Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Here was the bombshell, the part she wouldn’t like. Her feelings shouldn’t matter to Knox, but he hesitated. “He doesn’t,” he said as casually as possible. “I’m going to Boston and I’ll be staying with him and his mom for that week.”

  Roxy stilled. “What?”

  No explaining his way out of this one, so he claimed indifference. “You heard me.”

  She got to her feet and faced him. The hurt in her eyes shocked him, but anger quickly covered it, stealing away the slim chance he’d had to smooth this over. “You knew this and you still fucked me? You’re going to Boston to play house with your ex and…you motherfucker!” she snarled, throwing the champagne in his face.

  Knox bolted up. Sitting while she stood gave her an advantage. He didn’t trust that she wouldn’t deck him. “I don’t intend to play house with Callie. We’re going to act like civilized adults for Grant’s sake.”

  “You share a child,” she yelled. “You don’t easily get past that.”

  She was right. Grant had held them together for a while. Searching for a way to ease Roxy’s displeasure, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a dishtowel to wipe his face, then returned to the living room to find her gathering her purse.

  “Maybe, if you hadn’t fucked me first and then hit me with this, I might feel differently. If there’s nothing going on, you would’ve sat down and talked to me before I gave you pussy, and left that choice up to me. Fuck you, motherfucker.”

  “Act mature about this,” he demanded, at a loss on how best to get through to her. “I’m doing this for my son.”

  “I don’t begrudge you time with your boy. I’d never do that. But you could go to a hotel. He could come here. There are a number of solutions besides staying with your ex.”

  “What difference does it make to you?” he snapped, guilt spiking his temper. “We’re just enjoying each other’s bodies, right? We’re not going to last. Remember?”

  “Fuck you. If you’d felt that way, you would’ve told me before I fucked you. But you knew this was some dirty shit, so you kept that to yourself until you got your nuts off.”

  On the inside, he flinched. She’d scored another point. Outwardly, he glared at her. “I don’t recall you protesting when I started eating your cunt. You gladly gave pussy to me. I’m a catch, for you especially, since I can have any woman I want and because I hear the men of your generation aren’t big on licking pussy. They’re so fucking old most of them need Viagra…” The moment the words left Knox’s mouth, he knew he’d compounded his mistake by one thousand percent.

  Her eyes widened, then watered, but she drew herself up. “If you ever fucking talk to me, look at me again, I’m fucking cutting you,” she snarled, swiping at an angry tear.

  “Roxy, I didn’t mean any of that,” he started, reaching for her.

  She backed away from him. “Fuck you. You meant every fucking word. If staying with your ex-wife, acting like a family, wasn’t enough to end whatever we had, your words did it. I don’t ever want anything to do with you again. Ever again.” She started toward the front door. “One other thing, if I were you, I’d back away from the club. Outlaw will kill you for fucking with him. If you think you’re so smart, think again. If you don’t like living, keep being a dumb ass.”

  Knox rushed to her and grabbed her arm before she walked out. “Wait, let me take you home. I’m so sorry, Roxanne. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean any of what I said. Please. I think you’re beautiful. Age doesn’t matter. Don’t let the evening end like this.”

  She jerked away from him. “Fuck off, Knox. I’ll find my own way home. In the meantime, lose my fucking number, motherfucker.”

  Somehow, she managed to convey both her fury and her hurt feelings as she stormed out into the night, leaving Knox to feel lower than he ever had in his life.

  As usual when Roxy went out with Knox, Christopher wanted her tailed. The last two times Johnnie had staked out Knox’s residence. Tonight, he did so himself. He’d heard every word Kendall said about Avalon Harrington. Already suspicious of the motherfucker’s appearance, her explanation sealed assfuck’s fate.

  Motherfucker was related to Knox in some way and Christopher was almost certain he was the fuckhead who’d put Knox up to his bullshit. He just needed blowing-the-motherfucker-away proof. Those same last names wasn’t a fucking coincidence, especially when fucking Avalon had been one of Brooks’ partners.

  Why the fuck hadn’t Christopher known that again?

