“Her leaving is my fault?” Johnnie growled.
“Yeah, motherfucker. You turned your back on your woman.”
“I sent her away to protect her.”
“You sent her the fuck away to protect you. You couldn’t deal with Red’s neediness, so that was the easiest fucking thing to do.”
“I love her,” he responded, his voice fading away as he drifted to sleep.
Mortician felt lost and out-of-sorts, far from fucking sleepy. Worse, his head was beginning to pound with his need to fuck Bailey. With a sigh, he grabbed his phone and pulled up a porn site on the internet.
He’d jerk off because he sure the fuck didn’t want to think any more about how fucking close he’d come to losing his wife.
Chapter Twenty-Four: DNA
“Coffee, sir?”
Shaking his head at the smiling receptionist, Mortician leaned back in his seat at the table in the conference room of Brooks Redding’s law firm. Well, whatever third the attorney fucking owned.
The girl focused on Johnnie. “May I get you anything, Mr. Donovan?”
Of course, she’d know Johnnie. Red had returned to work on a limited basis at the firm and John Boy had dropped her off and picked her up more than once. Maybe, the reason Prez requested they meet here so early was because Red would arrive and they wanted to minimize the freak show? Mortician couldn’t imagine why else Outlaw called and ordered them in Portland at Brooks’s firm for seven-thirty in the fucking morning.
Suffering with a hangover and still in a fucked-up mood, Johnnie glowered at her. “No, Mindy. If you can’t fucking tell me where Kendall is, then I don’t want anything from you.”
Before Mindy answered, Val walked into the room. “Outlaw on his way. He got Meggie from the hospital last night, so whatever he needed to do with her and Little Man held him up.”
“May I get you—”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Johnnie growled before Mindy repeated the question to Val. Panic crossing her face, she didn’t say another word. Just beat a hasty retreat.
Rolling his eyes, Val dug in his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. While Mortician accepted a stick, Johnnie scowled. Not bothered, Val shrugged, saved his gum and took a seat near Mortician.
“Meggie cool then?” Mortician asked. Even if Meggie was, Prez wasn’t. His girl was pregnant with twins and had been hospitalized for dehydration. Red humiliating Johnnie hadn’t been enough. Meggie had to drop a couple of bombshells, too.
“I guess she okay,” Val said with nonchalance. “Instead of worrying about Outlaw old lady, you should be asking about your wife.”
No the fuck he shouldn’t be asking about Bailey. He already knew how Bailey was. Pregnant for him. Beaten up and traumatized for bullshit Mortician didn’t know about.
And he didn’t even want to think about her feelings towards him over how he’d just left yesterday.
Folding his arms, Mortician smacked on his gum. “How Chester feeling?”
“Horny,” Val answered smugly.
Johnnie’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Asshole, that’s my fucking cousin.”
“Don’t give a fuck. She still got a pussy.”
“You like living on the edge, huh, son?” Mortician snorted, shaking his head. “You fucking excel at pissing motherfuckers off.”
Instead of answering, Val nodded toward the glass wall that led to a long hallway. “Outlaw here.”
Almost as soon as the words were out, Prez sauntered into the room with Brooks right on his heels, carrying a box. Frowning at Johnnie’s haggard appearance—red eyes, stubble on his face, uncombed hair—Outlaw went to the head of the table on the side closest to where they were seated. Phone in hand, he started typing while some of Brooks’s lackeys brought in more boxes and set up the screen and projector.
Prez cursed and glared at the phone before staring at Brooks. “Get fuckin’ started. I gotta get back to my fuckin’ hardheaded ass wife after I go visit her fuckin’ doctor.”
“Don’t you mean your doctor?” Mortician asked, sure he’d misheard. “What the fuck you need an obstetrician for unless your dick suddenly turned into a cunt?”
“Fuck you, Mort. I’m goin’ hear for my fuckin’ self from Dr. Will just what the fuck Megan can and can’t do. I ain’t fuckin’ trustin’ her not to sneak some pussy on me.”
Mortician tapped his fingers on the table, not sure he wanted to get into this conversation but curious as fuck. “How Meggie sneak pussy on you? I mean, you right there and your cock has to be hard for her to even get it in.”
