Gargoyle drew his gun and trained it on Christopher. “Actually, we’re not.”
Troll-motherfucker gave him a triumphant look. “Do it or we shoot you down like a fucking dog.”
Megan’s face uppermost in his mind, Christopher followed their directions. He’d be a lying motherfucker if he told himself he wasn’t uneasy, and a little afraid, about their intentions.
Once he stood with not a stitch of clothes covering his ass, he looked between Troll-motherfucker and Gargoyle. “What the fuck now, fuckheads?”
A moment passed before he received an answer. The assfucks were too busy cataloging the bruises on his body, received during his fights.
“Get in the shower,” Gargoyle directed, then smiled. “You can always beg me for mercy.”
“That ain’t ever fuckin’ happenin’.” Without waiting for a response, Christopher turned and went to the shower, keeping his back to the fuckheads so he could get control of his fucking fear.
“Turn it on and step under it.”
Christopher growled in frustration, hating the drawn out bullshit. They must fucking know John Boy. He was a fucking master at psychological torture. Based on this experience, he saw that it had its benefits.
“Do it, Caldwell.”
Gargoyle. Troll-motherfucker. He wasn’t sure who’d gritted that to him. Their voices were fucking blurring in his head.
Aware of their weapons poised to shoot the fuck out of him, Christopher drew in a deep breath, then started the water. It hit him in ice cold waves. He gritted his teeth and turned in the direction of the two fuckheads. They were enjoying the fuck out of themselves.
Gargoyle whistled. The motherfucker who’d been pegged as the leader of their cellblock stepped into the room. His nudity didn’t bother Christopher. But the motherfucking blade in his hand did.
He made kissing noises at Christopher. “Hey, pretty boy. I owe you one,” he told Gargoyle.
“The best man walks away,” Troll-motherfucker chortled. “Though my bets on you, Doogie.”
Christopher weighed his options. If he didn’t do anything, Doogie would fuck him and then fuck him up. If he did do something, it would be in front of those two fucking guards. Witnesses, who could finger him for murder.
Suddenly, he was out of time and the motherfucker was there in the shower with him, the desire in his eyes chilling Christopher. He acted on instinct, head-butting assfuck, without warning, satisfied when the motherfucker reeled back and grabbed his nose.
“We can fuckin’ go the fuck our separate ways now.” Water still rained on Christopher, not much warmer than it had been when he’d first turned it on. He remembered the time he’d surprised Megan in her shower, while he’d still been fully dressed. Just as quickly, he pushed it to the back of his mind. He needed to survive this, to remember that. “Forget this shit ever fuckin’ happen. Or I can fuckin’ kill you. Take your goddamn pick.”
Shaking his head, Doogie tsked. Blood dripped out of his nose, covering his mouth and chin. “You really want me happy.”
“Wrong. I really fuckin’ want you dead.”
“Take that motherfucker out, Doog,” one of the guards yelled.
Raising his weapon, he lunged at Christopher. Unarmed and with the wall at his back, he was at a disadvantage. Christopher caught Doogie’s arm, the knife just inches from his throat.
Motherfucker was fucking strong. Christopher didn’t have the patience to continue the struggle. He had to risk being fatally stabbed to gain the advantage.
Turning his body a fraction, he eased up on holding motherfucker’s arm. The knife sliced his shoulder and Christopher grunted. His resistance lessening, Doogie allowed Christopher the chance to grab his hand and twist it until the knife dropped to the stall floor. He rammed his head against the tiled wall over and over.
Christopher could beat him to within an inch of his fucking life, but motherfuckers like him would keep coming back for him. Exterminate the enemy was a rule of the street and a rule of prison.
Motherfucker slid to the floor, his blood mingling with the water. Blood smeared the area the shower couldn’t reach. Breathing heavily, Christopher looked at the body, noticing a slight rise and fall of motherfucker’s chest.
Troll-motherfucker and Gargoyle had left. Not fucking good. They’d probably gone for fucking backup. Christopher would be locked away for life.
