Christopher had made the decision to place them in the board room. “Don’t want every piece of fuckin’ Club Ass thinkin’ they gettin’ some fuckin’ monument if they die.”
Right.
Meggie hadn’t argued. At least, she’d gotten him to put it to the vote before the brothers on whether or not to hang the photos in the first place.
Now, as he continued to stare at his mother, she knew the mention of Zoann had brought the circumstances of Patricia’s death front and center.
Traveler cleared his throat. “Me and Bin got a run to make, Meggie.”
Christopher narrowed his eyes at Traveler and the man flushed. Meggie placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. Tension bunched his muscles and she searched for ideas to draw his feelings out, keep him calm, and, somehow, prevent the bloodbath in the making. Whether Christopher struck first or Cee Cee didn’t matter. Neither outcome would be good. If—and when—she had another run-in with Cee Cee, she’d either keep her mouth shut or go to Val, Johnnie, Mortician, and Digger.
“Talk, baby.”
“This isn’t going to be long,” she started, squeezing Christopher’s shoulder. He looked back at her, reached a hand behind her and pulled her closer to slant his mouth over hers. After she’d had her brains fucked out last night, his touch rocketed through her system and she opened her mouth for his onslaught. When he let her go, her breath came out in short, little pants and her skin felt flaming hot. She groaned when she felt the letdown of her milk and stepped behind Christopher’s chair, using his body to cover the rapidly spreading wet spots.
She licked her lips, tasted the mint from Christopher’s mouth, and tried to arrange her scattered thoughts.
Christopher sidled a sexy half-smile to her. “The wedding, Megan.”
“Yes. Right,” she mumbled, flushing to her toes. It didn’t help that her gaze fell on Johnnie and she recognized the heat and jealousy in his eyes from the kiss Christopher had given her. She rubbed her forehead. Not that it helped. Even the tips of her fingers burned, like a fever invaded her body. That fever was Outlaw. Christopher. Her man.
“Get on with it, Megs,” Johnnie said in bored tones. He leaned back, not bothering to hide his semi-erect state, his heavy-lidded look enough to send a sane man into a jealous fit.
“Motherfuck you, John Boy.”
Everything she needed to say crashed back at Christopher’s growl. In this powder keg of on edge testosterone, someone needed an excuse to throw the first punch. She refused to allow it and glared at Johnnie for provoking the flames of Christopher’s jealousy.
“So the wedding’s a little under a month away,” she announced with a sniff. “Just as promised, I’ve only asked for measurements, so far. I’ve also chosen everything. Now, you have to go for your fittings.”
Grumbles, as she’d expected. But the thought of fighting had been deflected. For now.
“Meggie, I don’t want to have to walk around in no fucking monkey suit all fucking day,” Shady called.
“Hey, fuckhead,” Christopher growled. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth and how you talk to my old lady. She ain’t gonna be in here for-fuckin-ever to calm me the fuck down. Curse like that at her again and I’m fuckin’ you up.”
“Shady, Bowlie, Traveler, Cowboy, as the ushers, why don’t you wear your cuts, over a white tuxedo shirt and the black tuxedo pants.”
“I’ll take that, babe,” Bowlie agreed with a smile. He flipped Val and Mortician the bird because he knew she still wanted them to wear tuxedos, collectively referred to by them as monkey suits.
Mortician pulled a rolled cigarette out of his cut and Meggie backed away.
“I’ll break your fuckin’ fingers if you light that fuckin’ blunt.”
“I’m not about to light the motherfucker, Outlaw. Just getting inspiration from it.”
“Yeah, strength,” Digger agreed.
“A plea for mercy,” Val inserted, glancing between Christopher and the phone where he flipped through the photos over and over again.
Meggie sniffed. “It isn’t that bad, boys.”
Johnnie shifted his long legs in front of him, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, took one out, then passed the pack to Mortician. “It’s even worse, Megs. I wear suits on a regular basis and even I hate the thought of a fucking tuxedo.” He puffed on his cigarette then released the smoke, shaping his mouth in an ‘o’ still in search of the perfect smoke ring. The action drew her focus to his lips and she cleared her throat, glancing away.
