An Outlaw Valentine

by Kathryn Kelly

  “Yo, Outlaw,” Val called, following the same path Christopher had taken.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings,” Digger said glumly.

  “Would you shut the fuck up?” Mortician advised. “The man suffering and your dumb ass talking about his goddamn armpits.”

  “Yeah, I hadn’t gotten around to mentioning his teeth yet or the mouthwash I got,” Digger said.

  “It’s not even four fucking days he haven’t cleaned up,” Mortician growled.

  “Don’t give a fuck, Mort,” Digger responded. “He must have extra sweat glands. Or nerves are making him sweat like a motherfucker. His face all full of hair. His hair not combed.”

  “Shut up, Digger,” Johnnie ordered, tired of Digger’s conversation. “No one has seen him eat, either, but I don’t hear you trying to force food into him. I’m more concerned about that, than I am about the way he smells.”

  “John Boy right, dumb ass,” Mortician said. “You his sergeant-at-arms. Go and sit with him, and don’t mention a goddamn thing about showers, teeth brushing, or anything else.”

  “Aww, Mort, do I have to? I don’t have a clothes pin to seal up my nose or nothing.”

  “Go, motherfucker,” Mortician said in a no-nonsense tone. “It’s not bothering Val. You’ll survive.”

  “It wouldn’t bother Val,” Digger complained. “He’s not normal.”

  “Get the fuck away from me,” Mortician said with disgust.

  Stomping away, Digger took the same path as Christopher and Val, leaving Johnnie alone with Mort.

  They were silent a moment. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Mortician about the day Johnnie had been strangling Megan. Then, he’d been infuriated. Now, he was grateful. Luckily, he wouldn’t have had to live long with his misery and guilt if he’d killed her.

  Christopher would’ve annihilated him.

  “You hungry, John Boy?” Mortician asked before Johnnie could bring that day up.

  “I haven’t had much of an appetite lately,” Johnnie admitted, wondering if it was better to leave well enough alone.

  “You not hungry because of Red or Meggie?”

  Johnnie shrugged. “Both, I suppose, but it started with Kendall.”

  Mortician lit a joint, took a puff, then offered it to Johnnie. It had been a while since he’d enjoyed Aunt Mary. Kendall didn’t like him to be high, so he tried to respect her wishes.

  Not that it mattered to her. She went out of her way to disrespect his. Grabbing the roll from Mort, Johnnie put it to his lips and inhaled, holding the smoke in, savoring the taste, the initial rush that morphed into a hazy relaxation.

  “Roxanne called me,” Mortician started as Johnnie handed the joint back to him.

  “About?” Why should a call from Roxanne be important to him? “For the past couple of days, she’s barely spoken to Kendall, so what’s up? Why should I know about her call?”

  Sidling a sympathetic glance at him, Mortician hit the joint, closing his eyes as he inhaled. “This shit getting better and better,” he commented.

  “What about Roxanne?” Johnnie pressed, snatching the joint from Mortician and hitting it again.

  Mortician sighed. “She got information about Meggie.”

  Johnnie stopped in the midst of flicking his lighter to fire up the joint again. “Like what?” he asked slowly.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, Mortician shrugged. “Her potential location.”

  “What? And you’re sitting your ass there like you don’t have a fucking care in the world,” he said through clenched teeth. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you telling me and not Chris…” As his voice trailed off, an image of Kendall rose in his head. “No, Mort. No. Tell me Kendall isn’t involved in this.”

  “I would if I could. I can’t,” he said with sadness. “I’m going to do my best to cover for her. I can only do so much, though. Prez going to want to know how I got this information. Maybe, not immediately, but eventually. Then, what?”

  “Tell me how is Kendall involved?” A part of him didn’t want to believe it, but he knew her. She got into more shit than a kindergartner at recess. More than that, she played with people’s lives, including her own and especially his.

  “Roxanne texted me the address,” Mortician said after he finished relating every sorry detail of Kendall’s story. “We all got lists for the Imperials, and I checked the information Roxanne sent against the lists Riley gave Outlaw. Sure enough, the address on there. Red confessed for nothing. Prez would’ve found Meggie girl by the end of the day cuz of the address on his list.”

