Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “Get his phone,” the leader called. “For when we have his wife’s little present, we can text her.”

  Kendall missed Outlaw’s response as the doorknob rattled.

  “You been watching my ass, you gotta fuckin’ know who the fuck with me,” Outlaw sneered. He was big on bravado, but zero at action. If it was otherwise, they wouldn’t be opening the door to her room while he interrupted with his stupid statements.

  “McCallister let us in on the details right before we slit his throat. You, your road captain, and your sergeant-at-arms were making the delivery.”

  “You put the arms dealer to ground, huh?” Outlaw asked as if he were discussing the freezing temperatures outside.

  “He served his purpose.”

  “Getting me the fuck here, yeah?”

  “Getting you to London had been the goal. Away from any help. We regrouped. Now, we want the money you were refunding McCallister and the key to where they guns are stored.”

  “What fuckin’ money? Ain’t promised that motherfucker fuck-all.”

  “The extra dollars were for out of the country travel. He said you agreed to return some of the money and had it with you.”

  “He fuckin’ lied to save his own motherfuckin’ ass, so what the fuck now?”

  Instead of answering, they sniggered, horrible, vile men that they were.

  “Well, my ass here. You can waste fuckin’ time searchin’ this motherfucker and givin’ my boys the fuckin’ chance to fuck you up, or you can get me the fuck away while you still fuckin’ can. Your fuckin’ choice. Cuz you gotta know if Val and Digger was here, you fuckin’ two would be fuckin’ fucked the fuck up.”

  “He’s right, Tobias,” Frank agreed.

  “You’re cooperating, Caldwell?” Tobias asked, sounding annoyed and disgusted.

  “I intend to fuck you up and get the fuck away, so, fuck yeah, I’m cooperatin’.”

  “Dream on, dead man.”

  “Then one dead motherfucker talkin’ to another, cuz I’m tellin’ you, Tobias, you fucked. I promised my girl no fuckin’ bullshit and bloodshed and you motherfuckers just made me fuckin’ lie to her.”

  “We’ll comfort her after we deliver your carved up body right to her doorstep,” Frank told him.

  “I could use a little female companionship. You should’ve brought the missus. I would’ve enjoyed comforting her.”

  “You tryna make your death as gruesome as possible. Fuckin’ fine with me.”

  “I’m sorry she’s not here. It would’ve been a highlight, making you watch us fuck her.”

  “Hey, Tobias, maybe, he has a sidepiece we can do while he watch. Or any bitch connected to the Dwellers. We should snatch one from the local chapter.”

  “There’s a bitch named Kendall, I’d fuckin’ pay you to kill.”

  Kendall gasped at those words and tears rushed to her eyes.

  “Local bitch?” Tobias asked, and Kendall could only be happy they didn’t know about her. Outlaw was mean and hateful. If he wasn’t so concerned about saving Megan, he’d probably point Kendall’s location out.

  “Nope. John Boy bitch. You know him, yeah? Motherfucker get off on the scent of blood after a kill. Take fuckin’ blood lust to a new fuckin’ level. She nice and safe with him and you fuckin’ lucky. Cuz if you touch that bitch, John Boy would fuckin’ get a filet knife and scalp, then skin you while you was still alive.”

  “Fucking liar,” Kendall spat and snapped her mouth shut when the place went deathly silent.

  “You heard something?”

  “No,” Tobias answered Frank as Outlaw said in bored tones, “you hearin’ the fuckin’ bogey man or some shit?”

  “I tore his fucking room up,” a third voice suddenly puffed out. “Money not there.”

  “Can’t fuckin’ find shit I didn’t fuckin’ bring,” Outlaw pointed out, so polite it bordered on sarcasm. “Lemme tell you you probably got five, ten minutes tops, before one of my boys get back.”

  “Two of you, three of us,” Frank pointed out.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Tobias commanded. “Get him out of here because he’s right.”

  “One wrong move and I shoot,” Frank warned.

  Outlaw didn’t answer and, a moment later, Kendall heard the snick of the entry door closing. She waited for a few minutes before she got out of bed and tiptoed into the next room.

