“Why you mad at me?” Digger yelled, hopping to his feet and dusting his butt off.
Mortician glared at Digger.
“Fine, Mort,” he said, and stormed out of the club withoutlooking back.
CJ, Ransom, Ryder, and Axel came to her, while Mortician went to Narci and began a low conversation with him. Potter loped from behind the bar, lifted an unconscious Nyx into his arms and disappeared through the archway that led to the rooms.
Ransom studied her. “Mom, you know how to punch like a dude?”
His uncertainty left her empty.
“Come on, Mom.” CJ guided her to Christopher’s table. “Let me get you a little peroxide to clean up your hand.”
Axel threw his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “You’re so cool, Mom! That was awesome.”
Ryder nodded. “Mad respect. You used to fight girls in school?” he asked as Mortician came to the table.
Meggie shook her head. “I used to fight men.” Thomas. Cee Cee. Spoon. All life and death situations that left her with no choice.
Her boys gaped at her, and the need to cry rose in her again.
CJ hurried from behind the bar. Once he reached her, he knelt in front of her and hugged her. “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t know what happened, but Dad will handle it.”
Meggie returned her son’s hug, drew in a deep breath, and pulled away. “He doesn’t need to know right now.” She looked at Mortician. “Talk to Nyx. Tell her that her life depends on how much sense she can find. If it happens again, I’m telling Christopher to take care of her. Am I clear?”
Mortician nodded. “Yeah, Meggie girl. I’ll make her understand.”
CJ poured peroxide onto gauze, took her hand in his, and tended to her knuckles.
The silence lasted a couple of minutes.
“Mom, when you say take care of her, do you mean like normal?” Ransom asked. “Like make her leave?”
“Or do you mean the way the Blonde Viper would?” Ryder added. “Like—” He slid his finger across his throat. “That type?”
“That’s exactly—”
“Wait, Mom!” Axel slapped his hand over her mouth. “Evidence. We don’t want you charged with meditation murder.”
“Pre-meditated, big head,” CJ said, standing again.
The door opened and the absolute silence told Meggie Christopher had arrived, even before he walked to the table, anger furrowing his brow.
“Break a nail, Megan?” Johnnie chuckled at his own lameness. “That’s why the boys are surrounding you?”
Christopher sat in his seat and glared from Johnnie to her. Behind him, Digger smirked, back because he was SAA and Christopher had arrived.
Potter almost ran into the main room, hurried behind the bar, and grabbed a setup. Blowing like an out-of-shape runner, he brought the bucket of beers to the table and sat it in front of Christopher, who still looked ready to spit bullets.
Meggie sighed. “I can explain—”
“Fuck, Johnnie bruh, where you found this Channing lookalike?” Digger said, prompting her to turn and look.
Sure enough, a dead ringer for Channing Tatum swaggered her way. Dressed in suit and tie, he was tall and beefy. The expensive material of his trousers stretched over his muscled thighs. He headed to her and held out his head.
“You’re Megan Caldwell?”
Nodding, Meggie accepted his hand and shook, then pulled her hand away. Her damaged handremained in her lap, out of sight. “You’re at a disadvantage. You know me, but I don’t know you.”
