Page 180 of Misrule
“Meggie girl okay?” Mort flicked his cigarette into the gulley close to them. He nodded toward the landing that lead to Joyner’s motel room.
Christopher dragged and released smoke again. “She still got rough nights,” he responded. “Me, too. Mystic, the motherfucker, did more fuckin’ harm than he fuckin’ know.“
“Snake took her and you. She didn’t seem no worse for wear.”
“I wasn’t neither. Even though that motherfucker buried me the fuck alive. We both different now, Mort.”
“Wealldifferent, Prez.”
Christopher nodded. “Before I knew Megan was alive, I really didn’t give a fuck what the fuck Snake did. I’d lost Ma. Bitsy, Fee, and the rest of my sisters, hated me.” He didn’t like to bring up his other three sisters. Thoughts of them reminded him they’d been killed. They were gone. Focusing on them wouldn’t bring them back, so he shrugged, and got back to their conversation. “When they dug me the fuck up and I heard Megan, I had something to fight for.”
A cool breeze fluttered the low-hanging branches of the trees they lounged under. They were across the highway from the run-down motel that was surrounded by a shabby gas station, a greasy burger joint, a ramshackle bar, rutted roads and deep gullies.
It surprised him to feel so out-of-place, when at one time he would’ve fit in like a skintight glove. Not because he was a biker, but because of how he’d seen himself. His biker life had introduced him to worlds beyond his imagination. Society had it so wrong about the one percenters, but fuck them. That was their problem, not his.
He knew no other life but this one. Since Megan had come into his life, though, he enjoyed more comforts, and didn’t rough it as much. In times like this, when he went on runs and out-of-town business without his girl, he still did. Inadvertently, he’d gotten used to having a home and a family.
For some reason, the realization made him think of Johnnie. He’d pleaded for Kendall’s life with a desperation that haunted Christopher. Under other circumstances, Johnnie’s state would’ve moved Christopher and made him back off. If not for Johnnie’s sake, then thoughts of Megan’s wrath, or disappointment in him, would’ve calmed his rage.
Nothing helped. Not thoughts of Johnnie’s devastation if something happened to Kendall. And, not, the idea of losing the most important thing in his life. Deep down, he hoped Megan would give him a pass. Even when she’d demanded his promise in the forest, he’d skirted around it. She hadn’t pressed him or thrown in his face that he’d already sworn not to hurt Kendall because Megan had insisted he put psycho cunt on the No-Kill list.
Megan had to understand his reasons. But he was doing something he never did…fuck…rarelydid…lying to her. About Emily and about all the “rewards” he’d given Kendall for confessing she might know Megan’s location.
He wanted to, at least, tell Megan about Emily, so she didn’t get falsi-fuckin-fied information. Inevitably, that would lead to him telling Megan his plans for Kendall. She might be so fucking disgusted by him and fed the fuck up that she left.
Still, he just went full the fuck speed ahead, as if he’d have no consequences. Just as his grandfather would’ve done. He hated Kendall so fucking much. Yet, if he destroyed what he had with his Megan, that cunt would fucking win any-fucking-way. What the fuck should he do? What the fuck could he do?
Shooting Johnnie hadn’t stopped Kendall. She’d still fucked with CJ. And Megan. Christopher believed only Kendall’s own death would stop her.
Or, maybe, he could have her locked the fuck away in another fucking psycho camp. Just have her snatched the fuck up, held in a cage with a key that, un-fucking-fortunately, was somehow lost. Thrown from a fucking cliff, into the ocean. Dropped in a fucking Louisiana swamp, where an alligator could swallow it.
The image of droppingKendallin either of those places rose in Christopher’s head, giving him a greater sense of satisfaction than doing the same to a fucking key. A missing key was easy to rectify. A dead bitch could never be brought back to life to harm Megan or CJ or Johnnie or Rory, ever again.
Still, Kendall was fucking family. Until Johnnie divorced her. If Knox was fucking off-limits with a phony fucking engagement, then Kendall being married to Johnnie had the same benefit. Unless he was turning into his grandfather. Logan Donovan had killed his own fucking son, a motherfucker he’d supposedly loved. Yeah, Christopher had fucked up his old man, but he’d never considered CeeCee his family.
It would’ve made more sense if Logan had killed Christopher. He’d been his grandfather’s most hated object. The motherfucker had never seen people. Just objects, family or not. To play with. To use.
To destroy.
Christopher was doing to Kendall, and by extension Johnnie, what Logan had done to him.
“Mort.” Christopher flicked away his cigarette. “You think my ass turnin’ to Logan?”
“Lowman?” Mortician’s eyes widened. “What the fuck make you think that shit, Outlaw? Not even Satan could turn into that motherfucker.”
“I don’t fuckin’ know, Mort,” he said. “Ain’t I fuckin’ around with Johnnie life? I just been fuckin’ thinkin’. Know how I fuckin’ know this some Logan-type bullshit? Cuz of the fuckin’ shame my ass feelin’. In my fuckin’ head, even my Megan would fuckin’ change her opinion of my ass.” He rubbed his eyes, tired.
He hadn’t gotten much rest last night, missing Megan and worried that Johnnie would go on a fucking killing spree.
Christopher and Mort had still been in Hortensia, buying shit to take on the road with them, gassing their bikes, and mapping out the best routes, when Knox called in a panic because Johnnie had demanded Emily’s address and was headed to her house.
Christopher had already had a lot on his mind because he’d told Megan he had a run to make. He hadn’t mentioned that it involved guns since that had gottenhisass scooped up the last time he fucked with weapons. Until he figured out what he intended to do, he didn’t want to unnecessarily worry her. He’d had one long conversation with Joyner. One particular fucking thing had set off alarms in Christopher. When Amfinger said he’d been born in New Orleans.
Christopher had found it odd, since Roxanne was from New Orleans, too. Of course, a lot of motherfuckers lived there and had been born in the city. But with her boy acting like he didn’t like his bones in one piece, Christopher had wondered if Amfinger needed to become Aintfinger.
Riley had checked out Duke and Creighton, his father. No connection had been made between the three of them, so, maybe, it was just coincidence, and he’d grown into a paranoid motherfucker. He’d think on this shit later. Right now, Johnnie’s begging for Kendall’s life still fucked with him.
“Ain’t I makin’ the choice for Johnnie? A motherfucker do that shit to me, and I woulda killed them. Yet, look at my fuckin’ ass.”
