“It doesn’t taste bad,” Meggie conceded after tasting it. “It’s briny, but the seasoning and the lobster adds to the flavor.” She finished the noodles and sat her plate down. “Actually, it’s rather good.”
With her words, the others decided to try the dish and reached the same conclusion.
Noticing the time, they sped up the tasting. Bailey came next with blue cheese and walnut appetizers, a combination mixed and rolled into little balls. Roxy served them bacon-wrapped smoked oysters and Meggie’s dish was minced clams combined with spices and seasonings and stuffed into mushrooms. Finally, Kendall brought out her last dish—jellied caviar shaped into hearts that she admitted she’d purchased.
All in all, the tasting party was a success. All the items would be on the party menu, including Bunny’s corndogs, especially since kids would be in attendance. Meggie also decided to add ribs, baked beans, a couple of casseroles, fried fish, French fries, and mini pizzas, to the food list.
“You did good, baby,” Roxy whispered at the door, offering Meggie a big hug.
“Thank you,” she said. “Do you think it’ll be enough to distract the guys?”
“We’ll see, sugar,” Roxy said. “They were all together today, and we didn’t hear any sirens.”
“You’re right.” Meggie hugged her again before she closed the door behind them, looking forward to the ball.
Hopefully, the past couple of days had been just a bump in the road and life would now return to normal.
LATER THAT NIGHT, CHRISTOPHER LEANED back into Megan’s embrace, allowing the hot water to flow over him. Usually, they’d be in bed by now, but, knowing him so well, she saw how annoyed he’d been since he’d gotten home for dinner.
After church, he’d gone to Big Joe’s monument and had a few drinks, to wrap his mind around the fact that Randolph was a Foy as much as he attempted to forget about his anger over Megan’s injuries. It hadn’t helped much.
Once they’d gotten the kids in bed, Christopher headed to Diesel’s room to catch up on his day, while Megan excused herself to get ready for bed. When Christopher got in the room, she’d been waiting for him at the edge of the bed, naked, her hair twisted up in a messy bun.
“Our bath is waiting,” she’d announced.
All Christopher saw were the fingerprints on her neck. He’d been about to decline, but she hadn’t allowed him. Getting up, she’d walked to him, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. When he responded, she’d began to undress him until he had no clothes on and she led him to their jacuzzi tub.
Megan got in first, opening her arms and legs to him. Sighing in frustration, Christopher climbed into the bubbly warmth, sat down, and backed into her embrace. For a long time, they’d been silent, still, lost in their own thoughts, until she started planting tiny kisses along his shoulder a moment ago.
“I’m fine,” she told him, as if she read his mind.
He didn’t answer her. She was alive, but she wasn’t fine. She was still hoarse. Bruised.
“Anything interesting happened at the club?”
He grunted. A bunch of fucking things, including the discovery of her nephew.
Her fingers played at his nape. “Did you see the guys?”
“Don’t I always see them motherfuckers?” he growled.
She kissed behind his ear, ignoring the sharpness of his words. “You’re still angry with them?”
“No shit.”
“Christopher,” she whispered between her kissing various parts of his skin, “just what are you so angry about?”
“What the fuck you mean? Don’t play fuckin’ stupid. You know why I’m fuckin’ pissed.”
“Actually, I don’t,” she countered. “If you think about it, Mortician and Johnnie did exactly what you asked them to do. Saved my life.”
Mortician might have, but fucking Johnnie? “Where the fuckhead who attacked you? Why I ain’t seen pieces of his body? What about the fuckin’ footage? That’s how I know it was motherfuckin’ Johnnie.”
“Suppose it was?” she asked, surprising him so much that he went still. Didn’t even breathe.
Tension invaded him, thoughts of cutting Johnnie’s head off dancing through his brain. She was finally admitting the truth, and Christopher could strike. “Then it fuckin’ was,” he concluded.
“Nope,” Megan answered calmly. “I’m just saying suppose it was.” She kissed his shoulder again. “For him to do something like that to me would mean something else was going on. He wasn’t in his right mind.”
He could agree, if Johnnie hadn’t opened an old wound by telling Christopher about him and Megan. Between Johnnie’s words, and now Megan’s, Christopher felt as if she had deeper motives for protecting him. Which made him want to kill Johnnie even more.