“You try me, motherfucker,” Christopher bit out, balling his fists on the table. “One of these days, I’m gonna rearrange your fuckin’ face.”
Johnnie blew another smoke ring. “You’re just jealous of my god-like beauty, Outlaw.”
Meggie rolled her eyes.
“Or, maybe, you’re jealous you don’t have anything to suck on right now.”
“I have more than you, motherfucker,” Christopher shot back, not even hesitating. “Courtesy of my son, I have something to suck on every fucking day.”
Meggie squeaked, mortified. A muscle ticked in Johnnie’s jaw and he glowered at his cousin. But, judging from Christopher’s taut muscles, he felt not a shred of remorse. In fact, Meggie suspected the moment she walked out the door, the brawl she’d managed to divert would commence. She knew, though, Christopher was lord and master here. To put their hands on him in anger courted death, even though Christopher could beat the brothers to a bloody pulp for infractions. Or even kill them.
She threw Johnnie a pleading gaze. His eyes burned silver but roamed between her and Christopher, before he turned away.
“My mom said she’s baking chocolate chip cookies later,” Meggie announced through tension so thick it would bring a bullet to a screeching halt. “She loves our new kitchen. If anyone wants to come over—“
“For cookies?” Stretch asked.
He was the quietest of all the officers. Really, of all the brothers, outside of Bin. But Bin gave Meggie the heebie jeebers that she tried to hide. It shamed her to think his appearance spooked her. White hair. Pasty white skin. Reddish brown eyes. Stretch, though, fit in with all the rest of the officers. Gorgeous. Even K-P, missing an eye and fifty, was handsome.
Shady and Cowboy, on the other hand, had thick beards, beer bellies, and a generally scruffy appearance.
“It was just an idea…” to remove the building hostility. “Forget it.”
“I’ll be there, babe,” K-P called. “For sure.”
She smiled and nodded. “Okay. So, guys, my ushers,” she amended, “I still expect you to wear the bow ties.”
“For real, babe?” Traveler called, his face falling. He shoved the red bandanna along his hairline and scratched through the pieces of hair sticking out.
“For real,” she echoed.
“Can we at least wear our boots?” Cowboy asked. His features drooped like a lost puppy.
“Yes, you guys can.”
“Fuck me,” Christopher said, glaring at her. “You sayin’ we can’t?”
“You’re the groom, Christopher, and they’re groomsmen. Your tuxedos won’t look right with motorcycle boots.”
“Megan—“
“Please, Christopher?”
He sighed and yanked at his hair, throwing her a sour look, a wordless capitulation.
Happiness danced through her and she bent and kissed him. “Thank you. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, you little pain in the ass,” he grumbled. “That’s the only fuckin’ reason I’m agreein’ to all this.”
“And here I thought it was so we could go on our honeymoon.”
A half smile curved his mouth, turning his expression into pure wickedness and he winked at her. “That, too, babe.”
“Fittings are Saturday,” she announced, shooting out the time and location. “Thanks for giving me this time.”
“Wasn’t like they had a fuckin’ choice, baby.”
Her phone rang and she saw that it was her
mother. Since there’d been no mishap last night, she thought it would be fine to leave CJ with her for the few minutes it took to impart the information. She should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy, having to make her announcements through the comments from the boys.
“Mama?” she asked in answer. In the background, CJ whined and she forgot about everything else. “What’s wrong?”
“CJ’s hungry.”
“I bought formula for him.” She had to start weaning him because she’d be away for two weeks on her honeymoon. After explaining what she wanted her mother to do, she disconnected and saw that Shady, Bowlie, Cowboy, and Traveler had left.
She still didn’t trust an argument not to break out once she left. For whatever reason, Johnnie had decided to taunt Christopher with her. Never a good idea and if Christopher wouldn’t have flipped, she would’ve taken Johnnie aside herself and had a word with him.
“That about it, baby?” Christopher asked, tapping his fingers on the table, his body language telling her he wanted her gone.
