Chapter Two
Hours after Prez killed Torie, Lucas “Mortician” Banks remained at the clubhouse.
The initial shock of Outlaw’s retaliation against a woman who’d been repeatedly warned to behave was wearing off.
Prez left right after he finished her. Diesel, Prez’s oldest kid, and CJ, the next eldest, drifted away not long after.
At first, Mortician’s fellow officers sat in shell-shocked silence.
Not only because of Outlaw’s brutality toward a woman, but because they knew his wife had called for that woman’s head.
If there was something left of it, Outlaw might’ve chopped it the fuck off and presented it to Meggie on a platter.
Fuck.
Mortician doubted she’d become that bloodthirsty.
Even after Johnnie left with Torie’s body, conversation remained at a minimum. Mortician hoped motherfuckers were finally clued in on Meggie’s importance.
Narci loped to the jukebox and played Many Men by 50 Cent. The music broke the tension, and the brothers began to relax. Potter rushed behind the bar, filling all the orders thrown his way.
Bishop took a turn with a song. Whiskey Whiskey by Moneybagg Yo featuring Morgan Wallen and further eased the strain.
To forget his role in Torie’s death, Mort went behind the bar to help Potter.
Within five minutes, Val, Cash, Stretch, and Digger ordered stools cleared so they could sit at the bar like old times.
Val still looked shook-up, while Digger didn’t have the sense to understand if he kept fucking with Meggie he’d get more than a cigarette burn on his temple the next time Prez sought retaliation.
“Any of you in on the bet?” Torrin asked.
He was about thirty. Not only was he older than most of the newer members, but he had also been a member long enough to understand Meggie’s place. But he was also friends with Narci. Mort suspected that stupid motherfucker influenced a stupider motherfucker.
Torrin leaned against the edge of the bar, standing near the door to the kitchens.
Stretch sipped his beer then set the bottle down, rested his arms on the counter, and looked at Torrin. “What bet might that be?”
Narci slid into the last stool on the opposite side, right where the entryway that led behind the bar was. He grinned. “Now that Prez was forced to fuck up his piece of ass, we’re wondering how long it will take him to fuck Nyx.”
Leaning next to Mort against the counter in front of the shelves of alcohol, Potter choked.
“I’m not betting a motherfucking thing,” Mortician growled. “Stop fucking with Meggie.”
“Why?” Digger grouched. “She’s the most annoying little cunt ever.”
Val’s eyes widened. “If you want to talk about Meggie like that, get the fuck away from me. I’m not getting my fucking tongue cut out because of you, motherfucker.”
He jerked his head toward the monitors. The bank of screens showed all angles of the clubhouse and bar and served as a focal point between the shelves of alcohol.
“It has audio, fuckhead,” Val added.
Digger scowled, then looked at Stretch.
“I’ll wipe it one time,” he said. “Fuck up again and I’m leaving you to your fucking fate.”
Digger leaned in. “Can you mute the mics? I have to speak my peace.”
“You don’t have to,” Mort growled. “You want to.”
“Come on, Mort. I got to say this whether you like it or not.” Digger nodded to Stretch. “Do it. I outrank you. Third in line, so you got to do it.”
Stretch glanced at Mortician, but Mort wouldn’t give the go ahead for his brother to run his fucking mouth about a woman who’d finally gotten fed up.
Was it any wonder? They hadn’t appreciated her sweetness and still didn’t understand it was her mercy that kept them alive.
He had only to point to the fucked up bet.
For a couple hours after Torie’s death, motherfuckers got some fucking sense.
Now, it was wearing the fuck off and they were reverting to fucking stupidity.
Meggie expected the best from Prez. She saw the best in him.
But every fucking club brother, brother-in-law, son, nephew, friend, and husband, took her for granted.
Down to a fucking man. They all expected her to stand ten toes down, be Outlaw’s wife but step back at a moment’s notice and become his old lady, ignore the bullshit that chicks and dicks handed to her on a big ass platter, and keep a smile on her face.
They demanded, if not by word than by deed, that she give her all to her family and the club, and never grow tired of the cattiness, the disrespect, and the politics.
Even Mort told her everyone looked to her marriage as the gold standard.
“Five fucking minutes, Digger,” Stretch said irritably. He tapped his watch, where a timer had already started. “Go.”
“Prez was into Torie,” Digger started, presenting the same old tired argument. “He only killed her because of Meggie. He didn’t want to do away with that gorgeous woman. I think he need a little variety to spice up his life—”
“You sure you not talking about yourself, asshole?” Cash demanded. He’d been silent for most of the evening.
Mort wasn’t sure what was going on between him and Stretch, but the tension between them was palpable.
“Torie was gorgeous,” Digger acknowledged. “But I love my bitch. I’d never stick my cock in another woman and risk what I have.”
