misunderstoodebook (33 page)

Johnnie ran to her, grabbed her arms and shook her. “Shut the fuck up, Kendall,” he snarled. “Hear the sirens? That’s cops and the fire department. We need to get out of here.”

She was sobbing, but he couldn’t comfort her. He needed to get through to her. He sure as hell didn’t want to end up in jail in Long Beach. They’d call in the Feds.

“Kendall,
listen to me
!” he yelled. “Get your goddamn phone and purse. Get my phone out of my shot-up Navigator and wait for me at the back of the house.”

“No! No! No!”

He used his last resort and slapped her across her cheek. Abruptly, she shut up and blinked, trembling. “Get your goddamn shit, Kendall.
NOW!
Get my goddamn phone and wait for me at the back of the house.”

He shoved her, hoping she listened. The first engines were already arriving. He knew the fire would take precedence but he had dead bodies in his driveway. He needed to get the fuck out. Not wasting time, he grabbed his cut and his saddlebags, already filled with his other guns and knives and headed for the garage where he kept his pride and joy. He didn’t have two helmets so he’d just have to let Kendall use his.

Opening the garage door—the one designed for just this sort of thing—he rolled his bike out, relieved when he saw Kendall standing there. Her eyes widened when she saw his big bike. It dawned on Johnnie that she hadn’t believed his story. Who cared? He’d stake his life that she believed it now.

“Get on,” he ordered. He snatched his phone from her shaking fingers. “Get on or I’m leaving you here.”

She stared at him, trembling, not moving. Sirens were too close for comfort. Like right the hell in his driveway. He pulled the choke and started his motorcycle, the sound of the sirens drowning out the pipes of his Harley.

He revved his engine, spurring her to action. She rushed to him, sobbing, but climbed behind him. He handed her the helmet and sped away to use the escape route via the beach he and Christopher had planned. He reached the dunes and saw that, yes, it had been Christopher’s house blown to bits and pieces and roaring with fire, the crackling wood and hissing glass competing with the crashing waves.

Then, it started. More explosions, wood and glass bursting into the air. Within moments, Johnnie’s house had been leveled.

Chapter 22

14 years earlier

“Oops, sorry,” a husky female voice murmured as Johnnie sat on a bar stool and beckoned to the bartender.

She was interesting looking, although she had a killer fucking body and a voice to drive him crazy as he fucked her. He smiled. “No problem, sweetheart.”

“What can I get you?” the middle-aged bartender asked, frowning intently at him.

Johnnie refused to look away. So he was under-aged and wouldn’t turn twenty-one for another eight months? Who gave a rat’s fuck? He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a hundred, sliding it across the counter. The man stared at him a moment longer, then nodded, and pocketed the cash. “Give me a whisky straight and bring the lady whatever she’d like.”

“One drink,” the bartender snarled in a low voice, “then I want you gone. Can’t have minors found on premises.”

Johnnie rested his elbow on the bar. “Then give me my fucking bill back and I’ll get the fuck out now.”

“One—“

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think I’m handing you a Benjamin for one fucking drink.” Johnnie shifted in his seat, a friendly smile curving his mouth, his voice a heated whisper just like the bartender’s. No fucking use in calling attention to himself. “If it’ll make you feel better, I have fucking ID. So what’s it going to be?”

“Fine,” the man said after a moment, “just don’t cause no fucking trouble.”

As if. He wasn’t there to cause trouble. He was there to get a break from school and a break from the craziness of the clubhouse. He needed to think about his future and had to somehow break the news to Grandda he wanted to patch-in.

He’d won the battle about school and about hanging around Christopher more. At first, Christopher had rejected his company, but, slowly, his cousin accepted Johnnie was there as his friend and his cousin. Not to change him. Not to disparage him. But to watch out for him like he’d always watched out for Johnnie. This year, when Big Joe went to Europe, Johnnie was going, too. Of course, he could do without fucking psycho Snake, the moniker Christopher had pinned on Joey. In life, though, the fucking ugly came with the fucking pretty. Snake might’ve been pretty to look at, but he had a fucking ugly soul.

“Just out for a drink?” the girl who’d bumped into him asked.

“Yes,” he answered as the bartender set their drinks down. She had some type of pink drink that was probably both sweet-tasting and head-busting. Sweet drinks fucked him up quicker than straight liquor. “What about you?”

