Misfit (Death Dwellers MC #6) (60 page)

Meggie sat at Outlaw’s table, looking so sad. In the two days since his release, there was no sign that her husband would follow suit any time soon.

Johnnie had assembled as many members as possible for church, so Cash wasn’t quite sure why Meggie hung around after she and Zoann cooked and served a fabulous meal. Her job now finished. Meggie needed to take her sister-in-law’s cue and leave.

Straightening in her seat, she looked over Cash’s shoulder. “Where’s Brooks?”

Val glowered in the direction she stared.

“Fuck.” Mort scrubbed a hand over his face. “Brooks playing some type of game.”

“This is Kyler,” Johnnie introduced as he escorted a motherfucker with a high and tight haircut, to the table and nodded to Meggie. “Kyler, this is Outlaw’s wife, Megan. Update her, then we’ll address the club. If we like what we hear, you’ll leave alive.”

“I’ve come in Brooks’ stead,” Kyler said, his attitude superior. “Brooks is tied up.”

“Then tell him to get untied,” Meggie said evenly. “Christopher pays him a lot of money to drop everything when he’s needed.”

“I understand you’re upset,” the attorney responded, not in the least bit hesitant after Johnnie’s announcement. Other than a moment of surprise, he remained cool and arrogant, continuing to address Meggie. “Brooks has a few minor details to work out.”

“What details?” she asked.

He gave her a condescending smile. “
Details.
Things I need to familiarize myself with. Particulars that Kendall Donovan knew about as Brooks’ co-counsel for the club. With her no longer employed in the firm, he has chosen me to replace her. If you wanted quicker legal service, it would’ve been in your best interest to keep her on.” He indicated Johnnie with his head. “Considering her husband is a high-ranking member.”

Johnnie offered the attorney a glacial smile. “Megan, sweetheart, it’s time for you to go.”

Without protest, she got to her feet and paused in front of Kyler. In Outlaw’s top, the hem almost reached below her knees and the sleeves covered her hands. “I haven’t slept very well since Christopher’s arrest. I miss my husband, sir,” she said quietly. “If I’m not mistaken, your words were little more than a veiled threat. Or an ultimatum. Christopher wouldn’t like that too much. Brooks chose you for a reason, so do your job.”

“I’m here,” Kyler returned. “Brooks wouldn’t like your threat. You see, Mr. Caldwell’s release is currently dependent on Brooks and his firm. In other words,
my
counsel. Unless you can find another firm willing to represent your group on such short notice?”

Cocking her head to the side, Megan nodded. “You have me there, sir. You can’t be completely clueless about the club, right? Don’t you know any specifics?”

Kyler took his phone from his shirt pocket and scrolled through it in wordless dismissal. “Some.”

“Do you know me?” she pressed softly.

Johnnie rolled his eyes. “Leave, Megan. We have to set Kyler straight.”

“Yes, I know you,” Kyler answered, ignoring Johnnie. “You’re Outlaw’s old lady. Kind of inconsequential without him around.”

Digger laughed without humor. “Who the fuck this motherfucker think he is?”

Meggie swallowed, her lower lip trembling. “Christopher’s coming back.”

“He is,” Kyler agreed, and the relief Cash felt matched the relief on Meggie’s face.

She and the attorney faced off. He smirked at her.

Her teary eyes narrowed. “Get my husband back to me and our kids. Or else I’ll tell Christopher that for every day he was behind bars, he puts the same number of bullets in you. Today’s his fourth day behind bars? You have two knees and two eyes. Four bullets.” Hands on hips, she leaned forward. “See where this is going?”

Johnnie grinned and Mort puffed out his chest in pride as she used one of Outlaw’s favorite phrases.

“There’s not many people who’d be mean enough to call me inconsequential. Actually, only two come to mind. Kendall, when she’s in her moods. And Charlotte, who hates me because I’m a biker’s wife. I’m curious to know if the hold-up is legal or personal.”

Kyler’s face flushed, his body stiffening. “L-l-legal as far as I know.”

A bit of hesitation entered her eyes, torn between anger and grief.

Cash wanted to join Stretch at Fee’s side. The longer it took for the meeting to begin, the longer he’d be away from Fee. Standing, he went to Meggie.

“Sweetness, why don’t you get to your house? Let us impress upon him how inconsequential you aren’t.”

She looked at Outlaw’s chair, empty now that she’d stood.

