Misjudged (Death Dwellers #3.5) (12 page)

On the other hand, he’d also have to tell his girl that he…
fuck him
…he fucking
admired
Kendall for being woman enough to admit her past to Johnnie.
Somehow,
Christopher wouldn’t fucking choke on the fucking words when the mere thought of them
now
had his brain puking. Or what the fuck ever.

Brain puking sounded fucked up like a motherfucker, but, then, this whole fucking situation was one big fucked up motherfucker.

Another fact that made him want to slit his fucking throat came to mind. He understood that, in a fucked up a way, Kendall
really
did love Johnnie. Something else he’d choke on in his conversation to Megan. He’d enter a little dangerous territory and explain to Megan that fucking had nothing to do with loving. Sometimes, slinging dick and throwing pussy around had nothing to do about desire, either.

At this point, he knew Megan would veer the fuck off the conversation, especially in light of his recent dickheadedness, and he’d have to reassure her that his dick stayed in his pants unless it was going in
her.
Once they got through that part, he’d loop back to the conversation, opening up the real discussion with, “That stupid bitch bein’ hit with all kinds of new emotions and feelins and she ain’t handlin’ it well. At. Fucking.
All.”

And, this would be it, the point where’d he’d present Megan with the evidence that that whacked motherfucker wasn’t really her fucking friend.

Christopher knew he needed to get to Megan before Kendall. That cunt would twist shit around and tell Megan a bunch of fucking lies just to hurt her. Christopher didn’t think Megan would believe the psycho since Megan knew Christopher’s hate went deeper than a black hole.
Still
, Megan was a girl and pregnant for him again and fragile like Johnnie’s bitch but in a different way.

Defending psycho bitch and then hearing about her betrayal would well and truly piss Megan the fuck off. As long as he did it right, which, when he practiced it in his head again, came up perfect.

He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His girl would be livid, but, eventually, she’d forgive that bitch again.

That was just the nature of Megan. It made him love her all the more, but it also reminded him how much she needed to be protected. Sometimes, she was just too soft for her own fucking good.

Chapter Eight: That Can’t Be Right

For all her wanting to be pregnant again, Meggie could’ve done without the awful morning sickness that, to her, arrived a few days earlier than it should have. Everything she read online about morning sickness mentioned it starting around the fourth week of pregnancy. From her calculations, she was no more than three. That was the only time she hadn’t taken her pill, unless she was further along and had gotten pregnant
despite
her birth control. Chances were slim that it would happen, but nothing was foolproof.

She laid in their room, listening to her son’s babbles and opening her eyes every two minutes to make sure he hadn’t gotten into anything he wasn’t supposed to. Electrical sockets, doors, sharp objects were all baby-proofed as much as possible. But her little boy was a climber.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma,” CJ chanted.

Meggie groaned and lifted herself on her elbows, smiling at his bright green eyes and curly black hair falling in every direction. “Mommie’s right here,” she promised, sitting further up when he toddled to her and gripped the comforter on the bed, trying to scale it.

She leaned over and helped him up, kissing him when he scrambled into her lap.

“You want to cuddle, potato?”

Tipping his head back, he smiled at her and she counted the teeth in his mouth before wrapping him in her arms and laying back on the bed. Just as she began to sing the alphabet song to him, her phone beeped.

“That’s Daddy texting,” she said, her spirits lifting. She hadn’t heard from Christopher in three days, ever since he’d adamantly refused her request that she accompany him to Hawaii. She’d tried calling but his phone was off. After leaving three messages and sending an equal number of texts, she decided to wait until she heard from him.

Grabbing her phone from her robe pocket, she frowned. Not Christopher. Johnnie.

Plane arrives later this evening. Get everything n order & have Father Wilkins get 2 the club 2 perform ceremony. Need food 2 & a gift 4 Kendall.

