“The grave’s sealed after Mr. Andrews’s burial,” Mr. Gillson explained.
Megan nodded. “Okay,” she said in a small voice. “K-P was my daddy’s friend. It’s somehow fitting they’re buried together.”
Dislike surged through Kendall at Megan’s ploy for sympathy. Her sister had just died. If anyone deserved compassion, it was Kendall.
“Together, Mrs. Caldwell?” Mr. Gillson questioned with a knowing smile.
Megan squirmed in her seat, her jacket opening to reveal her small baby bump, giving her an even more vulnerable and delicate impression. “Aren’t they?”
Mr. Gillson shook his head and slid a folder to her, glee lighting his eyes “I’m afraid not, my dear. The grave was empty until Mr. Andrews was placed inside of it.”
For a moment, Megan’s mouth fell open as she looked over the documents, then something clicked in her brain and she gasped, color leeching from her face.
The little man leaned back. “Your husband might use threats to get his way, but good folk like me have a way of letting the truth be known.” He slid a box of Kleenex toward Megan, a smirk on his face.
Instead of taking the tissues, Megan stood. “Excuse me.”
Mr. Gillson held up another set of documents and transferred his satisfied gaze to Kendall. “I’m sure Ms. Miller would appreciate your signature on these papers. You do recall she’s just lost her sister. Insensitivity doesn’t become you, my dear.”
“R-right,” she stammered, throwing Kendall a distracted gaze. “I know this must be hard for you, Kendall, and I’m sorry.”
More public display of kindness, the falseness of it proven by her preoccupation. Mr. Gillson slid the papers across the desk to Megan, the pen on top rocking with the motion.
“Sign.”
Her hand shaking, she picked up the pen and glanced at the other paper, pausing before she signed. “A-are you s-sure m-my f-father isn’t in the grave?”
“With all due respect, Megan, I’d appreciate it if you’d handle the mix-up of your father’s gravesite another time,” Kendall put in with as much equanimity as possible. She’d attempted friendship earlier and Megan had rejected her, only pretending concern in front of the funeral director.
Kendall needed support to get through Caroline’s viewing. She didn’t need to have a scheming, little, attention-seeker around.
Tears slipped down Megan’s pale cheeks and she sniffled, but, instead of engaging in a war of words, she signed the necessary papers, straightened up and headed for the door. “I’ll wait for you in the car, Kendall.” She hurried out, leaving the door gaping open in the wake of her departure.
Kendall bent over her little sister and sobbed against the stillness of Caroline’s chest. No breath. No air. Nothing. Just a beautiful corpse resembling a mannequin. They’d made her up. That was good. Caroline liked makeup. She liked cheerleading. And she liked mashed potatoes and gravy. Not that anyone but Kendall cared.
Johnnie hadn’t even thought her important enough to accompany her here and she needed him right now. More than she thought she would.
“Caro,” she murmured, lifting herself from her sister’s lifeless body and touching her hair. Soon, she’d never be able to touch her again. “Why’d you do this?”
She covered her face and cried into her hands, her heart splintering apart.
“I was going to get you back!” she wailed in a rush. “You should’ve trusted me. I was doing everything I knew how.”
“She knows.” Megan stepped beside her and placed a hand on her back. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“What do you know?” Kendall snarled, overcome with grief and bitterness, her head hurting and her eyes blurry. The scent of floral arrangements hung in the air, made her sick to her stomach. “You don’t know me or Caroline to know if I’m being too hard on myself or not. Just go away.”
Megan glanced away, her nose red, her face wet with tears. But Kendall knew she wasn’t crying for her and Caroline. No, she was crying over some stupid grave site mix up.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Kendall. I truly am.”
“Are you?” She indicated Caroline. “My sister had her whole life ahead of her and she’s gone now! She was like you. Perfect. Everyone loved her.” She hunched her shoulders. “Now, look at her. I have to bury my flawless baby sister.”
Megan cocked her head to the side, her eyes still filled with hurt. “Maybe, one day, you’ll recognize your own beauty, so you can grieve properly for her.”
Kendall rounded on Megan. “Fuck you,” she snarled.
