A Very Christopher Christmas (A Death Dwellers MC Novella) (15 page)

Johnnie hardly pushed the words out the first time. He damn sure couldn’t repeat the lie. Unable to meet Christopher’s gaze, he focused on Rory, Ryan, and CJ as they grabbed Legos from the mesh center of their small table and slammed them into slots on the top.
 

“You joking right, Johnnie?” Mort asked in disbelief, wearing the same horrified expression as almost everyone except Christopher.
 

Outraged fury replaced Christopher’s perennial smirk, chilling Johnnie to his soul.
 

“You got two fuckin’ choices, John Peter.” Lower and harder than Johnnie had ever heard Christopher’s voice, it was almost unrecognizable.
 

Holding on to his courage by sheer will, Johnnie cleared his throat, attempting to smile at the kids as they picked up on the seriousness of the situation and turned their attention to the table. “And they are?”
 

His inability to read Christopher’s expression scared the fuck out of him. For the first time in memory, Johnnie couldn’t anticipate his brother’s actions.
 

“You go deal with that motherfucker your motherfuckin’ self or I fuck you up.”
 

If it was so simple, Johnnie would hop on the first flight to wherever McCallister wanted him to go. But Kendall had promised Christopher would deliver the goods, just as McCallister wanted.
 

“Fuck me up how?”
 

Standing, Christopher pulled his nine and aimed it at Johnnie’s head.
 

Val jumped to his feet too and shoved his phone in his pocket, holding out his hand toward the little boys. “Come on, boys.”
 

“Jo-nee?” Rory asked in a frightened voice at the same time CJ called, “‘Law?”
 

Digger rose and rushed to CJ, taking his hand in his and dragging him to the door. “Come on, kid.”
 

“I’m fine, Rory,” Johnnie said as calmly as possible, knowing Christopher was a hair’s breath from firing and was holding onto his temper by a very thin thread. “Go with Uncle Val.”
 

The moment Val followed behind Digger and CJ with Ryan and Rory, Christopher cocked his gun. Johnnie’s killer instincts understood. He’d greatly overstepped his boundaries and now he had to pay.
 

“Christopher, please. Don’t kill me,” he began, never dreaming he’d be put in the position to beg Christopher for his life. But this was what he deserved. Wasn’t it? He only had one request. “My son’s right outside.” As if that mattered. He released a heavy breath. “If you have to put me to ground, let me take him home first.”
 

“Prez, Meggie like Johnnie,” Mortician reminded Christopher. “I know what he did gotta be addressed, but his sudden disappearance going to be hard to explain.”
 

Christopher scowled at Mort’s words, but some of his murderous rage cooled off. “You know the fuckin’ position you put my fuckin’ ass in?” he snarled. “This whole fuckin’ club, motherfucker.”
 

Johnnie nodded. “Yes.”
Did Kendall understand the gravity of her actions?
 

Brooks stepped into the room and took in the scene, immediately raising his hands.
 

“Outlaw—”
 

Without hesitating as he had with Johnnie, Christopher opened fire and Brooks dropped to the ground. They all jumped to their feet. Cash hurried to the door and locked it so no one would barge in.
 

Brooks groaned. Afraid if he moved Christopher would kill him, Johnnie stayed in his spot.
 

“You fuckin’ knew what this motherfucker did, huh, Brooks?” Christopher suddenly loomed over the bleeding man. “Get the fuck on your feet.”
 

Clutching his shoulder, Brooks followed Christopher’s orders. Suddenly, Christopher shoved the gun against Brooks’s head.
 

“Don’t take it out on him,” Johnnie rushed out, thinking of Charlotte and her devastation if Christopher killed Brooks. “It’s all my fault. No one else’s.”
 

One. Two.
Threefourfive
. Six. Seven.
Eightnineten
. The seconds crept by, then sped up, only to slow down again with the expectation hanging in the air. They anticipated the moment Christopher would shoot Brooks in the head.
 

“Just hear me out,” Johnnie begged. “Please.”
 