  When she went to Outlaw’s room, she found it in shambles with the pillows and mattress cut open. Curtains torn from the windows. Cabinet and closet doors flung open. The contents of his duffel bag was strewn everywhere and the receiver of the phone was off the hook.

  The seriousness of the situation hit home for Kendall as she took in the mess. It could’ve just as easily been Outlaw’s body.

  It still might be the way his body ended up. From the sound of it, those men intended to kill him.

  Before she decided if that was good or bad, Digger stormed in.

  “What the fuck happened here? Where’s Outlaw?”

  “Oh my God!” she screeched, turning and running to him. She flung her arms around his neck and sobbed. “They took Outlaw and almost took me! If I hadn’t been quiet, they would have.”

  He certainly hadn’t went out of his way to save her.

  “Fuck.” Disentangling her hands from around him, Digger drew his weapon, then guided her to the living room. “How long ago?”

  “About twenty minutes,” she sobbed.

  He pressed his cell phone into her hand. “Call Johnnie and stay put,” he ordered, rushing out the door and leaving Kendall, once more, to fend for herself.

  Christopher had been gone an entire week.

  In that time, he’d called Meggie the day he’d arrived and she hadn’t heard from him since, after promising he’d call the next day. No matter how many times she called and texted his cell phone, he didn’t answer. Whenever she called his hotel room, Digger answered and claimed he was in a meeting.

  Knowing deep down that Christopher was in trouble, she approached Johnnie. As if he hadn’t been suspended, he came and went at the club, which just raised her suspicions even more. If Christopher were fine, Johnnie would adhere to his suspension.

  “There’s been several runs where Christopher couldn’t call you for three or four days,” Johnnie told her.

  Something in his eyes, in the way he spoke, said differently.

  “True,” she agreed. “But not since I’ve been pregnant with Ryder.” Really, not since she’d gotten pregnant with the twins. And after the events with Sharper, he hadn’t even left town. She understood that he had to go on runs sometimes. It was all part of his job. This time knowing who he dealt with, and the man’s insistence that Christopher deliver the weapons, panicked Meggie.

  “This is Thanksgiving morning,” Johnnie said gently, reaching across the breakfast table and holding her hand.

  Although she was grateful for Johnnie’s presence, she kept her hand limp within his. Responding to him seemed so intimate, considering he and Rory had been staying in a guest room upstairs since the morning Johnnie had come searching for Kendall.

  Thinking Christopher would be gone at most three days, she hadn’t seen the harm in allowing Johnnie to stay. He’d said he didn’t know what to do with Rory. The little boy seemed so withdrawn, so Meggie thought being around her children would help him to come out of his shell. Although, during the day, Johnnie dropped Rory off at whatever daycare Kendall had enrolled him in.

  “Today’s Thanksgiving. We have a lot to do, Megan,” Johnnie said firmly. “Christopher wants us to get it done, so rest and stop worrying. I’ll come and get you when dinner’s starting.”

  He was right. No matter how bad she felt, how worried she was, she’d do no one any good by not performing her duties as Christopher’s old lady, even if that meant just making an appearance at the club for a few minutes to wish everyone well. A lot of members and their families were expected today. Bunny had cooked the several pans of stuffing last night a
nd baked two pies that Meggie intended to do. Roxy had prepared chicken fricassee because she hated turkey for being “too fucking dry.”

  Zoann, Bailey, Bunny, and a couple of the other old ladies were in charge of the baked turkeys, while Mort, Johnnie, and Stretch intended to fry one.

  “More than likely, Christopher and everyone is headed back as we speak,” Johnnie promised.

  As she thought of all the things that could go wrong, a sharp pain went through her back.

  “Tonight, we’re going to light up the houses, sweetheart. You’ve been looking forward to that. The Probates have worked hard all week to get it done.”

  “I know,” she said, pasting a smile on her face, fighting the urge to cry and beg Johnnie to find Christopher for her. “The kids will love the decorations.”

  Usually, she did, too, but, without Christopher, it just wasn’t that important.