As that realization hit him, Doogie gasped. Taking no chances, he grabbed the blade meant to kill him, kicked the motherfucker over and plunged the knife in his neck, to the hilt. Waiting a moment, he pulled it out and threw it aside, watching impassively as the blood drained out of his attacker.
He stood under the shower to wash the blood from his hands and stepped over the body. A towel lay on the floor, next to Doogie’s discarded clothes.
Christopher picked it up and hurriedly dried himself, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder. He placed the damp towel over the cut to staunch the blood. He’d need this stitched. Wondering how the fuck he'd explain the wound, he hurried back into his jumpsuit. If anybody came in, he could play it off. If his wet hair and his lopsided shoulder wasn’t observed too closely.
Weary, he headed for the corridor and crashed to a halt immediately, seeing Gargoyle and Troll-motherfucker talking to a suited up fuckhead. All three of them turned to him.
Suit broke off and came to Christopher. “Christopher Caldwell?”
“Yeah?”
He glanced at the two guards, then back at Christopher. “I’m Warden Embers. There’s been a mistake that I’m here to rectify.”
Christopher didn’t trust the innocent sounding words. He didn't trust any of the three motherfuckers in front of him. One reason he kept his fucking mouth shut about the cut.
“We’re moving you to a private cell.”
Private? What the fuck was a private goddamn cell? “Solitary?”
“For your own protection.” He cleared his throat. “You’re welcomed to wear your colors.”
“My colors,” he echoed like a stupid motherfucker. But he’d gone from being forced to fuck a motherfucker up to being offered a private cell and his cut. This was past fucking surreal. Especially since the body of the motherfucker he’d fucking killed was still in the shower.
Christopher looked between them, expecting one of them to accuse him of murder. Not a motherfucker spoke. Gargoyle and Troll-motherfucker wasn’t fucking ratting him out. Doogie would stay in the shower, until a fuckhead found him by accident, and everybody would look the other way, going on with their lives.
Drawing his eyebrows together, Christopher looked at Troll-motherfucker and Gargoyle. Both of them motherfuckers seemed a little fucking green around the gills, two fucking undercover Cesars, overseeing gladiators. Of course, it would be Christopher’s word against theirs.
“Follow me,” Embers said into the silence.
“I fuckin’ heard that shit before,” Christopher muttered, having no choice but to do as he was told.
Sitting in a chair in a private room in the hospital, Fee pressed the ‘up’ button on the hospital remote, surfing through the channels on the TV. Though grateful to be alive, she couldn’t believe how gullible she’d been with Noah. She’d known his affiliation with the Torpedoes, had even questioned if he knew Counts…She clenched her teeth.
He must’ve had a good laugh over her asking if he knew Counts when all along he was the man. How could she have been so blind?
She sighed, dropping the remote in her lap and glancing out of the window. From where she sat, she only saw the gray skies. Fitting. The dreariness matched her mood.
What had she done? In her quest to forge a life for herself and get over Cash and Stretch, she’d probably caused a war that could get them killed. Not only them, but Christopher, Johnnie, and the men they called brothers. She couldn’t blame any of them for being angry with her, and forgetting she existed. She should’ve followed someone’s council, since her own had always been so questionable. As fond as she
was of referring to herself as an adult who could take care of herself, she’d always done a piss-poor job.
Too late to feel sorry for herself. She hadn’t listened to Cash, when he asked to keep their relationship private. She hadn’t thought of Stretch, when she’d pushed for more. She hadn’t considered Christopher’s rules, when she wanted her way.
After being in and out of consciousness for days, this was the second day she had full lucidity. Vaguely, she recalled people, lots of people. She even remembered seeing Charlotte Redding. Had she imagined that? She couldn’t be sure what or who was real.
Her heart twisted and she dropped her head into her hands, ignoring the pain in her neck and joints, and wondering who knocked on her door.
Sniffing, she sucked in a sob, absently inviting her visitor in.
“Well, well, look who’s up.”
