Chapter Forty – Christopher
Staring down at Nardo’s body laid out on the autopsy table, Christopher inhaled Aunt Mary, exhaled, and inhaled again, then passed her to Val.
To say he’d been shocked when he heard CJ’s voice in the role of Romeo—one of the stupidest fuckheads in literary history—was an understatement.
At first he wasn’t sure if Harley had freaked out and asked CJ to switch roles with Nardo.
Or if Nardo had escaped. He hadn’t known what the fuck was going on.
Neither had Megan. She’d wanted to go backstage but Christopher wouldn’t allow that.
He wasn’t sure if it was safe. Listening to his boy struggling with his lines would’ve been funny if fucking cluelessness hadn’t fucking consumed him and if he hadn’t been worried that Harley would fail her fucking class because CJ was fucking up the play so bad.
It wasn’t Harley’s fault, but the department, especially Ms. Mendez, had put their heart and soul into the production for a hands-on experience that made learning fun.
Those who participated, and excelled, even if they had a minor part in any area of the show, escaped sitting in class for a long fucking test to pass their classes.
When Diesel turned around in his seat, caught Christopher’s eye and nodded to him, he knew shit had kicked off afuckingain. In the hallway, Diesel showed Christopher a cryptic message from CJ.
He’s near the Middle School receiving bays
He turned out to be motherfucking Nardo, deader than a fucking rock.
At first, Christopher had seen no obvious wounds or signs of strangulation, so he’d wondered if CJ smothered him.
Fuck, that hadn’t mattered. Moving the motherfucker without detection had, so Christopher called Val to bring the fucking van, then sent Diesel to pay off the teacher if she gave Harley a passing grade.
Afterwards, he’d brought his ass back to the auditorium, so fucking happy he’d missed most of the rest of that fucking play.
He had to convince his kids to never take theater, even if he had to pay them a fucking mint.
Mendez liked fucking Shakespeare and Christopher would blow the building up if she convinced one of his kids to willingly participate.
Megan had asked what happened and he’d simply whispered, “Nardo ain’t a motherfuckin’ problem no more, baby.”
Her eyes had widened; she’d heaved in a breath; and nodded.
“Take the kids out to eat after this shit’s over. CJ, Ryan, Grant, Devon, and Rory got to come with us.”
“Okay,” she’d whispered.
Without Christopher telling her, she knew that CJ especially had to return to the clubhouse.
Now, Diesel was pacing in front of Dead Ned, stiff as a motherfucker on the floor in front of the bondage chair where Ryan sat, “guarding” the corpse on Diesel’s instruction.
More psychological torture for a motherfucker who needed a beating every fucking day for the rest of his life.
He was pale and teary-eyed, not moving away and too scared to faint since Diesel promised to chain him to Dead Ned if he did.
As furious as Val was with his kid, he didn’t like Diesel’s punishment. Ryan’s life was still in danger, though. Luckily, Mort was too consumed with everything else to accurately assess Ryan’s role in Harley’s misery.
Undoubtedly, he would’ve killed Ryan to avenge his girl.
Mortician was a good motherfucker, an honorable one.
He wouldn’t have wanted to stay after he took the life of that coward because Ryan’s death would’ve destroyed Val and Zoann.
Christopher protected his nephew on behalf of Val and in the interest of the club.
More than anything, he saved that fuckhead’s life because of Zoann.
She had survived so fucking much. Everyone thought her toughness got her through.
In a way, it had, but not before she almost took her own life.
If she lost Ryan, she’d hold on for Val and Devon, but she would never be the same again. And what if she lost Ryan to Mortician’s bullet and discovered how her son terrorized and victimized innocent girls?
Christopher didn’t even want to consider that. So, yeah, if he could get away with preserving a few eyeballs and chaining them to that motherfucker, he would. Val could fucking choke on it.
Because, in case the motherfucker forgot, Christopher was also overlooking what Ryan did to Rebel.
Fuck, and Mattie, because Johnnie might blame her as much as he did Ryan.
Assfucks were unpredictable. The point was Christopher saving Ryan from execution wasn’t an easy fucking decision. He wanted his own fucking retribution.
“Here, CJ.”
Diesel held Aunt Mary, freshly rolled, out to CJ.
Scowling, he shoved Diesel’s hand away. “Fuck you.”
“Devon made this,” Diesel said tightly. “And even if I had, I wouldn’t lace it with anything. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“It help to get you through what you got to do, CJ,” Mort said.
Remaining silent, Christopher lit a cigarette, wondering if Megan wasn’t right about Diesel.
“I have a question,” Grant said, a little pale but so far standing firm.
“For?” Val asked.
“Anyone who’s willing to answer.”
