Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books, page 243
Johnnie cleared his throat. Probably because Mortician had yet to face him. He couldn’t, not while he was so torn up.
“I’m sorry for earlier,” Johnnie said into the silence.
“I don’t hold it against you,” Mort responded, willing away the hoarseness and hurt. When one fell, the others were there to hold him up. Usually. But this time, they’d all gotten knocked down. How did they come back from this? Silently analyzing Johnnie was supposed to ease his heartache, not add to it. All that they’d had as husbands, fathers, brothers, might be gone for good. “After all these fucking years, if I can’t cut you some fucking slack, I’m not much of a fucking friend.”
Johnnie remained silent.
“Seen Prez?”
“Yes. They just rode out for the cemetery. Christopher’s interring Arrow in Big Joe’s tomb. That’s where K-P is.”
Mort flinched at the reminder. Both Bailey’s father and uncle were gone, leaving her without anyone from K-P’s family.
“How is he? Christopher, I mean.”
Anger rising in him, Mort sidled a scowl at Johnnie. “How the fuck you think he is, motherfucker? What kind of bullshit was you throwing at him earlier?”
“He hasn’t once asked about Kendall.”
Mort turned back to his son. “And? He got other shit to do. According to you, he has a fucking club to run.”
“He let Megan stop him from going after Digger, and that got Kendall shot.”
“It also got Bailey shot.” Mortician threw him a dirty look, not in the mood to discuss Digger with Johnnie. He wanted his brother’s head on a fucking platter. Maybe, Mort did, too, but the stupid motherfucker was still his brother. Prez got his turmoil. Johnnie didn’t. That spoke volumes, showing why Outlaw was a leader and Johnnie just a killer. “Not going after Digger got Arrow killed. Meggie shot. What the fuck wrong with you?”
“You think I don’t know that? But what if she dies? Am I going to have to bury Christopher?”
“Yeah, Johnnie,” Mortician responded without hesitation.
Fear darkened Johnnie’s face and he gave a bitter laugh.
“If Meggie die, you will have to bury Prez.”
Anger, resentment and grief slid across Johnnie’s face, unable to cope with such a possibility. Johnnie was only cool under fire when it came to killing. Emotions like this left him stunted. But Mort also suspected Johnnie was pissed because Prez hadn’t asked about Kendall.
Fuck, Prez hadn’t asked about his own children. He was only able to run the club because he’d lived and breathed the club for so long. He could lead it in his fucking sleep.
“Under the circumstances, Prez holding up better than me. I would say fuck all these motherfuckers and stay with Bailey. That’s what the fuck I intend to do the moment Tyler buried.” He gave Johnnie a hard look. “Tell me you’d do shit different.”
“I’d ask about everyone.”
“If Meggie girl die, then you get the chance to do shit different. If Prez don’t die of grief or fuck himself up, no way would he stay in the club.”
“Bullshit. Christopher wouldn’t let anyone come between him and the club. What else does he have? This is all he knows. Without the club, he’ll be lost.”
“This just your bitch-ass roundabout way of saying you can’t run this club.”
Balling his fist, Johnnie stiffened.
Mort backed away from Tyler’s coffin and folded his arms, waiting.
“Fuck, fine,” Johnnie huffed out. “I don’t want to run the club.”
“That’ll do.” The admission would be as close as Johnnie would come to acknowledging his inability to lead the Death Dwellers. “About Digger.”
“What about him? Not that I’m really interested.”
“I’m pissed with him, Johnnie, but that’s still my brother. Meggie was the driving influence behind what Outlaw did, but I think he did it for me, too. He think about us more than we give him credit for.”
“If that’s the case, then he could’ve gotten both you and him killed. Digger betrayed the club and he betrayed it by not going after the man the way he should have.”
Mortician wanted to fuck Digger up for all the shit he’d done. Right now, he also felt like slamming his fist into Johnnie’s self-righteous mouth. “You disparage him all the fuck you want. He let my brother live—”
“And as a result, Digger betrayed us again. He took CJ.”
