Easton
Five days after Kendall revealed Jana was Johnnie’s aunt, he was back at Logan’s old house in the very room the DNA results were given.
Not long after she announced the addition to Johnnie’s family—though not in the way he expected—the dinner party, or whatever the fuck it was, ended. They’d driven home in silence.
By the time Johnnie finished reaming Rory out for disrespecting Kendall, she’d been asleep and he’d spent the night holding her.
He was determined to break through her insanity that made her see him as a man she could walk away from, so he’d made love to her, refusing to allow her to lay underneath him like a statue.
She was adjusting, knowing they’d sleep entwined in each other’s arms. It still galled him that Jana was related to him in any way, but he’d find a way to get rid of her sooner or later.
He’d overlook the insult because it seemed as if life was getting back to normal again. It was unfortunate Bailey had been caught in the crossfire and he’d fed her misinformation, but that was her husband’s fault. Mortician could deal with the fallout—whatever that might be.
Johnnie’s main agenda was Charlotte.
For Kendall’s sake, he hoped Charlotte wouldn’t repeat whatever she told Bash or Kendall.
No, he hoped she didn’t show up at all. He’d purchased tickets for Charlotte and Brooks for a gala in Portland.
Bash, Brooks, and Christopher knew. They agreed if she was a no-show, they’d let it go and allow Johnnie to exile her.
Likewise, if she did show and didn’t offer Megan or any of the kids as a sacrifice.
When her allotted time to arrive came and went, Johnnie breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, the bell rang five minutes later. The moment Easton opened the door and greeted Charlotte, Johnnie began to worry.
Easton limped in front of Charlotte Redding, leaning heavily on his cane, which he preferred not to use but after the weekend Diesel put him through as his sponsor, he was in a lot of pain.
He couldn’t fucking believe the audacity of the woman and really fucking wished Outlaw hadn’t sent him with Johnnie and Val.
Annoyed, he guided Charlotte into the kitchen, where Bash and Cleaner sat at the kitchen table. Plastic already lined the floor.
“Mr. Bash,” she greeted, sailing forward, well put together in a black cocktail dress, kitten heels, and diamonds. She glanced at the floor and scrunched her nose. “We could’ve met somewhere else. I know how tedious kitchen work can be and constant activity makes everything worse.”
“Please sit,” Easton told her, tired of standing, but enough of a gentleman to try and wait until she sat the fuck down.
Not only were Bash and Cleaner staring at her with dislike, they hadn’t spoken or stood.
“I can’t stay long,” Charlotte went on. “Brooks will wonder where I’m at.
Mr. Donovan bought us tickets for La Boheme.
I’m meeting him at the theater. I’ve seen professional productions so many times.
And this is just a local company reaching above their talent.
My tardiness won’t matter when they should be grateful for my presence for even one minute. ”
“Sit, Easton.” Bash released smoke from his cigarette and then discarded it in the ashtray.
“Lottie seems as if she wants to stand all night, bemoaning who can or can’t perform one of the most famous operas of all times.
” Leaning back and folding his arms, he cocked his head to the side, ignoring her glower.
She hated the nickname ‘Lottie’. “I’m curious, Lottie Dottie.
Is Rodolpho’s Aria or Musetta’s Waltz your favorite piece from the production? ”
Her eyes flared in surprise. “You understand opera?”
Shaking his head, Easton sat and forced a chuckle, hoping to draw Bash out of his murderous contemplation. It worked.
The hatred in Cleaner’s eyes chilled Easton, but he reminded himself the motherfucker wouldn’t try to fuck him up out in the open.
“Sit, Lottie,” Bash ordered, nodding to the chair she stood near.
“I will not sit,” she gritted, “as long as you disrespect me with that silly nickname, Mr. Bash.”
“I clearly remember telling you to call me Mr. Caldwell, Lottie. You get the fucking respect you deserve. Now, sit before I lose my fucking patience.”
Huffing, she snatched the chair back and dropped into it. “What can I do for you, sir?” she asked, determined not to refer to Bash as he wanted.
“You’re a stubborn cunt, aren’t you?” Bash said mildly, exchanging a smile with Cleaner.
Easton was so fucking happy that fuckhead was remaining quiet, but he couldn’t help but wonder why. Usually, Cleaner ran his fucking mouth whether Bash approved or not.
Charlotte started to push back from her seat. Easton expelled the metaphorical breath he’d been holding.
“Surely you didn’t abandon Brooks for nothing?” Bash pressed.
“It seems as if I have,” Charlotte snapped. “Did Mr. Donovan put you up to this?”