  All in all, it was a bunch of fucking treachery. If something went fucking down, he wanted to be the one to take out Avalon. Hopefully, he could torture his fucking reasoning out of him first. Once again, judging by assfuck, Knox, Christopher thought maybe it had to do with gathering evidence to go to the authorities. Why the fuck else would motherfucking Knox be so determined to have him make threats?

  It pissed Christopher off so fucking much, it took everything in his ass not to go to Knox and drag him to the meatshack. They thought he was a stupid motherfucker and they could come in and fuck over him and his club.

  Fuck th—

  Before the word formed, Knox’s door opened. Christopher just caught a glimpse of Roxy from the porch light before darkness swallowed her for a few minutes until she reached the street.

  She paused and covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

  She was crying. Knox was fucking dead.

  Before Christopher could start his bike, she stumbled across the street, on his opposite side and stopped again, looked in both directions before crossing.

  “I thought it would be Johnnie,” she said, trying and failing to hide her wet face.

  “You knew I was here?”

  “Not until I crossed to this side,” she admitted hoarsely, as if she’d been sobbing. “I try to always be aware of my surroundings. I saw the chrome.”

  “It could’ve been any fuckin’ body, babe,” he snapped.

  “It wasn’t,” she said in a sad voice. “I already know you have me tailed.”

  “Okay, Roxanne,” he relented, not wanting to upset her further. “Wait here.”

  He started in the direction of Knox’s house, checking his nine.

  “Outlaw!” she called, racing to him and stopping him in the middle of the street.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “You can’t shoot him!”

  “He made you fuckin’ cry. Motherfucker dyin’. Besides, that motherfucker think I’m fuckin’ stupid, pretendin’ not to know Avalon.”

  “Don’t shoot him. Please. Avalon’s Knox’s uncle. He’s the one who sent him to get information to take to the Feds. He wants to avenge the law firm.”

  Noticing headlights coming in their direction, Christopher guided Roxy back to where his bike was parked. He shoved his nine away.

  “I can’t work this case any longer, Outlaw,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’m not dealing with Knox ever again. He didn’t physically hurt me, so just let him be. We just ran the course of our fling. That’s it. Or, as you say, case closed.”

  Christopher sighed. “Let’s get back to the clubhouse. We can talk over a beer.”

  “I’ll just order a coke or something.”

  Fuck. Was she sick again? Roxy liked beer as much as he did. Nah, she was in remission. He couldn’t panic like a bitch ass every time she changed shit. “A coke, huh?” he asked, despite himself. “You sure you okay?”

  She hugged herself. “Yeah, Outlaw. I’m okay.”

  “No, you ain’t. Spit it the fuck out. What’d the motherfucker do to you?”

  “Nothing. Not really. I don’t want to talk about his ass ever again. I don’t want to hear about him. I don’t want to see him.”

  Two things Christopher got out of Roxy’s vehemence. She’d fallen for the assfuck and this shit involved another bitch.

  He’d try to get it out of her again. “Besides your boy, Knox the only motherfucker that can make you look so fuckin’ sad and make you not wanna drink.”


  “Shit, Outlaw. I’ll drink a fuckin’ beer,” Roxy snapped. “Jesus, boy, I hate to see what the fuck you’d do if I’d said I wanted milk.”

  “I’da sent for that lil priest motherfucker, Wilcunt.”

  Roxy forced a smile. “I’m kind of tired and it’s way past your bedtime.”

  “Nope. It’s a little past my pussy time. Lucky for me, Megan’ll wake up and fuck me.”

  “Did I really need to know that?”

  “Don’t give a fuck if you did or not. It’s the truth.” He went to his bike and realized she wore a dress. “Fuck. I’ma hafta call Mort. You can’t get on my fuckin’ bike with no dress and high heels. My pipes will burn the fuck outta you.”

  Roxy tipped her head to the sky. “That’s fine. I’ll wait here. You go on and be with your family.”

  “Babe, for a bitch who ain’t wantin’ me to blow Knox the fuck away, you sure soundin’ like he need to be blown the fuck away. You fuckin’ know I ain’t leavin’ you here on your fuckin’ own. Just hold tight.”

  “Let me call a cab. It’ll be quicker. I’m tired, Outlaw.”

