Page 60 of Misrule
“If I consent to do business with the Whittlestones, it’ll make you think you’re in charge,” Knox spat to Mortician, taking up the conversation where they’d left off.
“In case you didn’t realize, Iamin charge.”
“The hell you are. I might not be able to get around your living arrangement rule—yet,” he added with supreme smugness. “But that’s the only other thing you’re getting over on me with. You’ve already muscled your way into my wedding to Roxanne.” He shrugged. “I understand. You want a big wedding and I can pay for it legitimately.”
Mortician cocked his head to the side, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Bailey being here your first saving grace. Grant your second,” he said coldly. He nodded to Mr. Whittlestone. “Him and his woman your third. Don’t need to fuck up their shop with your blood, brains, and bone.” He got to his feet. “As I said, you don’t know shit about me. If you had really investigated me…”
His voice trailed off, so Knox seized the opportunity to continue. “What would I have found? A rap sheet a mile long? Records of foster homes? Some sob story that explains why you turned into a criminal who marks up his body and carries more guns than a cop? Tell me what would I have found? I didn’t need to investigate you. I wanted Outlaw. Once he fell, the rest of you would, too. You don’t know what power is. You have it through force. I have it throughmoney. Legitimate business that is the hallmark of the Harrington family. I am my father’s sole heir. Being around all of you has made me realize what it means to have true wealth. True power. And I revel in it. I thank God that I was born with the world at my feet, not in a gutter that turned me into trash.”
Grant’s eyes widened, and Knox realized the vitriol he was throwing Mortician’s way. Fury tightened the enforcer’s features, darkened his eyes. He looked ready to kill Knox.
Instead, he nudged Grant’s shoulder. “Tell your old man not to be so uptight and nervous. He might not lose his temper.”
Grant gave Knox an uncomfortable look, then turned back to Mortician. “You’re not mad? Dad doesn’t mean what he says. He gets like that when he’s stressed.”
“I’m pissed like a motherfucker, Grant,” Mortician said. “But I’ll let it go,this time, if you promise me two things.”
“Okay, Mort.”
“First, teach your old man to be more down-to-earth. His current attitude has a high chance of getting his teeth pried out, one-by-one, with a butcher knife.”
Mortician glared at Knox. Still angry, Knox glowered right back.
“Next, have your phone out to take pictures of the moment Roxanne finds out Knox didn’t get measured. I want to preserve that shit for prosperity.” He held out his hand. “Deal, little dude?”
“Deal, Mort,” Grant said happily, shaking the hand Mortician offered him to seal the deal and ignoring Knox when he sat down heavily in the closest chair.
Mortician was right. Roxanne was going to be furious. It would play right in her fears and superstitions. He swallowed.
“Grant, I think you might be right. Why don’t you let Mr. Whittlestone measure you?”
“Oh boy! Really? I’ll be able to dress with CJ and the others.”
Knox nodded.
Shaking his head, Mortician looked at Mr. Whittlestone, who’d been standing silently by. “I’ll be back in a few days with my brothers for their fittings. By then, we’ll definitely know what the fuck we wearing.”
“Thank you.” The old man smiled. “You don’t know what this means to us.”
Mortician shrugged. “Boy and his woman slayed in their wedding shit. He referred me.”
“Danicka is our daughter,” Mr. Whittlestone announced.
“Who?” Knox asked.
“That’s Boy’s old lady, Dad,” Grant informed him. “He’s the president of the Night Fliers. One of Outlaw’s support clubs.”
“Who told you this?” Knox demanded.
“Nobody—”
“No one,” Knox corrected.
“I went with Mort and Bailey one time when they had to stop in.”
“You took my kid on club business?”
“I took your kid on personal business at a club house,” Mortician stated without humor.
