Roxy adjusted the feather on her headband, smiling at the fringes on her sparkling red dress. Meggie had gotten Outlaw to agree to dress up as a G-man because he could wear his cut, since he’d made his ‘G’ mean Gangsta and not Government. Roxy couldn’t wait to see Knox’s expression when he saw the guys dressed in a similar fashion to him.
Her smile faded and she turned away from the mirror. She hadn’t called him to thank him for the roses, her guilt at ratting him out a lot to bear. She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye after she’d snitched on him. Only, she hadn’t really ratted him out. Outlaw had already suspected him.
Roxy heaved in a breath, glad when her phone started ringing. It was on the dresser, so she grabbed it and smiled at seeing her son’s name. Earlier today, she’d called him again. Enough time had passed that she hoped he was ready to move forward.
“Hey, baby boy,” she greeted, pretending she wasn’t nervous about speaking to him for the first time in almost a year. Nor did she want to admit her anticipation of seeing Knox. “How are you, Duke?”
“What do you want?”
Her son’s hostility caught her off-guard. “I…do I need a fucking reason to call you, boy? I’m your mama. You’re going to show me the respect I deserve and talk to me.”
“I don’t ever have to talk to you again in life, madam. I’ll be eighteen in two weeks. I’m happy with my father and his wife. As far as I’m concerned, you aren’t my mother.”
“Duke, when I see you I’m beating your ass for your disrespect. Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that?”
“I’m a Rousseau,” he sneered. “I have a family name. You’re nothing but a sick, old, ignorant harpy with a filthy mouth. You’re an embarrassment. That’s why my father left you.”
Roxy lifted her chin. Her last husband was part of high society in New Orleans. When she’d been younger, before she’d rebelled, she’d been a debutante. Her mother had spent a lot of money for Roxy to make her debut during the Mardi Gras season. Her photo had even been in the Times-Picayune, back when it put out a daily print edition. She’d had class and culture. Her family had passed muster with any other upper crust Creoles in the city. But she’d hated the pretentiousness, even as a young adult. Her relationship with K-P had exposed the ugly side of the life she’d known.
Her family and friends hadn’t accepted him for the same reason his hadn’t accepted her. History aside, if a motherfucker wasn’t accepted because of being born a certain way, then it was fucking wrong, no matter who the rejector or who the rejectee happened to be.
“Are you still there, Roxy?” Duke went on, crushing her. “Or, maybe, it should be doxy.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she growled, swiping them angrily aside. “You listen to me, boy. I’m still your mama—”
“More’s the pity. Don’t remind me. I don’t know what my father was thinking to get with a guttersnipe like you.”
“Well, if that motherfucker hadn’t gotten with me, you sure the fuck wouldn’t be here, you ungrateful little bastard,” she yelled through sniffles.
“Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t gotten here if it meant being born to you. Dad told me everything. He told me the names you called my grandparents. Him. No wonder they didn’t want to be bothered with me for so long. It was because of you. I hate you. Why don’t you fucking die already?”
“When I do, I’ll haunt the fuck out of you and that motherfucker that made you. He’s filling your head with—”
“The truth!” he interrupted. “I know you, Doxy Roxy. You have a filthy mind and a filthy mouth. You’re an embarrassment.”
Unable to stop it, a sob escaped Roxy just as Mortician opened the door and walked in. He went from smiling to frowning in the blink of an eye. She turned her back on him, not wanting him to witness her heartache or the tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Listen to me, Duke,” she said, attempting to calm herself and knuckling away the tracks of her tears as Mortician came and stood beside her, leaning close to better hear her conversation. She didn’t even have it in her to shove him away. She needed to get through to her son. “I gave birth to you. I love you. I don’t fucking like you right now, but I’ll always love you. We’re both emotional. Let’s hang up and talk tomorrow.”
“Not only are you an ignorant cow, but a stupid one. I don’t want you. I don’t need you. You’re washed up and washed out, with no future. You’re nothing but trash and you’ll stop me from making something of myself—”
Mortician snatched the phone from Roxy. “Look, little motherfucker, if you don’t want me blazing down there to teach you some fucking manners, you’ll apologize to Roxanne.”
