Meggie ignored the fuck out of Outlaw. “He’s tired, Mortician.”
“Meggie,” Kendall began crisply. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Johnnie asked suspiciously.
“You had your chance. This has become girl talk, Johnnie. I need to talk to her.”
“Fuckin’ about?”
“YOU!” she flared at Outlaw’s question.
Meggie frowned. “What about Christopher?”
“He entertained four Bob people and they were all naked.”
“Get Red, John Boy, and take Loretta Hughes off the payroll. Bitch not helping Kendall one fucking bit.”
“There was a meeting here,” Meggie stated calmly, frowning deeper when Johnnie shot to his feet and headed for Kendall.
Meggie sure the fuck sounded as if she knew the “Bob people” had been there.
“Christopher told me they’d be here,” she confirmed.
“They were naked, Meggie, and locked in here all alone with your husband.”
“No. He wouldn’t do that to me. There was a meeting,” Meggie reiterated. “He wasn’t alone with them.”
“No, I heard all about it when I went to the bathroom. There wasn’t a meeting.”
“Yeah, Red, there was,” Mortician said. “All of us attended.”
Kendall’s eyes widened and she choked. “You, too, Johnnie?”
“Yes.”
“You’re okay with this?” Kendall hissed, swinging her gaze back to Meggie, looking hurt and confused, angry and bewildered.
“Of course I’m not okay with it,” Meggie said quietly. “But he told me a few days ago and we, um, discussed it.”
“Johnnie didn’t discuss it with me.”
“You’re going through a lot,” Meggie soothed. “He’s trying to protect you.”
“I—”
“Is this meeting over?” Johnnie interrupted tightly, staring at Outlaw in both dread and warning.
“For now, but I’m talkin’ to your fuckin’ ass first thing tomorrow.”
Stalking away without responding, Johnnie grabbed Kendall’s arm and dragged her away.
“They gonna be on premises more, Megan,” Outlaw said unapologetically.
“So you’ve said,” Meggie responded testily, smiling at Ryan who’d fallen asleep on Val’s shoulder. “Although you never said they’d be completely naked.”
“Ain’t knew that shit, either, baby.”
“What did they do while they were here?”
“Fucked each other and sucked dick.”
“Right.”
Outlaw scowled at her. “This the shit I’m talkin’ about. Bitch shit. You fuckin’ hurt cuz them fuckin’ sluts around me. Kendall tryin’ her fuckin’ best to get me to put her outta her fuckin’ misery by openin’ her fuckin’ mouth. If you ain’t knew about them bitches bein’ here, this woulda been a serious fuckup with you and me.”
“There’s no reason for you to have those women around you.”
“Fuck, but you fuck with my head.”
No response.
Getting to his feet, Outlaw went to her and folded his arms. His need to touch her was written all over his face, but so was his fear. An identifiable feeling. He feared rejection a lot, too.
“Stretch, maybe Cash can go.” He studied Meggie and swigged from a bottle he grabbed. “I ain’t talkin’ about shit no more tonight, Megan. Ain’t got no more words right now. But I wanna fuck you. If you okay with it, then I ain’t leavin’ tonight. I’ll send Ghost on the errand.”
“Who will I be with tonight if you stay?”
“What the fuck that mean?”
“Will I be with my husband or the MC president?”
Outlaw looked away and clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking. “I wanna take you hard. Whether I take you bein’ Outlaw or Christopher…” his voice trailed off and he shrugged. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”
She chewed on her lower lip, then peeked around her husband, the tender look in her eyes when they fell on her son, saying it all. “Is it okay to leave CJ with you, Mortician?”
“Shit cool, Meggie. Go take care of your man. I got this.”
Opening her mouth to speak and transferring her gaze to Outlaw, she went silent when he held out his hand to her, his ferocious need hardening his face. She didn’t hesitate to place her hand in his and allowed him to guide her out the room, leaving a trail of wonder in her wake at her undying devotion to her husband.