“The brainless blond?” Bash snickered. “I didn’t tell him about your visit to my clubhouse, so why would he ask me to invite you over?”
“You call Mr. Donovan a brainless blond?” Charlotte’s eyes lit up. “You are smarter than your bloodlines, and appearances, suggest.”
“Kendall was a little hot under the collar that I called her husband a dumb fuckhead, but she did giggle. I think she secretly liked it.”
Easton hoped Johnnie didn’t blow their cover because of Bash’s goading.
“Doubtful,” Charlotte said with a dramatic sigh.
“She thinks that man is brilliant. I shouldn’t hold that against her.
Love does strange things to a woman. But the way she likes Outlaw and her happiness that he sees her as a “sister”.
” Her diamonds sparkled with the movement of her fingers as she made the sign of quotation marks.
She snorted. “He’s more ignorant than you.
At least you try to sound smart. He makes no effort.
Just a couple of days ago, Brooks said he thinks the old Outlaw is returning.
Ignorance rubs off because my poor husband made no sense.
I couldn’t, in good faith, leave him hanging, so I bit and asked what he meant.
It was some convoluted explanation about how Outlaw talks.
If he talks one way, he’s supposedly Christopher.
Another way, it’s Outlaw. A combination and he’s just the psychopath we all know him to be. ”
“Brooks likes to play with his fucking life, don’t he, Lottie?”
“Brooks didn’t say that. I did,” she said proudly. “I think Brooks likes Outlaw as much or more than he likes Mr. Donovan.”
“And you like none of us,” Bash said.
“I like you better than I do most of those barbarians. Especially Outlaw.”
Bash smiled, then got to his feet, walking around Easton to reach Charlotte and stand behind her. Easton grew uncomfortable, so it didn’t surprise him when Charlotte began to fidget. Bash bent and buried his nose in her neck, sniffing.
“I love the smell of an uppity cunt,” he told her.
She gasped.
Laughing, he straightened and walked to the refrigerator, pulling out a six pack and then returning to his seat. He handed Cleaner and Easton each a can, then slid another one across the table.
“Drink up, Lottie.”
Stiffening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and wrinkled her nose. “Beer is beneath me.”
Bash halted, the bottle halfway to his mouth, and grinned slowly. “Exactly what is on par with you?”
“Brooks,” she chirped. “Kendall. My children and grandchildren.”
Bash gulped half the contents of his beer. “Must be a miserable existence, levitating on a plane above us mortal motherfuckers.”
“Thanks to Meggie, my existence is equivalent to any ordinary person and that was not supposed to be my lot in life. Mother and Father must be so disappointed in me.”
“Well, goddamn.” Bash finished the beer, smacked his lips, and belched. “Love a cold brew,” he said, ignoring Charlotte’s distaste. “Where are you hiding your Fountain of Youth? You’re old as Gaia, so Mother must be Chaos and Father is Erebus…?” He rubbed his chin. “That’s a tough one, Lottie.”
“There was nothing chaotic about Mother. She was grace personified.”
“He’s referring to Greek mythology,” Easton said. “Gaia, Mother Earth. Chaos, the oldest deity in which all others were born. Some theories suggest Nyx is older than Gaia. Nyx represents night and Erebus is darkness. All are immortal.”
“I’m impressed you’re so well-versed, Easton.” Cleaner sipped his beer then looked at Bash. “Aren’t you?”
Bash glanced between Cleaner and Easton, smiled, and grabbed another beer, opening and drinking deeply.
“In Built for Pleasure, there was a motherfucker I hated. I thought he needed to fucking die. But Daria—that’s the author—kept saving him.
Pissed me off. I thought about finding her and carving out her brain since she wasn’t putting it to good use. ”
Bash loved Daria Monroe’s books, so Easton looked her up. Her son-in-law was a biker, if her bio was accurate. If Bash fucked her up, he’d start a war.
“Do you know what the cunt was doing? Plot armor.” Bash glared at Cleaner.
“You, fuckhead, don’t have that. I’m choosing to fucking believe you didn’t shoot my kid because you were important to Daddy.
Anytime he didn’t fuck you up over some of the shit you did, I don’t want to be the fuckhead that fails him.
If you make me kill you and disappoint him, I will fucking torture you, so quit while you still have your fucking nose, fingers, ears, and toes attached to you. ”
Cleaner dropped his gaze and shifted. Easton wondered if it was an act, although the motherfucker seemed sincerely uneasy and contrite. “I would never do anything to dishonor Cee Cee or disobey you, Bash.”