Misappropriate (22 page)

He remained in front of her, so she wouldn’t use the distraction of his reading the message to slip the fuck away.

Hello, boy.
Smiley fucking face and then,
son. Your cunt got her present?
A winking fucking face.
She’s your weakest link. SMH.

What the fuck? SMH? Smah? What the fuck ever that bullshit meant.

I wanted her to see how I’m going to send her head to you.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Christopher snarled.

She served her purpose. Gave you a son. Me, a grandson. Now, it’s time to get rid of her. I’ll give you the chance to do it. Or I’ll have to do it myself, son.

Another motherfucking smiley face.

Christopher trembled with rage.” Go take a fuckin’ shower, Megan,” he ordered.

She didn’t utter a word, just got up and stumbled to the fucking bathroom.

Christopher didn’t have time to do bullshit fucking texts, so he dialed the fucking number. Motherfucker didn’t answer. It went to fucking voicemail and Christopher’s stomach curdled, listening to the man’s fucking voice.

It beeped.

“Listen up, you motherfuckin’, dirty dog, fuckin’ fuckhead.” Christopher drew in a harsh breath, fury pounding through his body. “I fuckin’ owe you for a lot of fuckin’ shit and I intend to make you pay for every in-fuckin-fraction. You get a walkin’ dead fuckhead from my fuckin’ club to terrorize my fuckin’ wife? I got some advice for you, assfuck. Start diggin’ your motherfuckin’ grave. If there’s enough of your fuckin’ ass left, I’ll drop you the fuck in your handpicked hole.”

Christopher disconnected the call, breathing deep and kicking his desk chair into the entertainment center. What fucking good was his network doing if none of them had smoked out one fucking shithead?

Thrusting his hands through his hair, he listened for sounds of the shower. Heard no fucking water running. Started forward. And stopped when another fucking message came through.

Your tone was disrespectful to your old man, son.

Christopher growled.
Fuck off, motherfucker.

Your brothers would never talk to me like that.

He had brothers?
You a punk ass bitch, fuckin over women cuz you don’t have the fuckin balls to stand up to men.

You’re pissing me off, boy.

And? Did he really think Christopher gave a fuck?
Tough fuckin shit,
old man.

I came in peace. The Dwellers are big. I wanted our clubs to form an alliance. Your attitude is heading us to war instead. All because of pussy.

I’m your worst fuckin nightmare, motherfucker. You don’t know what the fuck you’ve done threatenin my girl. When I get my fuckin hands on your fuckin ass, I’m gonna start off poundin you with a meat fuckin tenderizer. You feel me, motherfucker?

Loud and clear,
Christopher Caldwell.

I fuckin hate you,
Sebastian Caldwell.
The fuckin universe ain’t fuckin big enough for us to share fuckin space.

Sad face.

Stop with those stupid fuckin faces, fuckhead. That’s some pussified, fucked-up, pissin-me-the-fuck-off-more type of shit.

Well, my boy, you just bought your bitch some time. For now. So bring me whatever you have.

Tell me what fuckin rat hole you hidin in and I’ll fuckin’ bring everythin I got.

Nothing. After twenty minutes of fucking texting, the motherfucker just—

Megan is safe. For now. Until the best man wins, so, if you want me so bad, fucking find me.

The sound of the shower broke through Christopher’s rage. He realized he’d been standing up and wrestling with the urge to
kill
for five minutes after the final text came through.

He needed to see to Megan. Stalking to the bathroom, he threw open the door.

And screeched to a fucking halt, the air whooshing from his lungs fast enough to cave in his chest.

Megan stood in the bathtub, out of reach of the showerhead, her thighs and arms dripping blood. She held the small knife in her hand, fingers trembling. Just staring.

Christopher wondered if she even
saw
anything.

His anger died and his entire focus zeroed in on his wife. He swallowed and tugged at his hair, unable to think of the right words to help her. He’d read up on self-injury four or five months ago. Should he demand she stop? How could he demand something that eased her hurt and pain? Her trauma. Besides, it would only add to her shame.

The knife clanked to the bottom of the tub and Christopher jumped, his heart hurting for his Megan.

“Christopher?” she gasped and shielded her body with her hands and arms, bending over to hide her thighs. The water rained on her head, but blood still dripped from her arms and legs. She turned her back to him. “Go away.”

He backed two steps away then halted. Instead of leaving, he undressed and joined her in the shower. After turning off the water, he picked up the knife and tossed it to the bathroom floor. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he turned her to him.

“Get out.”

“Ain’t fuckin’ happenin’, Megan.”

She blinked away the tears rushing to her eyes. “You can’t see—“

He took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I already fuckin’ saw, baby,” he said quietly, his dick rising between them. Fuck him, but she’d chained the gate to her Promised Land for two fucking weeks. He couldn’t help his fucking cock stand now that he held her so close.

“I-I don’t know what to say. Please. I-I’m sorry. I can’t answer—“

Christopher leaned away from her and tipped her chin up, but she kept her lashes lowered. “Look at me.”

Her nostrils flaring, she raised a miserable blue gaze to him. He bent and kissed her lips.

