Page 166 of Misrule
She’d forgotten to do so. “Fuck no!” she shouted. “What the fuck am I canceling my dress for? You want me to walk down the goddamn aisle in my altogether?”
Mortician grinned. “Knox haven’t chose his tux,” he said, not answering her. “He might see something he like in the magazine.”
“Yes, the fuck he did. Him and his daddy went to their haberdasher.”
The dilapidated condition of Knox’s face gave his smirk a scary edge. “Don’t worry, love. I think his suggestion is a fabulous idea. I still have time to change my mind.”
“I don’t,” she snapped. This motherfucker wanted to play games. “I have breakfast to cook, so fuck off both of you.”
“I got time,” Mortician told her. “Cook whatever. I got to wait for Outlaw. We got business to see to, and he meeting me here in an hour or so.” His grin came again, cool and all-knowing, meant to test her honesty. Failure meant death.
Knox’sdeath.
Bristling, Roxy threw a filthy glare at Knox, hoping he understood she was calling him a few different motherfuckers under her breath. The satisfaction in his eyes irked her.
Joke’s on you, motherfucker.
She wouldn’t say a goddamn thing to either motherfucker. Sometimes, silence proved the most effective.
Roxy marched to the other side of the butcher block table, snatched the top magazine and flipped through it.
“Shouldn’t you be standing next to Knox to help him look for a tux?”
Roxy tightened her lips, but didn’t respond to Mortician. Knox walked over to her, bent and brushed his lips across hers.
“He’s right, my love. You know I value your opinion.”
“More than you value your dick, huh, sugar?” Roxy returned, a smile pasted on her mouth.
Knox slinked away from her.
“Why the attitude, Momma-in-law? I don’t see a problem with this little task if—”
“Kiss my motherfucking ass, boy,” Roxy shouted. “You know fucking well I’m busy in the goddamn morning, yet you bring your suspicious ass around, playing these fucking games.”
Mortician glowered at Knox, then met her eyes. “We got all the tools laid out. Woodchipper all ready. All we missing is a body.”
Roxy drew herself up, determined not to show how much Mortician’s words frightened her. “You calling me a fucking liar?”
Mortician shifted at the outrage in her tone. “No, man,” he grouched. “I know better than to do that.”
“You just implied it,” Knox said with heavy sarcasm.
She had to let Knox’s interference pass without comment. He was doing his usual—inserting his comments.
“I’m looking through this one magazine for now, Mortician.” Just to appease him. Knox was on Mortician’s bad side. He needed only the smallest excuse to bury him.
Mortician looked from her to Knox. “The way you and Knox acting not a way two lovebirds should communicate.”
“One lovebird about to crack you in your fucking mouth, Mortician,” she retorted.
He smirked at her. Scowling, Roxy refocused on the magazine and turned the pages. After a moment, she came to a wedding dress that resembled the one she’d placed the deposit on. It was floor-length with an appliques V-neck bodice, perfect for her, and the complete opposite of Bailey’s, who would look like a modern-day Cinderella with the ball gown style she’d chosen.
Swallowing, she rubbed her finger across the page. With determination, she held back the tears threatening to fall. All along it had been a pipe dream. Why had she ever believed Knox really wanted to marry her, when her own son was ashamed of her?
Mortician leaned over the side of her shoulder. “You prefer that dress?”
This motherfucker wasn’t going to fucking quit.
