He deals in a world of violence, sex, drugs, and crudity. As president of the Death Dwellers' Motorcycle Club, Christopher "Outlaw" Caldwell presides over a club in chaos after the death of their longtime president and his mentor, Joseph "Boss" Foy.
Megan Foy runs from her abusive stepfather, hoping for her daddy's intervention to save her and get her terrified mother away before it's too late. Only problem is, she soon discovers her beloved daddy is dead and the man who killed him is the man she's falling in love with.
This is a full-length novel.
Warning: FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. CONTAINS PHYSICAL ABUSE, VIOLENCE, RAPE, AND EXCESSIVE PROFANITY.
A scream rose above the music and laughter humming in the background. Then silence. Complete and utter silence. Rack winced. Outlaw pulled his nine, a reflex reaction and started down the hallway. Light reflected off the gigantic mural of the Grim Reaper, his scythe dripping blood, his eye sockets burning red.
He stared into familiar eyes. Blue. Intense. Brilliant. A perfect mirror of the former president of his MC. Only these eyes were unfamiliar. And not because of the dark circles ringing them.
They were the eyes of the daughter of the man he’d killed.
Megan Foy is finally getting the big wedding she's dreamed of. With her new child and the affection of the brothers of the Death Dwellers' MC, her life is settling down.
However, a new threat rides into town and targets Christopher "Outlaw" Caldwell, forcing him to reevaluate his life once more and endangering everyone. Most of all, it threatens Meggie's newfound peace.
This is a full-length novel.
Warning: FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. CONTAINS A FEW HOT ALPHA BIKERS, LOADS OF STEAMY SEX, AS MUCH MUSHINESS AS OUTLAW CAN HANDLE, VIOLENCE AND EXCESSIVE PROFANITY.
“Do you realize how inappropriate this is, Mr. Caldwell?” the priest sputtered.
He had to give it to the old geezer. He was determined to show he had balls. Motherfuckers might be useless but they were big.
“Don’t give a fuck if it’s misappropriate or not.” He narrowed his eyes at the priest. “I’m the most misappropriate motherfucker you’ll ever meet, so this ain’t nothin’ but a thing.”
Johnnie cleared his throat and beckoned Christopher closer. Probably to complain about his bad language to Father Wilcunt.
“Er, Outlaw,” he whispered. “Misappropriate isn’t the right word. That means misuse of shit. Inappropriate means not suitable—“
“The word mean whatever the fuck I want it to mean, motherfucker,” he snarled, jerking away from his cousin. “Don’t need you to give me no fuckin’ definitions.” He knew Johnnie only wanted him to make as much of a good impression on Father Wilcunt as possible, but that fucking shipped had sailed. The man didn’t like him and he didn’t like the man. Besides, it reminded Christopher of his 9th grade education. It reminded him he didn’t speak the proper English cuz he’d been more interested in street smarts.
That boat had floated, too, and he was what the fuck he was.
He scowled at Father Wilcunt, who continued to glower. The priest slanted a quick glance to the phone—thinking Christopher was fucking blind—before he nodded. “Fine. The wedding can go on.”
“Megan,” he said quietly, then snapped his mouth shut, not sure where to start. He was good as fuck at being dirty with her, but sweet words didn’t come easy to him. Even when their sex was gentle, he still thought of it as fucking. Deep down, though, he knew he was making love to her. But he wondered if she knew. Did she understand how he felt about her even though he just said he loved her and none of the other romantic bullshit she deserved? “Megan, I ain’t a romantic motherfucker.”
She looked up at him and gave him an uncertain smile.
He pulled an envelope out of the inside of his jacket and tapped her nose with it. “This letter here is from me to you.” He shrugged. “Cuz I’m me and I ain’t gonna walk around tellin’ you no sonnets every-fuckin-day.” He picked up her hand. “But I promise you, baby. On every anniversary, I’m gonna give you a letter and I’m gonna tell you.” He swallowed. What he was about to say would put his feelings out there more than he ever had, even with Megan. “Maybe, some of your romance shit rubbed off on me. Not sure, baby.”
