Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Not a motherfuckin’ word,” Christopher ordered, staring at the Mercedes as it sped away.

“Not a word, Dad,” CJ said with biting sarcasm. “C’mon, Diesel. We have to follow Mom. Those jackasses might be laying in wait.”

CJ headed to Megan’s Corvette.

“I ain’t mean nothin’—”

“She’ll forgive you, Dad,” CJ said angrily. “But we’re going to be in the doghouse. I’m starting to think you did like Torie.” He lasered him with another glare, then ducked into the sportscar and slammed the door.

“I’ll talk to him, Uncle Chris,” Diesel swore. “Make him see that getting a cock suck from other women is meaningless.”

Christopher’s gaze snapped to Diesel’s. “I ain’t…I didn’t—”

“Torie told me,” Diesel said quietly. “I’ll show you her messages when I get to the club.”

“When she sent those messages?”

“She’s been texting me for two days.”

“Talk when you get back to the club,” Mort broke in. “Meggie getting further and further away.”

“Where that bitch stayin’, Diesel?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, backing to the car. “She just said how devastated she is that you’re ghosting her and she’s thinking about trying to reconcile with her husband—”

“You come in this car now, Diesel, or I’m going after my mom myself,” CJ said, leaning halfway out of the car.

Christopher nodded, indicating Diesel should leave. “Meet me at the fuckin’ club,” he said once the boys sped away. “Send word out. Emergency church.”

An hour later, Christopher stood behind the podium at the clubhouse. There were a fair number of the members in attendance, including Johnnie, battered and bruised but walking.

He loved his litmus tests to analyze situations involving Megan. After his eye-opening conversation with Kendall a couple of days ago, he’d promised himself he’d do better. Instead, he’d descended right back into stupidity and stuck his fucking cock in his mouth, still afflicted with residual anger from his meeting with motherfucking Torie.

When he’d gotten Bishop’s call, he’d been giving Jo her bottle, trying to wade through all the technical terms the nurses had fed him. Fuck, he’d missed the first phone call, because he hadn’t wanted to put his daughter down, wrestling with his disappointment that she wouldn’t be released as soon as he’d been led to believe.

Not only that, he’d also had to let it sink in that Megan called and told him Willard was eighteen, the motherfucker attacked Rebel, and she wanted him dealt with.

Megan. His sweet angel, sanctioning another assfuck’s death. Her cold streak left him reeling and struggling to adjust. If she wanted to be Bonnie to his Clyde, he didn’t give a fuck. As long as she didn’t stop loving him. He’d prefer her kindness and warmth. This new, edgy, dark iteration of hers would take a moment to catch up to. When he did, then what? Would she stop nurturing their kids with a gentle hand? She’d allow them to turn into brutal killers like him? Would she stop being his voice of reason? His conscience?

So when he called the meeting to order and a knock came on the locked door, two minutes later, he knew his wife had arrived. As he waited for brothers to arrive, he’d texted her.

“It’s Megan,” he told Digger. “Let her in.”

The moment he said her name, brothers started chuckling and smirking. Whispering.

His nostrils flared and he turned to his table, catching Mort’s gaze. He shook his head. Sighed. Shrugged. At a loss. He’d allow CJ to attend the meeting. It was what Big Joe did with Christopher and Snake. Right now, he wished his boy was home with his ma. Patricia hadn’t cared about Christopher’s involvement in the club. Sometimes, it seemed as if she hadn’t cared if club life killed him.

Megan did. She adored their boys. Most especially CJ. He’d been her buddy. And Christopher forever ruined that bond.

He felt sick.

Digger led her through the crowd of men. Christopher noted she hadn’t changed from her stilettos and dress with the high slit. Underneath, she probably wore a thong and some pretty lace bra. Just thinking about all her beautiful fucking skin turned his cock to stone. The only difference between now and when he’d last seen her was her hair. It was blanketing her, streaming down her shoulders and back.

