Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books, page 500
When she quieted down, she kissed the base of his neck. Her soft lips against him awakened his need and longing. He missed her so fucking much. However, he had to break the vicious cycle they were in.
“I have to go,” he told her. Those four words were some of the hardest he’d ever said.
She wilted, then moved away. Sitting on her haunches, she wrapped her arms around her waist.
“Is there someone else?”
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes wide, she processed that information.
“I just recently met her.”
“A club girl? Have I met her?”
She knew Emily very well. If he revealed her identity, though, it would only add to Kendall’s distress. Besides, he didn’t know what he wanted to have anything to do with Emily. His sense of fairness told him to give her a chance. “No,” he answered, leaving it at that.
“Have you slept with her?”
“No. As long as you’re my wife, I’m not going to betray our vows.”
She opened her mouth, started to speak, then changed her mind. “Come with me to see Dr. Briscow. My new psychiatrist. She can explain to you about BPD better than I can.”
“I’ll think about it,” he told her, though he knew he’d attend a session with her. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to figure this out,” he promised. “We’re going to do what needs to be done so you, me and our kids can be happy.”
“What about Outlaw?”
“Don’t worry about him. Christopher isn’t going to do you anything.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “He wants me dead.”
“Give me a couple of days, sweetheart. I’m going to bring Val over to do a sweep. If there are hidden cameras, they will be found.”
“Okay.”
His heart broke for her. He’d never seen Kendall so muted and defeated.
“See you.”
“Bye, Johnnie.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“Am I to understand that marrying Mortician once wasn’t good enough?” Father Wilkins asked Bailey, lifting his brows and looking over the rim of his glasses with disapproval. “You mean to do it again?”
Bailey offered Roxy a hesitant glance. Understanding her daughter’s reasons, Roxy gave a small nod, leaned over and grabbed Bailey’s hand to give it a squeeze. The fact they were here to reserve the church felt like a knife to the gut.
Along with sharing the news of a new baby on the way today, Bailey had once again offered to cancel her vow renewal plans, but Roxy had insisted that was unnecessary. Besides, once Bailey announced the date, then Roxy would have to find a way to leave Knox.
Only a week had passed since he’d found her in the big kitchen, then tempted her nearly out of her mind. In that time, though, she’d made herself scarce. She’d missed a weekly dinner by inviting Jordan out to a restaurant. A couple of times Meggie had taken kitchen duty, but she was under the weather and Fee was still unavailable. To escape Knox, Roxy prepared breakfast at her house, then called up members to make the trek through the woods to get the pans of eggs, sausages, and toast. Nothing too fancy because of the long walk. She’d even refused an invitation from Outlaw for everyone to meet at the club for drinks.
From what she’d heard Knox stayed close to the club and all family events. He wanted another chance. Maybe, she needed to meet with him and talk. Point a few things out. Compromise on one or two issues herself.
“Momma?”
Roxy snapped her head in the direction of Bailey’s voice.
“See, even Mrs. Doucette is tuning your decision out, Mrs. Banks. Notice what I just said? Mrs. Banks. A sure sign another ceremony is quite unnecessary.”
“I don’t remember asking you what was necessary, Father Wilkins,” Bailey responded calmly.
Better her baby than herself. Glaring at the little priest, Roxy folded her arms.
“We’ll pay you five thousand dollars,” Bailey continued.
Father Wilkins gave a pained look. “My child, I’m quite a busy man.”
“Ummmhmmm,” Roxy put in.
“Ten thousand?” Bailey said with some hesitation.
The priest opened a drawer and pulled out a day planner. He settled the book on his desk. “Perhaps, I can pencil you in.”
“No, the fuck you can’t. Penciling can be erased. You better stamp that shit in your book. Why the fuck are you using a damn book, anyway, Father? This is the 21st Century. Shouldn’t you have an iPad or some type of tablet? An official engagement calendar?”
“I’m a simple man, Mrs. Doucette,” Father Wilkins answered. “Although not simple enough not to know foul language in the house of the Lord is a sacrilege.” He gave Bailey a sugary smile. “What date did you have in mind?”
