“Okay. We’re leaving,” she countered with a laugh, hurrying to him.
He held out his hand for the remote as he simultaneously handed her Little Man. A frown creasing his brow, he crouched down and began to operate the truck, testing its various speeds, crashing it into chairs, tables, and bar stools, and manually flipping it over.
Confused as everyone, Meggie rocked back on her heels. “Christopher?”
“Prez, what the fuck you doing?” Mort called and saluted Little Man with two fingers. In response, the boy lifted his arm and grinned. “I think your old man having a flashback. What d’you think, bro?”
“Christopher, what the fuck are you doing?” Johnnie called in exasperation. He needed Church over with as well, to get his ass back to Hawaii and check on Kendall, who’d called and begged to come home. “You can play with that thing later. Can we get fucking started?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Outlaw growled. He got to his feet, still fascinated with the remote controlled vehicle. “Meetin’ fuckin’ cancelled.”
“Outlaw,” Arrow began, shooting to his feet. He always had some issue at Church to challenge the hierarchy over.
No wonder K-P had disowned the uptight assfuck.
“Kiss my motherfuckin’ ass, Arrow.” He glanced at Megan and she sighed.
“Lockdown for me, huh?”
“Yeah, baby. But this shit be over by tonight. Take my boy, Zoann and Ryan to Dinah room right now.”
Not questioning him, she tightened her hold on her son and started away, but he wanted his car. “No, baby boy,” Meggie said, looking at her husband with unease. “I-I think Daddy needs it for something.”
With a last smile to Outlaw, she disappeared through the doorway.
Mortician and Johnnie now flanked Outlaw as he started working the dials and buttons on the remote control again. Not one of the brothers had left after he’d declared cancelled meeting.
“Ghost,” Outlaw called. “I need some plastic.”
“You think I keep that shit laying the fuck around?” Cash snapped.
“Don’t give a fuck. You hearin’ what the fuck I need. Now fuckin’ get it.”
“Fine. Woo Woo, come fucking with me,” Cash ordered, storming toward the door.
“Who the fuck is—” Val’s words died off as Stretch meekly followed Cash outside.
Cowboy frowned. “What the fuck that’s about?”
“Don’t know. Don’t give a fuck. Ain’t my fuckin’ business, so it definitely ain’t yours.” Not waiting for Cowboy’s response, Outlaw signaled Val over, then glanced around. “Mort, where the fuck Digger at?”
“With Peyton, the bitch he met—”
“I know who the fuck that bitch be.” Outlaw yanked out his cellphone and dialed, but received no answer. “Motherfucker my sergeant, he should fuckin’ be here. If he don’t want fuckin’ out bad, he better straighten the fuck up, Mort.”
Mortician nodded. He’d been the one to keep Digger on the straight-and-narrow, but with Bailey problems, Mort had left Digger to handle his own shit. Just as it should be, considering he was a grown fucking man.
“You let him know he gettin’ fined.”
“I already told him, Prez. He don’t seem like he care.”
“I’ll be dealin’ with him when this shit over. Val, call Mutt and Jeff. Tell him we fuckin’ ready to move the guns. Johnnie, call Moncette from the burner phone that Don or Dan, whoever the fuck, had. Tell him we gotta deal he ain’t gonna be able to refuse. Arrow, Cowboy, Slipper, keep watch here.” Orders doled out, Outlaw headed for the parking lot.
“Where are you going?” Arrow called. “And what’s this about? I demand to know that. As a member in good-standing, it’s my fucking right.”
Facing the other man, Outlaw’s hard stare gave everyone pause. “Okay, motherfucker. You wanna be impli-fuckin-cated that shit your fuckin’ business. I’m goin’ get my fuckin’ Sig with the hollow point bullets. My piece for special occasions for blowin’ special motherfuckers the fuck away.”
Arrow’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Outlaw interrupted him.
“Probably ain’t gonna use it, though. Just in fuckin’ case I get my chance, I’m gonna have it. Other-fuckin-wise, we gonna wait for that special motherfucker to drive the fuck up. As he do, I’m gonna guide my boy car the fuck under his vehicle and blast him to fuckin’ hell. Problem fuckin’ solved. Now, any-fuckin-thing else?
Gulping, Arrow shook his head. Outlaw bared his teeth, threw him another glower, and stalked away.