  “Meggie girl not stupid, motherfucker,” Mortician growled to Johnnie later that afternoon. “She know something up with Prez.”

  “She doesn’t,” Johnnie insisted, hoping he was right.

  He hadn’t given one indication that Christopher was missing. As a matter of fact, he’d diverted suspicions by ordering Cash and Stretch to return to the club, pretending Christopher had everything under control.

  But nothing had been in control since Kendall called seven days ago, crying hysterically, and telling Johnnie of her harrowing experience. He’d asked her to fly back home with Stretch and Cash because Johnnie’s club duties wouldn’t allow him to leave at the moment. As long as Christopher was missing, he had to be available to make decisions.

  Once before, when Christopher had gone on his honeymoon, Johnnie had been interim president and hated every fucking minute of it. It required the type of dedication and passion that Johnnie didn’t possess for both minor and major details.

  At least, then, he’d known an end was in sight. Upon Christopher’s return from Europe, he’d resume his duties as president. But, now, with no sign of him…no calls for ransom…no anything…after a full week.

  Christopher was presumed dead.

  “Think about what the fuck you’d be doing if Red was fucking missing,” Mort started in again. He thought Johnnie should’ve gotten his ass on a plane and went to investigate. “You sitting your ass here knowing Val and Prez not been heard from for fucking days. I’m ready to fly out this motherfucker and get on the road to find them.”

  Johnnie rounded on Mort, aware of the people turning their attention to where they stood in the yard, standing around a large pot filled with oil and a turkey, monitoring it as it fried. “Megan’s inside looking as sad as I’ve ever seen her. Do you really think I’d be here if I didn’t think it was for the best?”

  Besides, leaving seemed like he’d be giving up hope that Christopher was alive.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’d be cuz I don’t know you no more,” Mort snapped. “If you would’ve handled your fucking woman months ago, we wouldn’t be in this fucking situation. Instead, Red stuck her goddamn nose where it don’t belong and Prez fucking vanished.”

  Challenging Mortician to repeat his words about Kendall would produce nothing but a fight. Mort didn’t back down. If he said something, he stood by his words. Besides, it wasn’t as if Johnnie wasn’t furious with Kendall himself. She’d not only put herself in danger but Christopher, Val, and Digger.

  She wouldn’t even get on a fucking plane and return home. Digger insisted on staying and trying to get a lead on Christopher and Val, so Kendall didn’t want to fly alone because of the baby. She hadn’t left with Cash and Stretch because she didn’t believe they’d look out for her as Digger did.

  With all the distance separating them, Johnnie couldn’t force her to do fuck-all. Fuck, he couldn’t force her to do fuck-all when they were face-to-face. Their last conversation earlier today he’d advised her to not use the hotel phone.

  Digger had moved them to another location, in case someone was watching them. Johnnie didn’t want to take any chances and have her taken as Christopher and Val had been.

  “Just let today pass. If there’s no word from Christopher, I promise I’ll talk to Megan and tell her he’s missing.”

  “‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the club, motherfuckers were dreamin’ of pussy and bud…” Christopher’s voice trailed off at Val’s faint snicker. The laugh let him know his RC was still alive, although badly beaten. He’d been beaten too, but he didn’t think his injuries were as bad as Val’s.

  Reciting a verse of his version of the poem took Christopher’s mind off his situation—a fucking hostage to some unknown motherfucker. If not for the meal he received once a day, he might’ve lost track of the time. By his estimation, he’d been held hostage for seven days. Seven days of having Frank the fuckhead come in and taunt him as he unlocked his handcuffs so Christopher could eat.

  The little motherfucker hadn’t come in yet today. Not that it mattered. It could’ve been ten o’clock at night and the motherfucker could’ve come in and out fifty fucking times and Christopher would make his move.

  Maybe, he’d be later than normal. Christopher didn’t know the exact time, but he did know today was Thanksgiving. The day when he was supposed to be giving thanks for all that him and his family had endured and survived this past year. This Thanksgiving had been especially important. When he could’ve lost Megan, he hadn’t. She’d survived her wounds and needed him now more than ever.

