The Death Lords, Volumes 1-3: His Wild Desire, Her Secret Pleasure, Their Private Need (6 page)

“Step,” Grant says slowly, drawing the word out as if it has two syllables. “You’d know the difference if you hadn’t killed all your brain cells by shooting up every night.”

He stretches his legs out and Sean is forced to move backward. Grant shifts again, almost imperceptibly pushing Sean even farther away.

“Jealous that you weren’t able to do that because you were in the pen for the last three years?”

Becca draws in a swift breath. Sean bares his teeth in some gruesome approximation of a grin. Even in the flickering firelight, the meth toll is evident. His teeth are blackening near the roots and his face is gaunt. There’s at least one sore above his pierced eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were sitting by a murderer, didja?” he directs toward Becca.

She leans away from Grant and me and then pours her beer on the ground. “Beer’s warm. Think I’ll get a refill.”

Sean sits down in her place and reaches up to run his dirty hand over my hair. Grant is on his feet and pulling me away before Sean’s hand can find its target. “Didn’t realize you were so hard up, you had to fuck your brother, Chelsea. Should’ve come to me. I’ve got what you need right here.” He jostles his package.

Grant clenches his fist and winds up to introduce Sean’s face to his knuckles. Quickly I grab Grant’s biceps and haul him back. I don’t want him touching Sean, for one, and for another, he can’t get into a fight because an assault charge would revoke his parole. “Let’s go, please. Your parole,” I plead. He jerks forward but checks himself. With a visible effort, he tries shaking off his anger.

“You keep your trap shut, Ellerby, or there won’t be a dealer within one hundred miles who’ll sell to you,” Grant spits out and then grabs my hand. The sweetness of the night has been poisoned and our walk back to the camp is in uncomfortable silence.

•••

When we get back to the campsite, Grant, well, he tries to fuck the fear out of me. He’s attentive and vigorous and it’s
nice
but I can’t lose myself. When I come, it’s short and not terribly fulfilling. Grant throws himself off my body, chest heaving and glistening with sweat. He pulls off the condom, ties it and throws it in the corner.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

He draws me in for a rough kiss. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Do you think Sean Ellerby is living up here?” I ask.

He heaves a sigh. “Dunno. Never gave it much thought.”

He curls on his side, rubbing a hand over my bare breast, fondling the nipple. It tightens into a hard point. Despite my worries, my body never fails to respond to him.

“Do you think he’ll tell anyone?”

“He’s a fucked up meth head. Even if he is talking shit, no one is going to believe him.”

“Aren’t you even a little concerned?”

He jackknifes to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find Sean Ellerby and let him know if he opens his mouth about you that he’ll be drinking his food out of a straw for the next six months.” He fumbles around for his clothes. The tent is small and low. It’s barely big enough for the two of us.

“Grant,” I warn. “Grant, you can’t go.” He ignores me and finishes shoving his shorts on. He pushes things around, making a huge mess looking for his T-shirt. I grab his leg and shake it. “Your parole.” I sound like a fucking parrot who knows only one word.

He throws one boot on the ground with a vicious curse. “I know. Goddammit.”

Shaking off my hand, he tries to unzip the tent flap. It gets stuck halfway and he wrenches at it, making it worse. “This fucking zipper,” he curses. “It’s stuck. Fucking goddamn fucking piece of shit. How long have we had this? We should have stayed in a goddamned hotel.” He pulls and pulls; the muscles in his back are bunching up. I’m afraid for the tent. Afraid for him. “This thing is strangling me,” he shouts over his shoulder.

I scramble over and pull the caught nylon out of the way. The zipper gives and he almost knocks the tent over in his struggle to get out.

Through the open flap I watch him run down to the lake. His form disappears and then reappears by the shore. The splash signals his dive into the water.

Zipping up the screen to keep out the bugs, I lie and stare up at the sky through the window at the top of the tent trying to figure out what the hell I should do.

No, I know what I should do. I should move out of Judge’s home, leave Fortune, find a job and start living a new life that doesn’t involve me screwing my stepbrother six ways to Sunday. I should forget about him, his big body and his even bigger heart.

Outside I can hear the faint splashes of water as if he’s trying to swim to Canada. After a long while, those water sounds stop and are replaced with the crunch of branches and dry grass under his feet. He pauses at the door of the tent and then moves away. The picnic table creaks as he drops onto it.

There’d be someone out there for me. Don’t know who, but someone. Maybe a guy who’d left an impossible situation, is still in love with that situation but agrees to settle with me. We’d live a quiet life—him fixing up houses or some shit like that and me cutting hair and doing nails. We’d live in a saltine cracker box house, have two quiet kids and all the while we’d lie on our cold bed, hanging off the edges dreaming about the love we once had but couldn’t keep.

