Misfit (Death Dwellers MC #6) (92 page)

“Thanks, asshole,” she snapped. “You killed me.”

Had he? He’d be dancing for fucking joy, if he knew for sure he was alive, but he seemed as dead as her. “Did I fuck you up quick? Or my ass made you suffer? Cuz, Kendall, I swear, you ain’t needed to die quick. Especially if I got fucked up with you.”

“Christopher, wake up.” Megan shook him as she spoke, the scent of cherry blossoms filling Christopher’s nose. “Kendall isn’t dead and neither are you. You’re having a nightmare.”

Anything with Kendall dead wasn’t a nightmare. It was a fucking dream come true.

“’Law!” CJ yelled, bouncing on his fucking stomach.

“Christopher, you have to get CJ to school.”

Megan’s voice reached him and he responded, “I gotta fuck you first, baby.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying, Outlaw. You have to fuck me.”

Eyes flying open at Kendall’s coo, Christopher sat up and looked around. The fog of sleep loosened its grip on him and he was relieved to see Megan sitting next to him on their bed and CJ between them, dressed in his school uniform, and staring at Christopher as if his dick suddenly grew out of his fucking mouth.

Similar to how Christopher felt at his strange ass dream, filled with dead Big Joes and deader psycho cunts,
still
asking him to fuck.

He grabbed Megan and hugged her to him ignoring CJ’s outraged squeal at being trapped between them. “Jesus, Mary, and all that’s fuckin’ holy, baby.”

“Are you okay?” Her arms going around him, Megan soothed him with her touch and sweet voice.

“Fuck, no. My ass dream about Big Joe and killin’ Kendall and bein’ fucked up and you being married to John Boy and Kendall askin’ to fuck me even though she was deader than fuck.”

Megan giggled and took CJ into her arms, settling their oldest boy onto her lap. Her belly had just started to show. “I thought only pregnant ladies had bad dreams,” she teased, leaning back, her breasts bigger because of the new baby and straining against her nightgown.

“Well, motherfuckers that got dick snipped and got their old ladies knocked up anyway have them motherfuckers, too.” It was every motherfucker’s nightmare to find themselves in Christopher’s current situation.

CJ’s little face scrunched in confusion. “’Law?”

His racing heart settling down, Christopher leaned back against his headboard. “Yeah, boy?”

“I tired going to school. Can I stay home?”

“No,” Christopher and Megan chorused.

“But I tired lying.”

Kissing the top of Megan’s head and hiding his grin, Christopher lifted a brow at CJ. “What the fuck you lyin’ about?”

“Liking school.”

“You don’t gotta like school, boy, but you gotta go. Now, gimme a few minutes alone with your ma, then me and you gonna go.”

Shoulders drooping, CJ nodded and scrambled out of bed. “Bye, MegAnn,” he said miserably.

“Bye, potato,” she called. “When you get home, Mommie will have a special treat for you.”

Christopher leered at her. “You gotta special treat for my fuckin’ ass, baby?”

“Behave.”

“Nope. Ain’t ever happenin’.”

She gave him a saucy wink. “You’re a psycho.”

“Yeah, but I’m
your
psycho.”

“And I’m your sweet angel,” she returned.

“Yeah, baby, always and for-fuckin-ever. Ain’t matterin’ if you my sweet angel or my wicked little bitch, I love the fuck outta you.”

“I love you more,” she whispered.

“Psycho stalker Wildman and all?”

She nodded. “You’ll always be mine.”

The day Megan walked into his clubhouse looking for Big Joe was the day Christopher’s life began. Their tragedies and triumphs, love and laughter, from the moment they’d met, gave them the solid foundation to build their legacy upon.

She was his life, his future, and his everything.

He kissed her again. “Whatever you call me, ain’t nothin’ but a thing, Megan.”

Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, indeed.

~
THE END
~

As usual, I have so many people to thank, starting with my readers. Without you, none of this would be possible. Thank you for loving my boys as much as you do. Thank you for having a Team Outlaw and a Team Kendall. You’ve entertained and humbled me with your loyalty to your favorite characters.

