Misjudged (Death Dwellers #3.5) (15 page)

Epilogue:

Let the Dick Hacking Commence

Christopher stared at his two new babies, leaning his head against the viewing pane in awe. A boy and a girl. Rule and Rebel. Pretty fucked up names in his estimation, but Megan wanted them, so she got them.

Rebel had blonde fuzz on her head. At two days old, he couldn’t see much of himself or Megan in the baby, but he knew he was in trouble. She’d been born first, but she was smaller. Rule was bigger, louder, and had a head full of black hair. Another little
him
just like CJ.

Somehow, Megan made it all the way to thirty-four weeks before her doctor induced labor. A male motherfucker, too, that Christopher hated because he was legally allowed to look at Megan’s pussy. Not only
at
it, but
in
it.

Dr. Leicester was some type of special doctor who Megan needed to keep her well during her pregnancy, so Christopher suffered through it.

A little over a year ago, he’d been in this same hospital, waiting for the nurse to hand him Patrick and his heart had never hurt so terribly as it had when he’d held his son, knowing all the things he’d intended to show him and CJ would never come to pass.

He’d decided they wouldn’t have more babies, but Fate had different plans for him and Megan. All those who’d passed through this life and gone before them kept a good watch. Between Patrick and Big Joe—one looking up and the other look down—they kept Megan safe in the all-encompassing way impossible for Christopher.

No matter. What their immortal protection lacked, Christopher made up for. He was her shoulder, her weapon, her rock.

Rebel screwed up her little face to cry and Christopher’s heart turned over. He had a baby girl. A beautiful princess that would grow up and torture him in a different way than her mother had and always would.

He tapped the window, startling more than just his son and daughter. “Hey, boy. Rule. Me, you, and CJ gonna have a tough fuckin’ job with your Ma and your sister.”

Yeah, well Megan belonged to him, so they’d just have to worry about Rebel.

Fuck, that fuckin’ name. It just asked for trouble and rebellion.

A bunch of little fuckheads would be after her…fuck
no
.

Christopher would lose his shit. His girl wouldn’t fucking date until she was at least twenty-five.

Fuck, Megan wouldn’t go for that shit.

He scowled. “Well, boy, let the dick hackin’ commence.”

The End

Coming December 5, 2014

The story of Lucas “Mortician” Banks & Bailey Andrews

Text subject to change

© 2014 Kathryn Kelly

Misguided Blurb

A biker:
Lucas “Mortician” Banks stopped believing in love after a bitter betrayal. As Club Enforcer, the Death Dwellers MC is his home, where no rules exist and brotherhood rule. He never expected to fall for the daughter of K-P Andrews, a biker from the old guard, who is now deceased. Is love enough to survive secrets, brutality, and betrayal?

A beauty:
Bailey Andrews was fascinated by the biker from the first moment they met. She seized the opportunity to have his phone number and, somehow, ended up married to him when she accompanied Mortician on a run to Las Vegas. She uncovers the connection between her father and Mortician’s father and the horrible betrayals it led to within the MC. Can she leave the secrets stay buried? Or will she expose them and ruin her marriage to the only man she’ll ever love?

A bet:
Smug in his assumption he’d never fall as hard for as woman as his Prez fell for a girl, Mortician put his money where his mouth was and made that bet. With 20Gs on the line and two weeks left before he wins or loses, Mortician has to decide if Bailey and their marriage is more important or saving face and keeping his money. Having only ever seen the destruction of love gone wrong, what will Mortician decide?

A baby:
Now, Bailey’s pregnant with his baby and hiding another detrimental secret that she, herself, recently discovered. Will she have to choose between her life and the baby’s? Or will she find a way to save both herself and her child’s?

Warning: This is a brutal tale of worlds colliding—a mega-church with the command to destroy, powerful men with their own agendas, and raw and dirty bikers who will win at all costs. Contains violence, drug use, and excessive foul language.

