Chapter Twelve

An hour later, CJ sat at the tables allotted for him, his younger brothers, and his cousins, although only he, Rory, Devon, and Grant used it. Ryan had long ago stopped joining in, as had Rule. The younger boys chose to play outside or run through the clubhouse when it wasn’t too crowded. For that matter, Grant straddled the line between his father’s table and this one.

Dinner was delicious. Somehow, Mom and Rebel pulled together a feast with the help of some of the club girls. He wasn’t sure where Lolly was. Usually, Aunt Bunny would be around at the very least. Something else was going on.

And why the fuck not? Today had been a long fucking day, filled with tension and unease.

He thought about going into the kitchen where Mom, Rebel, and Nyx were cleaning up. CJ never considered his mother’s politics and method of controlling the club girls. She’d found her own way of outmaneuvering the women, especially the new ones.

They sought influence and attention. Dad only outranked Mom’s power around the club. Everyone knew it. Which is why the way Dad handled Torie and her bullshit was undermining Mom.

Sighing and grabbing his beer, CJ took a sip, then snatched his cigarette from the ashtray and took a drag.

If no one else learned from that fiasco, Axel certainly had. Mom hadn’t spoken to any of them. She hadn’t cooked. To say she’d frozen them out was a fucking understatement.

Fuck, Dad was watching over Mom and worrying about Jo and Rebel. Life worked best when Mom ran the house, told Dad what she needed, and he focused on the fucking club. Jumping into her lane was fucking up everything.

Or, whatever. Fuck. CJ kept trying to hit upon reasons when, perhaps, there just wasn’t one.

Rory entered from the hallway and headed to the table. Seeing Ryan hot on CJ’s heel surprised CJ. He hadn’t seen him outside, where he’d escaped to eat, or anywhere in the crowd.

“Hey, cuck,” Ryan greeted.

CJ took another drag of his cigarette, then released plumes of smoke. “Hey, fainter.”

Ryan scowled. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Get the fuck out of my face,” CJ growled, unimpressed.

Fuckhead the fainter sat.

Grabbing a chair and turning it, Ryan sat and straddled it. He studied CJ.

As much as he liked Rory, he wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit either. He was on edge. Hopefully, he’d feel a little better after Jo’s surgery.

With her heart surgery, he’d found out about the operation two days before. This time, he’d known about her operation for almost three weeks. Each passing day increased his anxiety.

After the meeting in the conference room and the crowd thinned out, CJ’s mind raced with all that could go wrong. He almost wished Dad would call him back, misguided though his intentions were.

Instead, while Mom, Rebel, Nyx, and some of the other girls cleaned up, Dad and Diesel were in his office, talking.

“We have to talk to you.” Rory gripped the edge of the table so tightly his fingers were turning white. He glanced at Ryan, who was clenching his jaw. “I-I have to talk to you.”

CJ finished his beer. “If it’s about Rebel fucking up Uncle Johnnie—”

“Dude, please,” Rory snorted. “My father should’ve gotten worse than that. He hit Aunt Meggie when she stepped in front of his intended target. My little sister.”

As if he’d been listening, Rule walked out of the kitchen, zeroed in on CJ and barreled over. He stopped between their cousins. They both paled.

“What’s up?” Rule asked.

“N-n-nothing,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “We were just talking about earlier today.”

Rule’s mouth tightened. “Rebel and Mattie caused the deaths of two good men.”

“They were fucking assholes,” CJ barked, “and if you tell that bullshit to either of them, I’ll fucking gut you.”

Rory’s eyes rounded, and Ryan shook.

“I can put a curse on you,” Rule said with a cool smile. “You won’t see your 17th birthday.”

“And I can fucking haunt you,” CJ snapped. “Besides, aren’t curses and shit anti-Jesus?”

“Rebel and Mattie aren’t godly women, CJ,” Rule said fiercely, ignoring CJ’s question.

“They aren’t women at all, you little zealot motherfucker.”

“The bible says—”

“Fuck the bible!” The words caught up to him and CJ groaned, glancing up and saying a quick prayer of forgiveness.

Rule’s face darkened. The horror on Rory and Ryan’s faces would’ve been funny if Rule wasn’t so fucking annoying. What the fuck had Rule done to them, anyway?

“I didn’t mean that, Rule,” CJ said. “I’m sorry. I’ll never disrespect your beliefs or the bible. But you’ve misinterpreted so much from the Word. You overthink it and apply your own logic. It’s fucking with you.”

“God and His angels talk to me. They tell me what I need to do.”

“I doubt that. They’re just voices in your fucking head. You need therapy and medication.”