“She gonna fuckin’ pretend she well e-fuckin-nuff to get dick from me. You know what the fuck I mean.”
No, the fuck he didn’t, but he wouldn’t point that out, so he kept his mouth fucking shut until Brooks had everything set up, ignoring Johnnie’s laser-like stares. It was obvious John Boy believed Brooks knew Red’s whereabouts.
“Anyone else coming?” Brooks asked by way of getting their attention, adjusting his gray silk tie.
He was one of the prissiest motherfuckers Mortician had ever met. The man liked fucking fashions and was also pin neat.
“Ghost takin’ care of somethin’ else for me,” Prez answered, still texting. “Stretch at the club with the girls.”
“What’s this about? I have shit to take care of,” Johnnie put in.
“The only fuckin’ thing you should fuckin’ think ‘bout takin’ care of is sleep. You one fucked-up lookin’ bug fuck.”
“Kiss my ass.”
“Go blow a bull dick.”
“As far as we’ve found out, Sharper hasn’t made a move,” Brooks said quickly, preventing Johnnie’s response for a moment.
“I’ll blow a bull’s dick, if Kendall would come back to me.”
A frown creasing his brow, Prez’s finger paused mid-air and he stared at John Boy. “Shut the fuck up right the fuck now. Your dumb ass ‘bout to embarrass yourself irreparably cuz that was some fuckin’ bullshit you said just now.”
Throwing Johnnie a disgusted look, he set his phone aside and focused on Brooks. “And the other fuckheads? Where they at?”
Val’s brows lifted. “Wait, this meeting about Sharper?” he asked with surprise.
Mortician was shocked, too. He’d thought they’d keep this internal. Unless Prez wasn’t planning on dealing with it in the usual manner. Did that mean Digger was off the hook, too? Or would Prez still expect Mort to deal with him?
“What the fuck you think it be for?”
“About Kendall,” Johnnie said in a hard voice. “This is fucking bullshit.”
“No, Johnnie. This fuckin’ business that gotta be seen to. Sharper a fuckin’ threat.”
“Then why are we here? Why aren’t we dealing with him ourselves?” Johnnie’s questions mirrored Mortician’s, but mentioning shit like dealing with motherfuckers away from the clubhouse was fucking with fate.
“Calm down, Johnnie,” Brooks said, glancing over his shoulder and running his fingers through his hair. “Now isn’t the time to fall apart.”
“Too fucking late,” Mortician muttered.
Prez shoved his phone into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes, ignoring the no smoking policies of the building. “Brooks helpin’ Riley to investigate Sharper and his ministry and every-fuckin-body associated with him.”
Val spit a wad of gum into his hand. “Where’s Riley?”
Glowering at him and puffing on his cigarette, Prez slid the box of Kleenex that Brooks handed him over to Val. “Riley doin’ what the fuck he do best. Investigatin’ shit. I have him lookin’ into the fuckin’ deputy who fucked with Megan and Bitsy.”
The only reason Bailey hadn’t gotten caught in up that fucking strip search was because she’d run to the cave with Ryan, Val’s and Chester’s son. Mortician knew the restraint it was taking for Prez to focus all his resources on Sharper. Then, again, pussy and ass searching, compared to Digger leaving Meggie to die, Sharper sending a hit man after Red, and Bailey bein
g kidnapped, was fucking nothing.
Brooks pulled files from the box and began to hand them out. When Mortician received files on his father and his brother, he glanced at Outlaw, who’d just flipped open a folder on Osti. Val was turning sheets of paper and stopping to look closer at some tidbit on whoever the fuck he had. Johnnie was just staring.
Prez raised a photo of Osti and studied it before he glanced at Brooks and nodded.
“Their entire life story, including addresses, cell phone and bank records, and daily schedules are included,” Brooks announced. “I’m waiting for information about offshore accounts.”
“Money been transferred to your account, Brooks,” Outlaw promised. “Do any of you fucks got any questions?”
“Any reason I got my father and my brother?”
