Misappropriate (16 page)

“This is my world, baby.”

Her gaze fastened to his and she swallowed. “This had been my daddy’s, too.”

He glared at her, not wanting to think about her old man since that shit was as bad as thinking about
his
old man.

She reached over and took the bottle from him, bringing it to her lips and taking a small sip. Nothing happened, so she took in a mouthful and swallowed. Her eyes watered and she choked. Christopher pulled the bottle from her and patted her back until she caught her breath.

He drank from the bottle again.

“Any news?”

“About?”

“Cee Cee?” she supplied. “Isn’t that why you’ve been leaving us every night? Looking for him.”

Yeah. He’d also brought her here so she could see that she had nothing to worry about. He wanted to include her like she expected, but, fuck him, whatever he told her could be used against her if any of his rivals got to her.

“Don’t matter why the fuck I’ve been goin’ out, Megan. We can’t stay joined at the fuckin’ hip for fuckin ever.”

Her eyes watered and her chin wobbled.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

Because his demons were chasing him and overwhelming him. Instead of answering—since he didn’t have one—he lit up Aunt Mary and sucked in, holding the smoke to allow it to seep into his head before exhaling.

Megan watched him, her head cocked to the side, not bothering to put a little distance between them. None of them smoked often around her, but, when they did, she stepped away from their group.

“I want to try it,” she said, shocking the shit out of him.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“C’mon, Megan. This shit ain’t for you.”

“I might like it,” she argued.

“Fuck off with the reverse psychology bullshit.” He shoved the roll at her. “Go the fuck ahead. You wanna get fuckin’ high, do it.”

Instead of turning her nose up, she grabbed it from him, put it to her lips and inhaled, mimicking what he’d done a few minutes before. She held it in a moment before she started coughing like a motherfucker.

He snatched the joint from her and glowered at her. Fuck him, if she wasn’t the most reckless fucking brat he’d ever met. “If I decided to jump from a fuckin’ buildin’ you gonna fuckin’ do that, too?” he growled, once her coughing fit had passed.

She drew in a deep breath and swayed. “You’re spoiling for an argument and I’m not going to give you your way.”

Too fucking late. He was furious and he knew the bullshit he was feeling was directed at motherfucking Cee Cee. He knew taking it out on Megan was a fuckhead move, but he wasn’t no paragon of goodness and she wanted to be with him, so she had to take him the fuck as he came.

Megan crawled closer to him, her pupils dilated, her eyes red-rimmed, the scent of alcohol and herb rising from her like steam. His sweet, innocent Megan was high and drunk.

She licked her lips before rising on her knees to kiss him. He despised the taste of her mouth right now, despised himself a little more for doing this to her.

She straddled his hips and rocked against his rising dick, thumbing his lips, even her fingers smelling like weed. “We’re passed this, Christopher,” she managed to slur. “Don’t push me away. Don’t beat yourself up for Cee Cee’s actions. CJ and I need you. We love you no matter what.”

Megan’s words hit him straight the fuck in the gut and arrowed to his heart.

She clutched his cut, leaned back, and frowned up at him. “I just hope I learn how to please you in bed.”

What the fuck?

“Rose and Chantal…they told me how you like to watch two girls make love before or after you…and…them…” Her face crumpled. “I don’t like girls that way and I couldn’t stand watching you with other girls, either.”

Jesus. He’d needed to be fucked up for doing this to her. He wrapped her in his arms. “Megan, baby, I don’t want no other girl. Fuck, baby, when I’m thinkin’ sideways, lookin’ backwards, bowin’ my head down, you make me look up. Into the light. At all the goodness in you. You’re the sun and the moon to me, a bright shinin’ star in my fucked up world.” And he’d hurt her. By exposing her to
this
. By allowing her to get fucked up.

She groaned and leaned her head against his chest. “I’m not feeling too good, Christopher.”

He was feeling even worse. Because whether he liked it or not—whether she admitted it or not—he had every rotten cell of his father inside him.

All he needed to do was look at her current condition as proof.

