Misappropriate (14 page)

“What—“ His words choked off when his gaze slid down. For a long moment, he stared in silence, then swallowed and peeped at Meggie.

She grinned, happy to see his smile. “Scroll through,” she encouraged. “There’s more.”

“Where’d you get these, babe?” he asked.

His gruff tone and scary demeanor could frighten a bear. Meggie took it all in stride.

“I took them,” she answered.

“What the fuck is that?” Christopher snapped, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. He looked ready to launch himself at Val and snatch her phone away.

Val held the device up. “My kid.” His brows drew together and he glanced at Meggie, shrugging. “Um, what’s his—“

“Ryan Matthew Taylor,” she supplied.

“No fuckin’ shit?” Christopher said, standing up and pulling her out the way to grab her phone. He scrolled through the photos himself, then handed the phone back to Meggie.

Val looked as if he wanted to snatch it back from her, but he knew better.

Meggie glared at Christopher and huffed.
I have you covered
, she texted to Val and fired off the photos. Immediately, his phone started vibrating with incoming text messages.

“How did you come about those, Megs?” Johnnie asked.

Christopher threw her a dirty look. “Do you ever fuckin’ listen to me?”

She shrugged. “Of course, Christopher,” she responded without hesitation. “If I agree with you. As to how I came up with the pictures, I visited Zoann yesterday.”

Christopher and Johnnie exchanged glances, then Christopher shrugged, too. Johnnie shook his head and Meggie knew he had his own opinion about his bitter cousin. Swallowing, Christopher directed his gaze to the wall on the other side of the room. The wall containing the huge photo of his mother and two smaller ones of Ellen and Kiera—all victims of Meggie’s brother.

While she’d shared a very strained relationship with the two women—considering their relationship to Christopher—they’d been killed in cold-blood and they’d been regulars at the club for years. Meggie had thought it only fair their memory be honored in some kind of way. Deep down, she knew Christopher had had a soft spot for both women. He’d tracked down their families and paid for their funeral services. He’d even sent a lump sum of money with the message for the relatives to contact him if they ever needed anything.

Meggie knew Christopher had had a life before he’d met her, so she didn’t begrudge him his grief over their deaths. They’d been her competitors and, yet, they’d shared an odd friendship. Frenemies, she supposed. Whatever they might’ve been to her, she’d grieved for them as well. Those photos to remember them felt right.

Christopher had made the decision to place them in the board room. “Don’t want every piece of fuckin’ Club Ass thinkin’ they gettin’ some fuckin’ monument if they die.”

Right.

Meggie hadn’t argued. At least, she’d gotten him to put it to the vote before the brothers on whether or not to hang the photos in the first place.

Now, as he continued to stare at his mother, she knew the mention of Zoann had brought the circumstances of Patricia’s death front and center.

Traveler cleared his throat. “Me and Bin got a run to make, Meggie.”

Christopher narrowed his eyes at Traveler and the man flushed. Meggie placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. Tension bunched his muscles and she searched for ideas to draw his feelings out, keep him calm, and, somehow, prevent the bloodbath in the making. Whether Christopher struck first or Cee Cee didn’t matter. Neither outcome would be good. If—and when—she had another run-in with Cee Cee, she’d either keep her mouth shut or go to Val, Johnnie, Mortician, and Digger.

“Talk, baby.”

“This isn’t going to be long,” she started, squeezing Christopher’s shoulder. He looked back at her, reached a hand behind her and pulled her closer to slant his mouth over hers. After she’d had her brains fucked out last night, his touch rocketed through her system and she opened her mouth for his onslaught. When he let her go, her breath came out in short, little pants and her skin felt flaming hot. She groaned when she felt the letdown of her milk and stepped behind Christopher’s chair, using his body to cover the rapidly spreading wet spots.

She licked her lips, tasted the mint from Christopher’s mouth, and tried to arrange her scattered thoughts.

Christopher sidled a sexy half-smile to her. “The wedding, Megan.”

“Yes. Right,” she mumbled, flushing to her toes. It didn’t help that her gaze fell on Johnnie and she recognized the heat and jealousy in his eyes from the kiss Christopher had given her. She rubbed her forehead. Not that it helped. Even the tips of her fingers burned, like a fever invaded her body. That fever was Outlaw. Christopher.
Her man.

