A Very Christopher Christmas (A Death Dwellers MC Novella) (6 page)

BOOK: A Very Christopher Christmas (A Death Dwellers MC Novella)
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“The one where we averted some serious repercussions because we had the buyer’s money and kept delaying delivery?”
 

“That’s the fuckin’ one,” Christopher confirmed.
 

They’d finally refunded him with a serious upcharge on his return.
 

“What about it?”
 

They were still sitting on the guns, now moved to the cave on club property. That had been a fucking nightmarish operation in the middle of the night. Mutt, Jeff, and a few other law enforcement officials in their pocket had stood guard as they transported the guns from a warehouse by the docks. Those fucking weapons were an albatross around their necks. Acquired at an exorbitant price, it was currently a clear loss for the club.
 

“Gentlemen,” a gravelly voice said into the silence and Johnnie jerked his head toward the laptop, the screen now facing them. A dark-haired man lounged behind a desk, two armed men on each side of him.
 

Instead of filling Johnnie in, they’d connected to someone via Skype. When had he become so outside of the officers and their knowledge of club happenings?
 

“Before ya go declining me again, hear my terms, Outlaw.”
 

Casually, Christopher lit a cigarette and took a few puffs. “We fuckin’ done with you, McCallister. I paid your fuckin’ ass a big bank. The deal ain’t meant to be. Otherwise, it already woulda fuckin’ happen.”
 

“Superstitious are ya now?”
 

“Fuckin’ realistic.”
 

“You’re sitting on the arms.”
 

“Brooks open his fuckin’ mouth, yeah?”
 

“Oh, indeed, Outlaw. He’s concerned on your behalf.”
 

Brooks had assisted in the negotiations to have McCallister’s money returned. He was the one who’d fielded McCallister in the first place and then brought him to Christopher to purchase the arms.
 

“Ain’t necessary for no concern, since I ain’t dealin’ with your fuckin’ ass. The deal been dead in the fuckin’ water for months. Why fuckin’ revive it?”
 

“For the money.”
 

“Not all fuckin’ money worth the bullshit.”
 

McCallister laughed. “I have only one stipulation. You deliver the arms personally before Christmas and I’ll be a happy man.”
 

“Your ass would be, but
my
fuckin’ ass would be a unhappy motherfucker, so my answer the same. Fuck, no.”
 

“Anyway I may change your mind, Outlaw?”
 

“Nope, but I wanna know why you specifically askin’ for my ass?”
 

“Do ya know why I decided to renegotiate and accept the money back, instead of taking issue with the amount of time that had gone by with no delivery?”
 

“Nope.”
 

McCallister lifted a brow. “You’re lucky Brooks warned me about your ways. Otherwise, your attitude might make me a very unhappy man”
 

Releasing smoke and tamping out his cigarette, Christopher frowned. “Did the motherfucker also tell you I ain’t takin’ too fuckin’ kind to fuckin’ threats? Especially from motherfuckers not man e-fuckin-nuff to come right the fuck out and say he wanna fuck my ass up.”
 

“Let’s keep this cordial.” McCallister’s eyes took on a wintry hue, his pose suddenly tense. “We needn’t disconnect as mortal enemies.”
 

Christopher opened his mouth to speak, undoubtedly to blast McCallister with words.
 

Although they attended the meeting more as a show of force and support for Christopher, just as McCallister’s men were, Johnnie couldn’t remain silent. “He’s right,” he interrupted. “It won’t hurt to listen to his reasons.”
 

“Aww, a man of reason,” McCallister chortled. “Johnnie, I presume.”
 

“Brooks mentioned me too, I take it,” Johnnie said dryly, ignoring the dark look Christopher turned on him.
 

“Let’s cut to the heart of the matter. The guns that I still need. I so kindly overlooked your unprofessionalism in our first arrangement. Too many people involved. I needed to remain under the radar, not murder a wealthy attorney with a socialite wife, cops—albeit dirty ones—and motorcycle men. This way, if Outlaw comes and something goes awry, it’ll be easy to take out my frustrations on him.”
 

