misunderstoodebook (17 page)

Asshole.
He scowled at the self-directed epitaph. He didn’t have to take Kendall anywhere, though. He especially didn’t have to get her alone in his house. If he wanted to detain her, he could do it here.

No the fuck he couldn’t.
Here
was too close to Spoon, the Torpedoes, and Logan. Fuck his grandfather. The man was a goddamn devil. From the moment Johnnie had laid eyes on him, he’d been back in that place Logan kept him in, torn between loyalty and loathing, repulsion and fascination. Love and hate twisted his fucking insides and, if he wasn’t careful, he’d underestimate his grandfather’s frailties and overestimate his sincerity.

His strange reaction over Caroline’s death hinted at the Logan Johnnie remembered. He wanted to obliterate having to cut her lifeless body down and carrying her downstairs. Logan’s shock had been genuine and a stillness had settled over him before anger had entered his eyes.

“I thought she was stronger than that,” he’d muttered. “Take care of her. She has no next of kin, so bury her somewhere.”

Just like that, his grandfather washed his hands of the girl. Whatever feelings he’d been capable of had evaporated when Caroline had taken her own life. Logan hated weakness and he’d see Caroline’s action as the ultimate flaw.

Johnnie just had so many
give-a-fucks
in him and most of them were used up in all the other sordid shit, so he hadn’t stopped to consider what led her to take her own life.

Now, though? Yes. Somewhat. He didn’t fucking know the girl, had never fucking
seen
her before today, but she was at a funeral home and Johnnie was responsible for the bill. He might’ve been at the top of the
fucked up
list, but he wasn’t
that
fucked up. He couldn’t discard a girl, who hadn’t harmed anyone as far as he knew, using their usual modus operandi.

He hadn’t searched for a suicide note because he’d had fucking work to do. Like getting Mortician and Digger to pick up that Torp’s body and help clean up the fucking blood before the funeral director arrived for Caroline’s body.

“Do you have a full name for her?” the man had asked.

“No.” He’d turned to Logan. “Grandda?”

“Nope. Don’t even know Marie’s last name.”

They’d been asked a couple more questions, none of which Johnnie or Logan could answer. Due to their suspicious behavior, the little asshole had brought in law enforcement. Another fucking complication Johnnie didn’t need. In turn, he’d called the officers on their payroll and asked them to do whatever needed doing to have her body released to Johnnie as soon as possible.

“Did you kill her, Johnnie?” the tall, lanky one asked.

Christopher referred to them as Mutt and Jeff. Johnnie called them Fat and Skinny. He’d scowled at the man. “What the fuck you think, assfuck? We don’t fucking kill women, especially eighteen-year-old girls. She fucking hung herself.”

“Then I don’t see the problem with calling us in,” Fat retorted, scribbling on the sheet of paper attached to his clipboard. He snickered. “Then, again, you fucks don’t like to be anywhere near law enforcement.”

“Not real law enforcement, you crooked motherfucker,” Johnnie snapped. The fee they were charging was fucking astronomical.

Fat bristled and opened his mouth, but Skinny elbowed him. “Okey dokey. We got everything under control. When can we expect our drop off?”

“Within the hour after I know Caroline’s body is at the funeral home.”

True to his word, as soon as Skinny made the call, Johnnie had taken money from his personal funds. He’d just returned when Kendall walked in and he’d fucking lost it.

Despite what his grandfather said, the woman seemed so fragile. Like Caroline had been. He rubbed his brow, the thought of his gorgeous beauty harming herself made him sick to his fucking stomach. He growled. Could anyone say
cluster fuck
? But he had her now. For at least a day. To fuck. To lick. To discover her secrets.

By the time he released her, he would’ve also gotten his grandfather back on a plane, the most comforting thought of all.

Stretch sat at the bar, nursing a beer, eyes bleak and shoulders slumped. He sipped, then pulled at his mop of brown hair. Sip and pull. Sip and pull. The never ending gestures irritated the living fuck out of Johnnie.

Normally, Mortician served the drinks, but, seeing as how he was otherwise occupied with Kendall, K-P stood behind the long, battered bar. The dull light glinted from his bald head and his silver beard gave him a look of authority. His eye patch, though, frightened anyone who didn’t know him when they saw him for the first time. Dinah sat in the corner, balancing Little Man on the wooden top, buzzing his belly with her nose.

The next few minutes would be no place for a baby. “Dinah, take Little Man out of here.”