“Get on with it, Megs,” Johnnie said in bored tones. He leaned back, not bothering to hide his semi-erect state, his heavy-lidded look enough to send a sane man into a jealous fit.

“Motherfuck you, John Boy.”

Everything she needed to say crashed back at Christopher’s growl. In this powder keg of on edge testosterone, someone needed an excuse to throw the first punch. She refused to allow it and glared at Johnnie for provoking the flames of Christopher’s jealousy.

“So the wedding’s a little under a month away,” she announced with a sniff. “Just as promised, I’ve only asked for measurements, so far. I’ve also chosen everything. Now, you have to go for your fittings.”

Grumbles, as she’d expected. But the thought of fighting had been deflected. For now.

“Meggie, I don’t want to have to walk around in no fucking monkey suit all fucking day,” Shady called.

“Hey, fuckhead,” Christopher growled. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth and how you talk to my old lady. She ain’t gonna be in here for-fuckin-ever to calm me the fuck down. Curse like that at her again and I’m fuckin’ you up.”

“Shady, Bowlie, Traveler, Cowboy, as the ushers, why don’t you wear your cuts, over a white tuxedo shirt and the black tuxedo pants.”

“I’ll take that, babe,” Bowlie agreed with a smile. He flipped Val and Mortician the bird because he knew she still wanted them to wear tuxedos, collectively referred to by them as
monkey suits
.

Mortician pulled a rolled cigarette out of his cut and Meggie backed away.

“I’ll break your fuckin’ fingers if you light that fuckin’ blunt.”

“I’m not about to light the motherfucker, Outlaw. Just getting inspiration from it.”

“Yeah, strength,” Digger agreed.

“A plea for mercy,” Val inserted, glancing between Christopher and the phone where he flipped through the photos over and over again.

Meggie sniffed. “It isn’t that bad, boys.”

Johnnie shifted his long legs in front of him, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, took one out, then passed the pack to Mortician. “It’s even worse, Megs. I wear suits on a regular basis and even I hate the thought of a fucking tuxedo.” He puffed on his cigarette then released the smoke, shaping his mouth in an ‘o’ still in search of the perfect smoke ring. The action drew her focus to his lips and she cleared her throat, glancing away.

“You try me, motherfucker,” Christopher bit out, balling his fists on the table. “One of these days, I’m gonna rearrange your fuckin’ face.”

Johnnie blew another smoke ring. “You’re just jealous of my god-like beauty, Outlaw.”

Meggie rolled her eyes.

“Or, maybe, you’re jealous you don’t have anything to suck on right now.”

“I have more than you, motherfucker,” Christopher shot back, not even hesitating. “Courtesy of my son, I have something to suck on every fucking day.”

Meggie squeaked, mortified. A muscle ticked in Johnnie’s jaw and he glowered at his cousin. But, judging from Christopher’s taut muscles, he felt not a shred of remorse. In fact, Meggie suspected the moment she walked out the door, the brawl she’d managed to divert would commence. She knew, though, Christopher was lord and master here. To put their hands on him in anger courted death, even though Christopher could beat the brothers to a bloody pulp for infractions. Or even kill them.

She threw Johnnie a pleading gaze. His eyes burned silver but roamed between her and Christopher, before he turned away.

“My mom said she’s baking chocolate chip cookies later,” Meggie announced through tension so thick it would bring a bullet to a screeching halt. “She loves our new kitchen. If anyone wants to come over—“

“For cookies?” Stretch asked.

He was the quietest of all the officers. Really, of all the brothers, outside of Bin. But Bin gave Meggie the heebie jeebers that she tried to hide. It shamed her to think his appearance spooked her. White hair. Pasty white skin. Reddish brown eyes. Stretch, though, fit in with all the rest of the officers.
Gorgeous
. Even K-P, missing an eye and fifty, was handsome.

Shady and Cowboy, on the other hand, had thick beards, beer bellies, and a generally scruffy appearance.

“It was just an idea…” to remove the building hostility. “Forget it.”

“I’ll be there, babe,” K-P called. “For sure.”

She smiled and nodded. “Okay. So, guys, my ushers,” she amended, “I still expect you to wear the bow ties.”

“For real, babe?” Traveler called, his face falling. He shoved the red bandanna along his hairline and scratched through the pieces of hair sticking out.

