Misappropriate (5 page)

What a great frigging start to her trip.

CJ stirred just a little while Meggie waited at SEA-TAC for Farrah’s arrival. She’d already collected her overnight bag, filled mostly with baby things. It sat next to her while she contemplated how to maneuver her son and her phone, so she could search the Internet for the effects of the medicine her mother had administered.

“Need help?”

“
NO!”
Meggie screeched to Cee Cee. “I need you to leave me alone.” She glanced over her shoulder at her mother. Dinah stood a few feet away, staring straight ahead, dejection and defeat screaming from her. Her blonde hair was in a messy bun. She’d stopped bothering with make-up years ago. Black sweats made her look old and sallow. Meggie could readily forgive her mother anything. Except putting her son in danger. “You need someone to talk to, keep my mother company.”

He rocked back on his steel-toed boots and she glanced up at his taunting green eyes and thin mouth. He laughed and started off. “See you round, Meggie girl,” he called over his shoulder, his chuckles trailing behind him.

A slamming car door drew Meggie’s attention away from Cee Cee’s retreating back.

“Meggie!” A voice screamed.

Farrah barreled into her in a blur of motion and grabbed Meggie in a tight hug, her blonde-streaked chestnut hair ruffling around her.

CJ gurgled, and Meggie almost fell to the ground in relief. His eyes opened for a moment, his mouth made the rooting movement, before he went right back to sleep.

“Oops, sorry,” Farrah chirped. She removed CJ from her arms without permission. “Omigod, he’s gorgeous!”

“Is he okay? My mom gave him Benadryl and Tylenol,” she said in a rush. “Should we take him to the emergency room?”

Farrah wrinkled her nose, her whiskey-colored eyes filled with disgust. “He’ll be fine, Megster. My mother did it to my little sisters all the time.”

Meggie picked up her overnight bag, sincerely wishing she had it in her to leave her mother right there. It didn’t matter if Farrah’s mother doped up her little sisters. They were
her
children and
she
made the choice to abuse them. CJ was
Meggie’s
son and Dinah didn’t have any rights to make such decisions.

Farrah opened the cargo bay of her Range Rover and Meggie dropped her bag in, then glared at her mother so Dinah could do the same. Once the car was loaded, Meggie glanced at the back row and smiled.

“Thanks,” she called to Farrah when she saw the car seat. “Tell me how much I owe you, so I can reimburse you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Farrah handed Meggie the baby so she could secure him in the car seat. “Repay your son’s aunt?”

Meggie giggled. If only she and Farrah were related.

“All set,” she called and started to climb in.

“You sit in the front, Meggie,” Dinah suggested. “You girls can catch up. I’ll sit in the back with CJ.”

In response, Meggie gave her mother the evil eye and slammed the door shut.

“It’s fine, Dinah,” Farrah assured her, opening the front door for her. Her mother obediently got in.

They rode in silence, giving Meggie a chance to look up the effects of the medicine. CJ met the weight requirements for the Benadryl but not the age requirements for the dosages her mother had given him. She kept a close watch on him and saw that he showed no signs of distress.

Glancing out the window, it surprised Meggie how far removed she felt from the life she’d led here before she’d become a wife and a mother, when she was still a frightened little girl who hadn’t known what to do to save herself or her mother. She’d grown up since she’d run away and couldn’t wait to get to her hotel to unwind and curl in bed with CJ to catch up on Farrah’s life. Lacey was going to meet them later and they’d spend the next two days exploring Pike Place Market, which held so many happy memories for Meggie. Visits there with her mother had been before Dinah became this shell of a woman.

“Uh, Farrah?” Meggie called, frowning when she realized they were on I-405, not I-5. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Farrah waved a careless hand. “Not! We’re going shopping then we’ll get to the hotel.”

Meggie blew out an irritated breath and settled back in her seat. No use in wasting her breath to dissuade Farrah. The girl’s middle name should be Shopping.