  Fury and a renewed sense of betrayal wove into Johnnie. All the hopes and dreams he’d had for their future crashed and burned. “I’m going to fucking kill her,” he snarled.

  “No, Johnnie, you not,” Mortician said calmly. “You love her too much.”

  “I fucking hate her,” he countered. “She almost cost me my life. Now, she’s fucking with Megan’s life, which, in turn, fucks with Christopher.”

  “And, in turn, causes you to get fucked up anyway, since she’s your bitch,” Mortician pointed out.

  God. Christopher. Johnnie was as good as dead. Christopher wouldn’t stop until he discovered the entire story and then he’d blame both Johnnie and Kendall.

  “I’m dead. Both she and I are,” Johnnie whispered.

  Mort patted him on the back. “Not if I can help it, brother. All I ask is you find a way to get Red back a line. She’s over the fucking top, Johnnie. Maybe, you need to think about leaving the club, so she could be the attorney she wants to be. Outlaw can’t ban her from her career if you aren’t associated with the club anymore.”

  “I could also leave her,” he barked. “No matter what the hell I do I can’t make Kendall happy. I try my hardest, but it’s never enough. She fucking drugged me, Mortician, to have her goddamn way.”

  “You’ll figure it out. Right now, I got to carefully explain this to Outlaw.”

  As Mortician walked away, Johnnie thought about Kendall. This time, she’d gone too fucking far. Not because it was Megan, but because after she’d tried to manipulate him into agreeing with her by filling him with dangerous pills, she’d left him vulnerable to a gruesome death at Christopher’s hands.

  After doing her shit, she hadn’t even had the decency to warn him.

  Well, fuck her.

  He.

  Was.

  DONE!

  Shivering in the cold on the hard, concrete floor, and curled into a ball, Meggie imagined Christopher’s arms wrapped around her, warming her up.

  Sometimes, her skin felt frozen. Other times, she shook, but sweat poured from her body. Her lips were cracked and bloody. Whenever she licked them, a metallic taste filled her mouth.

  “Christopher,” she mumbled, wretched and miserable. In the morning, after he shaved, he always smelled like spice. She loved his scent.

  Hopefully, he was functioning enough to take care of their kids. She was so worried about all of them, although Ransom was too young to really miss her for too long. Actually, when she thought about it, all the kids were.

  Soon, she’d die. Death waited for her, only hours away from claiming her.

  Someone else would raise her children. They’d only know her as the one who’d given birth to each of them. Her memory would fade from their minds.

  A sob rose in her throat, but a sneeze escaped her instead.

  She was dirty, grimy, hungry, thirsty, and now, sick. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten or gotten a glass of water. For that matter, she hadn’t seen Mystic either. He’d just left here there.

  To die, alone and in the dark.

  She sniffled. She’d had a good life. Being loved by Christopher—loving him—had been an honor. He’d been the best thing that had ever happened to her. He’d given her beautiful children, an amazing life, and unconditional love.

  Maybe, she’d found it all while she was still so young because she hadn’t been fated to stay on t
his earth into her senior years.

  “Megan!”

  From a distance, Christopher’s voice came to her, and she smiled. He’d always be in her heart, her soul. If the sound of his voice was her last memory, she’d die happy.

  She was trying her best to hold on until he found her. Even in her state, she knew he was leaving no stone unturned to bring her home. But she was so cold. And tired. She just wanted to sleep forever.

  “Megan, baby, you in there? I ain’t got many other fuckin’ places to look.”

  “Y-yes. I-I’m here,” she croaked, the effort taking all her strength.

  Banging on the door hurt her head. The lock rattled. Christopher. He was there for her.

  But, no. Where they had her, he’d never find her. Mystic was back. He hadn’t forgotten about her, after all.

  Shudders racked her and her eyes slipped closed, the sudden still silence reminding her Christopher’s voice had been a sweet illusion in her fading mind.

  “Get the fuck away from the fuckin’ door,” the Christopher in her head called again.

  “O-okay,” Meggie mumbled, tears slipping from her eyes. She just wanted to see him one last time. Then, she’d be happy.