  He heard her fatigue, saw the exhaustion in her teary eyes. Given those facts, he couldn’t deny her. “Okay, Roxanne. Since my ass the fuckin’ reason you got in with this motherfucker, I’ma do what the fuck you ask.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Babe?”

  She sighed. “What, sugar?”

  “I’m sorry my fuckin’ ass got you hurt. Because of that, I’ma let Knox live like you asked. But Avalon a fuckin’ dead man.”

  On January second, the motherfucker would die bright and early. After all, the holiday moratorium was now in full effect and Christopher refused to break it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Turkey recipe:

  For the sake of space, I won’t keep referring to the bird as “the turkey”. From now on, the motherfucker is a he so don’t call me out on this one because I didn’t use “she”. Thaw him. If you don’t you’ll fuck up Thanksgiving because you can’t cook a frozen ass turkey. (Refer to my Thawing The Motherfucker recipe).

  Wash his ass good with cold water. Make sure to remove the little fucking bag on the inside of the motherfucker. If you don’t, you’ll be fucking cooking paper and ruin the turkey any fucking way after you went through all the fucking trouble of thawing his ass right. In the paper are the giblets, neck, and other shit that I think is only good for a delicious fucking gravy. (Refer to my Delicious Ass Turkey Gravy recipe).

  Once the turkey is washed…There’s nothing worse than a dry ass fucking turkey. Melt a stick of butter and just slather it on his ass. Pretend like you greasing a dick for a night of long fucking. Put that butter all over the skin, all in the creases, all in it.

  After it’s nice and buttered, salt and pepper this motherfucker inside and out. By in, I mean the cavity. (The cavity is the place where the bag containing his body parts was stored). Salt and pepper to taste. I like to add some garlic and onion powder and a little cayenne pepper. That’s just me. You and your man might not like it, so fuck it. This is up to you. All I’m telling you is how the fuck to bake the motherfucker. You use what the fuck you want to, to season him.

  Put his ass in an aluminum pan and cover him with tin foil. Your oven needs to be preheated to 350 degrees. Once you’re through washing, buttering, and seasoning that bad boy, slide him in to the oven. For every fucking pound, cook him 15 fucking minutes. (That means a ten-pound motherfucker have to be cooked two and a half fucking hours).

  When you cut into his ass and see the juices running clear between the leg and the thigh, he’s ready. You don’t want a drop of fucking red. That means he’s still fucking raw because his ass is still fucking bleeding. If he’s too brown and you’re still seeing red, you have a fucking problem. You’re about to have a half raw, burned ass turkey on your hands, so throw the motherfucker away, call it a fucking day, and find somewhere else to eat.

  Roxy read over her recipe, wondering if she forgot any steps. Kendall wanted to cook the Thanksgiving turkey and needed the recipe, but Roxy’s heart really wasn’t into it. Almost two weeks had passed since the scene in Knox’s house and she still felt the sting of his words and the humiliation of his intentions. She was so fucking angry with herself. All along, she’d known he was using her and she’d used him to an extent…She sniffled again, then checked to make sure she was alone. No one knew exactly what had happened. Fine with her.

  She’d turned into one of those women, who used a flimsy fucking excuse to get out of shit. It didn’t matter. Outlaw wanted to know what had happened. He knew she was tougher than what she was currently seeming to be.

  Except…nothing. Except nothing. She was making more of this than she had a right. Her and Knox hadn’t broken up, because they hadn’t been together.

  Wiping her cheek on her shoulder, she turned the page in her tablet for her next recipe.

  Pearllene’s Dirty Rice:

  Normally, I hate fucking chicken livers, but we need the little bastards for dirty rice. It’s the fucking meat that dirty the shit up. Chop up the motherfuckers very fine. Don’t use a food processor. You’ll have liver paste and that’ll fuck the recipe up. Put a little love and tenderness in the dish and use a knife. Sauté the chopped chicken livers and ground beef. Don’t make it that lean shit. Make sure it’s 80/20. In case you don’t know, that means eighty percent meat and twenty percent fat. You don’t have to add a drop of fucking oil because ground beef is a greasy motherfucker so that’s what you’re using to fry the meat. Add in chopped onions, shallots, garlic, and bell pepper, along with salt and pepper. Once the seasoning wilts, set everything the fuck aside. Add some steamed fucking rice, (See my Steamed Fucking Rice Instructions), to the meat mixture and fold into it. Let it dry out. Now, baby, by dry out I mean don’t let there be juices left so you have dripping dirty rice. I don’t mean for you to leave it on the stove to burn the fuck out of it. Once it’s done, pour it into a pretty fucking bowl.

