Misled. Part 6

He stalked toward the door. "Just stay in this f.u.c.kin' room, Megan," he snarled over his shoulder, beating a hasty retreat out of the room.

Chapter 6.

Coughing racked Meggie and she wanted to rest and heed Christopher's words. Truly, she did. Neither did she want to run into Rack or any of the others who'd been with him that night. But her empty stomach made her desperate. The last time she'd eaten was the soup she'd had here the night she met Christopher.

She glanced around, but found no phone or any other way to communicate beyond the walls of this room. She crawled out of bed, grumbling at the awkwardness of the side she slept on being against the wall. Removing herself from bed took work thanks to her stuffy head and achy body.

On her feet, she stood still, allowing the dizziness to recede and the pain to settle into dull throbbing. She hobbled forward, heading toward the door across the room and to the right. Relief sighed through her lips when she realized she'd guessed right and found the bathroom.

After taking care of more basic needs, she forced herself to gaze into the mirror, crying out at the sight of her face and hair. Bruises, swelling, snarls, and tangles. When put together, it equaled the hot mess who stared back at her.

Maybe, she should remain in the room. The next time, Rack might kill her. What did three-day old hunger compare to getting another beating? As if to ridicule her, her belly grumbled and ached.

To do something to take her mind off her hunger pangs, she opted for a shower. She'd always gone for a swim at the creek to forget her wish for food. She peeled off the ridiculously big top and hung it on the hook of the cupboard door. Inside, she found towels. Before stepping into the bathtub and turning on the showerhead, she made sure there was soap and shampoo.

Finding both, she stepped under the warm spray of the shower and let it wash away weeks of dirt that swimming in the creek didn't. She soaped her body, shampooed her hair and tried to forget the sight of Christopher and how it felt to be in his arms.

He'd left for the night and she didn't want to consider what that meant. She might've retained her virginity by a thread, but she'd been exposed to s.e.x thanks to her friends and her home life. The look in his eyes when he'd said he'd see her in the morning had been the same look Lacey had when the girl she sometimes slept with caught her with the guy she really wanted to be with.

Christopher was going to some woman. Meggie supposed his look had been worry because he didn't want her to cause any trouble between him and whoever.

The soap and shampoo burned over her cuts. Worse, a bout of coughing and sneezing seized her. She hoped she'd developed a bad cold and not pneumonia. Instead of taking her to a doctor, he'd nursed her himself. While sweet, it meant she lacked proper medical attention.

Her stomach growled.

Or the proper nourishment.

She'd make do. Find something to distract herself. After she finished cleaning herself, she'd go through the CDs she'd seen in Christopher's room and listen to music. Her plan settled, she turned off the shower and wrung out her hair, pus.h.i.+ng the shower curtain aside. She s.h.i.+vered, though she felt as if she'd go up in flames. The cool air hitting her wet skin brought another round of coughing.

Meggie moaned, feeling sicker than a dog. She knew she couldn't leave her hair uncombed, so, for a time, Meggie focused on her task, detangling it little by little until it curtained her back and shoulders. Then, she parted it down the middle and styled it into two braids. Between the shower and the hairstyling, exhaustion settled into her and she swayed.

She focused on the door on the opposite side of the bedroom, hoping to find a closet since the only other door stood straight ahead and opened to the hallway. Another rush of heat burst through her and she thought she'd erupt into flames at any moment. She'd kill for a gla.s.s of water.

Maybe, Christopher sleeping somewhere else was a good thing. She didn't want him catching whatever she had. She let the towel drop to her feet and fanned herself, licking her dry lips.

The bed seemed so far away. Didn't horses sleep standing up? Meggie palmed her eyes and scowled. If not horses, some animal did. Maybe, she could, too. Just stop and close her eyes and sink into unconsciousness.

And slip to the ground and conk herself into oblivion.

The door swung open and three men barreled into the room, then came to a screeching halt. Their gazes fell on her and their mouths fell open.

Meggie squeaked, dropping her focus to where the towel lay on the floor. Too much distance. She blinked and, through her hazy heat, recognized Val with his stocky build, bald head, and tear drop tat beneath his eye. The two Black guys with dreads, diamond studs, and light brown eyes, though, she'd never seen.

The shorter one slapped the other's arm. "Check yourself, f.u.c.khead," he snapped. "If you don't stop starin' Outlaw gonna pluck both your f.u.c.kin' eyes out."

"He's staring, Mortician," the man snapped, pointing to Val.

Meggie swallowed and stumbled back.

"Er, um-"

Her thoughts exactly. She didn't need to echo Val's words when he said them with such eloquence.

