“Very fuckin’ hard. What the fuck can you fuckin’ say?”
“Red tried to get Bailey to divorce me, Outlaw. She was just looking out for Bailey, though.” Mortician raised his hands before Christopher blasted him. “Hold on. Kendall selfish, but some of the shit she do is for the right reasons. She just go about them the wrong way.”
“That’s your fuckin’ friend, Mort, so you gonna take up for her.”
“I don’t have nothing to say about the way she treat her kids and CJ,” Mort confessed.
“A bitch fuckin’ willin’ to beat a kid like he a grown fuckin’ man is a bitch that don’t deserve to fuckin’ breathe. Case fuckin’ closed. Kendall need to die. I want to kill her. Put the gun to her head, meet her eyes with mine, and blow her the fuck away.”
“I understand, Prez. Any other motherfucker and she would’ve been grounded a long time ago.”
“Exactly, Mort. Cuz in our fuckin’ world, a motherfucker fuck up, he die. Ain’t no middle-fuckin’-ground. Kendall fuck up over and over a-fuckin-gain.”
“That’s just it, Prez. This the gray area we never have had to worry about, but now we talking about family. No matter how you feel about it, Red related.”
Christopher clenched his jaw. Hearing Mort speak the words he’d been thinking, annoyed the fuck out of him.
“Whether you like it or not, Outlaw, it’s true,” Mort insisted. “You not handling things as you normally would, per se. Your means of reaching the end result is different, but Kendall still going to end up deader than a motherfucker.”
“Sharper was your fuckin’ old man. Johnnie was Logan favorite. You two motherfuckers still fucked up those two motherfuckers. Ain’t no gray area there.”
“What do you want me to say, Prez?” Mortician asked, a thread of frustration dropping into his tone.
“Not a motherfuckin’ thing,” Christopher snapped.
What was there to say? Either that bitch would live or fucking die. By telling Mort the truth, yesterday, after leaving Emily, Christopher knew he was having second thoughts.
Mort used the binoculars to look across the way. “Joyner gone, Prez.”
“Let’s wait a few fuckin’ minutes to see if the motherfucker come back.” He didn’t know if he’d gone in the room or left altogether.
“Peep this, Outlaw,” Mortician started after a moment. “Say Kendall fuck herself up after shit play out as you have them planned. What then? You can’t fucking tell me you’re going to be comfortable ever again. A part of you will always fear Meggie going to find out what really happened to Kendall.”
“Unless you fucking tell her…” A vision of Knox rose in his head, and Christopher’s voice trailed off.
“You planning on killing Knox, too?” Mort asked, correctly guessing where Christopher’s thoughts landed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Outlaw. I’ll keep your secrets, even if I don’t agree with them, and guard you with my last breath, as my president and friend. Don’t get me wrong. I hope you don’t do nothing that will get me fucked up on your behalf. I happen to like living.”
“In other words, no matter what the fuck I do, that bitch win,” he snarled, anger at the corner he found himself in, rising to the top. “If I fuckin’ grab that bitch by the throat, shove my gun in her mouth, look her in the eyes, and pull the trigger, she win cuz I gotta waste my fuckin’ brain cells thinkin’ of her as she die. If I fuckin’ drive her to fuck herself up, Ima fuckin’ worry the rest of my fuckin’ days about Megan findin’ out. On fuckin’ top of that, I gotta either fuck up Knox or cut his fuckin’ tongue out, yeah?”
“I didn’t say nothing about cutting the dude’s tongue out, Prez,” Mortician chided.
Christopher shrugged. “Either his fuckin’ brains would have to go or his fuckin’ tongue.”
“Tongue would be fine. I’m sure Knox would agree.”
“The most galling fucking development,” Christopher continued, ignoring Mortician as he came to the obvious conclusion, “would be lettin’ that fuckin’ bitch live.”
“You could also demand Johnnie choose. Tell him he either have to divorce Kendall or leave the club. The way you doing it now, you choosing for him anyway by putting Emily in his path and the way you have shit going down with Kendall.”
“Whatcha think of that Emily bitch?” Christopher asked, changing the subject.
