Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books, page 430
As long as Meggie didn’t verify any wrongdoing against her by a friend or family member, Christopher wouldn’t strike with deadly force. Literally—most of the time—or figuratively—in very rare instances.
“Trying to think of a few big words to use to put me in my place?” Kendall asked with a patently false smile. “Forget it. This conversation is done. I will talk about your ball, though. Do it. It’s a great idea. I heard you tell Zoann it would be for Valentine’s day and you’d incorporate celebrating your five-year wedding anniversary. Or church anniversary, since only in your little blonde world can you have two wedding anniversaries.”
Meggie pursed her lips. The ball would be a great way to celebrate the five years they’d had a blessed union. “You’re so right,” she started sweetly. “I’ll have to call all the ladies together for a planning meeting.” She beamed a smile. “Then, of course, you and I can have a girls’ night out. I’ll tell you all about Christopher’s, er, prowess.” Her heart sank at how low she was about to stoop. But Meggie was so over Kendall’s crap. “Then, I’m sure you’ll be dying to hear about what I think of Johnnie’s, um…what’s the words…? My poor little blonde’s brain can’t think of it. Um…oh, yeah!” She snapped her fingers. “Sexual skills.” She threw Kendall a little wave, happy to see the dirty look replacing that malicious gleam. “You know the way out. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Little bitch,” Kendall snarled.
Turning on her heel and ignoring the response, Meggie marched down the hall, breathing a sigh of relief when she heard the alarm announcing the front door was being opened.
The slam sounded like a shotgun blast.
Meggie sighed. Tomorrow was another day. Hopefully, Kendall would be over her hurt feelings. Meggie hadn’t meant to slight her.
Tomorrow, she’d have to make amends with Kendall. Which was fine. As long as it kept the peace between Christopher and Johnnie, Meggie was willing to apologize to her sister-in-law.
Without a doubt, if they started feuding again, their men would too, and that was drama they could all do without.
CHRISTOPHER FOLDED HIS ARMS AND glared at his counterpart of the Imperials outfit. The two clubs were coming together to iron out a truce of sorts before shit got out of hand.
The Imperials chapter was a direct affront to the Dwellers, since it was well known the city was the headquarters of their mother chapter.
Christopher had let the fuckheads be. He had his woman and their kids to think about. A turf war was the last thing he needed. He’d already been through the hell of seeing his wife shot and nearly taken from him. His oldest son had been kidnapped at the same time. It was fucking hell. If he could avoid that misery, he would.
However, the day after the run-in with Randolph, the motherfuckers intercepted a drug delivery by one of their support clubs, lifting a quarter rock of merchandise, before Christopher could wipe them out. He could no longer overlook such disrespect, so he personally hunted the assfucks responsible and put them the fuck out of their misery.
As payback, the Imperials killed two Dwellers. Five Imperials blown the fuck away was fine with Christopher. Any amount of his brothers dead was too fucking many.
His solution was to bomb the fuck out of the club and be done with it. Johnnie was against the idea. During church, three days ago, he introduced the idea of meeting with the Imperials to call a truce. The brothers in the general membership sided with Johnnie, so Christopher had no choice but to agree, even though their fellow officers was firmly aligned with him.
He wouldn’t start a goddamn war within his own club. Dividing and conquering came in a variety of ways. Killing brothers reduced membership numbers and—possibly—bred resentment. Arguing amongst themselves eroded their strength, until their foundation crumbled. Either way, the club would divide, and the Imperials would conquer.
“As far as I see it, we in the driver’s seat, Outlaw,” Mystic announced, his smirk annoying the fuck out of Christopher. “We’re new in town. We’ll get prospects out of curiosity. We have more contacts south of the border than the Dwellers. That gives us a farther reach down the Pacific coast.”
Unfolding his arms, Christopher heaved a sigh, attempting to calm his growing agitation. They were in a public place. On neutral ground. They didn’t need a fucking shootout.
Mystic tapped his cigarette out in the ashtray. “The Imperials did their homework on the Dwellers.”
