Death Dwellers MC Legacy Series

Forty-nine fucking years old. Almost fifty.

       Thirty years ago, if anyone had told Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell he’d live to see this milestone, he would’ve laughed in their fucking faces. No one in his acquaintance believed in such luck. Evading Hoof-foot for so long shocked the fuck out of everyfuckingbody, especially his fucking ass.

       “Happy birthday, Outlaw,” one of his brothers yelled.

       “Thanks, motherfucker,” Outlaw responded, lifting his bottle and grinning at the cheers rising in the clubhouse.

        Several years ago, the floors in the building had been replaced. It was a massive undertaking thanks to all the different rooms, located on the hallways. The main room, his office, the board room, the kitchens, and the bathrooms were finished first. They’d gotten a new HVAC system, upgraded plumbing, and new appliances.

       Megan, his sweet angel, pressed her lips against his. She sat in her favorite spot—his lap. “Happy birthday, Christopher,” she whispered.

       His wife was as lovely now as she had been when he’d first laid his gaze upon her. Then, she’d been frightened and in need of her father. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe if he’d met her a month before, she would’ve been underaged.

       Fuck, if he’d fucking met her the fucking day before.

       What-the-fuck-ever. That shit hadn’t happened, so he didn’t even need to fucking go there.

       What had happened was Megan captivated him from the moment they met and she continued to do so, all these years later.

       She was still gorgeous with her golden hair and too-blue eyes that turned her into an earth angel. Eye color and hair length didn’t fucking matter, either. A few fucking years ago, she’d gotten a pixie haircut.

       He’d fucking hated it; she’d looked sixfuckingteen. But she’d still had that face and the inner goodness that made her beautiful even if she’d looked like Miss Fucking Piggy. When her hair grew out again, it relieved him so fucking much.

      Thank all the motherfuckers in heaven.

      She frowned. “Christopher?”

      “Just thinkin’ about your fuckin’ hair, baby.” For a time, after the pixie cut grew out, she’d kept her hair bone-straight and shoulder-length. “How you gone from lookin’ like a girl Peter fuckin’ Pan back to a fuckin’ fairytale princess with your long fuckin’ hair.”

      She laughed and stole another kiss. “Are you enjoying your party?”

      He nodded. “Alfuckinways.”

      And like always, evidence of Christmas decorated the club. Even the Christmas tree was still up since his birthday was January 4th and Twelfth Night happened on the 6th. Thirty years ago, such observances wouldn’t have mattered either. But it was a combination of his woman and his best friend’s mother-in-law, who hailed from New Orleans that precipitated the change.

      Sometimes, he wished his birthday fell in warmer months. Then, they could’ve held his party outside. Every year, the celebration grew more crowded.

      “Outlaw, we have a surprise for you,” his sister-in-law, Kendall Donovan, called.

      “The Mardi Gras ball’s called off and we don’t need no tuxt need no tux?” the club’s sergeant-at-arms, Marcus “Digger” Banks, asked with hope.

      “Yeah, Red, that would be a fucking gift for all us,” Lucas “Mortician” Banks, club enforcer and Christopher’s best friend, said.

      “Boy, shut the fuck up,” Roxanne Harrington, Mort’s ma-in-law, said in exasperation.

Megan sniffed. “Yeah, Digger. We put a lot of effort into the ball every year to raise money for the kids.”

      “Fine for you, Meggie girl,” Mort said woefully. “Fucked up for us.”

      “This the fourth year we been doing this—” Digger started.

       Her body tensing, Megan threw Christopher an evil glare, still smarting over that first fucking ball and his assfuckery. Before she locked her fucking pussy from residual anger, Christopher shut shit down.

      “Shut the fuck up,” he warned as she got to her feet and jerked her hair into a messy bun, allowing everyone to see the words Property of Outlaw embroidered on the back of her cut.

      Kendall and the other women at his table stood too, all old ladies of his officers. Two were his sisters, but all were family. Two presidents from his support clubs and the old ladies as well as a superstar musician and his wife were also seated with him. As Megan, Kendall, and the nine other women headed toward the DJ, the standing room only crowd parted and silence rolled in. At the railed pool table area where the disc jockey was set up, the women crowded around the motherfucker.

      Low conversations resumed, while everyone waited for Megan and her friends now joined by his girl, Rebel, Mort’s girl, Harley, and the club’s VP’s girl, Matilda.

      “Ever thought this’d be our lives, Prez?” Mort asked, watching his woman tug their girl closer and wrap her arms around Harley’s waist.