I place my fist over my heart and thump it trying to beat the ache away.

“You trying to drive me out of your heart, sweetness?”

I look up to see Grant standing outside the screen. The moonlight isn’t bright enough for me to make out his features but I hear the tired frustration in his voice. He’s hurt and that I can’t stand.

I crawl over and unzip the screen. “As if that could ever happen.”

“Better not.”

He’s still wet from the lake, but I draw him down, not caring that he’s getting me and the top of the sleeping bags damp. Everything will dry out tomorrow. He kicks off his sodden shorts and kneels between my legs. Water droplets are dotting his broad forehead and the strong lines of his nose. He places both large hands on either side of my legs. “Let it go,” he begs. “Just for tonight.”

And then he pleads with his tongue against my center. His tongue and fingers and mouth work me tenderly, lovingly, erotically. He rears up and this time the wetness covering his face is from me, not the water. In one swift movement, he impales me.

“Sweetness,” he says, “I’m going to take care of everything. Let go.”

With him thick and hard inside me, when he’s hitting every sensitive nerve ending just right, I believe every word that he says. Winding my fingers into his hair, I close my eyes and do as he asks. I let go and allow him to take me to the place in my head that knows only pleasure.

•••

Sean Ellerby gets to me before Grant can get to him. I know this because if Grant had spoken with him, Sean wouldn’t be between me and my car outside the Cut-n-Curl after closing. When I see him unharmed, I breathe a sigh of relief. No bruises likely means Grant hasn’t beaten him in violation of his parole. It doesn’t matter that Grant thinks he can scare Sean into keeping our secret. Sean is a weasel and worse, a meth head who is constantly looking for his next hit. He’d sell his mother or sister if he thought it could get him access to more drugs.

The backdoor of the shop closes behind me, locking into place. I have keys but I’d have to turn my back on him to open the door. I could run around to the front and wave for help but…he knows something about me that I don’t want him to reveal to anyone else. I decide to bluster my way through this.

Fisting my hand, I slip my keys between my fingers as Judge and Grant had taught me.
Go for the eyes, throat, crotch. Those are the soft vulnerable places.
Their words of advice pound at the back of my head. I clutch my purse tighter to my side.

Since I’ve come to Fortune, I’ve lived my life under the umbrella of the Death Lords MC. No right-thinking person would dare hurt me so I’ve never had to protect myself. But Sean Ellerby isn’t thinking straight which makes him dangerous.

I stop several feet away. The best defense is to never allow yourself inside the zone of danger.

“Shop’s closed,” I call out.

“Not here for a cut or curl, Chelsea.”

He steps forward and I’m surprised at how much effort it takes for me to stand my ground and not flinch backward. I do it because I don’t want Sean to see he scares me.

“What are you here for?”

“Money,” he says bluntly.

Oh, so this is going to be blackmail. Lovely. I don’t need the men in my life telling me that giving in to Sean’s demands is a bad idea but I tally up the money in my bank account regardless. I don’t have a lot. While I don’t pay rent, I have a car payment and my job as nail tech isn’t super-lucrative.

“How much?” It’s stupid. If I pay him once, he’ll come back. I know this yet I seem unable to extricate myself in any other way.

“Five hundred.”

“Jesus,” I gasp. “That much?”

“Two eight balls.”

“I’m not a user so I’m not hip to your street lingo,” I say sarcastically even though I know exactly what it means. An eight ball is an eighth of an ounce. It’s what heavy users buy. A single eight ball is around 60 hits but by the size of Sean’s buy I’d guess he needs a lot more to get high and sustain his high.

“Give me $500 now and you won’t see me for a week.”

“I’m not paying you $500 a week. I don’t have that kind of cash.”

“Better think about new employment opportunities then.” He takes another step toward me and despite the distance, the smell of him is so strong he nearly makes me gag.

“I don’t have the money on me,” I lie. I have the petty cash in my purse. It’s kept in the safe of the Cut-n-Curl. When Helen called to tell me she was coming over for some of the money, I’d taken it out.

“Hand me your purse.”

I’m not giving Sean my purse. He’d take all of the money. Knowing I’m dooming myself, I reach in and pull out five bills and lay them on the ground, holding them down with a rock. “Don’t come over here until I’m around the front,” I say.

He licks his lips eagerly and nods. It’s as if he can taste the meth in his mouth already. I turn around and see Helen driving down the opposite end of the alley.

Fuck me. Without turning, I call back to Sean. “Get going.”

