misunderstoodebook (38 page)

“But—“

Christopher held up his hands. “No, buts. I’ll explain some other time about how I knew about that motherfucker.”

“But—“

He snickered. “Whenever I thought about his ass—which was often before Megan—I never thought about the evil, old fucker as alive or dead. To me, those two states don’t make a fuckin’ difference. He was a fuckin’ demon on earth and he’s gonna be a demon in hell, so what the fuck?”

“What else do you know?”

His smile slowly fading, Christopher cocked his head. “Is there anything else?”

There was a
lot
more fucking else. “Another time,” he said, determined to dispose of Logan himself. If Christopher heard everything, he’d probably shoot Logan a few more times before he started working on him in the meat shack.

Speaking of which…“You seem terribly calm considering Logan’s actions.”

“I’m holdin’ my shit together for my boy and Megan. With the group over there and everything in fuckin’ chaos, she got her hands full. But as soon as I get my son to her and get her to bed there, I’m gonna be
somebody’s
worse fuckin’ nightmare.”

Johnnie winced. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it together.”

Christopher frowned. “You shittin’ me? The way I see it, you did a grade-fuckin-A job. This shit ain’t fuckin’ easy, John Boy, but you worked with what you had and that’s all I asked for.”

He shoved Johnnie out of the way and moved some of Megan’s things aside, reaching into it. Little Man whined in protest. When Christopher straightened, he held up a diaper. “Last fuckin’ one in there.” Returning Little Man’s babbling, he went to the settee and laid his son down, removing the towel Johnnie had swaddled him in. He frowned. “Why the fuck his ass, balls and dick all red?”

Nervous tension filled Johnnie. “You do know what happened here, right?”

Christopher nodded, scooping a naked Little Man into his arms and heading back to the linen closet, shoving things aside. “Fuck me, boy,” he grumbled. “You pissed on my arm.” He rifled through it a moment more, then pulled back. “No more fuckin’ baby powder or any of that shit she use.” He yawned. “Yeah, I know what the fuck happened, John Boy. You ordered a lockdown—haven’t quite figured that shit out yet. But Logan fucked up Val and popped K-P and—“

“
WHAT
?”

“Don’t, John Boy,” Christopher bit out, tension radiating from him, the distant look he always got when something hurt him in his eyes.

K-P’s death…Johnnie stopped the thought. It was harder for him to imagine K-P gone than it was for him to think of Logan in the same state.

They’d known the man since they were
ten
. Pain spread through his being, but he had to hold it in and keep it together. K-P would want it. He’d
expect
it.

He’d call them roaches if he saw the moisture in Christopher’s eyes and the man’s jaw clamped so tight, teeth would start flying out at any moment.

He’d accuse them of being pussies if Johnnie allowed tears to escape his eyes, so he didn’t. And neither did, Christopher. They kept up the façade that nothing breeched their cold blood. Not even grief.

Death came to all of them, sooner or later. When it did, the world continued to rotate on its axis. The sun still rose in the east and set in the west. Life went
on.

With K-P.

And without.

“K-P dead and Logan did it,” Christopher said in a flat voice but Johnnie saw the devastation he’d only express to Megs. “Then he got Dinah and brought her here and beat the fuck out of her. Before you started searchin’ for her, you fucked him up.” He shrugged, the club president who kept a tight rein on his emotions. “And here the fuck we are.”

Out of all the other atrocities, Christopher knew about, he didn’t know about the biggest one of all—what had happened to his son. And the photos must’ve already been taken down.

Johnnie glanced toward the closet as Christopher passed it up and headed for the door, turning toward the nursery.

“
Christopher!”
Megs shrieked, just as they stepped into the oversized room.

“Fuck me,” Christopher said, low. “What the fuck she doin’ here already? She don’t know about K-P yet.” He jabbed Johnnie’s shoulder. “You better hope the rest of that fuckin’ blood gone.”

Fast clicks pounded down the hardwood floor in the hallway. She barreled into Christopher the moment she stepped into the room and reached for Little Man. “Who did this?” she cried. “My mother looks like she’s been used as a punching bag.”

“I know and I’m sorry, baby. We need to call our fuckin’ MC Resurrection fuckin’ City. Motherfuckers risin’ the fuck out the fuckin’ ground from every-fuckin-where.”

“I don’t care!” she snarled on a sob. “If my mother hadn’t thought to do what she did, my son would be
dead
. Dead, Christopher.” She threw her arms around her husband and cried against his chest, standing on tiptoes—even in her heels—to kiss him.

