Val made a face in Trader’s direction. “Same with Zoann,” he muttered.
While Christopher made no apologies for his words, Val looked and sounded embarrassed.
“Bunch of whipped pussies,” Arrow said, hooting with laughter.
“Arrow,” Christopher began, not addressing his teasing. “See if you can get the Bobs here for something in a week or two.”
“No,” Johnnie protested, frowning. “Kendall is here. They’ll upset her.”
“Then take her to a fuckin’ hotel,” Christopher snapped. “Cuz her bein’ upset ain’t my fuckin’ problem.”
Val eyed Johnnie. “Stay with her in the room.”
“She’s six fucking weeks away from delivering my child. Those women can’t be here,” Johnnie insisted.
“Them bitches a part of our life, Johnnie,” Christopher growled. “Ain’t no gettin’ round that shit. Your bitch gotta deal with it or she gotta go.”
“We’ll discuss this later,” Johnnie promised.
Christopher shook his head. “No, the fuck we won’t,” he said, and refocused on Arrow. “Pick four brothers and get four motel rooms. Assign one brother to every five girls, until this shit over.”
“That takes care of the Bobs,” Arrow said with approval. “What about our regular club girls?”
“Bring May and Gurly to the club,” he instructed. “Round up the other four and assign another brother to them.” He seemed to tick off names under his breath, using his fingers as the counter. “Ellen, Kiera and April dead. Fuck, that’s nine. What the fuck the other bitch name who stick with us?”
“I’ll figure it out,” Arrow promised.
Not long after, Christopher adjoined the meeting. The eggs, sausages, and biscuits, cooked the night before were warmed in the microwave. Once the meal ended and only Val, Johnnie, Stretch, and Christopher remained.
Christopher lit a cigarette and pulled a small notebook and pencil from his cut. “When Zoann deliverin’?” he asked, pencil poised above a sheet of paper.
“They’re trying to schedule her to induce labor. She’s going to tell me when I get back to the house.”
“Let me know, brother. Mutt and Jeff on standby to get the gun shipment done.”
Johnnie scratched the stubble on his jaw. Between jerking off and studying Kendall as he would a work of art, he hadn’t had time to shave. His facial hair always added a dangerous air to him, just what he needed if they were going to be fucking with crates of weapons.
“Still in storage by the river?” he asked.
“Yeah, but we been sittin’ on them too long. Drugs got delivered weeks ago. We need to get rid of the fuckin’ guns. It’s fuckin’ up our yearly schedule with this shit.”
“What’s the timeframe?” Johnnie asked. Although this would be Val’s shipment out of the country, they would all be involved in loading the trucks. He didn’t want this to happen when it was near Kendall’s time to deliver. “A week? Two?”
“Ten days,” Christopher responded.
Johnnie nodded. “And Deputy Dead Dog?”
“Roxy at the house. Got fuckin’ in early this mornin’.”
“Who?” Johnnie asked with a confused frown.
Val smirked. “Mort’s mother-in-law.”
“That bitch is brutal,” Christopher grumbled. “But she fuckin’ protective of Bailey, just like a woman should be with her daughter. For that shit alone, I respect the fuck outta her. Mort ain’t admittin’ it, but he like her, too, cuz she talk ‘bout him like he her son.”
“Okay, but what the fuck that has to do with popping the trespassing deputy?” Johnnie asked.
“They all gonna be there tomorrow, gettin’ shit together for the dinner. While Megan distracted, we go scoop the motherfucker from his house and get him to the meat shack.”
“Outlaw, you didn’t plan this romantic dinner just to get to that motherfucker, did you?” Val asked with amusement, already knowing the answer.
“I work with the fuck I got, Valentine. I had to be a romantic motherfucker to get my hands on the motherfucker who touched Megan. She still don’t know I know what the fuck went down. She protectin’ me. I wish I could let this shit go and just let her fuckin’ do it. But that motherfucker touched my girl. Ain’t no forgivin’ that shit.”