K-P glowered at Johnnie. “Don’t talk to her like that. Tune down your harsh tone.”

Dinah was afraid of her own shadow and, although Johnnie understood her reasons and even found it in him to sympathize, she should’ve been attempting to work through her trauma. Get help. Instead, she hung on Meggie’s coattails and, now, K-P’s.

In between fucking her, K-P needed to sit down and have a serious talk with her and tell her to open her fucking eyes. If not for Meggie’s loyalty—fuck even K-P in this instance—Dinah would’ve been out on her ass months ago.

Grabbing Little Man and mumbling, Dinah scampered away, holding onto her grandson for dear life.

“I should beat your fucking ass for talking to her like that,” K-P growled, looming before Johnnie like the Abominable Snow Fuck, his meaty fist balling on the counter top.

Over her?
“Save it,” Johnnie ordered. “You’ll thank me for it later.” He turned to Stretch, the reason he’d sent Dinah away. That unattended gate had to be addressed. “You fucked up.”

Stretch’s gaze flickered to Johnnie, then darted away, his ears reddening. “I was…I wasn’t far away. If a raid had taken place, I could’ve sounded the alarm.”

Bullshit. Stretch’s blush coupled with his inability to meet Johnnie’s gaze told him he
knew
it.

“You should’ve been at the fucking gate, fucker. Sounding the alarm takes place while the fuckers are locked out not when they’re storming the fucking place, which would’ve happened because I didn’t see your ass. There’s no way you would’ve alerted us in time. And, now, I find you
sitting
at this fucking bar like you have a right. Like you didn’t shirk your fucking duties.”

“I’m sorry—“

Johnnie swiped the man’s beer off the counter and crashed his fist against his face, knocking him off the stool and on his ass on the floor.

Johnnie’s gaze met K-P’s. “This asswipe fucked up and all he can say is he’s sorry?”

Chuckling without humor, K-P cocked a brow. “Maybe, we need to make him
really
sorry.”

Stretch scrambled to his knees and Johnnie frowned. “What the fuck? Is this fucker getting up
without
permission?”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a trembling voice, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He sucked on his lower lip, resembling a paranoid beaver, who, at any moment, would gnaw the fuck out of something.

Johnnie punched him again and, this time, blood spurted from Stretch’s nose and he curled up on the floor. Pulling his .38 and wishing he still carried his Glock, he shoved it against Stretch’s temple.

Stretch trembled and stared at Johnnie, the terror in his blue eyes satisfying. There was a reason his road name had once been Iceman. Like Outlaw, he was Big Joe’s protégé and Megan’s father had been not only lethal, but one remorseless asshole.

“Please, Johnnie,” Stretch whispered, blood smeared on his cheeks and hands from attempting to clean up his leaking nose. “I’ll do anything to make up how much I fucked up.”

“Where the fuck were you?”

Tears filled Stretch’s eyes and he shook his head. “Please.”

Johnnie cocked the gun.

“John Boy,” K-P called in warning. “Meggie likes Stretch.”

Anger and the need for vengeance pounded through Johnnie and his hand shook. But K-P was right, Megs
did
like Stretch. Still, this was Official Club Business and she knew to stay out of it. Stretch had slacked on the job. There hadn’t even been Probates on duty, which had been Stretch’s job to make sure
they
were there, doing what was expected of them while they watched over the bikes in the parking lot, Johnnie’s Navigator, Christopher’s pickup, and Megs’s car.

Stretch swallowed and looked at him with earnest blue eyes. Kind of like the stricken expression in Kendall’s big, brown ones as Mortician carried her off. Thinking of her darkened Johnnie’s mood further and he snatched his gun away from Stretch’s head before he pulled the trigger in reflexive anger.

He indicated his pocket with the barrel. “I might put my piece away if you answer me.”

“I…I was getting my dick sucked,” Stretch admitted in a low, frightened voice.

Johnnie crouched down and studied the man. A couple of conclusions hit him and he glanced at K-P. No fucking way Stretch was implying what it sounded like. He used the barrel of his loaded gun to scratch his temple. “Unless you brought a Bob on premises, the only other motherfuckers who were outside with you were
men
.”

Stretch sagged against the floor and closed his eyes.

Johnnie arched an eyebrow and popped to his feet, staring at the prone, bleeding man. “Get the fuck up, asshole,” he ordered and stalked to the bar. He shoved his pistol back into his cut, grabbed the bottle and drank from it.
Deeply.

