Misled (12 page)

As Christopher
limped out, pain etched into his beautiful features, Meggie wondered if she’d ever see him again. Was he walking to his own death after he’d survived the initial shooting? His shirt stuck to him, stained with his blood. That blood also leaked onto the floor. He couldn’t survive a massive amount of blood loss.

It surprised Meggie when Rack staggered to his feet and followed
Christopher out. Blood dripped down the side of his face. With all the blood on him, he looked as if he’d been shot, but, she figured he’d been grazed.

She needed to leave Christopher
’s office, get away from this gruesome scene. He might’ve told her to stay, but she couldn’t, not with the horrific sight just behind her. No amount of pretending could remove the heaviness in the air. She pulled open the door and headed to Christopher’s bedroom. As she turned the corner of the hallway where the bedrooms were located, more gunfire split the quiet and she ran the rest of the way.

She hurried past the broken door and halted, bending over and breathing heavy. She stared ahead, immobile, the frame of the window allowing her to see
the beautiful day. Blue, cloudless skies with the sun gleaming through the pathway that cut through thick stands of trees. Pieces of the desk and cellphone littered the floor, and Meggie wanted to curl up in a ball. That wouldn’t serve any purpose, however, other than giving into her fear and self-pity.

Her
hands shook as she began clearing the mess, focusing on the tasks at hand and losing herself in the back and forth of sweeping.

A hand
landed on her shoulder and flung her back around. Meggie covered her head with her hands, waiting to feel a bullet tearing through her body. Instead, another hand landed on the other shoulder.

“Didn’t I fuckin’
tell you to wait in my office?”

She peeped through the tr
iangle of her folded arms, wincing at the glower Christopher directed at her, his discarded shirt showing the blood still seeping from the jagged hole on his left shoulder.

She dropped her hands to her sides and set
aside all the hurt, jealousy, and anger from last night. She didn’t want Christopher to die as well. “You need to get to a hospital.”

“I need to take care of my fuckin’ club.”

“You won’t be able to take care of anything if you’re dead.”

A black brow lifted and he released her shoulders. “You worried about me?”

“Yes.” She wondered when her life would settle down, when there wouldn’t be the threat of blood and pain chasing her and too often catching up. “I’m very worried about you. You need the gunshot tended.”

Tenderness surfed through the pain in his eyes. He bent his head and
brushed his lips against hers, his tongue gliding over the tears on her cheeks before taking her mouth again. Meggie stood of tiptoes, just wanting to assure herself he was alive and with her.

“I need you to listen to me
,” he said gruffly, fisting her hair in his hand. “You shouldna left my office.”

“I couldn’t stay in there. Not with…with those men.”

Sweat beaded his brow and discomfort brightened his eyes, the blood loss making him pale beneath the tan of his skin. She didn’t know how long ago he’d been shot but he’d done a lot between now and then, including, as far as she knew, gotten the intruders off the compound. He moved slowly toward the bathroom, wincing and mumbling more ‘motherfuckers’ and ‘fucks’ then she’d ever heard in her entire life.

He s
wayed and Meggie rushed to him, nudging her shoulder beneath his arm, almost bringing them both down because she didn’t realize how heavy he was. And he wasn’t even leaning his full weight on her.

“Whatcha doin’
, Megan?”

“Meggie,
” she said quietly. “Call me Meggie. And I’m tryin’ to keep you from fallin’.”

He staggered and Meggie clutched his biceps, finding no give, no softness
, only hard muscle. “Did I give you permission to touch me?”

“No, but I didn’t ask for your permission,” she coun
tered, still gripping him, not under the false impression
she
held them up. Even wounded, his strength kept them upright. “You need to have your injuries seen to.”

He scowled at her. “No fuckin’
shit, genius.”

She ignored his sarcasm and, instead,
tugged him forward to the bed. He moved with her, but her hope of guiding him down in a smooth landing evaporated when he crashed onto the bed. She crawled next to him, exploring his naked torso. “Why haven’t you had the wounds cared for yet?”

“Ain’t nobody here able to
dig out the bullets and sew me up or drive me to a hospital right now. Mortician and Digger doin’ death fuckin’ detail. Have to get this cleaned up and certain inventory stashed away.” He groaned and closed his eyes. “Thought I was done for. Thought I wouldn’t live to see my thirty-third birthday.”

He still might not. His
furnace-like skin and slurring speech alerted Meggie she needed to do something for him soon. “Stay with me.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

She didn’t respond, just hurried to the main room. The dead bodies had been removed, if not all the blood.

