But fuck…he didn’t want no shit thwarting his plan. All Megan would have to do was nod—and he’d open his fucking mouth, thus allowing Kendall to get away with her latest bullshit.
She had to pay for what she’d almost done to CJ and especially for getting Megan kidnapped. Because of her miserable ass, their lives were forever changed.
And, fuck yeah, he hated on Johnnie a little, for always backing his bitch up, no matter what the fuck she did.
Emily would be the best possible revenge. Christopher was almost insane with rage and Megan didn’t want him killing Kendall.
She’d never said anything about guiding Kendall to suicide.
He wanted Kendall fucking gone. Period. He wanted her body buried in some remote place on earth with her grave salted over to keep the evil bitch and all the demons invading her from rising up again.
Emily reached across the table, grabbed his hand, and slid her finger down his palm.
Christopher snatched his hand away. “My hands. My cock. My heart belong to Megan. Ain’t puttin’ up with you fuckin’ with her. And tryna fuck me fuckin’ with her. Shit like that get you killed.
Narrowing her eyes, she stiffened. “You’ve been sending me these signals for an hour now.”
“I been starin’ at your fuckin’ ass in shock cuz of how much you look like Megan.”
“If Johnnie can pretend I’m her, can’t you?”
“You ain’t her. Megan special. One of a fuckin’ kind, and I love the fuck outta her. Ain’t a bitch alive can change that or take me from her. I don’t give a fuck if you was her twin.”
She scowled. Her blue eyes were darker, duller, than Megan’s. Everything about his girl sparkled. Her eyes, her face. Her soul. Emily, on the other hand…he ignored the warning bells going off in his head.
She was a fucking means to an end. He’d do any-fucking-thing to get back at Kendall.
Emily tapped her finger against her cheek. “I take it you wouldn’t want Johnnie—or Megan—to know about your role in my relationship with him?”
Christopher snapped his brows together. Setting his arms on the table, he leaned forward. “I ain’t one to fuck over,” he warned in a deadly voice. Bitch either believe him. Or fucking not. “I fuckin’ had it up to my fuckin’ eyes with schemin’ psycho fuckin’ bitches. You on my dime, you do shit my fuckin’ way. Take my fuckin’ money and fuck over me, I’m shootin’ the fuck outta you. Especially where Megan concerned. Under-fuckin-stand?”
Swallowing, she nodded quickly.
He got to his feet and pulled a wad of cash from his cut, tossing it on the table in front of her. “Knox gonna be in touch to give you fuckin’ instructions. That money for a new wardrobe to impress John Boy. And, Emily, don’t ever fuckin’ try to play me a-fuckin-gain like you did when I mentioned fuckin’ clothes.”
She blinked. “I didn’t—”
Christopher held up his hand. “Yes, the fuck your ass did. I saw your fuckin’ look when I told your ass to wear a certain fuckin’ type of clothes.”
Again, guilt crossed her face.
Glaring at her, Christopher walked away. Maybe, he should call this shit off. His fucking gut told him that Emily was a worse fucking bitch than Kendall ever was. At least with psycho, he knew what the fuck he was getting.
Besides, if, by some fucking twist of fucking fate, a relationship between Emily and Johnnie really did grow, just what the fuck would he say to Megan? By then, it wouldn’t be a fucking secret who Emily was.
He weighed his options. Weighed his plans. Early on, he’d need to introduce Megan to Emily…But the planning for Roxy and Bailey’s ceremony would keep all the girls busy and distracted.
Emily could be eased in as Johnnie’s new old lady, and not a motherfucker would fucking know how the fuck Christopher manipulated shit.
Fuck it. He wouldn’t second guess himself. The plan was already in motion. Shit would be fine. As long as Emily kept to the script, not a fucking thing could go wrong.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Are you sure you’re fine with the colors?” Roxy asked, looking closely at Bailey as they sat in a private room in an exclusive little boutique Mortician had found for them. Knox and Mortician, along with Grant, were on the other side of the building, where grooms-to-be shopped for their wedding apparel. “I know you wanted gold and white.”
“Scarlet and white are lovely colors, Momma,” Bailey said with reassurance.
