Mortician #2
Cox was really handsome with a sharp nose and square jaw. She estimated him to be in his early to mid-thirties.
“If you would’ve given me a chance to check a few notes—”
“For? Whatever is in the contract can’t be changed until it’s time for a new one.”
Indecision tore across Cox’s face. “Johnnie just recently renegotiated the contract.”
“Of course he fucking did,” Uncle Val spat. “What hasn’t that motherfucker done recently?”
“He said he had full approval.” Cox cleared his throat. “He handles the contracts for the hospital and the school.”
Uncle Val nodded. “He didn’t lie.”
Cox started toward the sofa, then halted and looked at Uncle Val. “May I?”
“Sit?” Uncle Val asked. “This a public fucking place. I can’t stop you.”
“Thank you.” Cox nodded to Harley in an offhanded manner. “I’m new. Hired just weeks ago because of a mix-up with a doctor after one of your club member’s sons overdosed.”
He meant CJ. Just the memory of receiving that news reminded Harley of how entitled she’d been and so unfair to Aunt Meggie and CJ.
“Not a member’s son,” Uncle Val said. “The president’s.”
Panic flared in Cox’s dark eyes. “Shit! I will be straight with you, Mr. Taylor,” he said, just loud enough for Harley to hear over the din of the constant background noise.
“This is a very lucrative position with the kind of money I never thought I’d earn.
I was grilled to the nth degree by Knox Harrington and Cameron Baptiste.
Someone named Riley performed background checks.
My father recommended me, but I no longer know who’s who. ”
“Who’s your fucking father?” Uncle Val asked, a question Harley wanted answered.
“Derby. The gay son by the woman he threw over for Gypsy. I was angry with him for a long time, but when I came out, Dad and Gypsy stood by me. Mom didn’t. I stayed in the club for a while, but I left about seven years ago.”
Uncle Val didn’t respond.
“After you left my office, I read up on my predecessor’s notes about the Harris girl. Johnnie renegotiated the contract about five weeks ago because of alleged abuse of power. He wanted it stopped.”
“Because Johnnie’s a motherfucker,” Uncle Val said darkly.
Cox leaned closer. “If I ignore the amendments, I will be fired. My husband and I adopted two little girls. Sisters. They’re three and four now, but I’m the breadwinner—”
“Don’t explain anymore,” Uncle Val interrupted. “I understand. Five million dollars…that number is both exorbitant and arbitrary. I’m not even worth that much.”
“That was Johnnie’s aim. He said very few members would be able to afford the fee. And if someone suddenly turned up, he doubted the only one who’d pay it would be willing to.”
Uncle Val stared at Cox, disbelief and hurt in his expression. “Johnnie really said that?”
“We recorded the meeting. He told me to in case I forgot everything, Mr. Taylor.”
“Call me Val.” Uncle Val heaved in a breath. “Johnnie is such a fuckhead. Me and my boy just getting close. Ryan just feeling accepted and like he don’t have to compete with…never mind. I got to tell him I can’t afford this and we got to let Outlaw pay.”
Harley cleared her throat. “Or I can call Daddy,” she said, drawing the two men’s attention.
They both frowned at her. Harley quickly dropped her gaze, afraid to antagonize them.
“Mort don’t have a dog in this race,” Uncle Val said.
“If I tell him, I’d do anything to make up how mean I was to Molly, he will,” Harley said quietly. “I’ll ask him to give it to you, so Ryan can think you paid.”
Flushing, Uncle Val glanced away. “Motherfucking Johnnie. I never did that fuckhead nothing.”
“Except sided with Uncle Christopher.”
“I can’t—”
“You wouldn’t, Uncle Val. We’re family. A-aren’t w-we?”
“Mort one of my best fucking friends. How that shit going to look to him?”
“You can always send him a bill for housing me,” Harley said timidly. Especially since she never wanted to go home in life. Mommie hated her. She’d make Harley miserable.
Uncle Val smiled. “A bill for five fucking million dollars? He’d ask me if I lost my fucking mind.”
“After he keeled over at the mere thought,” Harley said with a giggle.
“Yeah, Harley,” Uncle Val said, chuckling.
“However, you wouldn’t be asking. I like seeing Ryan the way he is now. Suppose he changes back to being so mean and resentful? If there’s a chance that Daddy will pay, let me ask him.”