Digger and Mortician were in quiet conversation, their exp
ressions grim, plastic gloved hands punctuating the discussion with gesturing. Rack leaned on the bar talking to several men Meggie didn’t recognize. His face had been cleaned of most of the blood but a deep gash marred his temple.

He narrowed his eyes when he spotted her.
“Get back in the room, Meggie,” he ordered.

“
Chris…Outlaw needs medical treatment, right away.”

“I can’t—“

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” she interrupted, not quite understanding why they would let their president bleed to death. Wasn’t MCs about loyalty and brotherhood? “You
have
to get help for him.”

“Says who?” Rack’s wintry gaze studied her, daring her to answer him.

She raised her chin. “Says me. He’s your president. You have to take care of him.”

“
Do I?” He stepped closer to her, his look unpleasant.

Meggie inched back, remembering the beating he’d given to her.
She’d prefer not to deal with him, especially with Christopher injured. She wouldn’t desert him, though. He needed her and she refused to allow an overgrown Neanderthal like Rack to scare her away.

“While
ya worrying about our
Prez
, you seem to have forgotten all about your old man.” He pulled keys out of his pocket and tossed them to her. “You want him to get seen to, take him your fucking self, bitch. I have to help put things back together around here.”

Digger and Mortician materialized next to Rack. Digger lit a cigarette
, took a drag then passed it to his brother. The smell swirled into her nostrils and her eyes watered.

Digger laughed. “Don’t breath in, Megan.”

Mortician puffed once, twice, sucked deeper the third time around. He held the smoke in before inhaling it in a puff. He nodded between her and Rack. “What’s going on here?”

“Christopher needs to go to the hospital.”

Rack’s benign smile grated on her nerves. He clapped Meggie on the back. “Excuse me. I’ve got to get back to my work.”

“Take him,” Mortician agreed after Rack strolled away, whistling. “You need to be away from here for now, anyway.”

Meggie started away, then paused. The hostility in Rack’s voice had been unmistakable. “I heard the man—Snake—I heard him say the sugar was there just like they’d been told,” she whispered. “This might sound crazy, like I just want revenge, but Rack doesn’t act like a man loyal to his brothers. I’m not trying to overstep my bounds, but I think, as long as he’s around, everyone’s in danger.”

“’Preciate the i
ntel,” Mortician said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He sounded neutral but his features where unconcerned, someone else who didn’t intend to pay attention to her words. She’d done her part. It was up to them to do something with the information.

“Christopher, wake up.”

“I’m here, my beautiful boy.”

“Meggie, babe, I didn’t mean nothing by what I said.”

“Please, Christopher, don’t leave me.”

“It’s
Zoann. We’re all here. Momma, me, Ophelia, Bev, Nia and Avery. All of us. Squeeze my hand. Let me know you hear me.”

“It’s Digger. What the fuck you doin’, man? Wake the fuck up. Enough is enough, Outlaw.”

“You’re a traitor, Rack.”

“Ain’t like that, Meggie. I swear. I’d never do anything to betray my club.”

“Just leave.”

“I
almost got my ass shot off. Ya think I’d set myself up to be shot?”

“It’s John Boy. Aunt
Patricia is in the waiting room. If you die, I think she’ll die with you.”

“You haven’t opened your eyes since I left. Come back to us. To me.”

A symphony of voices harped through Christopher’s head. In and out, consciousness lured him but then darkness pulled him back. His awareness didn’t last long enough for anyone to notice, leaving Christopher with vague outlines of people and wondering which conversations he imagined and which of them were real.

Despite the cacophony
, he responded to the sweetest sound of all. Her voice pulled him out of his medicated stupor and allowed everything to rush back.

He cursed
at the burning pain in his thigh and shoulder. Megan jerked her head in his direction. Luminous eyes drank him in, studied him as though he was the only man on earth. The man she needed and wanted above all else.

“Christopher,” she breathed, dragging her chair closer and taking his hand into hers.
She kissed the back of it before laying it against her cheek. “I have to call your nurse and let her know you’re awake.”

He struggled to sit further up, the beeping noises of the various monitors irritating the fuck out of him. The antiseptic smell collaborated with the taste of medicine to turn his stomach.

“Before you do—“ He paused to clear his scratchy and aching throat.

“Shhh,” sh
e soothed, putting a finger to his lips. “They removed the breathing tubes last night.” She reached for the device to call the nurse.

