Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  For the first time in many years, Roxy felt as if she’d found the man of her dreams. Or her soulmate? Could she actually have two? K-P had been her first everything—lover, baby daddy, man she wanted to spend her life with. She might not be able to give Knox children but he was her lover and the man she wanted to spend whatever remaining years she had left to her life.

  Smiling like a giggly girl, Roxy started forward, pausing again when she heard the swinging doors creak. She thought it was Knox, so she turned—and came face-to-face with Mortician.

  She scowled at him.

  Holding out her cell phone, he looked her up-and-down. “You here real early this morning, Roxanne.”

  She marched to him and snatched the phone out of his hands. “It’s too fucking early for your bullshit, motherfucker.” And she was too fucking happy for his overprotective attitude to put doubts in her head.

  “Where Knox?”

  “Sleeping, I guess. How the fuck should I know?” Concerned he might see the lie in her face, Roxy raised her phone, unlocked the screen and saw that she had two missed calls with a ‘504’ area code. Someone from New Orleans tried to contact her. The number was unfamiliar but the early time alarmed her.

  “You wearing Knox clothes?”

  She wouldn’t panic until she had reason to; therefore, she wouldn’t mention her concern to Mortician. He’d want to take over and the motherfucker was giving her enough problems.

  “You got sweats and a Tee-shirt on with Tamara Mellon boots.”

  “How the fuck you know the boot’s designer?”

  “First of all, it’s my job to know shit. That way, when I confront motherfuckers, the evidence irrefutable and they know why the fuck they dying. Second, Bailey showed me the goddamn boots before she ordered them for your ass. I know the motherfuckers cost a grand, so why the fuck you wearing Knox workout clothes with expensive boots? As a matter of fact, that motherfucker wouldn’t be caught in those motherfuckers. He just got them to pretend he regular.”

  “Mortician, what the fuck is going on? Did Knox do something that I don’t know about that’s making you act like a fucking uptight, hypocritical asshole? I know you and Bailey slept together before you married her. She even slept here at the clubhouse, so I’m asking you right now be straight with me or back the fuck off. Knox is a good man and he’s not going to leave me high-and-dry.”

  A muscle ticked in Mortician’s jaw. He met her gaze and she lifted her brow.

  “I deserve to know if Knox did something that’s making you act like this.”

  “Motherfucker didn’t do nothing,” Mortician growled.

  “Then—”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “This just important to me, Roxanne. I don’t…think about how Joan acted. Suppose she get in his head or something? What if she convince him that you need to sign a prenup?”

  “Knox wouldn’t ask me to do that. I’m not after his shit and I don’t intend for us to divorce.”

  “Anything can happen,” Mortician insisted. “I’m surprised you not thinking of this shit yourself. How would you feel if he came to you and said he’s momma convinced him he shouldn’t marry you? Or he shouldn’t marry you without the goddamn prenup?”

  Roxy cocked her head to the side. “Has Knox mentioned a prenup to you?” she asked in a thin voice, torn between anger and despair. “Because if he did, tell me, and I’ll confront him. The way you going about protecting me is all fucked up.”

  Mortician glanced away. “I just don’t trust Knox, Roxanne. Can you just humor me with this? I’m doing this to protect you.”

  “Whether me and Knox are living together or apart, if we break-up, it’ll still devastate me. What the fuck is wrong with you, thinking our living arrangements will make a difference?”

  “At least, this way, you’ll be used to not having him living with you.”

  “Mortician—”

  “Look, Roxanne,” he said in frustration, looking at her again, “I couldn’t protect my momma from Sharper bullshit. Knox not a motherfucker like that. He know better than to cheat on you. But my momma died when she came face-to-face with Sharper ways. She couldn’t deny he was a piece of shit. I don’t trust Knox. He an uppity motherfucker and he think he better than me and Prez and Digger and Val. He think he better than Meggie. He can’t stand Red.”

  “Knox don’t have a problem with Kendall.”

  Mortician released a harsh breath. “You Bailey momma, my momma-in-law. You so important to us, man. Just…just please keep shit the way it is now.”

