Misled. Part 12

"Jerk!" she yelled. "If I'd set you up, I would've finished you when I found you all shot up. And I wouldn't have brought you to the hospital!"

The sudden glare of the light directly behind his bed made him blink. Once his eyes adjusted, he noticed her standing as still as a statue, to his right. He reached his arm out and pulled her next to his bed. Her hair clipped up, she wore the clothes he'd bought her for her birthday. She looked tired and sad and alone. And young. So f.u.c.king young, he wondered if she had permission to be in the room with him. Of course, she did. He knew she did.

"You show up outta the f.u.c.kin' blue and-"

"It wasn't out of the blue, Christopher," she murmured, his given name the sweetest sound he'd ever heard coming from her lips.

His head pounded in confusion and he wanted to be alone, not have those blue eyes appeal to him like a beacon to his dark soul. "Don't f.u.c.kin' call me by my name."

A frown creased her brow. "W-why? Is there a warrant out for your arrest?"

Christopher rolled his eyes and snorted. Was she for real? "I been laid up in this motherf.u.c.ker for how long? Under my real G.o.dd.a.m.n name? If there was a warrant out, chances are high, someone would've been clued in as to my whereabouts."

"You've been here six days."

"Six f.u.c.kin' days too long."

"No, it isn't. Rack is looking after things."

Christopher just bet he was.

"I had no choice but to bring you here. You were dying."

"And? You don't f.u.c.kin' know me. Perhaps, I wanted to f.u.c.kin' die."

She stared at him and Christopher braced himself for some inane bulls.h.i.+t. Words like, 'of course you don't want to die' and 'you don't really mean that'. The f.u.c.k he didn't.

"I understand. Recently, I've wanted to die, too."

That statement shouldn't have shocked the s.h.i.+t out of him. She was gorgeous, well-spoken, and brave. She had everything to live for. At this very moment, she should be out with some little preppy f.u.c.k, talking about college and careers. She shouldn't be stuck in this f.u.c.king hospital room with him. As if she had any other choice. She had a step f.u.c.khead who needed taking care of and a dead father whose protection she needed.

"Yeah? Why?"

She shrugged. "I've never been away from my mother for more than a day or two. And-and I've never been on my own."

As much as Christopher wanted to punk out and go the b.i.t.c.h a.s.s route by pointing the finger at Megan, he couldn't. A made-up argument might get her away from him but it would put her right back in danger. No, the shooting at the clubhouse had been brewing long before Megan arrived.

"I had to leave," she stressed. "For the reasons you guessed."

She swallowed, frowned, looked away. Swallowed again, looking anywhere but at him, Christopher noted, admiration for her grit rolling in him.

"My stepfather. His groping had amped up from holding my hand against him. Um, his groin. To pinching my...my nipples and trying to..."

Her voice trailed off and she hunched her shoulders, but humiliation haunted her eyes and tightened her mouth.

"Tryin' to rape you?" he finished for her, his voice neutral.

"Um, I-I suppose it would've ended up that way. He l-liked to put his hand in...in my panties."

Remorse hit hard. Boss had been destroying himself, the club, and his son. Of course, Snake was born destroyed, missing the gene that gave him compa.s.sion.

Christopher might've f.u.c.king went from one woman to the next. And, yeah, he might not have been a f.u.c.king gentlemen to b.i.t.c.hes all the time, but he'd never killed one for the h.e.l.l of it to get his rocks off. And he certainly didn't snort and shoot up the f.u.c.king merchandise. Payoffs to the cops had become more and more exorbitant because Boss was f.u.c.king up right and left. So Christopher began quietly lobbying the brothers to do an intervention. As the Vice President, he wanted a coup. Overthrow Boss until the dude got his s.h.i.+t together. Let him detox. Get all the killing out of him. Make him be the man Christopher remembered and admired.

He hated Boss for making him have to choose between their lives. He hated Boss for turning a blind eye to his son's actions, a stone cold f.u.c.king killer. He hated Boss for turning weak and strung out.

