“It’s simple,” Mystic answered, sipping his beer. “We want the Dwellers to relinquish any territory they might seek south of San Diego.”
“You outcha fuckin’ mind,” Christopher snapped. They’d gone from wanting to be absorbed by the Dwellers to wanting them to relinquish territory? What kind of shit was this?
He glared at Johnnie, wondering if the motherfucker was taking note. Christopher should’ve followed his own fucking counsel. He scowled. He would’ve if he’d struck before Johnnie opened his big fucking mouth.
“Ain’t no fuckin’ way my club givin’ up a motherfuckin’ thing,” he snarled. “We had the fuckin’ claim first and if you fuckin’ try to take territory from us, Ima fuck your entire goddamn club the fuck up. From your fuckin’ chapter all the fuckin’ way to the top.”
“Christopher, we’re here for peace negotiations,” Johnnie reminded him, sidling a glance to the Imperials side of the room. They were all on alert.
“We really don’t want more trouble, Outlaw,” Mystic told him. “Do you want to be responsible for bodies piling up?”
He sounded as if he didn’t care either way.
As far as Christopher was concerned, he could shoot the fuck out of Mystic, his enforcer, Randolph, the sergeant-at-arms and the other motherfucker sitting at the table. He owed these fuckheads nothing but a few bullets. His boys would take care of the other assfucks. They might not agree with him, but they’d have his back.
Johnnie let out a snore.
Frowning, Christopher kicked him, angrier because he was acting like a fucking jackass and was almost creating mutiny with his fucking idea of peace.
“Wake the fuck up, motherfucker,” Christopher growled, his temper rising at the laughter of the Imperials.
Mortician covered his face. Christopher really couldn’t blame Mort. They needed to cover Johnnie’s fucking face.
“As you know, I want something else,” Mystic went on when he saw Christopher wouldn’t answer. “We…” He twirled his finger to indicate the men behind him. “We passed an emergency referendum. Our home chapter isn’t giving us the support we deserve. We’ve become very disillusioned. Perhaps, our recent actions have proven to the Dwellers we’d…” He hunched his shoulders. “The Dwellers could absorb us. We’ve done a lot on behalf of the Imperials. I’ve done a lot. I can’t even get a meeting with National right now. There’s a territory crisis in Florida, yet they sent us here to Washington to open a chapter.”
“Fuckin’ with my fuckin’ shipments and fuckin’ up two fuckin’ members ain’t a goddamn way to get on my good side,” Christopher said.
“But it got your attention,” Mystic said smugly.
Christopher narrowed his eyes. “It got my fuckin’ animosity.”
Mortician cleared his throat, the agreed upon signal that it was close to five in the evening, right around the time Megan would leave her home office and head to the kitchen to start dinner. Usually, Christopher ate. On rare occasions like these, when meals at meetings filled him up, he still wanted to be home to spend time with his family.
This fucking meeting, however, wasn’t going the way he wanted it to. He wanted to stay until they reached their original goal of a truce, came to another conclusion, or shot the fuck out of each other.
The only way he could assure himself of his wife and children’s safety was if he took out the entire organization. Wiped them off the fucking map. Declared fucking war on them.
Christopher stood from his seat and his boys did the same, which prompted Mystic and his brothers to rise.
“This meetin’ fuckin’ over, Mystic,” Christopher declared. “Ain’t absorbin’ you into my fuckin’ club. Don’t need you motherfuckers. You stop fuckin’ with my club and I’ll let you motherfuckers live. I pretend you don’t fuckin’ exist. Stay in your fuckin’ place or not only aintcha mother chapter gonna be able to help you, not a motherfucker in this entire fuckin’ universe will.”
With that, he stormed away, brushing through the crowd of Imperials and daring a motherfucker to block him.
By the time Christopher arrived at his house, his anger at the fucking Imperials had deserted him.
Megan had the outside of their house all lit up with Christmas lights. Huge Santas, Frostys, elves, trains, and other shit decorated the lawn. Inside, she had a huge tree in the foyer, one in the family room, and one in the second and third floor hallways. The tree on the third floor, where their and the kids’ bedrooms were located, a working trained ringed it.
