Chapter Twenty-Six—Mortician
Pretty girl, things so fucked up between us, but I want you to know how fucking much I love you. I want what you want. One reason we was decent parents was because we was good spouses. We worked shit out. Talked like reasonable adults. We never let the kids come between us.
You want another baby? I want us to have it. But I want US back solid again. I want YOU happy again. A baby won’t do that, Bailey. We got to fix us before we have it.
You and the kids you gave me my fucking world. Walking out was the hardest thing I ever did. I just don’t know how to get through to you.
You my everything, pretty girl. I live to make you happy and to hear your voice. To see your smile. Don’t give up on us. Help me to help us. Help me to help YOU before another baby enter the picture.
I love you, and I always have.
Sitting in the diner where he and Bailey had their last date, Mortician pretended not to notice Symphony, sashaying from table to table, tits bouncing and locs swinging.
She was fucking hard to ignore with the signals she’d been throwing his way.
Ones that his goddamn brain rejected, but his cock accepted and even fucking encouraged.
Ironic that Outlaw got in trouble with Meggie because of Torie, and Mort hadn’t fathomed how that happened.
There’d been something inside of him that judged. How could a motherfucker so in love with his woman find himself in other woman drama?
Watching Symphony allowed him to truly understand.
Sometimes, though, Outlaw had fucking blinders on where his woman was concerned. As for Meggie—as unfair as it was—she needed to find it in herself to stand down and ignore the dumb shit as she had for so many years. It was the only way to get Prez back on track.
Mort would let her work through her emotions, understand her own feelings, and then talk to her. It was how she’d trained herself anyway. Or how Prez had unwittingly trained her.
He’d blow up. She’d get madder than a motherfucker or hurt to her core, look deep inside herself, come to grips, then reason with her husband with both logic and gentleness. Mort just had to point to some of their most infamous arguments as proof.
He scowled. Maybe, he was being unfair to Prez. He hadn’t trained Meggie girl. Fucking Dinah had.
Not that it mattered. Meggie had to play her role.
Once Prez had all his ice-cold logic back, then she could become Mrs. Outlaw and not care who got fucked up.
His plan of action to help Meggie and Outlaw firmly in place, lifted a weight off Mort’s shoulders.
If only he could find such a simple solution to his own marriage.
His smile, along with his momentary peace, slipped away.
Setting his beer down, Mortician beckoned Symphony over. She was at his side in a heartbeat.
“You summoned me, sir,” she said saucily, sniffing out his existential crisis and seizing on it.
His defenses were down. He was heartbroken over the possibility of losing his wife, even though he’d decided to move to the club. In the six days since he’d left the house, she hadn’t contacted him once.
After getting to his lonely ass room at the fucking club, he’d thought about his fault in the state of their marriage, grabbed his phone and texted his wife. His emotions were still running high, so he hadn’t sufficiently expressed everything he’d been feeling. Fuck, most of what he’d been feeling.
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t responded. He’d just rehashed everything they’d already discussed. Yesterday, he’d gotten the bright idea to send dozens of red roses to her office. Those motherfuckers had cost him a fucking mint, and she hadn’t even sent him a goddamn smoke signal.
Today he’d gone to the jeweler where Prez and the rest of them were having all the special made pieces with the colored diamonds. He’d plunked down a fucking quarter rock for earrings and had them delivered to her office while he’d watched from across the street.
Bailey hadn’t even sent a fuck you.
Symphony skimmed her fingers along his jaw, and a shiver went through him. She leaned in, her tits almost in his face, her coconut scent swirling between them. “My pussy is so wet for you, Mort,” she whispered, her look both seductive and vulnerable. “I want you. I’ll make you feel so good.”
His cock jumped and his breath hitched.
Fuck! Bailey’s jealousy over Symphony wasn’t misguided.
Symphony’s nipples beaded against her crop top and the smooth toffee skin of her belly tempted him.
He swallowed, so close to breaking he could almost feel Symphony writhing under him. But he was still married, and a broken heart didn’t warrant such betrayal and disrespect. He gave Symphony a half-smile. “I love Bailey.”
“Does she love you?” Symphony returned. “No woman in her right mind would treat you the way she did the last time you two were in here together. What I saw was an abomination.”