“You’re shedding tears of guilt, Kendall,” Megan said evenly, not backing down. “You were jealous of your little sister and now she’s dead and you can’t ever make up for your enviousness of her.”
“Envious of Caroline?” The truth of Megan’s words hit Kendall in the center of her chest and her resentment increased. “I loved her. My mother killed herself instead of staying with me and then Spoon held me prisoner for five weeks.” She still couldn’t understand why. Grief, he’d said. She might open her mouth to the wrong person and, instead of killing her, he’d bring her somewhere until he found a use for her. “It hasn’t been a full two weeks since I’ve been out and undrugged, thinking and feeling again.”
Instead of responding, Megan stood silent, listening, not offering anger or comfort. But Kendall wanted a response. She wanted to know she mattered, too, that her words affected someone enough they’d show emotion. At this point, it didn’t matter what emotion, either.
“Any other psychoanalysis of me, Megs?”
“You need to get over your jealousy of me,” she replied without flinching or rising to the bait. “You have nothing to be jealous of.”
Kendall cackled, sounding like a hysterical witch. “You’re right. I’m every bit as good as you.”
A growl escaped her at Megan’s steady gaze.
“Those were your words, Kendall. Remember them when you’re wallowing in your self-pity.”
Johnnie leaned back in one of the club’s pickups, arms behind his head, his Glock laying peacefully in his lap. The sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds, brightening the greenery surrounding the dilapidated, isolated house. Weeds and grass grew on the deserted plots of land on each side of the property. The house he was parked in front of—across the street from his target—looked empty. All the better for them. Not that it would’ve stopped them one way or the other. Staking out a fuckhead in a busy neighborhood would’ve taken more planning.
Christopher sat in the passenger seat, cradling a Bushmaster. Every now and then he lifted it and aimed it at the home of the enforcer of the Torpedoes, focusing for an accurate aim through the scope.
The man knew they were out there. The visibility and stakeout was meant as a warning because they’d allowed the fuckhead to go unmolested. He’d come out on the porch and pissed his pants when Christopher raised his rifle and shot the shit out of the fucker’s car. Message clear: We can fuck you up if we choose.
They’d been parked in their spot since early morning and didn’t intend to leave until late tonight, which meant Johnnie couldn’t be at Kendall’s side when she needed it. Of course, she needed to understand the importance of the club. There’d be many days like this one and she’d have to adjust. He sighed.
“Shut the fuck up, pussy,” Christopher growled.
Johnnie tensed and glared at the man. His cousin and his half-brother. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You, John Boy. Sighin’ like a fuckin’ pussy. You can’t be two fuckin’ places. With her and with me.”
“If I had the choice, she wins every time,” he said dryly.
“Lucky for you you don’t have a motherfuckin’ choice.”
Johnnie scowled at Christopher, then rubbed his jaw, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t ambushed from behind. Digger and Val covered opposite ends of the street. Some of the other brothers hadn’t left town yet after K-P’s funer
al and had been dispatched to various hangouts of the Torpedoes, searching for fucking Spoon.
Motherfucker must have found a dish to run the fuck away with. No matter. Johnnie would find him.
They intended to annihilate them and they had a special fuck-you planned for their miserable fucking clubhouse.
“When’s the fuckin’ weddin’?” Christopher dug into his cut and pulled out a cigarette, passed it to Johnnie, then lit another one and smoked, waiting for Johnnie’s answer.
“I’m not—“
“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me or yourself, assfuck. You liked that bitch the moment her and her tits swung into the clubhouse.”
Johnnie thumped Christopher’s shoulder. “Keep Kendall’s tits out your fuckin’ mouth.”
Christopher hooted with laughter. “I don’t want no part of that bitch in my fuckin’ mouth, so you ain’t got fuck all to worry about.”
“You know what the fuck I mean.”
“Nope. Sure the fuck don’t seein’ as how you had your fuckin’ fingers up my wife’s pussy. Me mentioning Kendall’s tits don’t fuckin’ compare.”
