He rose to his feet and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the inside of his vest pocket. "I don't have what you call a girlfriend," he began after lighting it and taking a drag. "Second, if you ever act like such a psycho b.i.t.c.h, I'm gonna strip you to nothin', lay you over my lap, and beat your bare a.s.s."

She glowered at him. He took another drag of his cigarette, unaffected.

"Next, Ellen ain't had no business openin' her f.u.c.kin' trap about Boss." He threw an evil look at the woman, who flushed and looked away.

"My father-" She paused and the thought hovering in the back of her head broke free. She sucked in a breath and clutched her belly. "Young girls," she whispered and her voice shook. "My father." She swiped away the tears she couldn't stop and pressed down on her trembling lips, determined to control herself. She started over. "My father isn't like Thomas, is he? I-I mean the whole world looks at Big Joe and sees a biker. They don't even try to see the real him." She shuddered. "They look at Thomas and see a math teacher. A wholesome, all-American citizen. But...but he isn't. He's worse than my father could ever be. With Big Joe..." She swallowed, blinking rapidly. Thomas was vile, evil, the very bottom of humanity, preying on the weakness of women and children, a sociopath, who didn't penetrate her because of her mother's one stand against him, her refusal to put Meggie on any sort of birth control. He'd still hurt her, humiliated her, and held her down to exercise his will. Her father couldn't have been that man. He just couldn't have been. "With my father, what you see is what you get. He isn't...my father wouldn't-"

Megan saw everyone shift uncomfortably and exchange meaningful glances before all the attention converged and focused on her. She felt their feelings like a heavy hand pressing into her.

Christopher stared at her in brooding silence, smoking his cigarette. When he finished, he walked to the bar and tamped it out into an ashtray. He released the last bit of smoke.

"s.h.i.t, Megan." He leaned on the bar and thrust his hands through his hair. "s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t."

Another more horrifying thought occurred to her. Until then, she'd been too stupid to put the pieces together. "Christopher," she breathed, shaking her head in denial. "Why are you in his office? Why do you wear the president's vest?"

"Cut," he inserted.

"Cut?" she echoed.

He nodded, holding her gaze, his own guarded. "The vests are called cuts." He rubbed the back of his neck, then scratched his jaw. "f.u.c.k, Megan. f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k."

And, suddenly, she knew. Dread and horror pitched through her and she rose to her feet, everything in slow motion. "He isn't coming back, is he?"

No one moved or said a word.

She barreled to Christopher and jabbed a finger in his chest. "He's gone, isn't he?"

Chapter 9.

How the f.u.c.k was he supposed to answer the desperate plea in Megan's voice? Her beautiful eyes filled with anger, fear, and dawning grief. Tears spiked her long lashes and disbelief parted her lips, her cheeks flushed with all the emotions rushing in her.

He felt like choking the s.h.i.t out of Ellen. The stupid wh.o.r.e had gone too f.u.c.king far this time. Her words, as much as her f.u.c.ked-up display that led Megan down this path, p.i.s.sed him the f.u.c.k off. His part in this entire f.u.c.ked-up affair saved Ellen's f.u.c.king a.s.s.

He wanted to forget Zoann's words, but they'd opened up old wounds. As determined as he was to keep his hands off Megan before speaking to his sister, he'd doubled his determination afterwards.

His brain told him he made the right decision. His d.i.c.k, however, had different ideas and wanted to f.u.c.k Megan with as much determination as Christopher wanted to resist her. Worse, she wanted him and wasn't making it easy for him to do the right thing by her when he'd hurt so many other people. When almost everyone else, outside of his brothers, saw him as a piece of s.h.i.t.

The thought chilled his blood, humiliating him with the freshness of Zoann's accusations. But, f.u.c.k him, if the way Megan looked at him didn't reach into his loneliness, make him feel as if she saw past the man the world saw. The killer that he was.

If Ellen's arrival hadn't interrupted him, Christopher would've kissed Megan and not stopped until he had her in his bed. She'd been f.u.c.king teasing and tempting him all evening. He hadn't expected Ellen or Kiera to cause problems. He'd f.u.c.ked other b.i.t.c.hes in the time he'd been f.u.c.king them.

He paced again, buying more time. Megan made him feel all sorts of new s.h.i.t. Maybe, because, she was innocence and s.e.x, a dangerous combination. He'd felt the sweet touch of her fingers in the corner of his mouth all the way to his b.a.l.l.s.