“I don’t know her, other than seeing her ass for ten fucking minutes. What do you think of her?”
“You think she for Big Joe?”
“Wouldn’t that be fucking ironic?” Mort grumbled, then nodded. “A part of me do. If she is for Boss, bitch might be a fucking psychopath like Snake or an angel like Meggie.”
Christopher would bet psycho-fuckin-path. “Something about this bitch warnin’ me that she bad news. I ain’t able to put my fuckin’ finger on it.”
“She a psycho then,” Mort decided.
Christopher shrugged. “And she not for Big Joe, by the way. Had Riley check into it. Got a picture of her old man. When you put that bitch next to that motherfucker, they look alike.”
“That shit would’ve been too coincidental,” Mort responded. “Prez, why you got Knox working on this Johnnie triangle shit? You using Riley for everything else.”
“Knox don’t like Kendall.”
“I know. So you thought that would make it easier?”
“Knox don’t like my fuckin’ ass neither. He think he so fuckin’ different from us, but especially me. It ain’t dawned on that motherfucker, that he not much different, after-fucking-all.”
“I told you he want to learn how to ride. And he want a tat. I know you don’t believe him, but I got it all setup with Gabe for later today.”
“I don’t believe him, Mort,” Christopher agreed. “If he serious, I ain’t got a problem helpin’ the motherfucker, but if he doin’ it just to impress Roxanne and ain’t really into it, I ain’t involvin’ my-fuckin-self.”
“Prez—”
“No, Mort. Think about how he act with psycho cunt. He pretend he ain’t got a problem with her in front of Roxanne, but we know that ain’t the case. Knox want Kendall gone. The one time that bitch did something fuckin’ right and he hate her fuckin’ guts for it. He bein’ a cutthroat motherfucker, workin’ for me, to get things his fuckin’ way. He ain’t givin’ a fuck how Roxanne feel about Kendall and he ain’t givin’ a fuck that he consider Johnnie his friend. I fuckin’ thought I’d help him see how fuckin’ much like us he is be-fuckin-fore the weddin’. If that shit even happen now.”
Mort blew out a breath. “On the real, Outlaw? What the fuck going on? Shit just seems so off-kilter. We been near the border of Northern Cali for two fucking days. Watching Amfinger not a life or death situation, meaning you don’t have to be away from your woman. And, usually, when you don’t have to be away from Meggie, you not. Now you away from your girl and you got me away from mine. This not like you.”
“I needed time to think,” he admitted. “Megan don’t fuckin’ know about Emily.” A fucking timebomb waiting to fuck him in the ass if he didn’t tell her. “Megan don’t know about…” He shook his head, unable to finish. Kendall, he added silently.
Even now, after she whipped that bitch’s ass over CJ, Christopher would bet his cock and balls that Megan wouldn’t be happy with all of his plans.
Mort put a hand on his shoulder. “Prez, you can’t let your need for vengeance destroy what the fuck you and Meggie got. Kendall not worth it. And I don’t fucking mean that as aspersions against Red.”
“That should be a aspersion against that cunt.”
“Prez…”
“No, fuck, Mort, while you tellin’ my ass to go easy on that bitch, you forgettin’ what she was gonna do to my boy. Two separate fuckin’ occasions. You just givin’ that cunt a pass.”
“I’m not,” Mortician insisted, slightly offended. “Kendall got issues, though.”
“Yeah, bein’ alive,” Christopher snapped. “That’s her biggest mother
fuckin’ issue.”
“At least admit she have a mental problem.”
“Okay, Mort. Ima admit to that shit. In her mind, she think she better than every-fuckin-body. Mental problem identi-fuckin-fied.”
“You letting your anger blind you.”
“That shit allowin’ me to see quite fuckin’ clearly. If I had a fuckin’ crystal ball, that motherfucker would be fuckin’ red with Kendall blood. That’s how fuckin’ clear knowin’ she gotta die is to me.”
“Outlaw, if Meggie girl find out, what’s going to happen then?”