Rule stiffened. “I’m not crazy! Don’t say I didn’t warn you when Jesus rises again and you aren’t amongst the Chosen.”

“Dude, you’re misinterpreting everything,” CJ argued. “The bible and faith and religion. Let’s forget this and go back to Mattie and Rebel for a minute. They’re children.”

“They are whores. They corrupt the souls of good men!”

Anger flared in CJ. He’d have to tell Dad about Rule’s feelings. A maniacal light flared in Rule’s eyes that gave CJ an eerie chill.

Rebel’s laughter grabbed CJ’s attention. She’d left the kitchen and he hadn’t noticed. Rule was staring at their sister, too. She was standing next to Bishop at the table where he sat with Narci, Zephyr, Huck, Pike, and Torrin. She swept her hair up, fashioning a bun that defied logic.

CJ never understood how girls got their hair to stay in place without a clip or a band.

She laughed again, drawing even more attention from the remaining brothers. Placing her hand on Bishop’s shoulders, she bent and whispered to him. Although he had Dad’s permission to resume his friendship with Rebel, Bishop sat perfectly still, barely cracking a smile, seeking out CJ.

He shrugged.

Rule stiffened, disgust on his face. “Whore.”

Neither Rory nor Ryan commented.

CJ wouldn’t get into an argument with Rule. The day had worn him out, and he’d probably get very little sleep with so much on his mind.

He didn’t need Rebel to fuck up her twin. Yet.

“They are all lusting after that Jezebel,” Rule said. “Mom and Rebel not only look alive. They’re temptresses alike.”

CJ lifted his eyebrows.

“Reb’s Aunt Meggie’s evil twin,” Rory blurted.

Rule shot his gaze to him, who raised his hands. “I-I’m sorry.”

“I’ll let it slide. This time,” Rule added ominously.

“Either I’m telling Dad what you said or you’re backing the fuck off,” CJ warned.

Glaring at CJ, Rule folded his arms.

Unimpressed, CJ glowered at him.

“You think your threats intimidate me?”

“Don’t give a fuck,” CJ said evenly. “You think your prayers and sacrifices intimidate me? They don’t. You’re fucked up, judgmental, and hypocritical. You’d gladly kill a motherfucker or pray while someone is being killed. That’s a fucking sin, too.”

“You don’t know the bible. I’ve studied it from front to back. Revelations is my favorite Book.”

Of course it was. It had some of the scariest and most unsettling parts of the bible.

“Look, fuckhead. Mom took us all to mass at least once a month until this past Thanksgiving. We all had to go to Sunday School.”

“Scriptures are my refuge.” Rule glared at Ryan. “It protected me from bullies.”

Ryan staggered to his feet, unable to withstand Rule any longer. “I-I’m going to s-see if there are any walnut blondies left.”

Not waiting for a response, he rushed off.

Rule swept them all with a look, turned and headed to the railed pool area. Because of tomorrow’s renovations, it was still dark and empty over there.

CJ adjusted his eyes enough to note movement. As the shadows swallowed Rule, three figures rose. Crawling from under the tables? Their staggered height made the little fuckheads easy to identify.

What the fuck were those monsters up to now? If they fucked with the club, Dad would fuck them up. CJ thought his brothers had at least that much sense.

“CJ, do you know how you and Harley was supposed to be this power couple and me your most loyal lieutenant?” Rory began.

“I don’t want to talk about that witch,” CJ growled, focused on his brothers.

“You two shouldn’t ever get back together.”

CJ’s gaze flew to Rory. That was the last thing he’d been expecting.

“She isn’t right for you.”

Obviously. Although something about Rory’s tone told CJ he meant something else.

“You and Molly—”

He absolutely didn’t want to discuss Molly Harris. “She’s Ryan’s girlfriend.”

Or whatever. Currently, she wasn’t anyone’s anything. She was missing.

Rory squirmed in his seat. “My dad…”

Fuck Uncle Johnnie. The rest of Rory’s conversation floated away. CJ turned his attention back to the pool area and squinted. The fucking shadow monsters were gone.

Goddamn it!

Those little anarchists had enlisted the zealot’s help, a teaming that proved successful with Operation Hogzilla Shit.

Glancing around, he noticed there was no one of any real authority nearby in the almost deserted club. Not Uncle Mort, Lolly, or Potter. Not Aunt Zoann or Mom and Dad.

Especially Mom and Dad.

Fuck his life.

Growling, CJ shoved to his feet.

Rory was still talking about his fuckhead father.

“Come on, Ro,” he said. “I think my brothers are about to fuck up your dad.”

After finding the courage to reveal the truth about the club’s history and the tangled family ties, it disappointed Rory to discover his cousin hadn’t been listening.