Cash’s drawl made Fee raise her head. He walked to where she sat and planted a kiss on her head. Following close behind, Stretch leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“You’re both here,” she cried, her excitement, joy, and fear sending her emotions into overdrive. “I’m so happy to see you two. I didn’t think I’d ever see either one of you here. I thought you were too angry with me. Maybe, that you hated me. Or that Christopher forbade you from coming to see me. He or Meggie hasn’t been here to see me. Neither has Johnnie or Kendall. Or…”
“Fee,” Cash murmured, kneeling in front of her and grabbing her hands. “Don’t talk, sweetheart.”
Stretch walked behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Let your vocal chords heal.”
“Stop stressing,” Cash continued. “Meggie knows we’re here.”
“What about Christopher? Why hasn’t he been back to see me? Why won’t he allow Meggie to come?”
Stretch squeezed her shoulders. “How well do you know your brother?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Cash agreed. “You know how he is about family.”
Family meant everything to Christopher. Nothing would keep him away. Unless…“What’s happened to Christopher? Where is he? Is he all right?”
“Calm down, Ophelia,” Cash directed with sternness. “Don’t raise your tone and hamper your healing.”
“Yeah, Fee. Outlaw’s fine. Still in jail, but okay.”
At Stretch’s matter-of-fact statement, Fee’s heart stuttered. “In jail? Why? When did he go?”
“Cash and Outlaw were arrested for going after a Torp who burst into your room at the other hospital,” Stretch explained.
That sounded familiar. Moreover, it seemed as if she knew additional information about that, something that had to do with Charlotte Redding. And Kendall…? Foggy images danced in her head. Unable to make heads or tails of them, Fee abandoned the unformed thoughts. “You’re here, Cash,” she said instead. “Why is Christopher still in jail and you’re out?”
Cash smirked at her. “I don’t know if I should be hurt or not,” he teased.
“He’s the president,” she said primly, trying to contain her smile at Cash’s good mood, considering the seriousness of the issue. “He should already be out.”
“I agree,” Cash said. “It’s a point even your young nieces and nephews would understand.”
“Brooks is dumber than a branding iron,” Stretch grumbled, still behind her, while Cash remained in front of her, sandwiching her between them. “At least a branding iron leaves a mark. When Outlaw gets through with Brooks’ stupid ass, he’ll wish there was something left to brand.”
Thoughts of Charlotte hit Fee again. “Oh no! If something happened to Brooks, what would become of his wife?”
“You like that cunt?” Cash asked, lifting his brow.
“Yeah, Fee. What difference does it make what happens to her?”
Charlotte’s face morphed into Kendall’s, and Fee touched the bandage at her throat. “Actually, I was thinking of Kendall,” she admitted. “Whatever affects Charlotte would also affect Kendall.”
Abandoning his position behind her, Stretch sat at the edge of her bed and offered her a level look. “Worry about getting well. Those two are the last people anyone should waste sympathy on.”
Cash rose to his feet. “Stretch is right, sweetheart.” Their gazes collided and Cash shook his head, almost as if he offered a silent denial. “Fee,” he started, and closed his eyes, hiding his amazing blue irises for a brief moment. Raising his lids, he exchanged a glance with Stretch. “I have no words. None. Nothing, to express to you my fear of almost losing you. When Stretch delivered the news to me. Seeing him so broken up. Feeling so fucking helpless.”
Fee started to rise to her feet, but Stretch was at her side almost instantly. “Don’t. You need your strength back.”
“I have to move around,” she protested, hoarseness creeping into her words.
“Zoann told the staff to let you take it at your own pace, on Johnnie’s orders. He doesn’t want you to talk unless you’re ready.”
“But that’s insane. He doesn’t have a medical degree. Why would they even listen to him?” Although that did explain why she hadn’t been talking a lot.
“Just take it at your own pace, sweetheart,” Cash said, his look sweet and tender. “I’ve been such a fucking fool, rejecting your feelings.” He nodded to Stretch. “His feelings,” he said, since he spoke to Fee. “I didn’t want to admit how much you completed me or that I understood what you meant when you said the same thing.”