But he pretended he didn't give a f.u.c.k and kissed Ellen back, hugged Kiera and kissed her, too. And f.u.c.ked up more than anyone else. Because all he did was p.i.s.s Megan the f.u.c.k off. All it did was make him want her p.u.s.s.y more. Make him want her more.

Somehow, he had to convince her about Boss. What, he wasn't sure.

He glanced around the room, noting the sympathy in Digger's, Mortician's, and Val's faces. They were his friends. They must've recognized how different he treated Megan. He glared at Rack's smirk. The f.u.c.ker knew Christopher, too. He was older, had been a man he looked up to as much as Boss. He'd also recognize the difference in the way Christopher treated Megan. He was probably considering how to clue Megan in about her old man before Christopher blew him the f.u.c.k away.

Maybe, he should end this sick f.u.c.king game between them once and for all. Megan didn't have to worry anymore, though. The words Megan can't be touched was carved on Rack's fleshy, hairy back, a.s.suring Christopher the f.u.c.khead wouldn't bother Megan again. The wounds were superficial, but had made a f.u.c.king lasting impression. As had all the screaming when Christopher had poured rubbing alcohol over the fresh cuts. So, yeah, that motherf.u.c.ker carried all kinds of hate for Christopher.

He crouched in front of Megan. Might as well get the s.h.i.t out in the open. Well, part of it. Then, he could get her somewhere and away from him. Jesus, he had to. He wasn't for her. She wasn't cut out for this life. "Boss ain't comin' back, Megan. Ever."

A strangled gasp escaped her bloodless lips, her complexion turning sheet white. "No," she got out, a whisper-sob. "No." The tears slipping down her cheeks brightened her eyes and stripped away all her defenses, leaving behind pain and denial.

If Christopher could resurrect Boss, make him be the man he once was, he would. For Megan. Just to take away her heartache. That meant he might not be standing here, memorizing every feature of her perfect face. But who the f.u.c.k would miss him? Even Boss, in all his f.u.c.kuppedness, had people who'd loved him and needed him. Namely, his beautiful baby girl.

She blinked, a rapid movement of her eyelids. "He's dead." No question, just a blunt, heartbroken statement.

He nodded, determined to have that point clear. Gone to her might've meant something different than dead.

"How? When? How? What happened?"

Her trembling words shot straight to Christopher's heart.

"I don't know," he lied after a tense moment. Since he was confessing, he should tell all. But he couldn't bear to see her look turn to anything other than the one that made him feel like he owned the world. He'd send her away, but he wouldn't send her away hating him. "I wasn't there when he died, so I can't answer what happened last year. We comin' up onto the one year mark." Tomorrow.

"Where's he buried?" she asked around a pitiful sob.

He deflected the answer by giving her what she wanted, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. She buried her nose in his neck and cried so hard Christopher felt like a complete b.a.s.t.a.r.d, so unworthy of Megan he was glad he hadn't touched her.

He scooped Megan up and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He brought her to his room and got her into bed, holding her in his arms for a few minutes and thumbing her wet cheeks, caressing her soft hair. She stared at him out of liquid blue eyes, pleading for comfort, something he couldn't give her. Her flushed cheeks and parted lips told him what else she wanted from him, something he was fighting like a motherf.u.c.ker not to give her.

He got out of the bed and her entire body sagged, as if his rejection punched the last of her fight right the f.u.c.k out of her.

Pretending to ignore her, he slammed the door behind him and stalked to the bar, his d.i.c.k hard and heavy for her. The mood had changed since he and Megan first sat at the table several hours ago. In the short time he'd been gone only a handful of people remained. Ellen sucked on a bud before pa.s.sing it to Mortician. A filled shot gla.s.s sat in front of her amidst several empty ones. Mortician rested his forearms and elbows on the counter. She stood on the stool's footrest and leaned forward to whisper something in Mortician's ear. She laughed, a harsh, raw laugh Christopher never liked. Val was cleaning up the mess of broken gla.s.s and spilled beer Megan made, the table Christopher knocked over had been righted again and pushed to the corner. Her boots stood on the far end of the counter. So, maybe, he was wrong to get Megan the same boots he'd bought for the other two. He could only be thankful Ellen hadn't worn hers. Megan would've flipped.

He nodded to Digger, who was busy removing bottles from the other tables and near the pool table and dart board area. Kiera had disappeared altogether. At loose ends, Christopher headed for his office, allowing a crack in the door. He pulled out a fifth of vodka from his desk cabinet, along with his stash of Aunt Mary. Nothing like a little Herb and Al to get his mind off s.h.i.t.