Two days later, Christopher glanced at his watch and cursed. He had one hour before he had to get to the church for the pre-marital counseling shit that dickhead insisted him and Megan do before he married them. Motherfucker. They were already fucking married, so this bullshit was fucking pointless. But Megan wanted that church wedding, so Christopher had to suffer through that priest’s advising them on shit they were better off figuring out on their fucking own.

What the fuck did
he
know any-fucking-way? Not like the motherfucker had ever been married. Probably never had pussy, either, with the vow of celibacy they were required to take.

Christopher held up the ice pick and dangled it in front of the motherfucker strapped to the wall in the shed. He glanced at Mortician, hoping like fuck he didn’t have to pass this job to him, Digger, Val or Johnny. To him, Cee was personal.
He
wanted to exact the vengeance on everyone connected to him. Like now, with this stupid fuck, who, so far had four holes in him, all courtesy of Christopher.

Christopher paced in front of the moaning fuckhead. “I ain’t repeatin’ this shit but one more time, motherfucker. It’s been brought to my attention you the fucker who brought Cee Cee to my fuckin’ club.”

He refrained from taking a bigger instrument and making fuckhead feel real pain. Both Megan and his mother needed avenging for Cee Cee’s actions and if he had to fuck-up a hundred motherfuckers to get to
that
motherfucker, he would.

He shoved the pick into the man’s thigh, scowling at the dickhead’s bitchified scream.

“As far as I fuckin’ know, ain’t no new fuckin’ presidents been elected in none of the Dwellers’ local support clubs. Me and my boys have spent four fuckin’ days checkin’ that shit.”

“Outlaw, pl-please. I sw-swear I didn’t br-bring him here to cause trouble,” the man cried.

Christopher poked his shoulder with the ice pick tip, red oozing from the white skin. “Then how the fuck he got to be your guest?”

The man gasped. “I…he was at the Haven last week,” he said around sniffles.

Fucking pussy. Sniveling like a fucking bitch-ass punk. Christopher jabbed his other shoulder—deeper—in pure fucking disgust.

What the fuck was this pussy’s name any-fucking-way?

“He…he said he was an old friend of the family—“

Christopher let out a roar of pure rage. How many times had he heard about the friend of the family violating his mother than being present to sign his birth certificate? He stabbed the man’s jaw and would’ve done it again if Johnnie hadn’t stopped him.

“That’s what Cee Cee said,” his cousin reminded him. “Not this stupid fuck.”

“Yeah, Outlaw, he just the fucking messenger,” Digger said, nodding in agreement.

“At one time, messengers got fucked up for deliverin’ bad fuckin’ news,” Christopher snapped, his vision blurring with the red haze of his anger.

“You have blood all over you.” Val pointed to his jeans. “You and Meggie need to leave for the church in ten fucking minutes.”

              He stared at the bleeding, crying motherfucker, wanting to take out his rage and frustration on someone. The humiliation he’d suffered at the hands of his grandparents for years because of what that motherfucker had done to his mother. The shame and degradation his mother had suffered, for that matter. Now, Cee Cee, the man who’d provided the seed that had become
him
, had made the fatal mistake of fucking with Megan.

              He blinked, needing to clear his head, needing to think.

              His boys were shuffling, staring at him and waiting for his final decision. Kill this stupid fuck for bringing hell to Christopher’s doorstep? Or not?

              Megan’s face rose in his head and he growled in frustration, administering one last stab in the man’s knee before pitching the ice pick against the wall. He unfastened the man’s restraints and watched as he sagged to the ground, sobbing at Christopher’s feet. He kicked him away, satisfied at the crack of bone he heard.

              “You listen to me, motherfucker. Unless you a fuckin’ moron, you fuckin’ knew you ain’t never fuckin’ seen that fuckhead around here before in your fuckin’
life
. He coulda been any-fuckin-body you invited here.” He crouched down and pulled the man’s head up by his hair, the weight of his nine heavy in his cut. The fucker deserved to have his piece shoved in his mouth so Christopher could pull the trigger. “And it fuckin’ was. You brought a fuckin’ demon to my door. But I’m gonna let you fuckin’ live. Know fuckin’ why?”

