Chapter Eighteen – Mortician
Walking along the trail to his house barely worked off his anger and disappointment. After twelve hours of searching for Dead and Dead, Jr., they hadn’t found either one of those motherfuckers.
Mortician would never forget CJ knocking on the door, his eyes filled with pain and anger, and asking Mort to step into the hallway. He’d been so fucking annoyed that the kid interrupted him and Bailey seeing to Harley.
Then…
CJ showed Mortician the fucking photos and told him how he’d obtained them.
“I should’ve stomped that motherfucker for violating Harley’s privacy,” he’d snarled. “And for being a lying fuckhead because I fucking swear those photos are too fucking grainy not to have come from a fucking video.”
Mort had let CJ rage, get all the hurt and anger out of his system, to control his hurt and anger. He’d done one of the hardest things he’d ever done in life: clued Bailey in and questioned his baby girl.
Discovering Mama Dead had been in that fucking house during some of Harley’s abuse enraged Mortician. He been upset with Bailey, too. She’d allowed Harley to go with that little motherfucker in the first place, to spite Mortician.
He’d stormed downstairs, ready to ride out on his own. Outlaw had arrived, though. CJ had texted his father a rundown minus the photos.
“We roll out in ten,” Prez had announced, then signaled to Diesel.
He’d put CJ and Grant in one of the vans and allowed Johnnie to ride with Rory on the back of his fucking bike.
Of all times for Outlaw to protect that motherfucker and invite him back into their circle, he’d chosen to do it after Johnnie got Harley injured.
The Grevenbergs lived in a decent residential neighborhood, so having a line of bikes swarm their house wouldn’t fucking work. Since they lived closer to Portland than Hortensia, Prez called Derby and they used his clubhouse as a staging area.
Val drove Mortician, Diesel, and CJ into the neighborhood in the van. CJ had never fucking broken and entered and Bishop was just getting his feet wet, so Diesel was tasked with snatching Nardo, while Mortician would take Ned.
Unfortunately, neither motherfucker was there. Only that bitch, Doreen, swearing up and fucking down she didn’t know the location of those two.
While Mortician debated on taking her to the meatshack, Diesel slit her fucking throat and then began searching the house.
Once they returned to Derby’s clubhouse without Nardo and Ned and Diesel noted various receipts he found for places the Grevenbergs frequented, Val issued routes and sent groups of five to each one, until most of the clubhouse was cleared out.
Mortician’s group included Val, Outlaw, Derby, and Stretch. CJ, Grant, and Rory were ordered to stay at the club. They didn’t like it but had to accept Outlaw’s decree.
They made rings around Portland, stopped in at the Night Fliers and clued Boy in, backtracked to Hortensia and searched Ridge Moore. The school was closed for the day supposedly due to electrical problems.
No luck. Nardo and Ned had vanished into thin air.
Now, Mortician was home, exhausted, heartsore, and still so fucking angry he could barely see straight. He wanted to check on Harley though, then return to the club and rest.
He turned from the main pathway onto the walkway that led to his veranda just as his door opened and Chester walked out.
Not in the mood to talk to anyone but seeing no way around it, Mortician closed the distance between them. “You okay?” he asked, seeing her sad, defeated look.
She forced a smile. “Fine, Mort. I wanted to see Harley, but Bailey won’t let me.” She swallowed and tried to smile again, when her pain was written all over her face. “I won’t hold you up. If you’re back, then Val is as well, so I’ll see you later.”
She started around him, but Mortician couldn’t let her walk away so upset. He grabbed her hand.
“Come on, baby. Bailey might not let you see Harley, but I will. You been looking after her for weeks. You got every right to see her.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to cause trouble.”
“I’m positive. We owe you so fucking much for taking Harley in.”
“I won’t stay long. Of course Bailey wants her baby back, given all that’s happened. Harley moving back home was just so sudden. Bailey’s gone from not wanting anything to do with Harley to not wanting anyone around her.”
“It’s okay, baby.” Bailey had lost her fucking mind, but he wouldn’t disparage his wife to anyone no matter how he felt. “Want some coffee?”
“Are you offering to make it?” Chester asked as they reached the front door. “If it’s Bailey, no fucking thank you. She might poison me.”
Fuck, she was right.
Mort guided Val’s woman into the house. “Bailey—”
“Why is she with you, Lucas?” Bailey demanded, stepping into the hallway from the kitchen and nodding to Chester. “I told her she couldn’t visit Harley right now. My daughter needs peace and quiet. Not an endless parade of people, gawking at her like she’s a freak show.”
