Mortician sidled a frown in Outlaw’s direction as Johnnie met Outlaw’s gaze. They stared at one another, until Johnnie conceded and looked away.
“That doesn’t exactly sound like a denial,” he said tightly.
“Ain’t givin’ a good motherfuck what the fuck it sound like to you.”
“Swear to me that my meeting Emily was purely by chance,” Johnnie demanded, turning to study him.
Outlaw snickered. “Ain’t swearin’ shit to you, motherfucker. You either believin’ me or you fuckin’ ain’t.”
“Kendall got Megan kidnapped,” Johnnie said with distinct despair. “Megan almost died while Kendall withheld the information. Megan says it’s over and done with. You almost lost your goddamn mind, Christopher. I know you. I know you. There’s no fucking way you’re letting that go. Kendall’s still alive. You rewarded her with all kinds of shit. Trapping her in your snare. Luring her into your web.” He stood. “If something happens to her by her own hand, you won’t have killed her, but you’d still be responsible for her death because of your schemes.” He shook his head. “Don’t do this to her. Whatever it is. If it isn’t Emily, then it’s something. Please. Don’t hurt Kendall. Let me send her away.”
Instead of answering, Outlaw folded his arms.
“Think about how devastated you’d be if something ever happened to Megan, whether she was at your side or far away,” Johnnie went on. “I love Kendall. I just can’t live with her anymore. I can’t take her schemes and her bullshit. I…don’t hurt her,” he said again. “If you need to seek revenge, kill me instead. Take my life in place of hers.”
“A quarter of that bitch worth ten of you, motherfucker,” Outlaw barked.
“Not to me,” Johnnie shot back.
Outlaw met Johnnie’s gaze. For a moment, Emily thought he was going to confess all.
“You want the fuckin’ truth?” Outlaw said in a lethal tone. “I hate that cunt. She still a-fuckin-live cuz of Megan. All the fuck I wanna do is shoot the fuck outta her for so many fuckin’ reasons. I want that bitch gone. Dead. Wiped the fuck off the face of the fuckin’ earth. Shot from a fuckin’ cannon into fuckin’ space so she can fuckin’ turn into fuckin’ dust. I ain’t able to do that cuz of my girl. Every-fuckin-thing Kendall got cuz of Megan. My life, Megan life, my boy life, your fuckin’ life, your lil motherfuckers’ lives, ain’t ever mattered to Kendall. You think I give a good motherfuck what happen to fuckin’ Kendall when you start fuckin’ other bitches a-fuckin-gain?”
Johnnie looked at Mortician. “Talk to him.”
“What the fuck you want me to say, John Boy? I fucking talk to Red ‘til my balls fucking blue. She don’t fucking listen and that just piss Prez the fuck off.”
“You’re her friend,” Johnnie reminded him.
“I love Red, but she the busiest bitch around,” Mortician said in frustration. He rubbed his eyes then focused on Outlaw. “Prez, Johnnie love Red. Reconsider whatever psycho stalker Wildman revenge you plan for her. We know you planning something. We all do. It might not be this.” He pointed at Emily. “Her, but it’s something. Just don’t kill her.”
“Christopher.” Hope rang in Johnnie’s voice after Mortician’s speech. “I swear if she ever endangers your family again, I’ll kill her myself.”
Outlaw snorted. “That’ll be the fuckin’ day you fuckin’ grow your balls back. Since that bitch chewed them the fuck off and swallowed them motherfuckers, never to be fuckin’ seen a-fuckin-again, you ain’t ever goin’ to fuckin’ kill her.”
“Damn, Prez.”
“Jesus, Christopher.”
Outlaw smiled again and stared at Emily. “Ain’t layin’ a finger on Kendall,” he announced, never taking his gaze off her. “If that cunt end up buried ain’t gonna be cuz I fuckin’ killed her.”
He smirked at Emily and Johnnie, then turned on his heel. “Come on, Mort. Let’s fuckin’ ride.”
Mortician shook his head, then glanced at Johnnie, pulling on his riding gloves. “Kendall so fucked,” he sighed, and walked out, leaving Emily alone with Johnnie.
He faced her and they stared at each other. He had vulnerability written all over him. This Johnnie she could handle.
