Chapter Seven #3
“Do you think Hound or Jagger told the Club about what we’re
doing, and someone is here, angry about it?” she asked.
“No fucking way,” he answered.
The hammering kept coming.
He saw Murtagh bounce out, clearly kitty-ticked at the
disturbance.
Dutch felt him. He was biker-ticked.
“I’ll get it. You stay here,” he ordered.
“Dutch—”
He kissed her, this time quick. “I’ll handle it and be
back.”
Then he rolled off her and out of bed.
When he got to the door, and opened it, it wasn’t a huge
surprise, what was on the other side.
It also was.
Last, it was aggravating.
But apparently, Jagger didn’t waste any time.
“Where is she?” Carolyn demanded, landing a hand in his
chest and shoving him aside as she stomped in.
He took a breath to control his temper, a mistake, because
it took too long before he began, “Caro—”
“Bitch, I know you’re here!” she shouted down the hall. “Get
your traitor ass out here!”
Dutch closed the door and moved between her and the entryway
to the hall at the back of his house.
“Calm down,” he ordered.
“Fuck you and fuck her!” she spat, then leaned to the side
to scream around him, “Georgiana, get your fat ass out here!”
Uh…
No.
Fuck…
No.
“Get out,” he demanded.
“Fuck you,” she repeated.
“Out of my house, Carolyn.”
“Fuck you, Dutch!” she shrieked.
“For heaven’s sake, keep it down. Dutch has neighbors,”
Georgiana said from behind him.
He twisted at the waist, saw she’d put on a mauve satin robe
that had a subtle print of purple and white flowers with black stems. It had
billowy sleeves, was super short so it showed her long legs, and was gaping
open at the top, so it also showed her generous cleavage.
Even without makeup and her ponytail messed up from them
making out, or maybe because of it, she looked like she was ready to step in
front of a camera for a catalog shoot.
“Ohmigod, I cannot believe you’re doing Dutch Black. Fuck me
over and take the brother!” Carolyn accused.
“Go back to the bedroom,” he demanded Georgie’s way.
“Dutch, honey, this is mine to deal with,” she replied,
arriving at his side.
“Dutch…honey?” Carolyn asked snidely.
They both turned to her.
She homed in on Dutch. “FYI, she thinks bikers are trash. So
she might like what you do with your dick, but you’re just rough trade to her.”
This did not affect Dutch in the slightest because he knew
the kernel of truth behind it was gone and the rest of it was just Carolyn
pissed that her own shit was blowing up in her face and she was lashing out
because of it.
However, in the mix of the second drama they’d had that
morning, he’d momentarily forgotten that his Georgie had a temper.
And she liked him.
So what Carolyn said was not a match strike to create a
flame.
It was a lighter to a powder keg.
“You…goddamned…bitch!”
Her last word was pitched so high, it was a wonder his
windows didn’t shatter.
But Dutch didn’t have time to shake off his ears ringing.
Georgie launched herself at her sister.
He just managed to catch her at the waist and then he pulled
her back three feet.
She strained against his hold and yelled, “Let me go!”
“You couldn’t take me,” Carolyn taunted.
“Skin and bones and drug addled? You don’t think?” Georgie
returned.
Oh shit.
“Baby,” he whispered, wrapping his other arm around her and
pulling her tighter to him as she kept fighting his hold.
“I’m not drug-addled!” Carolyn shouted.
Georgie gave up the fight but kept up the lean.
“You’re a goddamned cokehead,” she retorted.
“Georgie,” Dutch warned.
“Am not!” Carolyn shrieked.
The front door opened.
“And a whore!” Georgie yelled.
Oh fuck.
Jagger walked in, along with their Chaos brother and bud
Roscoe, who was undoubtedly bringing Jag to get his truck.
They both read the situation immediately, thus both wasted
no time positioning. Roscoe at Carolyn’s back for possible containment
purposes. Jagger at her side, for the same and for a better view of the action.
“I’m not a whore!” Carolyn yelled, but looking the woman’s
way, Dutch saw that got in there.
“What do you call taking money for services rendered,
Carolyn?” Georgie asked.
Christ.
“Ohmigod, you did not just say that to me,” Carolyn stated,
looking struck. “In front of Jagger, no less.” She jabbed a finger at Jag.
“You didn’t think to keep Georgie out of it?” Dutch asked
his brother.
“I didn’t say her name, or yours. She figured it out,”
Jagger replied.
Shit.