She cocked her head to the side in that way she had when she listened intently to something.
He laid the letter in her lap, tempted to let her read it, and be done with it. “I love pussy—“ He paused at her frown and pulled at his hair. “I love girls, Megan. I studied bitches as a pastime.” He cleared his throat and winced at her wide eyes. Maybe, he should’ve stuck to the letter. The shit coming out his mouth wasn’t the shit he’d written.
He held up a hand. “Wait, baby. Let me finish.”
Her look skeptical, she nodded.
“But ain’t no girl I ever met make me as hot as you do just by thinkin’ about you. From the moment I met you, Megan, I couldn’t fuckin’ focus on nothin’ and nobody else. All I could think about was you. Wantin’ you and wantin’ to protect you. I once told you you was gonna drive some poor motherfucker and I’m one lucky fuck that it’s me. A girl who challenge her man, hardly never fuckin’ listen to him, tell him to go fuck himself when he pisses her the fuck off is worth every fuckin’ minute of every fuckin’ day. No matter what, baby, I’m always with you. You,” he emphasized and grabbed her neck to pull her close and kiss her. “Those pretty pink lips.” He glided a hand down her arm. “Your beautiful, little body.” He bumped her nose against his. “Those gorgeous fuckin’ eyes of yours. All of you. We real with each other. Me and you. You don’t have to hide a motherfuckin’ thing from me. You can be you. Scared. Happy. Wild. Angry. Kinky. I don’t give a fuck cuz I always got you. No matter how many times you need liftin’ up--” He held out his hand and tapped his fingers in it-- “I’ll catch you and raise you back where you need to be. I love the fuck outta you, Megan, and I ain’t ever gonna stop.”
Megan let out half-laugh, half-sob, tears streaking her cheeks. Christopher swiped them with his thumbs.
“I love you, too, Christopher. You make me hot and lustful for you, but it’s more than that. It’s about the two of us. You make me feel secure and loved and wanted. You’re a wonderful father and husband.” She placed a hand over his heart. “And you have a heart, Christopher. A heart that made me fall in love with you. I’ll always be here for you. No matter how many times you fall—“ She grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it—“I’ll always be there to pull you up. You own me body and soul. You’re my everything.”
He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her with all the tenderness flowing between them. Fuck him, but the look in her eyes made him want her pussy. His nostrils flared. “I want some more pussy, baby.”
“Why did you ruin our romantic moment?” she whined.
“Megan, every-fuckin-thing I said was the God’s honest truth, but I can only take so much mushy shit and mushy time is fuckin’ over.
She shook her head.
“C’mon, baby. You know you want to give me some more pussy in that small fuckin’ airplane bathroom right over there. You’re a freaky little nympho.”
She smirked at him. “Yeah, but I’m your freaky little nympho.”
John Donovan has been left in charge of the Death Dwellers' MC while the club president is on his honeymoon. With six days left till Outlaw's return and smooth sailing so far, complications bubble up. As the clock ticks, he's determined to bring everything under control.
Kendall Miller, an attorney and the ex-girlfriend of another MC President, is in deep trouble. When her little sister is taken by her ex, she needs to report to a man who is frantic for information on the highest ranking members of Johnnie's club. When she suddenly shows up at the clubhouse and arouses the suspicions of a very handsome blond biker, she finds herself being taken as his prisoner.
Evil is all around them. To save herself and her sister, Kendall has to rely on the man she betrayed. To save his club, Johnnie has to trust Kendall's story. Before it's too late. Because lives will be lost and hearts will be broken.
WARNING: This isn’t an easy or light read. Please be advised. The way to Johnnie’s and Kendall’s resolution involves death, violence, destruction, a sexual assault scene and suicide.