He flicked ashes away and fell silent, giving Johnnie the opportunity to ask, “Anything else?”
“No,” Christopher answered, glancing at his watch. “Megan gotta see her doctor, so I need to get on the fuckin’ road.”
And Kendall needed clothes to wear, so Johnnie decided to get on the fucking road, too.
Dear Diary,
Dr. Stanton questioned me extensively about how I felt towards Megan Caldwell, more so than either Dr. Hughes or Dr. Kraus ever did. I must face some hard facts about my relationship with her, both good and bad. She’s such a big part of Johnnie’s life, I’m just not sure I’ll ever be able to honestly sort through my feelings for her. If I decide to go back to Johnnie, I’ll have no choice but to like her. It is hard to accept the fact that there will be no peace if I remain firmly against her.
I’m human with an opinion of my own, though. Perhaps, if she wasn’t forced down my throat, I could like her better. It would be my choice. Or maybe, if I respected her more? Besides the hold she has on Johnnie, one of my main dislikes about her is her ridiculous (and blind) belief in Christopher.
What they have for one another isn’t love. It’s need and obsession. It’s control. I no longer believe the unconditional love they claim to have for one another exists.
Did I ever?
I’m not sure.
When I questioned Dr. Stanton, he told me we each have our own perceptions of unconditional love. Just because I can’t see what Meggie and Christopher share, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
He insists I have deeper truths to face. The biggest?
What will I say to Megan Caldwell when I see her again?
Chapter 5: Friends and Enemies
Sunshine streamed through the opened curtains and warmed Kendall’s face, as she opened her eyes. For a moment, disorientation prevented her from recognizing her surroundings. As sleep cleared away, she remembered and turned her head, disappointed at not finding Johnnie.
He’d returned last night and hadn’t spoken to her. Neither had he gotten into bed with her. He’d sat at his desk, working on his laptop. Now, he was gone and she had no idea when he’d return.
Disheartened, Kendall got to her feet and headed to the bathroom. Once she took care of her morning needs and returned to the room, she tried to figure out her next move. She had no change of clothes, so she searched Johnnie’s closet for a robe. His sweatpants would never fit over her huge belly.
After covering herself, she headed to the main room, hoping to find Johnnie. It disappointed her to see Stretch, standing behind the bar. A smaller-framed man with a head full of curls and dark brown eyes, sat on a stool, wedged in the corner of the bar, closest to the kitchen. He followed Stretch’s every move, as he kept his attention on all four monitors, surveying the hallways as well as the outside perimeters, watching the frames changing periodically.
Elbows on the bar top, the man leaned forward while Kendall battled to get onto a stool and capture Stretch’s attention.
“Not now, Hanson,” he barked in irritation, and turned to Kendall to stare at her.
“Louis!” Hanson persisted.
Stretch flushed and balled his hands into fists, glancing around uneasily to see if anyone overheard. To Kendall, that, more than anything else, gave away the exact nature of Stretch and Hanson’s relationship.
“Shut the fuck up, before you get us both killed,” he ordered, his eyes filled with all sorts of emotions.
Hanson got to his feet. “Call me later?” he asked with uncertainty and just low enough for only Stretch and Kendall to hear.
Stretch offered a curt nod, sagging in relief when Hanson reluctantly departed. At Stretch’s continued distrac
tion, Kendall followed the man’s gaze and found…Cowboy...staring intently, eyes squinting in dark study.
To Stretch’s credit, he returned the look without wavering, but Cowboy was big, grizzled, and mean. She didn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him. Neither should Stretch, which led her to ask on a heated whisper, “Does your boyfriend not care about your life at all? How could he be so fucking stupid and confront you in here?”
Lips tight, Stretch looked at her, his expression not giving anything away. Neither did he seem surprised to see her. Word travelled quickly around here, so he must’ve been aware of her return.