“Yeah, I figured it out, because she’s up in my shit so
much, like now, saying whacked crap to me, it doesn’t take a brain
surgeon to jump from that, know we asked Dutch to pick her up, and she was all
over running her mouth to him like she does to me,” Carolyn supplied.
“It had to end, Carolyn,” Georgie pointed out.
“You can’t see me happy. You could never see me happy,”
Carolyn accused.
“What are you talking about?” Georgie’s tone was confused.
Carolyn pointed at Jag again. “He makes me happy and you
took him from me. You don’t get it, but Chanel slides make me happy, and you
don’t want me to have them.”
“It’s not about the Chanel, Carolyn, and you know it,”
Georgie retorted.
“Bullshit, I’m just not into the same things you’re into and
you don’t get it,” Carolyn returned.
“Girl, if I could afford Chanel, I’d be all over it. I just
can’t…so I don’t,” Georgie shot back, and Dutch took note of what she
said.
He’d heard of Chanel, had no clue otherwise, but his woman,
like everyone else, had birthdays, and Christmas was not far away, so he’d talk
to Lanie, or Elvira, and figure it out.
Carolyn changed tactics and said pathetically, “You took him
away from me.”
“You do coke?” Jagger asked unemotionally.
Carolyn took a step his way. “Jag, sweetie.”
He took a step back and she halted.
“Do you snort coke, Carolyn?” he pressed.
“Just a bump every now and then. I work a lot, Jagger. You
know that. A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do to keep going.”
“When we were beginning, you pulled out a vial, and we had
this conversation,” Jagger reminded her.
Carolyn’s jaw moved as she clenched her teeth.
They’d had that conversation.
“I told you dope was a dealbreaker,” he went on.
“You smoke pot,” she accused.
“Pot is not coke,” he stated.
“It’s a drug,” she said.
“It’s rare I do it, like, how many times have you seen me
high?”
She didn’t answer.
“Yeah,” Jag said. “Maybe what? Three? Four? And I’ve known
you that many years?”
“Jagger—”
“And to get my buzz, I don’t suck anyone’s cock,” Jag went
on.
“Oh boy,” Georgie whispered the same time Dutch muttered,
“Jesus,” and this was the first time Roscoe verbally entered the scenario and
he did that with a grunt.
“That’s a whore, Carolyn.” Jag was relentless. “Like it or
not, you made me a goddamn john to get your fuckin’ fix and you into dope was
already a dealbreaker, and you knew it. You puttin’
me in that position, we are dead. Like we didn’t exist. And you know that too.
So don’t pile shit on Georgiana she doesn’t deserve. And really do not
take your fucked-up mess into my brother’s home and spread it around. This is
not gonna win me back. Nothin’s gonna
win me back. What it’s gonna do, instead of bein’ dead to me, you’re not dead. But I’m gonna hate you, which I do at this moment. Can’t stand the
fuckin’ sight of you. And that’s on you too.”
“Jagger,” Carolyn breathed, horrified, hurt, even destroyed.
But Jagger just sounded over it when he sighed, “Get out,
Carolyn.”
Carolyn didn’t move for what seemed like years before she
slowly turned to Georgie and declared, “You’re dead to me too.”
Georgie’s body jolted and Dutch tightened his arms around
her to hold her close.
Jagger got her attention back when he shared, “And my hatred
just grew. ’Cause you’re blaming your sister, who
loves you, worries about you, has tried to do right by you, and you’re all
right to stand there and gut her. Fuck off, Carolyn. Honest to Christ, it might
take Dutch and me a little while, but I bet it won’t take us long to talk
Georgie around to understanding she’s better off without you.”
All right.
Time to end this.
“Brother,” Dutch called.
Jag looked at him. “Am I wrong?” He then looked to Georgie.
“Am I wrong, sweetheart? You got family now, the good kind that doesn’t spit on
you. You get that? Yeah?”
“Can this just be done?” Georgie asked in a small voice.
Yup.
This needed to be done.
Dutch gave Jag a look he could not misinterpret.
In turn, Jagger looked to Carolyn and raised his brows.
“I think I loved you,” she said.
“I know I don’t care,” he replied.
Fucking hell.
“Jag,” Dutch bit out.
Jagger nodded, went to the door, opened it and held it that
way.
Carolyn looked to him, to Georgie, her face started
collapsing, then she ran out.
Jagger shut the door after her.
Georgiana turned in his arms and started burrowing.
Then her body hitched when she started crying.
He held her closer.
“Mwrr?” Murtagh
asked from their feet.
