Chapter Thirty-Four

Christopher was sitting in his office at the club, regretting every life choice he’d made since meeting Torie and mourning that small child inside of him who’d suffered such abuse at the hands of his grandparents—especially his grandfather—and his beloved mother.

Beloved? No, not beloved. He couldn’t have been with all the lies she’d perpetuated and the guilt she’d bred inside of him.

Over the years, he’d sworn he understood Patricia’s reasons. As he remembered, she usually beat the fuck out of him because her father beat her over Christopher. It was a vicious cycle that she always blamed on Christopher’s birth.

After she’d given up her innocence and her reputation to motherfucking Cee Cee’s violation, she’d chosen to keep Christopher when she could’ve gotten rid of him. If not by abortion, then by adoption. But, she’d claimed, she sacrificed everything on his behalf.

Yet, what did he know? His mother’s abuse at Logan’s hands hadn’t been designed to guilt Christopher. It had been as real and as painful as his own. He clearly remembered his mother’s defense of him, despite the peril she placed herself in.

In the end, his lifestyle had claimed the life of his ma, who’d suffered throughout her life because of Christopher.

So, the resentment he felt toward her was misplaced. The conjured memories of him screaming for her and holding his broken arm weren’t real. Because she’d ignored him and the ma he knew would never have done so. She could be harsh and judgmental, especially toward the club girls. He’d never forget one of the last arguments he’d had with Patricia over Kiera, where Ma swore she’d never accept Ki as the woman in his life. At the same time, she’d called him unworthy of Megan’s love.

In the entirety of his fifty years, his woman was the only one who’d truly loved him with his faults and all. How had he repaid her? By hurting her over another woman.

He drained his bottle of tequila and set it aside, then leaned forward. Elbows on the desk, he cradled his head in his hands.

Another woman. He’d hurt Megan over another woman. Of all the fucking things to come between them.

A fucking bitch who apparently didn’t have a goddamn brain in her head. But she did have a small boy who loved her.

Images of Patricia and Megan competed for space in his head. Not only did Megan love him, but she’d go to war for him, and had on several occasions, including against Patricia. Megan had fought Cee Cee to get back to Christopher and their boy.

While Patricia had lied to him…

No! Fuck no. She was his ma, and Cee Cee was a motherfucker. Christopher wouldn’t want to admit to marrying a fuckhead like that, either. He was acting like an immature assfuck. He knew Logan and he knew Cee Cee. They’d probably forced his sweet mother down the aisle. Cee Cee hadn’t mentioned the fucking marriage either, proving he’d imposed his will on Patricia because he was a lowdown, dirty, fucking dog.

After Patricia’s death, Christopher had stored her belonging in three chests. He remembered seeing letters, legal documents, and diaries amongst her photographs. As far as he knew they were still in one of the club’s storage closets. In all the years of her death, he hadn’t been able to sort through the last of her things. He’d had the house razed a long time ago. He just couldn’t bear to see that physical reminder of her murder.

Closing his eyes, he thought of Torie. He should’ve just shot that bitch. But, fuck, it was a good thing he hadn’t. She’d given her boy a photo of him. And the sound of gunfire definitely would’ve drawn the kid to the living room.

As a grown man, the sight of his mother’s dead body traumatized him. What would it have done to a little boy?

Blowing out a breath, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. Even two days after his run in with her, how close he’d come to killing her with her son in the house and in possession of his fucking picture, unsettled Christopher.

Later, he would tell Megan he’d seen Torie, then given Kendall the address to the house where he’d found her. They’d handle her and leave her alive for her boy.

Just as he reached a conclusive plan of action, his door burst open and Mortician stormed in, holding Megan’s hand in a firm grip.

“Torie got to fucking die today, Prez,” Mort said, shoving Megan’s phone into Christopher’s hand. “The goddamn texts bad enough, but that fucking picture? I’m sick of this bitch and she not even fucking with me.”

