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“This is what we gonna do,” Christopher said, pulling Johnnie to his feet and coming to his own. “Call fuckin’ Logan and I’m gonna call Big Joe. Tell him me and you was out and tell him this dumb fuck…tell him the fuckin’ story you told me. Just take your fuckin’ name out of it and put mine in where all the fuckin’ up comes in.”

“Witnesses,” he said, although it was dawning on him this was the least of his problems. And as big as this situation was, that said a lot.

“We got that covered,” Christopher murmured with certainty, squeezing Johnnie’s shoulder. “Hopefully the bitch still there. I’d bet my fuckin’ life dumb fuck was mean to her. I’m gonna take her back to the clubhouse and get her in my bed. Give her a few drinks. By the time, I’m finished with her, she won’t remember a fuckin’ thing.”

“Jesus.” Johnnie scrubbed his hand over his face. “You’re…you’re going to kill her?”

“Ain’t you fuckin’ listenin’ to me?” Christopher said impatiently. “I’m gonna take her back to the clubhouse, give her pussy a good licking, then fuck, and then drug her.” He shrugged. “Can’t stomach the thought of drugging a bitch to fuck her. That’s kinda like rape, so I’m gonna let us fuck on her free will.”

“And if she’s gone? Or if she doesn’t agree? Or—“

Christopher grabbed the lapels of his coat. “Listen, bugfuck. Ain’t got fuckin’ time for twenty fuckin’ questions. We got a fuckin’ corpse on our hands that we gotta disappear and he ain’t had fuck all against the Dwellers. That shit fuckin’ murder, straight the fuck up, John Boy. And, personally, I’d prefer not to get fuckin’ caught cuz now I’m a fuckin’ accessory to
your
bullshit cuz instead of knockin’ the fuck outta Logan years ago, you have all this fuckin’ anger in you that you gotta take out on other stupid fuckheads.”

Johnnie’s eyes widened and he wondered if he was so transparent with his feelings.

“Killin’ a man ain’t a easy thing to do, John Boy,” Christopher said quietly. “But I ain’t got no soul, so I don't give a fuck. Don’t believe in God cuz he deserted me when I was born. He sent me to Logan. No God of mine would do that. Lucifer? Yeah. God? No.”

Johnnie backed away as the other two guys came up, blowing from exertion.

“Got him loaded up in the truck, Outlaw,” the Black guy said.

“Outlaw?” Johnnie echoed. “Who’s Outlaw?”

“That’d be me, John Boy,” Christopher said, his nostrils flaring. “Since you was fuckin’ shell shocked when I arrived, this is Lucas.” He pointed to the Black guy, then nodded to the other dude. “And that’s Matthew.”

Johnnie nodded to them and Christopher smirked.

“I think I’m gonna start callin’ you three motherfuckers disciples. Luke, Matthew, and John.”

“There was a Saint Christopher, too, you know?” Lucas said, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his laughter.

Christopher shrugged. “What the fuck ever. I can go down a list of men with the names of saints that’s associated with the club. Instead of the Death Dwellers, we need to be called the Disciples.”

“Don’t, Christopher,” Johnnie began.

Christopher raised his head. “Shut the fuck up, John Boy. I’m a grown ass man, so I say what the fuck I want. I don’t need to get into a spiritual debate with you, especially right now when I’m one fuckin’ step away from bein’ sent the fuck to prison and havin’ to guard my asshole for a good, many years cuz I went and fucked up and killed a stupid motherfucker for mouthin’ off in front of some bitch.”

The four of them glanced between each other, realizing Christopher had just assumed responsibility for Johnnie’s crimes without the blink of an eye.

“Speakin’ of the bitch, I better go try to get her pussy. I hope the fuck she still there. One of you call Boss. Johnnie get Logan the fuck down here. Tell him to bring a bunch of bills cuz if he don’t you goin’ to jail as an accessory to my crime.”

“He’s going to want your blood,” Johnnie said, feeling less than a man and lower than dirt.

“As if I give a fuck. Motherfucker always been wantin’ my fuckin’ blood, so that shit ain’t fuckin’ new, John Boy. But you? He dotes on you. We can’t have him change that.”

Turning on his heel, Christopher started off.

“Christopher,” Johnnie called, halting him. “I can’t…you’re not a martyr.”

Christopher spun back around and narrowed his eyes. “Boo fuckin’ hoo hoo. I’m cryin’ all over the fuckin’ place, moanin’ about my plight.”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean you’re sacrificing you’re…you always push me away because you want better for me, take the blame for me so Grandda won’t look at me different. That’s martyrdom.”