Roxy stumbled to the bed and sat. She’d always provided for her kids as best she could. True, they hadn’t had the most stable lives because of her many marriages and her perpetual college life, but none of her children had ever wanted for anything. They’d always had food on the table and a roof over their heads.
Her phone appeared in her line of vision. She snatched it from Mortician as he sat next to her. She hadn’t even heard the end of the conversation.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “I can make a run to New Orleans and stomp the fuck out of him.”
She lowered her lashes, hurt. “Ever since I got sick, he’s just turned against me. He’s a good boy and—”
“Don’t give me that fucking line,” Mortician snapped. “You don’t fucking lie to yourself so don’t start now. The little motherfucker’s a snob. He’s always been one and will always be one.”
“That still don’t give him the right to talk to me like he did,” she said softly.
“That’s what the fuck I’m talking about. He need his ass kicked for his disrespect. I always wished my momma had lived to see my eighteenth birthday. Fuck, I wish she’d lived to see my tenth birthday. I barely remember her.”
“Yeah, but your momma had class. Culture.” She wilted, her son’s words playing in her head. Just recently—three days ago—she’d cussed Knox’s parents in their own home. Even if he wasn’t using her for his own gain, there would be no future between them.
They were from different worlds. She’d developed a street mentality. He was elegant. He didn’t even cuss. Roxy couldn’t remember a time she’d heard Knox say a foul word. She was older, not even in his age bracket of 25-34. She was 35-44. The twain would never meet in that instance. When he reached her category, she’d be moving into another one.
She stood and turned away from her son-in-law, slipping her short flapper wig off. “Go to the party. I’ll catch up to you later.
“Roxanne—”
She held up her hand. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Go and enjoy yourself.”
“Let me call Bailey.”
“Don’t you dare. There’s nothing to call her for. She’d want to stay with me.” She came up with the perfect excuse and indicated her face. “I have to reapply my makeup. My tears ruined it.”
Mortician scowled. “You not a bitch that cry. Duke got to you.”
“He did,” she admitted. “I’m a big girl. His venom just caught me off-guard. Just let me…” She heaved in a breath. “That’s my child, Mortician. He’s one of the reasons I fought to live. I know he doesn’t mean what he says. I’m more angry than hurt.” That wasn’t true but the words were already clearing the concern from her son-in-law’s face. “I’m crying because I couldn’t reach through the phone and wop the piss out of him.”
“Okay,” Mortician said with a relieved smile. “What do you want me to tell that dead man walking?”
A shiver went through her at those words. She had to get herself together. Duke had always been a little mean-spirited. At the moment, he was being looked after. She had other business to attend to. “Tell Knox I’m running late.”
“Yeah, fine, Roxanne. Let the record show, I don’t want to tell the motherfucker nothing.”
“I know. Just keep him amused and away from Outlaw until I get there.�
��
“Away from Outlaw?” Mortician echoed, suspicion entering his eyes. “What that mean?”
“Did I fucking stutter?”
“No, but you not making sense. The whole point is to get information to bring him to Prez. Why the fuck I want to keep the motherfucker away?”
She shrugged. “Just saying.”
Mortician gave her a long, hard stare. Shaking his head, he walked out, his fuck, man floating in the air between them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
CJ gripped Christopher’s hand tightly, smiling at whoever they stopped and talked to. While Christopher wouldn’t not wear his cut, his boy was dressed in a three-piece pinstriped suit with a matching hat and shiny Oxfords.
Megan had convinced him to dress up in a motherfucking costume. What couldn’t the little bitch get him to do?
Brothers, their old ladies and kids crowded the club. Some motherfuckers were dressed up and others weren’t. The important thing was that Megan got to wear her costume.