Chapter Nineteen
“There should be a law against such loveliness.”
Pausing in her task of setting meds on the tray for her patient, Zoann smiled at Adam’s smooth words. He’d called and cancelled on his plans to cook for her, apologizing so much she’d felt sorry for him. To her dismay, his cancellation had relieved her. For all of Matthew’s man whore, piggish ways, the story he’d told to her touched her. For the first time since she’d known him, he’d sounded like a man with real troubles.
She wanted to comfort him. But any consideration toward him came at extreme risk to herself. He weakened her and being there for him meant condoning his promiscuity. Something she couldn’t do, despite his reasons.
“You’re too gorgeous to have such a fierce frown on your face.”
Adam’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts and back to her task. “Sorry. I have a lot to do in the next few days and it’s weighing on me.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
Not really. Once she found a place, she wouldn’t have many belongings to move. She shook her head, wishing it was Matthew who was gazing at her with such appreciation.
Damn it, but she needed to get over her girlish fantasies.
Plastering a smile on her face, she held up the small cup of medicine. “I have a patient to see to.”
Adam’s smile lit his eyes. “Go right ahead, dear.”
Hiding her frown at being called dear, Zoann headed to the cubicle of her eighty-five-year-old patient, who made regular visits to the ER, and sat the small plastic container on the rolling table. “Hi, Mrs. Gibson. I have pain meds for you. Something different than your regular ones and—“
The old lady scowled at her, her white hair sticking up. “I already told the other nurse I’m not taking nothing new. Don’t know what it’ll do to me. Been doing without it all these years, I figure I don’t need it now.”
Zoann smiled and poured some water for her. “You have a point,” she agreed. “But Doctor McNally wants to see if this new medicine will help you. He wouldn’t give you anything detrimental.”
“When is he letting me go? I’m ready to go home. Every time my grandson brings me to the ER, you keep me. It’s nothing but a rip off. I’m old so you’re going to find something wrong with me just to keep me here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Zoann said calmly. She’d heard the same argument before from other patients but Mrs. Gibson was admitted on a frequent basis. The old lady had so many health problems, though. “I’ll let Dr. McNally know.”
“You think I’m stupid? All you treat me like I have no sense. Dr. McNally won’t care. I want my doctor.”
“Dr. McNally has put in a call to her to discuss your latest symptoms.” She held out the water and the medicine, already knowing the outcome.
“I’m not taking that, so take it away.”
“All right, Mrs. Gibson. Amy will be coming on duty in a little while, so she might come back in and try again if you aren’t discharged or assigned a room. Okay?”
“I don’t like her. She’s not nice. Nurses are supposed to be nice, but she isn’t.”
“Give her a chance. You’ll like her.”
“No,” she insisted. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could but I have to get home to my son.”
“How old is he?”
“Thirteen months.”
Mrs. Gibson huffed. “All right, then. I guess you’re right. He needs you more than me since h
e’s itty bitty.”
Zoann glanced at the television, the volume at zero. Not that she blamed Mrs. Gibson. Zoann worked here and she wouldn’t want to watch the hospital’s information channel. She grabbed the remote and clicked it.
“Find a game show for me, Soann.”
Not bothering to correct Mrs. Gibson—she had time and again and it never did any good—Zoann found what the old lady requested. She resisted the urge to point to her name on the dry erase board and her badge.
“I bet they’re keeping me, just like always, so bring me some crackers and juice. That Amy would see me starve before I get to my room. I tell her I’m hungry and she doesn’t care. She just lets my stomach growl until morning time.”
Zoann headed for the door, refused medicine in her pocket. “Be right back. I need to take your vital signs. Okay?”
“Better you, than Amy.”
She halted at the desk to record Mrs. Gibson’s medication refusal, along with the time. She really wished the old lady would cooperate. Zoann liked her. She made her think of her grandfather, who’d be just a little younger than Mrs. Gibson had he lived. Pushing the thought aside, she finished signing the sheet.