Christopher opened his mouth to demand an explanation. Then he caught sight of Megan’s face. Her pain was one thing, but her anger and disgust chilled him to his fucking soul.

Standing, he unlocked her phone, bypassing the texts to get to the photo. He thought he’d see the picture her kid snapped. Fuck, he did see that one, but the motherfucker had been edited to make it seem as if he was behind Torie, pressing against her.

“Don’t try to deny you were there,” Megan said. Tears glimmered in her eyes, but they were not falling. “We both know that sweater was new and you only wore it once.”

“She sent it with a message that said you, CJ, and Diesel knew where to find her,” Mort said carefully, still gripping Megan’s hand.

Christopher grabbed his phone from his cut, walked from around his desk, and picked up Megan’s free hand, the one with her wedding set on her finger. He placed the phone in her palm. “Read the message I sent to Stretch that same day, Megan.”

A tear slid down her cheek. He closed her fingers around the phone and held his hand over hers.

“Read, Megan.”

Two more tears slipped from her eyes, leaving twin tracks on her pale cheeks. He wouldn’t rush her. She had to do this in her own time. Christopher wasn’t sure why Mort kept her hand in his, though he suspected it was to keep her from bolting. Which was fine. Once she saw his message to Stretch asking for Torie’s location, Christopher could look at Megan’s phone without worrying about her bolting.

Megan tugged her hand away so she could lift his phone.

“Kendall said to come to your office, Uncle Chris,” Diesel announced.

At the sound of his voice, Megan stiffened.

“Uh, what’s—?”

“Neither Diesel or CJ know where Torie at, baby,” Christopher said. “They would’ve told me and I wouldn’t have had to go to Stretch to get her location.”

Mortician cleared his throat and nodded to Diesel, who’d lost his color and stared at the back of Megan’s head in horror. He stumbled to the sofa and sat, unable to do anything else.

Stretch stuck his head in but seeing how crowded the office was, lingered in the doorway.

Mortician made the mistake of releasing Megan’s hand and turning to grab her phone. The minute he let her go, she turned to flee. Stretch slowed her escape, allowing Christopher to catch her before she squeezed by.

“Let go of me,” she ordered just as Kendall’s voice rose, “let me by, Stretch.”

“This gettin’ the fuck outta hand,” Christopher growled, his priorities clicking in his head. “Wait a fuckin’ minute, Kendall.”

He was on the verge of losing his Megan. Fuck everything else.

He tightened his hold on her.

“Mort, give Stretch Megan’s phone.”

“There’s a picture on there of Prez and Torie,” Mort said, flinching at Megan’s sob. “If there’s any fucking way you can see if it was photoshopped.”

“The phone’s locked,” Stretch said, once he grabbed it from Mort.

“Meggie girl, listen to me,” Mort said. “Maybe we not fair to hold you and Prez marriage to a higher standard than anybody. And we not fair always looking to you to fix shit, but if you and Prez fall apart, the rest of us fucked.”

She shuddered.

“At the fucking least, you need to cuss Prez out. The evidence don’t look good, but you know your man. You love him and trust him and have faith in him.”

Megan didn’t respond.

“If Diesel knew Torie location, he didn’t tell Prez. Neither did CJ. It wasn’t meant to disrespect you, girl. It was meant to protect you and Outlaw.”

To Christopher’s ears, Mort made sense. Although Megan had stilled, she wasn’t talking, agreeing or disagreeing.

“Let me talk to her,” Kendall said impatiently.

Christopher nodded at Stretch, who backed against the door, so Kendall could pass.

“I couldn’t find that cunt, Meggie,” she said briskly. “I gave Christopher homework. His task was to find her. A picture is worth a thousand words and not all of them are true.”

Christopher tightened his hold on his wife. He wouldn’t waste his time apologizing right now. They were past that. The time had come for action.

“Let her go,” Kendall told him. “It has to be her choice.”

His heart in his throat, Christopher nodded and dropped his arms from around Megan. He couldn’t move away from her, though.

