Chapter Twenty-Five – Christopher
If Christopher had known Roxy’s intentions, he sure the fuck wouldn’t have gone to her fucking house. His goddamn ass was still burning as he arrived at Derby’s clubhouse with Val, Mortician, and Stretch, for a scheduled meeting to discuss the future of the Scorched Devils.
He shouldn’t have fucking left his house once Diesel helped him to his room.
Walking down those stairs again had been a fucking nightmare.
For the first time since Megan hired Bishop and Kaia, he was happy they were there.
Without their assistance, he might not have reached the ground level.
They hadn’t held him up during their walk through the forest to the clubhouse, but they’d stayed at his side whenever he paused because his ass and legs were on fire.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growled, dismounting as fast as possible to overcome that burst of sharp, fiery pain that streaked from his shoulder blades to his ankles. The dull ache was better, so fucking much better. Bearable, too. He minced forward, groaning.
A cold shower might’ve helped. Salve for his ass. Something soothing. She’d beaten the fuck out of him.
He slid forward another fraction and moaned.
Val rushed to his side and put an arm around Christopher.
“Get the fuck away from me,” he growled, shrugging Val’s hold away, then slapping his fucking hand for good measure. “You ain’t got to hold me up.”
“I wasn’t about to hold you up, Outlaw. I was going to drag you inside. At the rate you walking, you won’t get to the meeting until fucking Halloween.”
Christopher glared at Val. “Next time, I’m gonna tell Roxanne to beat the fuck out of you with that broom.”
“The motherfucker broke,” Val argued.
Mortician tossed the cigarette he’d been smoking. “Why don’t I go inside and ask Derby to come out here, Prez?”
“Go ahead, Mort,” Christopher said, the bench near the front door of the clubhouse the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
“At least let us help you to the seat,” Stretch said.
“Fuck fine.”
Cursing every step of the motherfucking way, Christopher dropped onto the wooden bench and howled like a wolf seeing a full moon for the first time.
“Guess you wish Roxanne beat Outlaw’s ass before he fucked up your man, huh?” Val said, lighting his own cigarette.
Christopher scowled, but Stretch nodded, his lips drawn.
“How’s the motherfucker doing, by the way?” Val asked. “Forgot to inquire.”
“He’s awake. In a lot of pain.”
Val grinned. “More than Outlaw?” he asked, entirely too fucking amused.
“Much more,” Stretch answered, finding about as much humor in Val’s questions as Christopher. “Fee was pretty upset when she saw him. She cried most of the night.”
“You know anything about the argument her and Puff had?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Stretch nodded. “She was defending Cash. It pissed off both Zoann and Meggie.”
At the mention of Megan’s name, Christopher forgot his pain and his ears perked.
“Hopefully, she’s calmed down by now,” Stretch said morosely.
“She seemed fucking fine when I saw her,” Christopher grouched, still madder than a motherfucker.
“Not Zoann, Outlaw. Meggie. She threatened to have Diesel take care of Cash.”
Christopher’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, because Fee didn’t know when to shut the fuck up,” Val said.
“She was defending Cash and Outlaw, Val,” Stretch gritted. “That is Outlaw’s sister.”
“Ophelia went at Megan for me?” Christopher asked.
“She did,” Stretch confirmed.
“What Megan did?”
“What does Meggie always do?” Val’s grin widened. “Stood up for herself and you.”
“And threatened to sic Diesel on motherfuckin’ Cash?”
“Yeah, Outlaw.”
“See?” Val chortled. “Your woman still love you.”
“I just wish she’d come home.”
Stretch shifted. “You won’t let her kill Cash, will you?”
“She ain’t killin’ that motherfucker.”
“I’m still so angry with Cash, but I love him. I don’t want him to die.”
“Diesel still a fuckin’ club member. Ima tell the motherfucker not to fuck up Cash even if Megan ask. For now. Hear me? He still breathin’ cuz of her. I don’t think she want me to fuck up family. Put that bug in Fee’s ear before she get that motherfucker fucked up.”
“I’ll try.”
Christopher narrowed his eyes.
“I-I mean I will.”
“I thought Mort was joking when he said I needed to come outside,” Derby announced, walking up to them.
Mort and Dez followed close behind. The president of the Scorched Devils had lost a lot of weight. The last time Christopher saw him, he’d been a jovial, healthy looking motherfucker.
“Outlaw,” Dez greeted quietly.
Christopher didn’t have time to educate a fuckhead on the dangers of club life.
From the beginning, he’d suspected Dez and company were playing at the outlaw lifestyle.
They liked the fucking aesthetics and wanted to dabble with dangerous shit.
That was why Christopher hadn’t wanted to absorb the Devils into his fucking organization. They didn’t have what it took.
Not even to be a Burning Hound, and Derby’s club wasn’t nearly as hardcore as the Dwellers.
