Misappropriate (25 page)

“I
do
,” she yelled and marched up to him, shoving him backward. “How long have I been living with you, you moron?”

He glared at her, stepped closer. She planted her hands on her hips and raised her chin, narrowing her eyes.

“If you came here to—“ He raised his hands in the air and spun on his heels.

“I came here for
you
, Outlaw,” Meggie called, desperate. To her, he was Christopher. He was human with a heart and a soul, but she had to let him know that she loved
Outlaw
just as much.

He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “What the fuck you just call me?”

So now they were playing
that
game? “You’re right there. You heard me.”

He turned back to her, the rise she stood on giving her a slight advantage in height. Emotions raced across his face and he swallowed. “Megan, you don’t know—“

“Don’t I?” she said quietly. “I know who and what you do, Outlaw.” She rocked back on her heels. “Life isn’t all sunshine and roses. Do I like to
think
about that side of you? No. I try not to. Even living at the MC, I try to ignore the other side of your activities.” She chanced a closer step to him. “If I have to choose you or them, I choose you every time. This is the reality of my life with you. You’re not holding me hostage here, Outlaw.”

His nostrils flared. “I love you, Megan. I do but—“ He stopped, looked into the distance and raised his empty bottle. It was clear he wished he had more.

“But?” she prompted.

“Baby, the day we was supposed to go for that counselin’ session…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “It don’t matter, Megan. It don’t fuckin’ matter. I am who the fuck I am.”

“You know what? You’re right. You are who you are. Outlaw. Cold-blooded killer. MC President. Tough ass. Christopher. Bad boy. Sex god. Husband. Man I love. And father of my children,” she said softly, placing a hand on her belly and staring at him.

“You havin’ another baby for me?” he whispered, his eyes wide, his expression as incredulous as his voice.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He looked up at the cloudy sky. “And you out here in all this fuckin’ drizzly weather?”

“Aren’t you?” She wouldn’t point out she’d also consumed alcohol, smoked a joint, and drank whatever else besides liquor that was in the fizzy drink he’d given to her the other night.

“I don’t like hearin’ you call me Outlaw,” he admitted, rocking back on his heels.

She cocked her head to the side. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “Cuz I ain’t fuckin’ Outlaw to you. You ain’t never called me fuckin’ Outlaw, so don’t start now.”

“Then stop acting like Outlaw with me and I’ll stop calling you him.”

Christopher glowered at her. “I ain’t nowhere fuckin’ near—“

“You are,” she insisted. “Word around town is Outlaw is cold-blooded and mean. Doesn’t care about anything but his club and his brothers. His word is law and final. He’s feared and respected.”

Christopher drew in a deep breath. “Fuck me, Megan.” He closed his eyes. “How the fuck you do this shit to me?”

“Don’t know,” she said with a little sniff. “Since I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ do, baby.” He walked up to her and set the bottle next to her, then bent and kissed her. She tasted the alcohol on his lips and groaned. He pulled back and sighed. “You gonna fuckin’ hurl, aintcha?”

              She nodded and turned, falling onto her knees and throwing up for the third time that morning. Only this time, Christopher crouched beside her and held her hair out of the way, stroking her back until she finished. He pulled her into his arms and drew her onto his lap, kissing her forehead.

              “I’m sorry, Megan,” he whispered.

              Her head lulled against his chest and she felt drained. “For?”

              “For hurtin’ you. I’d rather cut off my dick than hurt you.”

              “No, please,” she said. “If you can’t cut off any other part of your anatomy, I’d rather you hurt me than you cut off your
dick.
”

              He hooted with laughter and leaned back against the grass. Megan felt too sick to be embarrassed.

              “Christopher, you realize we’re in a graveyard?”

              “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, Megan,” he said, lifting up on his elbows. “A graveyard is peaceful. Don’t have no motherfuckers comin’ up to talk to you.”

              “Let’s hope not,” she mumbled.

