Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books
Page 167
Fuck him, but he was scared, too. Not about what happened earlier tonight. No, that shit was tame compared to this. Commitment shit. Marriage wasn’t easy. It was constant compromise and adjusting and backtracking and apologizing and consideration and…plain, fucking work. Shit was hard fucking enough with just them trying to work their shit out. Having all these different motherfuckers throwing their opinions out to them about fucking who did what, fucking what they did, fucking how they did it, fucking why they did it, and when and fucking where they did it, made shit even worse.
Having the fucking family from hell, thanks to fucking Logan gladly fucking up his daughters and grandchildren and all kinds of shit come to light, kept them in fucking turmoil.
Megan widened her legs for him and he sank deeper into her, groaning. His destructive thoughts scattered. Her little fingers skated across his bruises and cuts that neither of them had bothered to see to and he kissed her, the metallic taste of his blood in her mouth. He moved inside of her, his dick getting harder at her moan.
“You like the feel of my dick in you, baby?”
“Yes,” she responded on a soft, little cry that vibrated along his nerve endings.
He licked her lips, the depths of his feelings for her still amazing him and overwhelming him. “I love bein’ in your hot pussy, Megan.”
Her eyes glittered, held him captive, and he shook. He brought his hand between then and massaged her pussy, speeding up his thrusts.
“Come for me,” he whispered against her ear, biting her lobe. His balls were tingling, drawing up, preparing to let his cum loose. He fingered her clit and sank his teeth into the side of her neck. “Come.” He soothed the bite and the order by blowing against the red mark. The sting of her nails dug into his biceps as she lifted her hips and came hard on his dick.
Grunting, he slammed into her, her pussy juice coating him, her cries of pleasure buzzing in his head. His boy wasn’t there so he didn’t have to mute her by covering her mouth with his.
He stiffened and shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning into her hair before collapsing on top of her, their heavy breathing mingling and filling up the space.
Resting for a few seconds, he turned over, not wanting to crush her. She nuzzled her head against his arm and he pulled her into the crook, satisfied when she curved her smaller body against his.
“I love you.” He’d never get tired of telling her that. No, he wasn’t a nice motherfucker. His boys thought he was a fucking psycho stalker. Fucking fine with him. He was a belligerent, out-of-control assfuck. The only one he’d get in line for was the girl in his arms. She gave him purpose. She made him want to live. Whether he lived his life being a psycho stalker motherfucker wasn’t important. With her, he could reign himself in a little. Without her… “I love you,” he repeated.
“I love you, too, Christopher.”
“So are you going to take my job offer or you gonna look for a job somewhere else?”
She lifted her head and smiled, her gaze shuttered. “I’ll work here until I can find somewhere for CJ to go during the day and I talk to Zoann about Ryan.”
“Where you wanna work again?”
She glanced away. “I have a bunch of different ideas. I haven’t settled on one yet.”
“Ever thought about looking into online school courses?”
“For office management. If I still intended to be a meteorologist, I’d need to go to a brick-and-mortar school.”
So he was getting answers from her. This was good. He’d get it the fuck out of her what Kendall told her and address her concerns then.
“How ‘bout you take some classes, if that’s whatcha wanna do?”
“Umk…” Her voice trailed off and she swallowed. “No. I need to make the money first. Don’t worry, Christopher. You won’t always have to direct me about what to do and where to go. I’ll act my age and—”
Jesus, Mary, and all that was holy, he was going to burst a fucking blood vessel. “What the fuck you gonna be doin’? Goin’ to fuckin’ frat parties and lettin’ members drink beer from your fuckin’ navel? What the fuck that mean? Actin’ your age? Who the fuck know the right way to act at any fuckin’ age?”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, fucking shrugging instead.
“I’m turnin’ thirty-five in five months. You think I act my fuckin’ age?”
Giggling, Megan shook her head and Christopher snickered. He rolled onto her and she opened her legs, letting him sink into her again.
“You gonna be fuckin’ twenty. You ain’t able to figure every-fuckin-thing out yet, cuz you ain’t lived long e-fuckin-nuff yet. I ain’t lived long e-fuckin-nuff yet.”
