Johnnie thrust his fingers through his hair. “Logan’s dead now, Zoann.”
A gasp. Her gasp accompanied her moan. Her chin wobbled, but some of the pieces fell into place. “We had to go on lockdown…Granddaddy was alive and the Torps got to him.”
“C’mon, Chester.” Mortician stepped to her and urged her to sit again. Once she did, he crouched before her, the only one of them who seemed to remember how to move or to talk. “Wasn’t lockdown just because of the Torps. Lowman was responsible, too. He fucking killed K-P and was gonna kill Prez’s boy. He stuffed him in a fucking garbage can. Only time I ever felt any respect for fucking Dinah. She had the brain to knock it the fuck over.”
“No!” Zoann yelled, fat tears rolling from her eyes. “Granddaddy wouldn’t…” The denial died on her lips. Granddaddy had hated Christopher. God! All these years, she’d thought…The horror of that night rushed back, Big Joe’s emotionless news of her grandfather’s death bouncing in her head.
“Puff,” Matthew whispered, kneeling at her side and taking her into his arms. He guided her head onto his shoulder and rubbed her back. “Shhh. We can talk about this another time.”
She pulled away from him. “No! I want to know now. Tell me,” she demanded, angry suddenly. Despising her grandfather suddenly. He’d put her through hell, allowing her to believe he was dead. He’d never once attempted to contact her, not caring how his death had affected her. “How’d he die? Where’d he been all these years? And…and who’s Cee Cee? Christopher recognized him and—”
“Fuck, Zoann,” Matthew said with a wince.
Johnnie sat across from her, silent, his gaze shuttered, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He didn’t answer, so she stared at Mortician.
“Big Joe sent Lowman away,” he said carefully. “Then, right around the time Prez went on his honeymoon, Lowman started getting fucking letters from Big Joe. We can’t figure that shit out.” He dropped his gaze before staring at her again. “I got a feeling Cee Cee sent them.”
“Cee Cee?” Zoann knew she’d spoken. Her throat moved. Her trembling voice resonated in her head. But she felt cold and frozen, unable to move, her heart pounding fast and furious. She didn’t want to know Cee Cee’s identity. No, but she did. She had to. She’d come this far. She had to know it all. “Who’s Cee Cee?”
Mortician heaved in a breath, his dreads brushing the stubble on his jaw. “Prez’s old man.”
She squeaked, no other sound able to pass through her mouth. She was too horrified to even form any other word.
Christopher’s father raped her….but…Oh God! He’d raped…Momma had gotten pregnant with Christopher because of a….Oh God! Had Patricia known who her attacker was? “No, no, no, no, no…”
“Puff.” Matthew tugged her back into his arms and he kissed her forehead, thumbing her tears away. “Babe, listen…Big Joe…I can’t stand that motherfucker for so many fucking reasons but this time…this time I think he was really protecting Outlaw.”
No. The only word from her mouth. The only coherence her brain formed. She wanted to vomit and scream and hide and beat on something. So many emotions with nowhere to go.
Matthew shook her. “Listen, Puff. Fuck. Listen. I know this fucking tearing you apart, but listen.”
No. He didn’t know. He couldn’t understand. She didn’t understand.
“Big Joe…your grandfather told him about the fucking bet. A bet, Zoann.”
She pounded on his shoulder, bordering on wildness, wanting to lash out but not knowing who to direct it to.
“A bet,” Matthew repeated, his harsh worry breaking through to her.
“A bet? A bet. A bet,” she chanted. What did a bet have to do with anything? “Big Joe…he hurt me, too. He forced me to take pills to stop a pregnancy while Rack held me down. He wasn’t protecting anyone.”
Matthew shook her again. “Listen to me,” he growled. “I’m so fucking sorry Boss did that shit to you, but I can see why. Cee Cee raped Outlaw’s and John Boy’s mamas and knocked them up. I guess he was worried you’d be giving birth to your brother’s niece or nephew who was also his brother or sister. Same with John Boy, Zoann. If Cee Cee had gotten you fucking pregnant, you would’ve been having John Boy’s cousin and brother or sister.”
She yanked herself away from them, slapping her hands over her ears. They were all crazy. She was the only sane one. Not them. They were lunatics, wanting her to believe stories beyond the realm of reason.