Shoving aside her twinge of hurt, she slipped her fingers through his hair. “Yes. I need a word with you in your office.”
“I have to talk to John Boy.”
“What I have to say is really important, though.”
“Then say—“
She leaned close to his ear, breathing in his scent and the leather from his cut, loving his smell and warmth. As a girl, she thought of breastfeeding as a baby’s nourishment. Christopher saw things a little different, so she’d dangle one of his favorite pastimes in front of him. “My breas…tits are full. I need you to suck them for me, then I want to suck you.”
He shot to his feet and grabbed her hand, throwing over his shoulder, “meetin’s fuckin’ adjourned. I’ll catch up to you later, John Boy.”
Not if she had anything to say about it. By the time they left Christopher’s office, she’d see to it he remembered he owned her body and soul.
Chapter 9
Christopher halted his Harley in front of Dippin’ Sam’s, hangout for one of the bigger Black MCs in the area. Bikes lined the front and side of the place and music and the babble of a big crowd floated in the cold night. He hoped he didn’t run into any bullshit since he’d brought Megan along.
Unlike the previous two nights. He was on the hunt and he didn’t want her caught in the fucking crossfire, so he’d ducked out right after dinner, not inviting her along as he had since she’d recovered from her stabbing.
While he’d been out last night, he’d been invited to the birthday party for the Night Flyers’ president, a friend of Christopher’s who had informants outside of Christopher’s network. He’d considered leaving Megan behind this time, too, then decided against it. He wanted her to see what took him away from her every night. Besides, though the Dwellers and the Flyers didn’t actively socialize, they were on friendly terms and it never hurt for Megan to spread her contacts as well.
“Are we going in, Christopher?”
He looked up at the velvet black night at the sound of her sweet little voice. Getting himself a smoke, he nodded. Her phone rang and she sighed. “It’s Momma. Let me take this. Go on in. I’ll catch up to you.”
“I’m not leavin’ you out here by yourself.”
“Outlaw?” a voice from the shadows called.
“Mouse, that you?” Christopher called with a smile and a drag on his cigarette.
Mouse, the Flyers’ enforcer, stepped beneath one of the floodlights. He was a small, muscled man, earning his road name Mouse after that old cartoon character Mighty Mouse. Mouse and Stretch were friends. Christopher had actually met Stretch here, then the kid started hanging around with the Dwellers.
Christopher and Mouse slapped the hands together and clutched in the universal sign of brotherhood. “Where the fuck you been, motherfucker?”
Mouse smiled. “Around, bro. Your old lady gonna be fine out here. Go in. I’ll watch over her and escort her to you myself.”
He glanced back at Meggie who stood next to his bike, deep in conversation. He wanted to get some intel, have a few drinks as a show of respect, then get the fuck gone and in bed with Megan. He nodded. “Thanks, brother.”
When he walked in, he saw people scattered about. Most of the motherfuckers were heading to the back where he knew the party was taking place. The room was half the size of the Dwellers’ main room. The photos of their Free Bird members hung on the wall to the left of him, a greeting to everyone who walked into the place. He received a few nods here and there. As he approached the bar, two bitches he hadn’t seen in ages rushed up to him.
“Outlaw,” the taller one breathed, planting her mouth against his. “Where’ve you been, baby?” She grew eight fucking hands because she touched him every-fucking-where.
He pushed her away. “Get the fuck off me, bitch.”
“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” the other one said, licking his ear, having the same octo-fucking-pussy hands as the other bitch. “Let’s find a spot where you can watch me eat some of her mocha pussy pudding.”
Fuck, if he could remember their names. He did remember fucking them, though. “I said get the fuck off me.”
Two guys he didn’t remember being members the last time he’d visited narrowed their eyes at him as they crowded him in. “Yo? Rose, Chantal, this White boy giving you problems?”
Fuck him, he wasn’t in the fucking mood for this bullshit. “No, motherfucker, this White boy ain’t givin’ these two fuckin’ bitches problems. More like these two bitches givin’ this fuckin’ White boy problems. I suggest you get them the fuck away from me.”
