Johnnie scratched his jaw. “Er, Megs, sweetheart, does this nothing have a name?”
Silence. Yeah, in-fucking-deed, that motherfucker had a name. If that motherfucker had followed Megan from here to Seattle then back to here, he didn’t only have a death wish, he had a wish to die slow, violent, and gruesome.
“Uh, Meggie,” Val said, “ain’t too many motherfuckers we know…excuse me no motherfuckers we know would fuck you up.”
Nothing.
Megan didn’t like to volunteer information, but she would give a motherfucking yes or no answer.
“It was fuckin’ Cee Cee, wasn’t it?” Christopher snarled, tightening his hold on her and resting his chin on the crown of her head.
She nodded.
Motherfuck him. “Where?” he roared, pulling away from her to tip her chin up and inspect her bruise.
“At the creek. H-he took my phone and threw it in the water.”
He tossed her phone in the water, huh? Christopher supposed a piece of Cee Cee would soon join the phone.
“What did he say to you, baby?”
Her lips trembled, her blue eyes filling with more tears. “That he wanted to f-f-fuck me,” she whispered. “I’d told him I’d rather die.” She let out a little hysterical sob. “He said he could oblige me with that, too. He wanted me to go away with him. He said I made you weak. I was your—the club’s—liability.”
“When did he hit you?”
“When he started reaching for me, I went the opposite direction. He got me, though, and hit me and—“
Christopher had to draw in a breath to keep all the images from his head. Images of Cee Cee raping Megan, strangling her, and then dumping her body in the creek.
“How the fuck you got away?” Digger asked.
“I jabbed my fingers in his eye and then kicked him in the groin and ran for my car. He almost got me though. If I would’ve stumbled—“ She shivered. “I barely had time to lock the door—“
How could he be a sane motherfucker when fuckheads would always go for Megan? Because that walking fucking dead man was fucking right. She was the first one motherfuckers would go for.
He flicked a thumb over her bruise and she flinched, her tears falling onto his hand and pissing him off like nothing else—besides Thomas Fucking Nicholls—ever had. If he had to have a body count stacks high, he fucking would. For every motherfucker who fucked with Megan, Christopher would fuck them up and wipe them off the face of the earth.
He’d already had more than enough hate filling him up towards Cee Cee. This shit just sealed it all up nice and tight. He bent and kissed her, relieved she didn’t pull away. In fact, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him back.
Christopher threaded his fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry, baby. For earlier. All the shit I said. And you was right to fuckin’ call me down. If you was some easy motherfucker where I could boss you the fuck around, I wouldn’t have a minute to spare for you. But you have your own mind and you ain’t afraid to let any of us know it. That impresses the fuck out of me, Megan. And, baby, I know you needed to get away from that motherfucker.” He let her go and paced in front of her. “But, fuck me, Megan. He coulda hurt you bad for fightin’ back, baby.”
“He would’ve hurt me if I hadn’t fought back, Christopher.” She sounded exhausted. “The creek was right there. He probably would’ve…once he finished with me—“ She shrugged and he knew her thoughts mirrored his.
He saw the horror in all their faces at the thought of Megan at the bottom of a fucking creek.
“I had to try,” she went on. “I had to get back to you and CJ. Momma and…and…Johnnie and Val and Digger and…and—“ She swiped at her tears. “And Mortician—“
“I know, baby. I know.” Christopher smiled at her. “And you got back to us, yeah? See? All our ugly fuckin’ faces right here—“ He drew in a deep breath. “I’m gonna have Stretch escort Dinah and our boy here. I don’t have all the security measures in place at the house for us to move there yet. Okay?”
She nodded, her lack of argument or disappointment pissing him off even more. He knew how bad she wanted to get the fuck out of the MC and live at their own house.
“Can you…I need a few minutes to pull myself together before I get CJ,” she admitted as if it shamed her. “Can you give me twenty minutes to take a shower and make the tears go away?”
She backed away and the look in her eyes…distant, faraway, like she’d floated away into her own world. He’d deal with whatever way she coped with this another time. If she needed to cut herself to take away her trauma, he’d let her.
Because he sure the fuck intended to murder to take away his anger.