She greeted the brothers seated at aisle tables as she sashayed past, her cell phone in hand. They were leering at her, not even trying to hide it. If Christopher was fucking around, they probably saw Megan as fair game.

She paused next to the podium and her cherry blossom scent mixed with traces of the expensive parfum he bought her just before Thanksgiving.

Bending, he kissed her, relieved that she didn’t push him away. Doubly relieved when she kissed him back. His stomach growled.

“When’d you last eat?” she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged. “Breakfast. Ain’t been hungry ‘til now.”

“You’re going to end up collapsing. Then where will we be?” She didn’t allow him a chance to respond. “What’s up? I was at home, getting dinner together.”

“I ain’t cheated on you, Megan. Never. Now, then, or later. She keep coming up—”

“Because of Jo. I know. I agree with you. When we were there yesterday and you went to the cafeteria, one of the nurses started talking to me about Jo. Even though Torie was never that nice to me, she had an excellent bedside manner that I miss.”

A glimmer of hope hit Christopher, but it was too early to see if they were really landing on the same page, their individual stars realigning once more.

“I love you, Megan. Only you. Always.”

“I love you too, Christopher. So very, very much.”

“I ain’t wantin’ you to call for motherfuckers’ deaths.”

She glared at Johnnie and sniffed.

“Especially not a kid.”

“Willard is eighteen,” she said harshly, ignoring the grumbles. “He attacked Rebel. We designed that school to be a safe haven for Dweller kids.”

“But we opened it to the general public,” Johnnie said.

“I don’t care,” Megan said stubbornly. “Unfortunately, the other one isn’t eighteen, so his attack on Mattie and his intentions with that pipe—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Johnnie demanded.

“Exactly what I said, Johnnie. Wallace, the younger one, attacked Mattie. Axel, Ryder, and Ransom helped her. Today, Willard grabbed Rebel. That’s unacceptable. Something has to be done with those two.” She turned to Christopher, ignoring Johnnie’s sudden gray pallor. “Rebel is my daughter and Mattie’s my niece, both of whom I love dearly. Wally can’t die. Willard must die. Besides, his daddy’s an idiot.”

Chuckles rose around the room and joined Christopher’s laughter.

“Hey, Meggie! Did Wally Jr. add your name at the end of everything he said to you?” Peewee called, a misnomer because the motherfucker was huge. At least six eight and three hundred fifty pounds.

“God, yes!” Groaning, she turned and faced the members. “It was so annoying, Peewee. I wanted to punch him in the nose.”

“You probably could’ve reached him,” Potter said. After a few days of Herb, Al, and pussy, he was all but back to normal. “From what I hear, the Gnomes have height requirements. Can’t be over five seven. Never met the motherfucker you talking about, but Mickey, the Prez, is five six.”

“Wally had a president’s patch on his jacket,” CJ informed them.

“Mickey Cornwall is the president, CJ,” Johnnie said.

Megan bowed her head. Christopher couldn’t see her expression, but it was a sure sign she had something to say.

“What, baby?” he asked, his stomach growling again.

She glanced over her shoulder. “He wore a jacket over his cut, but some of the guys with him didn’t. They were Scorpions. Not Gnomes.”

“What?” Christopher, Johnnie, and various other motherfuckers yelled in chorus.

“If you tapped my phone to keep tabs on me, you left the line open on the backend. Bash or someone on their side has been listening too,” she continued. She walked to where Stretch sat at the table and handed her phone to him. “Maybe you can get a lead on Torie? She texted me again about half an hour ago.”

Yes, Stretch needed to find that fucking bitch. Christopher was sick to death of her. He refused to ask Megan what Torie said; he already suspected.

“Stretch, if Torie old apartment buildin’ had cameras, see if you can get fuckin’ footage from the night I dropped her off.”

“On it, Outlaw,” Stretch promised.