He laughs at me. “Don’t want to be seen with me or afraid of what I might say? See you later, Chelsea.” His words sound as ominous as he intends.

I jog toward Helen’s car trying to cut her off before she can see who I was talking with. Her car slows down and then stops. Leaning out the rolled-down window, she peers beyond me. “Is that Sean Ellerby over there? What are you doing with that lowlife?”

Against my better judgment, I look over my shoulder. Sean is leaning against his car. The five hundred is fanned in his hand and he’s slapping it against his mouth. Forget Grant,
I’m
going to find Sean and beat him bloody.

“Nothing,” I say tersely. Helen looks at me with disbelief and suspicion. “Can you drive me home?”

“Sure,” she says drawing the word out slow. Reaching forward, she starts her car.

“How much do you need from the petty cash?”

“Fifteen hundred.” After landing that bomb, she backs out onto the street and guns the engine.

“Are you kidding me?”

“We’re getting a full hog, steaks, corn on the cob, potato salad, desserts, and it all adds up.”

“I told Danilo that we should do a potluck,” I say grumpily.

“Why are you so tight with that money? It’s not yours. Judge told me you had two grand so you’ll still have some left over.” She slides me a glance. “Unless you’ve got your own expenses you don’t want anyone to know about. You should stay away from that Ellerby kid. Drugs’ll kill you.”

I lean my head into my hand. Great. Now the entire club will think I’m doing drugs.

Grant

“You know you can tell me anything, Chelsea,” Judge says as we’re clearing the dishes.

Chels made tacos for dinner which were great, as all her food is, but didn’t say a word. She’s got worry written all over her face and Judge knows something about it. He’s been talking around the edges the entire night but I don’t think it’s about the two of us because his questions have solely been directed at her.

“I know, Judge,” she mumbles.

“Spoke to Helen today. She said you didn’t give her all of the money she needed.”

Chels explodes. “It’s so wasteful, Judge. We could all bring food without spending a dime. Besides, I gave her five hundred.”

“I okayed fifteen hundred,” he says quietly. “I appreciate you being a good steward of the club’s money but I don’t want you slaving over a hot stove cooking for the party. I want you and all the other folks to enjoy themselves. We can afford to foot the bill for the food and everything else. This is a way for us to celebrate Wrecker’s release and strengthen ties with our allies. The catered food says we are flush whereas a potluck might signal we’re struggling. We need to make sure everyone knows we’re doing well.”

Chelsea clenches her jaw and then gives a short nod. “I’ll give her the money tomorrow.”

“Not to make you more upset, but I want you to give her the rest. The Williston club is having guests and I told them to bring everyone up.”

His words make her pause halfway between the table and sink. Judge is washing up so he can’t see her white face but I do. This fight about the money is so damned odd that I know I’m missing something. Something’s eating at Chelsea hard and I want to get to the bottom of it, but it’s clear she’s not saying a word while Judge is around.

I take the plates from her. “Go on. We’ll finish up here.”

She nods in short jerky movements and then flees to her bedroom. When her door slams shut, Judge and I flinch.

“Are you—”

“When you—”

We both talk at the same time. He nods and says, “Go ahead.”

“Are you really upset with how Chelsea’s handling the petty cash fund for the club?”

He scrubs the plates and rinses them before he answers. “No. Helen called me and said that she saw Chelsea giving money to Sean Ellerby. Must be for drugs.” He’s so wrapped up in his concern over Chelsea’s supposed drug use that he doesn’t notice that I almost break two plates when I hear Sean’s name. “I never saw the signs. When you two were up in Big Stone did you see any signs of it? She must be shooting up under her nails or something cuz I haven’t seen any signs on her arms.”

“It’s not drugs,” I say in a tight voice. I’m trying to keep my anger locked down but it’s not easy.

“How do you know?” He sounds skeptical. He’s really saying that I’ve been gone from the family for three years and I don’t know anything. I open my mouth to tell him that Sean’s likely blackmailing Chelsea but then clamp it shut. She’s not going to want to say anything. I’ve already fucked up by not making Ellerby my first priority when we got home. I underestimated the snake. I thought I’d talk to him this weekend, take him down to the gulley and beat some sense into him away from the police.

“I just know,” I say. I quickly wipe and stow the rest of the dishes. “I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

He nods absently, still caught up in his worry over Chels. As I reach the door, I turn back. “If Chels asks, say I went to the club.”

Judge gives me a piercing glare. “You seeing a woman tonight? You be careful, son. Don’t think that the takeout food is better than a home cooked meal.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I shake my head and brush off Dad’s cryptic message. “I’m going to take care of some business with Sean Ellerby.”