His girl loved the holidays, and made it a special, magical time for the entire household.
He didn’t need to bring work home with him. Megan didn’t know any fucking thing about the troubles they were having with the other MC. She knew Outlaw but he didn’t want her to dwell on that side of him. If he told her about the Imperials, then he’d have to tell her he’d killed five motherfuckers.
Besides, this was their safe haven, the warm, loving sanctuary she’d created for him and their family and friends.
Walking into the kitchen, Christopher found Megan, their son, CJ, and her assistant/nanny/friend, Bunny, dancing to the music piping in through the speakers that doubled as the intercom. Dishes filled with various food sat on the counter, in preparation for the evening meal in the dining room.
Megan laughed and CJ squealed, grabbing her hands and twirling her around. Her blonde hair swirled around them, fascinating Christopher. He could watch her for hours. Listen to the sounds of her happiness. See her adoration of their boy.
Christopher knew she loved all their kids, but he still contended CJ held a special place in her heart.
“’Law!” CJ yelled, spotting him first and thundering toward him at full speed. “I got all A’s, and Mommie and Bunny are dancing with me to celebrate.”
As the music abruptly cut off, Christopher raised his fist and his son bumped it with his smaller balled hand. “Good fuckin’ job, boy.”
CJ grinned. “I’m smart like you.”
“You smarter than me. I hated fuckin’ school. You like it. That make you smarter.”
“Nuh-uh! Mommie said I’m smart like you.”
Well, if Megan said it, Christopher wouldn’t win the argument.
“C’mon, CJ buddy,” Bunny called. Though she was Digger’s wife, she had helped Megan out for a long time and CJ adored her. “Let’s rescue Diesel from your sister and little brothers.”
“Okay, Bunny. Bye, MegAnn,” CJ yelled, zooming out of the room.
“He still doesn’t know if I’m Mommie or MegAnn,” Megan said, once they were alone. She walked up to him and stood on her tiptoes. “Hey, you.”
Bending so she could kiss his lips, Christopher wrapped her in his arms. “Hey, baby,” he responded, covering her mouth with his and taking over. “Wanna quick fuck?”
Her blue eyes were bright, alive, filled with joy and contentment. She brushed her lips over his. “Always,” she breathed.
He snickered and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. As he turned to carry her into the mudroom, the running of feet caught his attention.
“Daddy!” his girl, Rebel, called a moment before she wrapped her arms around his thigh. “You’re home.”
“Put me down,” Megan said with a giggle.
Having no choice, he complied, though he was less than amused. In anticipation of getting pussy from his girl, his cock was already hard.
“Daddy?” Rebel said again, looking up at him. She was almost the spitting image of Megan. “I missed you.”
Christopher smiled down at her. “I missed you, too,” he told her, crouching down to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“’Law,” his youngest son, Ransom, called, imitating CJ.
At almost thirteen months, Ransom was still conquering the art of walking. The little motherfucker walked like a duck. He barreled into Christopher and hugged him before starting a conversation.
He was a talkative fuck. It
was a fucking pity Christopher didn’t know what the fuck he was saying. More so because the boy liked hearing his voice and the babbling stupefied Christopher, thereby giving him a big fucking headache.
“Ransom says where have you been?” Rebel told him.
He lifted a brow at her. If that little motherfucker said that, Christopher was a flying fucking monkey. Of course, he wouldn’t hurt his girl’s feelings and actually say that shit, so he answered her. “Workin’.” He refused to ask what the fuck Ransom was saying now. Or hadn’t stopped saying.
“Come on, Rule,” CJ said, dragging Rebel’s twin into view with Ryder pulling up the rear. “Tell ‘Law.”
Christopher got to his feet. “Tell me what, son?” he asked Rule, sighing when Ryder popped a thumb into his mouth.
If he kept that shit up, he was going to have buck fucking teeth.
“Dad,” Rule started, blinking at Christopher and shuffling his feet.
Seeing her twin’s nervousness, Rebel went to him and took his other hand. Rule was quiet and shy, so the kids protected him, while Christopher had to remember to tone it the fuck down when he was dealing with him. He didn’t want to scar the little motherfucker for life.