Meggie shoved her phone back into her pocket. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet. She needed to control her nausea and see to her son. Bunny was there preparing breakfast for Arrow, Slipper, Cowboy, Stretch, Dinah, Zoann, CJ and Meggie. There’d be no drop-ins from the regular members because they were all on high alert. With Digger’s desertion, everyone was suspicious. Those close to Christopher and those who were just in the rank-and-file. Even Bunny was patted down before she’d been allowed in and she was there on the express orders of Christopher.

Now, Johnnie was expecting Meggie to get a wedding ceremony together when they’d never finalized their discussion from the night of the biker rally. She’d be able to get food together and get a few members there. Not an overwhelming number. But Father Wilkins? She’d have to
go
to the rectory, listen to his self-righteous crap, and then bribe him with a lot of money.

Her phone beeped again. Holding out hope it was Christopher, she checked it.

Make sure Brooks and Charlotte Redding r there.

Where’s Christopher?
she texted back, willing the nausea away but knowing she’d soon be throwing up again.

Next 2 me
.

Why hasn’t he called?

Probably the last message before she vomited, she thought, bolting up and grabbing CJ to set him on the floor. Just as she ran to the bathroom,
One and Only
by Adele was blasting in the room.

Christopher was finally calling.

“I was threatened to be eviscerated. I had to cancel a wedding after I scratched your wedding from the books only to be
forced
to add it back to the schedule. I had to perform two funerals for two victims of very suspicious deaths. And, finally, I had to marry a half-drugged woman who was recovering from a gunshot. Now, you’re asking me to come to the clubhouse, filled with Satan’s minions and perform
another
wedding?” Father Wilkins fat jowls flapped and he glared at Meggie over the rim of his glasses. “Who’s the bride this time? A woman bound and gagged? Outside of yourself, Mrs. Caldwell, that’s the only reason a woman would marry into your husband’s gang.”

“Yes, of course,” Meggie agreed, the heat of anger rushing through her. She felt like crap in general. After missing Christopher’s phone call, she’d gotten a text from him that simply read
I love you
. She’d responded with a quick,
I love you more
, before dressing herself and CJ and bringing him to breakfast.

Though feeling awful, she’d wanted to help Johnnie. Deep down, she didn’t feel marrying Kendall—
at the moment
—would be his smartest move. But, if she told him that, he’d accuse her of disliking Kendall, Christopher would believe she was still attracted to Johnnie, and Kendall would say she was jealous.

Both
of them working through jealousy—again—wasn’t a good thing. The more Meggie thought about her conversations with Kendall, the more she got an odd feeling that Kendall might’ve been jealous of Meggie and Johnnie, but she was also jealous over Christopher, too.

How many times had Kendall said
if only she’d slept with Christopher
? Too many to count. For all Meggie’s sympathizing with Kendall, she wanted to scratch her eyes out at the conclusions she kept reaching.

Then, she’d call herself a thousand fools, remember she was hormonal and emotional, and shove the thought aside. She’d tell herself Kendall always made very valid points and she needed all the support she could get.

So Meggie decided she’d be very wary of Kendall’s motives toward Christopher, but keep her thoughts and opinions to herself. Unless she saw a real need to vocalize specifics such as
stay the fuck away from my man if you don’t want me beating your ass
.

Meggie had giggled and scowled at the errant thought, then decided if Johnnie and Kendall wanted to marry….
good luck
.

In between vomiting whatever she ate, she’d breathed in relief when Mortician had escorted an exhausted and shell-shocked Bailey in. He was bruised, cut, and royally pissed, but alive. Val had headed straight for Zoann and Ryan—not too pleased himself—and ushered them to their room.

Meggie had helped to get Bailey cleaned up, dodged the mug her mother threw at her head when she checked on her, and made another appointment to see Dr. Will. Once she’d emptied her stomach of even bile, she’d called Gypsy and Danicka, Derby’s and Boy’s old ladies, respectively. Those men were presidents of two different clubs within Christopher’s network with Derby’s club being a Dweller support club.