“We might not be able to answer it, little dude,” Mortician said, holding out his hand to Diesel for Aunt Mary. He hit her and then smiled at Grant. “But we listening.”
“Why does CJ have to dismember Nardo? Aren’t dead bodies…?” Grant flushed, his gaze flickering to Mortician and then to the floor. “He killed him. Shouldn’t that be the end of it?”
“First kill,” Diesel responded. “He has to dispose of him.”
“Besides, Nardo’s still under eighteen like CJ,” Devon added, then looked at Ryan and swallowed.
Another guilty fuckhead. Devon and Ryan’s new bond over the past few days hadn’t escaped Christopher.
He’d bet that motherfucker’s head, Devon knew what the fuck Ryan had done.
Not only hadn’t he opened his fucking mouth, but he’d let Ryan take the fucking fall alone.
Guilt by fucking association still warranted punishment.
Again, though, Zoann. If he shook the fuck out of Devon, she might accidentally learn the truth.
Maybe Christopher could confront him while he was there. He just had to figure out a way to get Mortician out. Grant, too. All Roxanne needed to do was get suspicious and wield her collapsible baton and that motherfucker would cave.
Devon focused on Val. “Right, Dad?”
“Yeah, boy.”
“I can show you were to cut, CJ,” Rory offered, his eyes as bright with insanity as Johnnie’s always got at the prospect of gore.
“Always so loyal to CJ, Ro.” Devon’s tinge of shade escaped most motherfuckers. “Commendable, cuz.”
“Fuck off,” Rory said.
“Dad, did you have to dismember someone when you…?” CJ started, too overwhelmed to pick up on the fumes of fuckery. “Never mind. I remember the story you told me.”
“I’m more than fucking happy to chop and box this fuckhead, kid,” Mortician told him. “What the fuck you used to strangle him, by the way?”
“You know?”
“Petechiae,” Diesel said. “Especially in his eyes. And the bruising around his neck.”
Christopher cocked his head to the side. “You used your belt?”
“Yeah, Dad. After I punched the back of his fucking head. I was minding my own fucking business, thinking about how proud I was of Harley, and the motherfucker came out of nowhere. Zero fucking survival skills with all the shit he started saying about her. I just lost fucking control.”
“He fuckin’ needed to die, but out in public, especially around civilians, you always got to stay aware,” Christopher scolded.
“We should’ve just made Harley stay home,” Mort said woefully. “Outlaw right, CJ. This situation could’ve gotten out of hand.”
“It would’ve been self-defense,” Diesel said with a shrug.
“He hadn’t attacked me, Diesel. He was just running off at the mouth.”
Diesel’s eyes chilled, CJ’s unfriendly tone loud and clear to Christopher. No one could miss it.
“Running off at the mouth, threatening you, little brother.”
“That defense wouldn’t hold up in court,” CJ said.
“Are you implying I don’t know my fucking job, CJ?” Diesel asked.
“Sometimes, I fucking wonder if you know anything,” CJ replied.
“Remember that the next time you text me about a fucking dead body.”
“I didn’t want to text my dad and alert my mom.”
Fuck. CJ’s ma and dad, huh? Ownership that pointedly excluded Diesel.
Anger and resentment settled into Diesel’s face, but Christopher drew his attention by throwing his cigarette on the floor and stomping it.
If his sons had to battle, he’d clip CJ’s wings a little and give Diesel a come up, so he didn’t fucking hem and haw. He just made the fucking announcement.
“Your ma gonna tear down the treehouse and build a new one for you and Jana. If I fuckin’ believe her, the motherfucker gonna be ten fuckin’ stories with a hundred goddamn rooms.”
It wouldn’t be that fucking big. So far.
Fuck.
The announcement startled Diesel. For a moment, he lowered his guard and allowed Christopher to see his vulnerability and his hope.
“She is?”
“Yeah, boy.”
“Mom’s tearing down my treehouse to give to Diesel?” CJ asked on fucking cue, reigniting Diesel’s rage.
“It wasn’t only yours, CJ,” Christopher told him. “It was mainly yours, but your ma had it built for all you lil’ motherfuckers.”
“Everyone called it my treehouse, though.”
No getting around that, so Christopher opted for an actual truth. “You don’t even go in that motherfucker anymore, boy.”
“Why wouldn’t she fucking build a new treehouse for me?”
“Are you gettin’ fuckin’ married?”
CJ threw Diesel a dark look. “Is he?”
“You fuckin’ know something I don’t?” Christopher demanded, looking at both his boys.
“Other than Mom throwing me over for Axel and now Diesel, Dad?”
“Grow the fuck up, CJ,” Diesel snapped. “You have every fucking thing in the world, especially Aunt Meggie’s love. You don’t even want me with a fucking treehouse that I happen to fucking enjoy to get the fuck away from you.”