“I’m so sorry to have hurt Kendall,” she lied, hoping Kendall never found a reason to tell Johnnie about their last run-in. Of course, Emily could always set up another lunch date and bury the hatchet. Right in her back. “Please, forgive me. Don’t let what happened when we were children get in the way of our attraction.”
“There’s no attraction to you,” he growled.
Sure, asshole.
If he didn’t want to fuck her, why else would he still be there?
“From what I gather, I remind you of some woman.”
“It’s bad enough you fucked over Kendall. Don’t bring Megan into this.”
“You need someone to listen to you, Johnnie. Hear you. It sounds as if you haven’t had that for a very long time.” She patted the spot next to her. “I’m a very good listener. Let’s order pizza and drink a few beers while we get to know each other.”
He considered her for a moment, then closed his eyes.
“No strings attached,” she interjected, determined to sway the battle he waged in her favor. His eyes popped open.
“Fuck you. No!” He glared at her, then stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
His dismissal infuriated Emily, but her hands were tied for now. All wasn’t lost. For a moment he’d considered her offer, then changed his mind. After his smarmy begging on behalf of Kendall, Emily supposed his mind remained on that bitch.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Leaning against his bike, Christopher handed the binoculars to Mortician, lit a cigarette, sucked on it, then released the smoke. Sunbursts broke through the March sky, where layers of reds, oranges, and pinks painted dusk with an artist’s palette.
He sniggered at the pussified analogy, dragged on his cigarette again, then puffed out, hoping life was getting back to normal. Megan was pregnant again. Kendall would soon be dead. And the club had a very profitable gun-running deal on the horizon with Knox’s contact if things continued to go smoothly.
“Amfinger not doing a lot, Outlaw,” Mortician informed him as if he’d heard Christopher’s thoughts. “We saw the guns at the warehouse last night. They just like he promised. All the motherfucker doing at this shitty motel is leaving and coming back with food. If you taking the deal, this look legit.”
Christopher ignored Mort’s grouchiness. The motherfucker wanted to be with Bailey, who was fucking devastated over Roxanne. Last night, right after Christopher shared the news that he was going to be a father again, Mort told him that Bailey had just found out she was pregnant, too. Christopher knew that shit made girls emotional.
Joyner Amfinger did seem on the up-and-fucking-up. Riley did a detailed background check on the motherfucker. Amfinger came up for arms dealing, which was to be expected. That’s what the motherfucker had contacted Knox for. Joyner had had legitimate contracts, the kind sanctioned by governments, so Christopher didn’t understand why the motherfucker had contacted Knox to sell weapons to the club.
Shit just didn’t feel right. And, yet…the motherfucker was coming up as being who the fuck he said he was. He also had a warehouse full of merchandise. So what the fuck was the problem? Why was Christopher questioning his instinct when he rarely had before?
He didn’t have to question his fucking uncertainty. It all went the fuck back to Megan. His fucking decisions could mean her life. He’d always known that shit but…Disgust hit him. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Scowling, he snatched the binoculars from Mort’s hands. The man Christopher identified as Joyner leaned on the railing, his mannerisms relaxed. The Joyner motherfucker reminded Christopher of Johnny Bravo, with hair sticking straight the fuck up and tight clothes.
“We riding out today or we staying another day, Prez?”
“Ain’t sure yet. I think we seein’ what the
fuck we need to see.” He sucked on his cigarette again. “I ain’t wantin’ to be gone too fuckin’ much longer.”
“Meggie girl okay?” Mort flicked his cigarette into the gulley close to them. He nodded toward the landing that lead to Joyner’s motel room.
Christopher dragged and released smoke again. “She still got rough nights,” he responded. “Me, too. Mystic, the motherfucker, did more fuckin’ harm than he fuckin’ know.“
“Snake took her and you. She didn’t seem no worse for wear.”
“I wasn’t neither. Even though that motherfucker buried me the fuck alive. We both different now, Mort.”
“We all different, Prez.”
Christopher nodded. “Before I knew Megan was alive, I really didn’t give a fuck what the fuck Snake did. I’d lost Ma. Bitsy, Fee, and the rest of my sisters, hated me.” He didn’t like to bring up his other three sisters. Thoughts of them reminded him they’d been killed. They were gone. Focusing on them wouldn’t bring them back, so he shrugged, and got back to their conversation. “When they dug me the fuck up and I heard Megan, I had something to fight for.”
