Misjudged (Death Dwellers #3.5) (16 page)

“Inside, Joe,” Logan ordered in an even, level voice, more chilling because of the softness of it.

Instead of showing fear, Big Joe bristled. Luke wondered where in outer space he’d been dropped. Crazy, old racists. A big, blond man with icy blue eyes. A bald-headed one-eyed biker.
Outlaw
.

Where he’d grown up, green was the only color that mattered.

Until a few days ago, Char had been the only woman he’d been intimate with. She was wealthy, too, with skin like brown satin. Three years older than him. Well-travelled. Beautiful. Sexy.

He’d cheated on her, the only constant in his life for almost six years.

He’d given into the pain of her salacious offer to Outlaw and listened to the man, practicing an
eye for an eye
, when he never had before.

It felt good. Freeing. Liberating.

He wasn’t the perfect son of the widowed Sharper Banks with the perfect girlfriend.

No such thing as perfect existed in the world. Perfect was just a crock of shit perpetuated by Norman Rockwell paintings and greeting card companies and chain stores wanting to sell turkeys. All the other trimmings, too, for
perfect
Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas celebrations for
perfect
holiday seasons.

Luke would take that kind of perfect any day if he could’ve had it. He didn’t, though.

Yet, he felt lost and alone here, too. Familiarity—Char treating him like shit, Sharper ignoring him, Mark being an annoying fifteen-year-old—was in LA. It was hundreds of miles away from Planet Kluxer with deranged old fuckers being overtaken by 18
th
century ancestors. Or
something
.

“
Fuck you
.
Fuck Johnnie
. I don’t fuckin’ need you or
him
.”

What?

“You need us, piece of shit fuckhead.” Politically incorrect didn’t begin to describe Logan. He was offensive, detestable. “You’ll only ever have us. That’s why you’re fucking standing here listening to me on behalf of your
N-word
.” He threw Big Joe a sour look. “Fucking happy, boy? Didn’t use the word you think is so offensive.” He stared at Luke. “My club’s a god-fearing group. We love our country.
My
boys don’t socialize with your kind.”

“Bullshit,” K-P said around a cough. “Raise a little green, you don’t see black.”

Logan glared at him. “One day, Kaleb Paul. One day, I’m going to skin you alive. Listen to you fucking scream as I scalp you.”

Luke staggered, not comprehending the cruelty spoken with such casualness. Just like Big Joe, K-P didn’t seem the least bit worried.

“Maybe, I’ll just take care of your little fucking mongrel.”

“Enough!” Big Joe bellowed. “Leave his girl out of your fucking mouth.”

Logan smiled serenely. “Indeed.” He turned to Outlaw again. “You don’t even deserve the love of Kaleb’s little mongrel slut.”

“Christ! My daughter’s seven-years-old.

“No woman’s ever going to love you,” Logan continued, not responding to K-P’s outburst, just focused on Outlaw.  “You’re not even worth the air you breathe. You don’t have the brain to run
my
club. It takes balls. You couldn’t keep those assholes in line if I fucking paid you to do it. You’ll
never
have the balls to cut a man open if he looks at you wrong. You’ll
never
know how to keep a woman in line
and
protect her. You’re a fucking disgrace.”

“Apple ain’t fallin’ so far from the fuckin’ tree,” Outlaw gritted. “You a dirty, filthy, low down motherfucker that I can’t fuckin’ stand.” He glowered at Big Joe. “I fuckin’ listened to your bullshit just like you fuckin’ asked. You either lettin’ me fuckin’ earn my cut or you ain’t, but I ain’t listenin’ to a motherfuckin’ more of my grandfather shit, Boss.” His cheeks flushed and his voice cracked, but he stiffened his spine and stood taller before addressing Logan again. “I ain’t ever needin’ some cunt to love me and I especially ain’t needin’ your fuckin’ love. Might as well fuckin’ ask a fuckin’ demon to love me.”

“I don’t need this,” Luke reiterated. “I’m going back to Cali.”

“Don’t fuckin’ blame you,” Outlaw muttered. “I shoulda been askin’ your fuckin’ ass if I could stay there before agreein’ to let you come here.”

“You two get the fuck back to the club,” Big Joe ordered. “You need to check out that motherfucker you beat to a pulp anyway, Lucas.”

Luke frowned. He’d forgotten Matthew existed, although he wasn’t sure how. He represented just another agonizing chapter to his relationship with Char. “Why? Motherfucker deserved it for fucking my girl and you told me to do it.”

“Shut it,” K-P ordered, folding his arms. “You don’t talk to Boss like that.”

Big Joe held up a hand, halting K-P’s chastisement and ignoring Luke’s growing hostility.

Luke’s daddy didn’t scold him. He sure as fuck wouldn’t let this one-eyed motherfucker do it. 

