Chapter Twenty-Six—Mortician #2
“The only other “roughneck” I’d want is CJ. I think he’s beautiful, too. But he’s younger than me. Underage. If he was eighteen, I’d be willing to pay for our dates until he got on his feet.”
Got on his fucking feet? If she only knew.
“We can’t be more different, me and CJ.”
“I wanted you first,” she said, taking one of his locs and twisting it around her hand. “The first time I saw you dressed up in all that leather, I fell hard. You were so gorgeous.”
“I was in my leathers.” He didn’t know why he schooled her on club language.
She nodded. “In leather. That’s what I said.”
“No, baby. There’s a fucking difference. Leather for ordinary motherfuckers. Leathers my club colors.”
“Okay,” she said, giving no indication if she understood. “I’ve always wanted to ride on a motorcycle.”
Fuck, Prez was buying another fucking bike because he’d put Torie on the back of his. If Mort took Symphony for a spin, he couldn’t imagine what Bailey would demand. Or, perhaps, she’d finally start divorce proceedings.
“My heart belong to Bailey, Symphony,” Mort insisted, though legal separation had been crossing his mind more and more. “From the moment I met her, I couldn’t sleep with another woman. I told her I was, but it was because I was in denial. A mean motherfucker to a girl much younger than me.”
“You’re thinking about fucking me,” she pressed. “You need wet pussy throbbing around your big hard cock. You need to be deep inside a woman and hammer her over and over until your nuts throb and cum shoots out.”
The heat in her eyes was a Siren’s song, calling to him, luring him to put the final nail in his marriage.
Bailey’s face rose in his head. Her gorgeous eyes and all that dark hair on her head slipping through his fingers. His cock in her sweet mouth, in her hot pussy.
She wouldn’t let him touch her unless he agreed to try for another baby.
“I want you, Mort,” Symphony whispered. “I want my mouth all over you. Your hands all over me.”
As much as he wanted to accept her offer, he couldn’t.
What about that didn’t she understand? He’d give her ‘A’ for effort to wear him down.
If she knew how close he’d gotten to fucking her, she probably would’ve fucking stripped in the middle of the goddamn restaurant.
“I can’t.” If she could reword pleading her case, he could switch his refusal.
“Because of her?”
“That’s my goddamn wife,” he snapped. “Give her more fucking respect than my momentary lapse in judgment.”
She released his loc, and she glowered at him.
Fuck, fuck, and motherfuck. He hoped Symphony wasn’t Torie 2.0.
“It’s not only because of Bailey,” he admitted, switching gears back to her and changing his reasons for that, too. “It’s because of you, too.”
“Me? But—”
“You twenty years old, Symphony. Even if I was free, you deserve better than a forty-seven-year-old motherfucker with three kids. We don’t have anything in common, baby.
The only thing you can do for me is give me pussy.
And that’s disrespect at the highest fucking level.
You so fucking gorgeous. But you young enough to be my daughter.
If Harley told me some old motherfucker was after her… Never mind. I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Okay,” she said hoarsely.
“Symphony!” Tee called from the kitchen window. “Customers complaining you ignoring them. If you don’t want to be fired without pay, stop fucking around with—”
Mortician slid out of his booth and stood next to Symphony, glaring at Tee.
“Oh. Uh, I didn’t know it was you, Mort.” He disappeared.
Symphony’s eyes rounded.
“Go do your fucking job, baby, before I got to beat a motherfucker’s ass.”
“Who you in here intimidating now, Mort?” Digger asked, smiling at Symphony and checking her out.
Grinning, she scampered to one of her disgruntled customers.
Digger’s gaze followed her every step of the way.
Mortician smacked the side of his brother’s head. “Sit the fuck down and stop ogling the woman.”
“Fuck, she got an ogling outfit on, Mort,” Digger grumped, sliding into the seat across from Mortician’s. “Hey, Symph!” he called. “I need to order.”
“Shut the fuck up and wait,” Mort said, glad for the diversion of his brother. “She got other tables. We got to talking and it pissed Tee off. She’ll be back.”
Grabbing Mortician’s nearly empty bottle of beer, Digger drained it then gave him a calculating look. “She your new fuck buddy?”
“No.” Mort released a long breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t want a fuck buddy. I want to fix my marriage.”
“That’s why you moved to the fucking club, huh, bruh?”
“Fuck you.”
“Can’t fix your marriage on your own,” Digger said, unfazed by Mort’s irritation. “Why not get relief in that beautiful young piece of ass?”
Glaring at him, Mort folded his arms. “Tell me something, motherfucker.”
“Something.”