A cool breeze fluttered the low-hanging branches of the trees they lounged under. They were across the highway from the run-down motel that was surrounded by a shabby gas station, a greasy burger joint, a ramshackle bar, rutted roads and deep gullies.
It surprised him to feel so out-of-place, when at one time he would’ve fit in like a skintight glove. Not because he was a biker, but because of how he’d seen himself. His biker life had introduced him to worlds beyond his imagination. Society had it so wrong about the one percenters, but fuck them. That was their problem, not his.
He knew no other life but this one. Since Megan had come into his life, though, he enjoyed more comforts, and didn’t rough it as much. In times like this, when he went on runs and out-of-town business without his girl, he still did. Inadvertently, he’d gotten used to having a home and a family.
For some reason, the realization made him think of Johnnie. He’d pleaded for Kendall’s life with a desperation that haunted Christopher. Under other circumstances, Johnnie’s state would’ve moved Christopher and made him back off. If not for Johnnie’s sake, then thoughts of Megan’s wrath, or disappointment in him, would’ve calmed his rage.
Nothing helped. Not thoughts of Johnnie’s devastation if something happened to Kendall. And, not, the idea of losing the most important thing in his life. Deep down, he hoped Megan would give him a pass. Even when she’d demanded his promise in the forest, he’d skirted around it. She hadn’t pressed him or thrown in his face that he’d already sworn not to hurt Kendall because Megan had insisted he put psycho cunt on the No-Kill list.
Megan had to understand his reasons. But he was doing something he never did…fuck…rarely did…lying to her. About Emily and about all the “rewards” he’d given Kendall for confessing she might know Megan’s location.
He wanted to, at least, tell Megan about Emily, so she didn’t get falsi-fuckin-fied information. Inevitably, that would lead to him telling Megan his plans for Kendall. She might be so fucking disgusted by him and fed the fuck up that she left.
Still, he just went full the fuck speed ahead, as if he’d have no consequences. Just as his grandfather would’ve done. He hated Kendall so fucking much. Yet, if he destroyed what he had with his Megan, that cunt would fucking win any-fucking-way. What the fuck should he do? What the fuck could he do?
Shooting Johnnie hadn’t stopped Kendall. She’d still fucked with CJ. And Megan. Christopher believed only Kendall’s own death would stop her.
Or, maybe, he could have her locked the fuck away in another fucking psycho camp. Just have her snatched the fuck up, held in a cage with a key that, un-fucking-fortunately, was somehow lost. Thrown from a fucking cliff, into the ocean. Dropped in a fucking Louisiana swamp, where an alligator could swallow it.
The image of dropping Kendall in either of those places rose in Christopher’s head, giving him a greater sense of satisfaction than doing the same to a fucking key. A missing key was easy to rectify. A dead bitch could never be brought back to life to harm Megan or CJ or Johnnie or Rory, ever again.
Still, Kendall was fucking family. Until Johnnie divorced her. If Knox was fucking off-limits with a phony fucking engagement, then Kendall being married to Johnnie had the same benefit. Unless he was turning into his grandfather. Logan Donovan had killed his own fucking son, a motherfucker he’d supposedly loved. Yeah, Christopher had fucked up his old man, but he’d never considered CeeCee his family.
It would’ve made more sense if Logan had killed Christopher. He’d been his grandfather’s most hated object. The motherfucker had never seen people. Just objects, family or not. To play with. To use.
To destroy.
Christopher was doing to Kendall, and by extension Johnnie, what Logan had done to him.
“Mort.” Christopher flicked away his cigarette. “You think my ass turnin’ to Logan?”
“Lowman?” Mortician’s eyes widened. “What the fuck make you think that shit, Outlaw? Not even Satan could turn into that motherfucker.”
“I don’t fuckin’ know, Mort,” he said. “Ain’t I fuckin’ around with Johnnie life? I just been fuckin’ thinkin’. Know how I fuckin’ know this some Logan-type bullshit? Cuz of the fuckin’ shame my ass feelin’. In my fuckin’ head, even my Megan would fuckin’ change her opinion of my ass.” He rubbed his eyes, tired.