Chapter 11
Lucas “Mortician” Banks looked at the mess he’d made and frowned at how gruesome things had gotten. But, hey, a bunch of stupid fucks roamed hereabouts and they had to get said fucks in line, especially when said fucks had information about the motherfucker named Cee Cee.
And if they didn’t fall into line and give up the info?
Mortician wrinkled his nose at the clean-up facing him, the result of a fuck not giving up the info. Needing air for a moment, he removed his gloves and apron and left the gore behind.
It had been two weeks since things had gone down the shitter. Two weeks since Outlaw had lost his mind in the tattoo parlor. Two weeks since they’d almost lost Meggie. Two fucking weeks. Outlaw’s refusal to have their church wedding was even more adamant now, which made Meggie even more miserable. And because Meggie was miserable, Outlaw had turned into a fucking beast. To everyone.
As a result, stupid fucks ended up like the corpse in the meat shack. Mortician adjusted his cut and dug out his cigarettes.
Bitches like Meggie was the primary reason he never intended to tie himself down. He struck the match, lit his cigarette, then flicked his wrist to get rid of the flame. He liked Meggie, too. He also tried his best not to eyeball Prez’s old lady and he’d just bleached the fuck out of his brain to remove the memory of a naked Meggie. Remembering shit like that or admitting that he’d gotten a couple boners over her was the quickest way to get his dick fed to him for breakfast. He understood Outlaw’s dilemma. Meggie was the sweetest little thing they’d ever met and that was the problem. Sweetness like that reached out and touched hard motherfuckers and drove them crazy. They couldn’t see the light of day for sweet bitches.
Mortician doubted Meggie acted the way she did on purpose. She just demanded the things all good girls demanded. Like their weddings blessed and sanctioned by churches. That was cool, unless a good girl hooked herself to the ultimate bad boy.
And Outlaw won the prize for bad boys.
Usually, Prez and Meggie found a way to compromise. Not this time. Not with all this peripheral bullshit going on. Fuck it. It was what it was. Prez had to accept her just as she had to accept Prez. One of them had to give in and Mortician doubted it would be Meggie this time around. He loved the fuck out of Outlaw but, sometimes…all Mortician was saying was the dude had tied himself to Meggie, so he needed to get his head out his ass and realize the girl loved him even with all his faults. She believed him worthy enough to vow herself to him in front of God and man. Didn’t much matter Outlaw wasn’t spiritual and didn’t believe anymore in that stuff. Meggie did and that’s what counted.
She was the type of chick who grabbed hold of a problem and decided on a plan to fix it, never losing faith it would be rectified.
Instead of standing around in the cold, he walked along the pathway to take a peep at Meggie’s house. Yeah, the shit was Outlaw’s, too, but, he’d built it for his girl. Now, they’d move in soon and Mortician wondered what other changes would happen after Outlaw moved out of the club. The house was a five minute walk, but Prez still wouldn’t live at the club anymore. What the fuck did that mean for the rest of them?
The dogs were trained. They’d started with them as puppies and Outlaw even had clothes with Meggie’s and Little Man’s scents, so the
y’d know they were supposed to protect them and not chew them the fuck up.
John Boy had suggested they let Meggie interact with the dogs as they grew up, but Outlaw had immediately vetoed the idea, pointing out his wife would coddle the animals. Not that the dogs were mistreated, but they needed a firmer hand to follow commands and protect rather than roll over to have their fucking bellies rubbed.
Taking one last drag on his smoke, he threw it onto the ground, then crushed it beneath his boot. Noticing the bloody footprint he’d made, he glowered and lifted his leg to inspect his boot sole closer. Motherfucker. He’d just paid a mint for these cold ass boots and they were already spattered with other people’s DNA.
Ain’t this a bitch?
Frustrated, he headed toward the clubhouse instead of back to the meat shack to change his boots. He had some dirty ass work to get through and he didn’t want to ruin his boots any more than they already were. He noticed a bunch of cars in the parking lot and saw Stretch and Bin on gate duty. He waved at Stretch, the club secretary, and gave Bin a two-finger salute when he wanted to give him a fuck you. But one of the club’s lifers, Traveler, had brought Bin in. Traveler was in good standing, so they trusted him not to bring any riff raff into the club.