Shaking his head, he laughed, still not leaning away or moving her hand from his jaw. “You were spying on a private conversation?”
“Yeah,” she said without remorse, finally dropping her hand. “I had to know if she deserves you. Sometimes, when she came in with her friends or her mom, I’d hear her talk about what you did for her. Where you took her. I want that too. I want a man to spoil me.”
“You can’t take another woman man,” he said quietly.
“If that woman doesn’t deserve him, I can,” she retorted.
He heaved a breath and met her gaze. “You so fucking young, girl. Too young for an old motherfucker like me. If you want a roughneck, I-I can introduce you to some of the younger members.”
Bishop immediately came to mind. The kid had a head on his shoulders, nerves of steel and a crack ass aim.
Once he started working for Meggie, he’d earn life-changing money if he took cues from Mort, instead of Digger.
Bishop’s one fucking fault was his lack of financial foresight.
The moment he earned money for a job Mort facilitated for him, the motherfucker spent it.
A fucking baby Digger, without all the goddamn eating.
“A roughneck?” Symphony asked suspiciously. “Are they like you?” Her look sly, she slid a finger down his jaw. “I can still fuck you, Mort. I promise no one will ever know. I’m so wet for you right now,” she repeated unnecessarily.
He’d heard her quite clearly the first time.
He’d never been as close to betraying Bailey. His marriage was broken, and he was beginning to doubt it would ever be repaired. But he loved his wife. Until and unless they divorced, he couldn’t make excuses to justify bad behavior.
Mort heaved in another breath, Roscoe hard and heavy, his nuts throbbing. “I know you don’t want only dick, but money too—” It was one reason why Torie had wanted Prez so much.
She stiffened and stepped back. “I’m not a gold digger. I’m offering to fuck you free of charge.”
“Did no fucking body teach you the value of your pussy?” he snapped.
A hurt look crossed her face and he sighed, realizing too late how the words sounded. “Symphony,” he said, gentling his tone. “You not selling your body. I understand that. And from your reaction, you don’t think too highly of chicks that do.”
“They’re whores,” she said tightly. “Most are also dirty thieves and drug users.”
The anger in her tone told Mort she spoke from personal experience, so he bit back his annoyance and didn’t deviate from the conversation.
“So you willing to spread your pussy for me with no expectations? No requirements? Not a promise to call you. Not dinner. Not money to pay a fucking bill. Nothing?”
“Not everything’s about money,” she whispered.
“Just most things.”
“I’m not a whore.”
“Fucking a married motherfucker, over twice your goddamn age, for free is motherfucking worse, Symphony. What the fuck do you get but your pussy off and a thank you? Most married men not leaving their wives.”
“They might if I…” She swallowed and wrung her hands together. “You might if I treat you right and love you the way you deserve. I’ll fuck you whenever you want. Except during my period. I’ll suck you though. I’ll cook and clean and do whatever you want me to. I can give you more babies, too.”
“I don’t want more kids if Bailey not their momma.”
“But—”
“I still didn’t hear one motherfucking thing you’d get out of this.”
“Great sex.”
“I might not be a good fuck.”
“I think you are.”
He glared at her but she refused to back down. “So you’d basically be at my beck and call? For free.”
“I have a job,” she said with indignation and looked around pointedly.
“Just give me a chance to show you how much you need me. I promise you’ll enjoy my company and fucking me.
You can go as deep and as hard as you want to.
” She bent and kissed his neck, then tugged his earlobe between her teeth, biting gently.
Closing his eyes and balling his fists, Mort stayed perfectly still, holding firmly to his dedication to Bailey and their marriage vows—no matter how badly he suddenly wanted to take Symphony up on her offer to find relief.
Physically and emotionally. But, fuck, it would only be in that moment.
Once he emptied his nuts, reality would set in and the guilt would eat him alive.
No matter how deep his hurt went, his wife was going through a lot.
Whether they ever reconciled, fucking another woman while they remained husband and wife, while she was at such an emotional crossroad wasn’t something Mort could ever do to her.
A part of him would always be in love with Bailey. He just wanted fairness and consideration from her.
Symphony kissed his jaw, close to his lips.
He pulled away. “I’m not betraying Bailey, Symphony.” He was no longer interested in advising her on what she should expect from a motherfucker she offered the world. “You want a roughneck? I’ll find you one.”