“Then why the fuck you think Outlaw would risk his marriage?” Val asked. He drained his beer and nodded to Potter.
“Because Meggie annoying. That’s why. She put too much pressure on Prez and Diesel.
” Digger leveled an irritated glare at Mort.
“And you . Instead of calling me sometimes, she look to you four. And don’t get me fucking started on CJ.
The kid got to live up to being her potato.
He almost fucking grown and she still treat him like a kid. ”
“Don’t get us wrong, Mort,” Narci said before Mortician blasted his brother. “I like Meggie. Truly, but I agree with a lot of what Digger’s saying. She walks around here like she’s a member, pretending she has power. ”
“Meggie got more power than you fucking think, fuckhead,” Val snapped.
These motherfuckers didn’t seem to know Meggie low key had more power than the club officers.
“Pray you don’t ever have to find out for yourself,” Val said.
“Meggie not a member,” Torrin argued. “I like Meggie, too. Earlier tonight, I was so fucking shook. But Outlaw made Torie undress .”
Val lifted a brow. “Mort, you want to clue them in or should I?”
“About what?” Digger asked testily. “You can’t refute the point Torrin made.”
“The fuck we can’t,” Val growled.
Mort sipped his beer. “I don’t feel like fucking wasting my breath, Val. You tell them.”
“Not nothing neither one—”
“Shut up, Digger,” Val said harshly. “Prez made Torie strip to look for fucking bugs.”
Torrin frowned.
“Wiretaps,” Mort clarified, shaking his head.
“Any fucking time I know that, you motherfuckers need to be fucked up for not understanding,” Val said.
“I’m sure Diesel checked for bugs,” Narci countered, snickering.
Torrin shook his head in agreement. “If Outlaw wanted to avenge disrespect toward Meggie, he would’ve just killed her.”
Bishop came to the bar and halted next to Narci. “Meggie’s cool,” he said, adding his two cents because the club was silent, as the brothers listened to the conversation. “But she isn’t living in reality. Outlaw’s a man surrounded by gorgeous women.”
“None as gorgeous as Torie,” Digger interrupted.
They all looked at Digger.
“Fuck off, motherfucker,” Val barked. “My woman gorgeous, too. I’m not taking away from Torie’s beauty, but for you to fucking forget not only how exquisite Puff, Bailey, Kendall and Meggie is but your fucking wife too is fucked up.”
“Don’t forget Ophelia,” Stretch growled.
“Fee is cute,” Cash inserted. “Not exquisite.”
Stretch’s dirty look mirrored Mortician’s.
“Say that to Outlaw and Puff,” Val challenged.
“Deal,” Cash said blandly, “but I’ll also tell them how you didn’t add her in the first fucking place.”
“I can say it slipped my mind,” Val retorted. “You don’t have any fucking excuse.”
“Are you all in on the bet or not?” Torrin asked with impatience before Cash responded.
“What’s the odds?” Digger lit a cigarette and took a few drags, then set it in the ashtray. “I might be in.”
Bishop’s eyes lit up. Mortician glared at him. “Motherfucker, you get fucked up, I get fucked up. Remember the Potter situation because of Eric and Billy?”
Potter winced. “I’m not even in this, Mort. Why are you ruining my fucking night, reminding me how close I came to dying because of two fucking fuckheads?”
“Mort—”
“Shut up, son,” Mort interrupted Bishop. “Step the fuck back or I’m preemptively fucking you up.”
“This is a free fucking country, Mortician,” Digger said angrily. “The man don’t have to agree with you. Now, what the fuck are the odds before I bet my money? Been on a string of bad luck lately. This might turn that around.”
Alarm raced through Mortician. “What type of bad luck—”
“The odds are 1-3,” Bishop interrupted, throwing Mortician an uneasy look.
As he fucking should.
Besides Mort and Digger, Bishop was the only other black member of the club, and Mort hadn’t sponsored Bishop for the little motherfucker to come in and align with stupid fuckheads whose brains would end up as spattered as Torie’s.
“You honestly sitting there and saying you think there’s a seventy-five percent chance Prez fucking over Meggie? ”
“Again,” Digger said smugly. “Don’t forget to add that.”
“Prez never fucking cheated on Meggie girl,” Mort snarled. “Don’t need to add again .”
“Do any of you motherfuckers even like the woman?” Val asked.
“I used to like her,” Digger grouched.
“Remember that when you’re shoveling down the snacks she keeps for you,” Stretch snapped. He glared at Cash. “I suppose you’re joining the bet?”
“I might think Sweetness has become a little blind to the reality of club life and the man her husband is, but I’d never betray her.”
“You just fucking did, asshole,” Stretch sneered.