Chapter Thirty-Four
Meggie waited until Mortician dismounted and held out his hand to help her off the back of his bike. She stood patiently as he removed her helmet, certain he’d seen Christopher take care of her in such a manner.
After hanging her helmet on one handlebar and his on the other, Mort turned to the clearing where the evidence of a foundation lay.
Like the rest of the property, weeds grew everywhere, splitting the concrete and adding to the ruin.
She’d never been to the Donovan farm but had heard so much about it.
Though most of the buildings were long gone—Sharper Banks had burned the farmhouse to the ground trying to kill Digger, Bunny, and CJ—a miasma hung over the area.
“We can ride to the apple orchard.”
Meggie glanced in all directions. “Is it a far walk?”
Mortician nodded to the overgrowth. “A little under a quarter of a mile, but with all the grass and weeds, it’ll seem like forever.”
“Under five hundred yards,” she calculated. “I didn’t realize the property was so huge.”
Lighting a cigarette and savoring it for a moment, he shrugged. “Hellish realms always a decent size, Meggie girl.”
The sound of a car traveling at high speed reached her ears. Cigarette in one hand and the other hand on the gun holstered at his side, Mortician placed his body in front of hers.
“Fuck!” he snarled, as the car stopped, and a moment later, two doors slammed.
Simultaneously moving his hand away from his gun and stepping out of the way allowed Meggie to see the source of his annoyance.
It wasn’t a car. It was an SUV. Specifically, Johnnie’s . And he wasn’t alone. Easton Love, looking sharp and oh-so-handsome in suit and tie, was with him. Meggie couldn’t believe…no, who was she kidding?
This was Johnnie . She hadn’t wanted to involve him, but Mortician overrode her. Since he was putting his life on the line to help her help CJ, she’d conceded.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Johnnie?” Mortician snarled.
“You called me, Mortician.”
“Because I thought you got some fucking sense, son. All I asked you to do was cover for me if Prez tracking me and ask what the fuck I’m doing at Lowman’s place. Especially since he can’t find Meggie.”
Easton smiled. “How did my name come up?”
“Certainly not to involve you in personal business,” Meggie snapped, throwing Johnnie the evil eye .
Easton winked at her. “I’d like to involve myself in your person, Meggie.”
“Listen, motherfucker, I’m not standing here while you throwing out corny fucking lines to my president’s wife ,” Mortician spat before Meggie waded through her outrage and formed a response. “One more fucking disrespectful look and I’m shooting the fuck out of you.”
“Shut the fuck up, Mortician,” Johnnie said. “ You told Megan to use Easton. I’m not getting my fucking ass shot off.”
Mortician tossed his cigarette. “You and him more likely to get fucked up being here.”
Ignoring him, Johnnie glanced around. “How’d you get here, Megan?”
She pointed to Mortician’s bike. If she wasn’t so annoyed, she’d find Johnnie’s shock amusing, but he was an idiot. They all were, her included.
When she’d checked on CJ this morning, he’d told her about Bishop, Narci, Potter, and Torrin and begged her to help them. Diesel had been bringing them food. CJ had asked Mortician for help, but didn’t find any luck. The guys wanted to talk to her anyway, so Meggie called Mortician herself.
He told her the best time to do it was while Christopher was at the meeting with Kendall.
He advised saying she’d forgotten about her interview with Easton Love so Christopher would be too annoyed to question her and trip her up.
She just couldn’t bring herself to play on her husband’s jealousy so blatantly.
Mort moved to plan b—waiting until she heard Prez’s footsteps approaching her office, pick up the phone, and then pretend she was talking to Easton. She thought that was just as bad. Amended plan b was that she call Mortician and pretend it was Easton. Just make sure her husband overheard.
Christopher had. She saw his burning fury, which so flustered her she blurted the truth—she was meeting Mortician.
Then, to discover he’d called Mort and asked his plans for the day almost changed Meggie’s mind about the entire situation.
Both she and Mort flubbed it from the beginning.
Yet, her potato had been through enough.
He was finally willing to leave his room once she agreed to help.
She’d think on those connotations later.
“So why are we here, Megan?” Johnnie demanded.
“To bask in your beauty?” Easton said.
“Omigod, you arrogant jerk!” she snarled, on the verge of kicking him.
She barreled to him and thumped his chest, stressed to the point of a breakdown.
“I’m not impressed with your stupid lines.
They aren’t romantic or sexy, idiot, so save your breath.
I’m not hiring you as my financial advisor.