“I fucking hate this so fucking much.”
“Why don’t you call Aunt Zoann and talk to her while I call Daddy?”
“Fine,” Uncle Val relented, though it seemed as if that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Spending the morning with his brother should’ve become a new normal for Lucas “Mortician” Banks. They both lived at the clubhouse now, almost like old times, when Digger once followed Mortician to wherever and pretended he had sense.
Back then, Mortician never considered his brother a stupid, disrespectful, ungrateful fuckhead. The years proved otherwise. He was trying like a motherfucker to forgive Digger, but he’d had to cough up a lot of fucking money for that fool.
He’d always protected Digger. Sometimes, that included spotting him financially or paying debts to get him out of jams. The rightness or wrongness never occurred to Mort. But Digger went too fucking far this time.
Mort would forgive his brother eventually. He always did. Anytime he forgave the motherfucker for almost betraying the entire club and kidnapping CJ, everything else should be easy.
Except nothing was easy recently. Not Mortician’s relationship with his brother. Or his wife. Or his mama-in-law.
Or Meggie. He couldn’t look her in the fucking eye after Bailey’s latest bullshit.
Or Harley. Compared to what his baby girl was going through, everything else was easy.
Tonight couldn’t come soon enough.
With so much on his mind, Mort didn’t go to Digger’s room after he finished breakfast. Instead, he went outside and lit a cigarette.
It was chilly today, though sunbursts broke through the cloud cover.
Hopefully, it cleared up completely. Maybe he’d go for a ride, just him, the wind, and his thoughts.
Or he’d take balls in hand, hit Meggie up and see if she needed help for tonight.
He walked to the corner of the building, ignoring all the empty spaces where the officers’ bikes belonged.
Prez thought enough of him to include him in that lineup.
Nostalgia for a time when there’d been loyalty and brotherhood hit him.
Not long ago, they would’ve either been at the club or conducting business elsewhere.
Sometimes, Mort had motherfuckers to track, enforcing to do.
Still, that lineup of bikes showed everyone the strength of the Dwellers–Outlaw, Johnnie, Digger, Val, Stretch, Mortician, and Cash.
Most recently, Diesel’s. At the end and out of the floodlights because he was Outlaw’s son.
A lone empty space remained. For CJ. It would be interesting to see if Diesel would have to cede his spot to the kid.
It wouldn’t surprise Mort. One day, Diesel would have to answer to CJ.
Diesel was fucked up on so many different levels.
However, the motherfucker had a huge amount of loyalty among the younger members.
It wasn’t out of fear. It was because he just didn’t give a fuck.
That type of indifference inspired awe. Because the people he gave his loyalty to understood how precious it was.
Motherfucker was definitely insane, but he also had charisma and good looks.
It was unfortunate he’d fallen through the fucking cracks.
He had the Caldwell name and money. As much as Prez loved him, he wasn’t CJ.
Diesel played high school and college football, earned good grades, set himself up as a big brother, and only wanted Outlaw’s approval.
When he returned home and entered law school, which he commuted to everyday, CJ was nine.
Outlaw introduced Diesel to club life with everything that went with it, put the motherfucker in charge of the Bobs, and turned him loose.
By the time he passed the bar, CJ was fourteen, and Diesel realized he’d never had a chance to be Outlaw’s heir.
His kid, but not his successor.
Sighing, Mortician glanced at the side of the building, where he remembered finding CJ and Harley alone in the dark.
She’d been sitting on his lap and Mortician had been so fucking outraged.
That seemed like a lifetime ago instead of just eleven months.
Shaking his head, he smoked his cigarette, allowing the nicotine to surge along his nerve endings and calm him.
Directly in front of him was the parking garage they’d built several years ago. The club had acquired extra vehicles for different things. They’d planned to extend the building and add a mechanic’s shop to offer extra income to some of the brothers who lived on premises.
Then the Gnomes started fucking with the club and those plans were scrapped until further notice.
As infuriating as motherfuckers fucking with the club were, it couldn’t compare to anyone fucking with Harley.
Probably that’s why he felt so restless.
Even though he intended to shadow those motherfuckers so there wouldn’t be any fuckups when he grabbed them, surveillance wasn’t the same as gutting and castration.
All weekend he’d been prepping CJ, so he didn’t want the kid to walk into a situation where those motherfuckers resisted. Mort would never forgive himself if something happened to CJ because he wanted to avenge Harley.
