“Fuck his recipe!” Digger snarled, rubbing his hands across his mouth. “How the fuck could you ruin my fucking taste buds? The least you could do was warn a motherfucker that you had concocted liquid shit.”
“It isn’t that bad,” Virginia said with a sniff.
Bunny got a cup of water for herself and then refilled it and handed it to Digger before throwing her father an accusatory look. “She’s pulled you to the other side.”
“I prefer hemp milk,” he admitted sheepishly, “but none of it is bad. It’s an acquired taste.”
Digger picked up a tomato, cucumber, and piece of lettuce and sniffed. “Smell like regular shit,” he said, then threw it aside, “but I can’t be too sure cuz I sure the fuck didn’t smell whatever the fuck was in that fucking cocoa.”
“It’s organic.”
“What the fuck’s for dinner?” Digger demanded, ignoring her mother. “You might want fucking organic. I don’t, so I’ll bring my ass somewhere and find a big ass greasy burger to fill me up.”
“We’re having sloppy joes,” Virginia told him, giving him a look that dared him to challenge her.
“What the fuck will be on the sloppy joes?” Digger persisted.
“Black beans.”
“Eww,” Bunny said before she could stop herself at her mother’s response. “On a vegan bun, right?”
“Settle down, kids.” Walt pulled out his cell phone and sighed. “How about we order in—”
“Absolutely not,” Virginia began.
“It’s fine,” Bunny said quickly. She didn’t want to upset the happy balance her parents seemed to have achieved over her mom’s disgusting recipes. “We’ll grab something to eat.”
“Oh, fine,” Virginia relented, stomping to the table and snatching both mugs up. “Be responsible for the death of an innocent animal to feed your barbaric need. See if I care.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you care or not,” Digger said grouchily. “The good thing is I don’t give a fuck whether you give a fuck. It’s my motherfucking ass that got to eat the shit.”
Virginia rounded on him. “Do you know what red meat does to your colon?”
“Oh my God, Mom,” Bunny cried. “Please stop!”
Walt cleared his throat. “Er, honey, Albany was about to explain her illness, if you recall.”
At least the sunflower milk cocoa worked to settle her nerves at having to tell her parents what Trader had done to her. “The reason Digger said I’m not well is because I miscarried Trader’s baby.”
Bunny pretended not to notice her dad drawing his brows together or hearing her mom’s gasp. As she began explaining everything, Digger stood next to her and rubbed her back. She was happy he was there with her.
Virginia pursed her lips. She’d taken a seat during Bunny’s narrative and now she rubbed her brow.
Anger flared in Walt’s eyes. “Outlaw shot him because of what he did to you?”
“Yes. He didn’t know what he’d done,” she explained. “Just that he had done something to me. Something bad.”
“Well, then, maybe your association with this club is forgivable, Walter,” Virginia said tightly. “I insist you two stay here for a few days. At least until you regain your strength, Albany.”
“Fuck no. Not if I have to eat whatever the fuck you want to feed me.”
“Digger!” Bunny said sharply.
“Buy whatever you’d like. Just as long as my daughter rests and she won’t be able to do that if she’s concerned about you,” Virginia pointed out.
Digger studied her the way he liked to do when he wanted an answer. “Is that true, girl?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
He looked at her for another long moment, and the intensity of his gaze threatened to burn her from the inside out. With Trader, her attraction had been immediate. She could count on one finger the number of customers she’d been as taken with as she was when he’d first walked into the strip club. She’d been willing to do anything he’d wanted, skim the outer edges of the sun if that had been possible.
For her, with him, it had been as if she’d touched the sun and found utopia. But he’d burned her and she’d tumbled from her perch, hurt, disappointed, and confused.
Now, the tiny spark she felt for Digger was growing. He was a quiet storm, with a price on his head. Steady in many ways, she was realizing, but no less intense.
Sometimes, the quiet storms proved the most dangerous.
Puffing on his blunt, Christopher studied his office. The old sofa where he’d fucked Megan on a regular basis. It should’ve been replaced when he’d decided to marry her, because he’d fucked so many bitches there he’d lost count. If she realized that, she never mentioned it, so he hadn’t either.