Maybe, it was just Bin’s appearance. Albino motherfucker. Mortician still remembered that Albino from The Da Vinci Code. Maybe, that’s why he got such bad vibes from Bin.
He stepped into the warmth of the club, surprised to find so many chicks so early. It was just about three in the afternoon. Upon closer inspection, he saw these weren’t the normal hangers-on. These were some old ladies the brothers were slowly acquiring again and one of Outlaw’s sisters, Ophelia. He continued to take inventory of the faces, smiling and nodding to those who acknowledged him.
He squinted, not that he needed to with all the lights on. It just shocked him to see a gorgeous woman with a head of rich brown hair. Zoann. Another one of Prez’s sisters. Mortician couldn’t stand that bitch, though. Didn’t even matter that she’d popped out Val’s son. Zoann was the most self-righteous, judgmental cunt he’d ever met.
Meggie’s bridal shower. The realization dawned on him when he saw all the ridiculous crape wedding bells and the streamers. Despite the pile of gifts on the table in the corner, the shit resembled a funeral rather than a celebration for an upcoming wedding that probably wasn’t happening.
Outlaw walked out of the kitchen, chewing on a rib. It didn’t surprise him when Val, Johnnie, and Digger followed, close on Prez’s heels. They’d agreed to keep a close watch on him until things settled down.
Meggie stiffened in her chair and slanted an evil glare towards Prez.
Mortician caught Johnnie’s eye, then blinked as he watched the blush creeping over Prez’s skin. Well, I’ll be a motherfucker in a chicken coop. So his ass knew he was being a total dick to Meggie. Interesting. And just another example of the power of sweet girls and young pussy.
The door opened and before Mortician could move, someone barreled into him. He turned and met K-P’s glare. “What the fuck you doing in the doorway, you little fucking runt?”
Mortician snickered. At six feet, he could hardly be considered a runt. K-P liked to jerk everyone’s chains, though.
“’Scuse me, Kitchen Bitch,” Mortician responded, heading to the bar and leaning on it. “Wassup?” he asked the other guys.
Val didn’t respond, too busy staring at Zoann. The way she sat so straight, Mortician guessed she knew her baby daddy eye fucked her. Bitch went out of her way to pretend he didn’t exist. One day, the brother would realize he was better off without that sadity bitch.
“This here’s my daughter,” K-P announced from behind Mortician in a voice filled with hard-to-miss pride. Most dads thought their daughters beautiful, even the bitches whose nicknames should’ve been Bowwow and Needa…as in need a mask to fuck your ass. “Bailey. Meggie said it was okay to invite her to her wedding shower.”
Outlaw nodded and grabbed a bottle of tequila. Val didn’t say a word. Digger and John Boy exchanged glances. But it was the look in John Boy’s eyes—the one that had girls falling all over themselves—that really made Mortician turn around.
Jesus H. Christ. A pair of greenish-brown eyes met him. Dark brows turned down in a frown and, somehow, drew his gaze to her rosy lips. Glossy black hair fell around her in waves and Mortician sat in the stool, punch-drunk. If a seat hadn’t been there, he would’ve fallen right on his ass.
Purple sequined leggings clung to her hips and her white leather jacket hung open to reveal a cropped pink sweater and a dangling belly ring.
Her skin looked like vanilla with a hint of caramel, beautiful and smooth. Wanting to feel every inch of her, he swallowed and cocked his head to the side. “You got a little coffee in your cream, girl?”
She stiffened at his words.
K-P lifted a brow. “Say again…?”
Mortician stalled, needing a minute. Just one. To get his pounding heart and the awareness flowing between them under control. He shrugged with false nonchalance, swept his gaze over her and estimated her age to be between nineteen and twenty-two. Definitely a young bitch. Definitely a sweet chick.
Definitely a no-no. Not only because of the 5Gs on the line, a bet made in the heat of the moment when he’d been noticing how miserable Outlaw was without Meggie around. He’d been so fucking caught up, he hadn’t even bothered with an expiration date. Which meant, he could be fucking ninety and run across some young pussy and he’d have to pay up.
“You plan on answering me about the comment you made to my daughter?”
Ignoring K-P, he continued his staring contest with Bailey and folded his arms, light-headed when her lips parted. He scratched his temple and cleared his throat. “You a Black chick?”
