Prez glanced up at the monitors. Finding the hallway clear, he leaned in. “Look, motherfucker, I ain’t fuckin’ punched the fuck outta Father Wilcunt for nothin’. Hear me? The lil’ assfuck took Megan money and was stallin’ like a motherfucker on sendin’ it back. I finally fuckin’ figured he fuckin’ used it up already. If I fuckin’ made him disappear, Megan would probably figure that shit out, so I gave him a fuckin’ ultimatum. He ain’t knowin’ I can’t fuck him up right now. Gotta let shit cool down, so if he turn up fuckin’ missin’, Megan ain’t gonna know I did it.”
“Christopher, you can’t fucking kill a priest.”
“John Boy, that motherfucker insulted my girl and took her fuckin’ money. I can do whatever the fuck I want to any motherfucker who that fuckin’ stupid to fuck over Megan.”
“He’s going to have you arrested,” Johnnie said.
“Ain’t like I ain’t fuckin’ been arrested before, huh? Besides, I ain’t stayin’ in jail forever. If that motherfucker make the mistake of havin’ me arrested when Megan need me to take care of her with those two babies in her, then he gonna fuckin’ wish Satan had come to visit him by the time I’m fuckin’ finished.” He nodded to the paper that now lay on the bar top. “The shit there if you wanna use it. If not, ain’t nothin’ but a thing.”
“You’ll stop giving her a hard time?”
Prez grimaced. “Keep her the fuck away from me.”
“We’re always around each other. If…when…Kendall gets back…stay out of her face. Let the women handle their problems and let us stick to club problems. Kendall has a voice, too. Don’t intimidate her to shut her up.”
“I ain’t ever shut that cunt up. That bitch say and do whatever the fuck she want to me and I ain’t choked the fuck outta her.”
“That’s because you knew you’d have to answer to me.”
“Please, motherfucker,” Prez said with snorted laughter. “That’s because I knew I had to answer to my fuckin’ girl.”
“You really do hate Kendall, don’t you?”
Mortician rolled his eyes at Johnnie’s shock. He’d missed that important fact, at what fucking point?
“I’ll hate her ‘til the day I die,” Prez said quietly. “I look at her and I see my Megan dyin’. As simple as that. I ain’t even carin’ if it was Megan’s idea they go on that fuckin’ death mission. I almost lost my wife and Kendall was involved. That’s it, Johnnie. Ain’t nothin’ more and nothin’ fuckin’ less. I tolerate her for Megan and I tolerate her for you. If it make you feel better, them two babies Megan carryin’? I hate them, too. They puttin’ her life in danger.”
Johnnie blinked at Prez’s statement and a light seemed to go off in his head. Maybe, he finally understood what they’d all been trying to tell him—that Kendall had to come before everyone. Or, maybe, he finally got Prez’s complete and utter hatred for her.
“I hated Big Joe for a long time. Still do, sometimes. But Megan loved him and he loved her back. I respect and admire that part of him. The part that had his baby girl knowin’ she could search him out to help her. So the shit work both ways. You take care of Megan, I take care of you. You hurt her, I’m either killin’ you, hatin’ you, or both.”
Mortician and Johnnie exchanged looks. Prez’s words were deep and made no apologies. As he’d said, it was what it was. In a strange way, Mortician respected Outlaw even more with the admission of just how strong his loyalty and his feelings were for Meggie. It took a strong man to admit to weakness.
Johnnie picked up the paper and walked away, leaving Mortician and Prez alone—and the oatmeal still on the floor.
“Heard from Bailey?”
“She not answering my calls.”
“She at her Ma, Mortician. Megan called and checked on her. I talked to her a minute and she ain’t soundin’ too good. She miss you.”
“I miss her.” He rubbed his eyes, uncomfortable talking about Bailey to Outlaw. How many times had he discussed Char? Too many to count. “You call Red and check on her?”
“You one funny motherfucker.”
“Prez, Red mean well—”
“Red wanted to get dick from me,” he barked in disgust. “I gotta fuckin’ wait to tell Megan that shit too, cuz I don’t want her upset with all this bullshit.”
“What that mean? She tried to get dick from you.” And why the fuck hadn’t he told him before?