“You takin’ up for him ain’t helpin’ his cause.”
“I’m not taking up for Johnnie, Christopher,” she snapped, the first hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. “I’m taking up for you. So is Mortician. And Johnnie,” she stressed.
“Yeah? How the fuck you motherfuckers takin’ up for me when I want fuckin’ blood? What the fuck ain’t you understandin’ that if a motherfucker try to take you from me, I want fuckin’ retribution?”
She squirmed against him and he sat up, allowing her to wiggle away from him. He backed against the tub and she straddled him. The moment her now-hairless pussy brushed his cock, it stiffened.
She pressed her lips against his, then cradled his face between her hands. “What we do for you, we do because we love you. Me, Mort, Johnnie…all of us. If that means protecting you, then we’ll do it, whether you like it or not.”
He turned his face away and she sighed.
“I’m fine, Christopher. For now. But I won’t be if this affects you so negatively. Your pain is mine,” she reminded him. “Yes, I could’ve been killed—”
“Shut the fuck up—”
“But I wasn’t. Instead of celebrating that, you’re allowing anger to eat away at you. Granted, Johnnie has been odd lately. Maybe, he’s been saying or doing things at the club that I don’t know about. Perhaps, that’s why you’re so angry with him. Mortician, though? Mortician followed your orders to a ‘T’. You always want to protect everyone, but give us so much grief when we want to return the favor.”
“I ain’t no weak ass bitch,” he grumbled.
She grabbed his chin and turned his face toward her. “No, you aren’t. You’re big and strong. Our leader. Sometimes, I forget you’re a mere man. But you are. You’re mortal, Christopher. Fallible. Subject to hurt, physically and emotionally. And these are the times I’m here to protect you.”
“I love you so fuckin’ much, Megan,” he croaked, hearing her words and responding to them, even though anger toward Johnnie—and Mort—lingered. He wrapped her in his embrace, and she placed her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder.
“Stand up,” she whispered, after a moment.
He didn’t hesitate or question her as he got to his feet. She lifted herself onto her knees and kissed underneath his belly button. Fisting his hard cock, she tongued between his nut sac, licking up, along the thick vein, before circling his dick head. He buried his hands into her hair and groaned, surging past her lips, over the wet warmth of her tongue, until he touched the back of her throat.
Grabbing her neck, she pulled away, reminding him all over again what had happened to her.
“No, Christopher,” she ordered. “Don’t go back to that dark place. Let me take this at my own pace for now.”
He gritted his teeth, but nodded. He was acting like a jackass, but…she slid his cock crown into her mouth and gently sucked, then twirled her tongue around the smooth skin.
He’d get his fucked-up emotions—jealousy, betrayal, fear, and anger—under control and make his behavior up to her. He hadn’t even asked her about her tasting party. Tomorrow, during breakfast, he would.
Right now, with her mouth on him and his hands tangling through
her hair, he lost himself in her dick sucking.
SIPPING ON A BOTTLE OF rum and sidling glares at the back of Johnnie’s head, Christopher paced behind the chair Johnnie sat in. Despite their taste test yesterday, the women were meeting to discuss the Valentine’s Day ball. Usually, him and his boys enjoyed drinking and pool or poker in Christopher’s man cave. Tonight, however, he wasn’t in the mood to entertain any of those motherfuckers. Therefore, they were in the family room listening in on Megan’s plans.
The longer the meeting went on, the angrier Christopher got. He stewed in resentment, and longed for Megan to just fucking flinch when she looked at Johnnie. But she wouldn’t.
Didn’t these fuckheads know he knew if an unknown motherfucker-intruder broke in and was choking Megan, the assfuck would’ve been dead at Mort and Johnnie’s fucking feet? They’d be telling him the fucking moment they walked in so Christopher could rewind the video footage to that exact time.
They would have a fucking body for Christopher to fucking bury.
And they’d want to know why the fuck they were sitting in with the fucking girls when they could be in the man cave doing man shit.
Finishing his pint, Christopher sat in a recliner, across the room from his boys, and as close as possible to Megan. He shook his leg in nervous agitation. Flexed his fingers. Finally, he pulled one of the guns he had visible, held it up, and racked the slide.