  “Baby, I appreciate you and admire the man you are. You’re a good son-in-law, a wonderful husband and a loving father. I’m so glad Bailey found you. You take care of her and your children, and that’s all I can ask. Given that, I am going to leave shit just as it is. Suppose I decided not to, then what? We’d be at a stalemate.”

  “No. Then I kill the motherfucker.”

  “How the fuck you say you want to protect me, then in the next breath say you’ll kill the motherfucker I love? And for what? Bullshit!”

  “It’s not bullshit. I’m the head of the family, so it’s my job to protect you. If a motherfucker disobey, he can’t live. Every motherfucker around’ll think I’m a fucking bitch.”

  “As a bitch, I take offense to the insinuation that I can’t take care of my goddamn self because I got a pussy. Being older than you, shouldn’t my ass be the head? The matriarch?”

  “We forward thinking, Roxanne. We don’t have a choice ‘cause of Meggie girl. But even Prez draw a fucking line and takeover when he want to.”

  “He always give Meggie a reason. You haven’t told me one thing that makes me think I can’t handle shit on my own. Other than this is important to you.”

  He lifted a brow. “That’s not enough for you?”

  “Fuck you, motherfucker,” she yelled, at wit’s end. “I’m agreeing to this bullshit because it’s important to you. No other reason, since you like a son to me.” The fact that he’d kill Knox might have something to do with it, too. “I believe you’re under the misguided assumption that you’re protecting me because you think he’s some kind of mama’s boy that will listen to Joan.”

  “He’s also uppity and think he’s better than us.”

  “He’s a work-in-progress,” she countered.

  “He’s a pain-in-the-ass.”

  “Whatever, boy.” She should tell him she’d rendezvoused with Knox this morning, but then the motherfucker would figure out she’d caught on to the guards’ schedules. Setting her phone on the butcher block table, she turned toward the huge refrigerator. “Either help me start breakfast or get the fuck out of my face.”

  “Yeah, fine, Roxanne. Later.”

  Cursing under her breath, Roxanne yanked open the stainless-steel refrigerator door and grabbed the unopened bacon, two packages of sausage, and two cartons of eggs. As she sat the food down, her phone started ringing. Picking it up, she saw that it was the same unknown number that had already called her twice.

  Concern raced through her. What had happened? Was it her momma or one of her daughters? Or, maybe, something was wrong with Duke. That made more sense with the unrecognizable number.

  Sighing, she heaved in a deep breath and answered. “Hello?”

  “Roxy?” a man responded. The owner of the voice floated of the fringes of her memory.

  “Who is this?” she demanded, because try as she might to identify the caller, he remained unknown. His chipper tone alerted her that everything was fine.

  “Joyner,” he answered. “Amfinger. Joyner Amfinger.”

  Creighton’s motherfucker of a friend. “What do you want, asshole?” she hissed.

  “Tsk, tsk. I could be calling you about Duke. I am his godfather.”

  “You’re not. You wouldn’t fucking bother to pick up the goddamn phone to tell me anything about my son.”

  “Still the same classy woman Creighton married. I can’t see why my friend ever thought he could turn trash in
to a trophy.”

  “I’m not listening to your bullshit,” she snapped, hating how Joyner’s words arrowed straight through her. Her baby boy, her Duke, felt the same way. “Fuck off, motherfucker.”

  “Don’t hang up,” Joyner commanded. “We wouldn’t want that man you’re about to marry to accidentally get a phone call.”

  “I don’t have anything to hide. Call Knox all the fuck you want to.”

  He chuckled. “I might do that. I had an offer for you, but you’re being difficult.”

  “Bye, Joyner.”

  “Creighton’s willing to send you fifty thousand dollars if you get out of Duke’s life. Give up all claims to him. Agree to a new birth certificate. Duke is dating good people now and he doesn’t want garbage floating to the surface that will humiliate him.”

  “Joyner, the only reason I didn’t hang up on your ass was because you brought up calling Knox. I know the fucking games you motherfuckers play.”

  “We’re adults. We don’t have time for games.”