Her wide mouth tasted the pink drink. Her pink lips and pink tongue perked Johnnie’s interest.

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” she answered. “He’s running late, though. Held up at work.”

“Don’t worry. He won’t stand up a gorgeous woman like you.”

She cocked her head to the side, flipping her long, brown hair over her shoulder. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

“All women are,” he answered in honesty and smiled. “In their own way.” He’d learned that firsthand over the past two years. Women were magnificent creatures and he loved every inch of them. “Take you, for instance, sweetheart. Pretty blue-green eyes. A head full of shiny brown hair. A wide mouth made for co—“ He couldn’t exactly say cock sucking, so he cleared his throat and amended his words. “Made for kissing.” His gaze roamed over her body. My God. Her body was full and lush, her tits more than a handful, her ass plump and generous.

“I’ve had a baby. Two years ago,” she added morosely. “I can’t get the rest of the weight off me and—“

“And there’s just more of you to pleasure and love,” he interrupted. “I think you have a beautiful body.”

She giggled and Johnnie knew he was making her nervous, when he wanted to put her at ease. He wasn’t even trying to pick her up. She just seemed in need of attention and kind words.

“I’m thirty,” she whispered, her tone almost ashamed.

“A pretty face, a killer body, and an experienced woman. You’re the perfect package.” Of course, he needed to tone his compliments down. The more he showered her with them, the more her eyes lit up in interest. One thing he refused to do was move in on another man’s territory. Before she got the wrong idea, he finished his drink and stood, then held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, but I need to get going.”

Her face crumpled, but she nodded, accepting his hand in a tentative shake.

“Who the fuck are you?” a male voice boomed over his shoulder.

Johnnie noticed the girl shrank back a little and he glanced over his shoulder to find a hulking man, glaring at him. He turned, hoping to diffuse the situation. “Just someone keeping your girl company until you arrived, man.”

“I don’t appreciate pretty, rich boys thinking they can move in on my territory.”

“It wasn’t like that, baby,” she squeaked, panicked. “I bumped into him and we just struck up a conversation. He was just leaving.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said in return, “but I’ll deal with you later. As for you,” he said to Johnnie, “get the fuck out of my face before I slam you into tomorrow.”

“Come again,” Johnnie said, incredulous, his temper flaring. No way, no how would he stand for any motherfucker talking to him the way this asshole was talking to him. He’d kill him first.

“You heard me, boy. Now get the fuck out of my face.”

Rage swept Johnnie’s reason away. Lately, it was harder and harder to keep the anger away and he didn’t need an asshole grating on his nerves and pulling it up. Instead of leaving—like he would come to realize would’ve been the prudent choice—he shoved the brute and head butted his nose, the spray of blood feeding the darker side of him. Before he recovered, Johnnie punched him in the throat, the girl’s scream bringing his sanity back. The man lay wheezing on the floor.

“Sorry,” Johnnie said to the girl, exhausted to his soul. He backed away, not trusting himself and not knowing exactly who he was so angry with. Grandda, yes. And himself for almost always bowing to the man’s pressure. Stumbling away, he hurried outside into the bracing night air, pulling his shirt collar up and deciding to walk to clear his head, which he’d been trying to do by coming to the bar.

His firm decision to go to a nearby college had liberated him. Only for a bit. His first semester he’d worked to pay his tuition because Grandda had been determined he go away. Johnnie had held firm, so from the second semester on, Grandda had covered his tuition.

It was like making a deal with the devil. Grandda was relentless, drilling him about his grades, his image, and Johnnie’s loyalty to
him.
Grandda did his best to keep him weighted down with responsibilities so he wouldn’t get to the MC on weekends.
Mostly, visiting Grandda because the man claimed a deep loneliness in the year since Gran’s death and handing over the reins of the club to Big Joe.

Christopher damned near lived at the clubhouse now, although he wasn’t a full patch member yet. Big Joe had taken a shine to his cousin and what the man, now known as Boss, said, no one questioned. Boss was a law unto himself and, unlike Grandda, he let everyone know it.