Christopher knew the man had adored his daughter. Or had before his brain became fried. And, yet, Megan knew none of that. She believed her father could've protected her. In the last eighteen months of his life, he hadn't been able to protect a club full of grown a.s.s men. Not only that, in those last months, he hadn't once mentioned his little girl. How f.u.c.king pathetic.

"I didn't set you up."

Her fingers slid through his hair and she stared at him. All Christopher saw was innocence and longing. Yeah, she hungered for him, but her desire for him overrode the baseness of pure l.u.s.t. Something had to stop this freight train of disaster, careening at Mach 2 towards Christopher's bed. He grabbed her face between his hands. "If you're f.u.c.kin' lyin' to me..."

"I'm not. I swear."

He believed her. Christopher knew how b.i.t.c.hes tripped. Kiera could deal with him f.u.c.king Ellen, but, apparently, she didn't like the thought of him being with Megan.

If he lived as long as Methuselah, he'd never understand b.i.t.c.hes. Especially the one who currently faced him down, more fearless of him than some men.

f.u.c.k, did it really matter to him whether or not Megan knew Christopher killed her pops? If he wanted her gone, really wanted her gone, confessing to his murder would send her the f.u.c.k away. But which way would she go? To the police? Back home, even though she was terrified of Thomas Nicholls?

He sidled a glance at her and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "What you plannin' on doin' about the shootin'?"

Her throat worked. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"Yeah, you f.u.c.kin' do."

She shook her head, met his gaze. "Nothing," she whispered. "Val explained things to me. How it works." She licked her lips. "With law enforcement and the Death Dwellers."

His nostrils flared and he searched her face for any signs she was having second thoughts about not speaking up.

"Does it bother you?" he questioned. "Men died."

She looked away from him and s.h.i.+fted her weight. "This is...was Daddy's club. If he...he r-ran it...if he t-took care of...k-killed men who in-invaded his t-turf," she managed through sniffles.

"Megan," Christopher crooned.

She drew in a deep breath and he allowed her a moment to compose herself.

"This was his life, Christopher. Whether I like it or not. I'd never betray him."

He nodded and smiled at her. A small smile ghosted across her lips.

"Where have you been livin' since you ran away? Before I took you back to the clubhouse."

"By the creek."

"In other words, you f.u.c.kin' homeless." Something he already knew.

"You can say that," she mumbled.

f.u.c.k. Whether he liked it or not, he'd acquired a very beautiful, very sumptuous, eighteen-year-old to look after.

Chapter 15.

Christopher "Outlaw" Caldwell was the most ornery, insufferable man Meggie had ever met. Any minute she expected some law enforcement agency to storm the Death Dwellers' compound to arrest Christopher for intimidation and intent to do bodily harm to someone. Namely, his physician. He'd left the man no choice but to release him. Or else. Meggie didn't like the ominous tone of the 'or else' and neither had the doctor. Five days after he'd awakened and an hour after issuing the ultimatum, Christopher was on his way back to the clubhouse, refusing to let Meggie drive his suped up pickup, even though she'd driven him to the hospital in it.

He'd stopped at a drugstore and loaded up on magazines, novels, and puzzle books. Meggie wasn't sure what they'd been for. However, the moment they arrived at the club, he'd grabbed the bag, ushered her out of the truck, then dragged her to his room. Once there, he'd shoved everything at her, told her "stay put", and disappeared.

She liked crosswords and magazines but not enough of them existed in the world to take her thoughts off Christopher's sculpted body or the need to have him touching her.

She hadn't seen him since and it was early evening. She liked reading and she liked crossword puzzles, but she didn't like to have that as her only entertainment. Besides, her concern for Christopher made everything else insignificant. She knew he had club business-whatever that meant-but he was still recovering from gunshots and blood loss.

All outward signs of the rampage were gone. The bullet holes had been filled in and the furniture replaced. In Meggie's opinion, the new desk in Christopher's bedroom looked much better than the old one.

She stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, bored out of her head, afraid to remain too sedentary, fearing her thoughts would overwhelm her. He'd said to stay put, but there were other things to do in his room than read or figure out crosswords. He had a bathroom. She could shower. She lifted her head, gazed around. His room wasn't filthy but it could be tidied up. She could do that, then shower. If he still hadn't returned, she'd find him and demand he rest.

Christopher leaned against the counter, studying the wall of monitors, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder and thigh. No motherf.u.c.king way Snake could've gotten on the grounds without being let in. The monitors were in perfect working order. He had grade-f.u.c.king-A visuals of the hallways, the perimeter outside, the board room, and his main supply room. Sinner had been on monitor duty a week ago. If he'd let Snake in, he'd paid for it with a bullet to the head.

But Sinner had always had his back, even when Boss was alive. On the other hand, Sinner had been Snake's friend, too. But he was dead, so he no longer presented a problem. Rack was the VP now and Christopher knew he was grieving and also displeased he hadn't been chosen as the new president, but he'd sworn he'd do whatever needed doing for the good of the club. Val patched in the same time as Christopher. What Christopher did, Val followed. He'd wanted Boss gone the moment they realized what he was up to. And Val f.u.c.king hated Snake. What did he have to gain by betraying him? Tex, the treasurer, and Guardian, the sergeant-at-arms, Mortician and Digger, his lieutenants...f.u.c.k, who cared?

Out of his officers-Sinner, Mortician, Digger, Val, Rack, Tex, and Guardian-only Mortician, Digger, Rack and Val were still alive. Val had been off premises, making a run on behalf of the club. And Rack? f.u.c.king Rack...

s.h.i.+t. The entire infrastructure of his club was f.u.c.ked up the a.s.s, already in disarray before the shooting. Now...f.u.c.k. He needed to go into the rank and file, elect new officers, straighten this s.h.i.+t out. He needed to find the weak link. What the f.u.c.k was he missing?

All roads pointed to Rack, but those roads were too straight, too cleanly routed. Rack would have to be a stupid motherf.u.c.ker to leave so much evidence if he were guilty. That left his boy, Val.

Christopher stiffened with tension. A chair sc.r.a.ped across the floor and he glanced in the direction. "You! Probate," he called, not bothering to figure out the f.u.c.k's name until he became a full-fledged member.

The dude jogged the short distance between the tables and the bar. "Prez?"

"Keep an eye on these screens. If a motherf.u.c.ker ain't a member, turn him the f.u.c.k away. If I find someone who ain't supposed to be here..." He let the threat hang in the air and turned away.

"Um, Outlaw?"

He hadn't gotten two f.u.c.king feet before the dude called him back. "What?"

"That girl? Should she be here?"

Christopher didn't need to look at the screen to know what girl he was speaking off. Only one girl never, ever f.u.c.king listened to him. The blonde one with the gorgeous face and perfect little body. The b.i.t.c.h who was walking into the room, her hair damp, wearing the old f.u.c.king clothes good for only a garbage pile.

"What are you doin' out here?" he asked at the same time she demanded, "Where have you been all day?"

"Around," he snapped. "Which ain'tcha f.u.c.kin' business." He jerked her behind him and pulled her down the hall. "I told you to f.u.c.kin' stay in my G.o.dd.a.m.n room and I meant it." He reached the room and pushed her into it.

Squeaking, she stumbled back, flailing her arms to keep her balance. She righted herself at the last minute and opened her mouth. He held up a hand to shut her up.

"Don't push your f.u.c.kin' luck, Megan. You lucky you here with me instead of on the f.u.c.kin' streets. If you don't listen to me, I'm puttin' you the f.u.c.k out and lettin' you fend for yourself."

Accusation turned to hurt. Her chin wobbled and her eyes filled with tears. With a frustrated curse, Christopher slammed the door shut and stalked to his office, his c.o.c.k sending signals to his brain. His emotions toward her were going in a completely different direction. He wanted to f.u.c.k her as much as he wanted to kill her.