Neither were they fucking playacting like the Scorched Devils, which was the reason Bash hit them.
He knew they were vulnerable fuckheads. Now, they were as much Christopher’s problem as they were Derby’s since Christopher insisted Derby patch them over.
“Ima give you and your motherfuckers a choice, Dez.”
“I’m listening.”
“Turn in your patches. We’ll set you and your families up in a different state. Talk to some contacts. Hook you up with jobs. Let you live a normal fuckin’ life. You got a fuckin’ taste of our life.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“Stay a Hound and act like you got a fuckin’ brain and fuckin’ balls.”
“The brothers I lost were my friends. I never expected…” Dez shoved his hand through his red hair. “This has been so fucking traumatic. Out of all the members we had, only us five are left. Half of the others are dead and the rest just ran. Good men. My friends,” he repeated.
Christopher gave him a sad smile. “Even though we court death with what we do, when it finds us, it’s still so fuckin’ hard.”
“It is.”
“Mort gonna give you a number to one of my brothers. His name’s Narci. He’ll do up some plaques for the members you lost.” Christopher exchanged a look with Derby, who nodded. “You Hounds now, so Derby will hang your lost members on the wall.”
“They’re Freebirds,” Dez whispered.
“Yeah, brother,” Christopher agreed.
Dez held out his hand, which Christopher accepted. “Thank you, Outlaw.”
“Take care of yourself, Dez,” Christopher responded, wishing he could stand and clap him on the back.
“Here, brother,” Mort said, handing Dez a slip of paper. “Narci’s number. Give Prez a chance to put a bug in his ear before you hit him up.”
“I will.”
“I’ll get the funds to Derby. He’ll send us the information on where you’d like to land,” Christopher told him. “It’ll be fuckin’ done within the week.”
“I feel sorry for that motherfucker, Prez,” Mort said, once Derby and Dez went back into the clubhouse.
“Me, too, Mort,” Christopher said, sighing. “Somebody should’ve clued him the fuck in before they asked to step into the big leagues.”
“Ready to ride, Prez?” Mort asked. “I got to get to the bank.”
Christopher lumbered to his feet. He couldn’t wait to get home for a cold shower and a pain killer. “Let’s ride.”
Opening the door and stepping into the foyer, Christopher paused. Waiting for his skin to prickle with awareness. Waiting for his heart to settle in his chest and his pulse to pound. But…nothing. Just pain and loneliness.
No Megan.
Then, footsteps reached him and he closed the door, waiting, hoping. Praying. Usually, he knew when she was near. His entire being came alive, but maybe his instincts were muted because Roxanne beat his ass and Megan devastated him.
“Hey, Dad,” Axel greeted, stepping into the foyer from the hallway that took them to the kitchen and all the rooms on that side. He wasn’t in uniform. He must not have gone to school.
Christopher didn’t care.
“Hey, boy.”
Axel swept his green gaze over him. “Are you still in pain?”
“Not too much,” he lied.
Disappointment flickered over Axel’s face, so brief Christopher knew he was mistaken. His kid wouldn’t want him to suffer. “Oh.”
“I need—”
“Are you hungry?”
“A bit. Not too fuckin’ much. I just need—”
Oddly subdued, Axel walked to Christopher and took his hand, tugging him forward. “Come on, Dad. I’ve been waiting for you. I made you some coffee.”
“I didn’t know you brew coffee,” Christopher remarked, allowing himself to be pulled along, pretending it didn’t hurt.
Axel tipped his head back and smiled. “I learned just for you.”
Hiding a smile, Christopher didn’t protest when Axel guided him to the breakfast room. His boy shoved him down without warning, and Christopher bit the inside of his cheek to stop his moan.
Axel cocked his head to the side, studying him again. “Do you miss Mom?”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t get into much more than that. If he did, he’d look like a bitch-faced pussy. “I miss her a lot,” he added when Axel didn’t respond or move.
“Why’d you hit Mom?”
Christopher stiffened. “I ain’t ever hit your ma. Before you tell that fuckin’ lie, I’ll ground you for the next ten fuckin’ years.”
Axel glowered at him. “This is your last fucking chance to answer right.”
“Or what? You a kid. You ain’t lyin’ on me or fuckin’ chastisin’ me. I ain’t ever hit Megan.” The very idea fucked with his head.
“What did you do to Mom?”
They’d gone through this ad nauseum. Christopher refused to repeat it again. Sick of the little motherfucker, he returned Axel’s mutinous look.
“Whatever the fuck it was, it’s fuckin’ done. I ain’t able to take it back. And it aintcha fuckin’ business.”
“Delulu,” Axel said with disgust. “It is my fucking business. And CJ’s. And Diesel’s. And Ransom’s. And Ryder’s. It’s even Rule, Rebel, and Gunner’s. Why? Because you made it our business. From the time I was a kid, you said to protect Mom. You didn’t say to declude you.”