Matthew reached for her again, his hold vise-like. “You’re strong, babe. You’re going to deal with this. You and me. And we’re going to be okay.”
No, they wouldn’t be okay. She wouldn’t be okay. Not after what she’d learned and over…over…“What bet?”
“Logan,” Johnnie said from behind her, capturing her attention. “The reason Big Joe made him leave.” His hand pressed against her back in sympathy. “The reason I agree with Val and know he was protecting Christopher.”
Zoann trembled at Johnnie’s undisguised hurt. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the bet was hideous and disgusting. Nothing ever affected Johnnie, unless it involved Christopher and Granddaddy and, more recently, Kendall.
“Logan made a bet,” he said slowly. “We never knew with who until…until now.”
Just get to it, she wanted to scream. Instead, she moaned, afraid to hear the rest.
“Grandda wanted Christopher dead, Zoann. Cee Cee wanted you. They made a bet. If Logan won, Cee would kill Christopher. If Cee Cee won, he had free rein to fuck you.”
She nodded and moaned, covering her hands and sobbing. A bet. Granddaddy hadn’t wanted her raped. He’d wanted her Christy dead. She’d been subjected to those horrible, old games he “played” with his sycophants. They’d always allowed him to win. Always.
Always.
Always.
He’d counted on Cee Cee toadying to him, too.
“Granddaddy set me up.”
He might not have wanted her raped, but he’d had to offer something worthy to bet against his grandson’s life. Grand…Logan hadn’t loved her. He’d considered her a treasured possession, in the same category as Johnnie. Untouchable as his chosen ones, but expendable if he so chose.
Big Joe had been protecting her big brother. If only Boss had told her, she would’ve protected Christy, too. Now, she’d inadvertently hurt him again. Her brother had loved Big Joe. She didn’t know quite what happened…
Christopher stormed back into the room, Meggie following behind him, her eyes puffy and swollen, her face red, devastation in her features.
“Prez, where are you going?” Mortician asked.
He glared at him, adjusting his saddlebags. “Don’t fuckin’ talk to me, motherfucker. All you fuckin’ knew what the fuck happened with Zoann, who the fuck raped her, and none of you motherfuckers told me a fuckin’ thing.”
“Christopher, you’ve lost your fucking mind,” Johnnie snarled. “Whatever the fuck we know, you fucking know. I haven’t kept shit—“ Eyes widening, he snapped his mouth shut.
“I dare you to spout that fuckin’ lie, fuckhead. You fuckin’ knew we was fuckin’ more than cousins. You fuckin’ knew what fuckin’ Logan did to my fuckin’ boy. You got my fuckin’ wife involved and she went along with you motherfuckers keepin’ shit fuckin’ from me til the last fuckin’ minute.” He rounded on her. “That’s why you couldn’t fuckin’ tell me last night, huh, Megan?”
“No,” she whispered. “Zoann asked me to give her a day. I swear I didn’t know who raped her. Don’t leave me. Please. Just let me talk to you.” She swiped at her tears. “I know…I know you’re hurt and think you’ve failed Zoann, but you haven’t—“
“The fuck I haven’t. I failed her and Ma and you.” He turned a hard stare to Zoann. “All them years you fuckin’ hated me, you was right.”
Mort glared at Outlaw. “Prez, you ever consider you don’t handle shit the best, so we try to strategize on how to break shit to you?”
“You’re not helping
matters by fucking leaving, Christopher,” Johnnie said tightly.
“Like I give a fuck,” he snarled back. “All the fuckheads who need to fucking suffer already motherfuckin’ fucked up. Big Joe. Cee Cee. Logan.” He slanted a glance at Meggie and dropped his gaze to her belly before glaring at Johnnie, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Spoon. I can’t make Bitsy’s tears go away and I can’t make your tears go away, Megan.”
He sounded tired and beaten, and Zoann wished she knew how to help him.
“Maybe, you’re right to be angry,” Megan said quietly. “I don’t know if I would’ve told you Cee Cee raped…” Her nostrils flared and she swiped at more tears. “It hurts you to think how little regard your grandfather had for you.”
Christopher barked a nasty laugh. “You fuckin’ think?”
“Yes,” Meggie insisted softly. “Don’t you think we want to fix things for you, too?”