“Your daughter, huh, Bailey?” Mortician wouldn’t touch that one. “Chester, go on up. Harley’s bedroom is the second door on the right side of the hallway.”
“Lucas, I said no,” Bailey shrieked. “Zoann can’t see Harley!”
Chester paused. “Is Harley asleep?”
“That isn’t the point,” Bailey said tightly. “Seeing you will stress her out.”
“I won’t do her anything, Bailey,” Chester snapped in exasperation. “I won’t even stay long. I just want to see her.”
“No. Why don’t you go see your fucking devil of a son?”
Fuck. “Bailey—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chester demanded, always ready to defend her husband and her boys.
But Mortician had made a conscious decision to keep Ryan’s fuckery from her. He didn’t want to hurt her. She’d been through so fucking much in her life–
“Answer me, Bailey!”
“Go and see Harley, Chester,” Mortician inserted, since Bailey smirked and paused for dramatic effect and sheer bitchery.
“You don’t care that her son—”
“Aunt Zoann?” Harley called, walking into the hallway and interrupting Bailey. At the sight of Chester, her entire bruised and swollen face lit up. “You’re here,” she murmured, running to her.
Zoann hugged her tightly. “Oh, baby. Look at your face.”
“You should be in bed, Harley,” Bailey said.
“Axel said he was bringing me a present, Mommie,” Harley explained, smiling at Zoann and clinging to her. “When I opened my door to come downstairs, I thought my imagination was playing tricks on me when I heard your voice.”
“Of course I came to check on you.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to perform in my play with my face all messed up.”
“Uh, well…” Zoann looked at Mort and he shrugged. He didn’t fucking know what would happen. “I’m sure…the school might be closed anyway.”
“I wanted everyone to hear me sing.”
“We’ll see, baby. For now, just rest.”
“We won’t see anything,” Bailey cut in, her putrid look concerning Mort. “She’s my daughter, not yours, Zoann, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”
To the surprise of no one, Zoann had reached her limit with Bailey’s bullshit. “Something you fucking forgot until yesterday.”
Ordinarily, Mort would understand her annoyance and merely monitor the situation in case she decided to throw hands.
This wasn’t an ordinary situation. Bailey might lash out and tell Zoann what Ryan had done out of spite.
She’d accuse him of failing Harley again, instead of understanding he was trying to protect a woman from devastation.
A woman who was Outlaw’s sister and Val’s wife, and who’d helped Mortician and Bailey by taking Harley without a second thought.
“Harley has needed you for weeks.”
“Fuck you, bitch,” Bailey snapped. “Talk to your goddamn son. He took pictures of my naked, underaged daughter. I’m considering charges against him.”
Bailey knew fucking better than to bring the law into the clubhouse under any fucking circumstances. No question about it. She’d lost her fucking mind and wanted them to fucking die with that type of threat
Ryan deserved retribution, but there were fucking channels to go through to protect his mama and serve club justice.
“You’re a fucking liar,” Chester rallied. “My son would never.” Her voice didn’t hold much conviction. Somewhere, deep down, she knew Ryan was a motherfucker. “He couldn’t—”
Bailey smirked. “He did.”
“That isn’t true!” Harley cried, side-eying her mama, then hugging Zoann again. “Ryan opened the bathroom door because I forgot to lock it. He saw me all bruised up. I asked him to take the pictures in case Nardo killed me.”
Those words hit Mortician like bullets and sank into the fabric of his being. Even Bailey paled and tears rushed to her eyes. Harley continued to hug Zoann.
“Ryan’s only crime is showing them to CJ without my permission, Aunt Zoann. I swear, he was trying to help me.”
Mortician tried to discern the truth, but Harley was so focused on Zoann, he couldn’t meet her gaze. Couldn’t see if she’d look away.
“Are you sure, baby?” Zoann whispered, needing to hold onto hope that her son wasn’t a total motherfucker.
Mort knew about hope. He held onto it for his wife and he held onto it for his brother.
Harley nodded. “I promise.”
Zoann stepped back and held Harley’s shoulders. “I don’t like liars, Harley.”
Neither did Mort. However, in this instance, if Harley was trying to protect Zoann, he’d applaud her. Bailey had lost her fucking mind weeks ago and still hadn’t found that motherfucker.
“Look me in the eye and tell me Ryan didn’t abuse you.”
If he was a motherfucker, he would’ve leaned over to get a full view of Harley and see if she succeeded.
“You think Ryan hit me?” Harley gasped. “No. Never! Ryan didn’t abuse me. He helped me.”