“Megan?” Johnnie started.
She stood still, staring at the wildness in Johnnie’s eyes, the burning rage. Right now, Johnnie was dangerous, on edge and at a loss.
He leaned against her, wrapped an arm around her waist and drew his cell phone up. A photo of Kendall, with horrendous bruises on her neck, greeted her.
“Your husband choked my wife,” he said roughly, so close to her ear his breath fanned her hair. “Again. Is it any wonder Kendall rebels and has no respect for me? I can’t protect her. To get back at me, she goes against whatever Christopher tells her to do.”
“She needs to leave Christopher alone.”
“So you’re condoning his actions? Choking my wife?” he gritted, and rubbed a finger down her back. “Suppose I decided to strangle you? Only, I wouldn’t pretend to have morals and stop. I’d kill you.” He sniffed her hair. “He’s your pussy. What’s wrong with me being Kendall’s?”
“You need to calm down,” Meggie said as evenly as possible.
“You’ve suffered a lot on behalf of the club—Christopher—yet you’re still here. Why? What makes you sturdy enough to handle club life but leaves Kendall sad and vulnerable?”
“Johnnie, listen to me. Kendall loves you—”
He spun her around and grabbed her throat, not applying any pressure. “Does she? I love her. More than you or anyone will ever know or believe.”
“I know you love her.”
“Do you?” he asked, almost conversationally, applying the slightest bit of pressure to her neck. He gave her a chilling smile. “You’re like a little doll. It would be so easy for me to crush your windpipe. Snap your neck. Stop torturing my wife with your presence. Bring you down from the untouchable place Christopher has put you. Miss Golden Princess. You’d make such a beautiful corpse.”
“Johnnie, please. Christopher loves you. If he knew you’d gone over the edge like this, it would devastate him.”
He yanked her closer. “Shut up. Christopher loves no one but you. He’d sacrifice his children to save you. Certainly, my wife is expendable to keep you happy. The minute Kendall does something, you whine to him.”
“No!” she said wildly. “I don’t. There’s a lot about our relationship that I keep from Christopher. To keep the peace.”
He stared at her, but she saw nothing of the Johnnie she knew. Anger blazed in his eyes, turning them a molten silver, and giving him a wilder look. He threw her onto the bed and was upon her before she could scramble away. Grabbing her throat, he tightened his hands around her neck, squeezing her throat and trapping the air inside of her lungs.
She wiggled underneath him, kicking her legs in desperation, but didn’t dislodge him. He was a killer, well-practiced in annihilation and cover-ups. Maybe, he wouldn’t leave a trace of her. In case he did, though, she dug her nails in his cheeks and scratched, fighting dizziness and darkness.
“Let her go or die.”
Mortician’s steely voice reached Meggie through the fog in her head. Immediately, Johnnie released her and moved away. As she grabbed her neck and coughed, flesh met flesh.
Her throat aching, Meggie sat up. Mortician had Johnnie in a chokehold and was squeezing the life out of him, a gun to his head.
“Stop!” she screamed. “My God, please, stop.”
Just like that, Mortician released Johnnie and allowed him to drop to the floor, coughing and spluttering. Before Johnnie recovered, Mortician kicked him in the ribs. In turn, Johnnie grabbed Mortician’s ankle and pulled him to the floor, punching him in the mouth.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” she yelled, to no avail. They were pummeling each other to bloody pulps. If she didn’t do something, one of them would die.
She’d handled a gun one time before, and saved Christopher’s life. Although she’d only wounded Traveler, she’d stopped his intentions. Spying Mortician’s forgotten gun on the floor, she rushed to it, picked it up and aimed it across the room, squeezing the trigger. The report hurt her ears and plaster sprayed from the wall, but Johnnie and Mortician jumped apart.
The three of them stared at each other. Meggie stood, trembling and gripping the gun, until Mortician snatched the weapon from her and drew her into his arms.
“Meggie, girl, we going to have a fucked up time explaining this scene to Prez. It’s going to break his heart.”
“Megan, I’m so sorry,” Johnnie said from behind Mortician.