Growling, Christopher removed the gun from Brooks’s temple. “You ain’t this fuckin’ stupid. This shit not on you, John Peter. This shit cuz of Kendall and this motherfucker.” He indicated Brooks with his nine. “He brought McCallister to me. He fuckin’ had authority in this motherfuckin’ deal.”
 

Fuck, but Christopher needed to be a fucking rocket scientist. How the fuck he picked up on shit all the time, eluded Johnnie.
 

“No—”
 

“Shut the fuck up, Johnnie,” Christopher demanded. “I ain’t gettin’ the truth from you cuz you protectin’ your cunt, you ball-less fuckin’ wonder. That bitch ain’t as bad off as your dumb fuckin’ ass believe. But, lemme tell you, she went one fuckin’ step too far. Since she fuckin’ been here, she caused all kinds of fuckin’ fuck-ups. Now this shit.”
 

“You can’t hurt Kendall,” Johnnie insisted. “Especially for something she didn’t do. I swear it was all on me.”
 

Christopher turned to Brooks, who had sat in a chair and leaned forward. “I want all the fuckin’ camera footage from this fuckin’ office for the past fuckin’ month.” He glowered at Johnnie. “If you on there talkin’ to Brooks before today,
then
I fuckin’ believe Kendall ain’t had shit to do with this. If you ain’t—”
 

Johnnie should’ve known Christopher wouldn’t accept his word on such a grave matter.
 

“Know why the fuck I ain’t believin’ you accepted that motherfucker terms? Cuz that ain’t ever been your style. You
al-fuckin-ways
come to me in fuckin’ situations like this.”
 

He’d neither confirm nor deny Christopher’s speculations. “I’m human,” he said instead. “We all make mistakes.”
 

“That can get our fuckin’ asses fuckin’ killed?” Chuckling without humor, Christopher shook his head. “Nope. Yeah, you fuckin’ turned into a bleedin’ fuckin’ cunt since Kendall got here, but you ain’t fuckin’ turned into a
stupid
bleedin’ fuckin’ cunt.”
 

“Apparently, I have,” Johnnie said coolly, forgetting his fear as annoyance rushing through him at Christopher’s insistence that Kendall was involved. “Do what you have to do.”
 

Christopher raised his gun and fired, hitting Johnnie in the shoulder.
 

Pain burning into him, Johnnie rocked back from the force of the bullet.
 

“You suspended from the goddamn club, motherfucker. And buy out your bitch’s contract from this fuckin’ law firm.”
 

The words blazed into Johnnie’s head. “Kendall’s a junior partner,” he managed, his entire upper body layered with hot agony and cold sweat. “This is her dream job. Her association with such a prestigious practice—”
 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Christopher roared. “I ain’t givin’ a fuck ‘bout your bitch dream. What fuckin’ don’t you fuckin’ understand ‘bout the goddamn position I’m in? How fuckin’ clueless you be ‘bout how fuckin’ pissed I am?”
 

Blood dripped onto the floor and a bout of dizziness almost knocked Johnnie out. “None of this is Kendall’s fault. It wasn’t her,” he grunted, sticking to his story and quite sorry he’d challenged Christopher. “Don’t make her pay for my mistake.”
 

Christopher bared his teeth. “Fuckin’ commendable how the fuck you protectin’ her. I ain’t fuckin’ hurtin’ her. She got your fuckin’ girl in her and she already a ma to your boy. We fuckin’ family and family don’t fuckin’ kill up each other. But, Johnnie, family don’t fuckin’ betray each other either.”
 

“I didn’t betray you.”
 

“No, your bitch did, but it might as well be you since you takin’ the fuckin’ rap.”
 

“I’m sorry.”
 

Bitter laughter floated from Christopher. “Sorry ain’t cuttin’ it, assfuck. She leavin’ the firm. Period. I don’t want her involved in club business through her fuckin’ job.” He looked at Johnnie as if he hated him. “Once before, I told your braindead ass to get your bitch in line. I’m tellin’ you again—
get your motherfuckin’ wife in line
before she cause some fuckin’ shit that ain’t ever able to get fuckin’ fixed. Like she did when she got Megan involved in her bullshit, and led both her and Megan to lose babies.”
 

