Page 121 of Misrule
What if the pregnancy part was an omen?
He had to get control of himself. He was more fucking traumatized than Megan. What the fuck was fucking wrong with him? No matter what the fuck he did, his girl’s kidnapping haunted him. And he yelled. And cried. And screamed. And trembled.
His boy had done right to call him a bitch-ass-fucking-baby. He was a baby-ass-fucking-bitch.
Disgusted with himself, he kicked at one of Megan’s stilettos. It was white.
It fucking figured. Snarling like a rabid dog, he picked up the unkicked motherfucker, then went to the kicked motherfucker and got that one too, before slamming both into the waste basket.
Every piece of white clothing Megan owned, he’d fucking burn to fucking smithereens. No, he’d blow those motherfuckers the fuck up. He never wanted to see her in white again.
White walls in the house had to fucking go. White décor. Bedding. Plates…but most especially those white fucking clothes.
He stomped to her closet, found a fucking white leather dress, and grabbed it with all the fury in him. Without thinking this through, he took it to the bathroom, and threw it into the tub. Once he found rubbing alcohol, he poured it on the leather, lit a match he’d also brought with him, and threw it onto the dress.
Flames overtook it almost immediately, and he grinned, wishing pieces of Mystic was in the conflagration. His fucking hands for taking Megan. His fucking brain for thinking of the plot in the first fucking place.
“Boy, what the fuck are you doing?” Roxanne’s voice broke through his madness. “Turn that fucking water on before you burn down this goddamn house. Fuck! I’ll be right back.”
Obediently, he did as instructed. Roxanne returned before she was even missed, holding a fire extinguisher and quickly doing the work that the water seemed to be failing at—containing the flames.
He looked at her. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he saw her swollen red eyes, her pain…but before it fully registered, she gave him a gentle smile.
“Oh, sugar. Your woman is fine. Nobody is taking her away from you.”
She held out her arms.
Christopher hesitated. He looked at Megan’s ruined dress. The motherfucker had been new. Now, it was fucking burnt pieces and smoking embers. She was going to have his fucking ass.
At least she was alive to do so.
Sucking in a breath, he looked at the ceiling, and couldn’t stop the tears sliding down his face. He hated himself for being a weak bitch, and he hated Megan for making him a weak bitch.
But he loved her so fucking much.
“Roxanne, Megan can’t never leave me,” he said in a broken whisper, blinking. “But one day we gotta leave each other. We all gotta die. All I want is for me to be fuckin’ first. I can’t fuckin’ make it without her.” He drew in a sob. “And I fucking hate her for it.”
“Come here, baby,” Roxanne responded.
His nostrils flared, but he gave into the temptation of the comfort she offered and stepped into her arms, leaning down to rest his head on her shoulder. She tightened them around him, and he relished her motherly embrace. His mother had hugged him in such a manner on rare occasions, and he’d missed this since her death.
“I’m a grown-ass motherfucker, Roxanne, actin’ like a weak-ass bitch.”
Roxanne sniffled. “No, baby, you acting like a human motherfucker.”
She sounded so very sad. Suddenly, the devastation that he’d noticed in her face fully registered and he stiffened. An image of Knox fucking Harrington rose in his head, giving him something else to focus on.
Maybe, even, a motherfucker to make bleed.
Roxy had arrived at the house, just as Meggie was complaining about something burning. She was going to head upstairs and investigate since everything downstairs seemed to be fine. But CJ wouldn’t let her out of his sight, so Roxy told Meggie to stay downstairs while she investigated.
This being a Saturday, all the Caldwell kids and Rory were there, so Roxy wasn’t sure if they all would’ve followed Meggie.
Roxy had come to talk to Outlaw. After running away from Knox a couple of hours ago, and going to her quarters to cry her eyes out, she’d realized she had to do one last thing on his behalf. She didn’t want the boys to kill him. Motherfucker that he was, he really didn’t deserve to die. Maybe, have his ass beat. By her. But even that wasn’t worth it. She was just too hurt to muster up the strength to kick his cock in.
As she’d rushed upstairs, Meggie had yelled to her, “Christopher had another nightmare.”
“Okay, sugar, I got this. Just take care of the kids.”
