Chapter 33 – Christopher
Kendall wasn’t in any shape to present the terms of the peace agreement to the members as well as Bash and the Scorpions, invited for that purpose, but frisked and checked with metal detectors.
Wherever the fuck Mortician and Johnnie had gotten off to, both those motherfuckers walked in within fifteen minutes of each other.
Christopher wouldn’t ask questions now. Nor would he fault their equally surprised expressions. As Val pointed out earlier, nothing had been on the calendar for the week. Even Church was postponed for tomorrow because of the DNA tests.
“I didn’t know we had a meeting planned, Prez,” Mort said, walking to the podium where Christopher stood, looking over his notes, two hours after that fucked-up scene at Kendall’s office.
He was just happy he’d been nearby.
Val and Stretch were setting up the equipment to bring in other chapter presidents and whatever members were in the clubhouse.
“I wouldn’t have left.”
“You could’ve given me a little advance notice, Christopher,” Johnnie said, stopping on his opposite side.
Christopher glanced from Mortician to Johnnie. Mort looked tired and drawn. Johnnie looked like a smug fucking asshole. Wherever Mort went without cluing Christopher in could be excused. He still fucking hated Johnnie and glowered at him.
Johnnie scowled but turned and stomped to the table. Someone had wheeled Cash and Digger to their places. Val and Stretch finished with the video equipment, walked to the table, and sat down.
Fucking ‘A’. The sooner the meeting began, the sooner he could get the fuck.
Bash was oddly subdued. Cleaner was swiveling his head in all goddamn directions, a nosy motherfucker who needed his fucking eyes plucked out.
Tio was still using crutches while the roughly twenty other motherfuckers either glared at Christopher and his brothers or looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.
That made a bunch of motherfuckers. However, this was a loose end that needed tying up before Bash headed back to Salt Lake City.
Why that motherfucker decided to wait until two goddamn days before he left to tell Christopher, he didn’t know.
Howfuckinever, that would be one less issue to worry about.
Christopher glanced at the clock, wondering where the fuck Diesel was. He told Christopher he had everything handled. His tardiness suggested otherwise.
“Hey, Outlaw?” Cleaner called, his taunting tone working on Christopher’s ass.
Instead of using his fucking air to answer a motherfucker he hated, he lifted his brow.
“We’d like a tour of the clubhouse.”
Christopher lit a cigarette, took a few drags to calm his fucking temper, and released the smoke, glowering at Cleaner.
Cleaner smiled. “Just saying.”
“Why don’t you fucking unsay it, bruh?” Digger gritted. “None of us in the mood for dumb shit. We here to see this through.”
“Outlaw?” a voice from one of the monitors called.
Chip, if Christopher guessed right. He refused to turn, because fuck him, too. Thanks to Kendall, a war had been averted, but 50.8% of these fuckheads intended to force Christopher to yield to Bash and the American Scorpions.
“Where are the cunts?” Bash asked. “I need my cock sucked. I’ve been wanting to meet those Bob sluts.”
“You ain’t,” Christopher said flatly. “I don’t trust your motherfuckin’ ass not to fuck up one of our girls.”
“In the spirit of the peace agreement you should call the broads—” one of the motherfuckers tuned in via the video feed began.
“I’d try my best not to kill one of your cunts,” Bash said, interrupting whichever of Johnnie’s fuckheads had spoken.
He shrugged. “For peace, since it meant so much to Daddy. But most cunts are expendable. I can’t believe you’d get pissed if I slit the throat or shot one of those sluts. You’d get more.”
The absolute silence and the horror on the faces of the Dwellers who’d sided with Johnnie spoke fucking volumes.
Those fuckheads were realizing Christopher hadn’t been fucking overstating the danger to Megan.
Again, Kendall saved the day, but it was left up to Christopher to keep this motherfucker in line.
“Fuck bitches,” Tio interjected, banging a crutch on the floor.
“Yeah!” the Scorpions chorused.
“We don’t hold many bitches in high regards,” Bash explained. “My little sister. Kendall. And Hopper.”
“What about the rest of our women?” another motherfucker in the virtual audience called. “What about Prez’s woman?”
“We’re at peace,” Bash said easily. “We won’t hurt your cunts, but all other sluts in the world are at our fucking mercy.”
“I’d kill any fucking cunt who refused to fuck me,” Cleaner declared. “I don’t give a fuck who it is.”
“You should,” Cash McCall said, looking and sounding like a yellow-bellied, lily-livered, horrified assfuck who’d just been introduced to the fucking world. “We don’t force women. And we especially protect our women.”
Cleaner laughed and smirked at Christopher. “That’s not what the fuck I heard.”
Finishing his cigarette, Christopher lowered his eyelids before he lost his fucking shit.
Mortician stepped closer to Christopher. “My fucking half-brother, huh?”