“My as…I’m all fu…all ears, Rule,” Christopher said. He glanced at Megan, encouraged by the adoration in her eyes, at his obvious try to curb his cussing.
She’d find a way to sneak him some pussy. It turned her the fuck on when he took care of their kids. He didn’t do it just to get extra fucks. It was just a happy reward of a job he cherished.
Winking at her and grinning at her smile, he went to Rule, and crouched in front of him just as he’d done with Rebel.
“Me, CJ, and Ryder was playing with CJ’s motorcycles,” he said, his green eyes lighter than Christopher’s and CJ’s, although his black hair matched theirs.
They were the only two of his kids with black hair. The other three were all blonde and blue-eyed like Megan.
“’Law,” CJ said with impatience. “Rule played motorcycles with me. I let Ryder play, too. Ransom’s just a bitch-ass baby, so I didn’t let him touch my stuff.”
“Don’t use bad language, potato,” Megan called, hands on her hips, her look changing. She threw Christopher a fucked-up frown.
“Don’t blame my ass, baby. I ain’t ever call our kids no bitch asses.”
She scowled at him, turned on her heel, and marched to the cabinet to pull down plates before stomping toward the dining room.
Christopher glared at CJ, who grinned in return. He liked sleeping in the room with Megan and Christopher. Most of the time, he carried their boy back to his own bed. On occasion, though, Megan let him spend the entire night with them, especially if she was annoyed with Christopher.
CJ had caught on to this shit. He had the art of dividing and conquering down pat.
“Daddy, Rule played with motorcycles,” Rebel informed him as if he didn’t have fucking ears and hadn’t heard the first and second time.
This shit apparently was important. “That’s fu…” Voice trailing off, he cleared his throat. “That’s good, Rule.”
Tears rushed to Rule’s eyes and he sniffled. Fuck him. What the fuck was the boy crying over? Playing with CJ’s motorcycles wasn’t good?
Rebel dropped Rule’s hand and hugged him. “It’s okay,” she said, patting his back, soothing him the way her Ma soothed all of them—with hugs and lots of love.
Moving away from Rule, CJ grabbed Christopher’s wrist and tugged. He stood and allowed his son to separate them from the other kids.
“When we were all at Aunt Zoann’s house, Ryan called Rule a girl cuz he likes to draw. He said his daddy loves him more than you love Rule cuz Ryan likes motorcycles like Uncle Val. I didn’t punch Ryan, ‘Law,” he said with pride. “I told Aunt Zoann and she beat his ass. I laughed the whole time.”
“Hey, boy, don’t cuss where you Ma can hear,” Christopher whispered. “I told you that. Remember?”
CJ nodded. “I forgot.”
“You like to cuss?”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you fuck up and do it where your Ma can find out, I ain’t lettin’ you do it no more. Hear me?”
CJ sighed. “Yes, ‘Law.” He walked closer to Christopher. “But Aunt Zoann did spank Ryan’s ass,” he whispered. “Then she gave the mudna fucka time out.”
Christopher had no doubt his sister punished Ryan for teasing Rule. His concern, however, was his son. He never wanted any of his children to feel unworthy or undervalued.
He got to his feet. “Rule, come here, son.”
“Why are you crying?” Megan asked Rule, walking back into the kitchen.
“Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle, baby,” Christopher assured her.
She nodded. “Dinner’s on the table,” she announced.
Christopher noticed all the dishes filled with food were gone. While he’d been communicating with his children, she’d laid out their meal.
“Me and Rule comin’, baby. I need to talk to my boy.”
Once she ushered their other children out, Christopher lifted Rule and sat him on one of the island stools, then slid in next to him. Rule kept his head down.
“Son, if you like to draw, don’t let no motherfucker stop you.” What he had to say was too important to keep correcting his words. He’d take for-fucking-ever.
“But you don’t love me cuz I’m a girl with a weenie.”
“You got a cock. That make you a fuckin’ boy.” Christopher paused. “You wanna be a boy, yeah?”
Rule’s little face scrunched up, then he nodded.