              He stroked her cheek. “You really want to stand with me in a church?”

              “More than anything.”

              He blew out a breath. “Thought I’d found a way to get me and the boys outta wearin’ them fuckin’ monkey suits.”

              “Christopher, you’re sooo bad.”

              His arms tightening around her, he got to his feet, his strength amazing her. Not that she was heavy, but he stood as he held her without even appearing to strain.

              “You’re probably safe anyway,” she said glumly, another thought occurring to her.

              “Yeah?” he asked, zigzagging to sidestep graves. “Why the fuck is that?”

              “Father Wilkins. He won’t marry us until we’ve finished the required pre-counseling.”

              He kissed the tip of her nose. “Don’t worry, baby. He won’t be no problem.”

              Suspicion welled inside her. “Why? You can’t threaten a
priest,
Christopher.”

              “Who the fuck said anythin’ about threatenin’ the fat little motherfucker? He agreed to your weddin’ song, didn’t he?”

              “True.”

              “Just trust me, baby.”

              “I always do,” she whispered.

              “No.”

              “I don’t like that fuckin’ word,” Christopher growled.

              “Father Wilkins, is there anything we can do?” Johnnie asked with the kind of patience Christopher didn’t have. “Out…Chris…Mr. Caldwell had some urgent business—“

“There’s nothing more urgent then pre-marital counseling.”

“We already fuckin’ married. What the fuck we need counselin’ for?”

Father Wilcunt sniffed and puffed up his chest. “Because that’s my requirement for anyone to marry in my parish.”

Christopher glared at him. “We have five fuckin’ days to the weddin’ and—“

“That isn’t my problem, sir. You should’ve thought about that when you cancelled.” He shoved his glasses up on his nose. “Furthermore, I’d already made concessions for you by allowing the Wedding March—“

“Fuck you. It wasn’t for me. It was because I told you I was gonna cut your entrails out and feed them to my fuckin’ dogs, Father Wilcunt.”

The priest jumped to his feet. “Out.”

Johnnie scowled at Christopher. “Father Wilkins—“

Christopher stood and pulled out his piece.

“Jesus! Put that the fuck away,” his cousin snarled.

“It’s like this. You marryin’ me and Megan Saturday
in this church
with whatever fucked up bullshit music Megan want.” He raised his gun. “Or I’m blowin’ you the fuck away right now and takin’ my case to your replacement.”

The priest swallowed. Fuckhead was finally realizing how serious Christopher was. He’d fucked up enough with Megan and, although he still didn’t believe he belonged anywhere in a church, he owed this to her.

“Do you realize how inappropriate this is, Mr. Caldwell?” the priest sputtered.

He had to give it to the old geezer. He was determined to show he had balls. Motherfuckers might be useless but they were big.

“Don’t give a fuck if it’s misappropriate or not.” He narrowed his eyes at the priest. “I’m the most misappropriate motherfucker you’ll ever meet, so this ain’t nothin’ but a thing.”

Johnnie cleared his throat and beckoned Christopher closer. Probably to complain about his bad language to Father Wilcunt.

“What, fuckhead?”

“Er, Outlaw,” he whispered. “Misappropriate isn’t the right word. That means misuse of shit. Inappropriate means not suitable—“

“The word mean whatever the fuck I want it to mean, motherfucker,” he snarled, jerking away from his cousin. “Don’t need you to give me no fuckin’ definitions.” He knew Johnnie only wanted him to make as much of a good impression on Father Wilcunt as possible, but that fucking shipped had sailed. The man didn’t like him and he didn’t like the man. Besides, it reminded Christopher of his 9
^th
grade education. It reminded him he didn’t speak the proper English cuz he’d always been more interested in street smarts than sitting in a class.

That
boat had floated, too, and he was what the fuck he was.

He scowled at Father Wilcunt, who continued to glower. The priest slanted a quick glance to the phone—thinking Christopher was fucking blind—before he nodded. “Fine. The wedding can go on.”