“You explain shit to me when you fuckin’ ready. And, if you never ready, I have to accept that shit, too.” He sighed. “I drink like a motherfucker, baby. Yeah, the shit tastes good, but I need it to get through what the fuck I gotta be doin’. You understand me?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Aunt Mary my favorite fuckin’ relative in the whole world. I just pull her out her little baggie, roll her the fuck up, suck on her, and she makes all my fuckin’ issues go. I cope my way. You cope your way. Don’t mean I don’t wanna fuckin’ help you. And it don’t fuckin’ mean that I don’t feel each of them cuts I see on your beautiful skin, straight the fuck in my gut. Now you see why I don’t wanna stand in a church next to you? I’m the fuckin’ blight causin’ you to do this shit—“

The words seemed to snap her out of the safe place inside of herself she’d gone to. She stood on her tiptoes. “No. Never. I love you with all my heart and soul. But…but…God, Christopher…a…a h-head. Only the whites of his eyes—“

He shut her up with a kiss. “Shh. It’s okay. I saw it too, remember?”

She pounded her hand against his chest. “Suppose it had been you?”

It could’ve just as easily been her. That was Cee Cee’s ultimate goal.

Fuck! Christopher wouldn’t fucking think about that shit because he couldn’t afford anything to distract him. Leaning forward, he turned on the shower and urged Megan under it. He soaped her and washed her hair, then raced through his own shower.

By the time he finished, Megan had stepped out. His knife remained on the floor. Grabbing a towel, he scrubbed it over his wet head and settled it on his neck before wrapping another one around his hips.

He wouldn’t comment on the state of his dick.

When he walked into the bedroom, she turned from where she stood in the middle of the room. She came to him and reached up to touch his jaw. He kissed her fingertips and smiled at her. Tears filled her eyes again. “I love you, Christopher,” she whispered.

He bent and kissed her, not wanting to admit how fucking shaken he was. This was a message for him and he was fucking grateful it hadn’t been
her
head in that fucking box. He crushed her to him. “I love you, too, baby.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, her hand grasping his dick and jerking it. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her mouth devouring his. He buried himself inside her hot body and thrust hard in and out of her, the sting of her nails in his biceps and the bite of her teeth on his lips pushing him to deeper drives.

He shoved his hand between them and rubbed her pussy to make her come. When she did, he plunged into her one, final time, exploding inside her as she sucked his neck. Once he reached the bed with her, he got her comb and pulled it through her damp hair, kissing down the side of her neck, around her shoulders, along her hairline. Setting the comb aside, he guided her onto her back and entered her again, blocking out everything but the blueness of her eyes telling him all he needed to know about how she felt about him.

His conscience pricked him that he’d used this opportunity to fuck her, but he flipped it off. They both needed the connection and the comfort of each other’s bodies. Now, though, he held her, her head in the crook of his arm, massaging her scalp.

“It makes everything go away,” she said in a small, soft voice. “The cutting.”

He rearranged their bodies, so they faced one another. He settled his hand on her hip. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Just for a little bit. Whatever I’m going through, what I do takes is all away.” She drew in a deep breath. “The sting washes it all away and I can refocus on that. I have control in those moments. It’s the only way I knew how to cope. It’s…I shouldn’t be doing this now. I should learn to shoot the gun. Instead of something so…so…I’m so sorry, Christopher.”

He knuckled her cheek. “I got you, baby. Don’t ever think I don’t. If you gotta apologize to me because you goin’ through shit, I’m some fuckin’ fucked up pussy.”

She giggled.

“There’s my girl,” he whispered. “And her beautiful fuckin’ laugh.” He kissed her again. “I’m your man, Megan. You’re like the air I need to breathe, so I’ll be the strength you need to carry you.”

Half hour later, Christopher paused at the bedroom door. “Be right back, baby.”

He’d hoped she would’ve fallen asleep, so he could get to work and tear this motherfucking town apart to find two motherfuckers at the top of his hit list.

But she wasn’t going to sleep, leaving him little choice with what he needed to do. Once she nodded, he headed to the main room. His boys were waiting for him at the bar.

“How’s Megs?”

“How the fuck you think, John Boy? Shaken the fuck up.”

Johnnie scowled at him. “I’m as worried about her as you are.”

Fucking doubtful. Instead of answering, Christopher signaled Mortician to the end of the bar.

“Prez?”

“Fix me up one of your fizzy specials,” he ordered, low. “But make it light cuz I just need Megan to sleep for a few hours. Got me?”

Mortician’s eyes widened.

“Do it, motherfucker.” He spoke through gritted teeth, not wanting to be overheard, especially by John Boy. Christopher felt shitty enough that he was about to drug his wife.

“You sure, Outlaw?”

Christopher rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, Mort. I need to get those fuckheads and Megan ain’t about to fall the fuck to sleep.” He pounded on the counter. “Fuck off and just do it.”

While Mortician prepared Megan’s sleeping potion, Christopher stalked to Johnnie. “Time to do shit fuckin’ different, John Boy. Find me a fuckin’ investigator. Member recommendations ain’t gonna cut it no more. I want full fuckin’ background checks on every motherfucker involved in our operations. And get me a fuckin’ attorney on the payroll. Find a fuckin’ girl lawyer to dick whip and do legal work if we fuckin’ need it. Got me?”

“Here you go, Prez,” Mortician announced before Johnnie answered.

His cousin lifted a brow when Mortician slid the Styrofoam cup to Christopher.

“You heard what the fuck I said, John Boy?”

Gaze focused on the cup, Johnnie gave him a curt nod.

“Be fuckin’ ready to ride in thirty.”

Megan didn’t do shit like what he held in the cup. Once she drank it, she’d be out in minutes. Christopher sighed. Just another sin to add to his list of many.