Christopher turned away from Mort, went to his bike, opened his saddlebag, and pulled out a pint of rum. He uncapped it and finished half the bottle. “I ain’t gonna have Megan if Kendall stay in the fuckin’ picture. Sooner or later, that cunt gonna do something that really get my girl fuckin’ killed. Then what?” He finished the bottle off, then used it to point at his friend. “Ima tell you then what. My fuckin’ life over. I gotta get rid of Kendall, Mort. She ruinin’ my life, Megan life, Johnnie life, fuck, her kids’ lives. She miserable and makin’ every-fuckin-body else fuckin’ miserable.”
“She one of us, Prez. Just like motherfucking Knox. Just like Roxanne. And Bailey. And Meggie. Kendall one of us. She belong to Johnnie.”
Christopher’s life would be so much easier if Kendall was gone, but what would her death do to Johnnie? Especially if Christopher backed her into a suicide. Johnnie might not ever forgive himself.
Mort’s phone dinged and he grabbed it from his pocket. “Look,” he said a moment later, holding the device up. “Bailey made reservations for our second honeymoon at this resort.”
“When Knox first proposed to Roxanne, I told my-fuckin-self that we was gonna keep shit on the right track and just focus on the fuckin’ weddin’. Yet…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Yet—”
“Planning a fucking wedding, or two, is so far off the goddamn radar, we probably won’t ever get it back on track, huh, Prez?” Mort’s expression dropped, and matched the plaintive note in his voice.
Instead of backing off from his plans for Kendall, he’d speed things up. The quicker this was fucking handled, the quicker life would get back to fucking normal.
Using Emily was the right choice. No fucking way would Johnnie be cursed with bad e-fuckin-nuff luck to get two lunatic bitches in a row.
Emily couldn’t ever be as bad as Kendall.
Never.
“Let’s ride, Mort,” Christopher said, pretending the dark feeling chasing him wasn’t warning him to back off.
Pretending the winds of blood and death weren’t moving in, and threatening not only the wedding, but their lives, too.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“Val!”
The happy greeting came from Gabe as Knox and Val walked into the tattoo shop Gabe owned. If Knox remembered, Gabe was Bunny’s brother. There were so many branches of family and friends that Knox couldn’t keep them all straight. One segment of their vast tree might break in one place, then pick up with the same father, sister or aunt, in another. Sometimes, he felt as if the entire town of Hortensia were connected to Outlaw in some way.
“What brings you in here?” Gabe asked, hands on hips, a walking pincushion with pierced brows, lips and nose. Big rings pulled his earlobes down in a grotesque display. “Hey, Knox,” he finally decided to greet.
Surprised that Gabe knew him, Knox nodded. “Gabe.”
They’d only run into each other at club functions three or four times, and talked even less than that.
As Val and Gabe caught up on happenings in their lives, Knox looked at the tattoo drawings lining the walls. Some were simple Celtic designs and black ink; others were intricate and colorful. It was a really nice shop, with a receptionist station that they stood around. In the middle of the room, half-walls surrounded an area containing a specialized chair, a sink, and utility cabinets. Amidst an arrangement of red leather couches, benches, and matching club chairs stood black lacquer tables, one overflowing with magazines.
“The reports aren’t ready yet.”
Gabe’s words grabbed Knox’s attention.
“I can do a quick printing of this month’s spreadsheet, Val.”
“You and Stretch do your usual,” Val responded. “We not here about the shops. This about Knox.”
“Shops?” Knox echoed.
Val nodded.
Gabe grinned. “The club owns part of my tattoo shop. We opened a second location in downtown Portland six months ago.”
Surprised, Knox glanced between the two of them. “I didn’t know that.”
“You not required to know that,” Val imparted.
“I’m part of the family,” Knox insisted.
“But not part of the club,” Val answered as though he spoke to a two-year-old. “Not a member,” he added before Knox thought of a reply. He turned to Gabe. “Knox want ink.”
Gabe studied Knox from head-to-toe, then burst into laughter. “You?” he said around howls. “You’re not a tattoo-type man, Knox.”
Knox narrowed his eyes. He had never been laughed at as much until he met Outlaw and crew. However, they didn’t “pick” only on him. They teased each other mercilessly, too. “I didn’t know you needed to be type to have a tattoo.”
Val And Gabe exchanged glances; both seemed ready to explode with mirth.
