Misfit (Death Dwellers MC #6) (89 page)

“Yes the fuck you is,” Prez snarled from the door. “One, cuz you hollered at my woman. And, two, cuz
my
woman planning
your
bitch shit. Cough up the fuckin’ money or take over the shit your-fuckin-self.”

“She won’t even tell me why the fuck she needs all that money, Christopher.”

Meggie snatched her phone from her back pocket and scrolled through, then shoved it in Johnnie’s face. “This is one thing Kendall wants. I found it on this site and it’s on sale.”

Mort looked over Johnnie’s shoulder. “Red want a crown?”

“A thirty-five-thousand-dollar tiara?” Johnnie asked, appalled.

“Yeah, baby, that’s a lotta fuckin’ money. I can save you thirty-four-thousand, nine hundred, ninety-nine dollars and one cent. Just go to the dollar store. Stop this motherfucker from having a fuckin’ fit while still keepin’ Kendall happy.”

“Shut. Up,” Meggie snarled, glaring at Prez, who shrugged.

“Why he gotta write you a check any-fuckin-way? All you gotta do is find what the fuck you need, then bring him the invoices.”

“And go through this every time, Christopher?” Meggie asked in frustration. “Besides, I don’t want him to know about her wedding gown.”

“I’m just askin’,” Prez said, heading to the bar and getting bottles and glasses for them to put on the table. “Motherfucker givin’ you the money like I said.” He poured Johnnie’s drink first. “Look at it this fuckin’ way, with Megan plannin’ it, all the fuck you gotta do is show up at the church.”

“The fittings, too,” she added. “Don’t forget that. All of you.”

Drink halfway to his mouth, Prez paused. “What the fuck you talkin’ about? What fuckin’ fittins?”

Meggie shifted from foot-to-foot. “For the tuxedos,” she mumbled.

“Come fuckin’ again.”

Yeah, come fucking again? “Aww, Meggie girl, you shitting me,” Mort complained.

“I ain’t gettin’ into no fuckin’ monkey suit, Megan. No. Fuck no. Hell no.”

“But—”

“No. Case fuckin’ closed. Only bitch I wore that shit for was you. I especially ain’t wearin’ a fuckin’ monkey suit for Kendall.”

“Please, Christopher. She wants a traditional wedding.”

“Don’t give a fuck. Understand? So shut the fuck up.”

Through with begging, Meggie narrowed her eyes. “Really, Christopher?”

“Yeah, really. Fuck all you doin’ changin’ my mind.”

Meggie drew herself up. “I see,” she said with a sniff, then turned to Johnnie. “Please deposit the money into my account. I’ll get started paying for everything tomorrow. I’m heading home, Christopher. I’ll see you there.”

“Meggie girl pissed,” Mort said after she stalked out, throwing death glares to Prez. He bypassed the glass and swallowed his vodka straight from the bottle.

“Can you talk to her about this money?” Johnnie asked when Outlaw didn’t respond to Mort.

“Nope. Take it from me, weddins expensive as fuck.”

“Maybe, when Roxanne heal up, I can marry Bailey in a church ceremony. Do like a big celebration,” Mort said, thinking aloud, the momentary diversion of Meggie interacting with Outlaw and John Boy gone.

“Don’t put yourself through this shit if you don’t need to,” Johnnie grumbled.

“You don’t need to, motherfucker,” Mort responded.

“I do. She told Megan the type of wedding she wanted at Bunny’s wedding. Once I heard what Kendall wanted, I couldn’t not do it. I love her too much.”

Mort couldn’t say a fucking thing. If Bailey wanted the stars, he’d find a way to get them for her, so he leaned back and drank from his bottle. “I feel you, brother.”

That shit said it all.

Dropping her towel, Zoann glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, wondering how Matthew would like her bald pussy. She didn’t know why she’d decided now was the time to shave off her pubic hair that made him call her Puff.

She studied herself, focused on the grooves and indentations of the scars Cee Cee had left behind. Maybe, she did know. Maybe, it boiled down to simply being time to stop hiding behind…
hair
. That wasn’t to say this would be her brand new style. Nine times out of ten, she’d return to her neat bush.

But Kendall exposing her rape to Fee brought it back to Zoann, too. She’d moved on with her life, except with this. This was the last hurdle she faced. At one time, the sight of her damaged skin would’ve sent her into a tailspin. Not now. Never again.

She had her children to raise and the love of a good man. She also had a business to run and a cousin-in-law to keep in line.

Smiling, she picked up the phone and saw that she’d missed a call from Christie. He’d sent her a text instead.

Everything in place

Her reflective mood changed to excitement.
Thank you for your help,
she texted back.
Val needs this.

At least she believed he did. Later, she’d strip for her and ask his opinion of her new look. Right now, she had a date at a graveyard.