Christopher thrust his fingers through his hair. “This bullshit been fuckin’ goin’ on…since we fuckin’ met, Megan. We had fuckin’ peace not even a good fuckin’ year.” His look turned fierce. “All this go back to your pop’s fuckin’ shit.”
“So you hate me because I’m his daughter?” She gave a sorrowful gaze to Zoann. “Because he lied to your sister and m-made her think you didn’t want her?”
Closing his eyes, Christopher turned his head to the ceiling and heaved in his shoulders. “I ain’t ever hatin’ on you, Megan. Sooner or later, you gonna fuckin’ hate on my fuckin’ ass, though.” He leaned against the bar and hung his head. “Just like Zoann always did.”
Meggie sidled closer to him. “I can’t fix this for you, Christopher. I can be here and love you and listen to you and stand firmly at your side.”
Christopher growled and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Shit already fuckin’ done, Megan. How the fuck you able to fix—” He snapped his mouth shut and glared at her, realizing her deeper message—her hurt and pain over their lost baby. “This shit fuckin’ different,” he said flatly. “My job is keepin’ you safe. Just like it was my fuckin’ job to keep Zoann fuckin’ safe. And—and…” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his voice trailing off.
Ma.
Zoann finished the statement and shook herself, trying to form the right thoughts so she could say the right words. The day she heard Christopher’s voice saying he hated her had been six weeks after her rape and her mother had barred her from going to the hospital on Big Joe’s orders. Every time she’d tried to do something, she’d been stopped by Patricia or Boss in one form or another until she’d finally turned all her anger to Christopher. When it had been Big Joe manipulating the situation the entire time. Shitty, yes, but she agreed with Val, Mortician, and Johnnie. He’d done it all to protect Christopher. “I’m alive,” she said into the silence. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes but I’m alive to make it right. If-if Granddaddy had won, you would’ve been dead and we couldn’t have ever gotten you back. You have every right to feel as you do. I preferred it this way.”
“How fuckin’ martyrific of you, Zoann.” Disgust thickened Christopher’s voice.
She growled in frustration. “You’re not responsible for saving the fucking world, you big dummy.”
“We family, Prez,” Mortician said, interrupting a filthy response from Christopher. “One of us hurt, all of us hurt. I know part of you flipping your shit is not having no motherfuckers to vent your fucking frustrations on.”
Christopher’s gaze swept over Meggie and Mortician cleared his throat.
“On second thought.” Mortician sighed. “I didn’t mean that way, though. You’d probably break her in two. I meant you ain’t havin’ no motherfuckers to fuck up since all motherfuckers responsible for this shit deader than fuck.”
“Christopher—”
“I just need a few hours alone, Megan,” Christopher interrupted, holding up his hands.
He glanced at Zoann, his regret clear but his shame heartbreaking. He was a proud man, though, and discovering about Zoann would be a third strike in his eyes. Her rape. Momma’s death. And Meggie losing the baby.
“For whatever reason I got Megan…” He shrugged. “If not for her and my boy, I would tell you, if I could go back all those years ago, I woulda gladly laid down my fuckin’ life to save you from hurtin’, Zoann. I ain’t...you was my little sister but you was my pride. I ain’t never want no bullshit touchin’ you. What the fuck I’m supposed to say now? I’m glad my fuckin’ ass wasn’t killed cuz I wouldna got Megan?” He bent his head and glanced away. “But there the real of it is, Bitsy.” He turned a bitter gaze to Megan. “How’s that, huh, baby? Still think I’m so fuckin’ wonderful when I ain’t noble e-fuckin-nuff to say I woulda died for my sister even if it fuckin’ meant we ain’t ever met?”
Not waiting for a response, he snatched his saddlebags and stalked out of the door.
They all stared at the door, as if Christopher’s departure sucked the life right out of them. After a moment, as if on cue, they focused on Meggie. She hiccupped a sob.
“I’m going to start breakfast,” she murmured, her hurt and uncertainty snapping Zoann to attention.
“Meggie, baby—”
“I’m fine, Zoann. Really.” She rushed to her and hugged her. “Are you?”
Not at the moment, but she would be. She nodded. “Yes.”