“For real,” she echoed.

“Can we at least wear our boots?” Cowboy asked. His features drooped like a lost puppy.

“Yes, you guys can.”

“Fuck me,” Christopher said, glaring at her. “You sayin’
we
can’t?”

“You’re the groom, Christopher, and they’re groomsmen. Your tuxedos won’t look right with motorcycle boots.”

“Megan—“

“Please, Christopher?”

He sighed and yanked at his hair, throwing her a sour look, a wordless capitulation.

Happiness danced through her and she bent and kissed him. “Thank you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, you little pain in the ass,” he grumbled. “That’s the only fuckin’ reason I’m agreein’ to all this.”

“And here I thought it was so we could go on our honeymoon.”

A half smile curved his mouth, turning his expression into pure wickedness and he winked at her. “That, too, babe.”

“Fittings are Saturday,” she announced, shooting out the time and location. “Thanks for giving me this time.”

“Wasn’t like they had a fuckin’ choice, baby.”

Her phone rang and she saw that it was her mother. Since there’d been no mishap last night, she thought it would be fine to leave CJ with her for the few minutes it took to impart the information. She should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy, having to make her announcements through the comments from the boys.

“Mama?” she asked in answer. In the background, CJ whined and she forgot about everything else. “What’s wrong?”

“CJ’s hungry.”

“I bought formula for him.” She had to start weaning him because she’d be away for two weeks on her honeymoon. After explaining what she wanted her mother to do, she disconnected and saw that Shady, Bowlie, Cowboy, and Traveler had left.

She still didn’t trust an argument not to break out once she left. For whatever reason, Johnnie had decided to taunt Christopher with
her
. Never a good idea and if Christopher wouldn’t have flipped, she would’ve taken Johnnie aside herself and had a word with him.

“That about it, baby?” Christopher asked, tapping his fingers on the table, his body language telling her he wanted her gone.

Shoving aside her twinge of hurt, she slipped her fingers through his hair. “Yes. I need a word with you in your office.”

“I have to talk to John Boy.”

“What I have to say is really important, though.”

“Then say—“

She leaned close to his ear, breathing in his scent and the leather from his cut, loving his smell and warmth. As a girl, she thought of breastfeeding as a baby’s nourishment. Christopher saw things a little different, so she’d dangle one of his favorite pastimes in front of him. “My breas…
tits
are full. I need you to suck them for me, then I want to suck you.”

He shot to his feet and grabbed her hand, throwing over his shoulder, “meetin’s fuckin’ adjourned. I’ll catch up to you later, John Boy.”

Not if she had anything to say about it. By the time they left Christopher’s office, she’d see to it he remembered he owned her body and soul.

Chapter 9

Christopher halted his Harley in front of Dippin’ Sam’s, hangout for one of the bigger Black MCs in the area. Bikes lined the front and side of the place and music and the babble of a big crowd floated in the cold night. He hoped he didn’t run into any bullshit since he’d brought Megan along.

Unlike the previous two nights. He was on the hunt and he didn’t want her caught in the fucking crossfire, so he’d ducked out right after dinner, not inviting her along as he had since she’d recovered from her stabbing.

While he’d been out last night, he’d been invited to the birthday party for the Night Flyers’ president, a friend of Christopher’s who had informants outside of Christopher’s network. He’d considered leaving Megan behind this time, too, then decided against it. He wanted her to see what took him away from her every night. Besides, though the Dwellers and the Flyers didn’t actively socialize, they were on friendly terms and it never hurt for Megan to spread her contacts as well.

“Are we going in, Christopher?”

He looked up at the velvet black night at the sound of her sweet little voice. Getting himself a smoke, he nodded. Her phone rang and she sighed. “It’s Momma. Let me take this. Go on in. I’ll catch up to you.”

“I’m not leavin’ you out here by yourself.”

“Outlaw?” a voice from the shadows called.

“Mouse, that you?” Christopher called with a smile and a drag on his cigarette.

Mouse, the Flyers’ enforcer, stepped beneath one of the floodlights. He was a small, muscled man, earning his road name Mouse after that old cartoon character
Mighty Mouse
. Mouse and Stretch were friends. Christopher had actually met Stretch here, then the kid started hanging around with the Dwellers.