He couldn’t have been. He was too calm as he made his announcement.

Luckily, Rory hadn’t gotten to the information on the websites yet. If it was anyone other than the Triplets, Rory would’ve brushed it off, but Aunt Meggie had gotten so angry that she’d punished them. Any time they’d pissed off his aunt, who wasn’t a brawler like Reb, they’d really fucked up.

Rory had talked fast to even get them off the hook long enough to deal with Wally Byrd. It wasn’t until he’d told her how disappointed Ryan would be since they all rarely hung out together anymore.

Aunt Meggie was all about family.

Instead of occupying a room on the second hallway like he had after Uncle Christopher shot him, Dad was relegated to a cot in the nursery along the third hallway this time around.

CJ placed a finger over his mouth, indicating silence, then beckoned Rory to continue following. His cousin’s stealth impressed him.

Arriving at the nursery, they found the door ajar.

Rule’s voice rang out, reciting bible verses about punishment.

Did that motherfucker know the bible by heart?

“Fuckhead,” CJ grumbled, giving Rory all the more reason to admire him. He wasn’t afraid of that psychopath.

CJ held up three fingers, starting a silent count. At one, he slammed open the door and Rory rushed behind him to the soundtrack of Rule praying.

“For the wrongdoer will be paid back for the wrong he has done, and there is no partiality…”

Abruptly, Rule stopped. He had been speaking from memory. There was no bible in sight. Meanwhile, the Triplets wore fatigues and combat boots, with camouflage covering their faces. Next to Ryder stood a covered five-gallon bucket with several punctured holes in the top.

Judging by the noises emanating from inside, he’d taken mice as prisoners.

Swallowing, Rory looked at his father and frowned. Sugar covered him, especially around his head and neck. His face was barely visible. While he slept because of the sedatives and pain meds, Aunt Meggie’s sons were planning to avenge her honor.

Dad’s hands rested on his chest, clasped together. Rory just fucking knew they were glued. A dull sheen coated his father’s lips and eyelids. He didn’t even bother to assess the damage from his father’s three beatings.

All of which were deserved, but one of them aggravated the still healing gunshot wound. Dad just wouldn’t fucking behave.

Nothing helped. His father was on a suicide mission. He’d been shot and beaten five times over. Still, his irrationality marched on. Killing three Dwellers from the Utah chapter at Bash’s orders didn’t clue Dad in that he was heading for a date in the meatshack.

Bash was a lunatic. And Dad was a fucking stupid lunatic.

Axel shifted from foot-to-foot. “Are you mad CJ?”

CJ narrowed his eyes.

The mice squeaked.

Rory glanced at the bucket. The rodents weren’t prisoners.

They were weapons.

At the foot of the cot, Axel held an empty bag of sugar. Probably one of the twenty-five-pound sacks from the big kitchen. Ransom tossed aside a container of super glue.

“Do you breed fucking mice now?” CJ demanded.

Axel’s eyes rounded. “You can do that?”

“We don’t have time for a breeding program,” Ryder said.

“Then where’d you get these motherfuckers from?” CJ asked, pointing at the incriminating bucket.

Ransom shrugged. “That old lean-to toward the back of the property is overflowing with them, C.”

Axel glared at Rory and nodded to the door. “Get to stepping, Ro. You’re the enemy in this since that motherfucker’s your dad.”

“Shut up,” CJ warned. “Take those fucking mice away, Ryder.”

“Then we would’ve wasted the sugar for nothing,” Axel said.

“Open that fucking bucket and they will overrun the clubhouse, you little asshole. Mom’s terrified of fucking mice.”

The Triplets groaned.

“Exactly,” CJ said flatly. “Dad will fuck you up.”

“Mom’s such a girl,” Axel complained. “We’re avenging her honor.” He jerked a finger at Dad. “This motherfucker hit her. As Caldwell men, we cannot let that stand.” He looked at Ryder and Ransom. “Right, soldiers? Huzzah!”

Rory snapped his brows together.

“You’re not a goddamn British soldier,” CJ barked.

Ryder lifted his blond brows. “The Brits said that?”

“You’re stupid, CJ,” Ransom said. “It was Catherine who said huzzah.”

“The Princess of Wales?” Rory asked, confused.

“No, dummy,” Axel said with indignation. “On ‘The Great’. Her. That Catherine.”

CJ looked at the ceiling. “Jesus, why do I even try?”

“Blasphemer,” Rule growled.

“Shut the fuck up, hypocrite,” CJ ordered.

Axel thought for a moment. “We can do the Civil War yell.”