“Intake. Room 10.”
Every organ inside Zoann’s body froze at her supervisor’s words. Her emotions were all over the place because of the baby—and being around Matthew all of the time—but she was specially trained to do this. She’d quietly campaigned the hospital to have trained staff members for assault victims. The year before her mother’s death, the program had been funded and Zoann, along with five other staff members had gone through training. She hadn’t ever told Patricia. Her mother would’ve found a way to get Zoann out of the program.
Mellie touched Zoann’s shoulder. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes.” She heaved in a breath. “Mrs. Gibson’s vitals are due to be taken.”
“I’ll send someone to see to her.”
Unable to stall anymore, Zoann grabbed her clipboard and headed to room ten. When she opened and closed the door, she leaned against it and took in the victim. About twenty-four or twenty-five. Braided hair. Swollen eye. Mocha colored skin bruised.
Clutching the clipboard to her chest, Zoann cleared her throat and stepped forward. The woman opened her eyes and winced. This never, ever got any easier. It was so personal for her. She’d been unable to get help for herself but all she’d ever wanted to do was give back and reach out to other women without implicating her family.
Times like this she absolutely hated Christopher. She could’ve done what Big Joe and Patricia expected her to do if only…if only she’d had her brother. Her Christy.
“H-hi.”
The patient spoke. Zoann hadn’t.
What was wrong with her?
She was stronger than this. Threading her fingers through her hair to hide her shaking hands, Zoann stepped closer. “Hello.” She sat the clipboard on the rolling table and leaned an elbow on it, pen poised. “Name?”
“J-Jane Doe.”
Jane Doe. She didn’t intend to press charges. At least for now. Zoann understood. First, she’d get her vital signs and basic information. By now, Mellie had already called the local crisis center and someone would be on the way.
In the meantime, Zoann needed to get through this in a calm and professional manner. Steeling her backbone, she wrote the name Jane Doe on her intake sheet and commenced with her questions.
Feeling sick and dizzy, Zoann picked out a banana and a 7Up from the nearly deserted cafeteria. She thought about going to the little courtyard, but didn’t have the energy for the extra steps so she sat at the first table she found and peeled the banana.
She was on her second shift, filling in for a friend, and the end to her double couldn’t come fast enough. She’d had enough. Tomorrow, she’d take the day off and talk to Christopher and Matthew. Or Matthew and Christopher. She hadn’t decided who she’d pull aside first. But she needed to get this out of her. She’d beg her brother to forgive her for burdening him with a ten-year-old event, plead with him to discover the whereabouts of Cee Cee and swear to him she wasn’t trying to place him or his family in danger. He might ask her to leave the compound sooner and she’d prepared herself for that. The kindness and compassion he’d shown to her the past few weeks might crumble under the weight of more rejection or the mockery that she needed to tell him as if he had the answers to the universe.
What made it still so important that Christopher know? She wished she had the answer.
As for Matthew…she’d tell him why she didn’t like oral sex. Reliving it twice over made her cringe, but the thought of facing the dual reactions at once frightened the shit out of her. One on one, she’d be able to shout fuck off, I don’t need you. Collectively? Not so much.
Matthew deserved to know, however. He’d faced a lot in his life, too, and he’d survived. Maybe, not in the best way, but he’d made it through with sex and alcohol. He’d given her her son and her new baby. He’d kept a part of her heart alive and open to love, to him.
Shit happened. Life happened. She was a Jane Doe just like the girl she’d treated and Zoann admired her courage. She wasn’t ruling out the possibility of going to the authorities later. She wanted to get herself and her daughter to safety first, go to her parents in Missouri, and then proceed.
She insisted she’d be okay. That her attacker wouldn’t defeat her.
Zoann wasn’t sure what about this victim hit her so poignantly. She’d had humor, even in the face of darkness. She’d been a…survivor. That’s what Zoann wanted to be. Her methods might be fucked up, but she’d work with what she had.