She licked his earlobe and he closed his eyes in bliss. They’d continue this later.. “I got a early meetin’, so we can finish this conversation when I get back. Right now, talkin’ over and fuckin’ goin’ on.”
Chapter Four: Life Is Just A Dream
Meggie rested her head on the cold marble, her silent tears sliding down her cheeks. Her intense nausea had returned, after she’d thrown up the disgusting wine she’d drank the night before. Overhead clouds matched her mood as a sob escaped her, loud in the silence of the graveyard where her mother-in-law rested. K-P, Bailey’s dad. Caroline, Kendall’s sister.
Where the monument for her own father rose at the highest point. It was just a cold obelisk, representing…what? He wasn’t even in there. Unlike her son with the angels and bronze baby shoes. Meggie knew he was in the ground. All alone.
When she thought really hard, she imagined her daddy at her wedding, sharing their father/daughter dance. She’d not once ever danced with Big Joe. He’d swung her around a few times, threw her up in the air and pulled all types of giggles from her. And she’d never get to dance with Patrick. Sometimes, she’d see a rainbow in the sky, and pretend…Pretend she’d see them and have no more tears. Despite her despair, she’d smile.
On particularly crazy days, she’d see another little person with reddish-blond hair. She never knew if she looked at a boy or a girl, but she did know it was Johnnie’s and Kendall’s baby. Once or twice, she’d attempted to ask Kendall if she’d ever wondered the sex of her lost child. The first time Kendall had accused Meggie of being insensitive and the second time Kendall had said the baby was gone, so she was focusing on the new one.
Maybe, Meggie had just wanted to think of Patrick not being alone. That his cousin was with him. Or her father. Or his grandmother, the woman he’d been named for. Patricia, Christopher’s mother.
Patricia was with him, taking care of Patrick on Meggie’s behalf. Wasn’t she?
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Meggie doubled over and dropped to her knees, before falling to the ground and curling herself into a little ball. Morning dew still dampened the grass. It was cool against her cheek. Cold even. At the thought, she choked out a wail, digging her fingers into the thick blades, unable to reach the dirt to start digging for her son.
“Megan?”
The sound of Christopher’s voice startled her and she stilled, remembering she had heads or tails wherever she went, unless she snuck away, which she rarely did effectively. Either one of the guys was waiting to lead her somewhere or one of the guys would be there to follow her. Sometimes, two or three guys. She hadn’t seen anyone when she’d left the compound, but they must’ve seen her, followed her, and called her husband.
She turned her face into the damp earth, ignoring Christopher. She didn’t want him to see her like this. It messed with his head. But she just wanted privacy, too, to grieve in peace and not feel like a piece of shit for letting her son die.
“Go away,” she mumbled.
“No.”
She curled herself tighter, wanting to apologize. Wanting to turn back the hands of time so she could make things right. “You shouldn’t see me like this.”
Unamused laughter wafted in the air around her. “I should fuckin’ see you however the fuck you is at any-fuckin-time.”
He crouched in front of her and she studied his boots. There was a scuff on them, she thought idly, reaching out to run her fingers over the cracked leather. When she got a job, the first thing she intended to do was buy him new boots. She’d buy a matching pair for CJ and Patrick. She’d bring them here and tell him how his daddy and big brother had a similar pair.
Christopher’s fingers stroked her head. “How fuckin’ often you come here?”
She bit down on her lip, hesitating. “I haven’t been here in a week,” she finally admitted.
He sat flat on the ground, knees raised, hands resting on them. “You ain’t wantin’ me with you?”
Pulling herself up, she slid between his thighs and rested against his chest, clutching his cut and sobbing until her throat hurt. Until his soft words and gentle strokes reached through her fog. His cheek pressed against the top of her head and her scalp felt wet.
Tears.
Christopher was crying, too. She got to her knees and took his face between her hands, thumbing his tears away and kissing him softly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t protect him,” she whispered, nuzzling her cheek against Christopher’s, combining their tears and pain. “I’m so sorry. I would never do anything to hurt you or your babies.”
