Quickly, he removed her panties, revealing her hairless pussy and ignoring the blood smeared on her thighs. Fuck, but she was pretty. With only her bra on, she was a fucking wet dream in the flesh, with endless legs, curvy hips, a small waist, and nice cleavage.
She was also incapacitated and he had absolutely no fucking business lusting after her. Wiping off her thighs and stomach, he refused to invade her privacy any more than he had and touch her cunt. As much as he wanted to. Not only because he wanted to but to check for any wounds.
He hurriedly removed her bra and licked his lips at the sight of her strawberry-tipped nipples and round tits. Also sporting bruises.
“What the fuck, man?” Gabe’s angry voice broke into the silence. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing,” he snapped, yanking the covers over her, although Gabe had already turned his back. “I think Trader beat her up and that’s the reason Outlaw popped the motherfucker this morning.”
As Little Man started coughing in his sleep, Gabe turned and faced Digger, worry creasing his brow. “My sister’s going to be okay, isn’t she? I promise I’ll help any way I can if it means saving her and keeping CJ alive.
Digger had already forgotten about his unspoken threat to kill the kid.
“I even have a place you can hide out at,” Gabe continued. “I swear on Bunny’s life, I won’t tell anyone where you’re at.”
“Give me a T-shirt to dress her in, then, if you’re serious about helping, I’ll tell you exactly what I need.”
Several hours later, a friend of Gabe’s came to the house with medical supplies, prescription drugs, and IV paraphernalia, while Digger took Little Man and hid in the shop. After starting Bunny on an IV line, the guy left and Digger returned to Gabe’s house, where he finished giving the dude instructions on what he needed to make his getaway and hopefully save all of their lives in the long run.
Christopher stood in his old room at the clubhouse, dressed in full leathers. Twenty-four hours had gone by since the shootings and he fucking felt nothing. Not one goddamn, motherfucking thing. Like he’d gone to a fucking dentist and had his entire body shot the fuck up with novocaine.
After surviving surgery, Megan lay in ICU, connected to too many tubes and wires. Critical but finally stable. This time yesterday he’d just been walking out of his door to fuck-up Trader. Only to talk to him. Maybe, punch the fuck out of him. But the motherfucker had pissed Christopher off, talking about Bunny as he had. If he didn’t fucking want her, that was his fucking choice. But if he fucking disrespected her to him like she was fucking trash, then Christopher could only imagine what the fuck he did to her in private.
Bunny had enough fucking shit to deal with. Christopher knew all the fuck about it. No fucking way would he let fucking Trader hold that over her head. Since he didn’t have the patience to give motherfuckers more than a warning or two he’d taken care of the problem. Bunny might fucking hate Christopher or she might thank him. He didn’t know and he didn’t give a fuck. He’d done what was necessary to protect her. He hadn’t expected to put him to ground right away as he had.
Not that any of it mattered at this point Motherfucking Trader was the only one who was where he should be.
Ignoring his unmade bed and heading to the bathroom, Christopher faced the mirror and braced himself on the sink. He hardly recognized himself. Dark circles ringed his bloodshot eyes, and worry pinched his mouth. After returning to the club last night he’d barely slept. He’d wanted to stay with Megan, but Cash had called and said Mort wanted Tyler taken care of ASAP, so they’d decided to bury Arrow, too. Even if Arrow had survived, Christopher wanted to show Mortician the respect he deserved, as a man who’d lost his kid without ever really knowing him. And, simply, as his brother and best friend.
He straightened, knowing he had to be the leader the club needed. He had to be strong on the outside, when he was so fucking wrecked inside. Back in the room, he walked to the photo of Megan pregnant with CJ. It was a reprint of the original that had once hung in the same spot, until they’d moved into their first house. The one that had been blown to bits and fucking pieces.
Swallowing, he reached out and touched the photo, laying his hand over her protruding belly, much like he had in the picture. He remembered that fucking day, feeling the baby move, thinking Megan was having a girl because him and Johnnie had been the only dicks born into the family since the birth of his doomed uncle. During the photo shoot, Christopher had decided to buy all that pink shit to surprise Megan with when the baby was born.
Now, that baby was missing and Megan was critical.
Was that why they’d been each other’s soulmates, met when she was still so young? Why they’d been each other’s everything almost from the moment they’d met? Because she was destined to die before her twenty-second birthday?