“Black tuxes for the men?” she pressed, feeling as if Bailey was hiding something from her. “With red tie and cummerbund or red vests?”
“Tie and cummerbund,” Bailey answered. “Now that I think on it, I prefer the scarlet instead of the gold. I think it’ll look better on the men.”
“Is there anything you need, Ms. Doucette? Mrs. Banks?” The proprietress interrupted.
The overabundance of fawning irked Roxy. “We’re buying shit from you, okay?” she snapped. “Stop coming in to kiss my fucking ass to get business.”
The woman blinked, but nodded.
“Er, Mrs. Whittlestone, my mother is under a lot of stress,” Bailey said with her usual diplomacy. “We were just about to call you.” She opened her sketch book, comprised of exclusive offerings. “I’m really thinking of this one. Should I go with it or not?”
Mrs. Whittlestone’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh! Y-yes, of course, my dear. Y-yes. Anything…anything you want.” Both awe and gratitude resounded in her words.
“Look, lady.” Roxy felt like a bitch for snapping at the older woman. “I didn’t mean to go off on you. You coming in here every ten minutes worked my last fucking nerve. That’s all. But I’m so glad Mortician brought us here.”
Gracious, the woman smiled. “I will get out of your hair. If you need me, just holler.”
“Won’t have to,” Roxy mumbled as the lady left them alone again. “I’m sure your fucking ass will be right outside the door.”
“Momma!” Bailey said around a giggle. “You nearly shocked the shoes off the poor woman.”
Roxy sighed. “I know. I need to watch what I say.”
Bailey gave her an odd look, then turned back to the sketchbook, casually flipping through. “I’ve been thinking,” she said after a moment.
“About what, child?” Roxy lingered on a page in a LookBook that contained a bridesmaid dress. It was black, made of tulle and lace. She was sure it would look as fabulous in scarlet.
“How I’ve hijacked your wedding.”
The statement came out with nonchalance, but Roxy knew Bailey. Her daughter was lowkey and avoided drama if at all possible. “What do you mean, Bailey?”
Bailey closed the sketchbook. “Knox proposed to you. When he did, it was for you and him to get married. Not share the spotlight with another couple. Lucas kind of railroaded you into allowing us to join in.”
Tenderness at Bailey’s thoughtfulness welled inside of Roxy and she pulled her daughter into her embrace. “Oh, baby. Don’t think that! I’m happy and proud that you will be walking down the aisle the same day as me in a dream wedding.”
Bailey kissed Roxy’s cheek, then pulled away and grabbed Roxy’s hand. “You deserve every happiness.” She stroked her mother’s hair. “This is your time to shine. You said you didn’t want a big wedding, but you were like a giddy little girl on the way here.”
“And you were muted all the way here,” Roxy said gently, returning Bailey’s gesture and stroking her hair. Currently, it was bone straight, but the rich highlights accentuated Bailey’s beautiful face.
Roxy had always been proud of Bailey. She was the one who gave her the least trouble. The one who reasoned things out. And the one who accepted her, warts and all.
“I was wondering what was wrong.” She pulled her daughter back into her embrace and Bailey laid her head on Roxy’s shoulder. “Why you weren’t excited. Your dream has always been to have a huge church wedding. You’re getting it, sugar.”
Bailey nodded. “Knox was so angry, though.” Pul
ling away again, she sat up and bowed her head. “It’s just…I wish…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “The day will still be perfect. Johnnie will be perfect to walk me down the aisle. Nevermind.”
Grabbing another sketchbook, Bailey started flipping through the pages so fast Roxy knew she wasn’t seeing a fucking thing. She placed her hand over Bailey’s.
“K-P is with you,” she said softly. “He sees and he approves. He might not be here to walk you down the aisle, but he’s here to watch over you and keep you safe.”
Tears glistened in Bailey’s eyes; Roxy swallowed, choking up, too.
“I miss him,” Bailey confessed. “And I…that doesn’t mean I don’t like Knox—”
“Stop it!” Roxy demanded. “This has nothing to do with Knox. K-P was your daddy, not Knox. And a good daddy he was. He loved the ground you walked on. He was a good man and I mourned his loss, Bailey. I understand that a perfect wedding needs the bride’s daddy to give her away. If that is the reason you don’t want to have a double wedding, I’ll respect that. Even though your daddy would say go ahead with it.”