“Just what the fuck I said. In Hawaii. To get Johnnie to pay attention to her. I was thinkin’ ‘bout ways to sew her lips the fuck up and her fuckin’ ass was gettin’ a wet pussy.”
“Sewing her fucking lips up?” Mortician asked between guffawing. “You one cold motherfucker, Prez.”
“That’s all the fuck you got outta this? Suppose she do contact Megan? What the fuck she gonna say? Some bullshit to hurt her.”
“Fuck, man. Red just don’t think. She need the attention because we the first motherfuckers to give her attention. She don’t know what to do with it.”
“This been some hard shit I been wrestlin’ with. Cuz I swear…fuck, Mort. I ain’t asked Riley to find her for Johnnie. I wanted to find her for me. I ain’t able to tell you how many fuckin’ times I thought ‘bout killin’ her. She gone. Ain’t answerin’ her fuckin’ phone. We ain’t knowin’ if we ever hearin’ from her again. My perfect fuckin’ opportunity. I want her to die so fuckin’ bad, I can almost fuckin’ taste it. This was one of the fuckin’ hardest tests I ever had to fuckin’ face. Megan fuckin’ trust me. Not only with other bitches, but not to just fuckin’ kill cuz I got the urge cuz a motherfucker wronged me. She value life and she value me and I couldn’t fuckin’ do it. Besides…” He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.
“Besides…?”
“I ain’t a prayin’ motherfucker. I don’t even think I believe in God. I don’t fuckin’ know. But if He there, I made a deal with Him. Keep my Megan and the two babies she want so fuckin’ bad safe and I ain’t ever gonna hurt fuckin’ Kendall.”
“Prez—”
“I know, Mort,” he said heavily. “Megan gotta long way to go before the babies get here.”
“Suppose….” Meggie didn’t make it? Mortician wouldn’t say those words out loud, but he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen then.
“I’m tryin’ to have a lil’ insurance. Maybe, if John Boy know where she at…but, fuck, if Megan don’t make it, I ain’t gonna give a fuck one way or the other if Johnnie blow me the fuck away or not for killin’ his bitch.”
Before Mortician could think of a response to that, Prez stood and tapped the bar.
“Go get your wife, Mort. You give all us motherfuckers advice. It’s your fuckin’ turn to fuckin’ take it.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Life in the Balance
Bailey tried to lift her head, but the spots dancing in front of her eyes and the heaviness of it, made it almost impossible. Sweat was popping off of her and her pulse was thumping through her body in a hard rhythm. She opened her mouth to yell or to scream but couldn’t even do that. Her throat felt as if it were closing up. A few hard kicks to her belly, as if Harley was struggling to survive, too.
Pressing her hand against her stomach, Bailey groaned again, her entire body shaking. Convulsions. She was going into convulsions, which she realized as her eyes rolled back into her head. Something thudded and pain streaked through her. Vomit started up but then stuck in her throat, cutting off her air. Another thud and more pain.
“Fuck, Bailey.”
That sounded like Lucas but it didn’t matter because she was being turned onto her side and she was letting the vomit out. It wasn’t strangling her. She was still shaking, though, even wrapped in a pair of strong arms. She clutched the leather across his chest, tears sliding out of her eyes.
He was sitting next to her, clutching her tight, but inside of her Harley was silent.
“Bailey!”
She jerked at her mother’s screech.
“What the fuck did you do to her?”
/> “Call 911 before I shoot your fucking ass. Mother-in-law from fucking hell fucking cunt.”
“I’m not calling no fucking body until you answer me.”
Lucas released her and Bailey plopped to the ground. She moaned.
“I’m shooting your ass the fuck off if you fuck with me right now,” he snarled.
“Put that goddamn weapon away.”
Lucas’s boots stomped around Bailey’s head. “Call fucking 911 while I see to my wife.”
“You can’t come in here giving orders. Let me see what’s wrong with her. She may not even need an ambulance.
Bailey groaned as a gun cocked.
“Answer me, motherfucker. What did you do—”
Gunfire and shattering glass. Her mother screaming.
“Something fucking wrong with my wife,” Lucas snarled. “Shut the fuck up. Call 911. And stay the fuck out of my fucking face.”
