Chapter Forty-Three #2
Back in the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and studied the food.
An unexpired gallon of milk, three quarters empty, sat on the top shelf.
There was beer, margarine, sandwich meat, mayo, eggs, bacon, cheese, blueberry jam, lettuce, tomatoes, ground beef, and onions.
It looked like motherfuckers had either left suddenly or were out temporarily and would soon return.
A bread box containing half a loaf of white bread sat next to four unripe bananas and pinned a stack of documents in place.
Christopher grabbed the first two papers and saw a utility bill addressed to Wally Bart, Jr., and a furniture bill for Eliza Bart .
He didn’t know who that bitch was, but he sure the fuck knew that assfuck. Christopher had been right. The Byrd brothers were actually Barts. Rack’s grandsons.
Folding up the bills, Christopher shoved them into his pocket. As he turned to get out of that shit pit, his elbow hit the documents and they flew to the floor. He would’ve stepped on those motherfuckers, but he noticed photographs scattered on the ground.
Scowling, he bent and scooped up the little stack. He looked at one, then another, and another. On and on. Each photo made him angrier and angrier, until he was pretty fucking sure steam was coming out of his goddamn ears.
A bitch who was at least his fucking age was fucking Ryan.
Sitting on his face. Sucking his cock. It wouldn’t have been a problem.
When Christopher was Ryan’s age, he’d fucked older chicks too.
But he’d wanted to do it. Ryan was tied up, clearly in distress in some of the photos, and in tears in others.
Yeah, it fucking mattered that Christopher had proof of Ryan cavorting with the enemy. In the bigger picture. In the scheme of things, though, that shit was unimportant.
It didn’t matter compared to his nephew’s violation. All he knew was: that bitch was dead .
“Outlaw?” Val called, opening the door and walking in. He stopped and frowned, then squeezed his nose. “What the fuck?”
Christopher made a quick decision and shoved the pictures into the pocket of his cut just as he had the utility bill and furniture bill. Val had a lot of unresolved issues about his own sexual trauma. Christopher needed to think this through. Maybe, talk to Zoann first and see where her mind was.
He grabbed the e-tablets and handed them to Val.
His eyes widened. “Fuck, another Ridge Moore connection? ”
“The Byrd brothers not their real names,” Christopher said. “They’re Barts.”
“Related to Rack?” Val asked.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
“Ain’t too sure if they comin’ back soon but they got a lotta shit. Food waitin’ to be fuckin’ cooked. Shit like that.”
“Fuck.” Val turned. “I’ll round up the motherfuckers, but you need to see something outside.”
He’d seen everything he needed to and didn’t find what he’d come in search of, so Christopher followed Val into the chilly evening. He was looking forward to spring. For weeks, it had been cold, gray, and wet.
Bikes crowded the access road to the property, although Christopher instructed Val to drive the van, hopefully to transport Molly to safety and her dickhead daddy to the meatshack.
Instead, Diesel held a little motherfucker in a Gnome cut at gunpoint, while Mortician frisked him. His name was Nugget. He looked like a fucking flea and smelled like a rhino’s ass.
“Prez!” Huck called from behind him.
Turning, Christopher watched as Huck and Zephyr gripped the handles of a coffin and carried it to him. They dropped it in front of him.
“I thought you’d want to see this,” Huck said grimly.
He flipped both lids open, where bright red blood stained the satin cushion. Strands of long brown hair clung to the interior.
Crouching down, Christopher touched the biggest blood stain, the one on the pillow where a head would lay.
It was still damp. Fresh .
He stood and stormed to the short motherfucker, grabbed him by the scruff and lifted him off his feet. “Where the fuck Molly at?”
“They t-t-took her, Outlaw.”
Christopher wanted to question him. He hadn’t seen Gnome or Scorpion cuts inside, but when Wally confronted Megan, she’d seen Scorpion insignia. Yet, this motherfucker wore Gnome colors. There was no fucking way Bash would patch over only part of a fucking club.
“Where the fuck they took her?” Christopher demanded. “And who the fuck took her?”
“Outlaw!” Sparrow called. “You might want to look at this.”
Dropping Nugget and shoving him to Diesel, Christopher turned just as Sparrow reached him. He handed Christopher a cell phone.
In his heart he already knew whose phone he held. Taking his own phone from his pocket, he searched until he found Tom Harris’s number and pressed the button to dial the number. Immediately, the phone Sparrow found began ringing.
The phone belonged to Tom Harris. Whether he’d been here or it was left here to throw off Christopher didn’t matter. It still meant Molly’s whereabouts, her well-being, remained unknown.
Growling, Christopher stormed to Nugget, yanked him off his feet, and carried him to the coffin.
“No, no, no!” Nugget screamed. “No! Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.”
“Where the fuck Molly at?” Christopher demanded.
“I don’t know where they took her,” he sobbed.
“When the fuck they took her?”
“I don’t know!”
He was a lying motherfucker, but Christopher knew he wouldn’t get any satisfaction. Punching him and knocking him out, he tossed Nugget into the coffin and nodded to Potter, who slammed the lids shut.
“Diesel, follow Val to the funeral home,” Christopher instructed. “I’ll call Lewis and tell him to fire up the crematorium. If Nugget give you more information, fuckin’ ‘A’. If not, oh-fucking-well. Either way it go, throw that motherfucker into the fuckin’ furnace.”