He nods slowly and then says, “Take Michigan with you. Chels is club business.”

“Got it.”

•••

At this time of night, Michigan is probably at Rowdy’s, a bar owned by the club. The gravel parking lot is lined with club rides and other bikes. My truck looks out of place but I'm not having Ellerby riding bitch on my bike. I park the truck by the back entrance and circle around to the front of the bar on foot.

I'm taking Ellerby down by the gravel quarry which is across the town line. We don't own the quarry but several of the club members work there. The benefit of taking care of business like this down at the quarry is that it's outside of the reach of Chief Schmidt and there's plenty of rocks and dust to cover up any stains.

There are a few other cars in the lot but those probably belong to the women or prospects who haven't gotten the funds yet to pay for their own bike. One benefit to being a fully patched member is you're given a bike. Course if you ever get kicked out, you give the bike back along with your cut and anything else the club provided. Dad once called it the best unwritten prenup in existence because property rules are enforced with blood and flesh rather than the court of law.

Inside I find Michigan, our club enforcer, leaning up against the scarred wooden bar extending the width of the room. A beer bottle rests at his elbow but I bet if I touched it, the glass would be warm and the beer would taste like warm piss. Michigan doesn't drink outside the club; instead he watches everything and everyone. Not much escapes his notice.

At his side is Easy. They've been friends for a long time. They served together in the Marines as battle buddies. Easy's from Fortune; Michigan isn't but they came home together. To call them a couple would be a mistake. They aren't. They're a…unit. They fight together and they fuck together. They both wear a tired but searching expression—as if they've been looking for something for a long time but haven't found it.

And this time, it clicks. They’re looking for a woman they can settle down with. Just one, because that’s their thing. Like the Bedlam Butchers Club who do everything in pairs. Finding a woman who would be into that and face public scrutiny might be damned hard in Fortune.

“Michigan. Easy.”

Michigan returns my chin nod with one of his own while Easy, our sergeant at arms, draws me in for a man hug.

“Good to see you, Wrecker.” Easy pounds me on the back and yells for Bear to get me a beer.

Bear walks the beer down instead of sliding it along the lacquered oak surface. “You here for Ellerby?” he asks.

I shouldn't be surprised. Bear is Helen's husband. No doubt she went straight home to Bear who told her to take the business to Dad. “He here?”

“Playing pool and losing money.” He tips his head toward the side room where two pool tables sit.

I follow his gaze and see the skinny shit leaning his chin against a pool cue. Money's lying on the rail—
Chels's money
. My hands curl into fists.

Michigan rises to his feet. He's an intimidating guy—not because of his height of six feet…I stand an inch taller—but because of the subtle air of menace he exudes. He hardly ever smiles and when he does it generally means bad things for the recipient.

“You gonna need help taking out the trash.”

“I think you're supposed to make sure I don't go to prison again,” I half joke.

“I'll hold up the bar while you two have your fun,” Easy grouses.

Since I've been gone for a while, I don't know Ellerby's opponent but he's no threat because as soon as he sees Michigan and me approaching, he lays down his pool cue and leaves. The other game ends just as abruptly and within seconds, it's just the three of us.

“We're going for a ride,” I inform Ellerby.

He shakes his head. “I don't think so. Your sister wouldn't want you here.”

His inflection isn't lost on Michigan whose brows furrow. “This pissant bothering Chelsea?”

“Well, are you, Ellerby? Are you bothering my stepsister?”

He gives me the finger and pockets the money on the table, but his attempt at nonchalance is ruined by the shaking of his hands. Impatient for this to be over so I can go home and comfort Chels, I reach over and grab the back of his shirt and twist. He yelps in surprise and then claws at his throat.

Without waiting, I start walking toward the back door. This is Death Lords territory and no one makes a move to stop me. It'd be this way in any bar in town, but particularly this one.

Why Ellerby stopped here and not at the five other liquor establishments is a mystery, but Sara definitely got the brains of the two.

“You best let me go,” Ellerby screeches as I drag him by his shirt. “Or I'm going to say something that your sister ain't going to much like.”

“Go ahead and open your mouth inside the bar and I'll cut out your tongue.” I say it so matter of factly that Ellerby shuts up. Everyone in Fortune knows I went to prison for killing someone, including Ellerby. They don't know the real reason why. He's going to find out tonight.

When we get outside and he spots the truck, he starts putting up more resistance. He tries to spin around but my grip on his shirt tightens. His feet start dragging in the dirt but I've put on a lot of muscle on the inside and it takes little effort to get him to the truck. I slam his head into the side of the passenger door. “Oops. Forgot I needed to open the door first.”