Mort came to her and drew her into his arms. “Meggie girl, Prez’ll be so proud of you. As soon as we done here, me and Digger will come and keep you company with Bailey and my kids.”

Bunny was already at the house with Meggie’s kids.

“I know you feel closer to him being around us motherfuckers, but we going to fix this and get your man home. Just let us take it from here.” Mort pushed her away and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Besides, you don’t threaten motherfuckers right. Instead of being unsure, you should’ve told Kyler ass what you getting Prez to do, without tears. Honestly, Meggie girl, you just need to ask one of us to do that shit now and we’ll jump to it.”

Johnnie’s eyes brightened at the prospect and his attention snapped to Mort and Meggie. He drew out his Glock and jammed it against Kyler’s temple, scowling at the attorney’s scream. “He’s right, Megan. I can fire in more places than just his knees and his eyes.”

“God, no!” Kyler cried.

“Just tell me, sweetheart,” Johnnie said, almost breathless with anticipation. “Tell me to kill him and then close your eyes.”

“Mrs. Caldwell! Please, don’t! I’m working on his case. I-I-I promise we’ll get him out.”

“Don’t kill him, Johnnie,” she whispered. “I just wanted to light a fire under him.”

Val snickered. “I prefer lighting him on fire.”

The disappointment on Johnnie’s face amused the fuck out of Cash. “Sick fucker,” he chortled.

Johnnie indicated a chair with his Glock. “You, sit,” he ordered Kyler, then pushed both Cash and Mort out of the way to get to Meggie. “Even if you threatened him only to light a fire under him, Megan, he didn’t need to know that. The key to effective intimidation is being willing to follow through
or
making the motherfucker in question believe you’ll go ahead. Got me?”

“Yeah, Meggie. Prez would do this and more to get you out of shit,” Digger explained. “Nobody’ll hold it against you for doing the same.”

“When you get to the house, call me and tell me you’re absolutely certain you want him to live,” Johnnie added. “His death is the least we can do for Christopher.”

Horror washed over the attorney’s face, increasing when Meggie only nodded, then stumbled away.

The moment the door closed, Johnnie’s gun returned to the side of the attorney’s head. His hand was shaking. “I want to fill your fucking head with bullets, although I like Megan’s idea better. Her way will prolong your agony.”

“You can’t shoot the fucker now,” Cash protested, while Mortician went to the bar. “Meggie will think she ordered his execution.”

“She didn’t!” Kyler said on a wild sob.

“Shut the fuck up,” Johnnie barked, jiggling the gun against Kyler’s temple. “I can always tell her I accidentally pulled the trigger.”

“No!”

“Why Prez still in the tank?” Mort demanded, from his place behind the bar, capturing the attention of the brothers who’d been watching the entire scene unfold. “It got something to do with Charlotte?”

“No! Brooks really....” Kyler heaved in a deep breath, his face red and splotchy from crying. “Talk to him. He sent me here to update you.”

They all considered each other and the attorney, whose shoulders shook from the force of his tears since Johnnie hadn’t moved his gun.

“When can you have him out?” Cash questioned, still shocked he’d gotten released and Outlaw hadn’t.

“What’s the holdup?” Digger threw at him.

“Shouldn’t he have made bail before Cash?” Slipper called from the back. “No offense Cash but Prez is Prez.”

Cash waved the man off. “I agree with you. Outlaw is in more danger than I was.”

“We’re working to get him out of general population,” Kyler blurted, then realized his mistake at the gasps of outrage.

Mort swigged from his vodka. “Fuck, man.”

Hearing where Outlaw was housed when Cash had been in solitary confinement sent a wave of guilt through him. He’d been in that place, almost buying into those detectives’ bullshit.

“What if he’s killed?” Val managed. “What happens to us?”

“What happens to Megan?” Johnnie said in a faraway tone. Without warning, he yanked Kyler up by his scalp. “Here’s what the fuck’s going to happen. If you can’t get him released, you’re getting Christopher moved today. When we visit him tomorrow, we’ll make it a point to ask him. If he’s still where the fuck he shouldn’t be, I’m going to introduce you to the meatshack, motherfucker. You’ll fucking wish I would’ve taken Meggie’s advice of four bullets with the gruesome death you’ll suffer.” Shoving the attorney away, he kicked him to the ground.

Kyler scrambled to his feet. “I’ll move heaven and hell to have him relocated,” he promised in a faint voice.

“You better fucking hope Prez don’t have a scratch on him, son,” Mort added.