“And start a fucking war between our outfits,” Cash called.
 

“Yeah, son. No fucking way you’d kill Outlaw and not get a bullet or ten in your fucking ass,” Mortician pointed out.
 

“Whether my ass accompanied the fuckin’ guns or not, not a motherfuckin’ thing else would go fuckin’ wrong. But since I
still
ain’t interested in doin’ business with you, that fuckin’ point don’t fuckin’ matter.”
 

“You’re really beginning to annoy me, Outlaw.”
 

“And you already pissed me the fuck off, so now what?”
 

“Let’s regroup and speak in a few days,” McCallister persisted.
 

Instead of answering, Christopher nodded to Cash, who disconnected the call.
 

 “You missed going to the graves with Meggie for that bullshit,” Val said, shaking his head.
 

Christopher glared at Val, before taking a deep swig from his bottle. “Don’t fuckin’ remind me how I disappointed her unless you want me to fuck your ass up.”
 

“Prez, right before John Boy walked in you was saying how Meggie was calling you the Grinch because you complained about her holiday plans,” Mort said. “You not happy you missed the All Saints Day tradition?”
 

“Not really, Mortician,” he answered gravely. “Dinah been dead six months and Megan go to her fuckin’ grave every week, which mean she back at Patrick grave every week. My girl need me at her side, not fuckin’ with a motherfucker I might have to fuckin’ kill to get off my fuckin’ back.”
 

Stretch shifted in his seat, the scar from the beating he’d received now a prominent mark on his face. He’d never regained the easy-going liveliness he’d once had. While he’d always been quiet, he’d never been withdrawn. “What the fuck is McCallister up to?”
 

“Fuck if I know. I’ma  get Riley on that motherfucker, since McCallister harrasin’ Brooks now.”
 

Johnnie poured a finger of whiskey into his forgotten glass. “Is that why you did this conference call?” he asked, after taking a sip.
 

“Yeah. Brooks ain’t seemin’ to be able to handle McCallister too fuckin’ much no more. Just like he fuckin’ did with me, he ain’t comin’ right the fuck out and makin’ threats to Brooks and Charlotte, but that’s the underlyin’ fuckin’ sentiment.”
 

“We’ve had six months of peace, Christopher,” Johnnie began softly. “Let’s…maybe we should do the deal to get him,
and
the arms, off our backs.”
 

“I ain’t allowin’ a motherfucker to intimidate me. And don’t think I ain’t heard you bitchin’ ‘bout havin’ a pregnant fuckin’ wife. I got one, too.” He nodded to Mortician. “Mort and his woman got a newborn. We all got fuckin’ families and obligations. The difference is we ain’t henpecked and we still got our fuckin’ balls.”
 

Kendall’s pregnancy had worn him out, so instead of anger at Christopher’s words, Johnnie polished off his whiskey, hating the thought that Christopher just might be right.
 

 

 

 

McCallister was bad fucking news.
 

Christopher didn’t need to be a fucking rocket scientist to understand that shit though the motherfucker checked out with Riley. He wasn’t some law enforcement fuckhead out to trap Christopher. And he didn’t have a fucking beef with the club and was trying to lure Christopher to his turf to fuck him up.
 

On the surface, what he fucking was, was an arms dealer with international ties. He had buyers stateside and overseas, as well as in Mexico and Canada. Riley was trying to check into who the fuck they were, to see what had put the bee up McCallister’s ass to get the guns from the club. One of the overseas buyers must be ready to move and wasn’t giving the dealer much time. That had to be the reason he wanted Christopher to personally deliver. Nothing like getting boss motherfuckers to a meeting to make a lasting fucking impression. Maybe, if McCallister had agreed to meet him stateside, Christopher would feel differently.
 