Anticipation hummed through Mort along with a little concern that CJ wasn’t entirely ready to go into the meatshack, but Johnnie was a motherfucker and he’d find a way to have Mortician kicked out if he killed a kid. Even a fuckhead like Nardo Grevenberg.
Mort wasn’t really into torture, but this was a special case. He’d take his time guiding CJ on how to fuck up a motherfucker painfully. And if CJ wasn’t ready yet? Could Mort wait until Nardo turned eighteen because of Johnnie?
Nope. He sure the fuck couldn’t. Fuck Johnnie and fuck Nardo. That motherfucker would die.
But, if CJ wasn’t available or couldn’t do it, and Mortician went against a Dweller rule about children, then Johnnie found out and used that to oust Mortician, it would further dilute Prez’s power.
Undoubtedly, Outlaw would back up whatever Mortician decided. Only Harley should matter. Yet, Johnnie was a motherfucker who’d recently divided the club and gained a lot of fucking power thanks to yellow-bellied, pussy-faced fuckheads that wanted peace.
Wielding a sanction against Mortician could be anything from a monetary fine, stripping him of his patch, a beating, a maiming or targeting his sons.
Tossing his cigarette, Mort turned and saw Bunny just entering the parking lot from the forest pathway. The slight breeze lifted her hair. As he drew closer to her and saw her sad expression, he knew it would take more than a breath of wind to cheer her.
“Hey, Mort,” she greeted, forcing her lips into a smile.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Hey, girl. Coming to see Digger?”
“And feed him,” she said. “I’ll clean him up after.”
“You a good woman, baby.” It wasn’t a lie. His sister-in-law was quiet strength. “My brother so fucking lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, Mort,” she said.
Mort supposed they should talk about Bailey’s fuckery, but he didn’t want to ruin his morning with his wife’s latest bullshit, so he kept his mouth shut.
“I guess I should get inside,” Bunny said as Mort’s phone dinged.
“Later, baby,” he told her, taking his phone out of his pocket and smiling at seeing Harley’s name.
Baby girl: Daddy, can you get to Hortensia General? Uncle Val needs five million dollars.
Choking, Mortician read the message and re-read that motherfucker.
Harley had to be fucking joking. There was no fucking way she didn’t understand what the fuck asking Mort for that amount of money would do to him.
Make him break out into a cold fucking sweat, especially since he’d just had to pay Prez the same fucking amount to save Digger’s life.
Baby girl: It’s an emergency.
What kind of motherfucking goddamn fucking emergency required five million dollars of Mortician’s fucking money? Had Val lost his fucking mind?
What kind of emergency required any of Mortician’s money? None, that’s what fucking kind. Fuck him.
Baby girl: Can you get the money from the bank and bring it to the hospital?
No, Val hadn’t lost his fucking mind. Harley had. She also had no fucking concept of money if she thought he could waltz his ass into a financial institution and get five million dollars. He’d have to alert the bank in advance.
Baby girl: Daddy?
Glaring at his phone, he searched for words to respond to his daughter. No, fuck talking to Harley. He’d call Val—
Val: Harley asked me 2 hit u up since u not responding 2 her. I understand if you can’t do it.
Baby girl: It’s for Molly. Uncle Johnnie negotiated a new contract with the new hospital admin/club liaison.
It’s a long story, Daddy. They won’t move Molly to the secure unit because of that.
Even if Uncle Val calls Uncle Christopher and Aunt Meggie to split the cost, he won’t have it.
What if this reminds Ryan that his parents can’t help Molly, but CJ’s can?
Mortician still didn’t care that much about Ryan, but that was Val’s son and Harley’s whatever. Now that Molly had been found, he was certain their status would change. However, that little motherfucker was part of the family.
The last thing Mort wanted was Ryan to lose the little sense he was getting and turn on CJ again. Meggie girl had been through enough without having her son and nephew reignite their war.
But five million fucking dollars? The idea of withdrawing that fucking money hurt his goddamn heart and made him fucking dizzy.
Baby girl: We’re on the way home.
Val: Sorry, Mort.
Mortician gritted his teeth, ignoring the cold sweat popping up on his skin.
Val, hang tight. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
Before he headed inside to get his keys and his wallet, Mort texted Harley.
I’m on the way, Harley. I’ll take care of it.