He grabbed her hand again and swallowed his discomfort. “Answer me a couple questions.”

Wariness entered her eyes and she combed her fingers though her hair, blanketing him with the scent of his shampoo. She didn’t seem inclined to listen. As usual. He tightened his hold on her.

“Was my mother here or did I dream that?”

“You didn’t dream it,” she confirmed. “She was here. So were all your sisters.”

He nodded and groaned. “Rack?”

She wrinkled her nose and sniffed, providing him all the answer he needed. She nodded, however. “Yes.”

The ice in her tone also reassured Christopher that Megan had accused Rack of betraying the club. He wasn’t sure if he should praise her courage or yell at her for her stupidity. She, of all people, should know Rack
wasn’t a man to accuse of wrongdoing. Then, again, with the carved words still healing on Rack’s back, he might’ve realized the foolishness of harming Megan. Because if Christopher hadn’t been in a position to protect her, Digger, Mortician, and Val certainly would.

But, fuck, Megan needed to think before she acted. Her impulsiveness combined with her temper was a lethal
mixture.

He didn’t have the strength to take that argument on now, so he went on with his original questions. “Digger?” he asked, deciding the sooner she left, the better.

“And Mortician and Val.”

“My cousin.”

She shrugged. “I think. If your cousin’s name is Johnnie, then yes. But I wasn’t here. When Ellen and Kiera visited you, I left.”

“Why?” he asked to goad her, her flashing eyes and flushed cheeks hard to resist.

“I just did,” she snapped, refusing to meet his eyes.

Christopher stifled a grin, threatening to breakthrough desp
ite his Godforsaken pain. He knew girls and he knew jealousy had run Megan away. He refrained from mentioning that. “So while you was gone, Johnnie visited?”

“Yes. According to
Val.”

He dropped her hand. Annoyance thinned her lips and stirred Christopher’s blood. He ignored the satisfaction he felt at having her face the first one he saw when he awakened. Though he’
d been wounded, his cock was in perfect condition because, in spite of the pain and the promise he made not to touch her, his dick hardened. Yeah, well. Shit was about right. That was the power of pussy to a pervert like him. In pain like a motherfucker but still wanting to empty his balls dry inside of her.

He groaned and shifted. Megan eyed the length of his body, her face turning red when she saw his erection.

Her complete and utter fascination with his dick punched him in the gut. He opened his mouth to tease her, ask her if she’d like to see it, but shut it immediately. Reckless little bitch that she was, she’d say yes.

“Ain’t you seen enough dicks in your life?” he growled.

She frowned. “I’ve only seen two.”

Two too fucking many, since neither of the dicks she’d seen were his. The jealousy tearing through him pissed him off even more. He glared at her.
“And here I thought you was a fuckin’ virgin.”

“I am!”

“Then how the fuck you seen two cocks?”

“Really, Christopher? We’re talking about this
now
? Really?”

She reached for the remote to call the nurse, but he used all his strength to yank it from her.
Fatigue was setting in and, with each passing minute, his pain grew. He fought off the tiredness and burning pain in his body to talk to her. By the time he went to sleep, he hoped he’d have gotten his point across and she’d agree to leave. Tomorrow, he’d tell Val to set her up somewhere and make sure she wanted for nothing, ever. Right now, Christopher had to fight the oncoming fog and suffering. He had to memorize her face, feel the warmth of her scrutiny.

He swallowed, cold sweat beginning to bead his brow. The excruciating pain had even limped his dick. He trembled and blinked.
“Answer me, Megan.”

She folded her arms. “I didn’t have a say when you walked out with your zipper undone,” she chirped sourly. “And my stepfather didn’t give me much choice
, either.”

If he’d intended to keep her around, he would’ve made finding her step fuckhead a priority. By the time Christopher finished with him, he’d be squatting to piss for the rest of his days. Not much more a man could do dickless.

“May I call the nurse
now
?”

Christopher gritted his teeth
, disgusted at how his conscience always intruded where Megan Foy was concerned. It couldn’t be her home life. He’d known women with much more terrible childhoods, abused from the time they came into the world until the day they ran away, preferring life on the streets to the horrors at home. Neither could it be her temper and her fearless determination. It worried him that when the time came to turn her out, he wouldn’t be able to.

He could only appeal to her self-preservation.