Kendall smiled at Megan. “If you are one hundred percent certain that your husband slept with Torie, then I won’t allow anyone to stop you from leaving the clubhouse. But if you have even the tiniest bit of faith in him, even if it’s buried deep inside you, then give him a chance to make this right.”

It was more silent than an empty room. Christopher was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Whatever else happened, Mort was right. Torie had to die.

No matter Christopher’s reasons for wanting her to stay alive, she was determined to fuck up his marriage. She’d even ignored his gesture to her small kid and used an innocent photo against him.

Megan stared at him, studying every angle of his face. Each line told a story and she was trying to read them all. She stared into his eyes, searching for his soul, when she’d long ago ripped it open and discovered his secrets.

He wanted to speak, but didn’t know what to say.

Licking her lips and swiping at her cheeks, she said, “my password is 688529, Stretch.”

He smiled and punched in the numbers. “That’s a good one. It’s so random, no one could ever associate it with you and crack the code.”

“It spells outlaw,” she said, humbling Christopher as only she could.

A moment later, Stretch cleared his throat. “I will run this through an app I have that checks for photo manipulation, but zooming in, I can already see that the photos are spliced.” There’s blurring right around Outlaw. My guess is she photoshopped his photo into hers.”

“I see,” Megan responded.

“I went there to warn her away from you, Megan. I ended up…fuck, I was strangling that bitch when her boy walked out. So much shit…Ma…”

No, he wouldn’t pussy out and use the discovery of his mother’s marriage as the reason he’d once again seen himself in Torie’s son. She never empathized with his girl. Never thought about her own experience as a wife whose husband had cheated on her.

Megan was looking at him, waiting for him to continue, believing he’d make it all make sense for her.

“He had a picture of me. One she took when she still worked at the hospital. She must’ve printed it from her phone and told him I paid Santa. I wasn’t even thinkin’. I just wanted to fuckin’ go, so when he asked me to take a picture…” He shrugged.

Stretch set the phone on the desk. “I’ve forward the photo to my email on our private server. Before I process it through the app, I’m going to check the EXIF metadata and I’ll call you immediately, but it isn’t the fire she’s trying to make it be.”

“I have an idea to get her son out of the house before you get her,” Kendall said, halting Stretch’s departure. She forced a smile. “You are getting her, aren’t you?”

Christopher nodded.

“Johnnie’s safe, Kendall,” Megan told her. “He’s left me alone.” She swung her gaze to Christopher. “Right? You won’t kill him, will you?”

“No,” he said. “Johnnie shoulda opened his fuckin’ mouth, but so far, Bash just seem full of hot air—”

“Unless he and the Scorps killed Ari and Higgins,” Stretch said.

Christopher narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck you said?”

“They from our Salt Lake chapter, huh, Prez?” Mort asked.

“I-I thought you knew,” Stretch said, his eyes wide. “Cash told me about an hour ago. He was on the phone with their new bomb tech when Skip announced their bodies had been ID’d through dental records.”

Skip was the president of the Salt Lake Chapter. Christopher had just seen him over the holidays when he asked to have some of his boys spy on Bash’s club.

“They went missing on December 30th,” Stretch continued.

Christopher’s thoughts whirled. He needed to call Skip and see what the fuck was going on. If Bash was behind this, shit was about to get intense, and lockdown was imminent.

“I thought that was why Mort summoned me to the club.”

Diesel got to his feet. He looked wary, but his color had returned. “Should we call an emergency meeting?”

“I-I’ll scrounge up sandwiches,” Megan said, her voice monotone.

“Baby—”

She shook her head and walked out.

Kendall looked as if she wanted to say something, then decided against it, and left his office, too.

Christopher nodded at the door and Stretch closed it.

The moment he did, Christopher rounded on Diesel and punched him. Grunting, Diesel fell backwards onto the sofa and clutched his jaw.

“Why the fuck you ain’t told me you fuckin’ know where Torie was?”

“I didn’t know…I thought…I—”

“CJ knew, too?”