Maybe.
 

Or, if the motherfucker wasn’t so insistent Christopher himself make the delivery. After their initial meeting for the deal that fell through, it was supposed to all be done locally. Now, the assfuck wanted international delivery.
 

Shit just wasn’t adding up for Christopher.
 

As he explained his stance to his boys at their weekly dinner, this time at Zoann’s and Val’s house, he kept one eye on Megan as she laughed and giggled with the girls a few feet away. Her smiles made him happy. In the days since she’d gone to the cemetery to do whatever the fuck happened on All Saints Day, she’d been so sad. Considering she’d also had to deal with the knowledge of that hell house, Christopher understood.
 

A week had passed since his conversation with McCallister, and Riley had just delivered his report a few hours ago. It just re-fucking-enforced Christopher’s decision
not
to fuck with the motherfucker.
 

The last bit of business until the new year was Digger. After that, Christopher intended to be a holiday-happy motherfucker. Thrilled all the bullshit was behind him, he’d put a no-fucking-motherfuckers-up moratorium in place until January second. Once the clock struck midnight and brought in that day, all fucking bets were off.
 

“Yo, Digger,” he started. “I know you and Bunny lookin’ for a place of your own. Tryna find shit close to the club. But I was thinkin’. We got a fuckin’ parcel here on the grounds that we can fuckin’ sell you. It fuckin’ mean you gotta stay at the club and she gotta stay at my house a bit longer.” He shrugged. “Unless you wanna fuckin’ rent a place ‘til your fuckin’ house built and shit.”
 

“Prez, you serious?” Digger sounded as if he didn’t quite believe Christopher.
 

“I heard you and Bunny came into some fuckin’ money a couple fuckin’ days ago.” The stashed money from Megan’s house that Christopher already had a buyer for. He wanted to unload it so bad, he was selling it well below cost. “I thought maybe it was a prime fuckin’ time to offer some land to your ass.”
 

“How close this fool going to be to me, Prez?” Mort pretended disgust.
 

“Close, Mort,” Christopher responded, then grabbed his bottle and emptied it of rum. “Between your house and John Boy.”
 

“Bunny!”
 

Bunny looked in Digger’s direction and smiled. “Yeah, babe?”
 

“I think our hunt for a place might be over. Prez offering land here and we can build our own crib. If that’s okay.”
 

“Oh my God,” Bunny squealed, jumping to her feet and rushing to where they sat around the home bar.
 

Wood and stone surrounded them in the two story room. Although the staircase to the second floor sat at the front of the house, the hallway on that level could be glimpsed from where they sat in the den. The wooden banister curved through the area, ending near the wall with the stone fireplace.
 

“You want a log cabin like this?” Digger glanced around. “A mansion like Prez and John Boy? A modest two-story like Mort?”
 

Bunny tangled her fingers through his shoulder-length dreads. “I’d like a cottage.”
 

Digger frowned. “A cottage? Like in Little Red Riding Hood?”
 

“No, Mark. Like something from a Thomas Kincaid painting.”
 

He rolled his eyes and nodded to Christopher. “Hook me up, Prez.”
 

“I’ll hook you up when you pay the fuck up,” Christopher retorted. “After we sign off on the shit.”
 

“Bunny, make sure you’re on the title,” Kendall advised, craning her fucking neck in their direction. “If Digger decides to leave, you’ll have a place to stay.”
 

Christopher snorted while Mort shook his head.
 

“Why would you put such doom and gloom on their relationship?” Bailey asked. Her and Mort’s new boy was thirteen weeks old. She’d taken this semester off from school to focus on her family. As her brother-in-law, Digger was part of that family, so she’d feel protective of him.
 

“I’m just advising her, Bailey. I mean no harm. Most bikers are unpredictable. Even Meggie was smart enough to make Outlaw put the house in her name.”
 

BOOK: A Very Christopher Christmas (A Death Dwellers MC Novella)
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