“August 6th, Father.”
Flipping to that page, Wilkins shook his head sadly. “I might have a prior engagement that day.”
His eyes gleamed and he rubbed his thumb and two fingers together, his hand so high the gesture was impossible not to see.
“Twenty thousand,” Bailey said on a cough.
Wincing, he shook his head again.
“Twenty-five?”
“Perfect,” he said with a bright smile, starting to pencil in.
Roxy cleared her throat, jumped to her feet, and grabbed the first pen she saw, thrusting it out to the money-hungry motherfucker. “Bribery is a fucking sin, too, motherfucker.”
He snatched the pen from her. “I am the Shepard of this fine congregation, madam. My lambs see to it that I am well-taken care of.”
Once he’d finished writing in his calendar, he set his pen down as Roxy plopped into her chair again.
“I require a deposit. Half.”
“Will a check do?” Bailey asked.
“Am I set up to take credit cards and run checks to see if they are valid?” he fired back. “However, as good as that would be, I’m afraid I can’t leave a paper trail. I take cash only, Mrs. Banks.”
Bailey nodded. “I’ll bring it by tomorrow afternoon. Will that work?”
“Perfectly,” Father Wilkins responded and sat back in his chair. “I forgot to ask if you are bringing the ceremony to me or am I going to where it will be held?”
“We’re having it in the church,” Bailey said without hesitation. “I want my marriage blessed.”
“You should try having the man blessed,” Father Wilkins said with a superior smile.
Bailey frowned at him.
“However, that news brings on another set of issues. It is expensive to open up my church. Resources will be used. Lights. Water. I will need to pay for cleaning services. I cannot pay for these things with my looks.”
“Motherfucker would be on the condemned list if we had to rely on your damn looks to pay for cleaning,” Roxy grumbled.
“Shouldn’t the diocese pay for those things?” Bailey asked, shaking her head at Roxy, her signal for taking over the conversation.
Father Wilkins laughed softly. “How little you know, Mrs. Banks. Of course, I should understand that, shouldn’t I? If you knew things, you wouldn’t have involved yourself in the club.”
“You’re part of the club,” Bailey reminded him. “Jazzman. Remember?”
“Ahhh, yes, I do recall that. But I’m not a full member. Only honorary. I’m still on the periphery. As a matter of fact, all the business I once enjoyed from the club has all but ceased.”
Roxy studied her nails, swallowing when she saw her engagement ring. She never removed it, in case she forgot to put it back on when the situation called for it. “Vengeance is mine says the Lord.”
“Do I look like the Lord to you?” Father Wilkins said.
Roxy opened her mouth to reply, but Bailey quickly interrupted.
“You’re being petty because you feel as if the club has abandoned you?” she asked.
Father Wilkins tsked. “Petty is such a harsh word.”
“Motherfucker is much better,” Roxy said sweetly.
The priest glowered at her. In response, she smirked.
“Would fifty be enough, Father Wilkins?” Bailey asked.
Roxy gasped and said, “I know you’re not about to give this motherfucker fifty fucking thousand dollars, Bailey,” as Father Wilkins nodded and replied, “I’ll accept that.”
Bailey got to her feet, so Roxy stood, too.
“I expect half of that also, Mrs. Banks,” Father Wilkins said.
“Right,” Bailey said. “I’ll have it tomorrow.”
“This is highway robbery,” Roxy protested as they started for the door.
“One other thing, Mrs. Banks,” Father Wilkins called.
When Bailey halted, so, too, did Roxy.
“I want no murders, shootings, stabbings, fights, or any other untoward happenstance taking place anywhere on the church grounds. That includes the parking lot.”
“Don’t blame Bailey for Outlaw shooting his daddy there,” Roxy protested.
“She didn’t pull the trigger, but she’s part of the club. Therefore, it is her responsibility to keep my church gore free.”
“The club is at peace,” Bailey said. “There’s no war going on.”
“For now,” Father Wilkins, “but with these men that can change in a blink.”
Roxy and Bailey exchanged glances, unsettlement sinking into the pit of Roxy’s stomach.