Not enough. Otherwise, they’d know a Dweller chapter in Texas provided security for one of the Mexican cartels as drugs were smuggled across the border and then distributed via a wide network. Christopher had ironed out the deal with a cartel leader years ago. The operation went so smoothly, he didn’t need to run any interference.
This chapter was one of his most important ones, since Texas shared a huge border with Mexico.
“What do you want from us?” Johnnie asked, seated to Christopher’s right.
They sat in a private room at a restaurant, with the Dwellers seated on one side and the Imperials on the other. The two SAA’s stood at the side of their presidents, watching each side like hawks.
Eating had been a tense affair and over quickly. The Imperials were drinking. The Dwellers were not. This wasn’t about fucking socializing.
“We’re willing to listen to your terms,” Johnnie went on, without Christopher’s permission.
Later, he’d chew Johnnie a new asshole. Right now, he grunted.
“It’s simple,” Mystic answered, sipping his beer. “We want the Dwellers to relinquish any territory they might seek south of San Diego.”
“You outcha fuckin’ mind,” Christopher snapped. They’d gone from wanting to be absorbed by the Dwellers to wanting them to relinquish territory? What kind of shit was this?
He glared at Johnnie, wondering if the motherfucker was taking note. Christopher should’ve followed his own fucking counsel. He scowled. He would’ve if he’d struck before Johnnie opened his big fucking mouth.
“Ain’t no fuckin’ way my club givin’ up a motherfuckin’ thing,” he snarled. “We had the fuckin’ claim first and if you fuckin’ try to take territory from us, Ima fuck your entire goddamn club the fuck up. From your fuckin’ chapter all the fuckin’ way to the top.”
“Christopher, we’re here for peace negotiations,” Johnnie reminded him, sidling a glance to the Imperials side of the room. They were all on alert.
“We really don’t want more trouble, Outlaw,” Mystic told him. “Do you want to be responsible for bodies piling up?”
He sounded as if he didn’t care either way.
As far as Christopher was concerned, he could shoot the fuck out of Mystic, his enforcer, Randolph, the sergeant-at-arms and the other motherfucker sitting at the table. He owed these fuckheads nothing but a few bullets. His boys would take care of the other assfucks. They might not agree with him, but they’d have his back.
Johnnie let out a snore.
Frowning, Christopher kicked him, angrier because he was acting like a fucking jackass and was almost creating mutiny with his fucking idea of peace.
“Wake the fuck up, motherfucker,” Christopher growled, his temper rising at the laughter of the Imperials.
Mortician covered his face. Christopher really couldn’t blame Mort. They needed to cover Johnnie’s fucking face.
“As you know, I want something else,” Mystic went on when he saw Christopher wouldn’t answer. “We…” He twirled his finger to indicate the men behind him. “We passed an emergency referendum. Our home chapter isn’t giving us the support we deserve. We’ve become very disillusioned. Perhaps, our recent actions have proven to the Dwellers we’d…” He hunched his shoulders. “The Dwellers could absorb us. We’ve done a lot on behalf of the Imperials. I’ve done a lot. I can’t even get a meeting with National right now. There’s a territory crisis in Florida, yet they sent us here to Washington to open a chapter.”
“Fuckin’ with my fuckin’ shipments and fuckin’ up two fuckin’ members ain’t a goddamn way to get on my good side,” Christopher said.
“But it got your attention,” Mystic said smugly.
Christopher narrowed his eyes. “It got my fuckin’ animosity.”
Mortician cleared his throat, the agreed upon signal that it was close to five in the evening, right around the time Megan would leave her home office and head to the kitchen to start dinner. Usually, Christopher ate. On rare occasions like these, when meals at meetings filled him up, he still wanted to be home to spend time with his family.
This fucking meeting, however, wasn’t going the way he wanted it to. He wanted to stay until they reached their original goal of a truce, came to another conclusion, or shot the fuck out of each other.
The only way he could assure himself of his wife and children’s safety was if he took out the entire organization. Wiped them off the fucking map. Declared fucking war on them.
Christopher stood from his seat and his boys did the same, which prompted Mystic and his brothers to rise.