His gaze flickered over her hair, her eyes, her nose. Her mouth. The silver in his beautiful eyes swallowed up the gray, leaving behind a burning intensity that melted Kendall’s insides. Looking at him, smelling his cologne, hardened her nipples and wet her panties. Because he was her illusion. The man she hadn’t expected to see again but whose memories she clung to.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he greeted with a heart-stopping smile. “What brings you back to my club?”
John “Johnnie” Donovan is determined to make his relationship work with Kendall Miller, the attorney he met during his cousin’s birthday party. Before he can move on with his future, however, he still has loose ends to tie up from the past in the person of a rival MC’s president who is also Kendall’s ex-boyfriend. As Johnnie tries to balance his club life and personal life, another tragedy forces him to make a choice between the two. Will Johnnie be able to live with the choices he makes?
Kendall Miller is trying to pick up the pieces of her life in the wake of her ex-boyfriend’s assault. She’s ready to move on with her life and the man of her dreams, the sexy VP of the Death Dwellers MC. She demands his complete attention and isn’t willing to share her man with all the baggage of the MC. She doesn’t want to be an afterthought to him nor does she want to live her life in the midst of the clubhouse, especially with the competition taking place between Kendall and the club president’s wife. Then, catastrophe strikes and Kendall’s life is once again altered. Can she and Johnnie have a future together or has their love been doomed from the beginning?
Instead of Megan or any other woman, Johnnie stepped in and leaned against the door. He’d been running his fingers through his hair a lot, so the blond strands lay all over his head. The sadness in his eyes made her heart twist and she stepped closer to him before gliding her fingers along his jawline. The stubble that had grown since he’d shaved this morning scraped against her fingertips. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her nose against his neck, inhaling his scent. Smoke. Alcohol. The faintest hint of aftershave. Musk. And him. Johnnie.
She planted kisses against his throat and up to his mouth. He groaned and pulled her closer, taking control of the kiss and dipping his tongue into her mouth. Heat pooled low in her belly, her pussy slickening in need.
“I’m so glad you’re here with me, gorgeous,” he whispered, thumbing her nipples and thrusting his erection against her.
Kendall melted at his words and smiled, pulling back to stare into his eyes, burning with a silver intensity that seemed to reach into her soul. But she wouldn’t tell him again that she loved him right now. He was dealing with too much. Besides, she wanted to know how deep his feelings went for her. She couldn’t face his rejection.
“Come out with me?” he asked quietly. “I’m about to tell a hilarious story about K-P. Well, it’s more about us but K-P walked in at the end and—“ He rubbed the back of his neck and he shrugged before forcing a smile onto his lips. “I’d like you to be out there.”
Unable to deny him as much as she wanted to ask they return to their room, Kendall nodded.
His grin wasn’t as bleak. Grabbing her hand, he moved away from the door, opened it, and then guided her out. He went to the center of the floor and whistled to call attention to himself.
“You’d never know just by looking at our ugly mugs how two little guys have woven their way into our hearts,” he began when the room fell silent. “I’m going to be a father, too, thanks to my old lady.” He nodded to Kendall and she blinked, heat rising to her cheeks, not expecting Johnnie to make such an announcement.
Claps and catcalls reached Kendall, Johnnie’s loudest of all. She didn’t know how to feel about having so much attention focused on her and wished Johnnie would’ve discussed his intentions with her, so she could’ve been better prepared.
Sliding into the seat she’d had earlier, she ignored the stares directed at her, balling her hands into fists to keep from screaming at everyone to focus elsewhere. Like on Johnnie, who was finally launching into the story he’d mentioned to her in the bathroom.
Losing herself in the cadence of his voice, Kendall blocked out everyone else and focused on the anecdote.
Matthew “Val” Taylor, the Road Captain in the club, was introduced to sex at an early age. Saved from the streets by the club’s Enforcer and President years ago, Val now lives for women and the open road. Until the night the only woman he’s ever loved is almost killed. Val determines to change his ways and be the man Zoann Donovan should have and the father their son deserves.