The day after I met Christopher in my dream and I sat down to write about him and the girl who’d rock his world, I never expected the response I got. Over the years, I’ve been asked on several occasions why didn’t I make Meggie older or pair Outlaw with Kendall. Then, as now, my answer is the same. Christopher needed someone completely opposite from him. Meggie was young and innocent enough to give him pause and make him
want
to protect her. Though he fought every step of the way when they first met, she changed him. For the first time, he saw the world through the lens of a person who looked for good and not bad. As for him and Kendall being together, they are too much alike. They would’ve killed each other before I wrote
the end
.

Once again, thank you for all your comments and your reviews, good or bad. You gave my characters a chance.

I have so many people to thank, I’m bound to forget. Please don’t take it as an affront. I appreciate each and every one of you. I am rushing at this point, lol, eight days from surgery, to get the books finished and sent to my peeps at Swish Editing and Design. It has been a long, hard journey from my surgery to the completion of Misfit. My goal is to have it published by my next surgery, but I’m not sure if that’ll happen. We’ll see. :)

Crystal, your vision for the covers made all the difference. Your artwork makes the Death Dweller novels instantly recognizable.

Danni, we met when the series was almost over, but you’ve become one of my best friends. Thank you for being you. Thank you for your threats of kicking my ass if I changed one more thing, lol (not that I ever listen, he he), and your encouragement.

My street teams have kept things going as I recover. Thank you all for being in my corner.

AC, you have the amazing ability to text me when I’m down. You never fail to cheer me up.

Jen W., no matter what’s going on in your life, you check on me.

Jen S., you rock as usual. Thank you for being my friend.

Savannah, I’m coming back ASAP. Keep a spot for me at Author-4-Author.

Mel, an ocean separates us but I know you’re there for me.

Claire, assistant extraordinaire. Thank you!

Ana, I love you, babe!

Zoey, thank you for your texts, jokes, and messages. I love you!

Mama, I love you so much. I was looking at a note you put in the book for me, to make sure I removed something that shouldn’t have been included. All I could do was thank God for you.

Finally, to my daughters, no longer babies in age. Though you’ve reached the double digits (finally, right?), you’ll always be MY babies. I love you. As soon as I heal from the third surgery, we have to go to a waterpark.

Kat

6/21/2016

COMING SOON FROM KATHRYN KELLY

Blurb

Recipe: 1 Porn Star, 1 Step Sister, 1 Wealthy Father, 1 Flighty Mother

Take one spoiled porn star, a stepsister in need of money and a wealthy father the flighty mother stole from.  Add in a lot of sex, a load of betrayal, a pinch of revenge, and a heap of arrogance. Mix them together and shake shit up for a few weeks. The result?

One VERY

Dirty Boy Excerpt © 2016 Kathryn Kelly

NOTE: Unedited text. Copy might change in published book

Adventurous Girls Only. Are you bold?

Daring?

Sexy?

Swallowing her trepidation, Story Thornton scrolled down the list, the last two words of the first half of the ad having their own line, as if daring and sexy were the most relevant qualifications. She went to the next line.

Eighteen to twenty-four?

Requirement met. She was twenty.

Attractive and in-shape?

Still in the running. People commented all the time about her fitness. And, yes, she considered herself attractive. She’d inherited her mother’s green eyes and brown hair. Story roamed back to the words that made the idea worth considering.

Do you need money for college?

Did she ever. She’d reached a point of no return, code for: Situation Critical.

Sitting on her sofa with taped-up cushions, she heaved in a breath and read the ad three times, then stared at it for ten minutes. In spite of her dire circumstances, her skin prickled as she skipped to the request that made the idea cringe-worthy.

If you’re interested, please send a headshot, full frontal nude shot, and rear nude shot.