  “Good, because I’m telling you to fuck off. There’s no fucking way I’m allowing Creighton’s crooked ass to falsify a birth certificate and give my son a new momma.”

  “It wasn’t Creighton’s idea. It was Duke’s.”

  Tears rushing to her eyes, Roxy pressed down on her lips to hold in her sob. She stiffened her shoulders and swiped at a tear. “Tell him, fuck no. I gave birth to him and I’m not hiding that or allowing him to.”

  “So high and mighty since you’ve gotten with that young, rich boy. What are you going to say when Knox Harrington throws you ass over for a woman his age, who has more class and more education? Your own son despises you. You can’t really believe a sought-after bachelor from one of the country’s wealthiest families wants you for more than anything but a good fuck? That’s about all you’re good for.”

  “Joyner, don’t fucking call my number anymore. If you do, you might just fucking disappear.” Before he responded, she disconnected the call, her happiness crashing and burning.

  “Look who I brought for you,” Mortician said.

  Rushing back to the refrigerator to get her bearings, Roxy made herself focus. She grabbed butter and milk, drew herself up, closed the door, and turned, pasting a smile on her face.

  Knox met her eyes and his grin faded. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  Mortician narrowed his eyes. “You been crying!”

  She set the milk and the butter next to the other items. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed,” she said in truth.

  “What this motherfucker did?” Mortician demanded.

  “Oh, I like that,” Knox snapped. “I was the one who noticed something was wrong with her. If I was the cause for her distress, do you think I would’ve called attention to it?”

  “Maybe,” Mortician retorted. “You kind of a stupid motherfucker. Think your balls bigger than they actually are.”

  “The size of my testes are just fine,” Knox told him.

  Roxy and Mortician frowned at him, but the bickering allowed her to reassemble her thoughts and shove aside the call from Joyner Amfinger. He was, and always would be, a fucking asshole.

  “Thank you, Tottingham,” Knox said, accepting a glass of rare whisky from the owner of Tottingham’s Haberdashery.

  “Harold has given me your measurements. We will set to work on the tuxedoes immediately,” Tottingham said. He was about Knox’s age and had inherited the shop from his late father. “When can we expect the others in the wedding party, sir?”

  Knox sipped his drink. “They are being fitted elsewhere. Only my father and I will utilize your skills.”

  His father walked into the private room, followed by the shop’s general manager, Harold Rubens. He was an older man with a bald spot in the middle of his head. His white hair gave him a distinguished look.

  “Speak of the devil,” Knox said with a smile as his father sat in the chair across from him. “Would you like a drink, Dad?”

  “Of course, son.”

  “Mr. Harrington, Mr. Knox informs me that there will be no others for fittings,” Tottingham said, handing his father a glass.”

  An unhappy look crossed his father’s face. “That’s correct.”

  “Not even the young sir?”

  “Not even Grant,” Knox confirmed.

  “Tottie, can you give me a moment with my son?”

  “Of course, Mr. Harrington, sir. Come, Harold.”

  The two men offered slights bows, then walked out of the room and closed the door.

  “Son, I’m not one to interfere in your private life. It’s your business, but I must admit to concern.”

  Although Knox would prefer if his father kept his opinion to himself, he respected the man too much not to give him the courtesy of hearing him out. “I understand, Dad.”

  His father took a deep swallow of whisky. “Look around you, Knox. What do you see?”

  Doing as his father asked, Knox noted the wooden floors offset by top-of-the-line area rugs. Walls divided by chair rails donned silk wallpaper and white-painted wood. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. On the opposite side of the room, a round table stood, surrounded by four chairs, and stacked with design books. The lone case in the room held samples of ties and other accessories men needed. All of it screamed money and status. Class.

  “I see the world I was born into.” For as long as Knox remembered, he’d come to Tottingham’s. As he’d gotten older, he’d spread his wings and went to stores with Cam, where ready-wear items were available. But the majority of Knox’s clothes were tailored just for him.

  “What will Tottie and Harold think of Roxanne if and when they ever meet her?”

  Knox drained his glass. “I don’t care what they think of her, Dad. I love her and that’s all that matters.”