  “I gotta shoot the motherfuckin’ lock,” her Christopher said.

  She licked her lips. “’Kay.”

  The gunfire startled her, and she jumped at how real it sounded.

  Sunlight streamed in and footsteps pounded down the steps.

  “Megan!” Christopher shouted. “You in here?”

  In the corner, in darkness. Dreaming of her husband. She smiled. “Y-yes, C-C-Christopher,” she managed through her dry lips, unsure if the words actually came out or not. She moaned.

  A light shone on her, and she closed her eyes, hurting from head to toe.

  “Oh, baby! Megan. My Megan.” Christopher’s voice cracked, then he cleared his throat. “She here!” he yelled, his voice closer, his scent invading her nostrils.

  His arms wrapped around her, and gently pulled her to a sitting position, but her head was too heavy to hold up, so it lulled.

  “I gotcha, Megan. Hold the fuck on ‘til I getcha to the hospital.”

  “C-cold,” she said.

  His arms left her, and she moaned in protest, until he cocooned her in soft material, and lifted her into his arms. He held her tight to him, touched his chin to her head.

  “C-C-J?” she whimpered.

  “CJ safe, Megan.”

  She turned her face into his chest.

  “You safe, too.”

  “’Kay.”

  He fell into silence and started moving. His footsteps pounded on the wooden stairs.

  Megan turned her face up, feeling the fresh air, the sun.

  “Is she alive?” Val asked on a gasp.

  “Yeah,” Christopher said thickly.

  Johnnie’s face loomed above her. “Oh, fuck, thank fuck.”

  “Meggie girl, I’m so fucking happy to see you,” Mortician said.

  “Th-thank you,” she muttered, snuggling against her husband. “I-I kn-knew y-you’d c-come f-for m-me, C-Christopher.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Always, Megan,” he whispered. “My ass’ll move heaven and hell to find you.”

  “Let’s get her to the ER,” Digger said, as Christopher sat Meggie on his bike and held her.

  “Ima harness you to me with CJ shit, baby. I ain’t thought this shit through. I ain’t gonna letcha fall.”

  “I kn-know.”

  Once Christopher secured her to him, he jumpstarted his bike. Soon, the rumble of motorcycles beat through Meggie. Christopher had found her in time. She was alive. The feeling of impending death disintegrated. She’d make it.

  Leaning forward, she rested her head against Christopher’s back, leaving her care in his hands, which was exactly where she wanted to be.

  It was over. Megan was safe. Although her captors had gotten away, several of the Imperial’s chapters—in Hortensia and elsewhere—had been blown out of existence.

  The image of a grateful Christopher, clinging to his wife two hours ago, tore at Johnnie’s soul. The outcome could’ve been different.

  Tragic.

  And Kendall, his wife, the mother of his children, would’ve been solely responsible. Pieces of a conversation floated through Johnnie’s head. He’d been in a booth with Kendall—and Randolph…? He couldn’t remember everything. That had to have been during one of his drugged states—again solely Kendall’s fault. Yet, the words the lowly wife of the lowly vice-president juxtaposed with you want to hit the club bad, get Meggie, Outlaw’s old lady.

  Could Kendall have really said that or was that the imaginings of a hopped-up mad man, who just happened to be himself?

  Nursing a beer at the clubhouse, sitting in the shadows alone at a table, Johnnie thought long and hard. The air of celebration by the remaining bikers and old ladies over finding Megan escaped him. He was happy, and relieved, she’d been found, but the pain ripping through him at the state of his marriage tore him apart.

  Lockdown was over. A lot of the brothers had taken their families home. Johnnie had sent Ella home with his kids, but had forbidden Kendall to leave the premises.

  Because he knew.

  He knew.

  Deep down, he knew the words he wanted to chalk up as drug-fueled hallucinations were real and true. Kendall had said those things. She’d done those things. The realization left him cold, and didn’t come lightly.

  He counted himself as her biggest champion, always wanting to see the best in her. Always wanting the best for her. Time and again, she’d betrayed him.

  How much was too much?

  How far was too far?

