Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Howfuckinever …
He returned to the podium long enough to set down his guns. Walking to Digger, he punched him so fucking hard he flew against the podium and crumpled to the ground.
Christopher’s trigger fingers twitched. Half the motherfuckers in the room needed to either fucking die or suffer lifelong injuries.
“Stretch?” he snarled.
Cash jerked. “Outlaw—”
“Shut the fuck up, Ghost. If you want this motherfucker to live, shut up.”
Standing, Stretch came to Christopher, regret in his eyes.
“Think about Ophelia,” Cash called, because he didn’t know how to follow orders.
Balling his fist, Christopher socked Stretch in the gut. He doubled over. Grabbing a handful of his hair, he pulled his blade from his cut and held it to Stretch’s throat.
“One more fuckin’ word, Ghost, and this motherfucker dead.”
Cash raised his hands, tears rushing to his eyes.
Christopher jerked Stretch up, the knife still at his throat.
“Now, motherfucker, it aintcha fuckin’ job to protect motherfuckers.
No matter who the fuck askin’, especially when they disrespectin’ my fuckin’ wife.
Bettin’ who fuckin’ her first. You like fuckin’ livin’, yeah?
Bettin’ who I’m fuckin’, then changin’ it to Megan fuckin’ a motherfucker. ”
Sniffling, Stretch nodded.
“Don’t ever fuck me over again. Hear me?”
“I hear you, Outlaw,” Stretch promised.
As much as he wanted to bury that fucking knife in Stretch’s throat, he didn’t want to break Ophelia’s heart, so he slid it across the motherfucker’s skin, then punched him in the kidney, and shoved him away. He crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.
Cash stood.
“Sit the fuck down,” Christopher ordered, setting the knife on the podium.
Without a word, Cash sat.
“Diesel?” Christopher called, his breath coming in harsh pants, partly from fury and partly from exertion.
Nostrils flaring, Diesel maneuvered his way to Christopher.
“Bedhead, Alchemy, and Turbo, bring your motherfuckin’ asses up here, too,” Christopher ordered.
“Uncle Christopher…? Outlaw,” Diesel amended once those three fuckheads joined him near the podium and dead fucking silence fell in the club. “S-sir?”
“You a motherfuckin’ cokehead?”
“I can explain—”
“No, the fuck you can’t.”
Diesel averted his gaze.
“You wanna fuck Rebel?”
“What? No! No, of course not!” Diesel said, committed to that blatant fucking lie despite the snickers.
Christopher stepped back and looked at him from head-to-toe. “You think I’m a motherfuckin’ fool, huh, assfuck?”
“I swear—”
Grabbing Diesel by the collar, Christopher jerked him closer. “CJ wouldna fuckin’ come to this motherfucker if he ain’t wanna talked to you about Rebel.”
He was so fucking angry, he felt like that untrained killer that he’d been in the first few years of moving to the club. His movements were uncoordinated, his thoughts all over the place, and the plan to reach his end goal abstract.
Case in fucking point? He shoved Diesel away when he’d just yanked that motherfucker to him.
“Fuckin’ strip. I’m cuttin’ your cock the fuck off.”
“Uncle Christopher—”
“Outlaw?” Val called.
“Ain’t fuckin’ listenin’—”
“Meggie consider Diesel one of her sons, Prez,” Mortician called.
“He still gonna be her son,” Christopher snapped.
“He’s damn near going to be her fucking daughter,” Val pointed out. “If he survive you hacking off his cock.”
“He your son, Outlaw,” Mortician said. “You don’t want him dead.”
Mortician was right. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Nor did it mean Diesel shouldn’t be punished.
“Whether Reb fuckin’ sixteen or sixty, you and her ain’t ever bein’ together. You my son. Her brother. It ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ because I will fuckin’ kill you.” He nodded to the podium. “Spread your fuckin’ hand. ”
Digger groaned, but everyone ignored him. Even when he sat up and stumbled to his feet, the brothers watched Diesel comply with Christopher’s instructions and Christopher circle Diesel.
“If you fuckin’ look at Rebel wrong, you dead. Hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly, reverting back to that respectful sixteen-year-old.
Christopher snatched the knife. “Ain’t it fuckin’ ironic, CJ was tellin’ you how devastated we would be if your motherfuckin’ ass OD’d, and what…? Ten fuckin’ minutes later, my son, your brother was fuckin’ convulsin’ from fuckin’ drugs.”
“It wasn’t drugs, Uncle Christopher!” Diesel cried, his voice trembling. “Those bitches tried to poison him.”
“All cuz you didn’t open your motherfuckin’ mouth. All cuz you didn’t sample the shit those cunts prepared.”
“If I would’ve tasted it, I would’ve shot the fuck out of everyone of them,” he swore.
“That same motherfuckin’ acid you threatened Dementor with going to melt your motherfuckin’ ass if I find out you usin’ anymore. Got me?”
Zeroing in on the skin between Diesel’s thumb and index finger, Christopher impaled his hand to the podium.
“ God ,” Diesel gritted.