She glanced at the phone, wanting to text Christopher but remembering her stupid promise. Since he hadn’t called her, yet, maybe, the guys were right. Maybe, he was happy for this time apart.
She
wasn’t. Call her obsessed but she loved staring into Christopher’s green eyes and slipping her fingers through his black hair. Her man was big and strapping with corded muscles in his arms, ripped abs, and hard thighs.

She squeezed her legs together, her clit swelling, her core hot and wet.
Shameless.

While fantasies of her husband enthralled Meggie, Farrah found a parking spot. Meggie took CJ into her arms, since she hadn’t brought his stroller or the baby carrier Christopher liked to use. Chuckling at the thought of CJ strapped to Christopher’s chest, she followed Farrah and her mother to Neiman Marcus.

“May I use your phone?” Dinah asked and held her hand out.

Without answering, Meggie handed her mother the cellphone then continued behind Farrah, who was model-thin and had grown up in wealth. It showed in her every move, by the flick of her wrist, as if she expected the world to bow down to her. Still, she was Meggie’s friend and had never been anything but kind to her.

“I have to buy my nephew some rags,” she announced, stopping here and there to look at a purse or test perfume.

Meggie liked to wear heels and looked halfway stylish in her winter white heeled booties with pants and a form fitting top the same color. Her subconscious knew Farrah and had prompted Meggie to dress accordingly. If CJ had been awake, chances were high he would’ve slobbered all over her.

“He doesn’t need new clothes, you know, Auntie Farrah?” Meggie called in amusement, once they reached the children’s department.

Farrah ignored her and continued to hold up outfit after outfit.

Meggie cradled CJ in her arms, rocked him back and forth and kissed his head. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to have to buy another suitcase.”

“I’ll just shove his clothes in my bag and bring them when I come in for the rehearsal dinner.”

Once Farrah satisfied herself with the amount of baby things she decided CJ needed, they headed for the dresses. Her mother rejoined them as a tuxedo dress with a leather hem caught Meggie’s attention. By now, CJ’s deadweight resembled two tons, no matter how many times she shifted him from arm-to-arm.

“Cute!” Farrah called. “That’ll be great for tonight.”

Dinah strolled to the dress and grabbed the tag, then gasped. “Did you see the price of this?”

One thing at a time, Meggie thought, a very intense headache setting in. “What’s going on tonight?”

Farrah lifted a brow and shook a piece of hair out of her eye. “The strip club, of course.”

The what?
“I’m not going to watch men take off their clothes. Especially tonight. I’m tired and, in case you’ve forgotten, I have a baby to look after.”

Farrah rolled her eyes. “Dinah can watch him.”

Meggie gave her
a-bitch-are-you-stupid
look and turned to her mother when Dinah tugged on her shirt.

“This dress is almost a thousand dollars, Megan. There’s no reason for any woman to own something so expensive.”

“Meggie, you’re going to that frigging club.” Farrah slapped her hands on her hips and glared at her. “We haven’t hung out together in months. No, years.”

“You don’t have the money to buy this dress.” Dinah pocketed Meggie’s cell phone and sniffed. “You’ll only embarrass yourself at the register.”

Meggie blinked at the barrage of words, hitting her from both sides and aggravating two different nerves. The one reserved for annoying mothers and the other reserved for cheeky friends. “Momma, stop talking out of my wallet.”

“You don’t have a job,” Dinah pointed out through tight lips.

So, maybe, her next move was juvenile, but Farrah and Dinah shoved her to her wit’s end. Glaring at her mother, she found the dress in her size, grabbed it from the rack, and stomped to the cash register. Once she completed her purchase, she bit out, “Take me to the hotel.
Now!”

She’d channeled the way her husband barked out his words very well, satisfied when Farrah scurried to do her bidding.