Bailey shuddered. She wanted to tell him that she was fine and that she loved him. She wanted to demand he not hurt her mother. His face came into focus for the briefest moments. Panic and stark terror blazed from him and she reached out to comfort him.
“L-love you,” she whispered before it felt as if her head was exploding and everything faded to black.
Mortician didn’t want to give Bailey up when the paramedics rushed in and attempted to take her from him. He’d never forget the image of finding her on the floor, convulsing. Now, she was still. Silent. Her pulse gave erratic thumps. Fast one moment and barely there the next.
Harley wasn’t moving either. She was pretty active inside of Bailey, so Mortician wanted to feel something.
“Sir, we need to see to her.”
Ignoring the impatient demand, Mortician clutched her to him and laid his cheek against hers. “I love you, Bailey. I swear I don’t give a fuck about a bet. Just come back to me. I love you,” he whispered again, and he finally released her to the EMTs.
He backed away until something banged against him, so he stopped. His thoughts jumbled and twisted, bombarding him with scenes of him and Bailey. The day he’d met her. The day he’d taken her virginity. The day she’d flung her arms around him at K-P’s funeral when she’d been so heartbroken.
Their time in Las Vegas and her admission that she carried his baby.
No matter what she’d been steadfast in her love for him. Never pushing him to say the words back to her, but her desire to hear it from him always hung between them.
He’d always told Char he loved her and she’d always rejected him. Just as he’d rejected Bailey. He had to make it up to her. She had to survive for him to spend the rest of his life showing her how much he loved her.
Mortician rubbed his eyes, just then realizing his cheeks were wet. He was crying, that seven-year-old who’d seen his mother’s mangled body being removed from her crushed Mercedes. He’d reached for his father, but Sharper had turned away, only laying his hand on Mortician’s shoulder when the cameras had arrived.
How many days had he screamed after that? Every time he closed his eyes, he’d seen his dead mother and felt cold and scared and lost. Through the years—even when he’d claimed to love Char—something inside of him had been missing. He’d never known—recognized—what.
Until now.
He huffed out breaths to calm himself, the most helpless desolation sweeping through him. “Shouldn’t she be on her way to a hospital now?” he asked in a barely recognizable voice. Tears and fear thickened it, and he didn’t give a fuck.
“As soon as we stabilize her, sir.”
Stabilize her? He swallowed. “She that bad off?”
“Are you related to her?” the other man asked, the one strapping her to the gurney.
“I’m her husband. She’s having my baby.” Even he winced at the emphasis he placed on the word my. But that was important. They had to know she carried his baby girl. Harley. “A girl,” he added. “Harley.”
A hand touched him and pulled his attention away from Bailey. Still and silent.
“Mortician?”
His nostrils flared at the sound of Bailey’s mother’s voice. He wouldn’t be able to handle her bullshit, as on edge as he was.
Paper towels were waved beneath his nose.
“Dry your eyes, boy,” she ordered. “If you standing up there giving up on my baby, thinking you losing her, I’m going to beat your ass down to the ground.”
Glaring at her, he snatched the paper towels away and dabbed at his cheeks and eyes.
They were finally wheeling Bailey to the ambulance, a trail of people following him as he kept up with the EMTs. As they loaded her into the ambulance, Roxanne pulled on Mortician’s arm.
“You working my last fucking nerve,” he growled.
Unperturbed, she narrowed her hazel eyes. They weren’t as pretty as Bailey’s though. “Listen, motherfucker, I’m in possession of your goddamn gun. You know the one? The one you used to shoot my fucking ceiling and window.”
He bared his teeth at her and attempted to jerk his arm away, but she tightened her hold.
“Bailey loves you, so she’ll probably want your dick attached to your body when she gets better. But, if you fuck her over again, I’m carving you the fuck up.”
“You threatening me, bitch?”
“I’m promising you. No damn threatening in it. For now, let’s play nice. Kaleb liked you and Bailey love you. From their perspective…” Her touch gentled and her look softened. “Our Bailey is going to be fine, Lucas.” A wistful look touched her eyes. “You must be a fine man to get Kaleb’s stamp of approval and my baby’s heart.” She patted his arm. “We family now, so we in this together. Ride with her to the hospital and I’ll follow behind.”