“Prez got a boner for explosives now or some shit?” Mortician asked after the other members who hadn’t been charged with tasks had dispersed.
“Shut the fuck up,” Johnnie growled. “This will be easier. All he has to do is guide it under Moncette’s car.”
“Fine with me, John Boy,” Mort retorted. “I just hope I don’t get blown the fuckup by a fucking toy gone wild.”
A few hours later, Val sat behind a tree, his body angled to hide it from anyone in the meadow. Johnnie stood in a similar position to the east while Mort had taken the western flank. Outlaw lounged casually against his bike, his Sig in one pocket, his favorite, everday nine in another, and the little remote control for the small car somewhere else.
It was so fucking quiet, not even the fucking birds chirped, aware of death hovering in the green space. Grass rustled and tension settled into Val. His hand gripped his sawed-off shotgun.
“Caldwell.”
Val hated Moncette’s smug voice. Visions of Zoann dying in his arms bounced in his head and his finger twitched.
“Moncette.”
Lifting his gun, Val aimed at Moncette’s head.
Outlaw snorted. “You in fuckin’ uniform?”
Fuck. Val shook his head to clear the rage from his vision.
“I’m on duty, asshole. Why wouldn’t I be in fucking uniform?”
“Duty, huh?” Outlaw repeated as if he didn’t hear the man loud and clear.
Val sure as fuck did.
Moncette snickered and held up his radio, calling in his location, then hooking it back on his belt.
Unfazed, Outlaw folded his arms.
“How’s Zoann?” the sheriff asked around chuckles.
Gritting his teeth, Val told himself to follow Outlaw’s lead. They had to know Moncette’s game anyway. Were there deputies on the way to arrest Outlaw? They’d sweep the area and get all of them. This couldn’t happen now when Val finally had Zoann.
“Yeah?” Moncette said, losing some of his smugness.
Fuck. Val had to get out of his own head. He’d missed the fucking conversation.
“Yeah, motherfucker,” Outlaw said casually, walking around his bike and opening his saddlebag. “Happy with her new fuckin’ man, too. Proud to have his fuckin’ last name.”
“I always liked her. I’m glad she survived the shooting. We’re doing everything we can to solve the mystery.”
“Assfuck, Zoann alive,” Outlaw snapped, taking paper and pen in hand and waving it at Moncette. “You fuckin’ know that, dontcha?”
Moncette frowned. “Of course I do. Why would I ask about her otherwise? We’ve had a run of crime, so we haven’t been able to visit her and take any additional statements.”
“Right.” Outlaw drew closer to the sheriff. “I’ll be fuckin’ sure to ask the next fuckin’ sheriff to jump the fuck on it.”
Lifting a brow, Moncette rocked on his heels, his arrogant stance grating on Val’s nuts. “I’m not resigning unless I win the senatorial election.”
“What the fuck ever,” Outlaw said in a distracted manner and nodded at Moncette’s radio. “I’m gonna need your fuckin’ ass to call in this location.” He held up the piece of paper he’d scribbled on. “I need to discuss the fact you fuckin’ shot my sister.”
“You really are a fucking lunatic,” Moncette sneered. “You think I’d give up the only protection I have?”
“Not a yellow-belly coward motherfu
cker like you. No fuckin’ way,” Outlaw agreed. “Do your dirty fuckin’ shit and hide behind your fuckin’ badge. Corrupt motherfucker.”
“What dirty shit do you refer to? I’m fucking clean.”
“And I’m fuckin’ sane and we both fuckin’ know how the wind fuckin blowin’ with that fuckin’ statement.”
“What—?”
Outlaw snapped his finger like a genie motherfucker and a crackling sound filled the space.
“Did you get rid of them, Father?” Even though it was a shitty recording, Moncette’s voice was clearly recognizable.
”Yeah, Adam. I can’t believe you killed both—”
“That fucking slut knew what happened to Denny. She got what was coming when I strangled her. It felt good, watching her life slip away. I couldn’t stand to look at her brat, so—”
Outlaw snapped his fingers again. “Fuckin’ Ghost,” he said, shaking his head and pulling out a cigarette. “That motherfucker brilliant.”
Moncette didn’t move. He stared in stunned silence, his brow glistening. “Where’d you get that?”
Nonchalant, Outlaw released the smoke from his cigarette. “Where the fuck you think, motherfucker? The safe at your fuckin’ house.”