              “No! No!” he sobbed, holding out his hands as if they’d stop a bullet. Or prevent Christopher from shooting again.

             
Because I have a wife who thinks I’m better than a cold-blooded killer.
“Because I want you to find that motherfucker. You have ‘til the night before my fuckin’ weddin’ to deliver that fuckhead to me. If you fuckin’ don’t…if me or my boys gotta fuckin’ find him, then they gonna have motherfuckers out lookin’ for
you
and I swear to you, they won’t be able to find any piece of your fuckin’ ass usin’ the best microscope in the world. You hear me?”

              He nodded and Christopher jerked his head away, then got up, glared at Val, Digger, Johnnie, and Mortician, and ordered, “get him the fuck off the premises. Have him fuckin’ gone before I come out with Megan.”

              He stalked into the fresh air, the cold not doing anything to lessen his anger when he thought about his
father
. Cee Cee, huh? His fucking ass.
Sebastian Caldwell
. The fuckhead was a rapist and no doubt every other vile thing there was. That’s why Christopher
detested
the name Caldwell. He’d never wanted Megan stuck with that name.

              Fuck him. He’d never wanted her stuck with
him
. He might not have been a rapist, but he was every other vile thing in the world. She’d hurled her guts out before they’d left Dippin’ Sam’s, then spent most of yesterday unable to do anything but puke and stay in bed, greener than the Jolly Green Giant. And now she wanted him to say vows in a
church
?
Him?

              No fucking way could he do that. He was rushing from the fucking meat shack—as it was known amongst him and the boys—to wash away another man’s blood to go sit in front of a judgmental fuck and pretend he wasn’t what he was.

              He wanted to kill and he felt sick to his fucking stomach thinking about Megan. Instead of going to the clubhouse, he headed to his Harley. He couldn’t deal with shit right now. He needed a minute to himself.

              Fifteen minutes later, he was rolling to a stop in front of the graveyard and he scrubbed a hand over his face. He wasn’t sure which way to go—to his mother or to his mentor. They both had graves here—even though Boss’s was empty. No matter. They’d both loved him. His mother would tell him to let it go. And Boss?  Big Joe would tell him to shove a canon up Cee Cee’s ass and blow him the fuck away.

              He stood, unable to decide, but admitting to himself he’d run away from Megan. He hadn’t wanted her to see him with all this fucking blood on him. She never interfered in club business, but when worse came to worse and he had to put a motherfucker to ground on premises, he did his usual diverting attention bullshit.

This time, she’d been waiting for
him
. She would’ve been in their room, smelling like heaven and looking like salvation. Waiting for him. Tending to his son. Planning their wedding. Talking about the decorations for the other rooms in their house.

She was feeling better today and didn’t blame him for the other night. “I’m a big girl, Christopher. I made the decision to smoke that joint and drink the tequila.”

It shamed him to think he hadn’t protected his girl.

He pulled out his smokes and lit one up before entering the gates of the cemetery. He started to his mother’s grave then stopped. Whenever he came, he always brought her flowers. And he didn’t have any. He hoped the gesture let her know how much he loved her. He wasn’t even sure she could see him. Megan said she could, that she’d already met their boy.

Sometimes, Christopher wondered if his mother and Megan’s father had met up somewhere in the afterlife, then decided, no. They probably hadn’t, certain they’d gone in opposite directions—Patricia went northward while Big Joe took the Southbound Express.

He trudged towards Boss’s grave, unable to go to his mother without her flowers. Reaching the black marble obelisk, he grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and released smoke. “Yo’, Prez,” he said quietly. He took another drag, wishing he had a different kind of cigarette. “Am I doin’ the right thing? Listenin’ to Megan? Goin’ along with her church weddin’?” No answer. Not that he expected one. His phone started blasting out Megan’s ringtone. It stopped, then started again. Fuck, what the fuck was he supposed to say to her?