Logan Donovan didn’t give a damn how many corpses he’d leave.
One day, he’d be Heaven and Hell. A harbinger of death or a man of mercy. The Alpha and the Omega. Men would fear him and women would follow him.
Today wasn’t that time.
Today, he sat in Hell—metaphorically—power still elusive.
He swallowed tequila, then wiped his mouth and set the bottle aside, ignoring Cee Cee’s gun to study Sharper Banks while he focused on his theology textbook. Tall and lean, the beautiful man’s skin veered between medium brown to dark, depending on the time he spent in the sun.
Sebastian Caldwell, aka Cee Cee, drew on his cigarette and the cherry glowed bright red. “I need my cock sucked,” he said, flicking ashes onto the broken concrete floor. His startingly green eyes were frightening, his black hair recalling a Devil’s spawn.
Smoke and mustiness hung in the air. Not to mention musk. Cee Cee reeked of sweat, sex, motor oil, weed, and alcohol.
“Maybe, I should have sweet Patricia again.”
Cee Cee’s gun deterred Logan from lunging at the animal. He’d violated Logan’s precious Pattie and she was now four months pregnant with Sebastian Caldwell’s demon. He detested that unborn beast almost as much as he despised its father. “You’ve done enough,” he snapped. “Leave my baby girl alone.”
Cee Cee polished off the rum, then smoked his cigarette again. “You have another bitch. Send her to me.”
While Tess, his other daughter, was more expendable—she wasn’t Pattie—Logan loathed Cee Cee taking the upper hand again. To get Pattie away from Cee Cee, he’d had to send his wife to the man. Elmira hadn’t wanted to go, but, as much as it pained him, he’d beaten her into submission. She was a good woman and had stolen his heart the moment he met her. He cherished Pattie so much because she was almost a carbon copy of her mother with her brown hair and brown eyes.
“Where the fuck are your boys, Logan? If I don’t get a cunt to take the edge off while I’m waiting for my fucking money, I’ll lose my shit. You’ll never have a proper fucking club. You know nothing. You’re supposed to have bitches to keep visitors happy.”
Sharper raised his head and lifted a brow at Cee Cee, who flushed and looked away. Logan met Sharper at Cee Cee’s strip club on his very first visit two years ago. Often, he pondered if Cee Cee and Sharper were lovers. Sharper liked dick as much as pussy. However, Cee Cee loved quim so much he just took it if he wanted to fuck and found no willing females.
Cee Cee threw his used-up cigarette on the floor and stomped it. “Contact me when Patricia goes into labor.”
Logan wanted his girl to abort the lunatic’s monster, but she’d begged to keep it. She’d suffered enough, so Logan capitulated. Pattie giving birth would allow him to take care of the loathsome bastard himself, reclaim the dignity he’d lost when Cee Cee violated his daughter and filled her belly with his devil seed.
“You heard me?” Cee Cee stroked his gun. His .44 Magnum rested next to his almost empty bottle of rum. The barrel pointed toward Logan, by accident or design. But knowing Cee Cee, that fucking gun lay in Logan’s direction on purpose. “If it’s a son, I’ll claim it just as I have all the others.”
“How many children do you have?” Logan asked, curious despite himself.
Cee Cee shrugged. “Eight I’m aware of, but it might be more. Who cares? I can’t worry about the motherfuckers I don’t know.” Picking up the weapon, he offered Logan a half-smile. “I know my kid’s dropping out of Pattie’s pussy because you told me I knocked her up.”
Chilling madness sharpened the planes and angles of Cee Cee’s features. His eyes were cold and flat. The eyes of death.
“Why’d you tell me about her pregnancy again?” Cee Cee rubbed his chin. “Hoping to gain leverage? Wanting me to feel guilty? What, motherfucker? I’m clueless why you informed me I knocked her up. You don’t want my name on the birth certificate. You don’t want the kid, but I draw the line at harming babies and children. If I were you, I’d erase any motherfucking thought of harming my kid. Or else.”
Logan didn’t like ‘or else’. Nor did he want to piss off Cee Cee.
To someday wield the same power in his young club as Cee Cee did as founder and president of the American Scorpions, he needed the man. Logan’s own club, the Death Dwellers, floundered after only a year in existence. He’d turned Sharper’s brainchild into a reality. For all intents and purposes, the MC was Logan’s. On the surface, Sharper wasn’t involved with the club. Couldn’t have a man of God fraternizing with criminals.
“Does it matter why I told you, Cee Cee?”
What a fucking miscalculation he’d made. He regretted not listening to Sharper, who’d warned him not to inform Cee Cee of Pattie’s pregnancy. Logan hadn’t appreciated the likes of Sharper issuing orders. Another mistake. “I didn’t expect your pride over my daughter’s pregnancy.”
“Why the fuck not? My children are my legacy.”
“That’s why you’re so involved in their lives,” