Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  “By your hand,” Johnnie spat.

  “Directly by my hand,” Christopher supplied, wondering when this motherfucker would catch on.

  Johnnie’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “What the fuck are you saying? You wanted Kendall to commit…” His voice trailed off and he stared at Christopher, shock, pain, and anger crossing his face. “You told me you weren’t seeking revenge,” he shouted. “You lied to me.”

  “No the fuck I ain’t. I lied to Megan. I ain’t wanted her to discover the truth.”

  “Get out,” Johnnie said coldly. “This is the last fucking straw. You’ve pushed me too fucking far. You claim you love me, yet you almost ruined my life because of your hatred for Kendall.”

  “No, that’s fuckin’ because you a stupid motherfucker and she a dumb bitch.”

  “Fuck off! I’m never going to forgive you.”

  A sliver of hurt passed through Christopher, but he ignored it. The only person in the world who forgave him almost anything was his Megan. Just because he and Johnnie had always been so close, Christopher shouldn’t have expected the same from him.

  He shrugged. “Your fuckin’ choice. As long as I got my girl, I got every-fuckin-thing I need.” He looked at Kendall, surprised to find she wasn’t giving him one of her bitchy glares. “Johnnie ain’t want nothin’ to do with Emily, Kendall. I was payin’ her to pressure him into startin’ something with her. He ain’t fucked her or nothin’. He love you. I hope you love his ass e-fuckin-nuff to straighten the fuck up.”

  “I do,” she said quietly. “We…he’s committing me.”

  “You goin’ back to a psycho camp?”

  Johnnie growled.

  Kendall nodded. “For at least six months. We’ll be working on our marriage and our parenting skills. We have a long road ahead of us. I hope we can make it through.”

  Christopher shrugged.

  “I knew…I knew you wouldn’t let my actions go unanswered,” Kendall admitted. “And I know you’re sorry.”

  He paused. Kendall had had such a fucked-up childhood, starting with her old man’s death. Her ma hadn’t liked her, and Emily had bullied her. He understood that, even sympathized with her. But Kendall blamed every-fucking-body for what happened to her, instead of pointing the fucking finger at the two motherfuckers that wreaked all the havoc. She made excuses, thought it was her fucking right, to do what the fuck she wanted to and not have fucking consequences. He was willing to let bygones be bygones and give her a fresh start—although he hoped Megan kept her distance. However, for all Kendall’s past sins and the way he’d addressed them…“Nope, I ain’t sorry for any-fuckin-thing I did to you. I re-fuckin-gret the emotional toll it took on John Boy.”

  “How fucking kind of you,” Johnnie sneered.

  Christopher ignored him and stayed focused on Kendall. “I hope now you get some fuckin’ help and behave.” How many fucking times had he said the same goddamn thing to her?

  “Leave, Christopher,” Johnnie ordered.

  “I understand you offended on behalf of your woman.”

  “Oh, you admit she’s my woman now and not a cunt?”

  “I’m about to fuckin’ call you the cunt, motherfucker,” Christopher barked.

  Johnnie got to his feet and stalked to Christopher, standing nose-to-nose with him. “Emily’s dead, Christopher. I’ve already told Kendall, now I’m telling you. I killed her.”

  “Why the fuck—?”

  “Why?” Johnnie interrupted before Christopher got his full question out. “Because she spoofed my goddamn phone number and showed Kendall phony fucking texts. Not only that, Stretch found a to-do list to get to Megan and kill her!”

  “What the fuck you said?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Johnnie snapped. “Emily’s games led my wife to try to take her life. Your fucking games.”

  Annoyance rose in Christopher and a sense of anger that he hadn’t gotten his hands-on Emily. “Back the fuck up, John Boy. I don’t know why the fuck you so fuckin’ furious at my ass. I ain’t got a fuckin’ thing to apologize to neither of you motherfuckers for. Kendall got you fuckin’ shot. Knocked the fuck out. Maybe, if your fuckin’ ass knew how to handle her, my fuckin’ ass wouldna had to step the fuck in.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Johnnie spat.

  “Nope. Even if you think my ass need to apologize for your woman tryna kill herself, I ain’t agreein’, so fuck you. You follow club rules. You stay the fuck outta club business if you not a member. You leave my woman in peace. You keep your fuckin’ hands off lil’ kids. Or you fuckin’ die. Case fuckin’ closed. That shit not new to you or your bitch, Johnnie.”

  He drew himself up. For a moment, sadness replaced the anger, then he stiffened and glared at Christopher. “Leave,” he ordered again. “We don’t want you here.”

  “Have it your fuckin’ way, motherfucker,” Christopher said, heading out. At the door, he stopped. “Ain’t botherin’ to threaten neither of you motherfuckers no more. All the fuck I can say is if Kendall fuck up a-fuckin-gain, run.”

  With that, he walked away, not telling them if it ever came to that they had better hope, he never, ever fucking found them. If there ever was a next time, justice would be swift and decisive.

  After summoning the members to emergency church, Christopher headed to the clubhouse. Johnnie’s presence surprised Christopher. He wondered if Johnnie was there to resign from the club, given his self-righteous indignation. Krag, Talbot, Webster, and Pete were there and that was the important thing.

  “Ain’t keepin’ you motherfuckers long,” Christopher started after calling the meeting to order. “Any assfuck I choose to guard my woman got the fuckin’ right to decline. If you ain’t likin’ the position, you gonna make her miserable and that ain’t ever gonna fuckin’ fly.” He walked from behind the podium, and went to the table where those four motherfuckers sat. “I picked you motherfuckers cuz y’all old-timers. Knew Big Joe. Boss loved the fuck outta Megan, so I thought it woulda been a honor.”

  Krag gave Christopher a half-smile. “We enjoy every moment we spend with your precious wife, Outlaw.”

  Webster, Talbot, and Pete sniggered. Slipper wasn’t known to lie, but just the subtle hint of arrogance from the soon-to-be maggot chips told Christopher of the man’s truthfulness.

  “Fuck, Prez,” Digger grumbled. “I got my good jeans on.”

  “Is there a problem, Outlaw?” Krag asked calmly.

  “Nope,” Christopher answered, drawing his nine with the hollows. “Not no more, motherfucker.”

  He shot all four motherfuckers in the head, unaffected at the gushes of blood, or the ensuing silence. Sticking his gun back into the inside pocket of his cut, Christopher lit a cigarette and took a few puffs before he walked back to the podium, ignoring Digger’s scowl.

  “When I come to you to watch my woman, de-fuckin-cide if you like livin’ with your brain in your head or outside the motherfucker.”

  “You not surviving if you don’t have a brain in your head, Outlaw,” Digger protested.

  “You sure, fool?” Mortician called. “You’ve done fine without one in your fucking head all these goddamn years.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Digger said, flipping the room at large off at all the laughter rising up.”

  “Get the dead motherfuckers outta here,” Christopher ordered.

  “Where you want us to put them?” Val asked.

  “Wherever the fuck you make those motherfuckers fit.”

  “I got a new solution I want to try to see how effective it is to dissolve bodies,” Mortician said, lighting his own cigarette.

  “You can use one of them for your experiment,” Johnnie added. “We had all our tools ready for Knox and never got to use them. I was a little disappointed.”

  “In that case, John Boy, your ass welcome to move the motherfuckers,” Digger said. “I won’t get my good jeans ruined.”

  “We got four dead motherfuckers,” Christopher said. “You four assfuc
ks each move a body.”

  “All we need is barrels rolled in here if we do it my way,” Mortician explained. “Stuff the motherfuckers in there, then roll the barrels to the meatshack. We don’t even have to bring them inside.”

  Christopher shrugged. “Whatever the fuck you think best.” He turned to the other brothers, whose expressions ranged from completely fucking terrified to shook-up to indifference. “Meetin’ adjourned,” he announced, then headed to his bike, anxious to see his girl.

  “Christopher?”

  At Johnnie’s call, Christopher mounted his bike but didn’t start it.

  Holding out his hand, Johnnie met Christopher’s gaze. “We’ve been a team our whole lives,” he began. “You’re my family. I can’t just turn away from you and pretend you don’t exist.”

  Christopher smiled and slammed his hand into Johnnie’s, then drew him into a bear hug. “I love you, motherfucker.”

  “I love you too, you fucking psycho stalker Wildman.”

  Chuckling, Christopher started his bike, gave Johnnie a two-finger salute and sped off, acknowledging his relief that he and John Boy had cleared the air.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  After all the drama of the past three months—hateful sons, engagement rings with bad ju-ju, forced living arrangements, secret rendezvous, sadity bitches, low-down bitches, uppity bastards, scheming motherfuckers, stupid motherfuckers, larcenous priests, riding lessons, new tattoos, murder, suicide attempts, new engagement rings, and dangerous pregnancies—it all came down to this. The night before the wedding at the Harrington estate to enjoy the dinner after their rehearsal at Father Wilkins’ church.

  Joan and Hal, Knox’s parents, hadn’t made the drive to Hortensia for the practice ceremony. Not that it surprised Roxy, although she knew Knox had been a little disappointed.

  News crews and helicopters had dogged them from the clubhouse to the church and then to the mansion. Knox had seemed unfazed, but the attention had made Roxy more than a little nervous. She wasn’t used to such public scrutiny.

  The street leading up to the gate where Harrington House was located—Roxy had just found out tonight the motherfucker had a name—had been blocked off with uniformed police officers only allowing residents and guests to the rehearsal dinner in. Because her momma and other two daughters were in town, Knox hired a limousine, so he could enjoy their company without the distraction of driving.

  After a meeting, it was decided the entire family would have limousines, and divided the occupants by households—Caldwell, Donovan, Taylor, Banks, Banks, and, of course, Knox and Roxy’s.

  Extra staff had been hired to direct the cars on where to turn to make it up the hill to reach the valet area. Butlers in gold and lavender had met them each step of the way as they were guided to the Grande Salon, where a flutist and pianist awaited them. The room was like a scene from a fairytale, where no expense had been spared. Hanging crystal and wisteria dripped from the ceilings. Each table had huge arrangements of white roses, pristine white tablecloths and gleaming crystal.

  “We got to sit at different tables?” Val asked before Knox’s parents had a chance to welcome them.

  “No the fuck we not,” Pearllene announced, leaning heavily on her cane as she crossed the room. “Come on, Rissa, Lex, let’s fix this shit.”

  “Momma—” Roxy started, trying and failing to catch her mother’s hands.

  Sniggering as her kin started pulling out chairs, Mortician, Digger, Outlaw, Val, and Johnnie joined them in ruining the setup.

  “What are you people doing?” Joan screamed. “Stop this instant before I have you thrown out of my house.”

  “Mother,” Knox called, then winked at Roxy, “it’s fine. I happen to agree with them. Come on, Cam.”

  Shocked, Roxy watched as her man and his best friend joined the other guys to place the tables together in two rows of two. The beautiful arrangements were placed against one of the walls, out of the way.

  “If I’d wanted it this way, I would’ve gotten long, rectangle tables,” Joan huffed.

  “Dear, don’t worry yourself,” Hal advised. “Knox wants it this way.”

  “Joan, I thought I heard your cry of distress,” Charlotte Redding announced, breezing into the room on Brooks’s arm.

  “What the fuck is she doing here?” Johnnie demanded. “I thought I told you to stay the fuck away.”

  Joan lifted her chin. “Yes, well, considering this is my house, sir, I can invite whoever I want. Charlotte is my friend, therefore, she’s on my guest list.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Johnnie drew his gun from his cut. “Not if I shoot the fuck out of her.”

  “Johnnie!” Roxy yelled, rushing forward as Brooks jumped in front of his wife.

  “Boy, what the fuck is your goddamn problem?” Pearllene demanded, hitting Johnnie on the side of the head with her purse.”

  “Give me that shit, motherfucker,” Alexia demanded, yanking the gun from Johnnie’s hand. Her dyed blonde hair was outstanding against her milk chocolate skin.

  Outlaw stepped forward and snatched the Glock away from Alexia. Once he emptied it of bullets, he slammed it against Johnnie’s chest.

  “I ain’t allowin’ you to mar this fuckin’ dinner with fuckin’ brains and blood all over the fuckin’ place.”

  “Yeah, Johnnie,” Digger said, waving Bunny over, having chosen his spot. “That would delay dinner and I’m hungry.”

  “You stay fucking hungry,” Mortician complained.