  “She was fine as your girlfriend—”

  “Enough!” Knox interrupted. “Either you accept her as my wife or you lose me as your son. There’s no negotiations.”

  “You’d risk your mother and me disinheriting you for a woman who’s past her prime and can’t birth you more children?”

  “Have you ever heard of adoption?” Knox snapped. “And, yes, I don’t need your goddamn money if it means following your every dictate. Take it and burn it.” He set his glass on the small table next to him and got to his feet. “If this is the only reason you agreed to accompany me to our first fitting, you could’ve stayed home.”

  He hated to admit it, but the fitting at the Whittlestones had been much more enjoyable. The atmosphere had been relaxed and not so pretentious. In spite of the disagreeability of Mortician, Knox had had a much better time. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t imagine Grant enjoying the sternness of Tottingham and Harold.

  Knox almost—almost—regretted his refusal of purchasing his tuxedo from the same place as the bikers.

  “Tell me now. Is this a threat? Do you intend to disown me?”

  “No,” his dad said after a tense moment. “You’re my only son, my only child, and I want what’s best for you.”

  “Roxanne is best for me. She makes me happy. She gives my life meaning.”

  “She’s abnormally common.”

  Despite himself, Knox laughed. “Abnormally common? Really, Dad?”

  His father smiled. “You know what I mean.”

  Knox nodded, though he felt as if he betrayed Roxanne by agreeing. But she did have a very foul mouth. Not to mention a certain Navigator that remained stuck in Knox’s craw. He could just talk to her, but she could be so stubborn. He was afraid any conversation about either of those topics would dissolve into an argument. His words got ahead of him sometimes. By the time his brain caught up, he would’ve spewed his resentment and she’d never forgive him.

  However, after the hot sex this morning, his mood had lifted—until Cash had come storming in and reminded Knox about the cameras.

  “You know the ones, motherfucker? They aren’t turned off unless we decide not to record.
Which is rare. Your saving fucking grace was that it was fucking dark. The footage has been erased. If Mortician had gotten to it, Digger would be cleaning your fucking guts up.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” Knox had fumed.

  “Don’t give a fuck. It’s up to you to convince her to go to your fucking room. It’s your fucking job to protect her.”

  “I forgot about the fucking cameras.” He hadn’t known they were on at all times.

  “Next time, remember them.”

  At that point, Roxanne had walked in, her body defining his Tee-shirt and sweats, her skin glowing and her eyes heavy-lidded. She’d been floating on the same cloud as him since he’d gotten her pre-dawn call where she told him she intended to do a booty call. Or, as she said it, a dick call.

  He laughed.

  “Son?”

  His father’s voice reminded him he wasn’t alone. “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Care to share the joke?”

  “Private matter between Roxanne and I.”

  “I understand.” He fell silent, then heaved a breath. “At least tell me she’s signing a prenup?”

  “Of course she is, Dad.”

  “She’s already agreed?”

  The relief in his father’s voice got to Knox. He didn’t want his parents to worry that he’d allow any woman, even Roxanne, to swoop in and bankrupt the Harringtons. He nodded. “Of course.”

  Smiling, his father clapped him on the back. “Good, good. You’re not my boy for nothing.”

  Swallowing, Knox decided he needed to secure Roxanne’s agreement, and signature, soon, so they could move past this pesky detail and focus solely on their wedding plans.

  And, of course, outsmarting Mortician.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  BPD – Borderline Personality Disorder, characterized by an inability to maintain personal relationships, uncontrollable anger, fear of abandonment, impulsiveness, and poor self-image, among other things.

  Usually, it was ignored for more common diagnoses, such as major depressive disorder, anxiety disorder, eating disorders, PTSD, and bipolar disorder. AND BPD usually co-existed with one of the other mental illnesses. As was the case for Kendall, who, according to Dr. Briscow, suffered not only BPD, but depression and anxiety, too. When she’d left Johnnie for those six months before Rory’s birth, her then-psychiatrist said she was borderline schizophrenic. He’d never once mentioned BPD, but it made so much sense now.