      “Nope,” Christopher answered, drinking more tequila.

      CJ, his second eldest, inserted himself next to Harley, although the rest of the boys, including his five other sons remained seated at various tables. Diesel, his oldest boy, surrounded himself with women, the only motherfucker amongst five bitches.

      Kendall crooked her finger at her eldest, Rory. Grinning, the little motherfucker rushed to his ma. Ryan, another of Christopher’s nephews, ignored the summons.

      “Ryan lucky it’s your birthday, Outlaw,” Matthew ‘Val’ Taylor, his road captain and brother-in-law, said. “Otherwise, Puff would fuck him up.”

      Over the past few months, Christopher marked a change in Ryan. He was becoming a disrespectful assfuck. However, he’d turn sixteen in May, so Christopher chalked it up to teenage rebellion.

      CJ headed to the bathroom designated Dicks on the door sign while Rory and the other three boys sat on stools against the wall where a chalkboard, cue rack, and TV hung.

Dweller brothers corralled the crowd, forcing Christopher and his boys to their feet. He nodded, then headed to the pool tables where all his sons and nephews now were to give more room to the other motherfuckers.

      “Fuck, Outlaw, I’m glad to be in your inner circle,” Derby, Burning Hounds president, grumbled as they reached the wall of boys. “Otherwise, I’d be stuffed in like a sardine can too while our broads danced.”

      CJ walked out of the bathroom, dressed in a blue blazer and dark sunglasses. “Hey, ‘Law,” he called, grinning from ear-to-ear and waving, though he didn’t stop. He headed to his ma.

      “What the fuck—”

      The music starting interrupted Christopher’s question.

       Megan and the other girls filed down the two steps onto the small area his brothers managed to clear. As Gentleman played, CJ danced in the middle of his ma and the women, just as Psy had in his video.

      Now Christopher understood why they’d watched the fucking video to this song for fucking weeks. He had been sick to fucking death of it, but his woman’s enjoyment and his boy’s showmanship, reinvigorated his appreciation and he regretted the end of the song. He would’ve followed Megan, but once the women disappeared into the crowd, Ellie, Mattie, and Harley joined their brothers on the floor, line-dancing to Achy Breaky Heart, the Electric Boogie, and the Cupid Shuffle.

      By the end of the little motherfuckers dancing, boredom threatened to derail the fucking party. Howfuckinever, no one wanted to offend the children and thus piss off their fathers.

When the kids trooped away, sweaty, red-faced, and giggling, Christopher shifted his weight. “Herb and Al callin’ my fuckin’ name,” he said. “We goin’ outside and visit them.”

“Say no more,” John ‘Johnnie’ Donovan said with a smile. He dug into his cut and pulled out a baggie stuffed with Herb, handing it to Val. “Would you do the honors, Valentine? Roll one for each of us. My treat.”

      “You trying to kill us?” Boy, president of the Night Flyers, asked. “If that’s Outlaw’s Cfc, one or two hits will fuck us up.”

      “I’m finding Georgie,” Sloane Mason said. After decades in the limelight, his star hadn’t faded. As a recovered addict, however, he didn’t tempt himself with even a small suck on Herb.

      As he started to walk away, Megan led the women back onto the dancefloor.  Skimpy dresses with fringes and stilettos replaced their cuts, jeans, T-shirts, and motorcycle boots.

Megan’s hair was free and her makeup freshened. The red outfit clung to her curves. Still short in six-inch heels, the crystal-embellished sandals drew attention to her toned legs and thighs.

      His cock jumped to attention.

      She tossed her hair, licked her lips, and winked at him.

      Wobble by V.I.C. began, and Christopher forgot his intentions to go outside and say hi to Herb and Al. He dismissed his mild annoyance that his clubhouse resembled a dance studio during a recital. The other girls dancing, twisting, swaying, and bouncing barely registered in Christopher’s brain.

      Hair swirling and fringes wiggling, his woman shook and crouched to the beat. Only her hot moves and blazing gaze on him mattered.

      Four minutes into the song, CJ joined his ma and aunts, loving to dance as much as Megan. Male shouts and roars of approval drowned out the song’s end. The women and CJ moved to the side, revealing the Bobs, special Dweller girls possessing exception oral skills, and brought out for big celebrations. They wore beaded thongs and red pumps.

      “Did Megan coordinate with them?” Johnnie asked in amusement.

      Christopher doubted it, although their pumps almost matched Megan’s and her friends.

