Chapter Thirty-Five

Two days later, Diesel sat in Torie’s living room, awaiting her arrival. Once Uncle Chris set his plans in motion, things moved quickly. Money and connections got things done.

All things considered, he’d gotten off easy. Uncle Chris was angry, but a genuine fear about Aunt Meggie’s ultimate decision tempered the fury as much as news of the deaths of the two Dwellers.

As far as Diesel knew, Aunt Meggie forgave Uncle Christopher. That photo had been fake, yet, once she’d calmed down and reason took over, she’d given him a chance to prove his innocence, anyway.

She often said she’d never forgive Uncle Christopher if he cheated. Sometimes, though, Diesel thought otherwise. She’d make him suffer and grovel, but, with very few exceptions, she would always forgive Uncle Christopher. She just loved him. Period.

What did that type of love feel like? The kind where a man moved heaven and hell to please his woman and that woman believed in that man.

Keys jingled on the other side of the door. The lock disengaged and the door opened. Torie didn’t notice Diesel sitting in the shadows until the door was closed again and she’d sat her purse on top of the TV cabinet.

He stood and she gasped, turning toward the door, but not fast enough to escape him. He covered her mouth with his hand and pulled her against him.

“You miss your boy?” he murmured close to her ear. “Were you visiting an attorney?”

Her heart was pounding. If he fucked her, he’d feel her fear pulsing through her entire body.

“You lied to me,” he said in that same soft tone. “You knew fucking well Outlaw didn’t fuck you.”

She was sobbing so pitifully, he might’ve felt sorry for her if he cared. He bit her ear.

“Today’s your lucky day, sweetheart. Outlaw wants me to bring you to him.

The words calmed her. Her tears dried so quickly Diesel wondered if she’d faked them. Within moments, she pulled herself together, washed her face, and freshened her makeup, changing from jeans and a sweatshirt to a short dress. He watched her closely, not trusting her not to bring a weapon or even wire herself. Torie loved fucking with people.

During the ride to the club, she was silent. She didn’t question what Uncle Christopher might want with her. Nor did she show a shred of fear.

When Diesel waved his keycard and the gate slid open, Torie sat straighter.

“Come on,” he instructed, not waiting for her comment before he got out of the car and walked to where Cash stood near his bike.

“Good to go, Diesel?”

“Yeah. There are no pets. D. Elliot is at work and the boy is in his grandmother’s custody.”

Cash pulled out his cell phone. “You placed everything exactly where I told you?” He entered numbers on the keypad

“Yes!”

Shrugging, Cash returned his cell phone to his coat pocket. “Too late now. The house just went boom, boom, pow.” He left Diesel and went to Torie.

They all knew her as Jo’s nurse.

“Never expected to see you here, Torie,” Cash drawled.

She beamed at him. “Outlaw sent Diesel for me.”

Setting an arm around her shoulder, Cash turned her toward the door. “He’s waiting for you, princess.”

She smiled. “CPS took my boy from me yesterday after someone ransacked my house and…and…a whole bunch of shit happened. I thought maybe Outlaw masterminded it all, but then I knew…I knew…” She laughed, half giddy and half sad. “He could never hurt me. He’ll help me get Dex back.”

Diesel opened the door and nodded toward the noisy inside. “Ladies first.”

“Outlaw and I are going to be so good together,” she swore.

The club was crowded tonight. The three pool tables were back in commission, so there were a fair number of brothers there, drinking beer and placing bets. It was a Friday evening. Usually, there would be club girls, women who wanted a fucking walk on the outlaw side, and hangers-on, enamored with the club or hoping to prospect.

Tonight, for now, it was mainly the bikers.

Of course, CJ and Rule, as well as Rory and Ryan, were there. As Torie sashayed toward Uncle Christopher’s table, silence rolled in, broken by random whispers and bursts of laughter. The bikers she knew—Bishop, Potter, Narci, and Huck—she waved at. They nodded at her.

Digger nodded, locking his gaze with someone behind Diesel. A moment later, I Don’t Fuck With You by Big Sean began to play.

From the angle he stood, Diesel saw Uncle Christopher glower at Digger. An interesting reaction.

The song was more than appropriate if Uncle Christopher was to be believed.

Chuckles rose up, though Mortician tensed, and uncertainty flickered across Torie’s beautiful face.

Interestingly, the song played through the entirety of its four minutes and forty-four seconds. To build anticipation? Diesel was already tightly strung. To lighten the mood? Judging by a few faces, no one took the situation seriously. To warn Torie so she’d finally get a fucking clue, beg forgiveness, and truly back off? Torie wanted what she wanted, and nothing would stop her from trying to achieve her goal.

Finally, the song ended, and her moment arrived. Diesel shifted and Cash whispered to her, nodding toward the table. She caught sight of Uncle Christopher. Shoving away from Cash, she ran toward him and threw her arms around his neck. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and cooed, “Outlaw.”

If she noticed his disgust or his hateful glare, she ignored both.

She stepped back. “How are you? I’ve missed you so much.”