Fee looked at her two gorgeous men. She loved them so much. Nothing and no one could ever change that. Sometimes, though, it was better to love from a distance. Love wasn’t supposed to kill or to hurt or to hinder. Love meant joy and happiness, solitude and safety.
Love was selfless.
She grabbed both Cash and Stretch’s hands and kissed their palms. “I understand now,” she whispered. “I did before, but I was too stubborn to admit it. Christopher would be furious at our relationship. Without his protection, it isn’t safe for you two to be involved and without me, it isn’t safe for you two to be public.”
“You’ve never been our buffer. We weren’t with you so we could be out in the open.”
“I never thought that way, Stretch. Until now,” she added. “Nor do I mean it as you’re taking it.”
“Then what do you mean?” Cash bit out. “There’s not too much room for error with that statement.”
“I meant that with me, any woman, you’d have your best shot to be “open”,” she said, using air quotations, “and still remain in the club. But you two meant something to each other way before I came into the picture. I love you both. So very much. That’s why…” She swallowed and blinked away more rising tears, then linked their hands together. “I want you two to be together and be happy. Don’t let me hinder what you had. Life’s so short. One hour you might be looking at dresses and, the next, you’re near death. Don’t deny each other because you can’t have me.”
“We can be together,” Stretch said, reclaiming his hand. “The three of us. I love you both.”
Cash caressed her cheek and leaned down, kissing her mouth. “Outlaw’s wrath is something I don’t want. Never again. But I don’t want just one of you. I want both of you.”
“We belong together,” she said, the prospect of them being together a dream that seemed so out of reach. “The three of us. We do. I believe that with everything in me. However, we all deserve happiness. If we can’t be together, then you two should be.”
Hope glimmered in Stretch’s eyes before he heaved in a breath, noticing the stubborn set of Cash’s jaw.
“We’ll be together,” he swore. “All three of us. Just give me time to figure it out, without involving Meggie. If we’re grown motherfuckers, then we handle our own shit.”
“Cash, haven’t you heard me? Life is short. Neither me or Stretch can spend the rest of our days waiting until you figure out how to make us work. I want children. I want a family. I almost died, and I’m no longer going to deny how much love—kids—mean to
me.” Fee felt selfish for even saying that, but it was true. “I want kids with you and Stretch. Now. Soon. If Meggie can smooth things over with Christopher, it doesn’t make us any less adult.”
Cash looked from her to Stretch, and shook his head. “I love you both. It took almost losing you, Fee, for me to admit that to myself. But I have to do this my way.”
“Life is about compromise,” Fee protested.
“How long do you need, Cash?” Stretch interrupted.
“I don’t know. Time,” he said in his usual vague style.
“Take all the time you need. Both of you,” Fee added, praying she wouldn’t break down and cry in front of them. “If I’m still around when you’re ready, I’ll be more than happy to work things out. But this isn’t only your relationship, Cash. We’re all involved.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Let her rest, Cash,” Stretch said quickly. “We’re talking about us when she’s still recovering.”
“No, Stretch, let me answer him.” Fee raised her gaze to Cash and offered him a regretful smile. “I want you to want us so much that you don’t need time. I want you to want us so bad that you don’t feel as if you can live without us. Or I want you to let me go. Stop asking me for time and find your happiness with Stretch. You’re not being fair to any of us. The time for us is now. Not yesterday and not tomorrow. One’s gone and the other hasn’t arrived. You want me? Us? Do it now or don’t do it at all.”
Do it now or don’t do it at all.
As Cash followed Johnnie to Brooks’ office the next morning, Fee’s words kept replaying in his head. He couldn’t keep her waiting while he found his balls to face Outlaw.
“What’s on the agenda for the day?” Johnnie asked, breaking into his thoughts as they departed the elevator and walked toward the glass doors of the law firm.
Along one side of the hallway were expensive artwork and alcoves of museum-worthy statues. On the other side was a curving glass wall that showcased the Portland skyline.
“Anything in particular you’re doing?” Johnnie asked again, stopping right before they reached the doors to light a cigarette.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 347