“This meetin’ fuckin’ over, Mystic,” Christopher declared. “Ain’t absorbin’ you into my fuckin’ club. Don’t need you motherfuckers. You stop fuckin’ with my club and I’ll let you motherfuckers live. I pretend you don’t fuckin’ exist. Stay in your fuckin’ place or not only aintcha mother chapter gonna be able to help you, not a motherfucker in this entire fuckin’ universe will.”
With that, he stormed away, brushing through the crowd of Imperials and daring a motherfucker to block him.
BY THE TIME CHRISTOPHER ARRIVED at his house, his anger at the fucking Imperials had deserted him.
Megan had the outside of their house all lit up with Christmas lights. Huge Santas, Frostys, elves, trains, and other shit decorated the lawn. Inside, she had a huge tree in the foyer, one in the family room, and one in the second and third floor hallways. The tree on the third floor, where their and the kids’ bedrooms were located, a working trained ringed it.
His girl loved the holidays, and made it a special, magical time for the entire household.
He didn’t need to bring work home with him. Megan didn’t know any fucking thing about the troubles they were having with the other MC. She knew Outlaw but he didn’t want her to dwell on that side of him. If he told her about the Imperials, then he’d have to tell her he’d killed five motherfuckers.
Besides, this was their safe haven, the warm, loving sanctuary she’d created for him and their family and friends.
Walking into the kitchen, Christopher found Megan, their son, CJ, and her assistant/nanny/friend, Bunny, dancing to the music piping in through the speakers that doubled as the intercom. Dishes filled with various food sat on the counter, in preparation for the evening meal in the dining room.
Megan laughed and CJ squealed, grabbing her hands and twirling her around. Her blonde hair swirled around them, fascinating Christopher. He could watch her for hours. Listen to the sounds of her happiness. See her adoration of their boy.
Christopher knew she loved all their kids, but he still contended CJ held a special place in her heart.
“’Law!” CJ yelled, spotting him first and thundering toward him at full speed. “I got all A’s, and Mommie and Bunny are dancing with me to celebrate.”
As the music abruptly cut off, Christopher raised his fist and his son bumped it with his smaller balled hand. “Good fuckin’ job, boy.”
CJ grinned. “I’m smart like you.”
“You smarter than me. I hated fuckin’ school. You like it. That make you smarter.”
“Nuh-uh! Mommie said I’m smart like you.”
Well, if Megan said it, Christopher wouldn’t win the argument.
“C’mon, CJ buddy,” Bunny called. Though she was Digger’s wife, she had helped Megan out for a long time and CJ adored her. “Let’s rescue Diesel from your sister and little brothers.”
“Okay, Bunny. Bye, MegAnn,” CJ yelled, zooming out of the room.
“He still doesn’t know if I’m Mommie or MegAnn,” Megan said, once they were alone. She walked up to him and stood on her tiptoes. “Hey, you.”
Bending so she could kiss his lips, Christopher wrapped her in his arms. “Hey, baby,” he responded, covering her mouth with his and taking over. “Wanna quick fuck?”
Her blue eyes were bright, alive, filled with joy and contentment. She brushed her lips over his. “Always,” she breathed.
He snickered and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. As he turned to carry her into the mudroom, the running of feet caught his attention.
“Daddy!” his girl, Rebel, called a moment before she wrapped her arms around his thigh. “You’re home.”
“Put me down,” Megan said with a giggle.
Having no choice, he complied, though he was less than amused. In anticipation of getting pussy from his girl, his cock was already hard.
“Daddy?” Rebel said again, looking up at him. She was almost the spitting image of Megan. “I missed you.”
Christopher smiled down at her. “I missed you, too,” he told her, crouching down to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“’Law,” his youngest son, Ransom, called, imitating CJ.
At almost thirteen months, Ransom was still conquering the art of walking. The little motherfucker walked like a duck. He barreled into Christopher and hugged him before starting a conversation.
He was a talkative fuck. It was a fucking pity Christopher didn’t know what the fuck he was saying. More so because the boy liked hearing his voice and the babbling stupefied Christopher, thereby giving him a big fucking headache.
