Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sitting in his office, Christopher flipped through the photos on his phone. Mostly of CJ instead of his usual obsessing over Megan, especially around her birthday.
After bombings destroyed his house in Long Beach and the first house he’d built for Megan, Christopher made sure to have digital copies of all photos. Back then, he’d still adhered to old school physical albums. If it hadn’t been for Megan, they would’ve lost more photos than they had.
Megan. His heart, his soul, and his world.
Megan, whose own heart was broken and her world shattered because she’d almost lost CJ.
Pressing his lips together, Christopher minimized the photo and created an array of thumbnails. He scrolled to the top and opened the image of CJ as a newborn.
After reviewing the footage of last night and smoking out two of those cunts with Johnnie’s help, Christopher brought them to the meatshack—still alive—tied them the fuck up and called emergency church.
Now, it was late afternoon, and the long shadows of dusk was settling in. He intended to return to the hospital to check on his wife and his children, then ride out again to find every last motherfucker responsible for CJ’s current state.
He stared at the photo of his boy, just hours old with a headful of black hair.
Christopher slid through the myriad photos of the first year of CJ’s life.
The second year. The third, fourth, and fifth.
He grew more into Christopher’s image as time went on.
As much as he loved all his kids, it was CJ who was the fucking best of him.
CJ who was smart, fair-minded, loyal, and kind.
He was the best son any man could ever ask for.
Christopher couldn’t remember if he’d ever told his boy that. His son could’ve died…
Fuck. Nope. He wasn’t a motherfucker to dwell on what could’ve happened. CJ was alive. That was all that mattered.
Until his boy opened his eyes and spoke, Christopher wouldn’t trust the doctor’s outlook of a full recovery.
He’d seen motherfuckers who overdosed left with irreparable brain damage.
Others suffered lifelong cardiac and respiratory disabilities.
And yet a lucky few woke the fuck up and carried on as if nothing happened.
A knock came on his door. Swallowing, Christopher lifted his head. He hated to close the photos even as he couldn’t bear to look at recent images of CJ.
“Prez?”
Mort’s solemn voice traveled through the door .
Christopher scrubbed his fingers through his hair. His hands were shaking.
“Motherfuckers here, Outlaw,” Mort said. “You summoned all of us. One of us need to get back to the hospital to be there for the women. Rebel and Mattie with Roxanne and Red but none of them doing too good.”
Getting to his feet, Christopher walked to the door and opened it.
“Meggie still locked in the room with CJ,” Mort continued. He looked so exhausted. Maybe, even more so than he had when he’d stood behind the doctor in the waiting room. “If CJ wake up, she probably going to want you there with her.”
Christopher nodded.
“I checked on her again before I left.”
“She just want CJ to open his eyes.”
“Fuck, me too, Prez. I’m going to kill that little motherfucker for putting me through this.”
Christopher snickered. “Stand in line, motherfucker.”
“What the fuck was he thinking?”
“I’m gonna let you see the full video after church.”
Mort nodded and began to turn away.
“Mortician? I owe you…whatever the fuck you want. It’s yours. You saved my son and I ain’t ever going to be able to repay that.”
Facing him again, Mortician gave him a half smile. “No repayment needed, Prez. We family, and families look out for each other. If it wasn’t for Digger, I would’ve been home and wouldn’t have been here to save him.”
Not commenting on Digger’s involvement, Christopher held out his hand.
Grinning, Mort shook his hand, then turned. After closing and locking his office door, Christopher followed.
The main room was crowded, standing room only, but eerily subdued.
As he walked to the podium, Christopher glanced around the room, taking stock of who was there and who wasn’t.
For this, not only would his favorite.9mm and hollows do.
He’d also strapped up with a switch. He unholstered both and laid them in front of him.
Dementor, Exorcist, and Nitro were there, only some of the motherfuckers he wanted.
Rhino, Pixels, Tyre, and Planet sat with them at a table near the podium, assfucks alike.
Bedhead, Alchemy, and Turbo were scattered about.
Narci, Bishop, Torrin, and Potter were nowhere to be see.
Unsurprisingly, Mort went behind the bar. At one time, that had been his domain.
Diesel, Father Wilkins, Johnnie, Val, Cash, Stretch, Knox, Cameron Baptiste, and Sloane Mason sat at Christopher’s table, while Ryan, Rory, Rule, Grant, and Devon were at the table he’d assigned CJ. Digger stood next to the podium, perhaps the only motherfucker whose gaze wasn’t on Christopher.
“Sloane, you ain’t got to stay,” Christopher started, looking at the man with meaning. He was a rockstar. True, he’d had shady dealings thanks to his drug use and helped the club with some of their arrangements , but he wasn’t a fucking killer.