Point for Christopher and his fucking Bushmaster. Johnnie wouldn’t, would not, touch the subject with that rifle so close to Christopher. Nor would he bring up Megs’s naked photo that Logan had attached on a clothesline for Johnnie to see.
“Let’s fuckin’ see. Megan wrapped her little hands around your big, ugly dick. You stuck your fingers in her pussy and Kendall grinded her cunt all over me. Let’s say we fuckin’ even and call it a motherfuckin’ day.”
“Where the fuck did you escape from, Christopher?”
Christopher smirked at him, his smile falling away when the Torpedo’s enforcer sauntered into the open, his own weapon strapped to his side. He raised his middle finger at them before grabbing his dick—covered with clothes—and taunting them. The enforcer stomped back inside and closed the door. So much for his fucking fear.
“The same fuckin’ asylum you escaped from.” Christopher raised the rifle and aimed it toward the house, squinting to peer through the scope. “Fuckin’ Logan Land, brother.”
Brother. For him and Christopher that word held a different meaning. They were blood brothers, sharing the same brutal father. Not since Johnnie told Christopher of their connection in the hospital had they discussed it.
“I thought you’d hate me.”
Christopher stilled, then cleared his throat and lowered the weapon. He didn’t ask Johnnie what he was talking about because he knew. Christopher always knew. That was one reason their grandfather had hated him so much. Partly because, in Christopher, he saw each of his weaknesses and failures. But, mostly, because Christopher was fucking smart. Atrocious speech aside, the man had a head on his shoulders.
He sighed. “John Peter, you…after I thought about it, I was pissed for a minute. But, fuck, motherfucker, you told my ass when you was fuckin’ laid up from a motherfuckin’ gunshot. I was happy your fuckin’ ass was alive, so, yeah, I was over the fuckin’ moon to hear we was blood brothers.” He turned toward the window and stared out, shaking his head. “I thought about takin’ my boy and packin’ me and Megan the fuck up and leavin’ this motherfucker behind. Every-fuckin-thing I’d ever feared…” He let out bitter laughter. “I felt like I hadn’t been good e-fuckin-nuff to know you and me was brothers, so, yeah, I felt some hate for you, Mort and Val.”
Johnnie had no response to that. It was obvious Christopher didn’t hate him now. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here together. Either Christopher would’ve walked away from the club like he’d confessed he thought about, he would’ve forced Johnnie, Val, and Mort out, or he would’ve found a way to dissolve the club. Any of those three scenarios were fucked. “What changed your…?” His voice trailed off at Christopher’s disgusted glare.
“Who the fuck you think, assfuck?” he snapped.
Megan. Not having to say her name, Johnnie nodded as the enforcer’s front door opened again and he returned to the porch. In the distance, gunfire erupted.
Christopher flicked his cigarette out the window. “These motherfuckers.” He sighed, lifted his rifle and fired without flinching and without missing. Blood and gore rained onto the porch, splattering the door, the single lawn chair, and window. The Torp enforcer landed in a heap, his face blown away. “Motherfucker ain’t liked fuckin’ company, I guess.”
Johnnie noted Val in his rearview mirror as Digger approached from the front end.
“How many?” Christopher asked, when they slid into the back seat.
“I popped one,” Val muttered around a yawn.
“I got one motherfucker and a half,” Digger announced.
“What the fuck is a half of a motherfucker?” Christopher asked with a scowl.
“An undead one,” Digger grumbled. “I wish fuckin’ Mort was here.”
“Don’t worry. No meat shack duties, brother,” Christopher swore. “We pickin’ up the two dead fucks and leavin’ them where the Torps can see them and get the fuckin’ message.” He nodded to the dead man on the porch. “This motherfucker goin’ in that fuckin’ house and is gonna get blown to smitha-fuckin-reens with it.” He bent and picked up the case for his rifle, revealing explosives.
“What the fuck, asshole?” Johnnie managed. “You lit up a fucking cigarette and had explosives in here?”
“You still here, motherfucker. Apparently, I didn’t blow you the fuck up, so shut the fuck up.”
Another thought occurred to Johnnie. “You came with the intentions of this, didn’t you?”