That, Johnnie supposed, was the most infuriating. Grandda’s standing in the community was the complete opposite from the sometimes ruthlessness he displayed behind the scenes. And he wanted Johnnie to be the same hypocritical way, share the same narrow-minded views he did.

Sometimes, he
hated
Grandda and that fact was what made Johnnie angriest. It made him want to kill and howl and rage. Growing up, viewing the world with the eyes of a man, was the hardest and most heartbreaking. It stole away a child’s innocence and made him realize his hero-worship had been misplaced. Grandda was a controlling, manipulative, mean-spirited
bugfuck
. Not to mention homophobic, racist, and so sexist it stretched into misogyny.

Footsteps crunched behind him and Johnnie paused, glancing over his shoulder. The street lights revealed the overgrown hulk from the bar. “I suggest you turn the fuck around and leave me the fuck alone,” he called, starting forward again.

“Fuck you, asshole. You want to sneak an attack in on me. I’m going to make you fucking pay. Embarrassing me in front of my girl.”

“Go pay attention to your girl, motherfucker, instead of courting your own fucking death.”

Not that he’d ever killed. But Johnnie had the ability to do it. He knew he did. He couldn’t have so much bloodlust and rage in him without being able to end someone’s life with no compunction.

He was yanked back and before the man got a good hold on him, Johnnie elbowed him in the chest, earning his freedom. This time, though, there was no girl to scream and pull him back. There were no witnesses. No filter to his overloaded brain.

He only stopped when the man lay on the ground, at Johnnie’s feet, unmoving. Blood ran from his nose, his mouth, and his ears. His eyes. And Johnnie knew before he knelt down and felt for a pulse, he stared at a dead man. Murdered with his bare hands.

His stomach turned and he leaned over, unable to pull his expensive loafers back before the vomit hit the ground. He fell on his ass and stared at the man before hanging his head in his hands, realizing he was crying when he felt the wetness on his fingers.

What…? Jesus, he’d killed someone. He’d…Grandda had created monsters in him and Christopher, using different techniques but with stunning completeness.

Grandda? No, John Boy. Not his grandfather. His grandfather might’ve been at the heart of Johnnie’s rage but he hadn’t made him beat a man to death.

Johnnie swallowed and swiped at his tears, not knowing what to do. He was just a hanger-on at the club, so the brothers wouldn’t help him. His life was over. The murder would be discovered and he’d be arrested.

His fingers shaking, he pulled out his cellphone, wishing like hell he’d walked away earlier or not taken such a little used pathway where his shoe prints could be tracked in the snow. He dialed Christopher’s number, not sure what he’d say to his cousin. Not sure what his cousin would say to
him
.

“Yo’, John Boy?” Christopher answered, yelling over the noise in the background. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I killed him, Christopher,” he croaked.

“Johnnie, you there?” Christopher growled in frustration. “Get the fuck away from me, bitch. Hold on a minute, Johnnie.”

He’d hold on the rest of his life, but it didn’t take long for the background to fall silent.

“What’s up, John Boy?”

“I-I k-killed h-him, Christopher.” His voice broke. “He’s dead. I beat him to death. I killed a man with my hands.”

“Fuck me. Where the fuck you at?”

Johnnie looked around and shrugged, like Christopher was there to see him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Christopher chanted. “I can’t fuckin’ help you if I don’t know where the fuck to find you.”

“He’s dead, Christopher.”

“Ain’t nothin’ but a thing,” Christopher barked. “But your ass is fucked if I don’t get there, so snap the fuck out of it NOW.”

By a miracle, he pushed out his location and disconnected the call.

Ten minutes later, the roar of a motorcycle barely breached Johnnie’s shock, He saw Christopher rushing to him, along with a young Black guy and another guy Johnnie didn’t know.

“Lucas, Matthew, get rid of this dumb fuck,” Christopher ordered, crouching down and staring at Johnnie. He dug in his cut with the word Probate on it and pulled out a small bottle. “Drink this.”

Johnnie’s hands shook too bad. Besides, his own blood and the dead man’s blood stained them.

“Fuck.” Christopher shoved the bottle to his mouth. “Drink, motherfucker.”

Obeying because his brain wouldn’t allow him to do anything else, Johnnie swallowed every drop.

“Now fuckin’ look at me and tell me what the fuck happened.”

With slow precision, Johnnie repeated the events of the evening.