He hadn’t gotten much rest last night, missing Megan and worried that Johnnie would go on a fucking killing spree.
Christopher and Mort had still been in Hortensia, buying shit to take on the road with them, gassing their bikes, and mapping out the best routes, when Knox called in a panic because Johnnie had demanded Emily’s address and was headed to her house.
Christopher had already had a lot on his mind because he’d told Megan he had a run to make. He hadn’t mentioned that it involved guns since that had gotten his ass scooped up the last time he fucked with weapons. Until he figured out what he intended to do, he didn’t want to unnecessarily worry her. He’d had one long conversation with Joyner. One particular fucking thing had set off alarms in Christopher. When Amfinger said he’d been born in New Orleans.
Christopher had found it odd, since Roxanne was from New Orleans, too. Of course, a lot of motherfuckers lived there and had been born in the city. But with her boy acting like he didn’t like his bones in one piece, Christopher had wondered if Amfinger needed to become Aintfinger.
Riley had checked out Duke and Creighton, his father. No connection had been made between the three of them, so, maybe, it was just coincidence, and he’d grown into a paranoid motherfucker. He’d think on this shit later. Right now, Johnnie’s begging for Kendall’s life still fucked with him.
“Ain’t I makin’ the choice for Johnnie? A motherfucker do that shit to me, and I woulda killed them. Yet, look at my fuckin’ ass.”
“Prez, honest…?” Mort looked into the distance, then heaved in a sigh and met his gaze. “The shit you doing not your style. You don’t do fucking sneak attacks. If you want a motherfucker dead, you killing them and letting every motherfucker around know what the fuck you did.”
Christopher scrubbed a hand over his face. “This shit different. This family. Megan ain’t wantin’ me to kill Johnnie or Kendall.”
“That’s why the motherfucker alive today,” Mortician guessed. “When you shot him a few months ago, I know you re-angled your piece at the last minute because of Meggie girl. But, fuck, what you doing getting this Emily chick involved with Johnnie?”
“Trying to get Kendall so fuckin’ traumatized that she can’t take livin’ no fuckin’ more and go fuck herself the fuck up.”
Mort winced. “In other words, you not killing her.”
“Not fuckin’ directly.”
“No, but, dead is dead, Outlaw. Whether you kill Kendall yourself or drive her to do it, she’ll still be gone.”
“And the fuckin
’ world be a better place without her,” Christopher snapped, feeling as psycho as psycho cunt. No wonder Johnnie was so fucked up. That’s what that bitch did to motherfuckers with her Franken-fucking-stein ass.
Memories of his son with members of a Dweller support club because CJ had been abandoned by the same motherfuckers who’d taken Megan hadn’t left him yet. Inevitable, he thought of Megan, and the way he’d found her close to death. In some fucking shape or form, Kendall had been responsible for each of those events.
“Just off the top of my goddamn head, I can fuckin’ name sixteen fuckin’ crimes that bitch did, Mort.”
“Sixteen, Prez?”
“She got Johnnie shot.” He used his finger to tick off each crime she’d committed. “She drugged the motherfucker. She got my ass, Val, and her-fuckin-self stolen after inter-fuckin-fering in club business. She stowed away on the goddamn plane I was on to go and fix her fuckin’ bullshit. She threatened to open her big fuckin’ mouth and tell Megan the truth about what happened to Traveler and Dinah. She got into a fuckin’ fight with Bitsy. She came to the club, on Logan orders, to get dick from me to fuck up my marriage.”
“Prez, you about to run out of fucking fingers.”
Christopher flipped Mort off, then ditched the current finger count and started off. “She keep flirtin’ with my goddamn ass. The first time she met Megan that bitch told my girl she was the cunt that grinded her pussy on me. She paid Daphne to fuck with me to make Megan think I was cheatin’. She got that stupid bitch fucked up cuz I told Daphne to stop fuckin’ with Megan. Did she fuckin’ listen? Nope. Kendall made her believe other-fuckin-wise. Let’s fuckin’ forget Daphne a minute. Kendall blackmailed Fee. She a lyin’ bitch when she told motherfuckers she knocked up. And what about her lil’ motherfuckers? The way that bitch treat Rory is fucked up and you fuckin’ know it.”
Mortician squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Damn, Red make it hard to plead for her life, huh?”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 496