“Fuck you. Get the fuck out my goddamn face before I shoot the fuck outta you. You ain’t here for no other motherfuckin’ reason than Bash.”
Raising her hands, she paled.
When Val and Stretch flanked him, and Mort stopped next to her, she trembled.
“I’m not bugged. I swear.”
“Fuck you,” he spat again.
“Please, I am here about Bash, not for him.”
“Ain’t given’ a good fuck. There ain’t a bitch here to strip search you, so you gettin’ the fuck out.”
Before she responded, Cash motherfucking McCall, swaggered his fucking ass in, and Christopher saw red, nearly knocking Celia off her feet and swerving through tables to get to him. Axel and Megan’s words blurred in Christopher’s head, rage and pain and fear converging into punch after fucking punch and kick after fucking kick. He would’ve stomped that motherfucker’s head in, if Stretch’s pleas hadn’t broke throughhis fury at the same time Mortician and Val dragged him away from that unconscious, bloodied assfuck.
His breath sawing in and out of his lungs, Christopher stood over Cash, not caring that Stretch pulled him into his arms, sobbing.
What aboutMegan’sfucking sobs? What about her pain and fear?
What about–
“Uh, Dad?” CJ called. “You, uh, you might want to turn around.”
Ready to shoot the fuck out of Celia and pulling his .9mm as he spun around, he paused and his mouth fell open.
She’d climbed onto the bar.
Stark fucking naked.
Storming to her, Christopher glared away two motherfuckers. The moment the assfucks jumped from the stools, he stepped closer to the bar and snatched Celia down. Her trembles didn’t move him. Why the fuck was she shaking any goddamn way? He didn’t fucking force her to strip.
He set her on her feet and released her. “Put your motherfuckin’ clothes on. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You know her, Outlaw?” Val asked.
“This my sister,” he growled, annoyed at his fucking annoyance toward the fuckheads ogling her. He didn’t trust that bitch, so it shouldn’t fucking matter who the fuck looked at her pussy. Frustrated to fucking hell, he grabbed her arm and marched her behind the bar, discovering her scattered clothes. “Dress right fuckin’ now.”
He stomped away, surprised steam wasn’t coming out of his fucking ears.
Her sniffles competed with Stretch’s sobs. He still cradled Cash on the floor. The sight took Christopher back to anothertime and place, when a bunch of fuckheads killed Stretch’s boyfriend and almost killed him.
“Huck, Torrin, help Stretch get Cash to one of the rooms.”
“Maybe we should have an infirmary, Dad,” Ryder suggested.
A green tint marred the chalkiness of Ransom’s face. The little motherfucker must’ve been reliving Nyx’s death. Most of the motherfuckers in the common room tracked Huck and Torrin carrying Cash’s limp body with Stretch stumbling behind.
Christopher’s stomach growled, the sound like an angry dog.
“I’m hungry too, Dad,” CJ told him, not the bright, happy kid he’d been before Christopher dragged him into club life.
“Don’t beat me.” Celia’s quiet words startled Christopher and drew his attention away from his son. She gripped her boots in one hand. “I-I just wanted to prove I wasn’t wired or strapped.”
“What the fuck you want?” he roared, not caring that she jumped, angry with the fucking world.
He wanted his goddamn wife back.
“Bash. Alive,” she said in a shaky voice. “He’s meeting with Kendall Donovan. She…she moved it to Wednesday. I didn’t know they were meeting at all. I tried to contact him to beg him to reconsider because it might be a setup, but I couldn’t get through.”