It had been Big Joe’s first and should’ve long ago been tossed the fuck out.
And, yet, he’d never been able to bring himself to fucking do it. Same with the set of keys taken from Big Joe’s body. He’d identified every key except one and he’d decided it would forever remain a mystery to him.
After pinching on his smoke to douse it, he swigged from his tequila, then rolled his chair to the file cabinet. He found the right key on his ring and then unlocked it, picking up a thick ledger and rubbing his hand over it. The first account book he’d been responsible for.
“You’re going to rule this place one day, Christopher. Know it inside and out. Keep your own fucking books, so you don’t kill a stupid motherfucker for cheating you. You have heart and soul. Whether Logan likes it or not, you’re the future of this club. The lifeblood.”
He couldn’t have been any more than fifteen or sixteen at the time, when Boss gave him that speech and handed him the brand-fucking-new record book.
At first, Big Joe had made him copy everything he’d recorded in another book, then he’d had Christopher to do the accounting first. If he fucked up, then Big Joe fucked him up. His fuckup had been so big one time, Big Joe had knocked him unconscious.
Christopher smiled at the memory. It was no more than he’d do. He hadn’t even been a member yet. He’d been under-fucking-aged to boot, so Big Joe could’ve gotten into problems with the brothers for doing what he did with Christopher. He’d believed in him and his abilities. Believed that Christopher had the calculating control to run their club under any circumstances.
Believed that he’d never walk away, no matter what.
Live free. Ride or die forever.
“What the fuck I’m supposed to fuckin’ do, Boss?” he asked softly. “This your baby girl I’m tryin’ to protect.”
Without her here, the fucking club was so quiet. His house was as silent as a tomb, even with the noise of the kids.
“What the fuck that mean, motherfucker? Shit can’t be fuckin’ quiet and noisy at the same fuckin’ time.”
But it was. Because he knew she wasn’t there. He’d walk into their huge bedroom and find it empty. The sheets still held her scent, the smell of the cherry blossom hair stuff she washed her hair with, the sweetness of her body wash.
But not her.
He still didn’t feel like Outlaw. His head hadn’t been screwed back on right, despite her waking up and their son being home for five full days now.
Outlaw would’ve sent some motherfucker to Arizona to drag Digger the fuck back to face his punishment. Christopher knew he was at Riley’s place. But all he could think of was the silence and the fucking loneliness because of Megan’s absence.
He was off his fucking game, still too out of his fucking mind with worry to drum up his killer instincts. Simply because these motherfuckers kept fucking coming. Cee Cee. Logan. Sharper. Ellen’s sister. He couldn’t figure out what purpose she’d had to hate Megan so much. Unless Ellen had fucking lied to Peyton about Megan in some kind of way. He’d figure it out another time.
Right now he wanted to know how fucking many more motherfuckers would fucking rise from the fucking depths of hell before…before they killed his Megan? As long as he was Outlaw,
they’d come. Every-fucking-body knew, to kill him they simply had to kill his wife. Then, they could walk away, leave him gasping for air, as if they’d fucked him up physically, too.
The other girls would be caught in the fucking crossfire, extra bonuses. Maybe, not so much Bailey, because Sharper wanted Mortician to hurt. But Kendall and Zoann? Sharper couldn’t give less of a fuck.
What else could Christopher do but leave when they got Sharper? Who the fuck else would come at them next and go for Megan to bring Christopher to his knees?
He didn’t even have the fucking energy to resist feeling the way he did about her. He’d tried that after the bullshit Kendall had gotten Megan into with the Torps MC. All he’d done was hurt her and made her believe he was fucking another bitch.
Maybe, it wasn’t a matter of having the energy. Maybe, he’d just plain fucking accepted how he felt about her. The shit wouldn’t fucking change in this lifetime or the next, so why fucking sweat over it.
He gazed at the ledger again and shook his head. “I wish you was here, motherfucker. Protectin’ a girl and runnin’ the club out of my fuckin’ league apparently. Your fuckin’ ass would set me fuckin’ straight. Tell me what the fuck to do.”
