Chapter Twelve
Potter’s announcement left Mort no choice but to either cancel his amended date with his wife or ask her to wait.
While the members who received the alert rushed out, Mort took a moment to call Bailey and explain the situation.
He didn’t beg and he didn’t pressure her. He simply waited for her response.
“You go ahead, Lucas. I’ll be here.”
The words relieved him. Not knowing what awaited him at Prez’s house concerned him on two fronts. The extent of the damage worried him as well as any injuries and he didn’t know if Bailey would flip out if he took too long or ended up canceling altogether.
Luckily—for him at least—a pan of scrambled eggs took the brunt of the damage. Outlaw shut off the sprinklers within minutes of the smoke activating them on all four levels of the house.
Prez suspected Ransom, Ryder, and Axel had either fucked with the settings on the app or the hardware, but he’d discover the truth another time.
Amid the club members swarming the house, Ophelia came for Gunner.
Prez’s little sister didn’t linger. Apparently, Meggie was locked in Rebel’s room, unable to deal with more bullshit.
CJ and Diesel were cleaning up Meggie’s bathtub.
Rule mentioned divine anger. Bunny whipped up a meal for Prez and his sons, while consoling a sobbing Axel.
Once Prez ate, he directed motherfuckers on where to start cleaning up the water so the family get-together wouldn’t be affected.
“Why’re you crying, Ax?” Val decided to ask after he, Mort, Digger, Johnnie, Cash and Stretch had assessed all the damage and Prez and the Triplets joined them.
They stood in the foyer. Ryder and Ransom sat side-by-side in chairs they’d gotten from a hallway closet, looking as if they’d lost their best friends.
“Cuz Mom was upset.” Axel sniffled. “She didn’t even get in the bathtub and we worked hard.”
“Girls don’t like to sit in mud dug up from the forest,” Val said.
“But Dad said Mom went with Aunt Kendall, Reb, and Mattie, for a mud and grass bath,” Ransom said. “Mom was so sad, we were just trying to get her to relax.”
“Fuck me,” Outlaw said. “That’s why the fuck you did that shit, boy?”
“Yeah, Dad,” Ransom said. “We heard you.”
Ryder sat on his hands. “We thought Mom would be happy.”
“Did she cry at her spa bath, Dad?” Axel asked, sniffling so hard his little body shook.
“You know your boys hang on your every word,” Cash said with amusement.
Thrusting his fingers through his hair, Outlaw blew out a breath. “Fuck.” He lifted Axel into his arms. “It’s okay, boy. You meant well. Your ma just had a hard day today.”
“Is she mad at us, Dad?” Ryder asked woefully.
“Nope. I ain’t no more either.” He urged Axel’s head down on his shoulder. “Rest. Everything fine.”
“Okay, Dad,” Axel said miserably.
“Ransom?”
“Yeah, Uncle Val?”
“Why you wearing your mama robe?”
“My uniform got all wet. Axel told me to do the twist to stir everything in Mom’s bath. I lost my balance ‘cause the shovel kept hitting the marble. I was moving faster than it.”
Val nodded. “She know?”
“Mom?”
“Ummhmm.”
“About me losing my balance or about me wearing her robe?”
“The robe. Your Aunt Zoann got one similar. She paid about seven hundred dollars for it.”
Ransom leaned over and lifted the hem. “It looks cheap.”
“Well, the motherfucker ain’t,” Outlaw snapped.
Mortician hid a smile. Not at Prez’s rightful attitude, filled with fatherly annoyance and, perhaps, a little spousal concern. It was because the Triplets didn’t fear the consequences of their mayhem.
There were times when they went too far and, mostly, Outlaw beat their asses when that happened.
Mainly, he allowed his boys to express their very creative shenanigans with amusement and exasperation.
Mortician believed Meggie girl had a lot to do with Outlaw’s outlook toward their sons.
Not completely because Big Joe had been notorious for overlooking a lot of Prez’s mischief.
Outside of Johnnie—and Cash—how the wives responded to any number of situations, the husbands followed suit. Johnnie was a fuckhead and Cash was a control freak. Red and Ophelia had different situations.
If Lou and Kaleb prepared a ‘spa bath’ for their momma with that hellish concoction in her bathtub, there would’ve been consequences. She wouldn’t have excused them for trying to cheer her up. Or as boys being boys.
Mort understood. Until K-P took him under his wing, Sharper had been neglectful or abusive toward Mort, who protected Digger from their father’s vileness. Even K-P drew lines Mortician couldn’t cross.
Certainly, Big Joe punished Prez when he went too far, but those time were so fucking rare Mort could count it on two or three fingers. Even when he felt the Triplets needed their little asses beat, Mort understood Prez’s leniency.