“Shut up,” she snarled, yanking away from the club enforcer and barreling to Johnnie, ignoring his bleeding mouth and nose, swollen eyes and scratched cheeks. “Just shut up. You’re nothing but a jerk and a jackass. All the anger you showed to me is misplaced. You need to take it to Kendall. But you can’t because you’re afraid she’ll leave. That isn’t my fault she’s like that. Take it out on her not me. You have something to say to my husband, go to him.” She turned to Mortician. Despite her trembling and tears, she thought fast. “I need you to go to the security room and erase the footage from whenever Johnnie entered the house.”
Mortician blew out a breath. One of his eyes was swelling, and his lips were bloody. “You know what you asking me to do?”
“I know,” she said around sniffles. “But I have to protect my husband. He’d never be the same if he had to kill Johnnie.”
Johnnie released a bitter laugh. “Of course, saving my life is on behalf of Christopher. Not me.”
“Shut the fuck up, son,” Mortician snapped.
“Make me,” Johnnie returned.
Mortician started for him again, but Meggie grabbed his hand. “Ignore him, please. Christopher is going to be home soon. I have to think of something to tell him.”
“You’re going to have to think of a fucking lot,” Mortician pointed out with disgust. “We fucked up. You got a fucking bullet hole in your wall. The kitchen a wreck and your fucking neck has clear fucking fingerprints on it.”
“I know it’s a lot.”
“Fuck, fine, Meggie. When you find my bullet-riddled body because your man went all psycho stalker on me, say a fucking prayer over me.” Mortician glowered at Johnnie. “Come on, motherfucker. I better not regret this. Because whatever the fuck sent you over the edge not solved, if I’m guessing right. Especially if it got to do with Red.”
“Leave my wife out of this,” Johnnie said tightly.
“Why? Red need a come-to-Jesus moment from you and one you mean. Not one you say to appease Prez or to make yourself feel like a fucking man. You need to stick to your goddamn guns. Red got good in her, but she like highbrow shit. In case you didn’t realize, we not highbrow motherfuckers. Until you give her the life she want—or tell her to accept the life she have—she’s going to be getting into shit that fuck with everybody.”
“Everyone always blames Kendall. What about Megan? Christopher judges Kendall by the perfection he sees in Megan.”
“The fuck he do,” Mortician shouted. “You judge Red by what you see in Meggie. Red not Meggie, motherfucker. Meggie one of us. She cool and easy-going. Red not. She need opera and art shows and being on committees. She need her fucking career. You want a chick to be happy running your house and making your home happy and a place everybody want to be, you should’ve fucking married another bitch.”
Johnnie hung his head. “But I love Kendall,” he said in a teary voice.
Mortician squinted. “Aww, man, I know your bitch ass not about to boohoo up in this motherfucker.”
Meggie snapped her brows together, shocked at the watery streaks on Johnnie’s cheeks.
“She hates me, though. She’s trying to get me killed.”
“Red not trying to get your dumb ass killed, Johnnie,” Mortician said in disgust. “She trying to make herself happy.” He rubbed his brow. “What the fuck she did now?”
“She wants to take a case,” Johnnie said on a sniffle. “Christopher will kill me. How the fuck can Kendall do this to me?”
“If you haven’t figured this out yet, you never will,” Mortician said. “Now, bring y
our crying ass downstairs and pick up that shit in the kitchen. When I saw your Glock on the counter, and the mess all over, I knew you did something fucked up.” He turned to Meggie. “Pull yourself together. After I erase the footage and put this motherfucker out, we’ll put our heads together and find a way to work this out.”
Meggie nodded. Mortician was one of Christopher’s best friends, and once again, he’d help her to protect her husband from his own sense of honor.
“Mommie!” CJ yelled, barreling into the room and skidding to a halt.
She smiled at him, afraid to talk. But he was blinking, studying her, Johnnie and Mortician. “Can you give me a minute, buddy?” It hurt to talk.
At the rough sound of her voice, CJ’s eyes widened.