Mortician shook his head. “I admit I didn’t think about too much since Bailey got shot and Tyler was murdered.” Beyond the fact that he’d seen Bailey go down and he’d run to her, instead of pursuing Sharper. “But Digger wouldn’t take Little Man to harm him. I know my brother, man. I do.”
Cold hostility radiated from Johnnie, but Mort wasn’t intimidated. His gaze remained steady and unflinching. “Let’s drop the conversation for now,” he said tightly. “Your grief is clouding your thinking.”
“And your assfuckery clouding yours,” Mortician snapped.
“Fuck off.” Johnnie turned on his heel and tension eased from Mortician. If they’d kept at it, they might’ve murdered each other. “I’m going to Kendall.”
“For real, motherfucker? After all the shit you gave Prez your ass not going back to the club to toast Arrow?”
“I never intended to do that. Christopher just assumed I would. Kendall wants me with her, so I’m going.”
“But Prez can’t do the same?”
“Kendall’s awake, Mortician. Megan’s not. She may never wake up again.” Devastation crossed his face so quickly Mort might’ve imagined it, but knew he didn’t. “Why should he be there to watch her die?”
“Fuck, Johnnie, you hear what the fuck you saying? Where the fuck he supposed to be? If Meggie breathe her last and Prez not there, he’d fucking unhinge.”
“Anyway it goes he’ll unhinge,” Johnnie snapped. “He already has.”
Mortician held onto his temper by sheer will. But Johnnie running off at the mouth about Meggie forced Mortician to think of Bailey and her critical condition. He wanted to be at her side, hear all the monitors that indicated she was still alive. He had an obligation to Tyler, though, so he couldn’t be at her side. But he was well aware his situation was similar to Prez’s. “If Bailey di…” No, he wouldn’t fucking speak those words, even if she’d been shot in the chest like Meggie. “My ass on the verge of unhinging. What about you? What would you do if you lost Red? Cry? Cuss? Kill? I doubt you’d be here if Red was so critical. You talk your bullshit but your woman not near death. Know why? Because Sharper want me and Prez destroyed. Not you. Not no other motherfucker. We all a little fucking lost right now. In fucking shock. Shit had been good for us, despite Sharper being on the loose. All of a sudden, everything fucked and we looking for solid fucking ground again. So until you in my shoes, until you in Prez’s shoes, shut the fuck up about who the fuck should do what. I’m standing over my son’s dead body, fucking pretending I’m not. I’m fucking analyzing you, dissecting your attitude, to keep from thinking about Bailey and how she hooked to all those machines. I’m trying not to remember my fucking father tried to murder my Bailey. Judge me and Prez, all the fuck you want. Or be the motherfucker you once was. The one who supported Prez.”
“I still support him.”
“Publicly.”
“That’s where it counts.”
“Not with the bullshit you give him in private. Sometimes, the measure of a motherfucker not what the fuck he do in public, but how the fuck he act in private.”
Johnnie’s eyes flared wide, as if the statement had gotten through to him, before the coldness returned. “Kendall or Megan shouldn’t have gotten shot. Christopher’s lackadaisical attitude is at fault.”
“Stop with the big words.”
“You’re a college graduate. You understand them.”
That motherfucker. “You just full of fucking shade today, huh, bro?”
“I meant nothing by that. Both you and Christopher need to stop being so sensitive. What’s wrong with using words with more than one syllable?”
“It complicates shit.”
“This isn’t the time to discuss my vocabulary. I want to point out something regarding our previous conversation.”
“And that is?”
“I’d never go against Christopher in public. Never. But I’m so fucking furious with him, Mortician.”
“Then you must be fucking furious with me, too.” Mortician glanced at Johnnie and shook his head. “But, not really. You blame him because he’s the president? Or his decision might lead to Meggie’s death?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you. And you just gave me my fucking answer, so get the fuck away from me.”
Through with Johnnie, Mortician turned back to Tyler.
“I love Kendall.”
“Never said you didn’t,” Mort responded without turning.
“I’m in love with Kendall.”
“Figured that shit out as well.”
“Then what the fuck did you mean?”