Johnnie flinched. Mort’s mouth moved in silent conversation and he closed his eyes. Sliding down in his seat, Digger folded his arms. Val cleaned his fingernails with his knife, not meeting Christopher’s eyes. Cash and Stretch sat at attention, like sentries on a watch. Even Knox looked as if he wanted to be anywhere other than on the couch, next to Roxanne.
“What do you think, Christopher?” Megan called, her sweet little voice making his stomach hurt and his head pound.
He loved her so goddamn much. At this moment, when he had his gun in his hand, ready to kill his boys for protecting Johnnie and thinking Christopher was a fucking fool, she didn’t flinch. Her gentle smile soothed him. She knew he hadn’t heard a motherfucking thing she’d said, but she wasn’t condemning, berating, or chastising him.
She was reminding him that she loved him, no matter who he was, but that, also, she expected him not to be a cold-blooded killer. That this was their family and families worked through problems.
“Johnnie, do you think that’s possible?” she asked, when Christopher didn’t answer.
Johnnie cleared his throat. His ashen skin gave him the appearance of a fucking ghost. “Sure, sweetheart,” he said calmly. “That’s doable.”
Lying fuckhead, assfuck, motherfucker. “What the fuck doable, John Boy?” Christopher bit out, fury roughening his voice.
Silence. Just as he suspected, Johnnie didn’t know what the fuck Megan meant.
“The tuxedos, of course,” Johnnie answered with false calm.
Christopher glowered at him. He needed to fuck him up just for being a goddamn smart ass and bringing up those fucking monkey suits. “I ain’t wearin’ no goddamn monkey suit,” he said grouchily. “Case fuckin’ closed.”
Megan’s face fell, leading Christopher to wonder, if perhaps, she really had mentioned the tuxes.
She slid her pen across the tablet she was holding.
“Whatcha scratchin’ out, baby?” he asked on a sigh.
“The tuxedos,” she answered.
Johnnie smirked at him and Christopher bared his teeth.
“Okay, ladies, since they aren’t wearing tuxedos, should we make evening gowns optional?” Megan asked.
“I never said I wouldn’t wear a tux, Megan,” Knox called. “It’s a ball. Formal wear is a requirement.”
“It’s our ball, Knox,” Megan returned. “We can have any attire we want.”
“And you want the motherfucker fuckin’ formal,” Christopher said gruffly, suddenly feeling like a fucking assfuck.
She was trying so fucking hard to make everything right and he was fucking ruining it. His day of retribution would come. It might be tomorrow or next year, but he’d find a fucking way to murder Johnnie for fucking with Megan, and make it seem as if his death and her strangulation was unrelated.
“My ass gonna wear a fuckin’ monkey suit, baby,” he said, stuffing the gun back in his waistband.
“Now that that shit settled, can we fucking eat?” Digger piped in. “I’m so fucking hungry.”
Mortician rolled his eyes. “You stay fucking hungry.”
“Only when Bunny knocked up,” Digger grumbled.
“Ain’t fuckin’ true.” Christopher’s brain slowly cleared and a feeling of normalcy returned now that he had a plan of revenge in place. “Bunny ain’t knocked up now and you eat like a fuckin’ motherfucker.”
“Bunny having another baby, Outlaw,” Digger said around a yawn.
“No shit?” Christopher said.
“If you would’ve been listening, you would’ve heard,” Cash said in mild rebuke.
“Johnnie, my love, do you need anything?” Kendall interrupted. “Another drink? Water? I can get you whatever you need.”
“No, gorgeous,” Johnnie said in surprise.
Since when did Kendall offer to serve Johnnie?
She snapped her fingers. “I know! How about I get you a beer? You love beers.”
Johnnie blinked. Christopher narrowed his eyes. What the fuck was going on?
Kendall. Kendall was going on. He just needed to figure out exactly what she’d done. The memory of Johnnie boasting about the Uppercunt coffee recipe…
Fuuuuuccccckkkkk…how could Christopher have been such a dumb ass? If, in fact, she had put that list of shit in Johnnie’s coffee, it was to mask her real intentions.
Poison or drugs.