Zoann has loved Val for a long time. Violence and bitter betrayal forces her to ignore her feelings and distance herself not only from the sexy RC, but her beloved brother, too. Until she discovers the truth. Can Zoann ever be forgiven for all the pain she’s caused? Will Val overcome his own demons and have a future with her and their son? Who will survive in an MC filled with lust and revenge, love and hate?
Warning: This is a tale of rape, murders, deception, heartache, lies, and infidelity. The road to redemption is a tumultuous struggle where only the strong survive and justice is served…Outlaw-style.
“You need me to eat it again?”
God, no. “No.”
He slid a finger into her heat, thumbing her clit. She sucked in a breath and clutched his shoulders.
“So fucking soft and delicate.” He added another finger and licked her nipple, his fingers working in and out of her and moving in unison with his thumb on her clit.
Desire stripped away her resistance and she cried out, grinding against his hand and coming apart.
“On your knees.” He gave her the order, but didn’t wait for her to comply. Instead, he rose to his knees, flipped her over and lifted her legs, opening her wide to him and sliding into her when she had not yet recovered from the orgasm he’d given her.
“Come for me.”
He thrust into her, his tight balls tapping against her clit with every move he made and she screamed his name, the force of her orgasm shaking her entire body and making her ears ring. He gripped handfuls of her hair and pulled her head back, licking her lips. The moment she opened her mouth, he stuck his tongue out and touched the tip of hers, urging her to follow suit. Once he stopped, he released her hair and leaned over her, his thrusts into her wild now.
“Best. Pussy. Ever.”
One, last time he slammed into her and jerked inside of her. He pulled his dick out of her and flattened his hand against her back. She felt his nose first. A second later, his mouth covered her entrance and sucked.
She nearly knocked herself out hauling herself away from him and careening into the headboard.
“Ow!” she whined, holding her head and turning to glare at him as he wiped his forearm across his mouth. “You fucking pig.”
He shrugged. “I want to get my cum out of you.”
“Once it’s in, it can’t come out, asshole.”
“That shit leaks out all the time. A few hard sucks have to slurp it out.”
“If it leaked out or could be sucked out, the earth wouldn’t be populated. I’ve never heard of cunnilingus as a form of birth control.”
He barked a laugh and smirked at her. “You liked it.”
Have we ever misjudged a situation? Looked at life one way only to realize it’s something else entirely?
Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell is at a crossroads. He worships his old lady, Megan. After almost losing her, he’s realizing marriage is harder than he thought, especially when he’s the president of one of the most notorious MCs around.
Megan Caldwell has been immersed in grief over her lost son, blaming herself for his death. She wants another baby and she wants to be the old lady her husband needs her to be.
Reality has a way of changing perceptions. Both Megan and Christopher will have to find answers to some hard questions. Most important one?
Where do they go from here?
Warning: This story contains a little of Kendall Miller’s backstory and a present-day decision on her part. It isn’t for the faint of heart and isn’t a hearts-and-roses type of romance. It has a little intensity, a smidgeon of fighting, a lot of loving, and approximately 1360 ‘f’ words or variations thereof.
He wanted to motherfucking leave this bullshit amusement park, the last fucking place in the world he wanted to fucking be.
“Christopher!” Megan called, her tone filled with beautiful, fucking happiness, a sound he hadn’t heard from his wife in fucking weeks. Her carefree joy almost made this fucking torture worthwhile.
For this bullshit, Megan would have to…
She already did what he asked of her, so spending the evening at an amusement park racing her in stupid fucking go-carts, feeling fucking ridiculous on the Ferris wheel, wanting to slap the fuck out of two dickheads screaming like pussified girls on the rollercoaster, and fucking with arcade games, shouldn’t have been such a pain in the fucking balls. He’d had enough miniature golf and bumper cars to last a fucking lifetime. And the fucking shame of the goddamn carousel.
