“Did you contact Bash beforehand?” Mom asked.
She looked hurt to her soul and worn out. Rory hated his father a little more. The opposing feelings overwhelmed and confused him.
“I didn’t, Mom.”
Hope entered her eyes. “Johnnie arranged this?”
“Please,” Rory said, sharp disapproval ringing in his words. “You know better.”
Uncle Mort studied him. Lit a cigarette andstillkept his gaze on Rory. Took a few drags. He held out his pack of cigarettes to Rory. “Prez gonna wanna know how Bash got a request from you.”
Rory lit the cigarette he’d taken from Uncle Mort’s pack. “Itcould’vebeen from Dad.”
“Refer to the previous statement you gave your mama, little dude,” Uncle Mort said.
“Son?”
Puffing on his cigarette, then taking it between his two fingers, Rory lowered his gaze. “If I don’t tell, Uncle Christopher won’t help her?”
“We’ll get her before we head back to the club,” Mom said briskly.
Relief flowed through Rory and he looked at his mother, smiling. Her hair blanketed her shoulders, her updo ruined during her fight with Dad. She’d worn her contacts again today. Otherwise, her glasses would’ve been in danger of damage. Rory still couldn’t believe that motherfucker shoved Mom.
“Yougoing back to the club, Red.” Uncle Mort eyed Rory. “Not too sure if I should send you with her. I’ll ask Prez when I call him.”
“She might need a woman there,” Mom argued. “God only knows what those assholes did to her.”
“Ifits Molly.”
Uncle Mort’s harsh words burst Rory’s bubble.
“Wh-what do you mean, Uncle Mort?”
“It could be a set-up, Rory,” he responded. “Motherfuckers laying in wait. Or—” He drew in a harsh breath. “It could be her body.”
Mom and Rory gasped. He hadn’t thought of that possibility.
Dullness dropped into Mom’s expression; she wilted. Nodded.
“We escorting you back to the club,” Uncle Mort said. “Can’t trust Bash not to try some shit. By the time we arrive, Prez will decide what to do.”
Standing in the conference room once he watched Bash leave Kendall’s office in one camera frame, then hop on his bike and ride away in another, Christopher glanced around, annoyed to fuck that he’d spent two goddamn hours watching Mort and Val in the waiting room, barely opening their goddamn mouths.
He really didn’t have the motherfucking attention span for that level of non-communication.
Now, Kendall had her meeting and Christopher was still fucking clueless.
Growling, he thrust his fingers through the hair on the top of his head. He considered watching that fucked-up video again.He wanted to really listen to the part about Ma. Something was niggling at him. About him. About Zoann.
Fuck. He just needed to accept Ma was…whoever. Flawed and fucked up but scarred. If she’d sought revenge, it didn’t fit the woman he remembered. But, fuck, he hadn’t known she’d married Cee Cee.
He was used to motherfuckers who showed their real selves. Good or fucking bad. But Ma? He didn’t know what the fuck to think.
Christopher drew in a breath. It was Sunday. He should’ve been home with Megan and their kids, basking in her love and forgiveness. But he couldn’t let Kendall face Bash on her own.
He’d considered going there, then changed his mind. Whatever answers she wanted, she might not get if Bash saw him. He hoped like fuck Johnnie behaved. Christopher wouldn’t have been able to listen to that whiny motherfucker without shooting the fuck out of him.
Without warning his door opened and he frowned, ready to blast the intruder. It was Ophelia, looking the fucking worse for wear. She’d definitely seen better days.