“You know what we mean, Knox,” Val chided. “You downed us partly because we inked.”
Instead of denying the statement—which would be a blatant lie—Knox glanced away.
“It’s like this,” Val continued. “We don’t give a fuck if you tatted or not. As long as you respect us, accept us, you fine in our book. If you want a tattoo just to get in good with us, we can leave right now.”
“It isn’t for any of you. It’s for Roxanne.”
Val’s eyes widened. “She asked you to get inked?”
“No, of course not!” Knox huffed out. “But…but…”
Knox feared he’d really lost her because, for the past two days, since the morning he’d found her preparing for breakfast, Ophelia had come to the club for cooking duties. Roxanne was determined to shut Knox out.
Change for him didn’t come easy. He’d been so quick to blame Callie for the end of their marriage, accusing her of tearing down his self-esteem, when he’d been as much to blame, if not more. It took his nastiness to Roxanne to realize his transgressions. Since his divorce, he’d still been living under the delusion that he’d changed. That he’d been the injured party.
That life was black and white. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Ever wonder who yanked a potato up from the earth and decided that might be a good thing to fucking eat?”
At Val’s stupid question, Knox blinked. He was waging one of the most important battles of his life—regaining Roxanne’s heart, her trust—and… “Excuse me?” he asked, Gabe’s snicker annoying him a little more.
Val shrugged. “Or who saw mushrooms and grabbed a few to munch on? How many motherfuckers pushed up their dicks after croaking from eating poisonous mushrooms before the non-lethal motherfuckers were found? I mean, who the fuck looked at that shit sprouting from the ground and decided it was a good-ass idea to pick them up to fucking chomp? Mushrooms sure don’t look tasty, even after they cooked.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Knox asked in outrage.
Amusement lit Val’s face. “Am I, Knox? You think I got fucking time to really think about that shit? It might cross my mind sometimes.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why you think Mort called and asked me to bring you to Gabe? He could’ve given you directions or let you choose your own shop.”
“As if,” Knox said tiredly.
First, Mortician had called him and told him to meet Val at the club in and hour. Five minutes after that call ended, Val texted Knox to see if he was on the way. They acted as if he didn’t have a fucking job. Because Mortician was willing to help him, however, Knox had made an exception a
nd left the office for the day. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn why he asked you to accompany me, Val. I’m just ready to be put under so I can get the tattoo.”
“Put under what?” Gabe asked in confusion.
“You’re the tattoo man—”
“Artist,” Gabe corrected.
“Okay,” Knox barked. “Whatever.”
Gabe’s jaw clenched.
Knox sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it. “This is all new to me. I…at least give me points for trying.”
“Trying don’t cut it,” Val told him, his voice torn between disgust and sympathy. “This not a preschool where you get ‘A’ for effort. This is real life. Brotherhood. Loyalty. Accepting us for who we are, like we accept you.”
Knox opened his mouth to dispute that, but Val raised his hand to halt his words.
“I know what you about to say. That we never accepted you. There’s a reason for that. You infiltrated the club with the intention to bring us down. Even after you got with Roxanne, you decided we didn’t make the cut. We not respecting a motherfucker who don’t respect us.”
Val’s gruff words chastened Knox.
“Fair enough.” Drawing in a deep breath, he looked at Gabe. “I would like the same general anesthesia that’s used on people who get full body tattoos. Cam has a couple on his arms. I was with him for one, so I know the job was too small for him to be put under, so—”
“Uh, Knox, there’s no anesthesia to get a tattoo.” Gabe stared at Knox with uncertainty. “You know that, huh, man? You’re just bullshitting me.”
Knox prided himself on knowing a lot about most things and a little about everything. Growing up, he’d had a very comprehensive education, so he was loathe to admit he was lost when it came to tattoos. “Of course I’m not joking. A big tattoo must be quite painful. There are needles involved. A lot of them.”
Val lifted a brow. “You scared of needles?”
“Of course not!” Knox lied. In truth, he was fucking terrified of them.
“Come on, motherfucker.” Val turned on his heel and headed for the hallway that ran alongside the receptionist’s station. “Follow me.”
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