“Fuck, Megan, you fuckin’ think I ain’t already knowin’ that? You ain’t gotta tell me that. I know how fuckin’ much you love me. Whatcha willin’ to do to protect me. I ain’t layin’ a bit of fuckin’ blame on you.”
The fact that he blamed Kendall for Meggie’s decision to go sent fresh tears to her eyes. “Don’t—”
He put a finger over her lips. “Don’t give a fuck whatcha say ‘bout this shit, so save your fuckin’ breath, baby.”
Too tired to argue, Meggie bowed her head. “Do you think he hates me?” She scratched her arm and furrowed her brow. “I had a dream. Last night. This morning. I’m not sure. But he was there. Patrick. Right next to me.” She sniffled and smiled at him, wanting to stop her flow of words but needing to get them out, too. Grief and pain filled his green eyes, his face was flushed, more somber than she’d ever seen him. “He called out to me.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded and swallowed. “Mommie. He called me. He woke me up. CJ doesn’t even say it yet, you know?”
“I know, baby.” He laid his palm against her cheek and she relaxed against the warmth of him. His smile was tender. “My boy gonna call you that as soon as he able.”
Meggie rubbed her forehead. “I tried to pick Patrick up. He was right there. Calling me. But the moment my hand would’ve touched him, he left.”
“He was just stoppin’ in, baby,” Christopher told her, his eyes bright with sadness. “To check on you. He don’t want you so sad. He ain’t restin’ as long as you so filled up with pain.”
“You think?” she whispered, horrified at the thought and glancing at the cold ground that contained her son. “I had another dream. I was here, digging and digging and digging. I didn’t stop until I got to his casket. I opened it and he wasn’t there.” Her nostrils flared and she let out a moan. “No matter what, wherever he is, I try to reach him and he always leaves before I can.”
Christopher grabbed her and shook her. “Because he ain’t fuckin’ for us any-fuckin-more, Megan. He not fuckin’ here. He fuckin’ gone. You gotta get that through your fuckin’ head. No matter what the fuck you do, he ain’t fuckin’ comin’ back. But you got me and you got CJ and we need you.” Anger blazed from him and he got to his feet, pacing. “What the fuck, baby? You wanna fuckin’ join Patrick? That fuckin’ it? Fuck us livin’ motherfuckers. You got a fuckin’ dead boy needin’ you more.”
Meggie gasped at Christopher’s words and she jumped to her feet, shoving him. “Go to hell,” she blazed out. “At least I remember I have two sons. You don’t acknowledge Patrick ever. You only say my boy. You have boys.”
“No, baby. No, I fuckin’ don’t. I have a boy. CJ. He fuckin’ alive. I ain’t even got to know Patrick. I ain’t knowin’ the fuckin’ color of his eyes. Nothin’, Megan.”
“You put him inside of me. You felt him moving and…and…and—” She couldn’t even finish. Finishing required remembering and remembering hurt her to her soul. She swiped at her tears. “I want the pain to stop, Christopher. I want it to go away.”
He closed his eyes and pulled her into his arms, nosing her hair. “Let him go, Megan. You ain’t ever gonna forget him. He was yours, but he wasn’t meant to be yours any longer than he was.” He heaved in a breath. “You was so happy last night. Maybe, we should go back to that fuckin’ bullshit park. Just so you can smile and laugh again. I’ll do fuckin’ anything to see a real smile on your face like you got last night.”
“You didn’t think the theme park was stupid?”
“Other than wantin’ to blow that motherfucker up and rippin’ my own fuckin’ fingernails off, fuck no.”
She processed Christopher’s words and couldn’t stop her giggle. “Psycho,” she teased.
The moment she realized what she was doing and where she was doing it, she stilled. “My whole perspective changed,” she admitted, sobering again. “Once you lose a child, the meaning of everything is different. Life is blurred and you think it really is just a dream. Which way do you go? What do you do? What right do I have to smile when he never will? I have you and CJ, and I try to smile for the two of you. I try to be who you—”
“Fuck, who I wantcha to be? Who the fuck you wanna be?”