  “What do you mean delay dinner, Digger?” Carissa called. “That would’ve ruined the shit. Personally, I couldn’t eat nothing if I saw a bitch killed.”

  Outlaw’s whistle stopped the arguing. “E-fuckin-nuff. Let’s sit the fuck down, so dinner can fuckin’ start.” He pointed to the musicians who were aghast. “If one of you motherfuckers play the fuckin’ bullshit I fuckin’ know you intendin’ to play, Ima break your fuckin’ fingers.”

  “Omigod, Christopher!”

  Meggie had healed completely and Axel, now three months old, had another week, at most, to stay in the hospital before he was released. He was small for his age, but hadn’t been harmed during the trauma of his birth.

  “Hal!” Joan cried. “Do something.”

  Outlaw crooked his finger at Meggie. Once she got to her seat and sat, he slid her forward.

  “Knox, come and see your groom cake,” Outlaw demanded.

  Knox’s eyes widened. “You got me a groom cake?”

  “My ass the bride family. Ain’t I’m supposed to do that?”

  “Don’t worry, Mort,” Digger said. “I got you covered.”

  Outlaw searched the room.

  “The cakes are in the kitchen,” Joan said tightly.

  “Bring them motherfuckers out here. What the fuck good they doin’ in the goddamn kitchen?”

  “So no one would see them,” Joan snapped.

  “The whole point of a fucking groom cake is for the shit to be seen before getting cut,” Pearllene said.

  Digger pointed at her. “What she said.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Joan cried. “Do any of you have class?” She drew herself up and glared at Pearllene. “How old are you, madame?”

  Laughing nervously, Roxy rushed forward as Pearllene growled, “old enough to say what the fuck I want.”

  “Let me help you to your seat, Momma,” Roxy said, grabbing her mother’s arm and turning her toward a chair.

  “This the table you’re sitting at, huh, baby?” Pearllene asked.

  “Of course,” Roxy declared, squeezing her mother’s shoulder.

  “The cakes are on the way,” Hal announced as he returned to the salon. He placed his hand at the small of Joan’s back and guided her to the same table that Pearllene sat at.

  By the time everybody had seated themselves, two members of the kitchen staff each wheeled in a silver cart, containing cakes. Before Roxy had a chance to see Knox’s, he and Outlaw blocked her view by standing in front of the car
t.

  Just as Mortician’s cake registered with Roxy, Carissa nudged her girlfriend, Liza, and screamed with laughter. “We know who the chocolate dick cake for!” she howled.

  “Did you have to make the motherfucker squirt cum?” Roxy asked, torn between amusement and annoyance.

  Joan threw stares of death to them, her dress and jewelry understated compared to the ostentatious display of wealth—lost wealth—Charlotte displayed.

  All the women were in various styles of white dresses, the color being Joan’s request. She’d demanded the men wear suits. Of course, Mortician and the rest of them didn’t comply because, according to them, they’d made enough concessions by agreeing to wear the fucking monkey suits for the wedding.

  Outlaw sauntered back to his table, while Knox stepped aside to reveal his cake. It was a golden money bag with a glittering dollar sign designed into the front, dripping coins and Benjamins. It leaned against a “bottle” of Knox’s favorite whisky and sat next to an open “wooden” humidor filled with cigars, a badge, and a motorcycle. The cake was a true masterpiece, with each segment so realistic she found it hard to believe it had started out as simple flour.

  “Okay, the grooms-to-be saw the fucking cakes,” Digger said. “Can we eat now?”

  “There will be nothing served until my musicians start to play,” Joan answered with smugness.

  “Aww, fuck.” Digger looked at Outlaw. “If Johnnie ruining the dinner for a minute by shooting Charlotte, you going to do the same thing. Can’t you plug your fucking ears with cigarettes and let the motherfuckers play?”

  “I got some weed paper,” Val offered. “That might be better, Outlaw.”

  Meggie glared between them. “He won’t need those, Val,” she said primly. “He won’t kill the flutist or pianist, so it’s fine for them to play.” She sniffed. “Right, Christopher?”

  Outlaw scowled at her, but Meggie didn’t back down. “Fuck, Megan, you lil’ pain-in-the-ass motherfucker, fine. Let the ear-hurtin’ motherfuckers play. But you might gotta give me an extra cock suck to calm me the fuck down.”