“It’s not all about Daddy. Mostly, it’s about you. I feel like a usurper.”
Suspicion rose in Roxy. “Knox talked to you?”
“No, Momma,” Bailey said with a grin, swiping at a stray tear. “But I understand his point.”
“I love that man something fierce, Bailey. Your daddy was my first love and there will always be a spot in my heart for him. I’m thankful to have found Knox to have a second chance at love.”
“You’ve been married four times.”
“Three,” Roxy sniffed. “And?”
“Didn’t you love them?”
“You haven’t realized what a romantic your momma is, girl?”
Bailey smiled. “Where do you think I get my romanticism from, woman?”
“My marriages didn’t last because, deep down, I knew going in, I didn’t really want to be married to those motherfuckers. I wanted…I was searching for what I lost with K-P.”
“Knox couldn’t be less like Daddy. They are complete opposites.”
“I wasn’t searching for a clone of K-P, Bailey. I just wanted…I don’t really know what the fuck I wanted. Maybe, the perfect man, and discovering these other motherfuckers’ imperfections served as a good excuse to walk away. Always measuring them against K-P.”
The confession rankled her. It was really the first time she’d admitted that to anyone—even herself. She sighed.
“As I had started to say, I would be content marrying Knox on a little raft in the middle of the Pacific with just me, him, and Father Wilkins. I don’t need a big wedding. It’s not about the production. It’s about the love between two people. Knox wants a big wedding, but he would’ve given in to me and had a small ceremony. No, this big to-do is for you. Was for you,” she amended. “I can’t believe how much I am enjoying putting plans together and getting a custom-made dress.”
“You’ve had a big wedding before.”
“Yes, to Creighton.” She clenched her jaw, determined to move on from thoughts of her son’s father. She was sure Creighton had bad-mouthed her to Duke and played a very active role in turning her boy against her. She shoved thoughts of both Creighton and Duke aside. “I want us to enjoy the planning and the celebration, sugar.”
“Have you talked to Duke?”
Roxy opened her LookBook again. “I’m not good enough for him to talk to,” she said breezily.
“Oh, Momma! I want to go to New Orleans and take my turn whipping his ass. Carissa broke his nose and he was still talking bullshit about you, so Alexia called an ambulance. They were arriving just as she knocked him unconscious. Along with a few police cars and—”
Alarm raced through Roxy. “What the fuck do you mean? Why am I just finding out this shit?”
“Because Duke deserved it. Grandma took her housekeys from him. Creighton was urging Duke to press charges. Grandma said she would take care of it, and she did.”
“Well, knock me over and call me a motherfucker. None of you thought to tell me about any of this?”
“No, Momma. Duke is taking away your self-confidence and your self-esteem. He’s making you…I don’t know. He’s making you not be you and I want to fuck him up! He’s a little asshole.”
“Bailey!” Roxy said, impressed at her daughter’s heated language but shocked. Not to say Bailey didn’t cuss. It usually wasn’t so vengeful.
“You know he is, Momma,” Bailey fumed.
“He’s being influenced by his father.”
“I don’t buy that. He’s not a child anymore. He’s eighteen. He knows what he’s doing. Stop making excuses for him. He’s horrible.”
“He’s my child—”
Bailey glared at her. “Get off that song! He’s disrespecting you, abusing you, insulting you. If he was saying all these things to Grandma, would you make excuses for him?”
“Of course not, Bailey,” Roxy said in exasperation.
“Then why do it now when it is directed at you?”
“Think about it!” Roxy jumped to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. “He’s my child. Somewhere along the way I did something terribly wrong for him to be able to fix his mouth to say those things to me. We didn’t go to church as much as we should have. I was always in school. Always switching majors.” She swallowed, her vulnerability rising in her all over again. She tried not to think of Duke. His feelings towards her tore her in two. “It was my job to teach him respect and loyalty.”
“You taught it to him and he learned it well. He’s just using his lessons on Creighton.”