Part One: The Biker

Chapter One:
Revelations

“Luke.”

Lucas Banks looked up at the sound of Joseph Foy’s voice as the entry door to the farmhouse flew open and Outlaw Caldwell stalked out, blowing past Luke like a tornado. Luke stood up from where he’d sat on the second porch step, and dusted his jeans off, not sure what he wanted the verdict to be. The ability to stay at the Death Dwellers MC or being unwelcomed.

Outlaw had brought him to Hortensia at his own request, but his heart and mind was with Char, his girlfriend.
She
had his heart. Although, he’d fled LA because of her, too.

Three days ago, on impulse, he’d hopped on Outlaw’s bike and skipped out. Wanting the freedom that Outlaw seemed to enjoy. But the dude was
out there.
Like for real. A head case and a lot of fun. But the man was also dark. Dangerous.

Scary.

Luke didn’t know where he fit in. He’d gone to private schools, been in church almost every day of the week his entire life, had custom made clothes, expensive cars and servants. He had his little brother, Mark.

Everything most people ever dreamed of. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how shit went, everyone bitched and moaned about what they
didn’t
have. It’s just the way people worked. Never satisfied with what they had, be it silver spoon or brass fork. It was just the nature of most people to want more.

Luke certainly did. He wanted love and warmth, which he hadn’t had unconditionally since his mother’s death when he was seven. He was seventeen and a half now, so he’d lived in a cold, untouchable bubble for over ten years.

Then he’d met the motorcycle men. They’d come to straighten him out. A friend of his mother’s had heard about his drinking bouts, which had gotten him suspended and his name—his
father’s
name—in newspapers.

They’d taken him on a road trip and he’d gone willingly, not really caring about the consequences. His father had tightly agreed to let him go along with men he’d normally classify as thugs.

Looking back now, Luke realized he’d been the one with the pre-conceived notions about Christopher Caldwell—
Outlaw
. He’d looked him up and down—and judged him—placed himself above the man immediately.

Their introduction had been to the point. “I’m Outlaw. I gotta have you ridin’ fuckin’ bitch on my bike. You got a problem with that, stay the fuck here. You come and bitch and complain, I’m fuckin’ you up. I’m waitin’ outside for you. Hurry the fuck up so we can go have a fuckin’ drink and I can get the fuck away from
that
judgmental motherfucker.”

A friendship had been forged.
That
motherfucker in question had been the Reverend Sharper Banks—Luke’s father. And the thought of a drink to quench the loneliness in him had sealed the deal.

They’d been standing in the church hallway, right outside the sanctuary, and Outlaw hadn’t put up a pretense and hadn’t flinched at Sharper’s glare. Luke had followed Outlaw outside, leaving the other motorcycle men with his father. Once they’d finished whatever business they’d had, they’d hit the road.

And, finally,
finally
Luke had felt kinship to someone. Outlaw was four years older than him, but he had a world of experience and all kinds of insight. They’d offered Luke friendship and camaraderie then.
Now,
it seemed like a joke. The final decision on whether or not he could truly be in their presence rested in someone else’s hands.

That cut.

They’d blazed into town yesterday. Luke almost fell into bed, unused to such rough travel. After a night of resting and a morning of shooting the shit with Outlaw, they’d arrived at the farmhouse, located at the end of a road, about an hour ago. Big Joe and Outlaw had gone in, instructing Luke to wait for them on the porch. It was quiet and peaceful out there, surrounded by trees and flatland. The skies were clear, the air invigorating.

Luke had only enjoyed fifteen minutes of solitude before the MC president had come out, lit a cigarette, and studied Luke like a specimen in a lab, not speaking, until now, when his voice boomed out.

“Stop!” he ordered Outlaw.

As if programmed to obey the man’s command, Outlaw halted but didn’t turn.

“Come here.”

“I ain’t a fuckin’ dog,” he growled in frustration. “Ain’t matter what that dirty old fucker say.”