“Fuck you, murderer,” he groans holding his head. I press one hand against the back of his neck and kick his legs open. Reaching inside his jeans, I pull out his wallet and toss it to Michigan. He pulls out three hundred.

“Unlike Chels, I don’t give a fuck what you call me, asshole. Where’s the rest of the money?”

He laughs, spraying a smear of spit all over my window. I’m going to have to get this thing washed tomorrow. “Spent it.”

I shake my head and bang Ellerby’s head once again. Michigan reaches out and opens the back door and I toss him inside.

Ellerby scrambles to the opposite side and tries to get out but Michigan is there, quick as lightning to stare him into submission. He starts bargaining before my front tires clear the gravel and hit the asphalt.

“I needed a hit,” he whines. “I wasn't going to bother her for more money.”

“This piece of shit blackmailing Chelsea?” Michigan asks in disbelief, quickly catching on.

I nod, but watch the road carefully. I don’t want to get picked up and Schmidt has a hard-on for club members, me especially. It was a real coup for him to get me charged and sent away. Word is that he’s none too happy with my early release and he’d love to find a way to throw me back inside. But I’m not going to sit on my ass while this shit-stain threatens Chels.

Michigan turns around. “You’re a dumb motherfucker. You don’t mess with Chels. She’s club property.”

“She’s a sick pervert.”

The truck weaves as I turn around to introduce my fist into Ellerby’s face. Michigan grabs the wheel while pulling me forward at the same time. Ellerby ducks and cowers in the far corner of the backseat where I can’t reach him while I’m driving.

“Pay attention to the road,” Michigan barks. “I’m not planning to be a statistic tonight.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Rein it in. Revenge is cold. Blah-blah-blah.”

“Blah-blah-blah? Is that some kind of secret enforcer code?”

“Yeah, the kind that allows you to do your job and not get dead.”

It takes forty minutes to get to the quarry. Behind the gravel pit is a copse of trees, old oak trees with sturdy trunks. I stop the truck behind a hill of gravel. No one will be able to see us back here. Michigan hands me a pair of rubber gloves.

“Extra large,” he says and jerks his head slightly toward the backseat. “Junkies have bad blood. Better be safe than sorry.”

“Another tool of the trade?”

“You pick up things here and there,” he says.

I can see why Dad wanted me to bring Michigan. I pull on the gloves and Michigan hefts a Magnum 45 and points it at Ellerby’s head. “Don’t run off, boy,” he says. “I don’t feel like chasing you.”

Ellerby’s hand falls away from the door.

“Don’t scare him too bad,” I warn. “I don’t want to be cleaning piss off my floors.”

“You need to carry plastic. Helps in the cleanup.”

“Fuck you two,” Ellerby spits out but he doesn’t move.

I hop out and grab my kit of supplies that I threw together. One spike, a length of rope, a sledgehammer and some zip ties. I stick the zip ties in my back pocket. Michigan is out, lighting up a cigarette.

“Those things will kill you.”

He blows out a stream of smoke. “You assume I’m trying to avoid that.”

Okay then.

I yank open the car door and Ellerby inches back, as if he thinks we’re going to leave him in the truck while Michigan smokes and I scratch my ass.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself. Get out here.”

“If you kill me, you’ll be going back to prison for a long time. It’s not self-defense now, is it?”

“Who’s going to care if you’re gone?”

“My ma and sister. Although I don’t have to fuck them to get them to care about me.”

Thanks to Michigan’s early warning, I don’t dive into the backseat and pummel Ellerby as is my first inclination. But hearing his statements voiced out loud makes me furious. This is everything that is keeping me and Chels apart and I want to punish him for everyone else’s narrow-mindedness.

I glance at Michigan but his face is closed down tighter than Fort Knox. If he disapproves, he wouldn’t say a word in front of someone who ain’t part of the club. After though? He might give me a piece of his mind and he might start treating Chels differently.

“I’m not going to kill you, Ellerby. I promise you’ll be walking out of here on your own. We need to renegotiate the terms of your deal with Chels, is all.”

He studies me and then capitulates because he’s killed all but one functioning brain cell. When he’s on his feet, I zip-tie his hands and then lead him into the blackness of the woods.

“You think you’re going to scare me?” he scoffs. “I’ve watched children’s movies that are more frightening than you.”

I say nothing and haul him about twelve feet deeper into the woods and throw him against the trunk of a thick tree. He struggles and yells at me the whole way, cursing my mother, my father and all our ancestors.

“So, you sick fuck, you thought you could terrorize Chelsea and get away with it?”