Not responding, Kyler almost tripped over his feet getting away from the club. Johnnie stared at the place where the man had stood, his face clouded with worry. “Meeting’s cancelled,” he said finally. “I have nothing to say.”

“What about the Torps?” another member called. “Shouldn’t we be doing something about them?”

Johnnie swallowed. “Yes. Kill anyone, on sight, associated with them or wearing their colors.”

“Caldwell,” the guard’s voice traveled to Christopher as he sat alone at a table in the cafeteria, eating shit passing for food. He didn’t know Fee’s condition. He hadn’t seen his girl or heard her voice. Nothing, and it was pissing him the fuck off that he hadn’t been sprung.

After another four hours at the station, he’d been transported to the jail, and placed in general population. Now, four days and two fights later, he not only felt as if Brooks was fucking over him in some kind of way, he believed he wouldn’t make it out alive. One fight got a motherfucker thrown into solitary. He’d had
two
, none of them his fault, but he’d still engaged. The other two motherfuckers had been removed.

He hadn’t.

“Caldwell,” the guard called again.

Christopher continued eating, narrowing his eyes at the motherfucker on the other side of the room, the big fuckhead amongst the prisoners.

Without warning, his plate of food flew to the floor. “Get the fuck to your feet,” the guard demanded.

“I understand your fuckin’ problem.” Christopher stood, looking the little motherfucker up and down. “You tryin’ to prove you a fuckin’ man and not a fuckin’ troll.”

Gargoyle the guard smiled without humor. “Follow me.” He nodded to another guard, standing a few feet away.

“Think you’re a big man, huh, Caldwell?” Troll-motherfucker asked, directing him to Gargoyle.

“Ask your fuckin’ ma. Her ass’ll tell you how big I am.”

It was low, throwing slurs on a woman he’d never met. For all he fucking knew, she might’ve been pushing up her tits six feet under. But these motherfuckers worked on his ass.

Gargoyle shoved him, barely moving Christopher.

“Walk,” Troll-motherfucker ordered.

He did as instructed, aware of Gargoyle behind him. He trusted the guards as much as he did the other inmates. The corridor was long and dim, leading to the showers. He’d been avoiding those fucking showers like the plague. He’d be vulnerable. More importantly, he’d be near a fucking drain, where he could bleed to death and not make a fucking mess.

The showers. Right the fuck where he ended up. The area was quiet right now, perfect for murder without witnesses.

“Strip,” Troll-motherfucker said.

Sure he’d misheard, Christopher frowned. “You out your fuckin’ mind.”

Gargoyle drew his gun and trained it on Christopher. “Actually, we’re not.”

Troll-motherfucker gave him a triumphant look. “Do it or we shoot you down like a fucking dog.”

Megan’s face uppermost in his mind, Christopher followed their directions. He’d be a lying motherfucker if he told himself he wasn’t uneasy, and a little afraid, about their intentions.

Once he stood with not a stitch of clothes covering his ass, he looked between Troll-motherfucker and Gargoyle. “What the fuck now, fuckheads?”

A moment passed before he received an answer. The assfucks were too busy cataloging the bruises on his body, received during his fights.

“Get in the shower,” Gargoyle directed, then smiled. “You can always beg me for mercy.”

“That ain’t ever fuckin’ happenin’.” Without waiting for a response, Christopher turned and went to the shower, keeping his back to the fuckheads so he could get control of his fucking fear.

“Turn it on and step under it.”

Christopher growled in frustration, hating the drawn out bullshit. They must fucking know John Boy. He was a fucking master at psychological torture. Based on this experience, he saw that it had its benefits.

“Do it, Caldwell.”

Gargoyle. Troll-motherfucker. He wasn’t sure who’d gritted that to him. Their voices were fucking blurring in his head.

Aware of their weapons poised to shoot the fuck out of him, Christopher drew in a deep breath, then started the water. It hit him in ice cold waves. He gritted his teeth and turned in the direction of the two fuckheads. They were enjoying the fuck out of themselves.

Gargoyle whistled. The motherfucker who’d been pegged as the leader of their cellblock stepped into the room. His nudity didn’t bother Christopher. But the motherfucking blade in his hand did.

He made kissing noises at Christopher. “Hey, pretty boy. I owe you one,” he told Gargoyle.

“The best man walks away,” Troll-motherfucker chortled. “Though my bets on you, Doogie.”

