Page 196 of Ruptured
Fuck,maybe. He’d go to Outlaw as soon as he returned.
The priest’s phone started ringing. Walking to where it lay forgotten amongst the covers on the rumpled bed, Easton picked it up. The picture of a girl with blue hair flashed across the screen with the name ‘Freya’. His daughter was pretty. He’d definitely do her.
Easton declined the call.
“I needed to take that,” the priest said frantically. “There’s an urgent matter—”
“About Rule in LA, I assume?” He hated that the kid had jumped out the window and broken his leg, but he’d seized upon the opportunity once he heard the recorded conversation. “Which is where you will go shortly.”
The priest’s shoulders sagged in relief. Suddenly, Easton knew what he had to do. Maybe Father Wilkins really didn’t have the will. If he did, it probably wasn’t in the rectory. Bash would realize that, too. But torching the place hopefully slowed shit down until after Easton’s trip return from Salt Lake City.
Hopefully, he’d discover he was blowing shit out of proportion and his goddamn imagination was running wild. Mom always said he was a creative child with an overactive mind.
He picked up his gun and waved it toward the closet. “Take as many clothes as you’d like. Mementos. Whatever you can fit in your luggage. Later today, when you’re already in LA, this place goes up in smoke.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Does it matter? You want to be with Rule, anyway. Misplaced guilt? I just can’t figure out if it’s because you couldn’t help Joe Foy or you couldn’t raise your children.”
“My reasons are my own.”
Easton nodded. “Same, Marion.”
“I suppose this conversation stays between us?”
“Doyouwant anyone else to know?”
The priest released a heavy breath. “I wondered if I shouldn’t just confess all to Outlaw.”
“See to Rule for the time being,” Easton advised. “Wait until I contact you again before you make such a life-threatening decision.”
Defeated, the priest nodded and began gathering what he could.
Twenty minutes later, Father Wilkins threw two designer suitcases in the back of his Escalade, then opened the driver’s side door.
“Marion?” Easton called. “I’m helping you. Saving your life. At least fucking tell me if Meggie owns the fucking club.”
“I never read the documents Joe left with me, but I see no other reason everyone is after her.” The priest smiled thinly. “I only hope it isn’t too late to save her.”
“You could’ve given it to Outlaw.”
“And I could die, sir, which I have no interest in doing. The world would be lost without me.”
Lifting his chin, the priest got into the SUV and sped away.
Arriving at the hospital to take his wife and daughter home lifted a weight off Christopher’s shoulders. For now, he felt it safe enough for them to be outside the secure walls of Hortensia General. After he listened to the video again, though he’d had the screen turned the fuck away, he realized Megan didn’t own the club. Besides, his woman wanted to come home, so Christopher relented.
The anger he’d carried inside him for days burst, and he regretted the whiny, insecure motherfucker he’d been.
He still didn’t agree with Kaia and Bishop working in their house, but he’d let it go for now. After all, his woman had used his motherfuckery to outwit him. That made Christopher so fucking proud.
Once Christopher killed the engine to Megan’s Lexus, he got out of the SUV and went around the the passenger side. WhileMort, Digger, Val, and Stretch parked their rides, Christopher got Megan’s big bouquet of flowers.
He intended to beg her forgiveness, and hoped the flowers broke the ice, expressing his happiness, relief, and gratitude.
“Prez, you been hitting Aunt Mary?” Digger asked, guffawing. “You smile any wider while you staring at those flowers and I might have to ask if you need a private room.”
Christopher flipped off his Sergeant-at-Arms. “I’m just thinkin’ about my girl.”