Christopher stood in stunned silence, his shoulders heaving as his breathing grew shallow. “What the fuck she talkin’ about, John Boy?” he asked, wrapping one arm around Megan and loosely holding Little Man against him.

“Our grandfather came here out of the blue, Megan,” Johnnie said quietly, instead of answering Christopher. “Aunt Patricia’s father.”

God, he hoped…if she knew what had happened to Little Man, then she’d know the significance of Logan putting him in a trash can, then leaving him to smother. She turned and faced him. Johnnie’s gaze fell to the slight bump in her belly, the new baby she carried for Christopher. Her bigger breasts. Her gorgeous face…her blue eyes…and he knew she understood when they widened and more tears rushed to her eyes, as much for Christopher this time as it was for their son.

“Answer me! What the fuck she mean? What did that motherfucker do to my boy?”

She turned and nuzzled Little Man’s belly and he gave a gummy laugh, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She laughed and the baby squirmed against Christopher, reaching for Megs. “He was with Momma,” she explained, drawing in a shuddering breath. “Locked in the dark for hours. You know how he hates the dark. If she hadn’t been there…” Her voice broke.

Johnnie looked at the ceiling hearing her distress.

Silence.

“You sure that’s why you losin’ your shit, baby?” Christopher asked.

Bowing her head and heaving her shoulders, she sniffled but nodded, then nosed Little Man’s black hair. The baby’s babbling crescendoed and Megs drew in a few more breaths. “Wh-what were you doing?”

“Tryin’ to cover our boy dick.”

“Okay. Go take a shower. I’ll take care of CJ, then I have to get back to the club.”

Christopher leaned down and kissed her. “Why don’t you take a shower with me?”

Megs giggled, although her voice still sounded high and unnatural. “I
would
but I haven’t seen our son in
weeks
. I just want to hold him a little while.”

Christopher smiled. “I’m going take a shower. John Boy, get back to the club and hold things down ‘til I get there.” And Christopher strolled past him, heading to his room. And the shower. And, ultimately, his closet, where the evidence of what should’ve been CJ’s death chamber remained.

Fuuuuuccccckkkk!

“Megs,” Johnnie whispered in desperation. “The fucking trash can is still in Christopher’s closet.”

“Your grandfather’s a pig,” she hissed, spinning on her heel, clutching her son, and calling for her husband.

“What the fuck you want, baby?” he called back, reappearing in the doorway a moment later. “We just got back after over a fuckin’ day of travelin’. I want to shower, get a handle on the situation, then take you to bed.”

“I need you at the club now.”

Christopher stared at her, then glared at Johnnie. “What the fuck goin’ on? This gotta do with that piece of shit, Logan, don’t it?”

Megs stepped toward him and nodded. “I’m going to tell you. Soon.”

“Soon ain’t good enough, Megan. Tell me now.”

“Trust me,” she whispered, hoarse. “Just come to the club. Let Johnnie finish here.”

Rubbing his eyes and then his neck, Christopher studied Megs. “It must be bad as a motherfucker if you tryin’ so hard to protect me.” He lifted a brow. “If you gonna tell me any fuckin’ way, why--?”

“Because sometimes hearing is better than seeing it for yourself,” she told him.

“If you worried I’m gonna turn into a assfuck to you, I ain’t ever—“

Megs smiled faintly and rolled her eyes. “You can’t help getting in your moods, Christopher. I have mine, too. But, no, I don’t think you’ll do that to me. I just think…” She rocked back on her heels. “Johnnie and I think…” She huffed out a breath. “Would you just stop being so difficult and let us protect you? Just trust me.”

Christopher sighed. “All right, brat. C’mon. Let’s get to the club. Wait. We gotta dress our boy.”

She grabbed a few blankets and wrapped Little Man in them. “I’ll dress him in our room there.”

Lifting Little Man into his arms, Christopher took Megs’s hand. As he guided her away, Megs spoke once more. “The kitchen needs airing out, Christopher. There’s a really funny smell in there.”

Tuning out Christopher’s response, Johnnie covered his hands with his face, knowing, with the arrival of Christopher and Megan, his problems were far from over.

Chapter 27

10 years earlier

Johnnie zeroed in on the bull’s eye. Satisfied he was on target, he threw the dagger, smiling in triumph when it landed dead center. He turned to Val and Mortician. “Take that, fuckheads.”