Several members eyed her with distaste. It surprised her to see how many club brothers sat around so early in the morning.
“How are you?” she asked to change the subject. He didn’t appear interested in answering her legitimate question.
Instead, he scowled and stiffened, offended.
“I’m fine,” he lied, quite obviously. Worlds separated him and fine.
If that’s the game he wanted to play, so be it. She gripped the edges of the bar, gritting her teeth at Stretch’s arrogance. “You want to be a member of this club?” she challenged. “Fine, but play by the goddamn rules or else get killed. I don’t blame you, though. I blame Christopher. He shouldn’t have allowed you membership. But that’s the type of asshole he is. It won’t even bother him that your blood will be on his hands. And, yet, you offer him nothing but blind loyalty.”
He wore an expression of laughable incredulity. What about club life didn’t these people get?
“You’ve got nothing to say to that?”
“First? You don’t have a right to call Outlaw “Christopher”. Only, Meggie and Zoann have the authority to do so. Second? The bullshit you just said? Don’t make you no different from Cowboy, so what do you want? Tell me, so I can fucking go on about my day.”
She wouldn’t argue on her own behalf. They either accepted her for her or not. Despite the fact that Dr. Stanton believed himself a genius and her a stupid idiot, she knew better. Endangering one’s life defined stupidity because…“That asshole isn’t around all the time to protect you.”
“And?” he scoffed. “I’m a grown man. If I can’t protect myself, then I’m also a sorry motherfucker.”
“You can’t, if you don’t understand the realities of this club and what behavior is and isn’t acceptable. Your friend shouldn’t have been allowed in here, with all the judgmental, violent assholes loitering.”
“Enough,” he snapped. “What do you want?”
Huffing in frustration, Kendall scowled in Cowboy’s direction. He was still so focused on Stretch, and, now, her. But, after sleeping next to Johnnie all night and not having him touch her, she was cranky and irritated. She’d gotten him to agree to her staying, yet, his entrenched anger kept a barrier between them.
She needed help to breakthrough his resistance. Maybe, Stretch could help?
Eyeing him, she sighed dramatically. He was the last person she’d seen that horrible day, six months ago. “I want Johnnie back,” she blurted.
Offering her a dirty glare, he bent a moment. When he straightened, he held a half-empty gallon of orange juice. He pulled a glass down, poured the juice then slid it to her.
“Is there anything that can be done?”
“You have to ask him that, Kendall.” His tone implied his continued anger towards her.
She sipped from the glass. “He said we’re over,” she whispered.
“John Boy has missed you like fuck, but you hurt him. You want him back you have to stop the bullshit.”
“Who’s being judgmental now?” She sniffed and circled her finger over the rim of her glass. “He wouldn’t like you talking to me so harshly, you know?”
“No,” Stretch agreed, without hesitation, preparing his own juice. Only his had vodka. “Tough shit, though. I’m sick of seeing him so miserable. If you’re back with the same bullshit, he’s just going to get worse. You’re back. Yay, you. The question is why are you back?”
Slamming the glass down, Kendall gasped. “I love him, not that it’s any business of yours.”
“It is, since you fucking asked me how to get him back.”
“You all are only good for insulting me. I don’t know why I asked.”
“You want my help? Talk to me. Because I’m thinking, the only reason you’re even looking my way is because no one else is fucking around. I need to know how did Meggie’s invitation suddenly became you moving back to the MC?”
“You have no right to ask me that. Not even Johnnie questioned me.”
“Why the fuck would he? You’ll just go bat shit on him. He can’t fucking talk about real shit to you, without a big fucking scene.”
They faced off for a moment, but, he was right about her reasons for talking to him. She didn’t have anyone else. Mortician was on his honeymoon with Bailey. She still didn’t trust Zoann too much and her feelings were quite ambiguous towards Meggie. As much as she hated to admit that, it was the truth.