Meggie’s momma, however, was raggedy. Tore up from the floor up. He’d heard some of the stories in the years since Dinah’s death. From Prez, Digger, Roxanne, Red, and Bunny. From Meggie girl herself.
The level of Dinah’s displeasure at such a stunt couldn’t be overstated. She would’ve flipped her fucking lid. Yet here were her grandsons, escaping the consequences of a good deed gone awry because her daughter knew when her children needed real punishment and when they were just acting like kids.
“Can me and Ryder have an advance on our allowance?” Ransom asked.
“What does my money have to do with your stupidity?” Ryder demanded. “I told you don’t go in Mom’s closet. She has all those pretty clothes in there.”
“You sound like a girl,” Ransom said .
“And you look like an idiot,” Ryder responded. “I’d say that’s more fucked up.”
Axel raised his head. He covered Prez’s mouth with one hand and wiped his snotty nose with the other. “See what I have to put up with, Dad?”
“We put up with—”
“Oh damn,” Axel said, interrupting Ransom, staring toward the archway.
Rebel was storming in their direction.
“Fuck,” Outlaw said.
Harley rose in Mort’s head, then he shoved the image away.
Yet, she was insistent, memories of the sweet girl she’d once been, and the person she’d become, pushing through.
None of those recollections resembled the girl nearly upon them, so fucking furious demons were snapping at her boots.
Rebel was so fucking confident in her own skin.
Once, Mort believed Harley was too. But it was just camouflage.
Deep-seated insecurities might have driven her to become mean-spirited, violent, and petty.
However, Harley didn’t want to change. She thought her behavior was justified.
Rebel went through a similar phase. To be fair, Meggie’s collapse precipitated her quick and drastic reversal.
Still, Meggie and Outlaw stood united in trying to get Rebel back on the right track.
If there were any disagreements over their daughter, they kept it between themselves.
With Harley, Bailey didn’t give Mortician that same courtesy.
And Harley played the long fucking game, using the divide and conquer tactic to maximum effect.
“Fuck,” Outlaw said again, planting himself in Rebel’s path as she reached the foyer. “Get the fuck back upstairs, Reb. Nyx not even at the fuckin’ club.”
Her face reddened and she narrowed her eyes. “How do you know…? ”
“They told me all about it, so I know that’s the only thing to set you off. Shit been peaceful otherwise. I guess your ma told you.”
Rebel smiled nastily. “Call that bitch to the club, Daddy.”
“No. She—”
“Do you know what she did and said to Momma?” she blared.
Suddenly, Narci, Bishop, and Torrin materialized out of nowhere. Guilty fuckheads. If Digger wasn’t right there with them, Mort would’ve enjoyed their panic. He’d have no problem fucking them up. Unfortunately, his position and to prove his loyalty would also require he fuck up Digger.
Motherfucker deserved stomping. Within an inch of this life, not miles into the next one, which Prez would surely demand.
Mortician would give his life for his brother if they were on the same fucking side. He refused to forfeit his goddamn life because Digger was a stupid, jealous, immature fuckhead who’d fucked up some kind of way. If Mort had to take Digger out—
Fuck, that would destroy him.
Hopefully, whatever the motherfucker started to tell Mortician was a salvageable offense. He hadn’t called Meggie out of her name to her face. Neither had he disrespected her in front of the brothers.
Fuck, he’d prefer to find out Digger sold dick to build Bunny her house. That would be fucked up enough and would result in divorce. Mort would beat the fuck out of him, but he’d be alive.
“What your ma told you?” Outlaw boomed.
A wild look turned Rebel’s face into the girl version of her daddy. “Told me?” she snarled, sounding like Satan’s wife.
Johnnie tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. He shifted. Noticing Mortician’s gaze, he lifted a brow, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and unbitched himself.
Potter joined the other three stupid motherfuckers, looking for all the world like he’d burst into tears at any fucking moment.
Befriending dumb motherfuckers was his only crime.
Made Mort wonder the type of stupid motherfucker Potter was to constantly have his life endangered because of the fucking company he kept.
Rebel continued to almost foam at the fucking mouth, a rabid little wolf unafraid of the alpha. She was standing toe-to-toe with Outlaw.
“Fuck Nyx and any other motherfucker who fucks with her.”
“Spoken like a precious little girl,” Diesel said sarcastically, walking in. He was dirty, wet, and muddy.
Behind him, CJ wasn’t in much better shape. Mort nodded to little bro.
“Hey, Uncle Mort,” CJ greeted, inadvertently saving Diesel’s life, and yawning.
Poor kid. He needed a blunt. Fuck, they all did. If Mort wasn’t pressed for time, he’d suggest to Prez they take a minute in the mancave.