She sounded…motherly…a strange concept to Mortician. Disconcerted, he nodded and did as she instructed.
Later that evening, Mortician walked out of ICU where Bailey went in and out of consciousness. Her blood pressure was extremely low and she had protein in her urine, indicating a problem with her kidneys. She was critical, both her and Harley’s life hanging in the balance.
His mind rejected the idea and it was almost incomprehensible that he’d left the club two days ago, gotten a motel in Kenner, cleaned himself up, then headed to the address Bailey had given to him. He’d been expecting her anger and having to beg for her forgiveness. He’d been anticipating the moment she capitulated and allowed him to make love to her.
Exhaustion pressing in on him, Mortician went to the waiting room and stopped in shock.
“Who the fuck all these motherfuckers?” he barked. Because it sure the fuck was more than the one motherfucker he’d left.
“Cousins. Aunts. Uncles.” Roxanne’s red-rimmed, watery eyes hinted she’d shed a few tears. She nodded, indicating someone behind him. “Your brother.”
“My who?” Mortician asked as he turned and sought out Digger, his gaze finding him almost immediately. He growled, barreling toward him just as Digger got to his feet.
Mortician knocked him to the ground and straddled him, not fucking interested in beating the fuck out of him. He wrapped his hands around his brother’s throat and began to squeeze, cursing at the hands grabbing him. He only tightened his grip around Digger’s neck.
But someone got him away and Digger turned, coughing and holding his throat.
“You out your damn mind?” Roxanne raged. “You get fucking arrested and your ass rotting the fuck in jail.”
If he got arrested, Prez would have to come and bail him out. None of them had NOPD contacts. Here, he was just an ordinary motherfucker who they’d accuse of being in a gang.
Jerking away from whoever the fuck held him, he got to his feet and kicked Digger in the back. “Downstairs, motherfucker. Your bitch ass try to run and I’m blowing you the fuck away.”
Digger staggered to his feet. “You doing that anyway, right?”
“What the fuck you think?”
“I had to take her,” he said, desperate. “I had to leave M
eggie.”
He took a step toward him and Digger backed up. “You had to take Bailey? Bring her to Sharper? Bring her to Charlemagne? They were going to fucking kill her.”
“What—?” Roxanne gasped, and suddenly, the waiting room was deathly quiet.
He was fucking up. This was club business and he was blabbing the fuck out of it. “You put your fucking hands on my girl and you think you fucking walking away alive? We here so I can’t shoot your ass off. Don’t matter, anyway. I’m keeping it personal. I’m fucking stabbing you and choking the fuck out of you.”
Digger hung his head, his dreads falling around him. “Outlaw got a hit out?”
Mortician snorted. “What kind of dumb fucking question is that, motherfucker? You left Meggie to get killed.”
“Fine. I know where you at. I’ll come to your room. Meet me there in an hour. Do what you got to do.”
“Roxanne?” Mortician called, glowering at his brother, not wanting to recognize the weight he’d lost and the haunted look in his eyes. “You got a fucking mirror on you? I want to look in it to see if I see a dumb fuck staring the fuck back at me.”
“I know what you thinking, Mort. I’m not setting you up.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you for fucking what?”
“I have your son. Tyler. It’s just me, Peyton, and him. I swear. I needed money,” he said frantically. “I needed to help Peyton out and I needed money.”
“You have money—”
“I don’t. I blew through it. It’s all gone.”
“What the fuck that got to do with what the fuck you did?”
“Sharper. I went to Sharper. I did a couple things for him. Got deeper and deeper. He sent me for Bailey and he swore he’d kill Tyler. I didn’t know…He’d been threatening you and asking about K-P and Outlaw. Char swore she’d protect you if I fucked her, but she was nothing but a lying cunt, Mort. She set me the fuck up and Sharper caught me in bed with her and, suddenly, everything changed.”
Not softening towards Digger as he listened to the story, Mortician remained detached through every part except the explanation about Bailey. “So you played fucking judge and jury and chose to save Tyler instead of coming to me about Bailey?” He punched his brother again and narrowed his eyes, hovering over him.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 203