Christopher had already snuck a quick fuck with her once he’d seen her in her black fringy dress that did a fuck-ass job of hiding her belly and a black wig with short curls. She’d been pissed with him when he’d pulled her wig off, so she might smack the fuck out of him if he walked to the bar where she stood talking, and pulled her away. And he’d have to divert CJ’s attention and his son had been attached to his side all evening to get out of going outside with the other kids. Christopher knew his boy’s game. However, nothing was going on that his boy shouldn’t see, so Christopher let him get away with it.
Before all the adult shit started, Megan was moving the party to their house for a private celebration with their family and all the kids.
Johnnie weaved his way from their table to where Megan stood, stopping next to her and inserting himself into the conversation. Looking in the direction the stupid fuck had just come from, Christopher found Kendall staring at dick-for-brains. Unlike Christopher, Johnnie was dressed as a 20s movie star. Rudolph Valentino or some shit. Not to be outdone, his bitch was his female equivalent.
Mort’s clothes resembled Christopher’s, whereas Bailey wore a tuxedo and had her long hair pinned up and in finger curls or finger waves. Some-fucking-thing to do with a fucking finger.
Fuck, the shit he overheard sometimes between Megan and the other girls taught him more the fuck than he needed to know about girls’ clothes and hair. Right down to motherfucking knowing that bitches wore men’s shit in the 20s and Bailey had thought that was a good fucking idea.
Zoann and her motherfucker and their little motherfuckers hadn’t arrived yet. Nor had Roxanne, which he found strange. She was as excited as Megan had been for the party. She’d helped to decorate and plan.
CJ bounced against Christopher as he jumped up and down. “Ashfuck Dig!”
Glancing over his shoulder, Christopher saw Digger walking toward him, with Bunny on his arm. She had some type of hat on her head that matched her costume. He frowned at her, wondering why Megan always wore shit that was one bend from showing her pussy. The little bitch did it to drive him up a fucking wall. But Bunny could walk around, looking like Granny Ghost and not a motherfucker would bat an eye. Her skirt reached her fucking ankles and her fur collar covered more than it revealed.
“Who you?” CJ asked, looking Digger up and down.
The motherfucker wore cleats, high socks, and a uniform.
“A baseball player,” Christopher told his son, keeping a straight face when he wanted to laugh his fucking ass off.
“Prez, I need to talk to you,” Mort said, walking up to them and frowning at his brother. “You look like a dickhead, dickhead.”
Digger flipped Mort off. “Fuck off. You just jealous of my style.”
“Hey, girl,” Mort greeted Bunny, going to her and kissing her cheek. “About ready to deliver my nephew?”
Beaming, Bunny nodded. “I still have a few weeks left.”
“’Law.” CJ tugged on Christopher’s arm. “Him by MegAnn.”
He glanced in the direction of his girl and saw Knox. The motherfucker must’ve weaseled his way in while Christopher was distracted with CJ.
“Let me take you to the table,” Digger said to Bunny.
“No, Mark, I’m fine. I can get there on my own.” Offering him a kiss, Bunny looked at CJ and held out her hand. “Come on, bud. Let me say hi to your aunts, then we’ll see Meggie.”
“’Kay, Bun-Bun.” CJ dropped Christopher’s hand and took Bunny’s. “Bye, ‘Law. MegAnn by him,” he said again, then allowed Bunny to guide him away.
“Fuck, he been right the fuck at my side all fuckin’ evenin’.” Christopher glanced at his girl to see Knox and Johnnie still hovered as she spoke to the same couple. “I need a fuckin’ drink.” Megan would put the motherfuckers in their places, although he intended to torture Knox a little longer for sniffing behind his wife. Which reminded him. “Where the fuck Roxanne?”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” Mortician said.
“Hold the fuck up.” Shouldering his way to the bar, Christopher tapped one of the members on the back.
“What?” the motherfucker demanded, turning and meeting Christopher’s gaze. His eyes widened. “Oh, um, O-Outlaw. Pr-prez. I didn’t know it was you.”
“Get the fuck outta my face. You two motherfuckers next to this motherfucker, get the fuck up.”
They scrambled away. Christopher took his seat and Mort and Digger flanked him. Always on top of things, Potter set their respective drinks out. After swigging his tequila, Christopher lit a smoke, then nodded to Mort.