Prez narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “Any particular reason you fuckin’ shouldn’t have them motherfuckers?”
What the fuck was wrong with himself? Mortician knew there was a bunch of reasons to do whatever was requested of him in relation to the files. He shook his head.
“You with me or you with them. Prove your fuckin’ allegiance to me.” Prez’s voice was cold and unyielding. “Understand?”
“Yeah.” Mortician’s response was just as unamused, although he already knew how shit worked. Blood in and blood out meant loyalty to the end. That shit was fine, but, every now and then, he remembered his upbringing and the teachings of the church. All these years after her death, he still recalled how his mother had drummed the importance of honoring his parents. Although Mortician hated Sharper, something in his head recoiled at the idea of killing him. So, maybe, whatever Prez had in mind with these files was a good thing.
A page called for Brooks to answer line one, so he excused himself and left the four of them alone.
“What is this about, Prez?” Mortician asked, still not opening either file.
“Bringin’ these fuckheads down gonna take plannin’.”
“We not going the usual route?” He needed clarification on that.
“We takin’ them out, but we gotta do it in a fuckin’ way we ain’t raisin’ suspicions. We need to have take out points for each of these assfucks. One might meet with a fuckin’ accident durin’ a campin’ trip or wherever the fuck they might be. Shit like that.”
“I still don’t understand why we needed Brooks?” he persisted.
Prez shrugged. “Sharper get taken out. Digger get what’s due. Char already dead. Before long, his ministry gonna be in fuckin’ ruins. Motherfucker lookin’ for some bullshit letter. We gotta be prepared for any-fuckin-thing, but, most of all, you gotta be in a fuckin’ position to get whatever the fuck you entitled to from Sharper’s estate when they fuckin’ probate.”
“As if that fucker would leave anything to me. More than likely he left it to Tyler.”
“Your boy?”
Mortician gritted his teeth. After so many years of being told to forget his son existed, motherfuckers wanted to shove the kid down his throat. “My little brother.”
“Your son,” Prez reiterated. “Proof in that fuckin’ folder with the DNA results. Sharper got one for him and Tyler. Osti and Tyler. A couple motherfuckers I ain’t ever heard of. Ain’t no match to none of them. ‘Til we get to yours. That boy yours as much as CJ mine.”
“What DNA test?” Mortician asked stupidly, his heart racing at the confirmation that Char had given birth to his son. In the back of his mind, he’d always doubted her, but he hadn’t realized it until then.
“I guess Big Joe got DNA from you some kinda way and sent the sample to Sharper. I don’t fuckin’ know.”
Brooks walked back in. He looked hesitantly at Johnnie, who’d finally lifted the file to read over it. “I have a family emergency. I need to cut this meeting short.”
Outlaw got to his feet and sighed. “I gotta talk to you alone a minute,” he said to the attorney before turning to the rest of them. “Ghost been searchin’ for the letters. They gotta be somewhere cuz Sharper wouldna did the shit he did if there wasn’t none. We savin’ him for last. Just get shit together for him and get on those other motherfuckers.”
Chapter Twenty-Five: Runt
“Do you need anything else, Bailey?”
Forcing a smile, Bailey shook her head at Stretch’s question. She needed Lucas, but she supposed Stretch wouldn’t help her with that. If he knew where her husband had been all night, he wouldn’t tell her. “No. I appreciate you running to the pharmacy for me.”
“Sure thing.”
With a last odd look at her, he backed away and Bailey closed the door, hurrying to the bar and grabbing a glass. She brought it and the bag with her meds to the bathroom. After sorting through everything, she took the beta blocker and the pre-natal vitamin. The prescriptions had been ready for pickup days ago, but with everything that had happened, they’d lingered there.
After placing a call to reschedule a missed appointment, Bailey remembered about the medicine and had gotten dressed to search for her husband to ask about borrowing a car, since hers was still broken. Stretch also told her, he couldn’t allow her to leave and whatever she needed he’d be happy to get.
Bailey made a conscious decision not to overthink Stretch’s words. Either the order had come from Outlaw or Lucas but she was wading through too much other stuff to allow two overbearing men to upset her. Besides, Lucas staying out all night devastated her more than a command handed out for her protection.