Val walked through the wrought iron gate, wondering why the fuck Puff sent him a text message, telling him to meet her at the cemetery, of all fucking places. Not the best fucking place for a date, or whatever the fuck she’d label this.

In the distance, he saw the black granite rising from a grassy knoll. Recently added flowers and a bench kept Boss’ grave company. Although Meggie’s old man didn’t rest in the grave, K-P, Arrow, and Mort’s son, Tyler were, as was Kendall’s little sister, Carolyn. Outlaw’s second son, Patrick, was interred with his grandmothers, Patricia and Dinah. Outlaw’s sisters and nieces were in surrounding graves and…A lone figure kneeled in front of the grave where Patricia, Dinah, and Patrick were.

Puff.

Val wondered how often she visited. As far as he knew, she hadn’t returned since her sisters and nieces had been buried last year. Which made her request to have him come there even more odd.

Detecting his presence, she looked in his direction. The wind lifted her chestnut colored hair, her beauty sucker-punching Val as always. Every time he looked at her, he felt like the luckiest motherfucker on earth. Always had and always would. She’d been through hell, but never stopped loving him.

Deep within her, she’d retained a certain innocence and an innate belief in him.

“Hey, Puff,” he greeted as he reached her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her wet cheeks.

Tears made the flecks of gold in her whiskey-hued eyes gleam brighter.

“I miss Mama so much,” she said. “She never met her grandchildren, Matthew.”

“I don’t agree,” he said gruffly. “Just like I think my mother has met our boys.”

He didn’t often think of his mom, dead now for two decades. Sometimes, though, he’d watch his sons as they slept, see their laughter, and tell himself Ryan and Devon laughed with angels—words he remembered his mother saying to him.

Strange how the mind worked, sometimes, and clung to sweet memories. Val couldn’t even call it a defense mechanism. It wasn’t until his children had been born that he’d recalled those words.

“You still miss her,” Zoann guessed.

“Wrong, babe. I still think of her, but I stopped missing her years ago.” After killing her, Val’s father took her body away and never revealed its location, taking that secret to his grave. “I wish I’d discovered where he buried her.”

Getting control of herself, Zoann nodded. “That’s why I asked you to come here.”

Val frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

“Come with me.”

“Cemeteries not my favorite fucking place, Puff. Where are we going?”

“Come with me,” she repeated, sidling a scowl at him. Without giving him a chance to respond, she sashayed ahead of him, toward Big Joe’s obelisk.

As she walked up the hill, Val admired the way her jeans hugged her ass. Her hips flared out, then curved into slender thighs. So busy lusting after his wife, he didn’t notice her stopping, and ran right into her.

“Sorry, babe,” he told her, grabbing her arms to steady her.

Turning in his arms, she smiled up at him, then caressed his jaw. The feel of her touch ignited his blood and he leaned into her touch.

“I think about my mother from time-to-time, Matthew,” she started. “When I want to talk to her, I have a place to visit her. You’ve never had that.”

“I accepted it a long time ago.”

“I can’t give you her, but I can give you this.” She dropped her hand and stepped aside, pointing to a granite stone.

It read,
Davita Raylene Taylor, 1966-1996, Finally at Peace.

Val stared at the words, his heart beating fast and hard. He’d known his mother was gone. He’d watched his father slit her throat, but he’d never allowed himself to mourn. Not really. He’d never had the luxury of having a refuge to grieve. Every time he thought of her, he felt as if he had to keep it all in. Bottle it all up.

Knowing of his addiction to sex, and the reasons for it, he often wondered if he
should
miss her or feel any sorrow. Even Zoann blamed his parents for introducing him to porn as a child. And yet…yet…

“She was my mother, Puff,” he said, as if he needed to explain himself.

“Yes. Whenever you want to talk to her, you have a place now.”

“Why?”

“We only have one mom, Matthew, and she’ll never be replaced. Good or bad, there’ll be no other person like her. Our mothers give us life,” she said softly. “When she’s gone, we want to know that we did everything we could to love and honor her. Cherish her. We work with what we have to provide for our children and hope that they know, that despite everything, most of us try our best. I don’t agree with some of her tactics, but you hold onto the good in her. Honor her here. Tell her about our kids. Let her know what a fine husband and father you’ve become. I’m sure she’s so proud of you.”

“Are you?” he asked in a choked voice.

“Of course. I’m proud to know you and proud to call you my man.”

“Fuck, Puff.” She, alone, had always known how to humble him. “I love you so fucking much.”

Smiling, she laid her head on his shoulder. “Not more than I love you.”

Val tangled his hand in Zoann’s hair, breathing in her scent. It dawned on him what had guided him to her and he closed his eyes. “Thanks, Davi,” he whispered to his mom, the name he’d once called her.

Only his mother’s intercession could’ve brought him and Zoann through all they’d endured to the years of happiness that lay ahead.