“Get your head out Kendall’s pussy, John Boy,” Christopher warned, “and think. I ain’t a givin-a-warnin-type of motherfucker. Cat-and-mouse bullshit ain’t for me. This motherfucker saw us out here and he was gonna call his fuckin’ brothers. I hoped to snuff out motherfuckin’ Spoon, since fuckhead was his younger brother. Shit never that fuckin’ easy, though.”
Opening the door, Christopher grabbed his case with the explosives in them. Before slamming it shut, he leaned in. “I’m gonna be a minute. Go collect those other dead fucks. John Boy?”
Instead of answering, Johnnie lifted a brow.
“I’m gonna let Spoon be yours on behalf of fuckin’ Kendall. Your woman. Your vengeance. The rest of these motherfuckers? They all fuckin’ responsible for fuckin’ up me and Megan’s house.” Christopher’s eyes gleamed with murderous fury. “They fuckin’ mine. My woman. My vengeance.”
He closed the door, backed away and signaled Johnnie to drive away.
Chapter 5
Megan screeched through the gates of the clubhouse, the tires on her Mini Cooper spinning to an abrupt halt. She didn’t speak to Kendall as she jumped out, just as she hadn’t spoken to Kendall the entire drive back to the clubhouse. Megan’s attitude infuriated Kendall a little more and made her determined to get Johnnie away from the blonde’s influence.
The morning hadn’t been easy for so many different reasons. All Kendall wanted was revenge. Logan was already gone but Spoon—as responsible for Caroline’s death as Logan—still lived. Spoon had taken her little sister and brought her to Logan.
Kendall might not have been strong enough to physically beat Spoon but she could outwit him. She’d been in his office at the clubhouse as his girlfriend and as a junior attorney from the law offices of Romain, Stone, and Stanley. He kept a portable file box with a USB jump drive locked inside on his desk. He’d once told Brooks those were records only Spoon and a select few had access to. At the time, Kendall had believed the records Spoon referred to were the MC’s files. Now, she wondered if it had to do with the trafficking he’d been engaged in with Logan Donovan.
Somehow, some way, she’d get that file. Once she had it, she’d figure out what to do with it.
Getting out of the small car with new purpose, Kendall scowled at Stretch, Slipper, Shady and Cowboy swarming around Megan.
“Leave me alone,” she hollered. “Where’s Christopher? I need to talk to him about something.”
<
br /> Probably about that stupid grave mix-up when no one with the exception of Outlaw would give a fuck. Kendall glowered at the back of Megan’s head. Maybe, she was being a little unfair to the girl, but when Kendall believed Johnnie had finally set aside his feelings for Megan, Kendall had reasoned better. She’d felt secure in herself, felt worthy to be loved. Now, the more he healed, the more his distraction returned. Because of it—because of all she’d lost—she despised Megan.
“What’s going on out here?” Arrow’s voice cut through Megan’s demands that Stretch and the others move. He stepped forward and Kendall felt a twinge of something. Grief, she decided, although she hadn’t known K-P very long. Still, his brother resembled him. The silver beard, the set of his jaw, the no bullshit attitude. He lifted a brow at Outlaw’s wife. “Meggie, babe, what’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to Christopher.”
Taking his time, he lit a cigarette and studied her. “He’s not here,” he reminded her calmly, releasing the smoke and ruffling his fingers through his hair. “He’s taking care of club business, babe. You seem damn upset but I suspect you didn’t call him because you know where he’s at.” Another puff and another release of smoke.
Kendall hated to admit how sexy she found Arrow’s Sam Elliot vibe, right down to the sound of his voice. He held out a hand to Megan.
“Let’s talk. I’m not Christopher and I’m not K-P, but I have a good damn ear. When Outlaw get back later tonight, talk to him then. He’ll have time. Right now, you’ll distract him, babe. You know that.”
Sniffling, Megan nodded.
Puff. Release. Finger wiggling. “Come on. I’m all ears.”
Megan placed her hand in Arrow’s and he squeezed. “Good girl.” He smiled, releasing her hand long enough to open the door and allow her to duck into the clubhouse before following behind her.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 91