The carou-fucking-sel. He’d sat in one of the carriages with Megan snuggled close to him, her eyes bright and sparkling.
They’d already been there for three fucking hours and he was considering having this motherfucker blown to bits and fucking pieces so Megan would never, fucking ever-ever-ever, get it in her head for them to have a motherfucking date here again.
Every-fucking time, they ended up back at these motherfuckers. The go-carts. After the third fucking time stuffed into those small fuckers, he wised the fuck up and let Megan win. It became fucking clear to Christopher she wouldn’t move on until she beat him.
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.
Every decision for life-changing events happened at 3:33 in the morning.
Or so his father claimed.
To Mortician, though, three thirty three represented something different. Symbolized half of evil and, when put together, created a whole.
Six fucking six six, divided by two, equaled half of fucking Satan. Fitting. Sharper and Charlemagne Banks equaled the demonic fucking duo. One couldn’t work without the other. Therefore, life-changing events always took place at three fucking thirty-three—because Fat & Skinny, Evil & Eviler, Slicker & Slickest, worked together.
Muscles twitching in anger, Mortician hunkered down in the pew, glaring at the overcrowded pulpit and searching the choir stand for Char as Sharper’s voice droned on.
Mortician had spent too many Sundays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays in this fucking building. As the membership grew and Sharper’s pockets swelled, their status inched up. And the fucking deceit went out of control.
A flash of silver material caught his eye and Mortician shifted, angling his head to get a better glimpse of her. Char. Still gorgeous with her dusky skin, high cheekbones, and slanted eyes. Bitch couldn’t compare to Bailey, though.
Not wanting to think of Bailey right now because he needed to keep calm to get to her, Mortician gritted his teeth and shifted, scowling at the imperious lift of the brow from the older suited-up motherfucker next to him. Suit and tie bent and whispered something to his wife and she peeked around her husband. She was younger, could have been his daughter, except for the way the man buzzed her lips with his own.
Unable to help himself, Mortician winked at her. Sadity, stuck-up, society bitch, who would open her legs to him in a minute. He tried his best to stay away from married bitches, a certain cop’s wife being the exception.
The nose-far-enough-in-the-air-to-drown-in-a-drizzle motherfucker angled his body toward Mortician in clear warning.
He wanted a dick measuring contest here? In church? Really?
If not for the maid he’d bribed—well, the knife to her throat had helped—he’d be bored as a motherfucker listening to his father’s baritone voice singing Praise Is What I Do.
He needed to act normal. If his dad thought for one minute that Mortician knew he had Bailey, he’d give the order and have her killed.
That thought fucked with his head, so Mortician leaned over to fuck with Mr. Asshole and Mrs. Sadity. “If your dick too limp from all the steroids you must fucking take to get so built, I’ll fuck her for you.”
Anger lit the man’s dark eyes. Finally, some fucking entertainment. But it didn’t ease the ache in Mortician’s chest.
He needed Bailey.
No. He needed to get Bailey safe. He didn’t need her. He’d needed his mother and he’d needed Charlemagne and he’d had his heart ripped out both times.
Give it up, asshole. You need Bailey. You want her. You love her.
So now he was hearing romantic fucking voices in his head? Fuck off. He’d prefer to talk to his dick. Once upon a time, he’d named it Roscoe.
Had he ever told Bailey that his dick’s name was Roscoe? Had he even remembered? There wasn’t much he remembered when he was around Bailey. She consumed him.
Mortician shook a little, almost unable to remain in his seat and pretend she wasn’t somewhere in one of the million rooms of this mega-church.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. But, mostly, he wanted to fucking kill. And he would. Brutally and viciously. Slowly and methodically.
About Kathryn Kelly:
Kathryn Kelly is living her dream and writing books. She's always been an avid reader and still devours books in her spare time. She also enjoys football, socializing, music, eating, and jokes. In her head, she's the ultimate biker babe. In reality, she's an ordinary girl-next-door and a native New Orleanian.
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