“No, boy, she’s not okay,” Dutch answered.
Georgie hiccupped with a sob.
Murtagh collapsed on his side at Georgie’s ankle.
“When’d Dutch get a cat?” Roscoe asked.
“It’s Georgie’s,” Jagger told him.
“Right,” Roscoe muttered.
“You guys need food?” Jagger called.
“Gather the men for a meet,” Dutch ordered. “I want to talk
to them about what we can do about Carlyle’s dad.”
Jagger’s expression opened up huge, this accompanying the
grin that spread on his mouth.
There it was.
Georgie was right.
Dutch needed his family.
And his family needed him.
“I got her,” Dutch finished.
“I want a breakfast toaster from Sonic,” Georgie snuffled in
his neck.
Dutch couldn’t stop his smile.
That was his girl.
Take a hit.
Bounce right back.
“I could eat a toaster,” Roscoe decreed.
“Three a’ those for us, brothers,” Dutch told Jagger and
Roscoe. “And some Cinnasnacks.”
“I want Cinnasnacks too,” Georgie
blubbered.
“On it,” Jagger said, sounding amused. “And by the way,
sweet robe, Georgie.”
Dutch looked to the ceiling.
“Shut up, Jagger,” Georgie said to his neck.
Dutch turned his eyes back to his brother just in time to
catch Jag’s usual congenial-asshole grin.
“Yo, I’m Roscoe,” Roscoe called.
“Nice t’meet you, Roscoe,” Georgie
sniveled into his neck, taking an arm from around him to reach it behind her
and wave a hand at Roscoe.
Now Dutch was finding it hard not to bust a gut laughing.
“Brother, that ass,” Roscoe declared in the tone you used to
say, Niiiiice.
“Fuck off and get us food, Coe,” Dutch ordered.
He got a jerk of a chin from Roscoe, another grin from
Jagger, and they took off.
Dutch gave her a minute and then he leaned back a bit and
forced her to face him with a hand gentle on her jaw.
Christ, she was even gorgeous with red eyes and crying face.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked.
“That was off-the-hook bad,” she answered.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Like, I could think of a lot of ways that would go, all of
them ranging from bad to baddest of bad, and that was
worse than all of them…by far.”
“Yup,” he said.
“But maybe it’ll be what she needs to get better,” she
suggested.
He doubted it.
That was extreme, but addicts usually had to fall a lot
farther than that before they sorted their shit.
“Maybe,” he allowed.
“And bright side, your biker brother digs my ass.”
Dutch didn’t consider that a bright side, but for her, he’d
roll with it.
“Yeah.”
Her gaze moved over his face before she rested her cheekbone
on his chest and her weight into his body.
He gave her more than a minute to do that.
Then he said, “Babe, I wanna be
there for you, but we got a day to tackle. And I think that’ll help you get
your mind off shit. So, since you got a thing about mascara and foundation, and
I absolutely do not, except I dig what you do with it, you get the shower
first.”
He heard and felt her draw in breath, then her cheek slid on
his chest when she nodded.
She gave him a squeeze.
He gave her one back and let her go.
“Come on, Murtagh, time to shower,” she called to the cat,
and kept talking as she started walking. “Warning, Dutch, he’s a bathroom cat
in all the incarnations of that.”
Dutch had already discovered this fact.
“So noted,” he said, moving to the kitchen, and his phone to
see if anyone reported in about Carlyle.
But he stopped when Georgie cried, “There it is! You’ve
stolen my cat!”
He looked to her, then down to the floor where Murtagh was
entering the kitchen behind him.
“He’s a bathroom cat and he knows I’m going there and he’s
sticking by you,” Georgie said.
He looked to her. “Babe, grab a shower.”
“I can’t believe you stole my cat,” she snapped.
“Georgie, get in the shower.”
“This is unacceptable,” she decreed.
“You can get in the shower or I’ll carry you there and take
one with you, which means we’ll be fuckin’ in there when Jagger and Roscoe
show, and they won’t knock on the door before they come in my house. So they’ll
hear me fuckin’ you because you make noise, gorgeous. And I like it. And I bet
the boys will like it too because they’ll have it as fodder to give you shit
about until the day you die.”
That got her.
Though she glared at him before she whirled and flounced
down his hall.
But when she did, he learned she was right.
Because, even when Dutch went to the bedroom to rescue his
coffee, then came back to the kitchen, Murtagh stuck by him the whole way.
So he’d stolen her cat.
He wasn’t too cut up about it.
And he suspected, neither was she.