On his feet, Stretch looked between Johnnie and K-P, his eyes haunted and frightened.

He crooked his finger at Stretch, who’d stood up, silent. But that was Stretch. On a good day, he was a quiet man. He hung his head.

“You fuck bitches,” Johnnie said slowly. “We’ve done trains together with them in my room, so I’ve seen you fuck them with my own two eyes. But I think I know what happened today.” He tapped his hands on the bar. The morning should’ve been quiet and relaxed with nothing scheduled, so Stretch must’ve seen this as an opportunity because…“You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”

“John Boy—“

“Yes or no,” Johnnie demanded, not in the mood for fucking explanations.

Stretch nodded with slow reluctance.

“And you thought this would be a good time to get with him. Nothing going on.”

Another slow, reluctant nod.

“He know how you fuck all these different bitches?” K-P asked.

“Yes,” Stretch admitted, almost inaudible. “He knows I need to be with girls sometimes.”

“You’re bullshitting about that or are you serious?” K-P questioned, studying him. “I know you need a dick stand to fuck a woman but some of the shit available nowadays blows my mind. Who knows if some fuck haven’t come up with a way to stick a dick in a plastic cover? You know? A man stick his soft shit in so he can feel like he fucking?”

Johnnie frowned at K-P. “You hit your fucking head, asshole?”

“Shut the fuck up, roach,” K-P snapped, and pointed to Stretch. “This runt know what the fuck I’m talking about, so answer me. You really like pussy?”

“Yes, I-I’m serious,” he admitted. “Y’all gonna kill me for this?”

K-P scratched the back of his neck. “We live free, Stretch. We ride. We fuck. We party. We live by a certain creed and set of rules. Fear no one and respect everyone. Until the motherfuckers disrespect us, you understand? I might not agree with who the fuck you fuck.” He shrugged. “But I don’t agree with some of the bitches these motherfuckers fuck.”

“Stretch,” Johnnie began with care. “We’re going to have to explain the situation to Outlaw.”

Stretch paled and he looked like he’d break out into sobs at any minute.

Poor bastard. “We at the Death Dwellers believe in the right to choose your lifestyle.” Johnnie rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “Whether we agree or not. I get to make the choices on the shit I want to do and we believe everyone should have that same freedom. Doesn’t mean I have to do it or agree with it.”

Stretch blinked. “For real?”

K-P nodded. “You should’ve been honest to begin with, you stupid motherfucker, and your man could’ve been sucking your dick—“ He frowned and grimaced at the words. “Let me reword that. You could’ve been with—“ Redness crept into his face and he gestured with his hands—

“Shut up,” Johnnie ordered, rolling his eyes. “What K-P’s saying is we suggest you keep this shit under wraps. And we understand why you wouldn’t tell us. The whole situation is a mind fuck.” Stretch could have a legion of hard dicks lined up to suck and it
still
wouldn’t compare to Logan’s reappearance. Caroline’s suicide. Kendall’s betrayal. The thought angered Johnnie all over again. He growled and glared at Stretch. “You do whatever the fuck you want with your dick. If we would’ve known, you could’ve been entertaining your man…men…whoever…whenever it was clear. Then, you wouldn’t have had to sneak a dick suck.” And leave them vulnerable.

Their hydro grows were cultivated in one of the warehouses and there was no fucking way the shit could be hidden in the event of a raid, so any heat on them wouldn’t be good. “We’ll see about arranging
quiet
time for you and your…” He rocked back on his heels and rubbed his neck. “Uh, you and your man,” he grunted with a frown.

Stretch’s eyes widened. “You really are okay with…with me?”

K-P tossed a wet bar towel to him. “You look horrific with that fucking dried blood on your fucking face and that bruised, fucked-up, swollen nose. I think the shit is broken.”

“As to us being okay,” Johnnie said, swallowing away his discomfort. “It isn’t like we can change you. When you joined our club and you saw Mortician and Digger, you should’ve known the type of club we were.” Although this definitely wasn’t the type of club his grandfather had founded.
“The heart of a man count to the Dwellers. Your loyalty. When we say we’re family,
brothers,
we mean it.”

The door opened and Mortician walked in, dangling Johnnie’s car keys in front of him.

Johnnie stood up and snatched them away. Thoughts of Kendall shoved aside everything else. He told himself it was because she was the next simplest problem to deal with. Once they fucked up Spoon and got her promise she’d never fuck with the Dwellers again, she’d be fine. “Where is she, Mort?”