Dropping his hand to his side, he hung his head, reaching for his cell phone, stuffed in one of his pockets.
He dialled her number, because he’d fucking lost his mind. One and Only by Adele blasted through the room, the vibrations of her phone thumping on the desk.
“Hey, this is Meggie. Leave a message.”
At the sound of her sweet little voice, he leaned his head against the photo and drew in a deep breath. “I miss you, baby,” he told her quietly. “That bullet shoulda been for me. I’d give my fuckin’ life just to know you safe and alive. Don’t fuckin’ leave me, Megan. Please,” he added as if that could make a fucking difference.
A knock sounded on his door and he disconnected the call. He clenched his teeth, determined not to look at Megan’s favorite brick wall, the one she’d always turned to when he’d hurt her or pissed her off. When he’d tried to sleep, he’d faced away from the wall, his grief and misery running deep. He hadn’t been able to bear setting foot in the house. Everywhere he looked, he felt Megan. He’d thought it would be better in his old room, but she was here, too.
She was in his heart and soul so he could go to the fucking moon and he wouldn’t escape her.
“Prez?”
Mort’s tired voice carried through the door, and Christopher remembered hearing the knock.
“Come the fuck in, Mort.”
The door opened and Mort stepped in, followed by Johnnie. The three of them stared at each other before Christopher cleared his throat.
“Mort, Tyler gonna be in a separate fuckin’ parlor at the funeral home. Ain’t wanted to have to fuck up a motherfucker if you shed some fuckin’ tears over your kid. I’m gonna say what I gotta for Arrow, but I wantcha to hang tight at the funeral home. Talk to your boy, then even if just me and you there, Wilcunt gonna say Mass for Tyler.”
“They’re Baptist, Christopher.”
“Don’t give a fuck, John Boy. Ain’t knowin’ no Baptist minister. Wouldn’t know a Catholic priest if it wasn’t for my girl.”
“Prez right, Johnnie,” Mort said. “In the end, we all Christians.”
Johnnie shrugged, one arm clutched to his side in a sling. After Cash called Christopher, he’d gone to check in on everybody before he left. Val had taken shots to the shoulder, arm, and thigh, but he’d had his fucking eyes opened by the time Christopher was ready to leave. Zoann had also gotten shot in the arm and upper back. She’d been resting comfortably. He’d had to search for Johnnie and found him limping from Kendall’s room with the intention of returning to his own. Once Christopher had brought him up to speed, Johnnie hadn’t been happy with having to stay in the hospital. So much so that he’d checked out, despite the doctor recommending an overnight stay. In the midst of Christopher, Mort, and Cash finalizing last minute plans for the funerals, Johnnie had walked in.
“We’re Christians, Mort, but he isn’t,” Johnnie said, nodding to Christopher.
“Ain’t made no secret ‘bout that.”
Lifting a brow, Johnnie searched Christopher’s face as if he expected words. Since Christopher couldn’t think of anything he should say, he kept his fucking mouth shut, pissing John
nie the fuck off. He clenched his jaw, resentment dropping into his face. “How are the twins?”
What the fuck crawled up his ass, Christopher couldn’t imagine. “Don’t know, John Boy. Ain’t seen ‘em since yesterday mornin’.”
“Why? They’re your children. Now, more than ever, you should hold them tight. Do you want to end up like Mortician? Losing a child without ever knowing him.”
“Johnnie, if this your idea of offering fucking advice, your ass need to take some fucking pointers,” Mortician growled.
Under-fucking-statement, but Christopher wouldn’t hold Johnnie’s fucking hand. He’d just have to fucking deal with everything, just as Christopher had to do.
However, in case the motherfucker forgot…“I already lost a fuckin’ kid that I ain’t ever know. Patrick. Remember him?”
Johnnie’s scowl darkened. “How can I not when you made sure no one forgot your wife’s pain? Or the fact that you stick your cock in her and she ends up pregnant every goddamn time. They all do. Our dicks have turned into fucking fertility sticks. Imagine if you hadn’t had your dick snipped? She probably be close to death and pregnant.”
What. The. Fuck? Had Johnnie lost his fucking mind? What the fuck did any of the bullshit he was talking about have to do with anything? “Listen up, John Boy. I under-fuckin-stand you ain’t fuckin’ likin’ your tongue in your mouth right the fuck now. I fuckin’ swear if you don’t shut the fuck up, you gonna be missin’ that motherfucker.”