But…fuck…even for Kendall that was a stretch, yeah?
He peeped at Johnnie. To-fucking-day, he looked normal. But he’d been a sleeping, yellow-bellied, facing-the-wrong-way motherfucker.
Because of poison? Drugs?
Poisoning could take place over weeks, months. Years. But poisoning? Bitch knew it would get her nothing but death.
On the other hand, drugging the stupid motherfucker? Yeah, Kendall would do that shit. She had a whole goddamn pharmacy to un-psycho her miserable ass. A spectacular fucking failure, but what-the-fuck ever. Once a psycho cunt, always a psycho cunt.
Drugs.
Drugging Johnnie with her shit. Why the fuck couldn’t that bitch behave?
And what reason would she have to drug John Boy?
Christopher had researched her psycho drugs. In case she started turning into Frankenstein, he’d thought it best to know appropriate remedies.
Her medicines were supposed to work miracles and make her ass jump rope with a happy fucking smile on her face.
Sooooo, maybe, bitch wanted something from Johnnie and the only way to get it…No! Just fuck no. That shit didn’t make sense. Even for Kendall.
Yeah, he had suspected she had fucked with Johnnie some kind of way and made him forfeit the dream of a long life when he fucked with Megan. But what the fuck could she have done to him? It was something that made her ass feel guilty enough to want to take care of him.
As much as he told himself he was a crazy motherfucker, Christopher could only reach one conclusion. She’d fucking drugged him. Only a motherfucking drug could alter a motherfucker enough to where he lost his fucking mind. If she took shit to get unfucked-in-the-head, it stood to reason, a motherfucker with marbles would lose them.
Christopher scrubbed his jaw. Still…What fucking reason would psycho bitch have to drug Johnnie? He really doubted she was trying to kill him. Or was she? Trying to fuck him up on the fucking sly so when he keeled the fuck over not a motherfucker would suspect she’d fucked him up.
Except Christopher would. He always suspected that cunt. She was a fucking evil manipulator.
Yet…drugging Johnnie? Christopher had to fucking admit, even for her, that seemed as fucking ext
reme as his poisoning theory. But here she was, prancing the fuck about with a fucking deer-about-to-be-fucked-up-by-a-fucking-car smile on her face as she handed John Boy a cold beer.
Christopher watched as Johnnie hesitated, glancing at her face and then squinting into the beer bottle.
“Megan, baby, my ass want a fuckin’ beer.”
“Oh, um, o-okay,” she said, standing.
Kendall hopped from her chair. “Sit down, Meggie darling. You need to rest. I’ll get it for you, Outlaw.”
Christopher barked a laugh. “The fuckin’ day I accept a motherfuckin’ drink from your ass is the fuckin’ day hell freeze the fuck over. You ain’t hexin’ my ass with your nuclear fuckin’ spit or whatever the fuck you decide to fuck my drink up with.”
Kendall paled, a dead fucking giveaway of guilt, and Christopher roared to his feet.
“Bitch!” he snarled. “What the fuck you givin’ Johnnie for him to fuck with Megan the way he fuckin’ did?”
She stumbled back as everyone else stood and went silent. Turning, Kendall ran behind Megan—who was halfway across the room by now—and crouched.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Christopher?” Johnnie yelled. “Kendall didn’t do anything to me and I didn’t do anything to your wife.”
“Christopher!” Megan cried, not moving from in front of Kendall.
“Outlaw, baby, think about what you’re saying,” Roxy started.
“You fuckin’ think I ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout this, Roxanne. All the fuck I know is I choked his bitch.” Christopher stormed to where Kendall hid behind Megan. He pointed to Kendall. “Suddenly, Megan fucked up by a phantom motherfucker. She need to fuckin’ die!”
Reaching around his wife, he grabbed the most available part of Kendall—her throat—and dragged her in front of him.
“No!” she yelled.
Megan ran to him and grabbed his arm. “Stop it, Christopher!”
“Baby…”
“Stop!” Kendall begged. “Don’t kill me. I’m having a baby!”
All movement in the room stopped. Christopher released her as if he’d been burned. He’d gladly fuck her up. But her with a baby in her? No fucking way. Or, fuck, not again.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 442