CJ scowled. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

They were, but Rory would hold that opinion to himself.

“Diesel said we couldn’t say the ‘r’ word,” Axel explained, “but we say it every time we call the Blonde Viper by her real name.”

Ryder nodded. “Yep, the Blonde Viper’s entire name is an insult.”

“Just one more sin against that Jezebel,” Rule said with distaste.

“Says the dickhead who took his cock in hand in front of us during a porn flick,” Ryder scoffed.

“I’m a man—” Rule started as unapologetic as ever.

“What about, ‘Remember the Alamo,’” Axel interrupted.

“You’re not a Texan, big head.”

“Awww man, C. Do those motherfuckers get everything?” Axel cried. “The coolest hats. The best barbeque. The beautifulest girls.” He huffed. “What about stomping and trumpeting the barritonus?”

“It’s the barritus,” CJ corrected, “something Diesel should never have told you three. Why the fuck do you need anything?”

Still holding the empty sugar bag, Axel stood at attention. “To rally my troops.”

“I’m not winning this, am I?”

Did CJ ever think he would?

“Nope,” Axel said proudly.

“What about hip-hip-hooray?” CJ suggested.

“Alala,” Axel countered.

“Make it Eleleu,” Ryder said. “The other Greek war cry is too close to—”

“Do not blaspheme,” Rule interjected.

Axel laid a finger on his chin. “Deus hoc vult.”

“Only if you know what it means,” CJ countered.

“It’s from a 1095 Pope,” Axel said, smiling. “God something.”

“God wills it,” Ransom supplied.

“Fucking Diesel,” CJ mumbled.

“What about liberty or death?” Axel asked. “Can’t go wrong with Patrick Henry.”

“Actually, you can go very wrong with him,” CJ retorted.

“Your PC radar always rears up at the worst fucking time, C,” Ransom complained. “Axel is our general.” He grinned innocently. “He gives the marching orders. He wants us to have a call to action or one of celebration.”

“First, you’re fucked up for risking his ass,” CJ said, wagging a disapproving finger at Ransom. “Second, make something up and call it the Caldwell Cry.”

“Rad!” Axel said in awe. “Maybe, you can be our general. Rule is the pray-er.”

“Chaplain,” Rule corrected.

“Not interested,” CJ said with a shake of his head. “You’re the general, so you will get fucked up first.”

Axel gasped, threw accusatory looks at Ryder and Ransom, then burst into tears.

CJ opened his arms. “Come here, big head.”

Just as Axel barreled to CJ, the sound of jingling spurs and the clip of boots carried to them.

They all froze.

Before they processed what to do, Uncle Christopher was striding in, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other. He took in the scene, glanced at Rory, then stared at Axel as he turned around and faced his father.

CJ settled his hands on the boy’s little shoulders.

“Call Diesel,” Axel said, his voice trembling. He sucked back his tears, not bothering with his snotty nose. “He’s my defense attorney.

“Diesel know about—” Uncle Christopher nodded to Dad, who was still covered in sugar.

“Never confess to a crime, Dad,” Axel said in exasperation.

Ryder nodded. “Yeah, you’re always innocent until proven guilty.”

Uncle Christopher swigged beer. “I fuckin’ caught you red-handed.”

Gulping, Axel tossed the empty sugar bag to the floor. “If Diesel’s not available, call Grant. He might not work pro bono like Diesel, but that’s attorney-client privilege. I’m lawyering up, so this interrogation shuts down instantly.”

Silently, Uncle Christopher studied Dad, then looked at his sons. Tasted more beer. Took another drag on his cigarette. “If you’d covered the motherfucker’s face in sugar, he might’ve smothered.”

“The motherfucker hit Mom, Dad,” Axel said, scowling. “That’s why we glued his hands together, his lips closed, and his eyelids shut.”

“You just confessed, stupid,” Ryder complained.

Axel’s eyes and mouth rounded. “Ohhhhh, you’re good, Dad.”

Flicking ashes, Uncle Christopher glanced at the bucket. “Mice, huh?”

“So the motherfucker could be eaten alive,” Axel said proudly, licking away some of the snot that had leaked onto his lips. He pointed to the sugar that now seemed to be moving, dotted with specks of black.

Uncle Christopher sighed. He pointed from Axel to Ransom to Ryder. “Get rid of the fuckin’ mice before your ma see them. Do it as far from the houses as possible. Rule, get your ma. CJ, help me move Johnnie. Ants about to do what the fucking mice never got the chance to.”

“Fuck! We need to get this sugar off him,” CJ said, alarmed.

“Don’t stress, boy. He’ll be fine. Ain’t nothin’ but a thing.”