“What up with Roxanne?”
“It’s bad, Prez.” Mortician shook his head and lit his own cigarette, then explained the phone call from her boy.
Christopher hadn’t ever met the motherfucker but he knew Roxanne loved him. She adored all her kids. For that ungrateful assfuck to speak to her with such disrespect…
Digger hooted with laughter. “Your kid a trip, man,” he said, pointing on the other side of the bar.
When Christopher looked in that direction, he found that CJ had inserted himself between Megan and Knox, and was leaning against her. Christopher puffed out his chest, so proud of his boy’s glare he could barely stand it. If they had awards for I’m-going-to-fuck-you-up-in-a-gruesome-way-motherfucker, CJ would win it.
“There’s more, Prez,” Mort continued, capturing Christopher’s attention from his son and his wife.
“What the fuck more?”
“I think she got feelings for Knox. I basically told her he was a fucking dead man and she got the funniest look on her face.”
Christopher sighed. “Did you ask her how she feel about his ass?”
“Fuck no. She was crying. Roxanne don’t cry unless she truly hurt. I just wanted her to stop. I wasn’t about to ask her if she went and got dickmitized by a motherfucker we intend to kill. With her feelings so raw, she might’ve started crying all over again.”
Catching Knox’s eye, Christopher crooked his finger at him. The motherfucker had learned his lesson and promptly stopped what the fuck he was doing and brought his ass to Christopher.
“You summoned me?” he asked with more sarcasm than fucking sense.
It took a lot of fucking restraint for Christopher not to tear his motherfucking clothes off and look for a fucking wire. He wanted to record a fucking conversation? Then, he’d give him something to fucking record.
“If you puttin’ your cock in Roxanne, stop now,” he ordered. “You don’t mean her no fuckin’ good and she been through e-fuckin-nuff bullshit to have to fuck around with you.”
“Shit, Prez,” Mort said on a sigh.
“What are you talking about?” Knox asked, his eyes widening when he noticed Christopher’s trousers. They were almost identical.
Christopher gave him a cold smile. “Look like you more like my fuckin’ ass than you fuckin’ realize.”
“If you say so,” he said blandly. “As for Roxy,
what I do with her and my cock is our business, not yours.”
“True,” he agreed, drinking more tequila and sucking on his cigarette again. “But when you move the fuck on, then it become my fuckin’ problem.”
“Until that happens, you have nothing to say,” Knox returned, just as the woman in question walked up to them.
“What are you four talking about?”
Knox smiled in triumph and Christopher smirked at him. The motherfucker really didn’t know him if he thought he had something on him.
“I’m tellin’ this motherfucker keep his cock outta you, Roxanne,” Christopher explained, not surprised when Knox’s smile fell away. “I don’t want you fuckin’ hurt and he don’t mean you no fuckin’ good.”
“I’m a grown woman,” she said. “I know how to handle myself.” She squeezed between Christopher and Mortician and grabbed Christopher’s hand, then kissed his cheek. “Thank you, though, baby. If you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to Bailey.”
Without another word, she backed away.
“What the fuck just happened?” Digger asked.
Knox stared after Roxanne with a confused look.
“Who the fuck was that?” Mort said. “Not my mama-in-law. She didn’t drop one fucking f-bomb.”
“That mean the little motherfucker hurt her more than she lettin’ on,” Christopher speculated.
“What little, er, motherfucker?” Knox repeated.
“Not that it’s your fuckin’ business, but her kid,” Mortician explained. “Her son called her trash and an ignorant cow…and fuck, a whole bunch of shit that seemed to crush her. No matter how fuckin’ tough she is, she gave birth to him. She broke her fucking back for that spoiled little motherfucker.”
“Her son said that to her?” Knox asked, sounding appalled, still watching Roxanne who was now at the table, fussing over Kendall. “He needs his ass kicked.”
Christopher and Mort exchanged glances. It didn’t matter that Christopher agreed, he was keeping his mouth shut. Even if Knox sounded fucking real. As if the anger on his face wasn’t for fucking show.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 393
