“What do you mean? Meggie said I can stay? She doesn’t have a say-so.”
“The fuck she don’t. You ain’t fuckin’ with my marriage. I’ll choke the fuck outta you first. You wanna be an old lady? Ain’t no skin off my motherfuckin’ ass. Just stay the fuck outta my girl face. A contest between her and you? Her and any-fuckin-body, she fuckin’ win all the time. Stay the fuck away from me with your bullshit. I’m tellin’ you this one more fuckin’ time, in case you fuckin’ touched in the head. Fuck with Megan and you fuck with your life. We fuckin’ clear?”
Tears rushed to her eyes. “You’re so mean. I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
“I want you to stay the fuck away from me.” Through with the conversation, he stalked off, cursing when his cellphone went off at the same time Daphne’s sob reached him. Glancing at the number as he headed to his house, he frowned. The digits seemed familiar, but he couldn’t remember why. “Outlaw,” he grumbled.
“This is Counts.”
The voice reminded Christopher why he kind of recognized the phone number. It was that Torpedo assfuck.
“What the fuck you want?”
Fucking motherfuckers. Over the past months he’d become more family man than biker, so motherfuckers pushed the fuck out of him. Bitches weren’t respecting his orders. Psycho fucking cunts were trying to run him the fuck over. Stupid fucking brothers were playing goddamn games. And fuckholes he’d told to leave him the fuck alone wasn’t listening.
“Did you hear me?”
“No, motherfucker, I ain’t heard a fuckin’ word. Cuz I ain’t interested in meetin’ up with you or talkin’ to you. The Torps peddled little fuckin’ girls.”
“Not anymore,” Counts insisted. “We want to be a Dweller support club. We want your help in reforming.”
Christopher reached his gate and punched in his code. “Lemme explain in a fuckin’ way you might fuckin’ understand. Filthy motherfuckers filled the entire Torpedoes organization. Ain’t bringin’ none of you motherfuckers who wasn’t blown to fuckin’ bits and pieces in my fuckin’ club. Before I know it, you’d fuckin’ lure my brothers into believin’ your shit was a good fuckin’ idea, and I’d have fuckin’ anarchy on my hands. Money make motherfuckers stupid. I’d just as soon fuckin’ kill you than deal with any of you fuckheads. Am I fuckin’ clear now?”
Not giving the motherfucker a chance to answer, he hung up. If the motherfucker came gunning for him, it would give Christopher the opportunity to fuck somebody up.
Opening the mud room door, Christopher closed it behind him and headed to the kitchen. He expected to be greeted by CJ, so the silence surprised him. Though the kitchen was empty, the scent of bacon and coffee tantalized his nose.
A sign hanging on the door that led to the hallway had the words Follow the petals in Megan’s handwriting and an arrow underneath. Christopher glanced at the floor and noticed red rose petals. His heart settling back into his chest and his anger evaporating, he grinned and started walking.
Petals trailed down the hallway and all the way up the stairs, leading him to his bedroom. Inside, he found two covered plates, mugs of coffee and glasses of juice, on the table in the sitting area, but no sign of Megan. When Christopher removed the silver cover, cold bacon, congealed eggs, and toast, soggy with butter, greeted him.
Forty-five minutes had passed between the time she’d called him and now, ruining her plans and the food she’d prepared. He went to the bathroom, already knowing he wouldn’t find her. The door stood open, so she wasn’t taking a shit. She demanded privacy then, like she was embarrassed. What the fuck ever. It didn’t bother him, one way or the other.
No shower water running or music playing like she had sometimes when she was alone and applying lipstick or trying out different styles in her hair. She didn’t do that as often as she once had. The demands of the business she co-owned, the club, and their house, took up most of her time.
Megan wasn’t in the kids’ rooms, her office, his mancave, or any of the other rooms in this big motherfucker. Running back to their bedroom, he hurried to her closet. He should’ve thought to check for her clothes at first. Seeing her things didn’t relieve him as much as it should’ve, especially when he saw her cellphone on their bedside table.
Sitting on the side of the bed, he stared bleakly at the rose petals. She must’ve used an entire garden’s worth…His brows snapped together and he jumped to his feet, retracing his steps down the staircase. Instead of heading toward the kitchen, he went to a small side door.