“Don’t sweat it, baby,” the tall one said and Christopher didn’t know if she was fucking Rose or Chantal and he really didn’t give a fuck. “Boy and Outlaw tight. And Outlaw don’t fuck around, so drop it.”
Dumb ass snickered. “You can’t do fucking math, you dumb slut? There’s two of us and one of him. What the fuck can he do?”
“This,” Christopher snarled, punching the fuckhead who refused to shut the fuck up in the throat and pulling his nine out, pointing it at the friend of fuckhead. “Now, you got about two fuckin’ seconds to get the fuck outta my fuckin’ face before you missin’ yours. My old lady here, so you gotta fuckin’ make a decision now cuz I don’t want her pretty outfit dirtied with your fuckin’ blood.”
“Who the fuck in here disrespecting my club?” another voice boomed across the sudden silence.
Yeah, Christopher sure the fuck was disrespecting another man’s club, something that could start a turf war, but, fuck it, he’d been involved in them before.
“It’s Outlaw, Boy,” Christopher called through gritted teeth.”
Silence. Yeah. Boy always called him cray-cray. Christopher hated that fucking term, but he’d fucking take it right about now. Of course, the man still had to look like he knew how to hold his own fucking balls in front of his boys, so anything could happen.
“What seems to be the problem?” Boy stopped next to Christopher, his own piece at his side, and scratched his bald head.
“We was just wantin’ to fuck Outlaw,” one of the girls explained. She thrust her chin to fuckhead still on the floor and the dumb fuck who Christopher held his gun to. “And them two got involved.”
“In my fuckin’ business, which ain’t ever a good fuckin’ idea.”
Boy glared at the two pretty girls. If Christopher remembered, he had tag-teamed the taller one with Johnnie. Or had he…? Might’ve been another pretty chick. Or both of them…? Who the fuck knew? That was many fucking condoms ago.
“They displeased you in some way, Outlaw?”
Christopher scowled. “Nope.”
“He say he brought his old lady,” the tall chick volunteered.
“She can always join in,” the shorter one offered.
He switched the gun from his left-hand to his right, and showed his ring finger. “Nope, babe, she can’t.”
Tall chick’s dark eyes widened. “You’
re married?”
“Legally?” Short chick squeaked.
He nodded.
“How long?” Boy asked.
“Eleven months.”
The girls snickered. “We won’t tell her. We can sneak out back and fuck and the boys will keep her in here.”
“She’ll never find out,” Tall chick promised, raising her hand. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Since this is my birthday, let’s let bygones be bygones. Don’t want us to become enemies on what should be a celebration.” Boy indicated the two women using his gun. “You two bitches, get the fuck out of the man’s face.”
The women scurried off and Boy rocked back on his heels. “I’d appreciate it if you put your piece away, Outlaw.”
For a moment, Christopher stared into the eyes of the other man, hoping he got the message not to fuck with him ever again. Then, he stuck his nine back into his jacket. The fuckhead Christopher knocked in the throat staggered to his feet.
“It’s his fault, Boy,” Dumb fuck complained, flicking his thumb toward Christopher. “Come in here wearing fucking colors that’s not ours.” He looked him up and down and sneered. “And with him being who he is, we didn’t appreciate the way he spoke to those two fucking bitches.”
“I’ve fucked those two fuckin’ bitches,” Christopher snapped. “We live in a diversified fuckin’ world, motherfucker. You need to move to the 21st century. You dealin’ with me cuz I had unrecognizable colors I can understand. You dealin’ with me cuz of your other fuckin’ bullshit, pisses me the fuck off.”
“Outlaw ain’t like that,” Boy said, bristling, “and, now, you insulting one of our allies. If anything happened to this fuck or any of the Dwellers…”
Boy’s voice trailed off.
“A reign of fuckin’ terror would happen to whoever was responsible,” Christopher finished.
“Get the fuck out of my face before I knee cap your asses,” Boy ordered, gesturing toward the door with the gun.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 43