“He’ll learn the ways of the club.” Big Joe pinned him with a
you best not fuck with me
look. “He’s in the same spot as you, Luke. A future probate. Right now, guests of Christopher. You two patch in and I didn’t want that bullshit blowing up. Whether you fucked him up or not, he’s still…” Hooking his thumbs in his belt loops, he shrugged….”your brother. We look out for each other.”

Not according to what he’d just witnessed, but, Luke was outnumbered. K-P and Big Joe were Logan’s boys, so they’d probably stick by him if worse came to worse. The words out of Logan’s mouth definitely was worse.

“I’m not staying here,” Luke insisted, sending vibes of death toward Logan. Next year, he was graduating and going to UCLA at Berkeley. No matter what this man said about him, he was intelligent and capable. He had a lot of prospects back home. “If you not letting Outlaw bring me back, I’ll hitchhike.”

He’d come all this way without a dime to his name. A clear fucking sign he’d been dropped on his head at some point in time. Who brought their broke asses anywhere?

“Know what, Luke?” Outlaw began thoughtfully. He lit a cigarette and pulled on it a few times. “You right.” He threw Logan and Big Joe the evil eye. “I ain’t puttin’ up with this bullshit, either. I got fuckin’ bills. We head out together.”

“I can’t pull you away from your family.”

“What fuckin’ family?”

“Patty and Bitsy,” Big Joe pointed out, drew in a deep breath and scratched the evening stubble on his chin. “K-P, make these two fuckers go back to the club. I’ll stay and point out a few things to Logan.”

Logan hooted with laughter. “No fucking need, son. Already know the bullshit you about to hand me. One day, I’m going to tire of you using the same old card.”

Big Joe narrowed his eyes. “And, one fucking day, at a fucking charitable event, your bullshit is going to get real clear to the fucking world. My blood and bones might be an insect buffet by then. Don’t give a fuck. I can walk the fuck away today and bring this motherfucker down.”

Logan’s gaze landed on K-P and conveyed an unspoken promise, a dire, deadly threat. “Would never harm you, Joseph,” he swore, his voice cracking. “I know you don’t…you’ve built my club back up. I don’t have the energy anymore.”

“You don’t have the fuckin’ guts to do shit out in the fuckin’ open, old man,” Outlaw pointed out. “You want the world to think you a benevolent bein’, bestowin’ your fuckin’ dollars to ass-fuckin-kissers.”

“Go, Outlaw.” Big Joe scowled when Outlaw didn’t move. “Please.”

“Let’s get back to the club,” K-P suggested. “If Luke leaves because of this and you want to go, then do it. If he leaves because he really doesn’t fit in here, then reconsider.”

“Yeah, what-the-fuck ever. C’mon, Luke.”

“Inside, old man,” Big Joe ordered. “I’ll send some girls over later to calm you down. All I fucking request? Try to let them walk away alive.”

Logan glanced over his shoulder and studied Luke. “That’s my decision, Joe. With them,
I
am the beginning and the end.” He smirked. “Understand what that means,
Luke
?”

He started not to answer. He owed this man nothing but spit in his face, but Logan unnerved him. With effort, he held the other man’s gaze. “Of course. I’ve heard the Book of Revelations often enough.” He swallowed, his insides trembling, but if he didn’t stand for something, he’d fall for anything. “Never heard the Second Coming had taken place. Until that happen? You’re
not
Alpha. You’re
not
Omega. And you’re not worth wasting my breath on.”

Without waiting for a response, Luke stormed to Outlaw, more than happy when the other man just nodded and allowed Luke to get on, then sped away without another word.

###

And, introducing
Inferno
, Book 1 of the new Phoenix Rising Rock Band series by Kathryn Kelly debuting in 2015.

Text Subject to change

Inferno

Chapter 1

Cassandra

Old. That’s how I see myself because that’s how the world sees me. Old. Should dress in respectably-lengthened skirts, slacks, button-down blouses. Nothing too colorful. Nothing too short.

At thirty, your party shoes are already replaced for wedges. At thirty-five, those wedges are being replaced by flats. And, those like me? My age? I should find canvas sneakers.

On edge, I pad to my mirrored walk-in closet and I’m hit with my reflection from all directions. My white-blond hair is still long, thanks to my defiantly choosing not to cut it as befitting a forty-five year old mother of two. The color hides the gray that began to grow in the day after I hit thirty. It gives me a glimpse of how I may look when I tire of coloring my hair.

My reflection captures the intense scowl on my face. The day I tire of coloring my hair is the day the casket is closed on me.

It’s getting close to the time my husband arrives. Close to the time for the sex I’ve anticipated since he offered it to me.

I’m scared, though. Will I
act
like a forty-five-year old? Will I look like one to
him
? My husband’s bringing home the youngest man he’s ever brought home for our fun and games.