  How many forbidden lines had Kendall brazenly crossed, over and over? Too many for his comfort.

  That’s why he’d sent his kids home with their nanny. When he confronted his wife, they’d get into a screaming match and his children didn’t need to be subjected to that.

  Drawing in a deep breath and scrubbing a hand over his face, Johnnie couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer and made his way to his old clubhouse room.

  Kendall sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  She knew, too. Knew that she’d crossed one line too many.

  Devastation pulled her features down, gave her a tragic look. But that was Kendall. Unless she lived in a Shakespearean drama, she wasn’t happy. According to her, no one loved her. No one understood her. No one wanted her. When, in actuality, it was the other way around.

  She loved no one but herself. She refused to understand anyone else. She didn’t want the people who’d tried to befriend her and become her family.

  “Johnnie—”

  “Save it,” he snapped. “Just shut the fuck up.”

  For the first time since he’d met her, her desolation left him unmoved. He glanced around his old room. His life had changed so much since he’d last lived there. When he and Kendall had moved to their house, he’d had such high hopes for their life together.

  “We need to talk.” Staying as far away from her as possible, he dropped into the chair she’d wanted in there.

  She raised a pleading gaze to him. “I know you’re angry with me.”

  “Angry? Really, sweetheart?” A bitter chuckle escaped him. “How many times have you heard me say that?”

  “S-say what?”

  “We need to talk,” he responded, his anger starting to rise to dangerous levels. “Too many fucking times to count. When has it ever done any good or mattered to you? Angry? I’m angry with you? Try again. I’m fucking livid.”

  “Let me explain,” she started.

  “Fuck no. Fuck you. You waited almost four damn nights before you confessed you might know where she was. She could’ve been dead.”

  “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re livid because it was your precious Meggie that I held out on.”

  He shot from his seat and stalked to her. For the first time, he wanted to choke
the fuck out of her. He could see her body, dead and unmoving. He’d be free of whatever spell she’d placed on him. She’d be free of all her manipulation.

  “If I were you, I’d shut the fuck up,” he spat. “I’m ready to fucking kill you. This has nothing to do with Megan. Not in the way you’re implying.”

  He tipped her chin up, and she flinched.

  “You almost killed me. That sticks with a man.”

  “But you forgave me.”

  “On the surface,” he said, the thought coming to him then. “Maybe, if you hadn’t drugged me so recently, I could forgive you this.” There was no maybe about it. He would have. Somehow, he would’ve found a way to justify her actions. “You’ve made an ass out of me, over and over and over again.”

  His nostrils flared, and fury shook him. Seeing her dead at his feet, he pulled his Glock and jammed it against her head, cocking the hammer.

  “I’m so, so, so sorry about everything,” she rushed out, visibly trembling. “My defense about being bored is useless and inexcusable, but—”

  His hand trembled. “There’s no buts,” he snarled. “Every fucking thing you’ve done happened with ruthless disregard. For my fucking life, Kendall.” He thrust his face into hers, so close to her, he saw the golden flecks in her eyes. “I don’t take too fucking kindly to having my life threatened time and again. Yet, I forgave you, each and every time.”

  “What’s different this time?” she wailed.

  “Hmmm, let’s see,” he sneered. “You used your medicine to drug me and didn’t care that I was so ill. Instead of stopping, you switched medications. You choked the fuck out of yourself to make me believe Christopher almost killed you. You agreed to defend the enemy. And, let’s not forget, you had the wife of the man we call Psycho Stalker Wildman, because of his wife, kidnapped. That’s just your most recent crimes. Put together with everything you’ve done in the past and what does that get? Me dead. Killed. You know how?” He pressed his mouth against her ear, still holding the gun to her head. It shocked him he hadn’t pulled the trigger. “First, Christopher would cut my tongue out. That’s the offending part of my body that always defended you. Then, he’d cut my hands off because, let’s be real, we know that he knows that I strangled Megan. After that, he’d use his chance to get back at me for that one transgression with Megan before they married and castrate me. I never fucked her, but she jerked me off. Then, he’d decapitate me. Finally, I’d be put into our old, trusty wood chipper. Why? Because of you.”