“Nothing, brother,” Mort said on a tired sigh, emotionally drained. “I meant fuck-all.” He glanced at Johnnie and saw his confusion. Instead of dropping the subject, Mort shook his head, deciding to open up to Johnnie a little. It might help the stupid motherfucker. “Charlemagne was special to me at one time,” he confided. “I…sometimes when Bailey ask me something about Char, a good memory of what we once were to each other might break though. I might smile. Or feel a little wistful. Or…I don’t know…I might just remember what it was like to be with Char. It don’t mean I don’t love Bailey with everything in me. It just mean I loved Char at one time, and the good and bad times I shared with her will always be a part of me. I killed her, but I regret it right now because if I hadn’t, Tyler might be alive. Yet what choice did I have? She was going to hurt Bailey.” He turned back to Tyler, the son he’d never know. “Life not cut-and-dry. No matter how much we say otherwise. You pissed with Prez cuz you think he got the first girl you ever loved hurt. You do everything in your fucking power to erase all the good memories between you and Meggie by being a raging motherfucker to her the majority of the time. That’s not changing shit. It’s just changing you. So before you let your fucking mouth get ahead of your fucking brain and you lay more bullshit on Prez, step the fuck back, cool the fuck off, and face the fucking facts.”
Instead of responding, Johnnie stormed away.
“Motherfucker,” Mortician mumbled. Stress was turning John Boy into an unfeeling lunatic…more of an unfeeling lunatic.
“You heard that, Tyler?” Mortician said, turning back to the casket. “John Boy don’t have much empathy for anyone. Red. Mostly. Outlaw. Sometimes. Meggie girl. Well, fuck, not in a long time. Whenever shit go wrong, he liked to take it out on Meggie. Motherfucker is smart, though. He has a business degree. Something you…if you’d lived.” Moisture gathered in his eyes again and he almost wished Johnnie and his fuckedupness would return so Mortician’s pain would go away. He heaved in a breath and focused on talking, instead of his grief and guilt. “You would’ve liked Val. Motherfucker can be dumber than a fucking dildo, but he have your back. Cash a hard motherfucker to know and Stretch not been the same since Hanson was killed and he was so badly beaten.”
Mort drew his brows together and skimmed his hand over his son’s hair. “The world a cold fucking place, son. I failed you. Char did, too. But, maybe, you better off, huh? I mean you don’t ever again have to worry about all the hate floating around. Motherfuckers just thrive on hatred.” He looked at Tyler’s still face again and smiled through tears. “Yeah, son, maybe you better off.”
And, maybe, he needed to say that to feel better.
Whatever the case, truth or a balm to his pain, Mort twisted off his skull ring and worked it onto Tyler’s finger, the only offering he had for a boy gone too soon.
“Christopher?”
At the sound of Johnnie’s voice, Christopher lifted his head from where he sat at Megan’s feet. He blinked, silent as Johnnie walked to the window and opened the blinds, revealing the first glimmer of morning lightening the sky.
Just under seventy-two hours ago Megan had been shot. To Christopher, it felt like a lifetime. So much shit had happened, but he hadn’t left her side in the two days since the funeral.
At some point in the night, he’d leaned over and settled his head on Megan’s hospital bed, just as he had the night before last. At her feet. For an hour, he’d told her about Arrow’s and Tyler’s send-offs, willing her to open her eyes, wanting their connection to be deep enough that she somehow felt his pain and came back to him. She hadn’t even twitched. If only this was a bad fucking dream, but this shit was real. Standing, he stared at Megan, once again waiting for her eyelids to lift. They didn’t. She remained connected to IVs and oxygen and all types of machines. Each little noise one of them motherfuckers made reminded him of his wife’s critical condition.
He couldn’t even kiss her. To do so, he had to remove the oxygen mask that had replaced the ventilator she’d been on until last night. Her lips would be beneath his and that would tear him apart.
He gripped them the railings on her bed, so tight his fingers turned white.
