Misappropriate (20 page)

Maybe, it was just Bin’s appearance.
Albino motherfucker.
Mortician still remembered that Albino from
The Da Vinci Code
. Maybe, that’s why he got such bad vibes from Bin.

He stepped into the warmth of the club, surprised to find so many chicks so early. It was just about three in the afternoon. Upon closer inspection, he saw these weren’t the normal hangers-on. These were some old ladies the brothers were slowly acquiring again and one of Outlaw’s sisters, Ophelia. He continued to take inventory of the faces, smiling and nodding to those who acknowledged him.

He squinted, not that he needed to with all the lights on. It just shocked him to see a gorgeous woman with a head of rich brown hair.
Zoann.
Another one of Prez’s sisters. Mortician couldn’t stand that bitch, though. Didn’t even matter that she’d popped out Val’s son. Zoann was the most self-righteous, judgmental cunt he’d ever met.

Meggie’s bridal shower. The realization dawned on him when he saw all the ridiculous crape wedding bells and the streamers. Despite the pile of gifts on the table in the corner, the shit resembled a funeral rather than a celebration for an upcoming wedding that probably wasn’t happening.

Outlaw walked out of the kitchen, chewing on a rib. It didn’t surprise him when Val, Johnnie, and Digger followed, close on Prez’s heels. They’d agreed to keep a close watch on him until things settled down.

Meggie stiffened in her chair and slanted an evil glare towards Prez.

Mortician caught Johnnie’s eye, then blinked as he watched the blush creeping over Prez’s skin.
Well, I’ll be a motherfucker in a chicken coop
. So his ass knew he was being a total dick to Meggie. Interesting. And just another example of the power of sweet girls and young pussy.

The door opened and before Mortician could move, someone barreled into him. He turned and met K-P’s glare. “What the fuck you doing in the doorway, you little fucking runt?”

Mortician snickered. At six feet, he could hardly be considered a runt. K-P liked to jerk everyone’s chains, though.

“’Scuse me, Kitchen Bitch,” Mortician responded, heading to the bar and leaning on it. “Wassup?” he asked the other guys.

Val didn’t respond, too busy staring at Zoann. The way she sat so straight, Mortician guessed she knew her baby daddy eye fucked her. Bitch went out of her way to pretend he didn’t exist. One day, the brother would realize he was better off without that sadity bitch.

“This here’s my daughter,” K-P announced from behind Mortician in a voice filled with hard-to-miss pride. Most dads thought their daughters beautiful, even the bitches whose nicknames should’ve been Bowwow and Needa…as in need a mask to fuck your ass. “Bailey. Meggie said it was okay to invite her to her wedding shower.”

Outlaw nodded and grabbed a bottle of tequila. Val didn’t say a word. Digger and John Boy exchanged glances. But it was the look in John Boy’s eyes—the one that had girls falling all over themselves—that really made Mortician turn around.

Jesus H. Christ. A pair of greenish-brown eyes met him. Dark brows turned down in a frown and, somehow, drew his gaze to her rosy lips. Glossy black hair fell around her in waves and Mortician sat in the stool, punch-drunk. If a seat hadn’t been there, he would’ve fallen right on his ass.

Purple sequined leggings clung to her hips and her white leather jacket hung open to reveal a cropped pink sweater and a dangling belly ring.

Her skin looked like vanilla with a hint of caramel, beautiful and smooth. Wanting to feel every inch of her, he swallowed and cocked his head to the side. “You got a little coffee in your cream, girl?”

She stiffened at his words.

K-P lifted a brow. “Say again…?”

Mortician stalled, needing a minute. Just one. To get his pounding heart and the awareness flowing between them under control. He shrugged with false nonchalance, swept his gaze over her and estimated her age to be between nineteen and twenty-two. Definitely a young bitch. Definitely a sweet chick.

Definitely a no-no. Not only because of the 5Gs on the line, a bet made in the heat of the moment when he’d been noticing how miserable Outlaw was without Meggie around. He’d been so fucking caught up, he hadn’t even bothered with an expiration date. Which meant, he could be fucking ninety and run across some young pussy and he’d have to pay up.

