Page 62 of Misrule
“Motherfucker still a rodent, huh, ‘Law?”
“Yeah, boy, motherfucker is.”
“MegAnn was telling Aunt Bunny that you said that and she couldn’t stop laughing. Her sayI just love Christopher so much, but I had to point out that Mickey is a mouse so he wouldn’t call him a little fucking rat in front of the kids. That’s what her say, ‘Law.”
Before Christopher responded, his burner phone beeped—the one whose number he’d given the Riser chick—so he took it out of his cut, discovering a message from Emily. He clicked it open and saw her in a dress that managed to reveal her curves while still being high-class. She worked fast. He’d left her at the diner just about three hours ago.
CJ grabbed his arm, tugging on it to see the cell phone. “What MegAnn say?”
Evading CJ’s grasp, Christopher shoved the phone back into his cut. “This not your ma.”
At another beep, CJ gave him a curious look, but Christopher decided not to even bother with the phone.
By the time, the sixth notification came through, he knew he had to respond. “Give me a few fuckin’ minutes. This business. I gotta answer.”
“I going on the swing.”
“I ain’t gonna be long,” Christopher promised, not protesting his son’s announcement because the swing was just up ahead, within a few feet of where they stood.
“You got to push me, ‘Law.”
“Okay,” he responded, distracted, opening each of Emily’s texts to see her in a new outfit, including a negligee that revealed more than it covered.
You the fuck out your mind texting my ass?
He couldn’t believe this bitch was sending him these types of photos. He gave her money to purchase outfits. He had never asked to see the motherfuckers on her. If Megan had been home this evening, they would’ve been in each other’s company and there was no fucking way Christopher could’ve explained this shit.
Of course, he wished she was fucking home. She wouldn’t be out on a playdate with the old lady of one of his support club presidents and their kids. Alone. Without fucking escort. She would’ve been here and safe. For some fucking reason, she thought the drastic fucking action of taking their little motherfuckers with them would help her through her trauma. CJ hadn’t wanted to go—and neither had Christopher—so him and his boy stayed home for a playdate of their own.
The phone beeped again.
I want to make sure they meet with your approval.
Her text response came within a few minutes, as if she expected his immediate response. It annoyed the fuck out of him that he’d fallen right the fuck into her trap.
Ain’t gotta meet with my fucking approval, Emily. It gotta be what the fuck Johnnie like.
You hired me to do a certain job and gave me the money to buy these clothes.
Yeah, well, he couldn’t fucking dispute that.
You’re my boss, Outlaw.
As your fucking boss, I’m telling you don’t hit me up on my goddamn phone like you got a fucking right. If my woman had been with me, I wouldna been able to explain this shit.
You either want me to steal Johnnie away from Kendall or you want to spare your wife’s feelings.
Sparing Megan’s feelings meant allowing Kendall to live.
“’LAW!”CJ yelled, impatience clear in his tone.
Christopher glanced at his boy, who sat on the swing, his dangling legs not long enough to touch the ground. He suddenly felt lower than a motherfucker, dealing with this Emily bitch behind Megan’s back. No reason he’d give would be sufficient enough to appease her sense of betrayal if she ever discovered this.
I’m a very good listener. Why don’t you come to my house and let me model the clothes for you in person, while I lend you my ear.
Fuck you. Fuck no. Fuck off. My woman my best fucking friend. Don’t need you for a motherfucking thing.
Really? You need me to help you with Kendall.