Christopher lowered his nine. “If I was you, I’d shove them thoughts you have of callin’ the cops right the fuck out of your head.”

Not having any more to say, Christopher stalked out, leaving Johnnie behind to give the man some monetary incentive to keep his fucking fat trap shut.

Chapter 17

“What the fuck holdin’ Megan up?” Christopher asked. Certainly not the weather, he thought, rocking back on his heels. It was still cold with low clouds blanketing the air, but the rain held at bay. So where the fuck was she?

The last of the bridal party had marched up and now they were waiting for the bride to appear. The organist continued to play. When Megan appeared, the woman stop her playing and a CD of the Wedding March would begin. “I’m gettin’ tired of lookin’ and feelin’ like a trussed up fuckin’ penguin, John Boy.”

Johnnie scowled, while Christopher tried to remain level-headed. “Give Megs a break—“

“Shut the fuck up with that Megs bullshit on my fuckin’ weddin’ day, asshole, before I fuck you up.”

A stern clearing of the throat interrupted Johnnie’s retort. “Mr. Caldwell,” the priest began with tight disapproval, “we’re in the house of the Lord and I’ll expect you to refrain from foul language within my church.”

Christopher glared at the older man. “Don’t give a fuck whose house we in. If I don’t see my fuckin’ wife walk the fuck down that aisle in two fuckin’ minutes, I’m gonna fuck somethin’ up.”

“Yo’, Outlaw, if the priest call off the ceremony and put us out, Megan gonna be pissed. I’ll even risk my life and clue you in, she might decide to lock her pussy up and keep it to herself a while,” Mortician explained. “Women funny like that.”

Johnnie cleared his throat and sent a pleading gaze to the priest. What-the-fuck ever. Christopher would let John Boy convey how fucking much it would mean if the wedding went on. He’d see to it the parish received a hefty donation.

“She said she had a surprise for you, Christopher,” his cousin said.

              Christopher stilled and frowned. “Unless she changed her mind because...because…”
I’m still me
. Pussy-whipped or not. Loving the fuck out of Megan or not. He couldn’t fucking change and the last month some intense fucking bullshit had happened. Worse, it looked like the Dwellers’ and the Scorpions were headed for war. Cee Cee remained under the radar, but to smoke him out, Christopher had ordered a hit on another one of Cee Cee’s sons. The fucker—who happened to be his half-brother—had gotten plugged two days ago. Had Megan discovered the extra bullshit he tried to keep away from her? What if…?

              “She already your wife, Prez,” Mortician reminded him. “All this bullshit just because Megan want a big wedding. The girl ain’t going nowhere so stop fucking tripping.”

              Like a pussified motherfucker. The sentiment went unspoken but hung in the air like a motherfucker. Even the priest scoffed at him.

              Christopher growled low in his throat, glaring at the man. What the fuck did
he
know any-fucking-way?

              Johnnie rolled his shoulders, making Christopher all the more antsy.

              Just over one year had gone by since any of them had last set foot in a holy sanctuary. That time had been for his Ma’s funeral and she was all up in his mind today. He wondered what she would’ve thought of how the church looked today. Megan had made it so fucking pretty, helping Christopher to blot out the memories of Patricia’s funeral.

              Unlike then, peach, cream, and blue gauze, silk, and lace decorated the church today. Bouquets of flowers hung on each side of every pew and a long red carpet littered with rose petals had been laid on the white marble floor. Candles lit the altar, reflected on the bridesmaids who stood on the left in the blue gowns and the groomsmen in their tuxedos with blue bow ties.

              Johnnie glanced at his watch and Christopher mimicked the action. Megan was almost fifteen minutes late for the church wedding she’d been so excited about.

              Johnnie tugged at his collar and Christopher wanted to knock the fuck out of the motherfucker. John Boy’s fucking jitteriness was making Christopher’s skin fucking crawl.