His question earned him a hard hit on the back on his head.
“She a human chick, fuckhead,” Outlaw growled, using a bar towel to wipe away the barbeque sauce from his lips and fingers.
“My mother’s Black,” Bailey clarified and licked lips he wanted to taste nice and slow.
Mortician’s dick went rock hard and he balled his fists to keep from reaching out to touch her.
“Does it matter?” she asked. “Aren’t you Black?”
“Am I?” he goaded. He wanted her in his bed and, when he got her there, he intended to lick every part of her. “Guess I need to go look in the mirror and see if I changed colors since this morning.”
She narrowed her gorgeous eyes. “Whatever else you are, asshole is front and center.”
“Don’t mind my brother, babe,” Digger called, winking at her.
Mortician wanted to drive his fist into the man’s mouth. Maybe, snatch off an eyelid so he wouldn’t flirt with her again. Wait, what? Scccrrreeeeccccchhhh! He backed his thoughts the fuck up.
“You got him pegged anyway, so now you know to stay far away from him,” Digger said with a wider smile.
“Him on the other hand—“ Mortician began. He needed a bud to slow his fucking mouth down. Obviously, his brain was losing the fucking race to the finish line because his fucking tongue kept wagging.
Johnnie’s eyes twinkled. “Him, what, Mort?”
K-P rounded to the other side of the bar and glared from Johnnie to Digger, before his warning gaze landed on Mortician. “Any of you fucks touch her, you die.”
“Dad!” Bailey whined, her skin adapting a red tint and Mortician shifted, his dick hurting.
“Not playing, babe,” K-P went on. “You’re a virgin and—“
Bailey gasped. “You so didn’t just out me like that,” she complained.
He so did out her like that.
Remorseless, K-P went on. “Stick close to Meggie. Or, better yet, sit next to Zoann. If you’re not careful, you’ll be in one of their beds before I can get you off premises and then your old man would get in bad standing with his brothers for killing one. And you don’t want that do you, babe?”
“You’re all idiots,”
a voice chirped from behind them.
Meggie scooted around him to glare at K-P. Mortician squeezed the bridge of his nose, so not noticing how Meggie’s brown suede pants and cream-colored silk blouse showed off her tits, ass, and hips. He so didn’t notice the hint of a pink lacy bra beneath her shirt. Her black hi-tops gave her a casual look.
Maybe, he noticed—didn’t notice, he meant—that bullshit because he’d been thinking about how well she was handling Outlaw’s fuckuppedness. And, because, Bailey had him hyperaware. And both Meggie and Bailey were gorgeous chicks.
“I’m Megan Caldwell,” Meggie said to Bailey, who seemed to have been mortified into speechlessness by her father’s casual announcement. “You must be Bailey.”
“Y-yes.” She stared at Mortician, her greenish-brown gaze ringed with thick lashes and filled with heat and curiosity.
He winked at her and Meggie thumped his shoulder.
“Don’t mind them,” she bit out, giving him the stink eye. “They’re all party-poopers.”
“Hey, Meggie babe,” K-P said. “I’m her old man.”
“She’s…” Meggie’s voice trailed off and she lifted a blonde brow at Bailey. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” Bailey supplied, her gaze flickering to his and roaming from head to foot and back again. She heaved in a deep sigh, the movement drawing his attention to her breasts.
“She’s twenty-one,” Meggie announced. “Old enough to party.”
Twenty-one? No, Mort, don’t go there, man. But she was legal and only nine years younger than he was.
“Twenty,” K-P corrected. “She won’t be twenty-one for another three months.”
Okay, so ten years older.
With a huff, Meggie led Bailey away.
“C’mon,” Outlaw grumbled. “Let’s leave these bitches the fuck alone. I need a fuckin’ drink.”
Mortician remembered he’d left unfinished business in the meat shack. “Uh, I’ll come to your room in about half hour,” he called.
He headed for the door, feeling the weight of a gaze on him. Just before he stepped outside, he turned and found Bailey had tracked his every move. For some reason, the thought made his body tighten and his head race with images of her in his bed, all that black hair spread out over his pillow. Have Bailey look at him the way Meggie drank in Outlaw…
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 47