“Christopher?” Johnnie barged into the room before Christopher responded. He halted and lifted a brow. “You okay?”
Setting the ledger back in the drawer and slamming it shut before locking it, Christopher got to his feet. “Whatcha got, John Boy?”
“I need you to see something.”
“What?”
“Fuck, just come with me. It’s on TV.”
Not questioning Johnnie any further, Christopher followed Johnnie to the main room where the words, Breaking News Alert, flashed on the screen. Behind the reporter, white smoke plumed into the air from…he narrowed his eyes and saw, Atlanta hotel fire that is believed to have claimed the life of the Reverend Sharper Banks.
“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he exploded.
The club door opened and Mortician walked in, his cell phone raised to his ear. “You fucking one hundred thousand percent sure it’s that motherfucker’s charred remains?” he asked, normal again with the news Bailey would be released from the hospital in three days. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Do that. Make fucking sure before I start fucking celebrating.”
“So you know?” Christopher asked when Mortician hung up.
“He’s the one who called me,” Johnnie said, looking disappointed. Probably because he wouldn’t get Sharper in the meat shack.
“I know,” Mortician confirmed, his face blank.
Christopher listened to the broadcaster for a few minutes. He should feel relieved, and not the fucking suspicion prickling through him. But, fuck, with DNA and identification and all types of high-tech shit, how could they make a fucking mistake about a motherfucker’s remains?
“You sure it’s him?”
“Not yet, Prez. They still doing tests, but a body was found in a room registered in his name.”
“Digger know?” he asked, surprising himself and the other two.
“I haven’t talked to that motherfucker in a minute,” Mort bit out.
“He hidin’ out in Phoenix with Bunny and her fuckin’ folks,” he said, still not willing to betray Riley’s true identity.
Johnnie stared at him as if his nose had turned into an elephant’s cock. “He’s what?”
“Ain’t talked to the motherfucker, but I know he fuckin’ there.”
“How you know that, Prez?”
“Don’t worry about that, Mort,” Christopher answered. “I just fuckin’ do, so…”
A sound drew his attention to the hallway, and Christopher pulled his nine. Only whiny ass Dinah was supposed to be on the premises, but, nowadays, one never fucking knew.
But that’s who he found when he turned the corner. Her wide gaze met his, then looked over his shoulder and he knew Johnnie and Mort had followed him.
Christopher stared at the cell phone in her hand, trying to remember when she’d gotten it.
“Arrow bought it for me,” she mumbled.
He looked at her, the phone, his bedroom door that she stood too fucking close to. “You been in my fuckin’ room?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I want Meggie. I’m looking for her. No one will let me see her and she won’t come to visit me.”
Johnnie sighed and lowered his gun. “It’s okay,” he began, starting around Christopher to head for her.
Christopher placed a hand on his shoulder, halting him. Shit wasn’t fucking adding up with this bitch. No matter how much he wanted to fucking ignore his gut, he fucking couldn’t. “Why the fuck Megan seein’ you matter so fuckin’ much? You been a fuckin’ hateful bitch to her for months.”
She shifted her weight and shivered at the sight of his gun. The one he still trained on her.
“C-can I s-see her and my grandbabies?”
“My kids at the fuckin’ house.” He put away his nine, deciding to test a theory. “Megan got shot. Remember?”
Hatred flickered in her eyes before she swallowed and formed a perfect-assed, lying-fucking ‘o’ with her mouth. He rushed to her and snatched the phone out of her hand, growling when he saw it needed a password to open the screen up.
“Open this motherfucker,” he demanded. “Now.”
“Yo, Prez, Meggie not gonna like you talking to this bitch like this.”
“Yeah, Christopher…”
The stubborn look Dinah gave Christopher made him drown out Johnnie’s words.
“You can’t make me,” she said, low.
“You fuckin’ right,” he snapped. “Cuz chokin’ the fuck outta your ass won’t do me no fuckin’ good.” He raised the phone up. “But I know a motherfucker who can get into it with or without your fuckin’ cooperation.”