After three in the morning, Christopher staggered back, nicely medicated with rum and beer. Both lamps and the bathroom light brightened his room. He stared sourly at the lump in his bed. He couldn't see much of anything besides her blonde hair. He drank from the bottle of rum he was determined to finish, cursing her and the lights as he walked around turning each one off before undressing and climbing into bed.

She tensed. She was awake, was she? Let her f.u.c.king sulk. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. She inched closer to the wall, the movement so minute he wanted to howl in laughter. Did she really believe a f.u.c.king wall would protect her if he wanted some a.s.s from her?

Christopher turned toward her, simultaneously scooting closer and pulling her into his arms. She wore something big. Something belonging to him from the feel of it. He pressed his erection into her back and buried his nose in the soft golden cloud of her hair.

His hand travelled along the indentation of her small waist to the flare of her slim hip. A tremble pa.s.sed through her. He nuzzled the tender skin on her neck and she drew in a sharp breath.

He guided her onto her back and met her mouth with his own. At first, she lay in his arms as straight and as unresponsive as a two by four. He coaxed her lips apart and slipped his tongue into her mouth, groaning at the sweetness of her. He plundered her mouth, took what she offered and also what he wanted, his tongue dancing with hers, sliding his body onto hers.

She pulled her mouth away, breathing like she'd run in a marathon. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Christopher leaned back and shoved his t-s.h.i.+rt over her waist. "f.u.c.kin' you. What you've wanted all along. My d.i.c.k in you."

She gasped and tried to wiggle away. "Not that way. You're being crude."

He thrust his face into hers and glared at her. "That's me, babe. Rude and crude. What the f.u.c.k you talkin' 'bout any-f.u.c.kin-way, Megan? Far as I know ain't no other way to f.u.c.k you without my d.i.c.k involved. Only thing missin' is your mouth, a.s.s, or p.u.s.s.y."

"You're disgusting."

"And you're a G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.kin' nuisance. I need to find somethin' to do with you. f.u.c.kin' is as good as anythin'."

"No, please," she started.

"You're in my f.u.c.kin' bed."

"That doesn't mean I want to have s.e.x with you!"

"Ain't said s.h.i.+t about havin' s.e.x with you. I said I'm gonna f.u.c.k you. Say it. Say Outlaw wants to f.u.c.k me."

Her lips tightened. "No."

Her primness amused the s.h.i.+t out of him and he barked a laugh. Why was she there? Why was he allowing her to stay there? Was him caring for her atonement for killing her b.a.s.t.a.r.d father? Maybe. But that wasn't the full reason. She wasn't no viable a.s.set to him, yet he allowed her to stay. He knew why. His attraction for her was unreasonable and dangerous, partly because she was Boss's daughter and partly because he couldn't afford-and didn't want-emotional ties to a woman. He couldn't deny the pull to Megan Foy went beyond s.e.xual. That didn't mean he didn't want her to give him her cherry.

Loosening his hold on her, he sighed. Deeply. And turned over, reaching for his bottle to take another swig. He decided to f.u.c.k with her. Since his conscience was interfering with the business of his d.i.c.k, he needed some entertainment. He took another swallow and sidled a glance at her.

"Lemme get this f.u.c.kin' straight. If I said I wanted to have s.e.x with you..." He paused to chuckle because the words 'have s.e.x' coming from his lips sounded f.u.c.king funny. He cleared his throat. "If I said I wanna have s.e.x with you, you woulda given me some p.u.s.s.y?"

Her eyes shot daggers at him, but her cheeks turned cherry red. He took another swig then set the bottle aside. He pulled her against him and settled a hand on her breast, pinching her nipple and beading it. She pushed at his hand.

He nuzzled her neck and sucked on the tender skin there. "That's it, huh? Okay, baby. Let's have s.e.x."