  Roxy wanted to have all the steps for Kendall. Shit, that reminded her. She flipped back to the turkey recipe.

  After the motherfucker is cooked, let his ass cool, then have Johnnie carve him. Lay the pieces out on a pretty platter.

  Tomorrow, Roxy and the girls were going shopping for the dinner. She wished she was staying, but since she promised her mother she’d go home, she would. Besides, she might have a chance to talk to Duke. She’d already left four messages for him, but, so far, he hadn’t called her back. If he saw that she was well and on her feet again, she was sure he’d come around. It was the stupid cancer that had thrown him into a tailspin.

  She swallowed back fresh tears and turned to a blank page, deciding to get the baked goods out of the way before starting on the vegetables.

  Rolls:

  I can’t fucking bake, so the motherfuckers would come out so hard they’d break your fucking teeth, therefore, buy store bought rolls. Bake them for twenty fucking minutes or until golden brown. Take them out of the oven and wrap them in a cloth napkin to keep them fresh and warm. Some motherfuckers like butter. Take a stick of butter and cut into pats (that means slices, sugar) and arrange on a plate. You can leave out for about an hour to soften but DO NOT put the motherfuckers near heat. You’ll melt the fuck out of them and then all your hard work will be for nothing.

  Apple pie:

  Store bought motherfucker

  Sweet Potato Pie:

  Store bought motherfucker

  Cake:

  Store bought motherfucker

  (This is in the interest of time. You can always order your sweets from a bakery).

  Roxy wanted Kendall to succeed at this, so she didn’t want to leave anything to chance. This year, the guys were doing up the club dinner…What she wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall for that fucking time. They were having some kind of testosterone/estrogen cooking competition. The girls were going to cook the later meal, just for the family.

  If Knox…fuck Knox. She
was so fucking sorry she hadn’t decked that motherfucker for fucking her and then telling her his bullshit. Or at least karate chopped his dick.

  Gritting her teeth, Roxy turned the page so hard she almost tore it from the spirals.

  Time for the vegetables.

  Green beans:

  Don’t fuck with the fresh ones. Cleaning them takes time. We’ll learn that lesson another time. Buy some frozen green beans. Cut or French-style is up to you. I like the French style. Cut up strips of bacon and chop an onion. Sauté those bitches together. Add salt, pepper, and parsley. Then add your green beans. Put, maybe, a quarter cup of water and lower the fire. You can also add mushrooms. That’s up to you. Not every motherfucker like the bitches, though. Whatever the fuck you add, cook on LOW HEAT for twenty minutes. Watch it closely. If you burn the shit, don’t worry about it. Buy a can of these bitches, put them in a microwave safe bowl, add butter, salt, and pepper, and cook for five minutes.

  Carrots:

  I’ll keep this fucking simple. Another time, I’ll tell you how to add ham and onions. For now, buy frozen carrots, salt and pepper them, add in butter, and microwave the fuck out of them. Now, I warn you, baby, a microwave will shrivel shit worse than an old man’s cock…

  Why all the sex references, Roxy? You need dick or something?

  She’d been perfectly fine before she’d fucked Knox. She’d gotten her pussy to where it didn’t even miss having a dick in it. Then, bam, here comes that shady motherfucker. Her legs flew open like a fucking spring was attached. Her pussy was such a traitorous bitch.

  She growled in frustration. Where was she in her recipe? Oh, yeah.

  If food’s not shriveled, it’s hard as my rolls so that makes it inedible.

  Creamed Corn:

  Thanksgiving isn’t a time to watch your diet. It’s a time to give thanks for all your many blessings. We have a lot of them. Never forget that. But it’s also a time to enjoy good food. One of the best dishes is creamed corn. It’s fattening as fuck. One teaspoon can give you a gorilla ass. Worry about that later.