“No, bugfuck,” Christopher said impatiently. “That’s fuckin’ family. You think I’d do this shit for any motherfucker? You gotta be stupid, John Boy. Me and you, we kinda went our separate ways for a while but you ain’t ever stopped bein’ like a brother to me. Ain’t many motherfuckers I’d die for. Ma and Zoann. You and Big Joe. That’s fuckin’ it. My other cunt sisters can go fuck themselves on a fuckin’ railroad track with a big fuckin’ freight train comin’. Well, maybe, not Ophelia, since she only ten. But Avery, Nia, and Bev? Definitely. Now, I gotta fuckin’ go, so would you shut the fuck up?”

He couldn’t. He needed to talk, needed to confess, understand. “Killing that man gave me a rush. A feeling of power.”

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t fuckin’ know cuz when it all came down to it, you liked it.”

Slow and hesitant, Johnnie nodded.

“Luke, go make sure that body covered up, then take Matt back to the bar. If you see a bitch with big tits, a big ass, brown hair, and a wide mouth, go talk to her ‘til I get there. Cuz, obviously, bugfuck here gotta purge his soul.”

After the two men left and Christopher had lit cigarettes for them, Johnnie hung his head.

“Why, Christopher?”

He didn’t even know what the fuck he was questioning.

“A zillion fuckin’ whys exist in the world, John Boy. I hardly ever know the fuckin’ answer to one why.”

In silence, then took drags on their cigarettes, the smoke floating in the crisp air, evaporating into nothingness.

“You got some hard fuckin’ choices to make,” Christopher began, tipping his head back and blowing more smoke in the air. “You can’t go around killin’ motherfuckers for being idiots. With all the stupid fuckheads in the world, you’d be killin’ at least once a day.”

“I know.”

“And you can’t patch-in thinkin’ you can kill random fucks. You fuck with us and you don’t straighten it the fuck out, then you got problems. Otherwise, we leave civilians the fuck alone.”

He knew that, too.

“You gotta decide who and what you are. Logan’s grandson. My cousin. Or your own man.”

“I am my own—“

“I hate to be the fuckin’ bearer of news you seem oblivious to, but no the fuck you ain’t. When you with me, you like me and wanna please me. When you with Logan, you wanna make that fuckhead happy. Who’s you?”

Unable to answer because he had no clue, John kept quiet.

Christopher flicked his cigarette away. “If this help any, I ain’t ever gonna give a fuck who you are. You’ll always be my family. You wanna patch in? Fine, but do it for you. Not for me cuz if you need to back away from me and live your life in the mainstream, my doors’ll always be open to you. Got me? But Logan? Not so much. He gonna make you choose and that ain’t gonna be easy.”

Johnnie wasn’t so sure about that, but Christopher was right. He needed to think this through on his own and decide, once and for all, who he was. Who he wanted to be.

“Now, call Logan, bugfuck. Don’t give him no reason not to help you right now cuz he a mean motherfucker and he’ll see you locked away himself if you fuckin’ cross him.”

A frown creased Johnnie’s brow. “I’ll just be further indebted to him.”

“Just make the fuckin’ call and stop bein’ a whiny motherfucker. All we gotta do is get that motherfucker to set things straight tonight. Once Big Joe get in it, Logan ain’t gonna do shit. I don’t know what the fuck Boss got over Logan’s head, but that’s one motherfucker he don’t fuck with. He ain’t even had him killed to get him the fuck out the way. Whatever it is, I wish the fuck I knew cuz Logan would eat twenty yards of donkey shit if Boss told him to. What I wouldn’t fuckin’ give to have that power over that evil bastard.”

Chapter 23

Lucas “Mortician” Banks stared at the second-floor door of the four-level condominium building, knowing he shouldn’t fucking be here, but unable to stay away. One day until Outlaw and Meggie returned home, which meant they had
one motherfucking day
to get Lowman the fuck away. Personally, Mortician preferred to
blow
him the fuck away, but he doubted John Boy would go for it. No matter what the motherfucker said, he had some fucked-up loyalty to the deranged old fucker. Otherwise, John Boy would’ve taken care of him years ago and this fucking ghoul from the past wouldn’t be haunting the fuck out of them right now.