Megan walked back to Christopher. Her smile was sad and reserved. “The resource officer who wanted to taze Rebel is either a Scorpion or Gnome.” Her brows snapped together. “Never mind, he was over six feet. Wally admitted he was a plant. Which makes sense. What I don’t understand is the connection to Earl Grey.”

“What the fuck the name of the officer from today?” Christopher asked, hunger pains hitting him so fiercely he was getting lightheaded. “Potter, bring me a cup of coffee.” It always cut his appetite. He had five cups already today.

“Hominy,” Megan answered, “and absolutely not. You need to eat.”

“Food ain’t fixed,” he said irritably. “I’m hungry now. And coffee quick and easy.”

“CJ, call Rebel. Tell her to finish cooking. Who wants sandwiches?”

Christopher scowled. “This church, Megan. You can’t stay here.”

She started toward the kitchen. “Then you shouldn’t have called me,” she said, stopping and turning toward him. Her blue eyes were soft and earnest, free of anger and hostility. “I won’t hear what’s going on. I promise. I just want to feed you.”

“And my ass can’t wait to eat.”

She blushed.

She. Blushed.

Happiness and relief stole away everything else. His sweet angel still lurked inside the cold shell he’d turned her into.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Ignoring his twinge of disappointment that she hadn’t called him a psycho, he nodded. One step at a time. He’d get his Megan back.

“Jo is fine, Christopher,” she said quietly. “When I can’t visit her, I call several times a day, every day. She’s improving every day. She does have to stay longer than expected, but she’s been through a lot. If she was still inside of me and I carried her to term, she’d still have another two weeks to go. Normally, when preemies are delivered they have to reach term before they’re released. Our baby was gravely ill, so it’s reasonable to expect that her stay will be longer. She’s fine. I’m fine. You need to be fine.”

“I’m gonna fix everything.”

“Concentrate on the club. Kendall and I will take care of Torie. I’ve had enough of her. If you kill her, she won’t get to suffer and she deserves to cry buckets.”

Christopher’s stomach growled again. He ignored it. “I ain’t let her suck my cock, Megan.”

“How do you know that’s what she texted to me?”

“Cuz she been sendin’ the same bullshit to Diesel.”

“I see.”

“You believe me, dontcha?”

Even if the members were snickering and whispering again. Even if he had to fucking beg her. Or abandon the meeting and hunt Torie, starting with her last known address, until he found her, brought her back to the club, and choked the fuck out of her in front of Megan if he had to.

“I do,” she said softly. “She’s never seen your…” She waved her hand in his general direction and folded her arms.

She’d say cock and dick in private when she wanted to be fucked or while he fucked her. He’d even overheard her with the women. But, here, in a roomful of men? Her beautiful fucking skin was almost purple, she was blushing so fiercely.

“How you know what Torie seen on Outlaw, Meggie?” Digger asked.

Christopher stiffened, his hand going to his .9mm. If Mort hadn’t shoved back from his chair and stormed to Digger, whispering to him, Christopher would’ve shot.

Megan rolled her eyes. “Christopher…it…when it…his…it doesn’t curve…” She threaded her fingers through her hair. “It’s huge…”

Standing taller and folding his arms, Christopher waited for her to finish. If no other motherfucker understood her ramblings, he did.

“The length and width,” she went on, “doesn’t…the tip…it doesn’t curve…no mole,” she ended.

Once Christopher’s laughter died down, he leaned on the podium. “The lyin’ fuckin’ bitch said my cock is so fuckin’ big that the motherfucker too heavy to stand straight and sag?”

Shifting her weight, she nodded, smiling nervously at the guffaws rising around her.

“And that I got a dick mole?”

“Yep.”

“So you just let the stupid bitch think she got one over on you?”

She pursed her lips, fingered her hair, and nodded. “Ummhmm,” she said, still unable to fucking lie. She backed toward the door. “I’m going to finish the sandwiches, Christopher.” She turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment she left, Christopher turned to Stretch. “Check Megan messages, so I can see what she said to Torie.”

