Chapter Forty-Nine – Christopher
Unsure what the fuck to expect when he walked into his bedroom, it sure the fuck wasn’t finding every one of his kids, except CJ, Jo, and Diesel asleep in his goddamn bed.
Gunner slept between Megan and Rebel. Axel sprawled out next to his Ma, on his back, his arm thrown across her.
She was on his right, curled on her side around Gunner, and facing Rebel.
To Axel’s left, Ransom slept, unbothered by Axel’s other arm against his face. Ryder sprawled out across the foot.
Pushing away his annoyance, Christopher snatched his phone from his pocket and took several pictures. Megan loved photos, then he texted CJ and Diesel and ordered them to the room.
He hoped they came quickly. Christopher was fucking tired and only wanted to spend time with Megan.
Christopher had tapped Diesel to pick up CJ and Rory from the hospital and meet him at the house. It had taken hours to process that hotel room.
For the first time in a long time, Christopher missed his CSI team.
Johnnie handled the forensics and Cash helped Stretch with the digital shit.
Val, Digger, and Mort were the jacks of all trades.
Part clean-up crew, part CSI, part whatever Christopher needed.
Cash’s bomb-making specialties could’ve come in handy.
Just blow up the motherfucking motel and be done with it.
Except Hortensia was no longer that rural place with a few hundred residents and dominated by the club.
McCall wouldn’t have been able to make anything go boom-boom-pow. But Ghost could’ve made his appearance. His road name because of his sniping abilities.
“Hey, Dad—” Stopping next to him, CJ abruptly halted and gaped at the fucking bed.
“Exfuckinxactly,” Christopher grouched. “Either I gotta wake them up, carry them one at a fuckin’ time, or get help.” He sidled a glance at his boy. “I guess you know what fuckin’ option I chose.”
“About what…?” Diesel’s voice trailed off as he halted on Christopher’s other side. “What the fuck?”
Christopher nodded. “Start gettin’ them the fuck out,” he said, although Diesel had already started for the bed.
He expected the motherfucker to go to Rebel. Instead, he went to Ransom. Or Ransom’s side. He reached over the kid and scooped Axel into his arms.
Axel lifted his head, and Christopher cursed.
“Diesel,” Axel said groggily.
“Shhh, it’s okay, Ax. Go back to sleep.”
“K.” He laid his head on Diesel’s shoulder and released a snore.
“Be back, Uncle Christopher,” Diesel said.
“What the fuck just happened, Dad?”
“Don’t know. Don’t give a fuck right now.”
He didn’t trust Diesel not to try to throw Christopher off a little more and pretend he’d gotten fucking sense about the Rebel situation.
Which reminded him. He needed to turn those fucking second-floor cameras on again.
With Rebel and Megan gone, he’d gone back to the original ones for safety measures.
The others were there to catch a stupid motherfucker.
CJ scooped Rebel into his arms. She didn’t open her eyes. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
Two down. Three to go.
“What Diesel said, Dad,” CJ said cheekily.
In other fucking words, he was coming back.
Christopher snickered. Tomorrow, at breakfast, he’d ask CJ about the Harley situation.
Late Friday, Mort had called him and told him everything about Dead One and Dead Two.
He was so fucking proud of CJ and Megan’s, “make sure he’s careful,” didn’t surprise Christopher when he’d told her about the call right after he'd hung up.
Diesel and CJ trooped back in.
“Get Gunner, CJ,” Christopher instructed, heading to Ransom, while Diesel took Ryder.
Ten minutes later, he did a do-over, walking into his room, and finding his Megan alone in their bed. She was still asleep, so he undressed and slipped in beside her, pulling her into his arms.
Automatically, she curled into him, and he closed his eyes, reveling in her. He nuzzled her ear, pressed his hard cock against her pretty ass, wishing she hadn’t had a bedful of lil’ motherfuckers so she could’ve been naked.
Still, when he turned her onto her back, lifted her nightgown above her waist, and rolled onto her, she opened her thighs, welcoming him even in sleep.
He kissed her deeply, closing his eyes, drowning in her scent and taste. Slowly, her fingers began to move over his skin, skirting along the valley of his spine, caressing his shoulders.
When he lifted his head and looked at her, he wasn’t surprised to find her too-blue eyes on him, that look on her face. Showing him, without words, how fucking much she loved and adored him.
He kissed her again, sank into her wet pussy, and groaned. He wanted to worship her body for hours. They’d done more than their fair share of fucking since she came home Wednesday, but not the way she deserved as his everything.
Tonight was a quick fuck because he loved her pussy. He loved fucking and eating her. He loved her.
A few minutes later, Megan lay in the crook of his arms, listening as he filled her in on Molly’s rescue.