If Val hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believe the cocksucking, swaggering sheriff would sway like a girl. “You—”
“Call in your changed fuckin’ location, Moncette, cuz I’m losin’ fuckin’ patience. Brooks…you know the club attorney? The motherfucker you fuckin’ told you couldn’t fuckin’ do nothin’ when me and my boys was arrested?”
“Caldwell…Outlaw…I-I can explain—”
“Explain the fuck away, but radio in the location I fuckin’ gave you. Cuz Brooks? Got a copy of that fuckin’ recordin’ and if he ain’t fuckin’ hearin’ from me in about thirty fuckin’ minutes, he goin’ to the fuckin’ media with the full fuckin’ recordin’.”
“Okay.” Moncette unclipped the radio again.
“Sound fuckin’ normal, motherfucker. Don’t try my fuckin’ patience any-fuckin-more.”
Complying, Moncette fell silent after he’d followed Outlaw’s instructions. “Now, what? What do you need from me?”
Outlaw held out the paper and pen to him, then sucked on his cigarette again. “Couldn’t figure why the fuck you fuckin’ backstabbed me. ‘Til Zoann told me ‘bout your fuckin’ dickhead brother. Revenge for him, right, assfuck?”
“Outlaw, listen—”
“Under-fuckin-standable, Moncette. But you got my little sister involved. You fuckin’ shot her.”
“I called it in,” he rushed out.
“Cuz you thought she was fuckin’ dead. Or close to it.” He flung his cigarette away. “Never fuckin’ understood what the fuck happened to hospital security that night. That shit a problem for solvin’ another fuckin’ day.”
“What do you want me to write?”
Outlaw shrugged, walked back to his bike and pulled surgical gloves from his saddlebag. After putting them on, he took out a hardcover book stuffed into a freezer bag, along with an unopened pack of paper and pens. He held out the package to Moncette and grabbed the other paper and pen from him. “Open that shit and sign your name at the bottom of a page.”
Moncette’s gaze fastened on the rubber gloves, just as Outlaw’s phone rang. He pulled it from the pocket of his cut, glanced at it, then held it up for Moncette to see. “Brooks. What the fuck you want me to do?”
“I’m cooperating,” he whined, tearing open the package.
“Gimme twenty minutes, Brooks,” Outlaw said in answer, keeping his regard on Moncette as he crouched down and scrolled his name at the bottom of a piece of paper. “Whatever, motherfucker,” he finished with a laugh and hung up.
Moncette held the paper up, relaxing at Outlaw’s approving nod. “What now?”
“A short grocery list of your favorite fuckin’ food on another sheet of paper.”
“What?” Moncette’s question echoed Val’s.
“Do it, fuckhead.”
A minute later, he held up the new sheet. “What now?”
Outlaw snatched the grocery list from Moncette, folded it and stuffed it in his pocket. “The paper with your signature? Write on it: Sorry for my fuckin’ actions. I’m an evil fuckhead. Just put that shit in your words. However the fuck you might say it. Oh, and put the fuckin’ date at the top.”
Although Moncette obeyed, confusion etched his brow. Val hated feeling the same way. He couldn’t imagine what the fuck Outlaw was up to. He heard more rustling and he decided Mort and Johnnie—and somewhere Ghost—was just as restless.
Moncette allowed Outlaw to inspect the paper again. “That shit work.”
“You said we’d work something out.”
Clearly, Moncette thought otherwise, although Val wasn’t so sure. It seemed as if Outlaw had him write out a confession. To negotiate better terms between the club and the sheriff?
“I’ll do anything. Just don’t release this. Please.”
Cocking his head to the side, Outlaw nodded. “Add I can’t face the motherfuckers who believed in me. Remember. Use your fuckin’ words.”
“Tell Zoann I’m sorry,” he said in a frantic voice.
“Keep your fuckin’ hand steady, Moncette,” Outlaw advised.
“Okay, okay, okay. What else?”
Outlaw snatched the paper from Moncette’s hand and read over it. “This shit work. Yo’, Ghost?” he called.
Materializing from the thicket of trees, dressed in combat gear, his face smeared in dark green paint, Ghost sauntered up to them. Using a pair of tweezers, he guided the note into a plastic bag, his hands covered in leather gloves. Task completed and bagged note in hand, he disappeared again.