“Ransom says where have you been?” Rebel told him.
He lifted a brow at her. If that little motherfucker said that, Christopher was a flying fucking monkey. Of course, he wouldn’t hurt his girl’s feelings and actually say that shit, so he answered her. “Workin’.” He refused to ask what the fuck Ransom was saying now. Or hadn’t stopped saying.
“Come on, Rule,” CJ said, dragging Rebel’s twin into view with Ryder pulling up the rear. “Tell ‘Law.”
Christopher got to his feet. “Tell me what, son?” he asked Rule, sighing when Ryder popped a thumb into his mouth.
If he kept that shit up, he was going to have buck fucking teeth.
“Dad,” Rule started, blinking at Christopher and shuffling his feet.
Seeing her twin’s nervousness, Rebel went to him and took his other hand. Rule was quiet and shy, so the kids protected him, while Christopher had to remember to tone it the fuck down when he was dealing with him. He didn’t want to scar the little motherfucker for life.
“My as…I’m all fu…all ears, Rule,” Christopher said. He glanced at Megan, encouraged by the adoration in her eyes, at his obvious try to curb his cussing.
She’d find a way to sneak him some pussy. It turned her the fuck on when he took care of their kids. He didn’t do it just to get extra fucks. It was just a happy reward of a job he cherished.
Winking at her and grinning at her smile, he went to Rule, and crouched in front of him just as he’d done with Rebel.
“Me, CJ, and Ryder was playing with CJ’s motorcycles,” he said, his green eyes lighter than Christopher’s and CJ’s, although his black hair matched theirs.
They were the only two of his kids with black hair. The other three were all blonde and blue-eyed like Megan.
“’Law,” CJ said with impatience. “Rule played motorcycles with me. I let Ryder play, too. Ransom’s just a bitch-ass baby, so I didn’t let him touch my stuff.”
“Don’t use bad language, potato,” Megan called, hands on her hips, her look changing. She threw Christopher a fucked-up frown.
“Don’t blame my ass, baby. I ain’t ever call our kids no bitch asses.”
She scowled at him, turned on her heel, and marched to the cabinet to pull down plates before stomping toward the dining room.
Christopher glared at CJ, who grinned in return. He liked sleeping in the room with Megan and Christopher. Most of the time, he carried their boy back to his own bed. On occasion, though, Megan let him spend the entire night with them, especially if she was annoyed with Christopher.
CJ had caught on to this shit. He had the art of dividing and conquering down pat.
“Daddy, Rule played with motorcycles,” Rebel informed him as if he didn’t have fucking ears and hadn’t heard the first and second time.
This shit apparently was important. “That’s fu…” Voice trailing off, he cleared his throat. “That’s good, Rule.”
Tears rushed to Rule’s eyes and he sniffled. Fuck him. What the fuck was the boy crying over? Playing with CJ’s motorcycles wasn’t good?
Rebel dropped Rule’s hand and hugged him. “It’s okay,” she said, patting his back, soothing him the way her Ma soothed all of them—with hugs and lots of love.
Moving away from Rule, CJ grabbed Christopher’s wrist and tugged. He stood and allowed his son to separate them from the other kids.
“When we were all at Aunt Zoann’s house, Ryan called Rule a girl cuz he likes to draw. He said his daddy loves him more than you love Rule cuz Ryan likes motorcycles like Uncle Val. I didn’t punch Ryan, ‘Law,” he said with pride. “I told Aunt Zoann and she beat his ass. I laughed the whole time.”
“Hey, boy, don’t cuss where you Ma can hear,” Christopher whispered. “I told you that. Remember?”
CJ nodded. “I forgot.”
“You like to cuss?”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you fuck up and do it where your Ma can find out, I ain’t lettin’ you do it no more. Hear me?”
CJ sighed. “Yes, ‘Law.” He walked closer to Christopher. “But Aunt Zoann did spank Ryan’s ass,” he whispered. “Then she gave the mudna fucka time out.”
