Chapter Twenty-Eight – Christopher
Standing at the podium, Christopher had to fix his fucking mouth to discuss Gypsy’s death. Most of them knew her either because of her friendship with Megan and Bunny or because she was Derby’s old lady. Or both.
Some of them had fucked her in her effort to make Derby jealous, Diesel included. Not that it had mattered to Derby. Nothing she did seemed to matter to him, until he’d lost her and left him grief-stricken and inconsolable.
After spending most of the fucking night and morning with Derby and sending out texts to clue motherfuckers in, Christopher was still in fucking shock.
Even the announcement that he’d reached a tentative agreement with Bash seemed hollow and inconsequential. Fuck, yeah, it was to protect the club and their families for as long as it held up, but Gypsy’s death overshadowed what should’ve been a defining moment.
First order of business was discussing how they’d honor Derby’s woman at her services.
Then, he’d talk about Bash and finally, Diesel’s birthday.
Even if Christopher didn’t want that motherfucker to make it to Saturday.
He didn’t deserve another fucking birthday.
Unfortunately, Megan overruled him and insisted they go ahead with their gifts.
If that made his woman happy, he’d fucking do it.
It had been a long fucking day and he hated to leave Megan, but club business took precedence. The sooner he got through Church, the sooner he could get home and hold Megan tight, thanking his lucky stars she was safe.
Christopher had just signaled to Slipper to lock the door so church could get underway when Kendall burst in, a fucking baseball bat in hand.
“Kendall—”
“Kendall?” Johnnie’s questioning tone drowned out Christopher’s call.
She didn’t hear either of them. Wild eyes searched the room.
“Red, what the fuck—”
She zeroed in on Potter and Mort halted his question.
“Motherfucker,” she snarled, flying at Potter and swinging.
He ducked just in time. She swung again, evading every scrambling motherfucker in her path.
Potter, that stupid motherfucker, ran behind the bar, cornering his own dumb ass. Lucky for him, she found a new fucking target and destroyed every goddamn bottle of liquor…the glasses…two of the monitors…before she turned to Potter again. He was screaming like a pussy.
Mort reached her first. Blinded by rage, she turned and swung. Motherfucker was lucky he was so quick on his feet.
“Mom!” Rory yelled.
Johnnie ran to her. “Kendall, stop!”
Gripping the bat in both her hands, she raised it above her head.
Christopher grabbed his .9mm and fired into the air. The bullet lodged into the ceiling, dusting mangled sheetrock over the podium. The report, however, startled her and she jumped, giving Mort a small window of time to grab the bat while Johnnie wrapped his arms around her.
She struggled against his hold. Potter yelped. Although Christopher couldn’t see, he was pretty fucking sure she’d kicked him.
“If you look at my fucking daughter, I will kill you,” she snarled, hatred blazing in her eyes. “You sponsored those two motherfuckers who gave my daughter drugs at a high fucking cost. You know what they say about the company you keep?”
“I’m sorry, Kendall,” Potter sobbed. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know about—”
She jerked again. He moaned. More than likely, from another kick.
“Next fucking time, find the fuck out.” Fury blanketed her face again. Somehow, she escaped Johnnie, her fists swinging.
“Kendall, fuck!” he puffed, trying to pull her back, and only succeeding because Mort assisted.
“Red, stop,” he ordered, helping Johnnie to wrestle her from behind the bar. “Stop, now!”
Val shoved one of the younger members off a barstool, so Mort and Johnnie could force Kendall onto it.
Christopher let her rage because she needed to get it out. After Monday, he was surprised she’d lasted this long. Mattie had probably opened up to her ma and set Kendall off.
With her own history of sexual assault, they were lucky she hadn’t brought a gun and shot the fuck out of Potter. Motherfucker was guilty by association. But he was a solid brother, who’d followed the rules, which was why he’d gotten off with a warning when it happened.
The scent of alcohol permeated the air. She dripped with various liquor. Small cuts marred her face, but she was oblivious, shaking and in tears.
“Here.” Val shoved a joint at her, then looked at Johnnie. “She fucked up the alcohol. She need something to calm her.”
“She doesn’t smoke weed, motherfucker.” Johnnie knocked Val’s offering away and pressed his own hand against her face. “Breathe, Kendall. Breathe,” he soothed. “You’re okay, gorgeous. You’re fine.”
She stared at him, her eyes huge, then she leaned into Johnnie and sobbed. “My baby,” she wailed. “My sweet, sweet baby. Why’d they do that to her?”
“Shhh, sweetheart. It’s okay. She’s okay. We’re going to get her through this. You and me. Together.”