Not knowing who they’d needed to visit to get a yea or a nay, Luke started for Outlaw, but stopped at Big Joe’s warning glare. Muscled and tall, he reminded Luke of some old time Viking. He even had long, blond hair and Nordic blue eyes.

“I said to come
here
. Now.”

Outlaw turned, but stood his ground and refused to move.

Big Joe nodded, his unamused snigger filling the air. “Stubborn motherfucker.”

“I did what the fuck you asked me, Boss.”

“Did you?” Big Joe lifted a brow. “I saw you storming the fuck out. I doubt he’d dismissed you yet.”

Thinning his lips, Outlaw glanced away, not confirming the angry speculation.

“You want him in this fucking club,” Big Joe barked, nodding to Luke, “you’re going to fucking stand up on his behalf. A man can’t call you friend if you run the fuck off at the first sign of trouble. The world can’t call you a man if you don’t fight for your convictions. I can’t call you a fucking member of my club if you can’t take the same shit you give.”

“I ain’t a member of this fuckin’ club. I’m just a fuckin’ probate.” Outlaw shoved his finger toward the word on his leather cut. “Dealin’ with him wasn’t part of my fuckin’ initiation.”

“It is now,” Big Joe stated simply. “
You
changed it when you insisted I bring Luke here.”

Luke frowned and opened his mouth to speak, although he wasn’t sure for what reason. They didn’t need all this drama, just so he’d have a place to stay.

“You the fuckin’ president. Not
him.
You stand up to him for every-fuckin-thing else, stand the fuck up to him now.”

A chilling light entered Big Joe’s eyes. “If you don’t want me to break your fucking jaw for talking to me like that, you’ll shut the fuck up and come the fuck here.”

Tension whirled in the breeze, thicker than the storm clouds in the distance. For a full minute, Outlaw faced off with Big Joe, who looked more than ready to back up his words.

Finally, Outlaw flipped the man off, turned and headed to his bike. Lucas wasn’t sure what to do. He’d ridden over with Outlaw but he hadn’t been dismissed by Big Joe or Boss or Joseph Foy or Prez. Or what the fuck ever he wanted to be called. But Luke had seen everyone wait for a nod or a wave before they walked away from the man. K-P. Rack. A few other men he’d met last night before crashing. Even Outlaw.

Outlaw was a good dude, so Luke didn’t want to offend him or his people.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here, Luke.” Outlaw snatched his gloves from his saddlebags and jerked them on. “Hurry the fuck up—“

“Fuck! Christopher, get your ass—“

“Want your Black to leave before I tell him what I think of him?” someone interrupted.

Wait, what?

Luke’s blood chilled at the venom in the words and feelings stormed through him. Indignation. Disgust. Anger. Skepticism. And a damn healthy amount of fear.

There was
one
of him and three of
them
.

Wait. No.

There’d not once been a
him
or a
them
in their days together on the road.

Luke considered his arms and hands. He
was
Black. Well, dark brown but…

But what?

It didn’t make the meaning of the question any less insulting or frightening.

Luke glanced in the direction of the doorway. An older man stood there, face twisted with the same scorn dripping from his voice. Hatred brimmed from his eyes as he zeroed in on Outlaw.

Outlaw froze. From the moment the man had opened his vile mouth, Outlaw hadn’t moved. Until Big Joe shifted, then Outlaw gazed up, the briefest flicker of hurt in his eyes before loathing swallowed it up.

“Shut the fuck up,” Outlaw called. “Ain’t gotta take out your fuckin’ filth on Luke. He ain’t ever done you shit—“

“At least
you
are shit,” the man snapped back, his nostrils flaring. He stared at Luke, who instinctively stepped back at the light in the man’s eyes. “This beast doesn’t even count as that.”

Humiliation roared through Luke and he thundered up the wooden steps, but Joseph Foy stepped between him and the other man, the sound of motorcycle pipes vibrating through him and intensifying his impotent anger.