His sleeping out had already happened. She couldn’t do anything about it. So why did she want to tear his hair out and find whatever woman he’d slept with and scratch her eyes out?
Cheating was a deal-breaker and she’d already forgiven him once. The more she allowed, the more he’d do.
Swiping at the tears sliding down her cheeks, she stuffed her heart medicine into her purse, then walked around the room, looking for any sign that Lucas wanted and needed her.
Their time together in Las Vegas seemed like a distant dream, one she’d never recapture. Each time he gave her hope, he dashed it just as quickly. Now, she grasped at straws, searching for an indication they had a future together. Maybe, a hidden photo, or…or a memento from Vegas. But she saw nothing for her to believe that remaining with him made sense.
If there was only her to think of, she’d stick it out until she couldn’t any longer. Even suspecting he’d cheated with more than just the woman who’d given him a blowjob.
“Damn you, Lucas,” she cried, backhanding more tears away and rubbing her belly. She couldn’t wait to hold her daughter in her arms, give her the love that Lucas constantly rejected.
She felt so lost, an unanchored soul searching for a solid foundation. The two men she’d depended upon the most had let her down. Three, actually, if she counted Ulner and his betrayal.
Her dad had had no choice in the matter. Logan had killed him, stealing him away from Bailey. Ulner felt justified in beating and stalking her. If not for her number change, he would still have been harassing her.
Lucas, however, had no reason to desert her. Except for the fact that he’d never wanted to settle down in the first place.
Knowing this, did Bailey have the right to feel such anger and betrayal? She wanted to throw something at his head and knock him on his ass for his actions. Although it had happened already, she didn’t want to accept it. She wanted to change it. Demand answers. Find a way to make her marriage work. Because she loved him.
Roaming to his closet, she opened the door, her gaze dropping to a safe. The safe. The one he’d claimed had all the money. It was big, she’d give it that, like something one of the silly rulers in her dad’s corny riddle might own.
One ruled in darkness and one ruled in light. They had sons and sinners but rarely any winners. They had kingdoms and riches and a whole lot of bitches but the only thing that mattered were each other’s kisses.
Why her dad recited that to her from time-to-time, she’d never know. Two kings who we
re lovers? But it was his eccentricity she’d loved most about her dad.
Determined to ward off her grief, she felt for the wall switch and flicked it on, all the better to stare at the safe. This was like something out of a movie. Dizziness assailed her and she grabbed for the cold gray metal. Licking her lips, she plopped to her butt and hung her head between her knees until the spell passed.
The numbered black dial beckoned her, and the numbers Lucas trusted her with danced in her head. He’d said if anything ever happened to him, the safe was hers.
She rested her fingertips on the handle, unable to decide. Nothing had happened to Lucas, so opening the safe now would be trespassing.
To distract herself from the temptation, she glanced around. Because closets were so very interesting, and she’d never been in one in her entire life.
Tipping her head back and sliding her fingers across her throat, she noted all the boxes stacked on the shelf. Lucas a shopaholic? She smiled. Who would’ve thought?
Oh, God, the curiosity broke her. Struggling to her feet and dusting off her pants, she stood on her tiptoes and pulled a couple boxes down. She opened the smallest one first—clearly a jewelry box—and found a beautiful pair of diamond cufflinks in the shape of a cross.
Wrinkling her nose at her disappointment and relief, she went to the next box. Bullets. Really big bullets. The third box contained aftershave and cologne. The fourth a gun. The fifth unopened body oil, a blindfold, a paddle, and handcuffs. She dug deeper into this box and pulled out an order summary. He’d placed it two weeks ago. For them? Could this be the straw she grasped for?
Setting that box on the floor, she took down a sixth one. A bottle of Diva Premium Vodka. She made a mental note to research this brand. Each box she opened revealed a little more of her Lucas—the boots he’d had on the day they’d met, three pairs of leather gloves, a bullet-proof vest, a bible, brand new workbooks with math riddles, sheets of music, an ax. All these small components put together created the sum total of a very fascinating man.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 198