“Wait for me in the hallway,” she managed. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
She never asked him to leave her presence, so it surprised her when he left without a fuss.
“We so fucked,” Mortician mumbled.
Not commenting, Johnnie stalked away.
Meggie stumbled toward the bathroom to clean herself up, wondering how she’d manage to hide this from her husband.
KENDALL TRACED THE OUTLINE OF what looked like fingers—Christopher’s fingers as she’d led Johnnie to believe. He’d left two light marks on her neck, but she’d come home and used her own hands to make it seem as awful as it had the last time. Now, dark bruises lay against the backdrop of her pale skin.
It had been very effective in garnering Johnnie’s attention during their video chat. Her husband had been beyond pissed. She was sure the emotion of believing he’d almost lost her—again—would work to do what the drugs hadn’t so far.
She thought about the night in the diner during the meeting with Randolph. She’d been so fucking scared she’d accidentally overdosed Johnnie. For a day and a half, he’d been so sick, and she’d shed bitter tears. If she lost him, she’d lose her heart.
Why did he have to be so goddamn stubborn? They were husband and wife. They should’ve been partners-in-crime. All he needed to do was give in and tell her she could take Randolph’s case. It would be their secret. But, no. He went along with the club’s rules, loyal to them instead of her.
She turned her head from side-to-side, smiling at how awful her neck looked. When she garnered Johnnie’s sympathy, he gave her anything she wanted. Hopefully, her husband would beat Christopher to the ground.
Her smile faded.
Christopher had frightened her half to death, but she refused to let that asshole know it. As usual, he stopped. It didn’t matter what she did. He’d always pull back because of Johnnie. Killing her would destroy her husband. Christopher, the ignorant fucker, was loyal, if nothing else.
She hadn’t meant to lie to Christopher about Meggie’s plans for the ball she wanted to throw. But the man annoyed her to no end. And she tried, she really, truly tried to fit in with the other women. It was hard not to feel envy, especially toward Meggie.
All the other women had husbands who listened to them. Hers always disregarded her.
She scowled. Everyone always said she needed to learn how to be a friend, a mother, a this, a that. What about Johnnie? He should figure out how to be a husband.
Someone should tell him to stop comparing her to Meggie. Of course, what could she expect? The dummy had actually asked Meggie to plan Kendall’s wedding.
Meggie.
Megan Caldwell. Of all people.
Perfect, petite, golden cunt, Meggie, whom Johnnie would sacrifice himself over before he touched a hair on her head.
Johnnie exhibited more jealousy when Christopher made his crass comments about fucking Meggie on top of a fucking refrigerator—or some impossible place that Kendall would never fit—than he did when Kendall came on to Christopher.
At least, that asshole reacted to her teases, which was now little more than a game to her to get someone to see her, even if it was Christopher.
Admitting she had been attracted to that idiot and that she did want to fuck him shamed her. For that alone, she should’ve had her pussy ripped out. She hated that asshole for treating her like she wasn’t worth dirt and she disliked his coarse ignorance.
Winning his acceptance would never happen. It always ended in disaster. Besides Roxy, the one person who accepted Kendall for who she was, was Meggie, and she was the woman Kendall resented most of all.
Meggie reminded her of her childhood nemesis, Emily.
Meggie represented the perfection Johnnie judged Kendall by.
Kendall swiped at a renegade tear, and set her jaw.
Maybe, her attraction to Christopher was what she needed to soothe her hurt. If Johnnie wanted Kendall to act like Meggie, why couldn’t he show the blind devotion that Christopher did?
That point was always lost in translation. She was just Kendall, the joke of the club. The crazy one.
If she had something—loyalty from Johnnie, friends not connected to the club, her career—she could overlook a lot. She’d feel better about herself. Accomplished.
She probably could get along with the women, if she had her career. What didn’t Christopher or Johnnie understand about her being a working woman?
All the medicine in the world…all the therapy…would never work on her as long as she was so unhappy deep inside of herself. It was one case. Johnnie could stick up for her in this instance. Even if he had to keep it hidden from Christopher. He could be on her side. One way or the other, however, he always left her out in the cold.