I walk to the window and open the blinds, not caring that it’s late afternoon. I’m naked. And the groundskeepers are right beneath my window. One of them smirks at me. I return the favor, a queen caught in her tower, appreciating the gift of growing older, but hating,
despising
, the way the world views age. Especially a woman’s age.

“Mom?”

I snap the blinds shut at Georgie’s call and rush to grab a silk robe. “Come in, love.”

My baby girl peeks her dark head in, still waiting for me to signal her all the way into my sanctuary. My closet comforts me. My clothes. My shoe collection. My array of vibrators hidden beneath the bar also installed in here.

“Come in,” I urge her with a wave and a smile.

Relief settles into Georgie’s amethyst-colored eyes. She’s wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt, both with the emblem of the Catholic school she attends. Her black hair—styled in a ponytail—is swinging, almost matching the sway of her hips. I stare at her, remembering myself at her age. Filled with hope of a great love and the promise of the world at my feet. I wish for a do over. I’ve made too many mistakes to count. Slept with too many men to be proud of.

Georgie stares back at me, squirming on her feet, a girl fighting to become a woman, a woman too old to be a little girl.

I find my couch and perch on the edge, waiting for my daughter to speak. “Crowell has two tickets to the Phoenix Rising concert.” She raises her chin and I cringe inside at her battle stance. Her look of defiance. She’s my daughter. I know what I did to my mother when I was her age. I’m being repaid. “I’d like to go,” she adds finally.

I eye her. Crowell is my son’s—Georgie’s older brother—best friend. He’ll take care of her, since her half-brother is some outlaw renegade biker whom I want to stay far away. He’s also a man-whore and would overlook Georgie’s age. I heave in a breath and wave my hand. “Let me talk to your father.”

“The concert’s tomorrow night.”

I grit my teeth in frustration and irritation. We both know if I agree to something like this, then her father will take some convincing. He isn’t ready to cut the apron strings. She’s sixteen, he says, so he gets to make her decisions for another two years.

At least, he’d said so once upon a time. Lately, he’s been distracted, not caring about Georgie’s behavior, claiming we aren’t model parents so why should we offer her any advice. Well, now. His current attitude may work in Georgie’s favor.

I disagree to an extent. Georgie will never learn to fight her own battles if we are always doing it for her. It’s now that she needs to learn the difference between wise and stupid decisions. By the time she’s twenty, she will have honed her instincts and decision-making skills. I’ll never leave her high and dry. If push comes to shove, I’ll always back her up, protect her with my life. But she needs to have confidence in herself. To do that, she has to comfortably rely on herself.

She sniffs. “Well?”

The time glares at me from the wall clock. Parnell will soon arrive with my new lover. The next time will be his turn. The women he chooses are getting younger and younger. It’s getting harder for me to participate.

“Mom!” Georgie snaps.

Regret wells in me. I haven’t been spending a lot of time with my baby girl lately. The foundations I’m involved in keeps me busy. My husband’s demands keeps me concerned. My age keeps me distracted. I owe her a treat.

“Fine,” I said, promising to myself that I will set aside time for Mom time with Georgie. I cock my head to the side, wondering if she’s as lonely as I am. If she’s searching for happiness while trapped in our gorgeous, gilded walls. “Go. But—“

My voice trails for better impact. She knows this and rolls her eyes.

“Do. Not. Tell. Your. Dad.”

She smiles, a spark of humor in her eyes and comes to me. She raises her fist and bumps it against mine when I do the same. “Girl power,” she chants.

I nod with pride. I taught her that. “Girl power.”

Georgiana

My body slams onto the floor in Dad’s study and I grab onto my shoulder, grunting at the sharp pain. My fingers are hurting really bad and I can’t remember why. I crawl to my knees and sway. I need to close the window but it seems too far away. Hot, humid, Houston weather blows into the room. It has to be eighty degrees. It’s midnight.

“George?” Crowell calls from outside. “You in? I need to leave before Josh comes and sees my car.”

“Go,” I urge in a loud whisper.

The very last thing I need is my big brother discovering his friend and I are quasi-lovers, sometimes druggies, and all around alcoholics. Joshua would kill Crowell. Plain and simple. Beneath the designer suits and million-dollar looks is a dirty fighter. I don’t know
how
Josh became so adept with his fists, but he fights like he’s from the streets.

“George, you okay?” Crowell says in a whisper, instead of taking my advice and getting the hell out.

Off-balance, I make it to the window and lean out, a silly grin on my face. He’s still here. He spends so much time with me. He even talked me out of my suicide attempt and promised to be at school every day to pick me up so I wouldn’t have to suffer the bullies, anymore.

I rest my elbows on the window sill, the heat nauseating me. “I’m fine.” I poke my tongue at him. “Are you?”

“God, Josh is going to castrate me if he finds out about our oral sex sessions.”