“You plan on answering me about the comment you made to my daughter?”

Ignoring K-P, he continued his staring contest with Bailey and folded his arms, light-headed when her lips parted. He scratched his temple and cleared his throat. “You a Black chick?”

His question earned him a hard hit on the back on his head.

“She a human chick, fuckhead,” Outlaw growled, using a bar towel to wipe away the barbeque sauce from his lips and fingers.

“My mother’s Black,” Bailey clarified and licked lips he wanted to taste nice and slow.

Mortician’s dick went rock hard and he balled his fists to keep from reaching out to touch her.

“Does it matter?” she asked. “Aren’t you Black?”

“Am I?” he goaded. He wanted her in his bed and, when he got her there, he intended to lick every part of her. “Guess I need to go look in the mirror and see if I changed colors since this morning.”

She narrowed her gorgeous eyes. “Whatever else you are, asshole is front and center.”

“Don’t mind my brother, babe,” Digger called, winking at her.

Mortician wanted to drive his fist into the man’s mouth. Maybe, snatch off an eyelid so he wouldn’t flirt with her again. Wait,
what? Scccrrreeeeccccchhhh!
He backed his thoughts the fuck up.

“You got him pegged anyway, so now you know to stay far away from him,” Digger said with a wider smile.

“Him on the other hand—“ Mortician began. He needed a bud to slow his fucking mouth down. Obviously, his brain was losing the fucking race to the finish line because his fucking tongue kept wagging.

Johnnie’s eyes twinkled. “Him, what, Mort?”

K-P rounded to the other side of the bar and glared from Johnnie to Digger, before his warning gaze landed on Mortician. “Any of you fucks touch her, you die.”

“Dad!” Bailey whined, her skin adapting a red tint and Mortician shifted, his dick hurting.

“Not playing, babe,” K-P went on. “You’re a virgin and—“

Bailey gasped. “You so didn’t just out me like that,” she complained.

He
so
did out her like that.

Remorseless, K-P went on. “Stick close to Meggie. Or, better yet, sit next to Zoann. If you’re not careful, you’ll be in one of their beds before I can get you off premises and then your old man would get in bad standing with his brothers for killing one. And you don’t want that do you, babe?”

“You’re all idiots,” a voice chirped from behind them.

Meggie scooted around him to glare at K-P. Mortician squeezed the bridge of his nose, so
not
noticing how Meggie’s brown suede pants and cream-colored silk blouse showed off her tits, ass, and hips. He
so
didn’t notice the hint of a pink lacy bra beneath her shirt. Her black hi-tops gave her a casual look.

Maybe, he noticed—didn’t notice, he meant—that bullshit because he’d been thinking about how well she was handling Outlaw’s fuckuppedness. And, because, Bailey had him hyperaware. And both Meggie and Bailey were gorgeous chicks.

“I’m Megan Caldwell,” Meggie said to Bailey, who seemed to have been mortified into speechlessness by her father’s casual announcement. “You must be Bailey.”

“Y-yes.” She stared at Mortician, her greenish-brown gaze ringed with thick lashes and filled with heat and curiosity.

He winked at her and Meggie thumped his shoulder.

“Don’t mind them,” she bit out, giving him the stink eye. “They’re all party-poopers.”

“Hey, Meggie babe,” K-P said. “I’m her old man.”

“She’s…” Meggie’s voice trailed off and she lifted a blonde brow at Bailey. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” Bailey supplied, her gaze flickering to his and roaming from head to foot and back again. She heaved in a deep sigh, the movement drawing his attention to her breasts.

“She’s twenty-one,” Meggie announced. “Old enough to party.”

Twenty-one?
No, Mort, don’t go there, man.
But she was legal and only nine years younger than he was.

“Twenty,” K-P corrected. “She won’t be twenty-one for another three months.”

Okay, so ten years older.

With a huff, Meggie led Bailey away.

“C’mon,” Outlaw grumbled. “Let’s leave these bitches the fuck alone. I need a fuckin’ drink.”