Megan not being pregnant had nothing to do with the vasectomy-that-wasn’t. She was back on her fucking pills and had talked him out of the dick snip.
“You have something to say to me, Christopher?”
“You fuckin’ deaf? I just fuckin’ said what the fuck I had to say. Next fuckin’ step is showin’ you.”
“We’re past this.” Johnnie sounded hurt. “At least I thought we were.”
“What’s your damn problem, son? On the real. We don’t need this shit right now, Johnnie.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Mort,” Christopher said. “Motherfucker got a right to be pissed at what went down. Ain’t showed the best leadership.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I tried to get my sisters to come here with their girls, and Avery got pissed the fuck off pointin’ that shit out to me. How I failed every-fuckin-body.”
“Does any of that matter? Or is it only how you think you failed Megan?”
“Ain’t no thinkin’ in it, Johnnie,” Christopher snarled. “She laid up in fuckin’ ICU. Fuckin’ fail right there. My ass back at the fuckin’ club, instead of at her side. Another fuckin’ fail.”
“You’re human, Christopher. You make mistakes. Am I fucking pissed about yesterday? Yes. It’s worse because I have no one to fucking kill to release my frustrations. I resent the way you’re rushing through everything at the club for personal reasons. The members need you here. Not at the fucking hospital.”
“Where the fuck you goin’ after Arrow’s send-off? Back to the fuckin’ hospital, right? Where the fuck Mort goin’, John Boy? What the fuck wrong with my ass bein’ with Megan?”
“Because you’re torturing yourself,” Johnnie yelled. “She’s not fucking conscious. There’s fuck-all you can do, except stare at her and wonder if she’ll live or die. Here, though, you can start searching for meat shack motherfuckers. You can talk to the members arriving on our behalf.”
“You right,” Christopher agreed, his head pounding. “I can do all that fuckin’ shit. But I ain’t. Ima see to sendin’ off Arrow and Ima stand with Mort. Ima come back to the club and toast K-P kid brother, then Ima go sit at Megan side and Ima try my fuckin’ best not to fuckin’ move ‘til I know how I gotta bring my girl home. Dead. Or alive. If you don’t like my fuckin’ plan? Tough shit cuz I ain’t fuckin’ changin’ it.”
Johnnie threw him another long, searching look. “Anything else you have to say to me?”
“Not a fuckin’ thing. Cuz I didn’t have that to fuckin’ say to you. My ass just told you what the fuck Ima do outta respect.”
“There’s nothing else? Nothing to ask me.”
Christopher scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, motherfucker, I ain’t up to your preppy fuckin’ games. If my ass forgettin’ something, clue me the fuck in. If I ain’t? Shut the fuck up and get the fuck outta my face.”
Disgusted, Johnnie brushed passed Mortician and stalked off.
“Johnnie just stressed, Mort. Don’t let what that motherfucker say get to you,” Christopher explained, the moment they were alone, compelled to defend Johnnie, in spite of how much he felt like fucking him up.
Mort nodded. “I know, Prez, but he was wrong to lay that bullshit down to you. Only reason I’m here because of Tyler. If not for him, I wouldn’t have left Bailey’s side and I don’t give a fuck who said what.”
“Why the fuck Johnnie here?” Christopher asked, torn between anger at his attitude and understanding his reasons. Johnnie didn’t do fear well and Christopher knew he was worried about his wife. “I ain’t ordered him to leave Kendall to bring his ass here.”
“Don’t know why he showed up if he came with bullshit, Prez. Right now, I don’t give a fuck. Only thing that would take the fucking edge off John Boy is if he fucked up a motherfucker.”
Christopher smiled. “Ain’t no motherfuckers to fuck up right now. Johnnie do good to hold that rage in ‘til we get who the fuck did this to us.”
Christopher remembered Johnnie’s nervousness over Kendall needing to talk to him. Yesterday morning, he’d given no indication that he’d gotten bad fucking news from her. But Kendall was Kendall, so who knew? However, that might explain Johnnie’s present mood. “You know he been kind of on edge lately.”
“Look at the cunt he married to. My ass would be on edge too.”
“Damn, Prez.”