“Oh, yeah, baby. When Easton released, Ima bring that motherfucker straight to the meatshack. Just want you to know. You got any advice on how to fuck him up?”
“Um…what?”
He tightened his hold on her, kissed the top of her head, and grinned at the ceiling, visions of torture and death dancing in his head. “Easton a Scorpion, baby. You know? A fuckin’ plant. Should I carve out his eyeballs first or cut off his fuckin’ fingertips.”
She was silent for a moment. Then, she sighed, kissed his shoulder, and left him. Not to go far. She just sat the fuck up, but that wasn’t close enough for him.
He reached for her but she scooted away.
“What the fuck I said?” he asked warily, sitting up, too.
“You can’t kill Easton.”
Christopher stiffened, narrowed his eyes, and growled. Shoving the covers aside, he stormed to his feet, heading to his cut, but Megan jumped out of bed and raced in front of him.
“Move,” he snarled. “Ima scoop him the fuck up tofuckinight! I ain’t givin’ that motherfucker a chance to take you on a fuckin’ date.”
Irritation slid across her face and she poked his shoulder. “That’s not why I said that.”
“Ain’t no other motherfuckin’ reason,” he raged, then turned away and started pacing. “I shoulda killed that motherfucker when I had the fuckin’ chance. You know what? Fuck scoopin’ him up. Ima cut off his cock and leave him to fuckin’ bleed to death.”
She dug her heels in and planted herself in front of him, gripping his wrists.
If he was a stupid motherfucker, he’d snatch himself away, not giving a fuck if she stumbled.
Since he’d learned the fucking lesson she’d taught him, he didn’t move a motherfucking muscle, although he did glower at her.
Not that it fucking worked. She just lifted her perfect, blonde brow, silently asking him if he’d lost his fucking mind to test her again after she’d just left him because he was…
Fuck. Maybe he was putting too much credence into the lift of her eyebrow.
He heaved in a breath. “You said I could fuckin’ kill,” he grouched petulantly.
“I did, but there are certain people you can’t kill. Remember, I said that too.”
“Easton wasn’t on that fuckin’ list, Megan,” he barked, jealous.
“He is now.”
He tugged his wrists, testing if she’d release him, but nope.
“Ask me why,” she said, sweet and soothing, her beautiful face staring at him with expectation.
“Can I have my fuckin’ hands back?”
“Why?”
“To scrub one of those motherfuckers over my face cuz I’m so fuckin’ frustrated. How the fuck you flippin’ the motherfuckin’ script on me afuckingain. I want to kill that motherfucker in particular.”
She released his wrists and he promptly did what the fuck he said he would. “I’m not flipping the script, Christopher. I’m saying you can’t kill Easton because neither CJ nor Rory wants him to die.”
“Then those two lil’ motherfuckers…” Hold the fuck up. Stop the fucking press. Megan…was she…?
Yeah. Yeah the fuck she was. She was campaigning to save a motherfucker’s life.
Christopher almost stopped breathing. He thought about his next step, needing to test where the fuck her mind was at.
“Whatcha willin’ to do to convince me?”
Hell Goddess would tell him she wouldn’t do fuck all. He’d listen to her or else. But his Sweet Angel…? She’d play his game.
“That depends,” she cooed, looking at him through her lashes.
A beat of silence passed.
“On?” he finally asked.
She rubbed a finger down the center of his chest. “That I have a say with our family.”
“Fuck, Megan. Do it count though? When that motherfucker showed his fuckin’ ass up, I didn’t fuckin’ know he was my fuckin’ nephew.”
She stood on her tiptoes and braced her hands on his chest, her signal for him to pick her up and kiss her. “You know now, Christopher. And even if he wasn’t related, CJ and Rory are. They are family and they don’t want him dead. He brought Molly back and was almost killed because of it.”
“I ain’t too sure who the fuck shot him.” It could’ve been Bash, but for some reason Christopher didn’t believe that. His guess was Cleaner. “Even if I let him live, if a motherfucker in his club gunnin’ for him, he ain’t livin’ long.”
Regret flickered across her face and Christopher’s jealous rage returned. She kissed him, still in his arms. “I’m not sorry for that for the reasons you’re thinking, my love. But if he does die like that, you didn’t repay what he did for our son and nephew by executing him.”
“If I say Ima back off, would you suck my cock?”
She giggled. Giggled. Christopher spun her around the room, and she squealed, laughing with abandon.
Much as she had Saturday night during each of his karaoke turns.
He’d chosen My Axe and Another Love Song, then sang Red Neck Hoe with Axel because the lil’ motherfucker did more dancing than singing during that song.
Megan chose I Knew You Were Waiting by Aretha Franklin and George Michael, for her duet with Christopher.