“I told him not to tell you, Uncle Chris,” Diesel admitted in shaky tones.

“It was the night he took Jaleena out, yeah?”

It was the only time CJ and Diesel had been together recently away from the clubhouse or at home.

“She keyed Aunt Meggie’s Corvette and flattened her tires. At first, CJ thought it was Jaleena. Then, he discovered Torie worked there. D. Elliot is her ex-husband.”

Christopher laughed, but Diesel didn’t crack a smile.

“You fuckin’ with me,” Christopher insisted. “That’s the only fuckin’ reason…no…fuck no! This shit ain’t real.”

“Didn’t Meggie put in a good word for D. Elliot’s old lady?” Mort asked.

“Edna Carter,” Diesel supplied. “Who is Torie Meadows. She was going by her middle and maiden names.” He hung his head. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Chris. Don’t hate me. No. Hate me, but not CJ. He didn’t know what to say to you, so he called me and I talked him out of telling you. I thought she’d back off after…”

“After you fucked her,” Mort said.

“And threatened her. And left a hickey on her neck so her husband…ex-husband could see.”

“Does Torie work at J’s?” Stretch asks. He turned his phone toward them. “I just put her number into one of my forensic trackers. She’s there right now.”

“Yeah, she works at J’s,” Diesel confirmed, then revealed what had happened last week.

“You believed her?” Even Stretch sounded a little outraged.

Christopher glared at Diesel. “You fucking know me better than that. That fucking cunt lied to you. Every motherfuckin’ thing…” He pointed at his son. “You shoulda told me just cuz of that fuckin’ bullshit,” he roared.

“She sounded so convincing,” Diesel argued. “Besides, all the rumors…”

This shit was all his fault. He’d allowed it to get out of hand, so he couldn’t get angry with anyone but himself.

Leaning against his desk, Christopher thought for a minute. Not only about Torie, but about Ari and Higgins. About Johnnie. The stupid motherfucker made regular trips to Salt Lake City to fuck with Bash. It could’ve been Johnnie whose death was just confirmed.

Christopher didn’t like the pain of that thought. Only he got to fuck up that fuckhead. Whether he loved him or hated him, Johnnie was still his brother in the club and biologically. He was his cousin. Once, he had been his friend.

Yet, something just wasn’t fucking sitting right inside Christopher. He couldn’t put his finger on just what the fuck it was, but he’d figure it the fuck out. Wally Jr. decided to fuck with Megan. Willard tried to attack Rebel. More than that, Ridge Moore was infiltrated.

Now, this.

“Diesel, take Narci and Bishop and go to the house where Torie stayin’. The first moment, no one’s there, fuck it up. Take her food. Cut off her electricity and her water. The minute it’s fuckin’ done, get Kendall to call CPS. Mort, tell Roxanne to call whoever and make sure D. Elliot on the fuckin’ schedule every fuckin’ day until I say otherwise. If CPS take her kid, we scoop up Torie and bring her to the meatshack. If they don’t, we got to switch it up, so D. Elliot off and Torie workin’. Either way, that bitch is dead and that’ll be one less fuckin’ problem.”

“What about Ari and Higgins?” Stretch asked.

He couldn’t fucking deal with motherfuckers wanting peace right now. He’d do it his way to assess the problem and come up with the solution.

“I’m going to call Skip and get a bead on the situation. We need Riley on this, too. Scan the fuckin’ phone, Stretch. Mine, Johnnie’s, Megan’s, Kendall’s, Ryan’s, and CJ’s. If you can get information from Molly’s old number, do it. I want information on Tom Harris, Bash, and a motherfucker named, Cleaner. Wallace Bart, Junior and his fuckin’ sons.”

“I’ll make sure all my tools sharpened,” Mort said, grinning.

“Are we storming the fortress, Uncle Chris?”

Christopher looked at Diesel. “No, boy. Before I fuckin’ attack, I gotta make sure motherfuckers in our ranks haven’t gone fuckin’ rogue.”