Potter stumbled from behind the bar, dazed and scratched, but otherwise unharmed because she hadn’t hit him. As hard as she was swinging the bat, she would’ve broken something. And if she would’ve hit his head, she would’ve cracked it open.
“I’m so sorry, Kendall. I didn’t know. I swear if I would’ve known I would’ve buried them myself.”
The faint sound of a gunning engine and a car screeching to a halt reached Christopher. A minute later, the door opened and Megan ran in, car keys in hand. She looked at Christopher and he nodded.
“I texted her, Dad,” CJ whispered as Megan rushed to Kendall and Johnnie stepped out of the way.
“Roxy’s on the way to the house, love,” Megan said. “The three of us can have a glass of wine. You can tell us all about it.”
Kendall swallowed.
In her bare feet, Megan wore a pair of tiny shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. She didn’t notice the members ogling her, especially Johnnie, but Christopher did.
“You two gotta get the fuck out so we can proceed,” he barked, wanting Megan away from the fucking leers.
“You’re right, Christopher,” Megan said, backing away while Johnnie assisted Kendall to her feet. “Let’s go, love.”
“Okay,” Kendall murmured.
“Potter, you and Torrin clean up,” Christopher directed once Megan guided Kendall out. “Narci, Huck, and Bishop, get to the storeroom and bring out beer. That’s all we have for now. We don’t have fuckin’ time to dig out nothin’ else.”
Christopher allowed ten minutes to clean shit up and set the bottles of beer on the bar counter.
It also gave everyone time to settle down and resume conversation, though Potter and Huck continued clearing away all the broken shit.
Kendall did thousands in damage. Of course, Christopher couldn’t let that pass without a fucking fine, but as her husband and the club member, Johnnie would receive the discipline.
He waited until everyone who wanted a beer had one before he started over and called the meeting to order, then dove into the matters at hand.
“Derby ain’t let me know plans for Gypsy’s services. But I was thinkin’ we should order arm bands. I gotta ask her favorite color—”
Rory raised his hand and Christopher lifted a brow. Not because the little motherfucker had a comment, but because of his condition. Teary-eyed, red-faced, and all around fucking miserable, even before his ma’s meltdown. He’d walked in despondent and his mood devolved from there.
“What, Rory?” he asked, studying his nephew, then looking at CJ and wondering why neither Rory, CJ, nor Ryan, Devon, and Grant could meet his eyes.
“Gypsy’s favorite color was magenta, Uncle Christopher,” Rory said hoarsely.
Squinting, Christopher cocked his head to the side.
“Gypsy was a cool chick, son,” Johnnie said, missing what was suddenly so fucking obvious. “She loved to talk to anyone about inconsequential shit, since Derby was so fucking neglectful of her. I hope she didn’t bore you when she cornered you at Megan’s.”
His flush spreading to his ears and neck, Rory bowed his head. “She didn’t, Dad,” he whispered.
“Did you know Gypsy’s favorite color, CJ?” Johnnie asked.
CJ glowered at him. “I wasn’t required to since I wasn’t fucking her.”
Christopher sighed, wishing his boy got his head on fucking straight. He would’ve known better than to blurt that shit.
Snickers floated up and Rory cringed.
“Rory should beat you for that fucking lie,” Johnnie said, brimming with hostility.
Fuck it. The shit was done. CJ had opened this can of worms. He had to see it the fuck through, even though it was so fucking hard for Christopher to keep his fucking mouth shut, but he’d stood toe-to-toe with Rack when he’d been CJ’s age on more than one occasion.
Big Joe only intervened when Rack threatened deadly consequences.
“Apologize to my son, CJ,” Johnnie ordered.
“I’ll console him but I’m not apologizing for the truth, Uncle Johnnie.”
Appalled, Johnnie stared at Rory, not fucking seeing his kid’s grief.
“Are you standing for this fucking disrespect, Rory? CJ wants to turn you into a laughingstock, along with me, by putting you in bed with that used up old woman. In other words, my son isn’t good enough to attract a girl like Fia or Tennysee. ”
“How the fuck Ten get into this conversation?” Narci asked. That motherfucker didn’t want Tennysee but he didn’t want anyone else to want her either.
“Let’s take a vote on the armbands,” Christopher barked, uninterested in the bullshit.
“No, Christopher!” Johnnie jumped to his feet and started forward, but Mortician, fill-in SAA until Digger recovered, stepped in Johnnie’s path.
“Tell your fucking son to apologize.”
“I don’t give a fuck who tells me to apologize,” CJ snapped. “It ain’t happening. Rory and Gypsy were a thing, Uncle Johnnie. Since last fucking fall.”
Johnnie turned to Rory. “That isn’t true, is it, son? You can do so much better than a sad, pathetic wretch like her.”
Rory started to cry.