I refuse to have your death on my hands. ”
“As opposed to all the other deaths you ordered?” Johnnie sneered.
Meggie gasped, then looked at Johnnie. Easton. Johnnie, again. Then, Easton. Suddenly, she knew. She knew Johnnie had an ulterior motive. What that was, she wasn’t sure. But there was no reason for him to introduce her to a man who looked like a movie star she always gushed about.
She turned to Johnnie and shoved him. “You vile, pathetic, sneaky, bitter termite. Who is Easton Love and why’d you bring him to the club?”
Seeing Easton’s shoulders shaking with laughter further inflamed her temper and she shoved him too, secure in the knowledge that Mortician would shoot him if he retaliated. Easton laughed harder.
“You’re not that much of an idiot, Johnnie. You wouldn’t bring a man around and discuss club business in front of him so freely. If Christopher goes down, you do, too. So, who is he?”
“Goddamn, Outlaw’s a lucky motherfucker,” Easton said, still amused, though admiration tinged the words.
“We’re caught. I’ve looked at joining the Dwellers, Meggie.
Johnnie wasn’t sure how that would go over because—” He pointed to his face.
“I do have a finance degree, and he thought you’d help me soften up your husband. ”
He sounded so honest. Still, something about his story didn’t add up. True, she’d heard of the wild methods men who wanted to join the club employed. But no one had ever used her .
“Meggie girl?”
Mortician’s voice drew her away from studying Easton and Johnnie. She turned, and Mortician nodded left, toward the pathway that cut through the overgrown weeds. A white flag waved.
“Show your other fucking hand, motherfucker,” Mortician ordered, training his gun toward whoever held the flag. Another hand rose.
Johnnie grabbed Meggie’s shoulder and jerked her back. She elbowed him and smiled at his grunt.
Snickering, Easton walked around her, pushed aside his suit coat and unholstered his gun.
“If you pull your fucking piece, I’m shooting the fuck out of you, son,” Mortician said coldly.
Even as Potter stumbled out of the weeds, still gripping the flag, Mortician’s volume indicated he spoke to Easton.
“Just trying to help,” Easton said jovially.
“You trying to piss me the fuck off,” Mortician said.
“As you are with me?” Johnnie demanded. “Easton’s my friend.”
“And Meggie mine. In addition to being Prez’s woman and my fucking charge. Fuck, I should’ve just helped CJ when he called me.”
“Easton’s not a threat,” Johnnie continued.
Narci and Torrin crept out .
“I’m sure not,” Easton said, though he heeded Mortician’s warning.
“See, Mortician?” Johnnie said.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Meggie said, tired of the bickering. She wanted to get back home before Christopher.
Ignoring Mortician, Johnnie, and Easton, she stormed to the three men.
“Fuck, Megan, get back here,” Johnnie ordered.
“Bite me,” she yelled. “Where’s Bishop?” she demanded, once she reached Narci, Potter, and Torrin.
They had a week’s growth of beard, their hair was unkempt, their clothes dirty and torn, and they stank to high heaven, reeking of pee, poop, sweat, and musk.
“Hey, Meggie,” Narci said.
And bad breath.
“Bishop?” she demanded again, aware of Mortician’s presence at her side.
“Bishop!” Potter called.
She folded her arms and waited. Counted to twenty. Forty. Sixty. One hundred. Finally, the weeds rustled, and Bishop emerged, in as bad a shape as the other three.
He was CJ’s friend. Christopher was still hunting Bishop, though she’d told her husband she didn’t want the guy to diehadn’t stopped him.
She crooked her finger at Bishop. “C’mere.”
Like a man condemned, he walked slowly to her. “I’m so sorry, Meggie. I never meant to disrespect you.”
“Tell that lie to someone who’ll believe it,” she said coolly. “That person isn’t me.”
He hung his head. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted toward you. I’m sorry for the rumors I believed. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be out bad.”
Instead of answering, she looked at Potter. “Where’s your bike?”
He nodded in the direction he’d come. “Back there. In the apple orchard.”
“Get it. Meet us here by the time we’re ready to leave.”
“It’ll take me ten or fifteen minutes to get to it and another two minutes to ride back because of all the overgrowth.”
“Then hope I’m still here. Otherwise, you have to arrive at the club alone and take your chances.”
“I didn’t do nothing, Meggie,” Potter said quietly.
“You’re absolutely right,” she replied. “You didn’t call me or Christopher. You didn’t tell Mortician what was going on when he walked in.”
“I wasn’t thinking—”