“What do you want to eat? Anything in particular? Mortican? Val? Johnnie—”
Mortician scowled at the door Christopher had exited. “I’m going check on Bailey,” he interrupted crossly, facing Meggie. “She sitting with Dinah, Ryan, and Little Man.”
A frown creasing her brow, Meggie stumbled toward the kitchen without another word.
Zoann opened her mouth to talk to Johnnie, but he stared at the door leading to the kitchen. “I’ll talk to Megs,” he said, not glancing back, just following in Meggie’s footsteps.
Zoann glanced at the clock. 7:19. What a great fucking start to the day.
Chapter Thirty
Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell stood in the doorway of the motel, where he’d holed himself up all day. In only his jeans and cut, the breeze swept over his bare chest and feet. He intended to stay there for a couple days, to get his shit straight in his head. Megan didn’t need to be around him with him so fucked up. She needed him for her shit. Subjecting her to his rage might hurt her some kind of way. She was already stressed out and sad over the baby. Dealing with his fucking shit would make it worse.
Zoann had called him and insisted he return to the club. Instead of answering her, he’d gotten her story on what had happened the night of her shooting. She’d confirmed Moncette was the culprit, her words pissing Christopher the fuck off even more.
The setting sun cast a golden glow over the area, creating long shadows in the approaching Twilight. About an hour and a half ago, John Boy had called and asked for his location, claiming they needed to talk. Christopher suspected it was for Megan since he hadn’t answered her calls and—
He jerked his head in the direction of the sound of Harley pipes drawing near.
Johnnie? Where the fuck was his Navigator?
Pulling a smoke from his cut, he didn’t know why he fucking bothered. He either lost the motherfuckers or watched them burn the fuck out. Wasted fucking bills if ever there was.
The bike sped into view and Christopher stiffened, a growl bubbling up. And then he knew why Johnnie had his fucking bike.
Megan.
Megan was with Johnnie. Bad e-fucking-nuff. Her arms wrapped around his waist, her tits pressed against his back, her hair flying around her. That made Christopher want to tear Johnnie apart with his bare hands.
Every now and then, he allowed Megan to go without a fucking helmet, but, for the most part, fuck no. And…He hated the image of Megan’s body draped around Johnnie’s.
Stalking forward, he put his arm around Megan’s small waist and yanked her off the back of Johnnie’s bike.
His dick hardened at the white
leather she wore and he scowled at her, his urge to kill Johnnie growing a little more. Matching white leather boots, dust and dirt from the road coating them, went up to her knees. The fitted jacket fluttered open and revealed the tight bustier, the skin of her midriff tempting him to touch her and bury his face between the valley of her tits.
Her hair flickered in the breeze, a golden banner flying around her. She stared at him, her blue eyes pleading with him to allow her to stay. She almost looked like his Megan, the firebrand who made him believe nothing would ever take her away. Not the girl whose hurt he couldn’t fix.
“Get the fuck in the room, Megan,” he ordered, glaring at Johnnie, who sat back on his idling bike.
Christopher didn’t want Megan around right now, but no way he’d allow her to get back on that fucking bike with Johnnie. She didn’t say anything and, instead, went into the room. She hadn’t spoken a word since she’d arrived. Maybe, he didn’t want to hear her voice.
As usual, she read his mood.
“You got that fuckin’ bitch,” he snarled the moment Megan shut the door, and Johnnie dragged his gaze away from her.
“And I love my fucking bitch,” Johnnie responded coolly.
If that was the case, then the motherfucker knew who the fuck he was fucking dealing with. Just to be sure…“Your bitch name Kendall?”
Johnnie scowled, losing his nonchalance. “You know her fucking name.”
“And you know her fuckin’ game,” Christopher got out. “She know you had my wife swathed the fuck around you on this motherfucker, she’d start her bullshit all-fuckin-over.”
“You left Megan,” Johnnie told him, not addressing the words about Kendall. They both knew he spoke the truth.
“That shit between me and her.” Although he’d walked away from her in full view of every-fucking-body, especially this motherfucker. Searching out Megan to check on her when his bitch told him she’d heard Megan screaming. Johnnie should’ve come straight to him after he’d shaken the fuck out of Kendall for not checking on Megan.
Then, he’d have the full story, the real story. Not the bullshit Megan told him.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 152