Dizziness whirled in his head and he squeezed his eyes shut. Fire blazed through his throat, his thigh, his shoulder.  “Look at me.” The demand came out as a croak. Fuck, the look in her eyes made his heart beat faster and his stomach clench. She didn’t see
Outlaw
. She didn’t give a fuck that he detested the name Caldwell or the reasons for it. If he allowed it, if he opened up to her…

Those thoughts were not his. They weren’t real. She wasn’t real. Or, maybe,
his injuries and fading attention made him imagine the awe in her eyes.

“Christopher,” she whispered, rubbing his brow. “Please. Ask me whatever you want when you feel better. I’ll be here.”

No. No. No. He had to make her understand what would happen to her if she stayed. What he’d demand of her. “I’m your worst fuckin’ nightmare,” he got out. “Stop thinkin’ I’m some goddamn hero cuz I ain’t.” He paused, deciding to voice his intentions if she remained with him—the very reason she
couldn’t
stay. Words flowed from him in a weakened tone. He hoped she still heeded them. “I want your pussy.” He panted and blinked, the heart of the matter staring him in the face. “The shots coulda killed me and I woulda left without a kid to carry my name. Ain’t never been particularly fond of the name ‘Caldwell’ either,” he admitted grimly. “My old man was a family friend who raped my mama then had the fuckin’ nerve to insist I have his last name.”

“Shhh.”

This time when she placed her finger over his lips, he kissed her fragrant skin before pulling her hand away and holding it.

“I don’t intend to ever get married,” he raspe
d. “My kid…if I knocked you up…my kid would have your last name. Foy is a fine last name. Havin’ a kid with Boss’s genes,
your
genes, would be fuckin’ great. When he was sane and lucid, he’d been solid. Big Joe was good to me and, Megan, I miss the fuck outta him.” He drew in a deep breath and squeezed her delicate hand. “I wanna fuck you until you can’t walk. Come in you ‘til I’m empty. Put my dick in you and fuck you s’more.” He slurred the last word.

She took a step back, eyes wide. He wanted to laugh at her shock. He wanted to cry at her loss. She was finally getting the fucking picture. Even worse than what he wanted to do to her was another harsh fact—she could’ve been killed. Bullets didn’t have names.
Somehow, she’d escaped Snake’s assault and survived. He had to get her away. A girl like her deserved better than a man like him. Now, to put the nail in the coffin, use the last measure of his conscience, strength, and decency.

“Leave. I don’t want you here with me. Understand?”

Jesus, the hurt creeping into her eyes knifed through Christopher, more painful than a dozen gunshot wounds.

“Get the fuck away from me.
Now
!”

She stared at him, caught between disbelief and fear.

“Get the fuck outta here.” He turned his head, a dismissal.

When the snick
of the door opening and closing came, Christopher felt as if the sun had walked out of his life, and sank into oblivion.

“He’s awake,” Meggie called to
the startled nurse, not pausing to answer any of the woman’s questions. After five and a half days of hell, wondering why Christopher hadn’t awakened, after the hours he’d spent in surgery to remove the bullets, he’d sent her away. She hadn’t slept well without Christopher next to her the one time Digger and Mortician convinced her to stay at the clubhouse. Nightmares about the attack plagued her with dead bodies and gore. In her dream, she’d stumbled over one and realized it was her daddy.

A scream woke her up.
Her
scream. She’d sat in Christopher’s bed, sweaty and trembling. She’d allowed the small lamp near his entertainment center to remain on, but it hadn’t help. Terror tore through her. Tired of her tears, she’d done the only thing she could do. Found a small knife next to the CDs and found relief and peace. A channel for all her fear and grief.

Her thighs stung from the fresh cuts
but she wished she had something with her. All the emotions converging on her would burst free, like air being released from a balloon. She had to get to the clubhouse. When she packed her stuff, she’d take that knife, too.

She turned a corner, heading for the elevators. A blond man leaned against the wall
, talking to Ellen and Kiera. She’d never seen him before, so she didn’t think he’d recognize her. And, she figured, even if the women did, they wouldn’t speak to her.

Averting her eyes, she intended to rush past the small sitting area outside ICU without a word. Instead, she ran
smack dab into Val. He grabbed her arms to steady her.

“Meg—“

“He’s awake,” she blurted. She started around the big biker, but he pulled her by the arm to the seat he’d vacated and pushed her into it. Mortician, Digger, Rack, and Christopher’s sister, Zoann, occupied the other seats.

“Where’re you goin’, babe?”
Val asked carefully.