“Good day, Mrs. Banks,” Father Wilkins said in dismissal.
Walking away, Roxy told herself her disquiet had no basis. As Bailey said, the club didn’t have any active enemies, so there was nothing to worry over.
As much as she argued with herself, though, she couldn’t shake the feeling of bad things on the way.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“Who in your wedding party, Knox?” Digger asked, holding his arms out so Mr. Whittlestone could measure him. The noise of the little boys, including Grant, didn’t seem to bother him at all.
But it added to Knox’s headache. Nothing seemed to be going right. He’d had to beg Callie to send Grant to Hortensia for the weekend. Apparently, she didn’t want Knox to marry Roxanne. Or anyone, for that matter. Somehow, he’d gotten through to Callie, and she’d agreed to send Grant for his fitting.
Roxanne had all but disappeared from the club. She knew him, so she’d figured out his plan to corner her every chance he could. He didn’t dare go to her place. To win her back, he needed to be alive. She hadn’t been around to see his tattoo outlines or even to inquire after his well-being. But he had to grin and bear it, and pretend they were fine. She was on the other side with the women and Mrs. Whittlestone. Knox couldn’t imagine what Roxanne was doing or if she found this pretense as painful as he did.
He'd truly thought Outlaw and Mortician knew Knox and Roxanne hadn’t made up, but it seems as if they did. It was Mortician who’d forced them to attend this travesty.
Then, there was Kendall. He never thought he’d see her brought so low. Her maid or nanny or whoever the fuck Ella was, had finally moved in. He’d also seen Johnnie promise to have Val do an electronic sweep. Rebelling against Outlaw’s hard stance, Knox hadn’t bothered to warn him of Johnnie’s intentions. Something needed to make Outlaw back off.
Put together it made Knox’s head pound.
“Dad, isn’t Uncle Cam in your wedding?”
“Hmmm. Oh, uh, yeah,” Knox answered, remembering Digger had also asked a question. “I thought your brother and me were sharing groomsman.”
“You thought wrong,” Mortician told him. “Especially since you didn’t ask a motherfucker.”
“Motherfucker!” Rory squealed.
Grinning, Johnnie turned and ruffled his son’s hair, while Val wrestled on the floor with Ryan. Mr. Whittlestone seemed amused, if a little overwhelmed. The shop was closed to accommodate the Banks/Harrington wedding party. Or, most of it, since Knox hadn’t ordered his tuxedo there.
His useless tuxedo. Depressed, he rested his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair.
“’Law!” CJ yelled.
“’Law,” Ryder mimicked, around the green binky in his mouth.
“MegAnn say Aunt KenDall on the way,” CJ blared over the noise of the guys and their sons.
All movement stopped. Knox’s headache worsened. He wasn’t sure what mood Kendall would be in today. Besides, they had a full house, including CJ, which might not bode well.
“Okay, boy,” Outlaw called, meeting his son’s gaze in the mirror. “Stay in here by me.”
“I’ll keep watch over him, Uncle Chris,” Diesel promised.
“Val?” Johnnie said, buttoning JJ’s tuxedo shirt. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Kendall thinks her house is bugged. Can you meet me there tomorrow or the next day to check for me so I can reassure her?”
Knox choked, his gaze flying to Outlaw’s to see if he looked as panicked as Knox suddenly felt. If Johnnie found those cameras and listening devices, all hell would break lose. Had he missed this part of the surveillance? If he had seen it, he would’ve run to Outlaw with the news.
Silent, Outlaw arranged his bowtie, but the reflection staring at Knox from the mirror didn’t change. The man didn’t flinch or even look concerned.
“How you got your shit, Prez?” Digger demanded. “When you came in for a fitting?”
“I called my measurements the fuck in, motherfucker,” Outlaw said. “I ain’t wearin’ the monkey suit I got married in no-fuckin-where. That belong to me and Megan. I already used the other motherfucker I got several fuckin’ times, cuz some-fuckin-how, Megan get my fuckin’ ass to where these goddamn tuxes all the fuckin’ time.”
“Mort, why I’m buying a tuxedo?” Digger asked.