Stepping around him, Christopher met Rule’s gaze and crooked his finger at him.
Blinking away tears, Rule didn’t move.
“Motherfucker, you man enough to disrespect your ma and fuck with Rebel, but you ain’t able to fuckin’ face judgment?”
“Dad—”
Christopher kicked the chair closest to him, the one holding Planet’s body, and tipped it over.
“Come the fuck here now !”
“Outlaw, please!” Exorcist cried. “We know Meggie don’t like you killing for—”
An inhuman, animal noise fell from him. That motherfucker had the fucking nerve to say what Megan didn’t want?
He pushed away dead fucking Rhino, knocked aside Dementor, and punched Exorcist, then dragged him to his feet before shoving him and sending him sprawling.
Before he landed on the floor, he kicked the motherfucker in the head, the jaw, the throat, the ribs, and the head again.
On the off chance he was still alive, he stalked to the podium, grabbed the switch, and riddled his fucking body with bullets.
“Dad! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Rule sobbed.
“You fuckin’ talkin’ to Lucifer, Asmodeus, and Satan, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, or motherfuckin’ Alvin, Simon, and Theodore don’t make a fuckin’ difference to me.
You need prayers, exorcism, or a psycho camp ain’t matterin’ either.
You fuck with your ma and your sister, and you leavin’ in a fuckin’ body bag. ”
He’d deal with Rule later. He wasn’t spending his time trying to force that maniacal motherfucker to take his punishment like a man.
“Ryan?”
“I haven’t done anything, Uncle Christopher,” Ryan said, on the verge of fucking fainting.
“Nothin’ that I fuckin’ know of, but if you even fuckin’ think about fuckin’ over the club, Ima combine your fuckin’ punishments.”
Diesel’s groan joined Stretch’s. The club treasurer sat up and grabbed his lower back, while sweat popped off Diesel.
“Johnnie?”
Motherfucker cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“How the fuck you met Easton? ”
The day Easton visited, Christopher saw him and Johnnie talking. Unfortunately, the cameras hadn’t picked up the conversation.
“Through a business meeting,” Johnnie said quietly.
“If I find out different, if that motherfucker here cuz of Bash, I’m cuttin’ his fuckin’ head off and yours, too.”
“My head’s safe then.”
Not responding, Christopher studied the room, deciding how best to fuck up the other motherfuckers.
Maybe fucking line them against a wall and spray them with fucking bullets?
Certainly, Dementor needed his eyeballs and his tongue carved out, and his head chopped off.
Or, maybe, he needed to shit himself and watch Pixels and Tyre’s torture?
Before he decided, Megan’s ringtone blasted into the silence.
Almost scared to answer and discover CJ’s condition had worsened, Christopher yanked his phone out of his pocket and returned to the podium. Although Diesel wasn’t making a sound, tears were running down his cheeks.
Christopher pressed the speakerphone icon and set the phone next to Diesel’s impaled hand.
“Baby?”
“He still hasn’t awakened,” Megan said, so hoarse and pitiful, Christopher’s heart almost stopped. She sniffled. “He’s supposed to be okay—”
“Mom!” Rule called. “Talk to Dad, please. Please, Mom. Diesel’s hand is impaled and Dad threatened me. There are bodies here and…and…Mom, help us!”
A moment of silence passed before she drew in a sobby breath.
“You have Diesel’s hand impaled?”
Christopher glowered at Rule. He’d opened his big mouth and, now, Megan would ruin his fun .
“Rebel wants to talk to him,” Megan went on.
“I got a fuckin’ job for him first,” Christopher said sourly.
“What?” she asked suspiciously, still so fucking devastated but always a ma.
“Fuck up Joplin and Gail,” Christopher snapped. “He gotta prove his loyalty,” he added in case she’d changed her mind.
“Mom, didn’t you hear me?” Rule cried.
“Perfectly,” Megan said. “I’m unworthy of your exalted presence, so I’m unworthy to insert myself in whatever punishment your daddy has planned.”
“Meggie—”
“Shut up, Digger. I’m never talking to you again.”
“I was just worried! I didn’t mean to disparage the kid—”
“ The kid is my son and he is currently in a coma.” She let out a sob. “One more word from you and you’ll be even worse,” she vowed viciously.
Digger hung his head.
“He’s going to kill half the fucking club, Megan,” Johnnie said. “He’s fucked up Digger, Stretch, and Diesel, and already killed three fuckheads.”
“Don’t care, not there. It’s club business.”
Johnnie swallowed.
“Meggie, please ,” Digger called. “Tell Outlaw—”
“My son is in a coma because of how you all feel about me . Any goodwill…any mercy is gone. You jumped into the frying pan. Get yourself out of the fire—”
“Aunt Meggie—” Pain filled Diesel’s voice. “I’m so, so sorry, Aunt Meggie. Please, forgive me. I swear I’ll spend my life making this up to you.”
Her weeping traveled through the line.
“If I could take his place—”
She was silent for a moment, then she drew in another breath. “I don’t want any of you dead, son. Not you. Not Rule. Not…not C-CJ. Christopher?”