Seconds later, Stretch grinned. “She called Torie a lying witch and told her, and I quote, ‘Christopher’s mighty meat monster has no curve or a mole. Check your facts before you try to steal my man, which you will do over my dead body. Back off or I swear you will rue the day you ever crossed me.’” He scrolled up, while everyone waited for him to continue. “Torie responded with empty threats from a sheltered, spoiled woman out of touch with reality. I know the financial advisor is missing and you’re jeopardizing your husband’s freedom by fucking with me.”

“Oh goddamn. That bitch is brutal.” Digger almost sounded impressed.

“Meggie said, don’t even try me. Christopher is innocent of anything. You’re such an upstanding citizen, you wouldn’t want to be charged with accessory to a crime if you knew of one and didn’t report it before it took place.”

“Score one for Meggie,” Narci called.

“Torie responded with, bitch.”

Anger settled into Christopher’s gut.

“Meggie texted back—” Stretch paused to scroll— “I’m the bitch with the money, the man, his children, and his name. You’re just a wannabe. Still a bitch. Mainly a wannabe. Women like you are a dime a dozen. Don’t think I haven’t run across such desperation before. At least they had the decency to want to protect Christopher and not hurt him.”

“Yeah, Puff tell me about the politics of the chicks all the time,” Val confirmed. “Our bitches, especially Meggie, put them in their fucking places.”

“Fee talks about it sometimes,” Stretch said offhandedly, scrolling again. “Torie said your talk is fucking cheap. No matter how fierce you’re pretending to be, you don’t know if I got dick from him and you never will. You’ll never look at your boys again the same. They aligned with their father and disrespected you. The club members think you’re a stupid cunt.”

The angry denials rising amongst the members competed with the guilty silence of the others. CJ and Diesel looked stricken.

“And how do they see you?” Stretch continued. He raised a sorrowful gaze to Christopher. “That’s from Meggie.”

“I know,” Christopher said. “Not that it matters how the brothers see you, but what about their wives and their girlfriends? They’ll help me tear you to pieces. Are you sure you want to deal with that? If you falsely accuse Christopher, do you really think you’d scoop in—”

“You’d leave him.” Strech cleared his throat and held up the phone. “Torie broke in with those words. Meggie responded with, blood in, blood out. Do you know what that means? Once you’re in, the only way to get out is by death. It’s a club code that means lifelong allegiance. Like royalty and their oath of fealty. That’s me and Christopher. Ten toes down. Ride and die. Now and forever. You want to play? Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’ve made a very grave mistake. Everyone knows if you mess with my husband or my children, I will rain hell on the perpetrator. This conversation is over.”

Stretch stared at the phone, blinking, unable to say a motherfucking thing. Like Christopher. CJ. Diesel. Mort. Johnnie. Every motherfucker who’d heard Stretch.

Of course Christopher knew that Megan had to put bitches in their places. He’d shoved more girls off his lap over the years than he could remember. Thrown even more cunts off the premises for not behaving. He even recognized the girls Megan accepted and the ones she hated. Those were the ones who were either cut off at the knees and suddenly kept a respectful distance or just stopped coming around altogether. He’d left bitch shit to the bitches.

In all honesty, though, bitch shit formed the basis of most of the drama these past years. Until the Gnomes came to town almost three years ago and put club members at odds with each other.

“Dad?” CJ called.

Christopher looked at his son.

“I think I know the Earl Grey connection.”

“Not a motherfucker around drink tea, little bro,” Digger said.

“Royalty,” CJ said. “Earl Grey is associated with royalty. How many people think of the kids as heir to the throne?”

“They’re targeting our children?” Cash demanded, confusion wrinkling his brow.

“No, Uncle Cash,” CJ said softly. “It’s Mom. The queen.”