Zoann had taken over with Father Wilkins, but ruined it when she’d lost her patience and told him to find a blow-up doll to fuck. So here Meggie was, at the rectory, determined to get the priest to the clubhouse
before
Christopher and the others returned, but in time to make her appointment.

“My answer is no. No to you. No to Mrs. Taylor, who, by the way, should get up with the times. Full dolls are no longer needed, madam. Silicon vaginas are available.”

Just kill her then and there, the yuck factor of that statement too disgusting to contemplate.

“
No
,” he reiterated with a smug snort.

“Father Wilkins, while you’re sitting on your pristine and gilded throne passing judgment on mortals like my husband and I in your annoyingly proper voice, I seem to remember your fat little hands stretching wide open and your beady little eyes looking the other way whenever money was mentioned. I still haven’t noticed repairs to the rectory
or
the daycare or anything.” She laid a finger on her jaw, pretending deep introspection, very close to throwing up or dry heaving right in his office. “Hmmm, I wonder what the diocese would think of you pocketing money so generously donated for the good of your parish. Maybe, entertaining men you believe are dangerous criminals.”

“I can’t breach the sanctity of the confessional.”

“I’m sure,” Meggie agreed tightly, “because we both know they’re first in line to confess their sins to you.”

Father Wilkins smirked at her. “Very good, Mrs. Caldwell. You’re mastering the art of thuggery and manipulation.” He jumped up, stomped around the desk, and pulled her to her feet. “Unfortunately, your arguments aren’t quite as compelling as your husband’s.”

“Which part? His threats or his money?”

He sniffed and fingered his white collar. “You figure it out.”

Ass.
Yanking her purse open, she grabbed twenty one hundred dollar bills—taken from her checking account for just this purpose—and held them out to him.

His eyes travelled between her face and the money, before he snatched the money from her and pocketed it. “What time?”

“Three hours.”

He nodded and sighed, clear aggravation on his face. “Anything else?”

Before anything came to Meggie’s mind, the unthinkable happened. She threw up, the vomit spraying all over Father Wilkins. “I’ll have three thousand more waiting for you,” she squeaked out at his outrage and disgust.

“Get out, Mrs. Caldwell.”

“See you in three hours,” she called over her shoulder, heading for the exit but making a pit stop at the bathroom to wash out her mouth.

As she headed for the parking lot where Zoann waited to drive her to her doctor’s appointment, Meggie called Mortician and told him to get more money ASAP, believing wholeheartedly Father Wilkins needed a tad more incentive to perform the wedding.

“Sit down, Meggie.”

Wondering if Dr. Will would stick to her recommendation of an abortion, Meggie did as instructed, back in her obstetrician’s office three days after discovering her pregnancy. The doctor drew in a deep sigh, scribbled in her folder, then considered Meggie so long that she began to squirm.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, scared something was wrong with the baby. Was her pregnancy even viable? She pressed her fingers against her belly.

“You’re seven weeks,” she said flatly.

Meggie shook her head. “No, that’s impossible. I’ve been taking my pills. And—and I was just here a month ago. Remember? When you recommended I not try for another baby for an additional six months. Remember?” she repeated.

“We’ll get to that in a moment,” Dr. Will promised, sipping from a bottle of water. “I have to address the other issue first.”

“What other issue? Is the baby okay?”

Dr. Will gave her a rueful smile. “You’re determined to contribute to my gray hair?” She pointed to her braids that didn’t have one hint of gray.

“What—?”

“You’re carrying
two
babies, Meggie.’

“No,” Meggie denied. “That can’t be right. Twins don’t run in either of our families. It’s too early to be certain I’m having two babies, right? I-I mean seven weeks and-and a month ago you didn’t even see I was pregnant, so—“

“
Meggie
—“

Meggie halted and drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t intended to abort her baby at all, no matter how much she’d fooled herself into believing otherwise. Christopher would’ve been harder to convince that she’d be fine and going ahead with the pregnancy was the right thing to do. She already knew he wouldn’t have allowed her to do much of anything and she would’ve been out of her head with boredom. But two babies?