Mortician leaned his head against the door. Bailey was the last fucking person on the face of the earth he should be seeking out. But, fuck, it was mid-morning and he just needed…a break. When things were good, they were very good. But goodness went to fucking shit so quick. And, when shit was bad, it was fucking ferocious. Being fucking blindsided from every which way.

It didn’t fucking help Outlaw was gone. That motherfucker had no filter
for anything
. By now, the meat shack would be stacked with the corpses of dumb fucks from the Torpedoes. With Lowman, though…Mortician didn’t like the thought of continuing the lie. He understood why it had to be done, but, if Outlaw ever accidentally found out Lowman was alive and…and all the other fucky shit associated with that fucking demon…he’d be devastated. Outlaw thought they all had his back and that meant honesty. He trusted them with everything—his life and his family.

On the other hand, Mortician had his own bullshit that hurt him to his bones and he wished he’d had motherfuckers who cared enough about him to protect him. It wasn’t until he met Outlaw that he’d had somebody who gave a fuck whether he lived or died.

Hearing movement on the other side of the thin door, Mortician pressed his ear against the wood.
Bailey.

He understood why Outlaw worshipped Meggie so much. When all the bullshit was going on, girls not in the life offered normalcy. And young bitches had a sweet innocence that had the ability to wash away the dirty fucking lifestyles Mortician, and men like him, lived. After meeting Bailey at Meggie’s wedding shower, he’d thought he’d forget her if he just fucked enough bitches and had his dick sucked enough times. No matter what—or who—he did, though, her gorgeous eyes and wealth of black hair haunted him.

After a while, he’d just said fuck it and made peace with the fact he’d pretend every bitch who put her mouth, pussy, hand, or ass on his dick was Bailey. Then it was just his fucked-up luck to have bodyguard duties with Meggie on the day she and Bailey were hanging out.

He’d gotten over his shock long enough to pretend he didn’t remember her name. He’d ignored the slight hurt in her eyes when he’d told her that bullshit. But, then, she’d called him the next day and admitted she’d
borrowed
his number from his phone.

Logic told him to brush her off. Humiliate her. Tell her he didn’t need a bitch sweating his dick. He just hadn’t been able to do it. For a while, shit had gotten out of hand. She’d started calling him every damn day for almost a month, until he’d snapped to his senses. Somewhat.

He’d started not answering her calls instead of telling her straight-up not to call. That shit lasted a week, before he’d given in and answered her. Until several days ago, the night of the fight with K-P, they’d spoken several times a week but he’d never made arrangements to visit her.

And now this. A drop in after he hadn’t talked to her since that night.

Mortician scratched his chin, hesitating to knock but still needing that break. He knew things were about to amp up to make it seem like there’d been nothing but good fucking times and happy fucking smiles while Outlaw was gone.

Mortician wouldn’t pressure John Boy to get things in place. Motherfucker knew his shit. Besides, Mortician was grateful that red-haired bitch had come back. Despite the bullshit
she
brought with her. John Boy needed a good woman at his side. Brother had had his dick aimed at Meggie’s pussy for so long, he hadn’t even been as outraged as Mortician thought he would be—should be—when he’d suggested John Boy take Meggie somewhere and fuck her when she and Outlaw got back.

So let John Boy fuck Kendall as much as he needed, spend as much time as he needed with her and have a chance to heal from his feelings for Meggie…
move
on. With motherfuckers seeping out of their pasts like fucking
Poltergeist,
the club didn’t need a fucking love triangle added to the mix.

A phone rang on the other side of the door and curiosity knocked through him. He wondered how many other motherfuckers called Bailey. Not that it mattered, of course.

Mortician sighed.
Fuck
, he was there now. He might as well go inside, see what was up. She hadn’t been calling him—just as he’d ordered her—and he wanted to know who the fuck she
had
been talking to. Raising his hand, he knocked on her door, hearing a faint, “hold on a sec,” a moment later.

The sound of her voice made his heart speed up and his dick harden.

A moment later, she swung the door open. Her eyes widened when she saw him, then her pretty pink lips broke into a smile. She wore a short robe, the sash tight around her small waist. Her hair hung around her and her face looked fresh and clean.

“Lucas?” she breathed, stepping aside, a silent invitation to walk into her house.

Get into her bed.

Color swept into her cheeks as if she’d read his mind. He needed to turn his ass around and get the fuck away from her before he did something really,
really
stupid. It was too early in the fucking morning to stir the pot a little more than it already was.

“You just getting up?”

“About twenty minutes. Long enough to brush my teeth and comb my hair.”