Johnnie nodded bleakly.
 

“Get these two shot motherfuckers sewed up,” Christopher ordered.
 

“Prez, what’s next?”
 

“My ass gettin’ through this fuckin’ day, Mort. Cash, do whatcha do and get me transport and whatever the fuck else I need.”
 

 “Christopher,” Johnnie mumbled.
 

“Ain’t fuck else I wanna hear from you, motherfucker.”
 

And with that, Christopher stormed away.
 

 

Flipping through the pages of a magazine about pregnancy, Christopher ignored the covert looks thrown his way as he sat in Dr. Jordan Will’s office. She was the physician who’d delivered CJ and Patrick. The one who’d cared for Megan through her illness after the loss of Patrick. The same one who’d sent her to a high-risk OB when Megan had gotten pregnant before Doc Will thought good for Megan’s health.
 

All types of articles for new moms jumped out at Christopher from the pages of the December issue of Mom and Baby Courier. A bunch of fucking recipes, toy ads, and holiday advice helped along by the fucking holiday music piping into the office. It wasn’t even fucking Thanksgiving yet. Motherfuckers needed to keep the holidays in their own goddamn lanes. Let Hallo-fucking-ween be Hallo-fucking-ween and so on. But after the Back-to-School shopping ads and Labor Day shit ended, holiday advertising crossed.
 

Mostly Halloween and Christmas. Thanksgiving wasn’t even a blip in the seasonal promotions. When Christopher had been a kid, it had been an important day of thanks, not only in school but for his mother. To him, Thanksgiving merely marked the beginning of the misery of having to endure more visits to his grandfather’s house.
 

When he’d began celebrating the holiday at the club, it had been about pussy and partying.
 

But, now…now Thanksgiving meant something to him. It reminded him of how much his life had changed and how grateful he was to whatever fluke had put Megan in his path.
 

She was, and always would be, his sweet angel.
 

He smirked at a page with an advertisement for baby furniture, silently amused at how he even gave a fuck about what the fuck went on with any of this shit. It was so goddamn domestic.
 

Once upon a time, Christmas morning excited the fuck out of him. When he’d been a small boy, his ma went out of her way to purchase toy cars for him. They’d go to Mass, then head to his grandparents. And that’s where Christopher’s fucking enjoyment ended.
 

Not because of the gifts and attention Logan showered on Johnnie. It was due to the fuckhead’s shit treatment of Christopher. More often than not, he was made to sit in a corner, all alone. As he recalled, Patricia encouraged the behavior so Christopher wouldn’t call attention to himself and garner Logan’s abusive notice.
 

Fuck, but Christopher hated that motherfucker. What he wouldn’t give to have been present when Johnnie had blown Logan the fuck away.
 

Although his mother could’ve handled the situation better, Christopher now understood she not only feared her father’s wrath but she accepted his demands to visit for the girls, especially Zoann, who Logan fell in love with on first sight when she’d been born. Not a sexual type of love. Though Christopher wouldn’t put it past the perverted assfuck, he’d felt nothing deviant for her. When Zoann had been a child, Logan had the same adoring, sick
type of love that he’d carried for Johnnie, where he showered them with attention and used them as his pawns.
 

Fuck.
 

Throwing the magazine aside, Christopher scrubbed a hand over his face. Johnnie had been as damaged as Christopher—as damaged as Zoann—because of Logan. Deep down, Christopher understood Johnnie. Sometimes better than the stupid motherfucker understood himself. That’s why he was so goddamn furious with him for the position his cunt had put Christopher and the club in.
 

Kendall.
 

He balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth to keep from growling out loud and scaring the fuck out of the bitches in there, two of whom were pregnant and sat with preppy little assfucks who reminded him of his brother.