

  She rolled her eyes. “So romantic.”

  He snickered. “I am. I’m willing to risk pain to fuck you a day earlier.”

  “No.”

  “We don’t have to fuck, then, baby. Let me just eat your pussy again. Maybe, for an hour or two. See how many times I can make you come on my tongue.”

  Her cheeks flushed and her breath caught. Desire heated her eyes as she squirmed on the bed.

  “Meggie is coming over to see how you’re doing.”

  Digger snapped his brows together, his irritation firmly back in place. “What the fuck I’m going to say to her?”

  “Why don’t you start with the truth,” Bunny retorted as Meggie’s voice came through the door.

  “Knock, knock,” she said, opening it. Holding CJ’s hand, she guided him in.

  “Bun-Bun!” the kid chirped, rushing to her outstretched arms. After he hugged her, he leaned back. “Webel and Wule home with Ant Woxy. MegAnn say come see Ant Bun-Bun.”

  “Why didn’t you bring Rebel and Rule?” Bunny asked him.

  He squirmed out of her arms. “My Bun-Bun,” he said, as if that explained everything, catching sight of Digger. “Yo, ashfuck!”

  Digger hooted with laughter. The kid greeted him like a long, lost friend.

  “Christopher Joseph,” Meggie said sternly. “Time out for two minutes! I told you not to say those words. That was really naughty. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Mommie.”

  “Tell Uncle Digger you’re sorry.”

  “Sowwy, Dig. Mommie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why I sowwy?”

  “Oh,” Meggie groaned. “Never mind.”

  “Let Outlaw explain,” Digger suggested, still chuckling.

  Bunny poked him, then stood. “Why don’t CJ and I take a little walk? Maybe, we’ll find cookies in the kitchen.”

  “Cookie! Cookie! I want cookie!” Little Man chanted.

  Holding out her hand, Bunny looked at Meggie. “I know it’s early, but can he have one?”

  Meggie nodded. “Just one.”

  Digger watched the sway of Bunny’s hips as she led the kid out of the room and left him alone with Meggie. He couldn’t imagine what she wanted to say to him. He, himself, didn’t know where to start talking to her. Sighing, he bowed his head, deciding to begin with the basics.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to you. Leaving you in Bailey’s apartment…” His voice trailed off and he finally met her regard. “Peyton shooting you.”

  “Did you tell her to shoot me?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

  “What? Fuck no, Meggie. I’d never do that.”

  “Then I don’t blame you for her actions. She chose to shoot me.”

  “I’m still sorry. For everything.”

  “I believe you,” she said, after a moment of consideration. She sat on the edge of the bed, almost in the exact same spot that Bunny had been in. “Your actions caused a lot of mistrust and damage.”

  “I know and I truly regret what I did. Outlaw was more than fair in my punishment.”

  “You think?” she asked with a giggle. “Have you seen yourself lately?”

  He smiled. “No, but I can feel how I must look. Fucked up.” He regarded her. She was still gorgeous, but there was a maturity about her that hadn’t been present when she’d first arrived. She looked sadder now than when he’d last seen her. Considering all she’d been through, Digger understood. “I’m glad…I’m glad things didn’t go too bad for you.”

  “I know. I feel the same about you,” she admitted. “We’re friends. You and me. As long as I’m not in the way of saving Mortician, I can trust you as such. I understand your actions. I’d do the same for my husband and my ch
ildren. There are degrees of loyalty. When it comes to your brother, everyone takes a backseat. Just like with me and my family.”

  Did everyone take a backseat? A few days ago, he would’ve wholeheartedly agreed that he’d put no one’s safety before Mortician’s. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t imagine turning his back if Bunny was in danger. Even for his brother.

  Meggie scooted closer to him. Before he realized what she was doing, she hugged him. Knowing how Outlaw felt about anyone touching her, he patted her back and pulled away.

  “What was that for?”

  “To welcome you back.”

  “Outlaw would beat my ass all over again.”

  “He wouldn’t,” she said with vehemence. “I’ve hugged Mortician before.”

  A lot of shit had changed in his absence.

  She started for the door, then turned. “Bunny’s my friend and my children adore her.”

  “Meaning you’ll have Outlaw kick my ass if I hurt her.”

  “No, I wouldn’t want him to beat you up, but she’s been through a lot and so have you. Especially these past weeks. I don’t want you to get back into the club life and then decide Bunny is in your way of being with other girls.”

  “My dick ready to settle down, Meggie.”

  She pursed her lips. “So you’ve, um, come to grips with seeing one, er, vagina, for the rest of your life?”

  “I did say that shit to you about Outlaw, huh?”

  She nodded. “Yes, when Christopher was in the hospital after Snake shot him.”

  And she’d wanted to leave. He’d told her to stay and give Outlaw a chance to realize what she meant to him. “I’m glad you didn’t leave.”

  “I’m glad you came back,” she returned, once again starting out of the room.

  “Meggie?”

  Halting, she turned, but didn’t say anything.

  “Bunny my girl. All I want to do is protect her and make her happy.”

  She smiled at him, as bright as the sun. “As soon as I find her and my son, I’ll send her back to you,” she promised, then exited the room.

  Not sure why Outlaw summoned him to the meatshack the next day, Digger limped along the trail. Straight ahead, the woods loomed before him, the pathway to the tin outbuilding where the most gruesome of their tasks were performed veered off to the right. If he went left, he’d reach the two outbuildings, one containing their drug distribution center and the other strictly for Outlaw’s hydro-grows.