Mortician remembered he’d left unfinished business in the meat shack. “Uh, I’ll come to your room in about half hour,” he called.

He headed for the door, feeling the weight of a gaze on him. Just before he stepped outside, he turned and found Bailey had tracked his every move. For some reason, the thought made his body tighten and his head race with images of her in his bed, all that black hair spread out over his pillow. Have Bailey look at him the way Meggie drank in Outlaw…

Wasn’t happening, so he didn’t need to waste his fucking brain cells thinking about it. Her virginity had sealed his decision. He’d
never, ever
get inside of her.

Later, he’d find a bitch to fuck and forget Bailey’s existence.

Christopher needed to do something with his tangled emotions besides sit in the bedroom with his boys while Megan enjoyed her bridal shower and hated on him.

He sucked on the blunt they were passing around, knowing he was the motherfucker to blame for the wedge between him and Megan. Fuck him, but he’d tried to take a cue from Megan and live his life in the present, not the past.

His fucking past kept a motherfucking chokehold on him, though, and insisted on fucking him up the ass.

Who would’ve fucking thought his fucking old man would drop the fuck back into his life? Of everything—with the exception of having killed Megan’s father—Sebastian Caldwell slithering back into the picture was the worst fucking situation imaginable.

He knew him and Megan could get through anything else together. Like they were meant to be. Now, he couldn’t get past this bullshit. He couldn’t fucking help her cope because he was too fucking angry.

Angry with the fucking
world.
The entire fucking
universe
. If he could’ve only been lucky enough to get one fucking break in his life. He knew he was headed to hell for the shit he’d done, but the least hoof-foot could fucking do was wait until Christopher
arrived
down there before he sank him in a mire of fucking shit.

But, no. Hoof-foot motherfucker wasn’t happy he’d gotten his grip on Christopher’s soul and ripped it away years ago. That bullshit wasn’t enough. He couldn’t allow him one fucking ounce of happiness. Not one. Not even when Christopher had sent down so many motherfuckers to cohabitate with him.

After she’d calmed down the night of her run in with Daddy Dearest, she’d asked Christopher if he was serious about cancelling their counseling sessions, holding onto CJ as if she’d never let him go.

“What the fuck you think?” he’d snapped.

“Okay,” she’d said, surprising him. “We can ask Father Wilkins to marry us in his office. We don’t need a big wedding.”

He didn’t, but she did.

“Megan, fuck—“

“I just want our marriage blessed and I never should’ve pushed you for something so huge.”

“You asked me one fuckin’ time. Unless I’m fuckin’ stupid, that ain’t pushin’. I was the motherfucker who said yes without thinkin’ the shit through. So I thought it fuckin’ through and we ain’t havin’
any
type of church ceremony.”

“Talk to me, Christopher. Please,” she’d whispered. She hadn’t been angry.

Yet.

“I don’t have to tell you my every fuckin’ thought, bitch.”

And, yeah, that had pissed her the fuck off so much, she’d padlocked her fucking pussy and kept the combination to her fucking self.

“Christopher?”

Ophelia’s voice calling his name snapped him back to the present. He frowned and blinked at the closed door. His sisters hadn’t spoken to him in months.

Johnnie lifted a brow in question and Christopher shrugged. “You have anythin’ to say to your young cousin, John Boy?”

“No.”

Another knock. “May I come in? Please?”

“Come the fuck in,” he growled, scowling at how uncertain she sounded.

The door pushed open and his little sister stepped in. Her short hair was slicked back and a frown creased her brow. She waved at Digger and Val.

“Hey, Johnnie,” she greeted.

Johnnie nodded and gave her a half-smile. “Fee.”

“What do you want, Ophelia?” She and his other sisters had turned their backs on him, so he didn’t need more bullshit from them. Especially now when he was dealing with so much other bullshit. He wanted her gone because, despite how angry he was, he couldn’t help how her eyes were beginning to water from the strong scent of the blunt. He folded his arms. “Lemme guess. You want more money from me.”

She shook her head. “I babysit Ryan and…” She rocked back on her wedges and glanced at Val.