Mortician flipped him off and passed the joint to Val. “You either a gun man or a blade man,” he said in a cloud of smoke. “I’m a gun toting motherfucker, so I’m never gonna hit a target like that for knife throwing.”

“Nope,” Val said, sucking on the roll, then handing it to Johnnie, “you the fucking turkey carver, Mort.”

Johnnie puffed in. “So what the fuck am I?”

“One dangerous motherfucker,” Mortician answered, strolling to the bull’s eye they’d set up in a clearing in the wooded area behind the clubhouse. “You adaptable. A GQ looking asshole. A educated, proper talking snob. A patched-in member of the club. A motherfucker who can slit your fuckin’ throat and shoot your fuckin’ head off.”

“I agree,” Val said. “Chameleon motherfuckers like you dangerous, John Boy. I’d prefer to fuck with Christopher. At least I know he’ll fuck me up at the drop of a hat. With you? Can’t ever tell.”

“Yeah, John Boy, what happened to that shaking pussy we found full of vomit and sobbing over that stupid fuck cuz he’d killed him?”

Had he ever really been that guy? He barely remembered that side of him. Although only four years had passed between then and now—a lifetime had taken place in Johnnie’s world.

“He died that night along with the stupid motherfucker I beat to death.”

Amongst them, the truth of that night was an open secret. Big Joe knew, too, although Logan didn’t. His phone rang and he unclipped it from his waistband. “What, Snake?” he growled in answered.

“My dad gonna kill Logan, John Boy. Get over here.”

The furious roar of male voices rose up over the phone and he picked out the voices of both his grandfather and Boss. “Come with me,” he ordered Val and Mortician, starting toward his bike. “Christopher left yet?” he asked Snake as someone screamed.

“Hurry, Johnnie. Please.”

Johnnie hadn’t ever heard Snake so frightened. “Where’s Outlaw?”

“On the fucking road two hours ago.”

“Do something, Snake,” Johnnie cried when the sound of a gunshot broke through. “Knock one of them senseless. Or both of them. Then get the fuck out of there. We’re coming.”

Val and Mortician were already on their bikes, not asking questions because they trusted each other and kept watch over one another. The entire club was all for one and one for all. Still, there were pockets of guys who hung together, like him, Christopher, Val, and Mortician. Snake was there on the periphery, but Johnnie didn’t fucking trust him as far as he could smell him and Snake was one clean motherfucker, which meant he couldn’t trust him at all.

Ten minutes later, they were gliding to a stop in front of Logan’s farm. “Stay out here,” he said as he dismounted, noticing Snake’s bike parked next to Big Joe’s. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

“I hope you fuckin’ don’t,” Mortician called. “I can’t fuckin’ stand Lowman.”

Not answering, Johnnie jogged to the house and barreled through the front door, skidding to a halt. What. The. Fuck.

Snake stood in the center of the living room, holding one of his grandfather’s shotguns and pointing it at Big Joe while Logan sat with a dazed expression, his pants bloody around the thigh area. And tied to the fucking chair.

“You stupid motherfucker—“ Johnnie began.

“You told me to do something. This was about the only fucking thing that got their attention.”

Johnnie scowled and stalked to Snake, jerking the shotgun out of his hands and opening the chamber, not really shocked to see the slugs in it. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“This isn’t much worse than
your
suggestion of knocking them out.”

“I’m a second away from knocking you the fuck out,” Johnnie growled. “Get out, you trigger happy fucker.” Knocking them out was vastly different from aiming a gun at them. Placing any type of weapon in Snake’s hands was never a good idea.

Once they were alone, Johnnie ignored the fury on Big Joe’s features and the resentment in his grandfather’s eyes as he came to a little more. Snake must’ve knocked Grandda senseless. “What’s going on here?”

“I think the boy has a right to know, you dirty motherfucker,” Big Joe snarled. “Your own fucking flesh and blood. I can’t fucking believe you could sell—“

“You and Christopher are brothers,” Logan blurted with such nonchalance Johnnie thought his grandfather was shitting him.

But he looked at Big Joe, the absolute and complete disgust and rage. The fact that he looked ready to strangle Grandda.

“What?”

“That’s what Joe wanted me to tell you,” he said, drawing in a heavy breath.

Big Joe released bitter laughter. “Oh, indeed, motherfucker.” He balled his fists. “Get out, John.”