Chapter 11b Diesel
A pussy lockout…
A year on the fucking sofa…
A fucking beatdown…
Anyfuckingthing…everyfuckingthing…was better than the hell Christopher had been living in for the past twenty-three hours. He’d give his right toe and left foot, his left nut and cock tip, his tongue, his hand, anything, for Megan to walk through the door.
He’d made it easier for her by going to the club, hoping for a meal, but nothing was cooked and not one girl was there for the dozens of brothers.
His boys trudged to their table and sat with Rory and Devon. Neither Johnnie or Cash were there. The moment Grant saw CJ, he stood from where he sat next to Mort and headed to him.
Val looked surprisingly calm while Knox rested his elbow on the table, chin in hand.
“Where’s Fia?” Christopher asked when Potter brought alcohol to the table. “Any of the girls?”
“They decided to throw in their lot with Meggie, Outlaw,” Potter responded. “She has them running scared. Fia fucked with Rebel again, and that pissed Meggie off so much she threatened Fia and Diesel.”
“Diesel?” Christopher replied. His boy hadn’t come to the club. He’d gone back to his room, as close to losing his shit as the rest of them. “What the fuck he did?”
Potter’s throat worked. “I–”
Christopher glared at the motherfucker.
“He framed Kaia because he doesn’t think he’s good enough for Rebel. Meggie found out.” Potter swallowed. “Don’t tell her I told you.”
If Fia was involved that meant Kaia was probably fucking her. Christopher doubted anyone would believe such a scenario without proof and he’d taught Diesel to be thorough. Couldn’t frame a fuckhead without evidence to back it up.
“Where’s the fuckin’ video?”
Potter paled.
“Show me now.”
“We erased it,” Potter whispered. “Don’t tell Meggie you know. She’d be so mad.”
“She ain’t fuckin’ here to be mad,” Christopher spat, his heart squeezing because he had to say those fucking words. His nostrils flared. He’d heard her loud and clear that she expected that motherfucker to be alive when she returned.
If…
When…
Goddamn.
Drawing in a deep breath, he grabbed his chest, on the verge of collapsing and sobbing and begging anyone who’d listen to send her back to him.
If he’d had one inkling that she’d ever leave him, he would’ve reined in his bullshit weeks ago. But he’d been so fucking smug, so confident, that Megan needed him too much to ever walk away.
A tremble went through him and he covered his face. Even knowing she was in Los Angeles, at Mort’s house…
He froze. Dropped his hands. Stared at Mortician.
“You know, Mort.”
“Know what, Prez?” Mort asked after a long pause. And, suddenly, Val didn’t look so fucking calm.
“You know where Megan at.” Christopher pointed to Val. “You fuckin’ do, too.”
“Leave your woman be, Outlaw,” Mort said, not denying the charge. “Let her figure this shit out. She got to work all her hurt and anger out in her head.”
“You helped her get away!”
“I didn’t. I swear.”
Christopher jumped to his feet. “I’m ridin’ out. I gotta see my Megan.”
Standing, Mortician hurried in front of him and blocked his path. “Prez, you not going to help shit if you go there. Stand down. Get your fucking head together for when she do come back so you can be the man she love.”
“Mort,” Christopher whispered. “I feel like I can’t fuckin’ breathe without Megan. My heart about to fuckin’ crumble. Please? I’ll do anyfuckinthing. Please?”
“Prez–”
“Excuse me? Are you Outlaw…you are,” a woman breathed. “Goddamn, if you don’t look just like Daddy.”
Christopher blinked, his attention drawn to a tall, black-haired, green-eyed bitch, who also resembled Cee Cee. He stared at her, knowing her identity because of Kendall’s research.
“I’m–”
“I know your fuckin’ ass, Celia,” he snapped, glaring at her. “What the fuck you want and why the fuck you walk in my fuckin’ club?”
Hesitation crossed her face. “Uh, I-I wanted to t-talk to you.”
“Fuck you. Get the fuck out my goddamn face before I shoot the fuck outta you. You ain’t here for no other motherfuckin’ reason than Bash.”
Raising her hands, she paled.
When Val and Stretch flanked him, and Mort stopped next to her, she trembled.
“I’m not bugged. I swear.”
“Fuck you,” he spat again.
“Please, I am here about Bash, not for him.”
“Ain’t given’ a good fuck. There ain’t a bitch here to strip search you, so you gettin’ the fuck out.”
Before she responded, Cash motherfucking McCall, swaggered his fucking ass in, and Christopher saw red, nearly knocking Celia off her feet and swerving through tables to get to him.
Axel and Megan’s words blurred in Christopher’s head, rage and pain and fear converging into punch after fucking punch and kick after fucking kick.
He would’ve stomped that motherfucker’s head in, if Stretch’s pleas hadn’t broke through his fury at the same time Mortician and Val dragged him away from that unconscious, bloodied assfuck.
His breath sawing in and out of his lungs, Christopher stood over Cash, not caring that Stretch pulled him into his arms, sobbing.