Brothers dragged their gaze away from Christopher and focused on Sloane. The smirks and whispers underscored the reason motherfuckers not only fucked with Megan but believed they could hurt his son.
His son. His son . His son .
His boy.
The thought almost made Christopher hyperventilate. According to Doc Will, if those cunts—Christopher’s name for them—had added just a little more fucking rubbing alcohol, CJ wouldn’t have made it.
Every time he considered what they wanted to do to CJ, he almost went to the meatshack and shot the fuck out of those two bitches.
Every time he remembered how they’d taunted his son, how CJ hesitated and Diesel encouraged him, how Potter didn’t fucking call Christopher and tell him he needed to get to the club…
Christopher growled, drawing the focus back to him.
“Uncle Christopher—”
At the sound of Diesel’s voice, Christopher raised a hand. If he didn’t have a fucking test for that motherfucker, he’d shoot him, too. But, first, he had to get the motherfuckers who didn’t deserve to witness what was coming away.
He started over. “Sloane, go.”
“I’m a member.” Sloane ignored more fucking snickers. “Nomad.”
Not long after Cash brought Georgie to the club and Christopher met Sloane, he’d been made an honorary member.
A few years ago, he’d joined officially, although some of the requirements had been waived.
Most specifically, taking out a rival. In recent years, however, in the interest of the peace Cash, Johnnie, and other motherfuckers wanted, other options were made available to patch in.
“Father Wilkins, Knox, Cam, and Sloane, get the fuck back to the hospital,” Christopher amended. “We got support clubs there, but Reb and our old ladies need friendly faces. I needed to do a fucking head count. See who the fuck showed up and who the fuck was sniveling cunts.”
“I would like to take Rule with me, Outlaw,” Father Wilkins said. “Younger than us with more energy.”
Christopher had a lesson to teach that motherfucker, too. “Take Grant, Devon, and Rory. Rule and Ryan stayin’.”
“I want to stay, Uncle Christopher,” Rory called.
Christopher shrugged. He didn’t have an issue one way or the other .
Father Wilkins glanced at Rule and his brows furrowed. Clearing his throat, he looked at Christopher. “He’s your son, Outlaw.”
“Ain’t sayin’ this but one more fuckin’ time, get the fuck outta my fuckin’ club and go the fuck to the hospital. I said who the fuck can go. Take that or fuckin’ not.”
Rhino leaned over and whispered to Dementor.
Both those motherfuckers laughed, while not a motherfucker made a move to follow his fucking orders.
Picking up his.9mm, he aimed it at Rhino’s big, pasty, bald fucking head and pulled the trigger.
If the bullet traveled through him, another motherfucker would get fucked up, but they’d tried to kill his son and Megan didn’t give a fuck who Christopher killed.
Blood sprayed from Rhino’s head and he slumped onto Dementor. Horror washed over the motherfucker’s face and he pushed back, though it was so crowded, he couldn’t move far.
“Jesus Christ,” Johnnie breathed.
“Fuck, man,” Digger said, still facing forward.
“Outlaw—” Father Wilkins started in a shaky voice.
Christopher shot Planet. Those two motherfuckers, along with Pixels and Tyre, came to the club to assist all the fuckheads responsible for his son’s overdose escape.
“We’re leaving, Outlaw,” Cam said. “We’re going to the hospital. Innocent men don’t have to die—”
“Innocent?” Christopher snarled. “ Innocent ?” Fury seeped through his veins and spread out through his entire body. “Stay. Leave. I ain’t givin’ a good fuck.”
Grabbing his guns, he stormed from around the podium.
He wanted to snake through the crowd, and take out every motherfucker who’d fucked with Megan, Rebel, or CJ over the past weeks.
It was just too fucking crowded, so he started pacing, glowering at the room at large, ignoring how frozen Cam and Father Wilkins looked and how pale Sloane and Knox were.
“Motherfuckers got shit fuckin’ twisted. Since fuckin’ when a regular cunt rank higher than an old lady? Especially my motherfuckin’ wife?”
No one answered.
Dementor, Exorcist, and Nitro tracked his movements, getting a fucking clue they didn’t have long for this fucking earth.
“Megan came to this fuckin’ club to cook for you motherfuckers and you fucked over her like she was some random bitch?”
No wonder Rebel was so fucking mad. Hearing the watered down version of events and watching fucking videos…
He glowered at Digger. Motherfucker looked ready to cry. Instead of talking, he stared, glared , silently swearing a bloody end if he didn’t straighten the fuck up.