“Your wife and the mother of your children. I want to make a home for us and be there to greet our kids each day after school. Learn new recipes. Take up some type of hobby. Do stuff in the community. I enjoy taking care of Ryan and-and i-if Bailey n-needs me to, I’ll watch her daughter, too.” She felt sick and nauseated all over again and she wondered if she’d caught something. “But no one respects or likes me because of that.”
Christopher rolled his eyes. “Back to the fuckin’ bullshit a-fuckin-gain. Listen up, baby. Pigs some of the nastiest fuckin’ creatures on fuckin earth. Motherfucker call you a fuckin’ pig, they called you a fuckin’ lot. So I wantcha to tell the next assfuck who got a problem with what the fuck you choose to do with your fuckin’ life, your man deliverin’ a fuckin’ pig and makin’ them kiss its fuckin’ asshole.”
Meggie wrinkled her nose. “You’re sooo bad, Christopher.”
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he shrugged. “That’s fuckin’ why you love me.”
“No, I love you because you’re a psycho stalker wild man.”
He laughed and winked at her. “I love you cuz you my sweet angel.” He nodded to the direction of his mother’s grave. “Ain’t got flowers for Ma, but I think I’ll tell her ‘hi’.”
Wishing Mr. Gillson had never told her the truth of her father’s grave, she nodded and glanced toward the rise where it stood.
“Megan, baby…” His voice trailed off and he sniffed. “Damn that fuckin’ lil’ motherfucker. Big Joe in your heart. Whether his body in that fuckin’ grave or not, ain’t makin’ a difference cuz he live inside you.”
She almost asked where her dad was, then decided she really didn’t want to know.
“Settle up with our boy, baby. Let him fuckin’ know he can rest cuz you gonna be fine.”
She swallowed, hard, and blinked back her tears. But Christopher was right. She had to let Patrick go. When she did, she’d be free, too.
Free to laugh. Free to smile.
And free to move on with Christopher and CJ.
Chapter Five: Options
The next morning, Meggie flung her arm over her eyes, thankful for the nurse who stood right next to her with the puke cup. She’d vomited so much this morning, she couldn’t see straight. Although she hoped she was suffering with a virus, she knew better. She’d been pregnant twice before, so she’d put in a quick call
to her obstetrician’s office—the only regular doctor she had—and explained her symptoms to Viola, Dr. Wills’ nurse. This was the second morning in a row she’d awakened and thrown up. The woman had found an immediate opening for her.
Now, Dr. Will’s sigh didn’t comfort Meggie. “Lay down until you’re feeling better, then get dressed and I’ll meet you in my office.”
Meggie didn’t want to wait that long. She already knew, anyway. Judging by the concern in the obstetrician’s face, she had her answer. “I’m pregnant, aren’t I?” she whispered. She’d taken her birth control pills faithfully until the day Christopher had discovered his sister had been raped. He’d gotten angry with Meggie because of her father’s lies and Meggie hadn’t been able to get through to her husband. He’d left her to think and she’d been scared for him. For them.
Since she’d miscarried their baby and she’d fallen into such a deep depression, they’d grown apart. Hearing Zoann’s full story—discovering how heartbroken she’d been when she thought Christopher had deserted her—had created a deeper chasm.
Somehow, Meggie had managed to bridge it with the help of Mortician, one of her husband’s best friends. She’d given him the “crazy” he needed from her and she’d gotten her Christopher back.
Awakening this morning, the moment she’d lifted her head, she’d gotten dizzy and nauseated and barely made it to the bathroom before she’d thrown up.
No matter what else they’d gotten through—how much she’d reached him—he didn’t want her pregnant again.
The snick of the door made Meggie lift her head. Dr. Will had left without answering her pointed question. She pressed a hand to her belly and sat up slowly.
“Should I call Mr. Caldwell, Meggie?” the nurse, Viola, asked. “I don’t think driving is a good idea.”
Meggie’s shoulders drooped. She didn’t think driving was a good idea, either. More important, the moment Christopher saw her he’d know. All he had to do was take one look at her and he could read her like a book.