“Can we not talk about this?” Roxy returned to her seat. “Let’s focus on the reason we’re here, sugar.”
A few moments of silence went by before a question occurred to Roxy.
“What makes you think I’m acting any differently?”
Bailey cocked her head to the side, then nodded to Roxy’s left hand. “That ring for one. I know it’s an heirloom but it is…not you. The Roxanne I know would’ve told Knox the truth.”
“This is a small matter, Bailey, and this ring is important to Knox.”
“Not as important as you are to him,” she insisted.
“It’s fine,” Roxanne said stubbornly.
“Okay, if you say so. That’s fine, but what about what Lucas is doing? Forcing Knox and you to live separately. Why aren’t you saying go fuck yourself?”
From her tone, Roxy got the sense that Bailey now agreed with Mortician. “I’ve asked myself the same thing,” she admitted, then shrugged. “The truth is it feels good to have someone take care of me and think about my well-being.”
Sitting back in the slipper chair covered in ivory satin and tied at the back with a big bow, Bailey folded her arms. “I’m sure that’s true, Momma. You take care of everyone. But this isn’t you. You’re stronger than that.”
“Maybe, I’m scared,” Roxy confessed. “No matter the reason I married before they didn’t work out and I…Knox is nine years younger than me and refined. Classy. What am I?”
Bailey gasped, then narrowed her green-gray eyes. “I’m sending Lucas to kill Duke. He’s gotten into your head and is ruining you.”
“Leave Duke alone,” Roxy ordered. “It’s not only our differences…Or, maybe, it is…I’m afraid this is a dream and I’ll wake up and he’ll be gone. Besides, I want Knox to be accepted by the boys. If he listens to Lucas, this will go a long way in them accepting him.”
“Please don’t let Duke do this to you. The problem is his. Not yours. You’re perfect just as you are.”
Roxy forced a smile. “Kind of hard to believe that when one of your own kids thinks you nothing but garbage.” It was meant to be breezy. Yet even she heard the dismal hurt. “Let’s plan our lovely weddings, sugar. I promise I will give myself a good talking to.”
“Yeah, okay, Momma,” Bailey said grouchily. “I still want to punch Duke.”
“I understand, baby.�
�� Roxy opened to the black bridesmaid gown she’d seen a bit ago. “Get Mrs. Whittlestone so we can have our measurements taken and talk numbers.”
Bailey nodded and got to her feet, opening the door and leaving Roxy alone. Watching as her daughter left, she felt a deep gratitude for the woman Bailey had become.
“I know you’re so proud of our little girl, K-P,” Roxy whispered, smiling, then turning her attention back to the gowns when Bailey followed Mrs. Whittlestone in to get on with the planning.
Knox stared at the tattoos staining Mortician’s back, chest, and arms, as the tailor took the biker’s measurements. He stood in their private room in only a pair of black boxer briefs, not caring that he was nearly naked in front of other people. That was bad enough. But he’d had to de-weaponize himself, removing guns strapped underneath his clothes and on various parts of his body. The four weapons sat in a neat pile on a bench, right next to his clothes.
“That grim reaper tat is cool, Mort,” Grant gushed. “I want one when I grow up.”
Mortician smiled at Grant, holding his arms out as Mr. Whittlestone spread out a tape measurer. He was standing on a stepstool to reach Mortician’s arms and shoulders.
“Are you getting a tat, Dad?” Grant asked.
“No,” Knox answered with irritation. The very idea! “And neither are you. Ever. You’re not a biker.”
“I want to be!” Grant complained. “CJ said he’s going to be a big biker like ‘Law—”
“Outlaw,” Knox gritted.
“CJ said I can call his dad ‘Law.”
“CJ is four years old, Grant! You do not do what that little boy tells you to do. If anything, you should be trying to impress your good manners on him.” Christ! What was he saying? “On second thought, don’t. Just leave him alone.”
“Mr. Harrington, have you reconsidered allowing me to take your measurements?”
“No.” Why bother with measurements when he didn’t know what Roxanne—Bailey—had chosen? Besides… “I have my own haberdasher. The same one my father uses.” He smirked at Mortician. “In North America, a haberdasher is a dealer in men’s clothing.”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 467