Even if it hadn’t been for her douchy stepbrothers’ business, she would’ve known this wasn’t an ad for mainstream modeling. Urban legends created the ultimate fantasy. Or, in her case, the wishful thinking of what she thought mattered the most. Tuition money earned after becoming a porn star.

Those types of tales had prompted Story to Google the adult entertainment industry and search for similar opportunities. The Sherwood brothers always appeared at the top of most lists. More than once, she’d considered emailing Dirty Boys Studios. Then, she always chickened out.

For weeks, long before she saw this ad that seemed like an omen, she’d wrestled back and forth. Should she? Could she do pornos to stay in school? She’d lost her scholarship due to bad grades, obtained after attempting to hold down two jobs and maintain her required grade point.

The first year of school had been a breeze. She’d had a full academic scholarship, money from her part-time job and a room waiting for her in her stepfather’s house. That had been
then. Now
, she had to take finals that were useless unless she received perfect scores. Attempting to make ends meet in a rundown economy-sized Dallas apartment with her credit in disarray diminished her options.

Perturbed, Story slammed her laptop closed, not properly shutting it down. She groaned. The thing was old, bought from a pawnshop after her mother sold off the Story’s brand new one.

Tapping her foot on the cold wooden floor, she glanced at her dinette table, stacked with statements marked past due, overdue or ‘in collections’. She didn’t care to consider the money she needed for school.

She heaved in a breath and jumped to her feet, grabbing her prepaid cell phone off the rickety coffee table and speed dialing her mother.

Babs answered on the second ring. “Hi, hon.”

Story snapped her brows together, shocked her mom answered. “Mom?”

“Who else would it be, Story?” Exasperation sharpened the retort.

“I’ve called you two thousand times over the past week. It shocked me that you answered.”

“Closer to five thousand,” Babs responded with a sniff.

Between the texting and the inordinate amount of messages, her mother might’ve been correct. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Her persistence paid off. Babs stopped avoiding Story. Maybe, Babs was ready to take some responsibility in Story’s current predicament.

“I’m tired of my phone ringing.”

“I need money.” Story dived straight to the point. “You promised me you’d have it this month, Mom.”

“I haven’t found any way to get the money. If I had, you’d have it.”

Maybe. “Mom—“

“You need to grow up. Your name is on the credit cards. Remember?”

Identity theft at its lowest. Story’s problems seemed almost unsolvable. Turn in her mother, who’d endured so much over the years, for herself and Story. Or struggle to pay the debts herself and hope her mom helped her out of the mess
she’d
created in the first place.

“You opened those accounts without my permission.”

“And?”

“I didn’t want the accounts in the first place. I preferred cash.”

“You don’t know how to splurge and indulge.”

“Exactly, Mom. They’re your bills.”

“With your name on them.” Babs huffed. “The key word is
didn’t
. You didn’t want the accounts. You learned pretty quick how to use one of those cards. You did the crime, now you do the time.”

She had, which mitigated some of her anger that her mom had had the audacity to use her name to open accounts she hadn’t wanted since dirt had more worth than Babs’s credit. “Mom, I used that card to buy food and needed personal items.”

With Story’s savings gone, this was the sixth month she and her mom had had this same discussion. She could almost repeat them by rote. Every month, Story clung to the hope that Babs would offer a new script.

Story licked her lips. “I’ve been pulling double-shifts at The Burger Den. I need rent money and food and tuition and—“

The list was long and varied.

“Is it my fault Winston left?” Babs asked, referring to the husband who’d kicked her out last year on Story’s nineteenth birthday, almost thirteen months to the day.

Yeah, the separation probably was Babs’s fault, but Story refrained from blurting that. She chose not to respond at all. “Mom, why don’t you get a job? Give up your apartment and you and I could find a small place together. It wouldn’t be as luxurious as you’ve become accustomed to.” Neither would it be as ratty as Story’s current home.

“Absolutely not! I was born poor, but I wasn’t meant to be poor,” Babs spat. “I refuse to lower my standards.
Or
risk homelessness again. Or
any
of what I endured.”