“I know, Mort. In the last twenty-four hours, I been tryin’ to put all that shit behind us. Any-fuckin-thing for Megan to live. But Kendall hurt Megan, too, and that ain’t shit I can forgive. I realize, though, I ain’t wantin’ the bitch dead unless she fuckin’ make me fuck her up. I especially don’t want Kendall fuckin’ hurt cuz some motherfuckers invaded our fuckin’ territory. Even if only that cunt had been fuckin’ hurt if it came from the fuckin’ outside, then the motherfuckers who hurt her gotta die. She belong to Johnnie. That make her part of the club and we protect our fuckin’ own. That’s fuckin’ it. Other than that, I can’t stand her. And she turnin’ Johnnie into a whiny fuckin’ cunt.” Christopher frowned and rubbed the back of his neck.
“What?”
“A few days ago, I was tellin’ Megan that cunts the best creation in the fuckin’ world. But I meant the fuckable cunts, not annoyin’, talkin’ ones.”
Mort snickered. “Meggie girl right. You are fucking psycho.” The moment the words left his mouth, his smile fell away. Bleakness filled his eyes, heightening Christopher’s own emptiness.
An awkward silence passed between them.
Clearing his throat, Mort averted his gaze. “Guess we better go.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of them made a move. The longer they stayed in the room, the longer the inevitable could be put off. Unfortunately, time slid right the fuck on. Christopher knew hiding did no good. Life still caught up and fucked them in the ass.
“You ready, brother?”
“Yeah, Prez. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Lucas “Mortician” Banks studied the body of his son, laid out in a white shirt and yellow silk tie. He wasn’t sure why he’d gotten Tyler a yellow tie. The cheerful sunny color represented an illusion of joy, when happiness was such a fleeting emotion, here one minute and gone the next.
Like Tyler.
He’d grown since he’d last seen him the night Harley was born. In death, he looked older than thirteen, but he hadn’t seen him alive and animated to know if that might’ve been the cosmetics they’d used for his lay out.
The parlor was silent, though right beyond the doors se
veral dozen brothers mourned Arrow. Mort couldn’t, though. That would remind him that he’d also lost K-P.
He’d remember seeing his wife on the ground, with two bullets in her.
He’d howl at the missed opportunity to take down his father. His father, who’d made eye contact with Mortician and then shot Bailey.
Blinking away his tears, he stared at Tyler again. He’d been a fine boy, handsome, a cross between Char and Mortician, taking the best they each had to offer.
“I loved your mama once upon a time, Tyler,” he began, stroking his son’s morbidly cold cheek. “Charlemagne had always been beautiful. I’m sure you knew that.” He stared into the casket, wishing Tyler would open his eyes. The words Mortician spoke now should’ve been said months ago. But he’d put it off. It had been easier. He hadn’t wanted Tyler’s presence to interfere with his relationship with Bailey. Having him around would’ve always reminded Bailey of Char. The fact that Mortician had loved her first and had allowed what went on between them to affect his relationship with Bailey. The fact that Char had intended to kill Bailey. Allowing Tyler to go with Digger had been the easy, coward’s way out.
Now, his son was gone.
“I’m sorry, Tyler. I’m so, so sorry. For taking Char from you and for not stepping in like I should’ve.”
Until that moment, he’d never once regretted killing Charlemagne. If she’d been alive, Tyler would’ve been with her. He would’ve been safe, instead of being forced to go with Digger and Sharper to fight a war that wasn’t his to begin with. Tyler had been innocent in this, collateral just like their women and other children.
Not only had he lost Tyler, but he was also on the verge of losing Bailey and the baby she carried.
“Mortician?”
Swallowing, Mortician straightened at the sound of Johnnie’s voice, his guard going up. Johnnie was going off the fucking deep end. While Mort understood, he couldn’t talk Johnnie through this shit. The motherfucker had to stop lashing out when emotions were so intense. He had to fucking realize that love wasn’t all sunshine and roses. One moment, it blazed brightly and the next it unravelled at the seams, where only a strong, solid bond mended any tears. Johnnie gave Kendall her way because he loved her and wanted her happy. But also because it was easier. Red was a formidable force and Johnnie never stood a chance against her. Mort believed their relationship was solid, but Johnnie needed an outlet for his frustrations and targeted both Meggie and Prez with his bad moods. He knew they’d always forgive him. He knew they had his back, so he took fucking advantage of that.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 242