After preparing everything and saving his s.h.i.t away, he leaned back. He alternated between taking hits and swallowing vodka. Tomorrow couldn't come and go soon enough for him. It was the day he'd had to make a split second decision to choose his life or Boss's. Christopher saw to it that everyone would be extra f.u.c.king busy. He'd stay extra busy as well. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to feel. And he didn't want to hurt.

He took another hit, unable to get Megan out of his head.

"Outlaw?" Ellen pushed the door open before Christopher answered.

Christopher swigged from the bottle, watching her advance with dispa.s.sion.

She stopped next to him and gave him a nervous smile. "Wanna f.u.c.k?"

Yeah, but not her. He slammed the bottle on his desk and unzipped his jeans to pull his c.o.c.k out. "Suck my d.i.c.k then get the f.u.c.k outta here."

She dropped to her knees and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the chair. Her tongue swirled around the head before she slurped half his d.i.c.k into her mouth. The tip hit her throat and he grunted, holding her head in place and thrusting hard, using her skills to release all his pent-up tension. It didn't take him long to come. Megan had him on edge and he either had to corrupt her or f.u.c.k other b.i.t.c.hes.

He jerked and held her head in place and made sure she swallowed every drop of his c.u.m before putting his c.o.c.k away and throwing back more of his vodka. Ellen sat back and stared at him. Her nipples pressed against her thin blouse and she pulled on them, her smile filled with promises.

"I wanna come, too," she said quietly.

He'd never seen nor heard such gentleness from Ellen before. She almost looked soft and Christopher glimpsed the girl she must've been before life f.u.c.ked over her. She wanted to be his old lady and she sensed how Christopher was responding to Megan. She'd wanted him for herself before Megan arrived, played her hand at every turn to push Kiera out of the threesome. He turned back to his desk.

"Whatever the f.u.c.k you have against Megan, the s.h.i.t stops. As long as she's here you be on your best f.u.c.kin' behavior."

Ellen shot to her feet and whirled around the desk to face him. "That p.i.s.sy little b.i.t.c.h shoved me."

"You wanna continue to be let in here, you'll get over it," Christopher warned. "You got me?"

Her eyes widened. "You like her," she spat. "Sitting in here, smoking like the fiend you are, all alone. That's how Boss started. You're him all over again."

Christopher shot to her and grabbed her by the throat, pinning her against the wall. "I told Megan I ain't no woman beater," he growled, his hand squeezing her slender neck. "Don't make me no f.u.c.kin' liar to her. Feel what I'm sayin', you stupid b.i.t.c.h?"

"Yes," she croaked.

"She's leavin', but, in the meantime, if you can't find it in your b.i.t.c.hy a.s.s to be nice to her, you deal with me. You're a supreme f.u.c.kin' b.i.t.c.h to Kiera, but she been around. She's used to b.i.t.c.hes like you. Megan ain't. She ain't been around you b.i.t.c.hes. Ain't had to put up with our world. If you don't do nothin' else in your f.u.c.ked up life, you should wanna help see this girl ain't hurt no more than she already been by all the f.u.c.kin' bulls.h.i.t." He shook her. "Which means, b.i.t.c.h, you breathe one f.u.c.kin' word to her that don't sit right with her and I'm f.u.c.kin' puttin' you out your G.o.dd.a.m.n misery." He shoved her away. "Understand?"

She swallowed and nodded.

"If you or any other motherf.u.c.ker likes breathin', then Megan better be left the f.u.c.k alone. She tell your a.s.s to jump. You ask her how f.u.c.kin' high."

"You-you do like her." Her words no longer held malice, just genuine shock. She stared at him, taking in the hard set of his features, looking at him as if she'd never seen him before.

"Outlaw?"

"Val," Christopher called. "C'mon, man. It's opened."

His Road Chief entered and paused when he saw Ellen.

"You headin' out with the hydrogrows?"

Val nodded. "Yeah. Should bring a nice buck. We killed it this growing season."

"Roll out then, brother."

Once he was alone again with Ellen, he nodded toward the door, just wanting to be alone. "If you want some fun, go give Mortician some p.u.s.s.y. He's been sweatin' you for f.u.c.kin' ever."

She frowned. "You think him and Digger would come with me to Ki's?"

Christopher shrugged. "Only way you know is if you ask. If Digger don't wanna go to Kiera with y'all, I promise you Mortician ain't gonna complain."

"What are you doing the rest of the evening?"

"Gettin' in my f.u.c.kin' bed." Next to Megan. He reminded himself not to get used to having her there.

As he watched Ellen leave his office, he told himself the sooner he got Megan Foy the f.u.c.k away from here, the better for all concerned.