Maybe, she and Matthew might be able to work on their relationship. She loved him. He wasn’t perfect but neither was she. She’d kept all this from him, afraid to trust him with her secret, but allowing him access to her body time and again.
How fucked up. Simple communication might’ve solved many of their misunderstandings.
And if not? If she’d pegged him right?
Then so be it. Her life would still go on.
“Care for some company?” Adam asked just as she popped the last piece of banana into her mouth.
She hurried and swallowed. “I thought you’d left.” Actually, she hadn’t thought about him, one way or the other. The past three hours had been sheer hell. Quite fucked up, considering she wasn’t the rape survivor here.
Adam pulled out a chair and smiled. She just wanted him to go away. She didn’t feel like being bothered with him. “At least I’ve crossed your mind.”
Not responding, she opened her drink and sipped from it. “Have you had a busy day?”
“Usual stuff,” he said with a shrug. “Getting the bad guys off the street.”
“It takes real dedication to serve and protect.”
“As much dedication as it takes to save lives.”
“Yes, well, I do what I can,” she mumbled, thinking of Matthew. She’d thrown the fact at him, more than once, that she’d dedicated her life to helping others when he hurt others, if the situation called for it. Adam was just the sort of man who’d be so good at her side. They were committed to the good of the people. While Matthew professed to respect everyone, Zoann knew better. Ironic that living free for him also meant rivalries and death.
“I can’t remember which part of town you live in?”
“I can’t remember ever telling you.”
He chuckled. “Sassy girl. Not much to do in the area. Where do you hang out?”
“I don’t have time for hanging out, Adam. My son. Remember?”
“And the new baby, too,” he added, nodding to her belly. His look turned regretful. “Forgive my concern, my dear.”
From dear to my dear? Oh my God, he sounded ninety years old. Why not babe or sweetheart?
She scowled at the thought. He wasn’t a reprobate, that’s why. “No need to apologize, Adam. It feels nice to have someone fuss over me.”
He smirked. “Well, I’ll do as muc
h fussing over you as you need. There’s that big, lawless MC on the outskirts of town and I know they have parties there. I was hoping you didn’t visit that place.”
Visit? She bit back her laughter. She lived there and was so tied to it because of her family, she should’ve been an honorary member. Instead of answering, she drank a little more.
“Do you have any family here?”
She took another piece of banana and washed it down with 7Up before answering. “Yeah. Remember? My brother and cousin and their old ladies.”
His brows raised. “Old ladies? They’re into cougars?”
Zoann laughed. “They’re into women. No matter their age,” she responded, the comment striking her as odd. If he knew of the MC, certainly he knew their vernacular. “Or they were into a bunch of different women before they fell in love. But, no, I just call Meggie and Kendall that because they do.”
He turned sideways and crossed his leg, resting an ankle on a knee. “My county’s starting to have gang activity, dear. I hoped you were talking about a cougar. Old lady is also jargon in some of these damn gangs. I’ll do whatever I need to do to bring them down.”
“Okay.” What else could she say? Technically, the Death Dwellers were a gang and law enforcement would see them as such. She stiffened, an absurd thought re-entering her head. Adam Moncette was sheriff and bringing down Christopher’s club would be a major coup. What better way to get to them by using her? She jumped up and snatched her purse, drink, and banana peel off the table. “I have to go.”
He got to his feet, his brow puckered in confusion. “Why?”
Because he thought she was an idiot. “For some reason, I believed you wanted to know me better for me.”
Her words only deepened his frown. “And I don’t?”
“You’re the sheriff, which means you have your pulse on things. Don’t play stupid. We both know the Death Dwellers have been on law enforcement’s radar since forever.”
He stepped in front of her, holding his hands out in supplication.
She jabbed him in the chest. “If you know who they are, then you know who their president is. And, if you know that, then you know who I am. Using me constitutes doing anything to get them.”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 142