"I'm Digger," the tallest one said, the one the man named Mortician slapped. "We came to see 'bout you." As he spoke, he concentrated on her face or some place over her shoulders. "Outlaw said not to disturb you too much. I wanted to know what you wanted to eat. My brother, Mortician, wants to show you around the club and keep you company while you stayed out there. And, Val, here, he's riding out for a minute. He wanted to know if you needed anything while he was gone."

She sneezed and saw double. She reached out to balance herself. To her, it seemed as if the men stepped back. "Food would be great," she got out, somehow staying on her feet. "Something to wear, too. Guiding me to a chair or the bed would be even better."

"I like breathing, Megan," Mortician remarked. "I'm not f.u.c.king touching you while you're naked."

She opened her mouth to speak, not release the hideous squeak. The room, the faces, whirled around her, mixing with the stars and the fuzziness in her head. The concrete rose to meet her. She reached out and two strong arms caught her, saving her from an indignant fall to the floor.

Chapter 7.

Christopher frowned at the sound of Mortician's voice coming from his room.

What the f.u.c.k?

A p.i.s.sy mood already possessed him after he'd barreled through the main room feeling the weight of everyone's stares boring into him. It wasn't so much him as it was the punk a.s.s s.h.i.+ny balloon with the words 'happy birthday' and the ridiculous f.u.c.king teddy bear he carried while gripping a grocery bag in the other hand. Thank f.u.c.k, his brothers couldn't see the cupcakes and birthday card inside.

He intended to bring this to Megan, then get the other bags from his pickup. The pair of boots he'd bought her as a gift and all the s.h.i.+t for colds he'd bought at the drugstore.

Reaching his bedroom, he pushed open his door and halted. Closed his eyes. Counted to three. Opened the motherf.u.c.kers again. Found the same scene. Two a.s.sholes, Val and Digger, staring at Megan naked and in another a.s.shole's arms. Mortician swallowed and Christopher saw the moron contemplate releasing his hold on her. Yeah, Mortician really thought about letting her fall to the f.u.c.king floor-because clearly she wasn't awake with the way her arm fell like a limp noodle. Even though Christopher intended to break Mortician's f.u.c.king fingers for holding her-continuing to hold her-he'd kneecap the idiot if he dropped her.

"One of you better f.u.c.kin' start talkin'."

Surprise turned to shock when they saw what he held. He stopped long enough to set the teddy bear and balloon on his table, then grabbed Megan from Mortician, stalked to his bed and laid her gently down.

f.u.c.k him...he swallowed, his body tightening at the sight of the golden curls between her thighs, her flat belly, her round b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her pigtails hardened him even further, made her look sweet and untouched and vulnerable. Her flushed skin percolated with heat, the smell of his soap and shampoo rising in dry waves from her body. He liked that she smelled like him, but he wanted her to smell like him, his c.u.m, his sweat.

"She has fever," Mortician said, standing across the room and out of Christopher's reach. "I caught her on her way to a meeting with the concrete."

Christopher touched her forehead, ran his knuckles along her lower lip. "How you get in here while she's naked?"

Silence. Abso-motherf.u.c.kin-lutely. He glanced over his shoulder, narrowed his eyes. "I f.u.c.kin' told you, a.s.sf.u.c.k, to ask her what the f.u.c.k she wanted to eat and give her my other f.u.c.kin' messages about these two f.u.c.kin' morons. Seems a big f.u.c.kin' leap between those instructions and what I'm seein'." He stalked to Mortician. "All I'm sayin' is some f.u.c.kin' body better start explainin' or bodies are gonna shatter. I'll pause at the c.o.c.k tip and end with brain matter. Speak," he roared. "Now."

"We wasn't thinking, Outlaw," Digger started. "We just wanted to tell her who we was and let her know what each of us was here for."

They exchanged glances. Val drew in a breath and stepped forward, head bowed, all but cowering in submission. If the motherf.u.c.ker had a tail, it would've been tucked between his legs.

Christopher folded his arms.

"We didn't knock. Not out of disrespect," Val swore and rolled his shoulders. "We just wasn't thinking. I was anxious to get the f.u.c.k to my b.i.t.c.h and I didn't want her holding me up, so we just barged in."

"In my f.u.c.kin' room. Knowin' she was where? In my f.u.c.kin' room. You f.u.c.ks did this on purpose."

Digger shrugged. "Ain't like the b.i.t.c.h is yours."

"Yeah," Val agreed, grabbing onto Digger's words like a lifeline. "I mean she's Boss's daughter."

Something he wanted to forget. Will away. Find a f.u.c.king genie and wish it wasn't so.

He clenched his jaw and stalked to his drawers, finding a T-s.h.i.+rt for her. He slid it over her head and got her arms through the short sleeves, making sure clothes covered her. His s.h.i.+rt reached her to her knees. He scooped her into his arms.