“Even if you fuckin’ didn’t and wanted your cock chopped the fuck off one day, no motherfucker in this world got the right to put you down. Don’t ever let a motherfucker tell you I ain’t gonna love you. Ain’t nothin’ you can fuckin’ do ever make me turn away from you. Under-fuckin-stand?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Rule still didn’t seem convinced, so Christopher dug inside his cut, and came up with a folded piece of paper. He opened it and smiled at Rule’s work, the stick figure family he’d drawn with crayons. There was a woman with yellow hair, as well as a little girl and two boys. Christopher knew they were boys because they didn’t have much hair, where as the girls had scribbled hair that almost reached the ground. The other stick figures had a man with black hair and three boys with the same. One boy was taller than the other two and Christopher knew that represented Diesel, his and Megan’s adopted son.
Rule had given Christopher the drawing—his idea of how he saw their family—and Christopher kept it with him always. To him, his wife and kids were perfect. Everything he needed, so to see the smiles Rule drew reinforced that idea.
He laid the drawing in front of Rule. “Ain’t ever outta my fuckin’ pocket, son,” he said. “If you ain’t ever playin’ with a bike or ridin’ one, I don’t give a fuck. As long as you happy, my ass happy.”
Rule nodded and offered him a small smile.
Christopher took the drawing, folded it carefully, and placed it back into his pocket, then lifted Rule into his arms. “You hungry?”
“Yes.”
“My ass is, too, so let’s go see what the fuck your ma and Bunny cooked.”
Johnnie released cigarette smoke through his nostrils, then lifted his glass of whiskey and drank deeply. He wasn’t sure what was the matter with him, but his nausea worsened the dizziness and pain swirling in his head. For a week now, he’d been walking around as if fog clogged his brain. Unlike the first day, when he seemed to be getting better, he seemed to be getting worse now.
Although there was a first time for everything, he couldn’t believe he was getting the flu.
Maybe, Johnnie was suffering from stress.
He had no damn clue what the problem was, except, maybe, stress? The latest pressures from his wife to allow her to take Randolph’s case without Christopher’s knowledge had him half mad, even if he understood her point-of-view.
Kendall valu
ed her career so much because she still found so little value in herself. His gorgeous woman was learning that he loved her come what may. In her, he saw a fighter. She’d had a lot of demons to overcome—she still did—but she steadily pushed forward. Sooner or later, Kendall would see the same value in herself that he saw in her.
In the meantime, she pushed him to greenlight her idea. The legal profession was her passion. Kendall stuck her nose in places it didn’t belong, simply because she felt as if her degree gave her an advantage. All her attitude did—as well as her refusal to stay out of club business—was complicate his life.
Now, she was angry with him. They crowded next to each other in a booth, where they were meeting with Randolph, in a diner on the south side of Portland. Further proof that Kendall had finally driven him over the edge. Meeting with a member of a rival club would be seen as a betrayal against the Dwellers. Worse, Christopher would take it as personal treachery since they were more than mere club brothers, but blood ones, too.
Johnnie couldn’t seem to stop himself. As his nausea and headaches increased so did this need in him to make things right between the Dwellers and the Imperials. He felt…uneasy. Fearful.
Club members had already died. A drug shipment had been stolen. Christopher was furious, planning a nationwide, entire organization retaliation. He was intending to hit all of the Imperials. He’d already secured ten AKs.
Kendall had convinced Johnnie that it was of the utmost importance to meet with Randolph as soon as possible, to continue with the peace talks. Afraid for his wife and children, he’d agreed. So, here he was, sitting across from the Imperials’ enforcer, a day after Christopher so unceremoniously ended the meeting with the Imperials.
In effect, Johnnie was betraying the Death Dwellers. But the Imperials took no prisoners. If they engaged in a war with the other club, Kendall, Rory, Matilda, and JJ were at risk, and he wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to any of them. He loved his wife and children dearly.
Still, he felt Christopher’s way was the best way. The minute the Dwellers started backing down, they’d lose their power. Some kind of way, however, Kendall changed his mind.
An Outlaw Valentine Page 6