Christopher weighed his options. If he didn’t do anything, Doogie would fuck him and then fuck him up. If he did do something, it would be in front of those two fucking guards. Witnesses, who could finger him for murder.

Suddenly, he was out of time and the motherfucker was there in the shower with him, the desire in his eyes chilling Christopher. He acted on instinct, head-butting assfuck, without warning, satisfied when the motherfucker reeled back and grabbed his nose.

“We can fuckin’ go the fuck our separate ways now.” Water still rained on Christopher, not much warmer than it had been when he’d first turned it on. He remembered the time he’d surprised Megan in her shower, while he’d still been fully dressed. Just as quickly, he pushed it to the back of his mind. He needed to survive
this,
to remember
that.
“Forget this shit ever fuckin’ happen. Or I can fuckin’ kill you. Take your goddamn pick.”

Shaking his head, Doogie tsked. Blood dripped out of his nose, covering his mouth and chin. “You really want me happy.”

“Wrong. I really fuckin’ want you dead.”

“Take that motherfucker out, Doog,” one of the guards yelled.

Raising his weapon, he lunged at Christopher. Unarmed and with the wall at his back, he was at a disadvantage. Christopher caught Doogie’s arm, the knife just inches from his throat.

Motherfucker was fucking strong. Christopher didn’t have the patience to continue the struggle. He had to risk being fatally stabbed to gain the advantage.

Turning his body a fraction, he eased up on holding motherfucker’s arm. The knife sliced his shoulder and Christopher grunted. His resistance lessening, Doogie allowed Christopher the chance to grab his hand and twist it until the knife dropped to the stall floor. He rammed his head against the tiled wall over and over.

Christopher could beat him to within an inch of his fucking life, but motherfuckers like him would keep coming back for him. Exterminate the enemy was a rule of the street and a rule of prison.

Motherfucker slid to the floor, his blood mingling with the water. Blood smeared the area the shower couldn’t reach. Breathing heavily, Christopher looked at the body, noticing a slight rise and fall of motherfucker’s chest.

Troll-motherfucker and Gargoyle had left. Not fucking good. They’d probably gone for fucking backup. Christopher would be locked away for life.

As that realization hit him, Doogie gasped. Taking no chances, he grabbed the blade meant to kill him, kicked the motherfucker over and plunged the knife in his neck, to the hilt. Waiting a moment, he pulled it out and threw it aside, watching impassively as the blood drained out of his attacker.

He stood under the shower to wash the blood from his hands and stepped over the body. A towel lay on the floor, next to Doogie’s discarded clothes.

Christopher picked it up and hurriedly dried himself, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder. He placed the damp towel over the cut to staunch the blood. He’d need this stitched. Wondering how the fuck he'd explain the wound, he hurried back into his jumpsuit. If anybody came in, he could play it off.
If
his wet hair and his lopsided shoulder wasn’t observed too closely.

Weary, he headed for the corridor and crashed to a halt immediately, seeing Gargoyle and Troll-motherfucker talking to a suited up fuckhead. All three of them turned to him.

Suit broke off and came to Christopher. “Christopher Caldwell?”

“Yeah?”

He glanced at the two guards, then back at Christopher. “I’m Warden Embers. There’s been a mistake that I’m here to rectify.”

Christopher didn’t trust the innocent sounding words. He didn't trust any of the three motherfuckers in front of him. One reason he kept his fucking mouth shut about the cut.

“We’re moving you to a private cell.”

Private
? What the fuck was a private goddamn cell? “Solitary?”

“For your own protection.” He cleared his throat. “You’re welcomed to wear your colors.”

“My colors,” he echoed like a stupid motherfucker. But he’d gone from being forced to fuck a motherfucker up to being offered a private cell and his cut. This was past fucking surreal. Especially since the body of the motherfucker he’d fucking killed was still in the shower.

Christopher looked between them, expecting one of them to accuse him of murder. Not a motherfucker spoke. Gargoyle and Troll-motherfucker wasn’t fucking ratting him out. Doogie would stay in the shower, until a fuckhead found him by accident, and everybody would look the other way, going on with their lives.

Drawing his eyebrows together, Christopher looked at Troll-motherfucker and Gargoyle. Both of them motherfuckers seemed a little fucking green around the gills, two fucking undercover Cesars, overseeing gladiators. Of course, it would be Christopher’s word against theirs.

“Follow me,” Embers said into the silence.

“I fuckin’ heard that shit before,” Christopher muttered, having no choice but to do as he was told.