Whether he liked it or not, Megan had to go to the f.u.c.king hospital. He only hoped his sister wasn't working.

Christopher didn't know why he bothered with wishes. The last time one came true was when he was twelve and his mother bought him a skateboard he'd wanted.

Zoann was on duty. Even worse, she was Megan's ER nurse.

When she stepped into the curtained off s.p.a.ce where Megan lay on the gurney, she paused.

"Christopher?" she whispered and rushed into his arms. She was twenty-six, the third of his five sisters. She had big brown eyes and rich brown hair, a beauty, a b.i.t.c.h, and a bother. Unmarried with no kids, she kept her nose where it didn't belong.

He barely remembered the man who'd fathered his sisters. Vague instances of care and concern came to his mind on rare occasions from an average-sized man with average looks. An encouraging smile. A game of flag football. Bicycle lessons. Like everything good in Christopher's life, all too soon the man left, while his mother was still pregnant with Ophelia, his youngest sister.

After that, the girls started spending more time with their grandparents, a place where Christopher wasn't welcomed. No doubt, their grandfather contributed to Zoann's self-righteous b.i.t.c.hiness.

She pursed her lips and sniffed. "Where've you been? Mama-"

"We'll talk," he interrupted, not wanting to discuss their mother. "Please, see to Megan first."

"Okay," she said softly. She worked in silence for a few minutes, broken only when she asked about Megan's illness.

He knew he was in for a grilling. Questions brimmed in Zoann's eyes. She'd always been nosy and he suspected curiosity kicked the f.u.c.k out of her right now.

"And you said you don't know who a.s.saulted her?"

"Nope. Sure don't."

She rocked back on her heels. She didn't believe him. He didn't give a f.u.c.k. It just reminded him of another reason he hadn't brought Megan in. She didn't know the score, so she might blab Rack's involvement. Not that Rack didn't need handling, but Christopher wanted to do it his way and after he found out who the f.u.c.k else worked with Rack.

He should've just left Megan by that creek. Or thrown her the f.u.c.k in so she could join the father she searched for. Then, again, maybe no. Boss was burning in h.e.l.l. Megan deserved a place in heaven.

"Don't gotta get law enforcement in this," he warned. "Hear, Zoann?"

Her mouth drew in like she'd sucked a lemon. "I'll see what I can do, Christopher."

His a.s.s she would. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Just remind them there's some little kids in this buildin' who want that fat f.u.c.kin' b.a.s.t.a.r.d in the red suit to bring 'em toys. Last I remembered, my club plunked down a few Gs to get it done."

She nodded and turned to leave, then stopped and drew in a deep breath. "I have two hours before my s.h.i.+ft ends. Would you meet me so we can talk?"

Christopher frowned. "I'm hangin' 'round 'til Megan's ready to leave."

"She's been admitted. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

"She's that bad off?" He glanced at Megan. She looked so fragile.

"Yes. She is."

As much as he hated hospitals, he supposed he was stuck there for a while.

By the time Zoann's s.h.i.+ft ended, Megan had been moved to a room, antibiotics dripping into her and oxygen hooked to her while machines measured her blood pressure, pulse, and heart rate. The constant beeping worked Christopher's last nerve and, more than anything, he needed a smoke.

To him, hospitals ranked up there with being buried alive. It wasn't for him.

Zoann pushed opened the door and stepped in, letting a moment's glare in from the bright hallway lights.

He stood as she tipped to the bed and stared at Meggie.

"Are you bringing her home to meet Momma?"

Christopher eyed his sister with wariness. It was always a mistake to take Zoann's words at face value. "What the f.u.c.k you talkin' 'bout, Zoann? It ain't like that between Megan and me."

Zoann bit her bottom lip. "Then why are you her guarantor? Responsible for paying her bills."

"Her mother's in Seattle, that's why."

"Her last name is Foy. Is she related to Big Joe?"

"Jesus, Mary, and all that is f.u.c.kin' holy, you a nosy b.i.t.c.h." He thrust his fingers through his hair, surprised when her face crumpled. "f.u.c.k, Zoann. Yeah. This is Big Joe's girl. She's lookin' for him."

She c.o.c.ked her head to the side. "Where is he?"

"Zoann-" he began. He clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to argue with his sister or say words he'd regret.

"You know where he is," she accused. "I know you do. Big Joe disappeared and you suddenly decided to turn away from us. The two are related. I know they are. It's your business if you want to throw your life away. But you've hurt Momma. Where is he, Christopher? Where have you been?"

"I don't need the third f.u.c.kin' degree from you. Club business is club business. Case closed."

She fisted her hands on her hips. "Isn't it time you left that miserable club? While you still can. Before something bad happens."

A mountain of f.u.c.king bad had already happened.