  He didn’t have to be told that she was sick with worry. After not hearing from him for days, she’d think the worst. But he had no way to contact her. He just tried to convey a sub-conscious message to her to hold on. Come hell or high fucking water, he would find a way to get back to her.

  She just had to hold on.

  Seeing Kendall would’ve sent her spiraling. Christopher knew that, but he hoped Johnnie’s bitch used the fucking brilliance she always lorded over the motherfuckers she deemed ordinary and got Johnnie to get her fucking ass home.

  Christopher had really thought they were going to search the entire suite. Since they’d been looking for some bogus ass money McCallister fucking lied about, they should’ve searched all the rooms. However, they weren’t completely fucking stupid. Out-fucking-numbered or not, if Digger had returned, odds would’ve been against the intruding motherfuckers. Christopher had done what the fuck he had to to keep them away from Kendall so her dumb ass could get the fuck back to Johnnie. He hoped she heard every fucking word and she was so fucking scared, she’d never pull another fucking stunt like she had.

  Fuck. Who the fuck was he talking about again? This was Kendall. She’d repeat this shit and heap additional bullshit on top of it.

  After seven days, Christopher no longer gave a fuck what they wanted. He no longer gave a fuck why McCallister had gotten fucked up. He even didn’t give a fuck how they’d gotten Val, too. He just wanted out and today he was getting the fuck out. With Val, whom he’d become aware of when he’d been hustled into the van.

  Val had been on the floor of the vehicle, as still and silent as if he was dead. At first, Christopher had thought him killed and the grief had almost overwhelmed him. Not only on his behalf but for his sister and nephews. Then, Val had grunted.

  Christopher barely had the chance to feel relief before a hood had been thrown over his head and he’d been knocked out.

  Seven fucking days ago.

  He thought of his Megan once more. As worried as he knew she was about him, he was just as worried about her. He was fucking desperate to get to her and soothe her fears. At least if they fucked him the fuck up, she’d know. As it stood now, unless some ransom had been demanded, it seemed as if Christopher had just dropped off the face of the fucking earth.

  Val grimaced.

  “Hold on, motherfucker.” The assfucks had stolen his and Val’s cuts, a grave fucking infraction, taking another man’s colors, and it thoroughly pissed Christopher the fuck off. “Your hands still fuckin’
free, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Val answered weakly.

  They’d both lost weight and looked like fuck. The stench in the room would drop a motherfucker with a weak stomach. Piss. Shit. Blood. Vomit from the second day when Val had thrown up the cold, greasy meat they’d been fed.

  Christopher saw a little more life in Val today and believed his RC was strong enough to escape.

  “We gotta get the fuck outta here, Val,” Christopher said. “Dead or fuckin’ alive. To-fuckin-day. Understand?”

  “Yeah, Outlaw,” Val rasped out.

  “I’ma get motherfuckin’ Frank in here. I need you to find fuckin’ strength and snap his goddamn neck, then get his fuckin’ keys. Do that and I’ll get us the fuck free.”

  Val didn’t answer, but Christopher had to take his fucking chances. He clattered his handcuffs on the metal chair. Fuck, but he was going to fuck a few motherfuckers up. Take one or two out with him.

  The door swung open and a shadowy figure loomed a few feet away. “You’re working on my fucking nerves, Caldwell,” Frank snarled.

  “Don’t give a fuck. That’s the fuckin’ price you gotta pay for takin’ my ass in the first fuckin’ place.”

  There was something vaguely familiar about the assfuck, almost as if Christopher was looking at himself fifteen or twenty years ago.

  “I didn’t take you. Charles did. I’d just as well killed you.”

  “Well, since this Charles motherfucker ain’t facin’ me like a fuckin’ man, the shit on you.”

  “He’s running the show. Not you. Before this is over, you’ll be begging for mercy.”

  “Dream the fuck on. That shit ain’t fuckin’ never happenin’.”

  “We’ll see. Right before Charles slit McCallister’s throat, he begged like a bitch.”

  “Good for fucking him. He ain’t my ass. You can waste your fuckin’ time tryna get my ass to fuckin’ beg.