Page 152 of Remorseless
Mort rolled his eyes and pointed to the cigarette. “Put that motherfucker out…Wait!”
But it was too late. His brother threw the cigarette to the floor and stomped it with his boot.
“We got special fucking smoking areas,” Mort said in frustration.
“I’m not near none,” Digger protested. He snapped his fingers. “Bunny, pick that up for your man.”
“Pick it up yourself,” Bunny retorted, and guided Mattie and Rebel away.
“That will not get you dick, girl,” Digger called.
“Promises,” she shot back.
“Bitches, man.” Digger turned to a Probate. “Go to the shitter and get me some TP or paper towels, then clean this up for me.”
“You got it,” the kid said and ran to do Digger’s bidding.
“Why you not with Prez again?” Mort demanded.
Digger’s eyes widened in surprise. “I wanted to check on the kid, Mort. I stayed to help you.”
“Then fucking help me. Riling your woman up not helping one fucking bit.”
“Mywoman? Bunny a saint compared to the bullshit Bailey handed down. If she trying to come between you and Prez, she going to succeed if she keep that up.”
Mort was aware. He had no excuse for her behavior.
She was making everything worse. Mort should never have summoned Harley. The moment Bailey saw her, she must’ve imagined receiving news that Harley was near death.
Only, Mort couldn’t deal with either of them right now, so he did the best thing for all concerned. He returned to the waiting room and ordered his wife and daughter to leave. Whatever fallout came from that decree, he’d worryabout later.
After CJ opened his eyes and Mort knew for certain that the kid was okay.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sitting in his office, Christopher flipped through the photos on his phone. Mostly of CJ instead of his usual obsessing over Megan, especially around her birthday.
After bombings destroyed his house in Long Beach and the first house he’d built for Megan, Christopher made sure to have digital copies of all photos. Back then, he’d still adhered to old school physical albums. If it hadn’t been for Megan, they would’ve lost more photos than they had.
Megan. His heart, his soul, and his world.
Megan, whose own heart was broken and her world shattered because she’d almost lost CJ.
Pressing his lips together, Christopher minimized the photo and created an array of thumbnails. He scrolled to the top and opened the image of CJ as a newborn.
Afterreviewing the footage of last night and smoking out two of those cunts with Johnnie’s help, Christopher brought them to the meatshack—still alive—tied them the fuck up and called emergency church.
Now, it was late afternoon, and the long shadows of dusk was settling in. He intended to return to the hospital to check on his wife and his children, then ride out again to find every last motherfucker responsible for CJ’s current state.
He stared at the photo of his boy, just hours old with a headful of black hair. Christopher slid through the myriad photos of the first year of CJ’s life. The second year. The third, fourth, and fifth. He grew more into Christopher’s image as time went on. As much as he loved all his kids, it was CJ who was the fucking best of him.CJwho was smart, fair-minded, loyal, and kind. He was the best son any man could ever ask for.
Christopher couldn’t remember if he’d ever told his boy that. His son could’ve died…
Fuck. Nope. He wasn’t a motherfucker to dwell on whatcould’vehappened. CJ was alive. That was all that mattered.
Until his boy opened his eyes and spoke, Christopher wouldn’t trust the doctor’s outlook of a full recovery. He’d seen motherfuckers who overdosed left with irreparable brain damage. Others suffered lifelong cardiac and respiratory disabilities. And yet a lucky few woke the fuck up and carried on as if nothing happened.
A knock came on his door. Swallowing, Christopher lifted his head. He hated to close the photos even as he couldn’t bear to look at recent images of CJ.