She leaned against the vanity, thinking back on the past few weeks, what he’d forced her to do to him. Once he recovered and she realized he’d be okay, she started adding smaller doses of a different drug, to his drinks. It still hadn’t done any good, so for past two nights, she’d made him sleep somewhere else.
Her meds made her complacent and compliant—agreeable. She’d been so sure they’d do the same for her stubborn husband. Except for making him sick, affecting their sex life and agitating him, she’d achieved nothing.
This morning, she’d waited a bit before going into the dining room and giving him an ultimatum. Either he allow her to work the case or she’d never talk to him again.
He’d walked out. The pills still hadn’t worked.
Now, though, she had leverage. Christopher had played right into her hands.
The bathroom door opened, and she lifted her head, ready to give her best performance of a frightened woman. Instead, her husband came into focus—his battered and bloody face.
“What happened to you?” she cried, rushing to him and lifting her hand to touch his face. She hesitated, not wanting to hurt him further. Christopher’s visage rose in her head. “That fucking asshole!” she fumed. “Why did Outlaw hit you?”
“It wasn’t Christopher,” Johnnie said, sounding strange, almost shell-shocked.
Kendall’s mind whirled. She worked her throat, trying to find words. Johnnie’s handsome face had cuts and abrasions, scratches and bruises. She took his swollen hand, noticing his bloody knuckles, and guided him into their room, gently encouraging him to sit on the edge of their bed.
“I’m going to get blood on your clothes,” he said dully.
She frowned. “So?”
He stared at her, not blinking, not glancing away. The look in his eyes chilled her and she stepped back. He looked dangerous. Deadly.
He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “Do you love me, sweetheart?”
What was going on? Of course, she loved him. Johnnie was her everything. How could he question her feelings? Ordinarily, she’d demand answers. Confront him. Challenge him.
Not now. This wasn’t her Johnnie. This was a cold shell of a man. A killer.
Oh, dear God! This was the result of drugging him.
“Do you?” he rasped.
She nodded, her heart pounding. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never been afraid of Johnnie. A time or two, Christopher had put the fear of God into her. But not her husband. Ne
ver him.
He pulled her next to him and caressed her nipple, massaging it to a hard point, despite the top and bra she wore. “Say the words.”
“I-I love you. Johnnie,” she whispered.
He touched the bruises on her neck, and gave her an icy smile. “Mortician.”
She was almost afraid to ask. “Mortician what?” she questioned, doing as she knew he wanted.
“Beat me like this.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat and drew her brows together.
His pupils dilated. “Ask me why.”
“Why?” she breathed, goosebumps raising on her skin at the chill in his voice.
“I was strangling Megan,” he announced in a matter-of-fact tone.
“What?” she gasped, nearly falling back, glad she was seated.
A gleam entered his eyes. “Christopher put his hands on you. I returned the favor with his wife.”
“What?” she echoed, unable to think of another word. Her breath burst out in short pants. At any minute, she would faint. Not killing her to keep Johnnie happy was one thing. On the other hand, Outlaw wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all behind Meggie. “He’s g-going to k-kill you,” she managed. “I thought you loved her! How could you do that to someone you claim to adore?”
The words hung between them. Real tears threatened. She didn’t need an answer. Her actions had led to his. Fear, worry, and shame converged inside of her. If Johnnie survived this, she’d never slip him any of her medication again.
Johnnie caressed her cheek and gave her a half smile. “I love you,” he said in that cold, distant tone. “Is that it, Kendall? You don’t believe me? Is that why you don’t have a second thought of going against Christopher’s rules and risking my life?”
Oh my God! He’d sentenced himself to death because of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed against his shoulder. “Johnnie, please. I’m so very sorry. I swear I’ll do whatever you want me to. But we have to leave before Christopher finds out. He’s going to kill you. We have to go. Withdraw as much cash as possible and flee.”
“No. We’re staying. Megan’s handling it. As always. Sweet, sweet Megan.”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 435