Page 132 of Remorseless
He wasn’t touching that. Once, Megan had advocated against cruelty of any type. Now, he wasn’t sure what to expect. “At least a fuckin’ elephant clock would have numbers. The motherfucker on the wall barely a goddamn clock. It got the hour hand, the shorthand, and four fuckin’ lil’ bars to indicate the fuckin’ numbers three, six, nine, and twelve. If my ass was a stupid motherfucker, I woulda been lost and never know what fuckin’ time it is.”
Giggling, she twisted around to face him, lifted her head, and stole a kiss before settling in the crook of his arm. “Lucky for us, you’re very smart.”
He caressed her cheek. “If I was a stupid motherfucker, I woulda let you walk the fuck away and missed the best fuckin’ years of my life.” Sliding down, he touched her nose with his own and stared into her eyes. “But I probably woulda got fucked up years ago cuz I wouldna gave a fuckin’ fuck.”
She tilted her head and pressed her lips against his. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly. “What’s on your mind?”
Turning, he laid on his back and pulled her back into the crook of his arms. “Something woke me the fuck up, baby,” he admitted. “I thought it was the fuckin’ storm.” He wouldn’t mention her hair. He didn’t want her to worry about the lethalness of her mane. She might chop it the fuck off again. “But…”
“But…?” she asked when he didn’t add anything.
He stared at the ceiling. “I ain’t fuckin’ sure. Something eatin’ at my fuckin’ ass. Something just ain’t seemin’ fuckin’ right, Megan. I feel so fuckin’ uneasy.”
She sighedand adjusted herself so that her head laid on his chest. “It’s the kids, Christopher.”
Perhaps, but he hadn’t specifically dreamed about any of his lil’ motherfuckers. Of course, shit was fucking upside down thanks to Harley’sandBailey’s fucked up behavior. Then, there was Diesel. He was a grown motherfucker, but he didn’t drop his wife off and disappear for the entirety of the weekly gatherings for nothing. No one liked that cunt. So what the fuck was up with him?
Finally, there was his Megan. Some years ago, they’d made an agreement that she could fight her own battles. He didn’t need to intercede for every small infraction. Agreement came easy enough because she’d still beenher. He allowed her one or two rounds with motherfuckers, then fixed shit behind the scenes.
Fuck with Megan again and you die.Christopher kept his warning simple but concise with the added caveat of,tell Megan I interfered and you die painfully.Nothing too dramatic.
More than anything, though, the danger she was in concerned him. Instinct told him the situation was dire. Yet, no one could find a fucking thing. Not Riley, their private investigator and Bunny’s old man. Not Stretch, who was deep diving the dark web, combing their signals for intercepts, using sophisticated software, and constantly searching for wiretaps and even fucking bombs.
A bomb ordered by Christopher wiped out the Scorpions’ original mother chapter. It made sense if Bash used the same tactic.
Riley and Stretch turned up nothing. Neither had Kendall. Or Derby. Boy. Dez. Brooks, who was on death watch. If he fucked up again, he’d die.
Nor hadChristopherfound anything. They’d uncovered more about Easton than Bash. That motherfucker must be on somebody’s radar. More than a few Dwellers were arrested for one crime oranother.Christopherhad been arrested. He had a papertrail and a digital footprint. An arrest record. Property deeds. Traceable shit. With Bash?
Not a motherfucking thing. It just wasn’t adding up.
What the fuck was Bash’s game? Why had he led Johnnie and Brooks to believe Megan, Kendall, and Mattie were in danger?
Christopher stared at the ceiling. Blinked. Thinking of Jo. Thinking of Megan pregnant. Shocked at his regret that his go-to method of safeguarding his girl—filling her with his kid—wasn’t an option.
He needed to talk to Doc Will himself and plan accordingly. Ordering Megan to stay on club grounds, especially when his core group was so fractured, might not go over well with her. Without hard proof that she was in danger, it would seem so fucked up that she would be theonlylittle motherfucker on lockdown. Bailey had gone fucking insane, driven there by Harley. Mort would stand with Christopher, but his wife wouldn’t.
Zoann had carried her and Megan’s home healthcare business for the past two and a half months while Megan recovered. Megan didn’t visit clients but she took care of all business matters. Sometimes, that took her off club grounds. Val would stand with Christopher but would offer no help with Zoann. What she wanted, she got. What she said, went. Same with Knox and Roxanne.
Bunny listened to Digger. He was just a lucky motherfucker.
Ophelia followed Cash’s instructions, and that motherfucker was completely aligned with Johnnie.
What about their little motherfuckers? If he ordered Megan to stay home, he’d have to decide what to do with the kids.
Kids…right.
He remembered Megan’s statement. “Yeah, baby, I guess that’s it,” he agreed.
“As soon as the ball is over, we need to sit down and come up with a budget and a theme for Rebel’s Sweet Sixteen.”
Christopher squinted. “I know my head fucked up, but ain’t we skippin’ a fuckin’ year?”
She laughed. “We aren’t skipping a year, silly. I was thinking about a low key birthday for this year, since we’re spending so much money next year.”
They were? “We are?”
“Of course.”