Before he did something he fucking regretted, he turned away. He needed a new guard for her, but not because she was the original psycho bitch that lived here. No, because she’d become a fuckin’ traitorous psycho bitch.
“No matter what I’ve done, you can’t do me anything. Meggie would hate you.”
“Megan not fuckin’ here, Dinah. She fuckin’ shot. Remember? That mean, if your fuckin’ ass any way partly fuckin’ responsible for that fuckin’ massacre, she ain’t savin’ you.”
Unease registered in her eyes and she looked at Johnnie and Mortician. “I haven’t done anything,” she said finally.
He turned back to her and held up the phone. “Then unlock this motherfucker and let me see who the fuck you been contactin’.”
“I hate you,” she said with quiet vehemence, marching up to him and doing as he asked.
When she held it out to him, Christopher scrolled through her messages and telephone calls. Most of her messages were from Roxy, encouraging her to be a better mother and grandmother. Bullshit he had no interest in. One that came from Roxy and mentioned Bailey’s shower. Another one that said, Bailey’s shower is Saturday.
And on it went. The few he actually opened was just a waste of fucking time, so he moved onto the call log. A lot of calls still registered from Arrow. There were three phone numbers without names attached, so Christopher intended to check those out.
But she seemed completely innocent of what he suspected.
“Get the fuck outta my face,” he ordered, pocketing the phone in case he overlooked something. She turned on her heel, scampering down the hallway and around the corner toward where her room was located.
“Prez, what was that about?” Mort stepped aside to allow Christopher to pass. “You can’t think Dinah had something to do with what happened two weeks ago?”
“Yeah, Christopher. Dinah. She’s crazier than a fucking loon.”
Fucking truth. But shit just didn’t fucking sit right with him, despite finding no incriminating evidence to prove he was right. He had no choice but to drop his theory for now. Obviously, he was the only motherfucker who felt Dinah capable of betraying them.
Once again, the door
burst open. Instead of Val, as he’d expected, it was Bitsy, her lip and nose bloody and tears slipping down her eyes.
Bad fucking enough. The gun pointed to her head, however, made the situation fucking dire.
“Hands up,” Osti ordered, “or she’s fucking as dead as the rest of your sisters.”
Christopher wouldn’t fall for motherfucking taunts thrown out to fuck with him. If he’d killed them, Osti would’ve brought proof. Photos of their bodies. Pieces of them. He’d want to gloat with hard evidence.
“Osti!” Mortician snarled, as enraged now as he was calm a moment before. “I’m cutting your fucking dick off and stuffing it down your throat.”
“Hands the fuck up,” he demanded again, cocking the trigger and ignoring Mort.
Christopher nodded to Mort and Johnnie to follow suit. “Fine.”
“I’m sorry, Christy,” Zoann cried. “I opened the gate to go to the store, and he got in before I could close it.”
Well, that explained it because the codes had been changed.
“What the fuck I have to lose?” Osti managed in a strained voice. “Uncle Sharper’s dead!”
“He not identified yet,” Mort said with disgust. “It could be anybody they found in that room.”
“No! It’s him and I can’t let him Unk for nothing. I’m fucking finishing it.” His shoulders heaved. “I should’ve been in that fucking room with him. Instead, I was off on an errand.
No, no, fuck no. Shit wasn’t fucking right. Timing was off. When he got this motherfucker in the meat shack, Christopher would ask fucking questions later. No fucking way could Osti have fucking been with Sharper in fucking Atlanta and already be on the other side of the fucking country, a couple fucking hours later, with such adamancy about his death. If he’d really been burned so fucking bad, he wouldn’t be identified so soon.
No. Fucking. Way.
“Bitsy,” Christopher said, drawing his little sister’s attention, hating the fear on her face. “Stay fuckin’ calm.”
It was times like this he fucking thrived on, when stupid motherfuckers wanted to fucking draw out his goddamn torture. All it fucking did was allow him to re-fucking-group and fuck them up.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 256