“I’m a second from knocking you the fuck out. My nerves rubbed fucking raw. It’s fucking killing me how close I came to betraying Bailey. But Symphony too fucking young for me.”
“I disagree.”
“Tell me,” he gritted. “If you and Bunny was having the type of problems me and Bailey are, would you fuck another woman?”
“If my marriage was almost headed to divorce court, fuck yeah. Then I’d let her know my cock found another home, so she’d understand she not the fucking end of the world.”
“You’d still be betraying your vows.”
“Vows not worth shit if you’re about to divorce, Mort.”
Another one down. Bailey had all types of conditions to save their marriage and Digger sounded as if he’d already given up hope that her and Mort would work things out. Holding out hope amid such hopelessness wore on him, but it pissed him the fuck off that Digger couldn’t try to cheer him up.
“Why the fuck you wanted to meet with me?” Mortician snarled.
Digger swallowed, rested his elbows on the table, and bowed his head, all talk of cheating and divorce leaving him. “Remember when I told you I fucked up?”
Those words lingered at the fringes of Mort’s mind, but so much shit had happened between that night and now, he’d pushed them aside. As much as he wanted to pound his brother’s face in sometimes, he loved the stupid motherfucker. “Tell me what I need to do to clean up your shit this fucking time.”
“It’s not that simple.”
The woeful tone alarmed Mortician. “Have you fucked over Bunny?”
Digger’s head lifted just enough to show his shocked glance. “What? No! I love my woman. It might not seem like I do sometimes, but I adore Bunny.”
Mort sagged in relief. “Then anything else can be fixed—”
“Not when it involve Outlaw and Meggie.”
“Explain now, motherfucker.”
“Bunny want another baby and, fuck, Mort. The house cramped enough. I can’t imagine another kid, taking up more room. When we was little, it was just us and Sharper in the house and we each had thousands of square feet to ourselves.”
Mort wouldn’t point out that Digger had lived in a small room at the club just fine. “What the fuck that got to do with Outlaw and Meggie?”
Digger blew out a noisy breath. “Fuck, if she would just die.”
“And you wonder why Meggie don’t like you, fuckhead.”
“You see it, too!” Digger said heatedly. “And that little cunt smiles in my fucking face and tells Outlaw she loves me.”
“If she didn’t, you’d be fucking dead, so shut the fuck up and be grateful. I don’t even fucking know how you can fix your fucking mouth to say any of the shit you fucking say about her.”
“Easy,” he grumbled. “If she kicked it, I wouldn’t be a step away from a painful death at her man’s hands.”
“Motherfucker, you talking about one of my friends, our president’s woman, and your woman’s best friend. We family, so I’m ignoring it this one last fucking time. Say it again, and I’m beating the fuck out of you.”
Better Mort than Prez because Digger would die.
“You still not getting what I’m saying, Mort?” Digger cried in frustration.
“All I’m hearing is Bunny want another baby, and you think your house too fucking small. So, I guess you want the bigger house and all that bullshit about wanting to build it for her just a fucking lie.”
Shame crossed Digger’s face. “If you don’t remember when I said I fucked up, do you at least remember when I said I’m broke?”
Afraid to hear the rest, Mort lifted a brow.
“I’m broke,” Digger said, “and Meggie might be, too.”
Mort’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at Digger, sure he’d misheard.
Whatever else he might’ve imagined his brother saying, it wasn’t that.
Meggie broke because of Digger…fuck, he didn’t want to consider the ramifications or the reasons of how that came about.
“You broke, I can almost understand. Bunny probably gave you more control over the finances. I got to talk to that woman. But Meggie? What the fuck that mean? ”
Digger straightened. “I’m not sure,” he rushed out. “I don’t know how many other accounts she got and how much money in them.”
Painful images of Digger’s death ran through Mort’s head, but he better understood the tension between Meggie and his brother.
“Tell me what you said to get her to give you money. To gamble, I guess. Fuck, I wish Meggie…fuck!” He was about to say he wished she’d been Mrs. Outlaw when Digger approached her and just deciding they needed Meggie.
“She probably thought giving you money would make Bunny happy. How much?”
He was going to have to close his fucking eyes to sign that goddamn check after he’d just spent so much money on his wife.
“Fifty thousand dollars?” Mort guessed, then leaned over and clapped Digger’s shoulder. “You did right coming to me, bro. I’ll talk to her.”
Swallowing, Digger’s shoulders slumped and he tipped his head down. “It’s not that simple, Mort.”
“Not that simple or not that cheap?”
“You not fucking hearing me! I didn’t fucking say I took money from Meggie.”