Story rubbed her forehead, her frustration mounting. She was the idiot who held out the hope that her mother woke up and saw the bank account. While Story understood her mother’s fears, it didn’t help right now. All the struggling Babs had endured in the past allowed Story to eventually accept her mom’s actions.

Unfortunately, the two of them had differing views on how to prevent history from repeating itself.

“You shouldn’t lower yours either,” Babs continued. “Have you learned nothing from living on the streets?”

Actually, Story had learned a lot by observation. Being three when they left the streets, she barely remembered that time.

“No, of course, you haven’t.”

“Mom! Listen to me. Please…”

“I have been listening to you.
You
need to heed
me
.”

“If you don’t help me,
I’m
going to end up on the street. I’ve burned through my savings. I have two part time jobs. My grades have suffered so much I’ve already lost my scholarship and may have to drop out.”

Out of all her mother’s previous escapades, she’d never expected Babs to hurt her purposely in any way.

“Your entire life has been about responsibility. You were determined to make straight ‘A’s, so you didn’t date.”

That was
one
reason she hadn’t dated. The other being the crush she’d had on one of her stepbrothers, the uber dickhead, Max Sherwood. She’d met him a handful of times and could honestly say she based her reaction to him on his looks and his body.

She bit back a giggle. Her vagina positively guided her in that instance. Though he hadn’t given her the time of day, she’d measured every date she had against him. Eyes weren’t blue enough. Hair not black enough. Body not tall and hard enough. But her not getting into guys went deeper than a shallow attraction to her elusive stepbrother. While her mother partied and shopped her life away, Story had been focused on carving out a future for herself.

“You were determined to be independent,” Babs complained as if she read Story’s mind. “To be your own woman, so you didn’t have fun, though I almost ordered you to sleep with a boy. You accepted Winston’s allowance because you like
jeans.
He was willing to buy you diamonds and cars. Anything. He was ready to offer me anything, too,” she added in a small voice that broke Story’s heart.

“Mom, it’s okay,” she soothed. “We can get through this. You and me. We don’t have to find a smaller place. I can move in with you and—”

“If only you could. My lease states one tenant. Winston was generous enough to set me up here. I can’t anger him and end up on the streets.”

Finally, Story understood how Babs could afford her luxury apartment. “That’s great.” She forced back a grimace and whispered, “I’m going to end up homeless if I don’t turn my situation around. We have difficult choices ahead. We’ll be in this together and—”

“I can’t, Story,” she sniffled out. “I can’t go back to having no food to eat and…and no idea where we’ll sleep for the night. I’m so sorry. I know I’ve let you down. Winston and I were married five years, and he walked away because of one lapse in judgment on my part. Came home from the office one night and asked me to leave. Said it was over.” She drew in a sharp breath, aware her mother’s commentary would change. “I can barely make the car payments of my Benz. Do you know the cost of my upkeep? And you’re after me for bills in
your
name that you
helped to create? I tell you what. Ignore them and ruin your credit. Don’t come to me when you can’t get a job or a house or a car.”

“Mom—”

“No, Story! No. You’re the thrift-shop-wearing, straight-a-student-making-I’m-too-busy-to-lose-my-virginity-independent college student. You had more than enough opportunities as Winston’s stepdaughter. Get in with the social scene. Find a sugar daddy!”

Oh the irony, considering the ad she’d been contemplating.

“I have nothing against girls who have sugar daddies. But I saw what you went through with your wealthy husbands. I wanted different for myself. Not better,” she added. “Just different.”

She’d also wanted real feelings involved. Outside of Winston, her mother’s feelings for her other husbands had been as superficial as Story’s crush on Max. After all, Story didn’t know much about Max, other than he was a trust fund baby in the porn industry.

“Come over tonight. I have a nice young man I can introduce you to. His father is into oil, gas, and God knows what else. They have a huge cattle ranch in the country. You can negotiate an arrangement with him.”