What about Megan’s fucking sobs? What about her pain and fear?
What about–
“Uh, Dad?” CJ called. “You, uh, you might want to turn around.”
Ready to shoot the fuck out of Celia and pulling his .9mm as he spun around, he paused and his mouth fell open.
She’d climbed onto the bar.
Stark fucking naked.
Storming to her, Christopher glared away two motherfuckers. The moment the assfucks jumped from the stools, he stepped closer to the bar and snatched Celia down. Her trembles didn’t move him. Why the fuck was she shaking any goddamn way? He didn’t fucking force her to strip.
He set her on her feet and released her. “Put your motherfuckin’ clothes on. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You know her, Outlaw?” Val asked.
“This my sister,” he growled, annoyed at his fucking annoyance toward the fuckheads ogling her.
He didn’t trust that bitch, so it shouldn’t fucking matter who the fuck looked at her pussy.
Frustrated to fucking hell, he grabbed her arm and marched her behind the bar, discovering her scattered clothes. “Dress right fuckin’ now.”
He stomped away, surprised steam wasn’t coming out of his fucking ears.
Her sniffles competed with Stretch’s sobs. He still cradled Cash on the floor. The sight took Christopher back to another time and place, when a bunch of fuckheads killed Stretch’s boyfriend and almost killed him.
“Huck, Torrin, help Stretch get Cash to one of the rooms.”
“Maybe we should have an infirmary, Dad,” Ryder suggested.
A green tint marred the chalkiness of Ransom’s face. The little motherfucker must’ve been reliving Nyx’s death. Most of the motherfuckers in the common room tracked Huck and Torrin carrying Cash’s limp body with Stretch stumbling behind.
Christopher’s stomach growled, the sound like an angry dog.
“I’m hungry too, Dad,” CJ told him, not the bright, happy kid he’d been before Christopher dragged him into club life.
“Don’t beat me.” Celia’s quiet words startled Christopher and drew his attention away from his son. She gripped her boots in one hand. “I-I just wanted to prove I wasn’t wired or strapped.”
“What the fuck you want?” he roared, not caring that she jumped, angry with the fucking world.
He wanted his goddamn wife back.
“Bash. Alive,” she said in a shaky voice. “He’s meeting with Kendall Donovan. She…she moved it to Wednesday. I didn’t know they were meeting at all. I tried to contact him to beg him to reconsider because it might be a setup, but I couldn’t get through.”
“Who the fuck told you about the meetin’? And what the fuck you want me to fuckin’ do? Cuz I fuckin’ know you ain’t standin’ here, askin’ me for fuckin’ information or to spare his fuckin’ life when I get my fuckin’ hands on that motherfucker.”
The silence in the crowded clubhouse indicated how unnerved the motherfuckers were at Christopher’s unhinging, so Celia’s sniffle echoed in the stillness.
“Please. He’s our–”
Christopher growled.
“He’s my brother,” she amended. “Without Bash, I would’ve died. Daddy had kicked me out and…and Bash saved me and my kids. I can’t lose him.”
“Get the fuck out,” Christopher said. “I ain’t fallin’ for your boo-hooey bullshit. Bash as much a motherfucker as Cee Cee.”
“Not to me!”
“Well, he sure the fuck is to me. He killin’ motherfuckers.
He fuckin’ with the girls. He sendin’ plants to fuckin’ spy.
And from what I understand he wanna hurt my Megan.
I ain’t ever forgivin’ that, so turn your fuckin’ ass around and get the fuck gone.
I ain’t trustin’ you as far as I can fuckin’ see you. ”
The door opened and Diesel walked in, keys in hand. “Come on, CJ. Let’s get something to eat.” He glanced at Christopher. “Do you want anything, Uncle Chris?”
“A burger with triple patties, American cheese, barbeque sauce, onions, and pickles with a large side of chili fries and two pieces of chocolate cake.” He hadn’t eaten anything all fucking day. “You can bring me some chocolate chip cookies, too.”
“Coming up,” Diesel promised, nodding to CJ.
“Can we come, Diesel?” Ryder called as CJ headed to where Diesel stood.
“Sure.”
“Can we eat in the restaurant because–”
“You’re Diesel?” Celia asked, giving the motherfucker the once over.
“Who the fuck’s asking?”
Wringing her hands, she threw Christopher a nervous glance and licked her lips. “Celia Caldwell.”
Christopher glowered at her, his gut telling him she was telling the truth and her visit was a last minute attempt to save Bash.
Licking her lips, she gazed at Diesel through her lashes, her cheeks flushing.
“Dad?” Lou called, walking into the club and carrying a covered pan, followed by Mark JB, Ephraim, and Kaleb each with a dish. “Can you help Mom? We cooked a lot of stuff because Lolly called and said Aunt Zoann was worried about Uncle Val. Mom figured everyone needed to eat.”
The scent of barbeque hit Christopher’s nostrils and his mouth watered so fucking much, he thought he might start drooling.