He nodded. “Torie.” He filled the sound of her name with venom.

Laughing nervously, she glanced at the sheet of plastic on the floor, then gazed at the ceiling. “The roof leaks during bad weather?”

“Yeah. Kinda. Something like that.”

She greeted Mort, Digger, Val, Johnnie, and Stretch with a brief, “hi.” Knox knew what was going to happen, so he’d opted to stay away.

Giggling, she shook a finger at CJ. “I didn’t know you had it in you to hide shit from your mama, boy.” She indicated Rule with a flourish of her hand. “So well behaved to welcome me. I’m impressed. But you always were a prayerful boy.”

Diesel wondered if Torie was fucking insane or clueless. Outlaw’s hatred blazed in his eyes, CJ glared at her, and Rule’s lips thinned.

The club brothers were picking up on the tension. Whether they believed Uncle Christopher had barred the women for the evening because of Torie, they were realizing his true intentions.

He swigged tequila. “I got a fuckin’ question, Torie?”

“If you help me get my son back, whatever it is you can have.” Her face fell. “CPS got my boy, Outlaw. But I know you’ll fix it for me—”

“Why the fuck you fucked with the photo your boy took of me, then sent to my wife?” he demanded.

“Does it matter? I’m sure you’re aware you can’t have me and her. I’m here, aren’t I? You’ve made your choice.”

“I sure the fuck have, but this ain’t gonna be right if you not tellin’ the fuckin’ truth. I ain’t ever touched you or let you touch me.”

“You drove me home on the back of your bike. We were touching.”

He glared at her. “I rode you home, and you know what the fuck I mean, Torie. I ain’t ever fucked you, licked your cunt, or let you suck me off.”

“The lie was worth it,” she said without remorse. “It drove her away and got me here. I would fight any woman for you because I’m a real one. I’m all woman. That namby-pamby bitch caved. She doesn’t have the balls to stand toe-to-toe with me.”

Outlaw didn’t respond. His expression shuttered. He lit a cigarette and studied her. Someone coughed. A phone buzzed.

Diesel began to sweat. No one looked at Torie the way Outlaw contemplated her and not have a gruesome death in mind.

Each time Outlaw moved, Diesel expected gunfire. But…nothing. Except smoke curling around him or pouring from his mouth and nostrils.

“Undress,” he said finally, laying his cigarette in the ashtray.

“Excuse me?” Torie asked with an indignant gasp.

“You fuckin’ heard me.”

“You either want me on your own—”

“My rules or get the fuck. You want me, huh? You humiliated Megan, but ain’t able to take it yourfuckinself?”

It didn’t take Torie long to remove her shoes and dress, since she wore nothing underneath. She had quite a beautiful body.

Outlaw studied her body, then gazed into her eyes and smirked. He stood.

“Ain’t got a hard cock for you. Know why?” he spat, circling her. “Cuz I don’t wantcha motherfuckin’ ass. I ain’t ever wanted you, Torie.”

He stopped in front of her and gazed into her eyes, smiling.

Expectation filled the air. Even Diesel wasn’t sure if he still planned to kill her.

Outlaw fingered her neck. She lifted her hand and caressed his cheek, sighing and lowering her lashes.

His smile deepened.

“Look at me, Torie,” he ordered.

“Whatever you want,” she responded, raising her gaze to his.

His hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed.

“For he is the minister of God to thee for good,” Rule began, standing and holding his bible.

She struggled, clawing Outlaw’s fingers.

Rule’s voice rose, sure and steady. “But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain.”

“Megan ain’t got to fight her own fuckin’ battles, cunt,” Outlaw snarled.

Devoid of humanity or sympathy. Not caring that she fought and not caring when she went limp.

Rule resumed the verse. “For he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.”

Rule stopped and flipped through the bible.

Torie’s legs trembled.

“Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.”

Noises escaped her.

Blood leaked from her nose and one of her ears.

“And he that smiteth his father, or his mother, shall be surely put to death.” Rule fell silent.

Diesel was shaking. He’d never understood what everyone meant when they said Aunt Meggie kept Outlaw sane. Here…now…this moment was a living testament to the compassion she nurtured inside him.

Val…Johnnie…Ryan…Digger were sweating. CJ was pale.

And, still, Outlaw didn’t stop. Diesel doubted he was aware of time and place, so lost in hatred.

Two minutes passed.

Three.

Four.

Five and a half minutes trudged by like an eternity, but he finally removed his hands from her neck. She crumpled to the ground, landing in a pool of her own urine.

Diesel finally heard gunfire.

Uncle Christopher emptied his clip of hollows into her head, then he turned and shoved his gun back in the holster at his side. He didn’t look concerned at the gore covering his hands, face, and clothes. Nor did he care that her once beautiful face had been blown out of existence and her head laid bare.

“Johnnie?”

“Yes, Christopher?” he responded. His voice shook.

“Put her through the wood chipper.”

Without another word, he stepped over her body and sauntered to the door, walking out into the cold air, leaving a trail of stunned silence in his wake.