      “Where’s Roxanne?” Knox Harrington, Roxanne’s husband, asked. “And Jordan?” he added, referring to her best friend and Megan’s gynecologist.

      As the Bobs fanned around him and his motherfuckers, Knox received his answer. Roxanne and Doc Will rolled a huge cake toward him.

      “Fuck, if this is your 49th birthday party, what the fuck going on for your 50th?” Derby asked, cupping the pussy of the Bob closest to him. Although the pool table blocked his old lady from clearly seeing him, it wouldn’t have mattered if she stood right there. His hand went to his belt. “Suck my cock.”

      “Fuck off,” Christopher snapped. “Our lil’ motherfuckers here. Wait ‘til they leave.”

      Scowling, Derby complied. “Don’t go far,” he told the girl.

      She smiled at him.

      “Uncle Chris.” Diesel’s voice resonated through the speakers as he pushed in front of two Bobs, holding a microphone. “First, I want to wish you a happy birthday. You deserve the best. On your special day, I also want to thank you. You and Aunt Meggie raised me as your own, never distinguishing me from your biological children. Being your son is an honor and a privilege. On your 45th birthday, I patched in and was given the terribly difficult task of overseeing the Bobs.”

      Christopher snickered, joining everybody else’s laughter.

       “Today, Potter is retaking the position.”

       The bombshell killed Christopher’s amusement. Diesel had begged to be in charge of those bitches. Christopher expected a bit of fucking courtesy since he’d given into Diesel’s whiny fucking pleas. This wasn’t the fucking time or place to confront his kid, so Christopher didn’t stop Diesel from handing the microphone to a tall, strawberry blonde and stepping aside.

      “Floor’s yours, Chastity,” Diesel said.

      “Chastity?” Derby whooped.

      “Outlaw,” the girl cooed when the chuckles died down. “Somehow, our plans to give you lap dances were discovered.”

      “Lap fuckin’ what?” he demanded, snapping his brows together.

      Licking her lips, she lowered her lashes. “We’re here to please you and the brothers,” she went on, like a clueless cunt. “We vetoed Meggie’s idea, although she overrode us, so I want to apologize—”

      “Not accepted,” Christopher snapped, losing his fucking patience and his temper. He couldn’t see his Megan because of all the bitches around him, but that didn’t matter. His hand went to his nine.

      Kendall shoved Chastity away, glared at her, and snatched the microphone. “Move,” she ordered, sure of herself and her place. “Thank me later for saving your fucking life later.”

Dismissing the Bob, she smiled at Christopher. All the Bobs, except the one Derby wanted, headed into the crowd.

      Kendall cleared her throat. “Outlaw, we’ve had ups and downs through the years, but in the end, you welcomed me back with open arms as your sister-in-law, cousin-in-law, and the vice-president’s old lady. Happy birthday,” she said with heartfelt sincerity. “I wish you many more years of happiness and prosperity.” Smiling, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

      “Thank you, Kendall,” he said, kissing her back, then releasing her to Johnnie.

      “Let’s go to our old room and fuck, gorgeous,” Johnnie said, leering at her exposed skin and the swell of her tits.

      She giggled. “I’ll send the kids home. Ella is there with Blade and Gunner,” she said, referring to her nanny, who was watching over Christopher’s nephew and son, “so they’ll have supervision.”

      “John Boy, you got the right fucking idea,” Mortician said, giving Bailey the once-over as she helped her ma and Doc Will light the candles on Christopher’s cake.

      “’Law,” CJ said, mic in hand. He’d removed the blazer and sunglasses and was back in his cut with the words Son of Outlaw on the back. “You’re the best dad any kid could want. Thank you for all your love and support. You’re more than my dad. You’re my idol and my hero. I love you so much and happy birthday.”

      The lil’ motherfucker embraced Christopher.

      “I love you too, boy,” he said gruffly, returning his son’s hug.

      Megan sashayed to them. Immediately, CJ turned and hugged her, then kissed her cheek, handed her the microphone, and stepped away.

      Her eyes soft and her cheeks flushed, she gave Christopher a tender look. “My love. My Christopher. My everything. Happy birthday! I look forward to celebrating many more with you. I love you so much.”

      “And I love you, baby.”

      She tipped her chin up and he bent and kissed her lips.

      “Let’s sing happy birthday, everyone, so my children and me can clear out and—”

      “The fucking can start!” someone boomed from the crowd.

      Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, that.”

      After cutting the cake, they stayed another hour before heading to their house so his brothers could enjoy the clubhouse debauchery and Christopher could enjoy his wife’s private shamelessness.