Chapter 10.

A loud sound awakened Meggie, the next morning, and she blinked. Light streamed through the window and she realized morning had arrived. She wondered where Christopher was. Not that she cared. Nothing he did mattered to her. Two lamps were lit and the lone, unadorned window showed sunny skies. Groggy, Meggie recalled Christopher returning last night, not in the mood to talk to her. He'd hardly spoken and it had taken Meggie a while to fall asleep, wedged between the temptation of Christopher's sleek back and the brick wall.

She had to figure out what to do now that she knew the truth. Her father was dead.

Tears rushed to her eyes, the pain a sharp blade twisting in her. She'd never hear his voice again, telling her how much he loved and missed her. Burying her head into the pillow Christopher had slept on, she breathed in his scent, sobbing in grief and misery. Her heart felt battered and bruised, like it had walked into a boxing ring and suffered a TKO. She'd be a complete liar if she insisted all her tears were for her father. Most of them were, but some were for Christopher, too. Why, she didn't know because he was little more than a stranger to her. Like her father had been if they were telling the truth.

But the man she knew and the man they described...Meggie laughed bitterly. What did she know about her father? This club, these men, weren't as easygoing as he'd always insisted.

Rack had beaten her to a pulp over five dollars. Or the ramifications of her stealing the five dollars in the first place and telling Christopher.

Christopher didn't need her or want her. If she remained-if he allowed her to stay-she'd be in his way. Her problems were her own and her biggest one was also her worst nightmare. She couldn't return to her mother's house but she had to try to get Dinah away from Thomas even though nothing short of a miracle would accomplish that. Meggie still had to try.

Her sudden resentment surprised her. She'd believed her mother's words about her father wanting Meggie with him. Dinah normally didn't fling careless lies about.

More tears slipped down Meggie's cheeks and she curled into a ball. She wished she'd never overheard her mother. If only- She couldn't finish the thought. Too many 'if onlys' to count existed in this sorry situation. Meggie breathed in deep, the chill of loneliness shivering through her, another sob escaping her.

"You motherf.u.c.ker!"

The furious snarl yanked Meggie out of her thoughts and she bolted up, sucking in a breath. Oh, G.o.d. She'd forgotten a noise had awakened her.

"f.u.c.k you."

The words boomed through the closed door.

She backed against the headboard, her trembling fingers clutching the bedspread. Gunshots. Shouting. Cursing.

Her heart rate sped up and her pulse soared. Meggie stumbled to the floor, scrambling under the small s.p.a.ce beneath the bed. More rapid gunfire, the boom, boom, booms getting closer and closer. Thumps, creaks and crashes resounded and Meggie recognized the sound from when her mother showed a modic.u.m of self-preservation and tried to lock herself in a room with Thomas hot on her heels. Doors were being kicked in. Vicious curses and threats peppered the air.

Meggie's body shook just as the door flew open. She curled her lips inward to stifle her cry and focused on a pair of green and black boots. The black part looked like some sort of animal skin and the upper part-the bright green-had wings and a cross etched into the design.

No words were spoken. No warnings given. Just a rapid succession of gunfire. Not that she needed either. She'd never forget those boots or the fantastic amount of concentration it took to keep from screaming. If she'd taken a moment longer to get under the bed, she'd be dead.

Endless minutes pa.s.sed while she waited for the intruders to leave. Thoughts of Christopher crowded her head. His smirking green eyes. The black hair that added sin to the temptation of him. She wondered if he was alive. No, he had to still be alive. She couldn't bear the thought he was dead, too. Though he could be scary and rude, he'd treated her nice. She closed her eyes, afraid to expel the air in her lungs and afraid to move a muscle. Afraid to let herself consider the very real possibility that Christopher was dead. He was big and frightening and had an incredible disregard for modesty, but he'd saved her and taken care of her and...and aroused her. She couldn't imagine a man with such overwhelming masculinity as a corpse. Her brain refused to recognize he had to be hurt or grievously injured to allow these men the license to roam so freely through the clubhouse.

The boots made a three hundred sixty degree turn and Meggie held her breath, her heart jack hammering loud enough to give her away. She was going to die, too. In the distance, gla.s.s shattered. The boots stepped nearer, so close Meggie could've touched them. Some guitar riff broke through the violent noise.

Christopher's cell phone. She'd heard it several times when he'd been with her at the hospital. A moment later, a loud bang almost deafened her. Wood and metal flew and crashed to the floor as the desk was ripped apart. Meggie guessed it was the desk since that's where the cell phone had been.