“I went to an in-treatment facility for three months. I’ve been staying in Brooks’ and Charlotte’s guest house since my release, working on me. It almost ruined me that I walked away from Johnnie, once I found out all he’d intended for me.”
“That’s it right there. It shouldn’t be about what he’d intended for you. It’s about what you both give to each other.”
“Stretch, I’m scared. I’m scared if I trust him too much, he’ll…he’ll…”
“What? Because whatever you think he’ll do is as far from reality as it can get.”
She wasn’t getting anywhere with him, except to increase her frustration. “Never mind, I’ll figure this out on my own.”
“Do that,” he growled, turning away from her and heading through the double doors that led to the kitchen.
Having no choice but to seek out Meggie, Kendall tightened the robe around her and pressed the buzzer on the gate to Christopher’s house. After the five-minute walk from the club, she was huffing, puffing, and freezing.
Though the sun was out this morning, frost and snow covered the ground. The two pairs of socks she wore offered her feet little protection, and the cold still seeped through the thick robe.
An intercom attached to the buzzer, but instead of a voice requesting her name, she gained entry. Before the locks clicked into place again, she rushed in, then leaned against the wrought iron to catch her breath. Too close for comfort, dogs were barking viciously and fear propelled her to the back door. She reached it, just as two Rottweilers bounded onto the wraparound porch.
Squeaking in terror, Kendall made it inside and slammed the door shut, shoving a fist into her mouth to stop herself from screaming. The door rattled with the force of the dogs banging against it, in an attempt to get to her, their constant barking pounding in her head.
Long moments passed before she heard a whistle. With that one, definitive sound, the dogs ran off and Kendall breathed easier.
Once she calmed enough to move and the warmth of the house thawed her, she drew in a deep breath. It dawned on her that no one had detected her presence. Christopher hadn’t barreled in, demanding to know her reasons for visiting. No babbling from Little Man or droning on from Meggie, the person she’d come to visit.
So who’d let her in?
Licking her lips, Kendall tiptoed forward. Little evidence of the wedding from the day before lingered. No streamers, flowers, bells, tables, and chairs remained. Here and there, the odd glass or plate sat around, but nothing more.
Envy surged through her at all the beautiful appointments of the home. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore her feelings, when the place seemed even more lavish than the house that had been blown up.
Christopher’s doing, Kendall knew, and another way of spoiling Meggie. The other girl might’ve claimed not to need such a huge and expensive home, but she’d decorated it, so exactly what did that say about her?
Now Kendall knew what
type of lifestyle gun-running, drug shipments, and other illegal activity allowed someone to lead.
“Stop, Kendall,” she mumbled to herself.
Months ago, she’d been warned by Digger and Mortician that she’d face a losing battle if she pitted herself against Christopher’s wife. She hadn’t quite believed them. So many things she hadn’t believed and she’d had to learn the hard way.
On the second floor, she glanced up at the last flight of stairs, a little disheartened and already so tired. However, unease urged her on. It felt as if someone lay in wait for her or watched her. Deciding the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows marching along the hallway unnerved her, she continued up to the third level.
If Christopher had followed the layout of the old house when he’d had this one designed, then the master bedroom would be down the hall, at the far end. The floors were gleaming white marble. Three six-foot sections of painted walls divided the big windows. It annoyed her that each stark white wall had a huge, framed photo of Meggie.
Fuck, he lived with the girl. He didn’t need oversized pictures to show his “devotion” to her.
As she neared Christopher’s bedroom, Kendall sagged in relief. Finally, a sign of life. Music filtered through the half-closed door and into the hallway.
Reaching the room, Kendall pushed her way in. It was decorated in cream, chocolate, and red. Fitting since blood money got Meggie this Architectural Digest style place. If the magazine ever featured the houses of assholes and psychopaths, this would be a number one pick.
Snorting, Kendall stopped at the sight of Meggie. She sat on a chaise lounge in the sitting room, TV remote in hand. The music Kendall heard came from a video channel.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 214