I frown at Crowell’s proper terminology, but don’t comment. He’s nervous. “We’ve done it four or five times already,” I remind him, the first time being on my sixteenth birthday when Mom gave me two bottles of Cristal and had my own personal shopper assigned to me.

Dad gave me diamonds and a car. I’m supposed to have someone with me whenever I drive until I’m seventeen. But, that’s like ten months away. My parents break the rules and mostly look the other way when Josh does it.

Why can’t I?

“We can’t do this shit anymore.” Crowell’s guilty voice matches his expression. “I got completely naked this time, George.”

“I’ve gotten completely naked every time,” I snap at him.

He glares at me, the reflection from the lights behind him, beaming from the ground, and the soft light behind me, turns him devil like. “My di…penis was to close to your… vag—“

I gasp. “Are you frigging kidding me?” I whisper-screech. “Since when did your dick become a
penis
? Not in all the years I’ve known you.”

“Well, it is now,” he says tightly. “I can go to fucking jail.”

“I’d never tell,” I swear in truth. Why would I…?

“I have a girlfriend, Georgiana.”

My heart stops. Drops. Then starts a fast, frantic rhythm. I realize this news isn’t shocking. And that hurts a little more. I saw his girlfriend the other day at the barbeque place Crowell took me for dinner after school. She came to the table and studied me long and hard. Crowell looked panicked and I hadn’t understood.

Now, I do.

Tears rush to my eyes. I’m sobering up. His announcement has killed the buzz of the alcohol, weed, and orgasm. I’ve already lost dad’s oldest son, Cash, to his biker lifestyle. “I’m losing you, too?”

He groans, reminding me how he sounds when he’s coming in my mouth. That other,
older
girls know, too. I hate being sixteen. I’m caught between childhood and womanhood and it sucks.

I wish I was my mom’s age. She’s so gorgeous. So settled with her life. I ponder how that feels. Mom does so much good for so many people, but she doesn’t have a lot of time for me, anymore. Dad only has time for Mom or Josh. Josh only has time for work and women.

I only had Crowell. Now, he’s being taken away, too.

He hasn’t responded, so I shrug. He’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve a guilt trip from me. “Okay.”

My voice is even and steady. I’ve learned that from Mom, too. She doesn’t show any emotion but acceptance in public. On the rare occasions she cries or loses her temper, no one knows but me. Because I go to her closet and stand in her doorway until she waves me in.

“I’m sleepy,” I lie to Crowell. “So, um, see ya.” I don’t wait for him to answer. I shut the window and turn too fast. I get dizzy all over again.

I’m glad it’s early Saturday morning. I’ll be able to sleep all day and then get up and get ready for the…concert!

OMG, Crowell has the tickets. He was taking me. But, now…OMG…I’m going to miss seeing Sloane Mason onstage.

All because of some stupid, older girl.

I’m really feeling sick now. I’ve been in love with the lead guitarist and front man for Phoenix Rising since I was ten. Now…

With a frustrated growl, I yank the door open, my stomach dropping at the vast, white marble hallway, split quadruple to lead to all corners of my parents’ huge house. It’s silent and quiet and scary. I hate it and I don’t know why. I grew up here, but the air seems crushing and oppressive.

We all ignore each other. There’s not a lot of joy here.

Patting my pockets for my baggie and satisfied when I find it, I go forward. I’m doing a line as soon as I get to my room. It takes away the emptiness, the loneliness, and the fear.

I reach the double-story foyer where all the hallways meet up and freeze. A man is walking down the curving staircase, shrugging into a jacket. He pauses when his gaze lands on me.

I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can barely breathe. An inferno is building inside of me and my entire being trembles. I’m about to seriously fan girl.

Not two feet away from me, looking like the rock god he is, stands Sloane Mason. His dark hair is tousled, like he’s just gotten out of bed or a woman’s fingers has been riffling his silky strands.

“What are you doing here?” I squeak, as if I know him. It just seems like a logical question. As far as I’m aware, my family hates it when I play Phoenix Rising’s music with their hard guitar riffs and Sloane’s rasping voice. “I-I mean is…when…” Rats. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Was he here for a booty call with…who…? None of the staff sleep on the second floor.

And, Josh, is an undercover bad boy. Mostly, he’s just a snob. He’d see Sloane as beneath him, although we
all—
me, Josh, Crowell, and Sloane—grew up in wealth. 

My head begins to pound and I feel as if I’m crashing. A small tremble assails me. I’m coming down, I know. I need to get to my room to do my other line. Sweat beads my skin and my heart is pounding faster and faster.

I shake.

He narrows his eyes at me. They’re so blue. So pretty. “Fuck,” he gets out. “You’re high, aren’t you?”

I can barely manage a nod. Now, I wonder if Crowell only gave me blow.

“Your dad’s going to be down here soon,” Sloane says, close to my ear.