Chapter 3

              Christopher reared back in his chair, glancing at the naked girls fanning out in all directions of the main room at the clubhouse. Extra women had been brought in for tonight’s festivities because the two dozen Bobs hadn’t been enough to handle all the men on hand. This bullshit was the reason Megan had left with her whiny ass Ma early this morning. It amazed the fuck out of Christopher how he appreciated the beauty of other girls, but only wanted to fuck one in particular. He couldn’t even imagine laying a hand on no other bitch now that he had Megan. She’d turned his life upside down from the day they met. Not only did she stand up
to
him, she stood up
for
him. Saw him as a man worthy of love.

His cousin’s laughter rang out and Christopher saw Johnnie leaning on the bar, chatting up two tall, black-haired chicks. Megan had turned his cousin’s life upside down, too, the big fucking elephant in the room, always hovering between them. Christopher gave a mental shrug. Tough shit. She was Christopher’s, and that was that. Not to say he didn’t wish Johnnie shitloads of fucking happiness—he did. Just as long as he stayed the fuck away from his wife with his refined fucking shit, preppy fucking look and smooth fucking words.

Christopher tasted his beer, wishing like a motherfucker he’d convinced Megan to stay and wondering why the fuck she hadn’t fucking called him, yet. She’d been gone ten fucking hours, twenty-eight minutes and—he glanced at his watch—seven seconds.

He pulled at his hair. Maybe, she had a fucking point. If she’d stayed,
everybody
would’ve noted his pussified behavior over her. Just because
she
had him pussy-whipped like a motherfucker—paranoid, and, yeah, fucking insecure—didn’t mean he wouldn’t hesitate to do his job to keep motherfuckers in line.

Take now, for instance. His boys had overlooked Christopher’s faithfulness and dedication to Megan. Maybe, some of the others didn’t know how much of a weakness Megan was for him—but his fucking brothers in
his
club knew. So why did strange bitches keep coming up to him offering a dick suck or a quick fuck?

He was getting more pissed by the second, his mood worsened because he hadn’t heard from Megan at all today. He was still a fucking killer. Still rude and crude as a motherfucker. He was still
him.
Had she gotten tired of it and took this opportunity to leave him?

You’re fucking losing it, fuckhead.
Was he? She was stronger now. She’d gotten her GED and even talked about college. Some of the brothers saw how happy he was and already had old ladies themselves and kids on the way. Megan had made friends with a lot of the new chicks. She stayed out of Official Club Business, but, she’d managed to glue a frayed club back together. They celebrated things, even
his
birthday. Did more than throw pussy, herbs, and assignments at newly patched in members. They were a family again,
brothers
in every sense of the word. Because of
her
. Because he sure as fuck didn’t have a clue what the fuck a family did. His maternal grandparents had despised him and his sisters loathed and shunned him. All Christopher knew about families were that they blamed you for shit that couldn’t be controlled—by them
or
him—and they didn’t stick around in times of need.

Somehow, the former president, Megan’s father, knew what it took. Christopher thought he’d learned it, too, but, with the man’s death, he hadn’t been able to pull his shit together.

“Yo’, Outlaw, what the fuck you sitting in this big ass leather chair for looking like you lost your best fucking friend?” Digger pulled up a chair, commandeered from a nearby table. He’d cut his dreads and now they just touched his shoulders. It seemed as if the dude was stepping out of his brother’s shadow and, little by little, changing his hair. Couldn’t do fuck all with his face, though. He shared a striking resemblance to Mortician, just a little leaner and taller. “At least, you can fucking smile, Prez.”

He glowered at Digger. “Ain’t got to do shit if I don’t fuckin’ feel like it.”

Mortician sauntered up to him and patted Digger’s cheek. Digger knocked his brother’s hand away.

“I don’t want your dick fingers on my pretty face, fool.”

Mortician laughed, wearing his trademark skull ring and diamond ear studs. “Just touched the base, bro. Had to guide it to that Bob’s mouth.”

Christopher rubbed his eyes and emptied his beer. “Still got dick fingers, Mort.”

Mortician shrugged. “Mixed with pussy.” He signaled a chick over. Her face was as round as her body and Mortician checked her out from head to toe. “Umm, you one fine motherfucker, girl.”