Hands grabbed Luke from behind and he jerked away, turning around with fists raise. He might die, but he wouldn’t go down a fucking coward.

“Come on, Luke,” Outlaw ordered, not intimidated at Luke’s need for violence. Outlaw had to see it,
feel
the blinding rage pulsing through Luke. But the man kept his cool, not flinching.

“Putting your hands on him, huh? You’re not fit to touch any of our women.” The disgust on the man’s face turned Luke’s stomach. “Not that you were before. You’re nothing but dirt, the shit on my boots who should be wiped away and forgotten. Stupid piece of shit, don’t even know what to do with women.” He pointed to Big Joe. “This motherfucker didn’t either. Going to live with his bitch instead of keeping her on her back to keep our boys pleased.”

Big Joe balled his fists at his side but stayed silent and Luke swallowed, his anger deflating like air from a popped balloon. If Big Joe stood down, Luke best follow suit. In this instance, he’d turn the other cheek.

To let Outlaw know the storm inside had settled down, Luke clapped him on the back. Outlaw still hadn’t moved and Luke swore the man’s eyes had watered. Tension rose from Outlaw, a muscle ticking his jaw.

Luke thought of an appropriate bible verse to make the other man feel better. But, shit. He really didn’t believe in the bible, anymore. Wherever it served his purpose, the words of Sharper’s mouth spoke the text of God. Wherever he was protected, the actions of Sharper’s body screamed the guidance of the devil.

Luke knew what disdain felt like. His father, that holy man of God, who preached about faith and hope and charity, only showed a modicum of civility and parental authority in public. Considering how often they were in public, Luke should’ve basked in attention.

Somehow, Sharper managed to seem like a doting father while still being the emotionally bankrupt and morally corrupt asshole that he was.

A throat cleared behind Luke, and he turned, meeting K-P’s one-eyed gaze.

Although he’d ridden from LA to Washington State on the back of K-P’s bike, Luke really didn’t know him.

“Ahh, Brother Kaleb.”

K-P nodded. “Logan.”

Logan
? So that was his name.
Lowman
was more accurate. He was fucking low. Low-brained. Low-browed. Just plain damn low. As a matter of fact, he was one of the lowest motherfuckers Luke had ever met. And he’d met a lot of motherfuckers. This one took the medal, lower than even Sharper.

Luke knew right then that Logan was insane.
Anyone
lower than his father wasn’t working with a full barrel.

Lowman threw a glance to K-P, before smirking at Luke. “That’s
Master
Logan.”

“I didn’t sign on for this, Outlaw,” Luke said coldly, unable to stay silent any longer and refusing to break Lowman’s
hold. “I don’t need this and I don’t need
you,
motherfucker. My old man can buy and sell this motherfucker ten times over.”

An imperious lift of Logan’s graying brow and he shrugged. “Sharper has his uses.” Not elaborating on that mysterious statement, he turned his attention to Big Joe. “You came and I’ve given my decision, so his Black goes.”

Big Joe growled and crowded Logan against his door, his blond hair swinging. “Fuck you, old man. I didn’t fucking come for your fucking permission. I came to give you your fucking reports when I told you about the trip to Cali.
You
fucking summoned your grandson and Luke. You want me to continue to run this fucking outfit for you, you shutting the fuck up about Luke and Christopher, and you especially shutting the fuck up about Dinah.”

Logan’s cold half-smile didn’t faze Big Joe. “You’re in Seattle more than you’re here, so—“

“So, fuck all.
Try me.
I’ll be
there
all the fucking time if you don’t back the fuck down.”

Logan glanced between Outlaw and Luke. His narrowed eyed look intimidated, adding a maniacal layer to the racist one that stood front and center. The crazy old man wouldn’t hesitate to end Luke’s life right then.

He wanted to leave, get far away from this. But he was without a ride. Without money. And without a charger for his phone.