Guilty fuckheads acted like guilty assfucks.
Sitting at the bar, listening to his daughter, Christopher experienced a range of emotions. He wanted to fucking kill motherfucking Kaia, but that would blow his itchy fucking lopsided cover. His jumpsuit had been padded just as he’d asked Edie, but the motherfucker had increased by three or four fucking sizes. It didn’t fit his upper body, so they’d rounded up some pillows and taped to him. Not a fucking even number because they ran out of time and they needed time to make his fucking beard stick to his goddamn face.
The itchy motherfucker survived the ride over, aided by a helmet, but he was still fucking bigger on the right sideof his body.
Then, motherfucking Grant suggested the dark sunglasses, which cloudedeveryfucking thing in the dim restaurant.
Next time he saw Joan Harrington, he’d tell her to get brighter overhead lighting. Those little ass lanterns on each table didn’t cut it. He didn’t give a fuck if it was for Valentine’s Day ambience.
He was fucking starving and irritated as a motherfucker. He wasn’t sure why the fuck D. Elliot had taken so fucking long to bring fucking bread and fish rings, goddamn it.Andhe’d been so fucking busy listening to that little fucking bitch motherfucker try to seduce his daughter, he hadn’t even tracked Megan. If there was a problem, the guys would alert him, but still, as things were going, he wouldn’t get home until after midnight.
Even worse, if she picked up Rebel, she might spot him or his Harley.
No. Fuck no. That wouldn’t happen. His ass was nice and puffy. His face was covered and his body was unevenly padded.
Besides, Bishop, Narci, Potter, and Torrin would get him, CJ, Rory, Ryan, Grant, and Diesel out before Megan spotted them.
He tried not to think about how much fucking trouble he was in. Megan was both hurt and pissed, and that wasn’t a good combination. If she hadn’t been pressed for time earlier, she would’ve fucked him up. To think, he’d thrown in her face how much he paid for her outfit.
Purposely, so he wouldn’t say fuck it, and let their daughter go on her date without him. He’d thought creating an argument would help. After she’d gone out of her way for his gifts.
Still…Rebelneeded his protection.Meganmight’ve been okay with allowing her to go on a date. He wasn’t. It didn’t matter how old Rebel was, he intended to protect her for as long as he had breath in his body.
Megan once told him that Big Joe had reserved a special song for the two of them,Butterfly Kissesby Bob Carlisle. He’d intended that to be their father/daughter dance at her wedding.
Once Christopher listened to it, he’d decided to adopt it for his and Rebel’s song at her sixteenth birthday. Life was so fucking uncertain. Heintendedto be alive at his daughter’s wedding, but then again he was almost certain Big Joe had thought the same thing.
Now, as Christopher watched his princess on her first date, he felt a bittersweet tug at his heart. She’d grown up so fucking fast. Nevertheless, she was ignorant of the ways of motherfuckers. He didn’t know if Kaia truly liked her or just saw her as another girl to score with.
Over that motherfucker’s dead, dickless, headless fucking body.
Megan had been acting so strange lately, though. She might’ve knocked Christopher over the head with a fucking chair if he confessed that he was brushing off their longstanding date to spy on Rebel.
Fuck. Megan looked so fucking gorgeous in her sequined fern embroidered dress. It cost a fucking mint but she was worth every cent. He’d imagined unzipping it slowly and uncovering her beautiful fucking skin inch by inch.
Rebel’s laughter floated through his earpiece, and Christopher glanced at his phone. He couldn’t see her since she wore the necklace but Kaia’s face lit up in pleasure.
“What are you giggling at, beautiful?”
Christopher rolled his eyes. Somebody needed to educate that motherfucker on how to talk to fucking girls. Even Axel had better fucking game. If his boyseveruttered some of Kaia’s fucking lines, Christopher would lock them in a fucking room and hang his fucking head in shame.
“Tell me, Reb,” Kaia coaxed. “Even though your laughter is like the dew dripping from a blade of grass and your lips are like the ripest strawberries.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ryan muttered, their sound man in this operation.
“You could be a poet, Kaia,” Rebel said.
“Fucking emo,” Diesel growled.
“That corny motherfucker?” Rory said, the little old handyman in their group. “He can’t even be a fucking gigolo with shit like that.”
Christopher snatched his bottle of beer and sipped, glancing at his phone. Kaia was staring at Rebel like a moon-eyed motherfucker. Christopher suspected he reallywassmitten with her, but he was nineteen with the fucking brain of a twelve-year-old from the fucking Ozarks. Still,he was nineteenand expected girls to pay for him. He didn’t even have the balls to work to buy a fucking Harley.
Pussy.
“Your blonde hair is like golden silk spun from the richest spider. Your eyes remind me ofAladdin’s genie. Your skin could’ve been picked from a nectarine tree.”
Rebel giggled; Christopher squeezed the neck of his bottle so fiercely, it cracked.