“Christopher?” Johnnie called again, sounding exhausted. “Zoann went home last night. Stretch will be released later today. About ten minutes ago, Roxy signed herself out to take care of Harley since Bailey’s not conscious yet. So far she hasn’t lost the baby, but she seems to be threatening a miscarriage.”
Christopher nodded, distracted by Megan not responding to his silent plea. He needed to say something to Johnnie’s report. But what?
“Val’s pissed,” Johnnie continued, moving his arm in the sling and reminding Christopher that out of all of them, Bailey and Megan were still the gravest.
Of course, it had to be them. Sharper hated Christopher and Mortician the most.
“Val wants to go home, too. He wants to check himself out like Roxy. He was shot in the side, a little more serious than her injury.”
Dropping back into the chair he’d slept in, Christopher scratched his jaw. He should take care of the stubble. Megan preferred him clean shaven. She’d want him groomed. He had his shaving kit here as well as his toothbrush. He brushed his teeth every day but fuck shaving.
Johnnie sighed and backed toward the opened door. “I’ll keep you updated.”
Relieved at Johnnie’s imminent departure—he didn’t have to fucking talk if the man left—Christopher started to nod. Then, it fucking hit him. Johnnie had left someone off. Frowning, he rubbed his eyes. “And Kendall?”
Tension flashed between them and Johnnie stiffened. “Do you really care how she is?”
“On your fuckin’ behalf.”
“Really? You couldn’t leave Megan’s side on my behalf to help me find Kendall the other day. Now, you’re suddenly concerned about her on my fucking behalf? How long have we been here? Three days? In all that time, this is the first time you’ve asked about her. I wanted to see how fucking long it would take you to remember she existed.”
Was this really the first time he’d asked about Kendall? Christopher couldn’t fucking remember. He barely remembered his own goddamn name. If he’d eaten since Megan had gotten shot, he’d be one surprised motherfucker.
“You don’t give two fucks about Kendall, so save your bullshit. Forget all of us while you worry about your wife.”
Anger sparked in Christopher and he glowered at Johnnie, not quite believing the motherfucker’s words. He’d allowed Megan to be transported to the hospital with fucking strangers so he could stay at the club and take care of shit. “You a bunch of grown motherfuckers, fuckhead. In case you fuckin’ forgot, let me refresh your fuckin’ memory. My ass stayed fuckin’ put. I coulda fuckin’ lost my Megan before I ever fuckin’ saw her again. She went while I fuckin’ stayed.”
“Not for me and certainly not for Kendall.”
What wasn’t this motherfucker understanding? Exactly where was the mis-fucking-communication entering this conversation? Christopher wished he fucking knew before he fucked Johnnie up. “Look, assfuck, I wanna know how the fuck your bitch doin’. Otherwise, I wouldna fuckin’ asked. You don’t wanna tell me? Fuck it. I ain’t losin’ fuckin’ sleep. But if that cunt die, it’ll tear you the fuck apart. Since that bitch belong to you, motherfucker, she fuckin’ part of the club, so, yeah, I was askin’ how the fuck she doin’.”
“Jesus, fuckhead, even now you can’t give my woman a fucking break. She was shot just like the rest of them.”
“And just fuckin’ like the rest of them, I asked ‘bout the fuckin’ bitch, so shut the fuck up. I ain’t gettin’ into this bullshit now.”
“Of course not. Because of Megan. You can’t show Kendall any kindness, because of your goddamn wife. You’re falling the fuck to pieces because she’s shot,” he spat.
Just as Avery’s words stung, Johnnie’s observation cut through Christopher. Not because he fucking felt as if Johnnie should have more fucking understanding. Especially toward a motherfucking girl he’d once professed to fucking love. Johnnie’s words upset Christopher because he couldn’t fucking deny the accusations. He fucking was falling to pieces. In his entire fucked-up life, he’d never had no-fucking-body who understood him the fucking way Megan did. Who had his fucking back like her. Who motherfucking loved him without fucking restraint and with almost no fucking conditions.
Her requirement was keeping his dick in his pants unless he intended to stick it in her. Easiest fucking order ever. Christopher had no desire for another bitch.