“A fuckhead just like motherfucking Sharper,” Christopher responded.
“My nerves fucking shot, Prez. I don’t know how much of this I can fucking take.”
“Where you been?”
A muscle ticked in Mort’s jaw and he glanced away. “Trying to save my marriage.”
Mort’s tortured voice told Christopher how well that worked out.
“Take as much time as you need, Mort.”
“Only if Bailey find her fucking mind because she lost that motherfucker somewhere along the way.”
“Let me know how I can help.”
Subdued, Mort nodded. “I will.”
The restlessness of the motherfuckers in the room and on the screen prompted Christopher to call Diesel, but it went straight to voicemail.
Christopher leaned into the microphone. “Bishop?” he called, crooking his finger at the motherfucker.
Bishop stood and started forward, but the opening door halted him.
Diesel walked in, along with Kendall and Brooks, so Christopher held up his hand and halted Bishop. Brooks looked on the verge of fucking tears, which didn’t fucking bode well.
“If it isn’t the fainting pussy,” Cleaner said as Brooks stumbled toward the podium. “And Johnnie’s wife.”
Bash glanced over his shoulder and did a doubletake. When Kendall’s arrival dawned on him, he straightened and smiled broadly.
“Gorgeous!”
“What the fuck are you doing here, Kendall?” Johnnie demanded, drawing attention to her more than Bash’s pleased greeting did.
Ignoring Johnnie, Kendall halted next to Bash as he got to his feet and hugged her. He whispered something to her and she smiled, then kissed his cheek and sailed toward Christopher, wrapped in a mantle of cool dignity.
Diesel paused next to Christopher, his back to everyone. “We have a situation, Uncle Christopher,” he whispered.
“Got anything to do with why the fuck Brooks here?”
“Yes, sir.”
Fuck.
Christopher hadn’t expected Kendall after she’d been so distraught that he hadn’t even told her about the fucking meeting. But she’d drafted the contracts, so he was happy to see her. Brooks, though?
He was a fainting pussy, who would hamper what needed to be done.
Kendall set her briefcase on the buffet table, most recently used for Diesel’s gifts. Brooks was standing next to her, talking frantically. Obviously, he was upsetting her.
“Get Brooks the fuck away from her, Diesel,” Christopher instructed.
Diesel nodded, calmly walked to Brooks and snatched him by his collar, dragging him away from Kendall. Mort saw, ordered Bowlie to his feet and grabbed the chair. Once he placed it in front of the podium, Diesel shoved Brooks down.
A sob escaped Brooks.
“If you make one motherfuckin’ sound, Ima choke the fuck outta you,” Christopher said.
“I can always shoot him, Prez,” Mort said, revealing his holstered gun.
“I don’t care about Brooks,” Bash said. “I want to know what’s wrong with Kendall.”
“My question, too,” Johnnie said, always and forever a braindead fuckhead.
“You sure about that?” Val asked, frowning. “You see the woman upset and you not even getting up to check on her.”
“It’s Charlotte,” Diesel told Christopher. “And it’s fucking bad.”
“She told you while you were bringin’ her home?”
“No. Brooks showed his miserable fucking ass up at her house while I was there convincing her to come to the clubhouse,” Diesel responded.
“Is it delay-this-goddamn-meetin-bad, shoot-the-fuck-outta-Brooks-bad, or it-can-hold-off-for-thirty-fuckin-minutes-bad?”
“It’s we need to fucking kill Charlotte bad,” Diesel said flatly. He didn’t even know about that bitch’s visit to Bash’s clubhouse.
“We also need to talk to Johnnie.”
Christopher scowled. “So it’s I need to fuck up that cunt myself if I got to willingly talk to Johnnie.”
Kendall walked to the podium and smiled, her mask firmly in place, but her eyes spoke volumes. Not only had she been crying, but whatever Charlotte said or did affected her mental state.
“I’m ready,” she said brightly.
Mort lifted a brow. “Red, you okay?”
“Fine.”
That one word was sharp, abrupt, and so unlike how she talked to Mortician.
“Kendall?” Johnnie asked, suddenly there too, right fucking next to Christopher. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
Her lower lip trembled.
“I’m so sorry,” Brooks sobbed. “Charlotte didn’t—”
“This isn’t the time or the place,” Kendall started briskly.
“It’s exactly the fucking time and place,” Bash began, his jingling spurs revealing that he was moving toward the podium.
“I’m here to oversee the peace agreement,” she said, sweeping them all with a glare. “I’m not here to reveal my business to motherfuckers who won’t give a fuck. Let’s get to the signing.”
“Only if you tell me what’s going on after,” Bash told her.
“Fine,” Kendall said.
Her answer appeased Bash, though Johnnie gasped.
“Kendall, my dear—”