“What is that?” Moncette demanded. “You’re going to blackmail me?”
“Ain’t got time for fuckin’ blackmail, Moncette,” Outlaw responded, pulling out his Sig and snapping the clip into place. He leveled it at Moncette. “Ain’t fuckin’ figured out what the fuck you was writin’, motherfucker?”
As he shook his head, Outlaw opened fire, hitting him in both his legs, bone and blood flying.
“Your fuckin’ suicide note.”
“God, no!” Moncette screamed. “No! You had me write a grocery list, too. You can’t make me do something so ordinary and follow it up with…”
“I fuckin’ can cuz I fuckin’ did. If, for any fuckin’ reason, something happened to that fuckin’ note, Ghost can forge your handwritin’.” He tapped his pocket. “Needed a fuckin’ sample of it.”
“I don’t deserve this,” Moncette moaned, through tears, his blood staining the green grass. “Please.”
Outlaw regarded Moncette in silence for a short moment. “It took me a fuckin’ minute to remember who the fuck your sister-in-law was,” he began. “She had pretty fuckin’ eyes. Big but sad like a motherfucker. I remember that shit. All she fuckin’ talked about after I fucked her was her girl. Her two-year-old girl.”
Outlaw shot Moncette’s hand off and the sheriff howled. Writhing on the ground, he clutched the bloody stump that had been his hand.
“Then you fuckin’ commited a ultimate sin against me,” Outlaw went on, unperturbed by Moncette’s screams of pain. “You fucked with Bitsy. You one lucky motherfucker it wasn’t my Megan. I woulda cut your fuckin’ head off.”
As Moncette lay bleeding out, Outlaw backed away and shoved his gun back where he’d had it.
“Val. I’m countin’ to fuckin’ three. At three, you ain’t finished him off, I fuckin’ am.”
Not giving Outlaw the chance to start counting, Val aimed at Moncette and pulled the trigger, grinning in satisfaction at the kickback and the boom. Moncette’s face disappeared in a cloud of blood, hair, and skin.
“I see you been target practicin’, assfuck,” Outlaw remarked as Ghost drove a car into the clearing and got out. “Figures. Motherfucker wasn’t even in county wheels.”
“It makes it easier,�
�� Ghost responded.
Johnnie and Mortician walked into the clearing and glanced at the body.
“You fuckheads remember who the fuck Moncette was talkin’ about?”
“How can I forget?” Johnnie asked tightly.
Nodding, Outlaw picked up Moncette’s body and shoved it into the car. “All right, motherfuckers. Clear the fuck out. Unless, you wanna go boom, boom, pow, too.”
From the edge of the clearing, Outlaw guided the little car under Moncette’s vehicle, using the remote control to maneuver it. He signaled for them to ride. Kicking his bike into gear, he started off, too, pausing only long enough to press a button, lighting up the green meadow in a ball of flame.
Riding in formation—Outlaw leading, Johnnie and Val behind him, and Mortician and Ghost following—Val decided Outlaw had everything covered. Val might not understand why Moncette wrote a suicide note when he wouldn’t have a body to go with it, but Outaw did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have blown the asshole to smithereens.
Outlaw nodded to a captain on the fire truck speeding toward the scene.
Yeah. Outlaw had it all covered.
Arrow cracked open the door to Dinah’s room and peeked in. “Zoann, April’s asking for you.”
“April?” Zoann and Meggie chorused, then lowered their voices when the other two sleeping occupants—CJ and Dinah—jumped. Arrow had called Bailey and ordered her to the premises, so she was on the trail in the woods with Ryan to allow Zoann time to recover from her returning morning sickness.
“What does she want?” Meggie hissed.
“Tell her to go away.” Zoann and Matthew had finally reached a happy place. Yes, he’d fucked a lot of women—most of the women who came to the club as a matter of fact—but he’d sworn that was in the past. “I have no wish to talk to her.”
“It’s not about Val, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Arrow opened the door a little wider. “It’s about Digger.”
“What about him?” Meggie asked suspiciously.
Arrow sighed. “Don’t know, Meggie babe.”
“Why ask for me and not Mortician?” Zoann pressed, just as suspicious as Meggie.
“Maybe, it’s because Mort isn’t here. I don’t know. You need to know all those questions, go ask her.”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 160