“Fool, how the fuck should I know?” Mortician responded. “Your ass must need one.”
“I’m perfectly happy renting, thank you very much,” Digger answered. “All this fucking money for clothes I’m not wearing too often. After Bailey get the big wedding she want and Roxanne and Knox marry, who the fuck else going to expect us to wear a fucking tux?”
“All the bitches,” Val answered from where he sat on the floor next to his sons as they played with miniature motorcycles, ramming them into one another, between ‘vroom-vrooms’. “You know Meggie always coming up with some kind of bullshit.”
Outlaw turned and pinned Val with a stare.
“’Law!” CJ said. “Uncle Val call MegAnn a bitch.”
“I didn’t, CJ.” Jumping to his feet, Val raised his gaze to Outlaw. “I didn’t call your woman a bitch.”
“You say MegAnn name and not no nother girl,” CJ pointed out.
“Boy,” Outlaw said with amusement, “lemme handle your Uncle Val. Okay?”
“By the way, CJ, it’s no other girl,” Johnnie corrected before CJ responded to Outlaw.
The little boy grinned, but didn’t say anything.
“I ain’t pointin’ out what the fuck obvious, Val,” Outlaw said, capturing their attention, not bothering to applaud Johnnie for promoting decent speech. “Even my fuckin’ boy know what the fuck you did.”
“Make the mudna fucka bleed, ‘Law,” CJ yelled.
“You still a blood-thirsty lil motherfucker, huh, CJ?” Digger asked, shaking his head. “Never got my ass kicked by a two-year-old before you.”
“Assfuck Dig!” CJ said
“I prefer Ashfuck, lil’ dude,” Digger told him. “You said it cuter. Call me assfuck make you sound too much like your old man. Just with a fucking miniature voice. Shit like that give me nightmares. If you a scary lil’ motherfucker now, how the fuck you going to be when you older?”
Knox couldn’t hold back any longer. “He’s only scary because he’s Outlaw’s son. Any other child would’ve been spanked a long time ago. Except CJ gets to say and do what he wants to with absolutely no discipline. He’s going to be kicking your ass before long, Outlaw.”
“Uncle Mudna Fucka, you mean,” CJ stated.
Grant’s eyes widened. “You call my dad Uncle Motherfucker?”
As the other men snickered, Knox stiffened and scowled at his son. “If you don’t want to be punished the rest of the weekend, young man, you’ll not use those words. You’re a child. I expect you to act like one. This is your only warning.”
Embarrassment crept onto Grant’s face and he put his head done, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I not ever hitting ‘Law, Uncle Mudna Fucka,” CJ went on. “I love ‘Law.”
“And I love you, boy. What Uncle Motherfucker don’t understand is the day you lay your fuckin’ hands on me is the day I knock you the fuck out. We can argue and fuss and cuss and disa-fuckin-gree. But hittin’? Ain’t happenin’. Got me?”
“Uh-huh,” CJ answered, annoying Knox with the way he always nodded when he responded with those words.
“Now, Val,” Outlaw started.
“Val,” Johnnie interrupted. “I need you to meet me at Kendall’s house one day this week to do a sweep of it. She thinks it’s bugged.”
He hadn’t received a response the first time, so he must’ve thought it necessary to repeat the request. The words made Knox as uneasy this time as they had the first time.
Outlaw, on the other hand, still looked unfazed.
“Your turn, Mort,” Digger said, stepping away from Mr. Whittlestone. “Whittie, you left enough room in the crotch to accommodate the size of my cock, right?”
Mortician shoved Digger out of the way, while the other men laughed like children and the little boys smiled. Except Grant, who looked at his feet. Diesel grinned like the horny teenager he was. Mr. Whittlestone smiled from his perch atop the stepping stool, unoffended, although Knox’s exasperation made him snort.
One thing he could always count on with these men were dick jokes.
“It’s loose here.” Mortician tugged at the collar of his tuxedo shirt.
Mr. Whittlestone gathered the extra material and pinned it.
“Digger,” Mortician said, between comments to the old man. “You got to give everybody a nickname? Whittie?”
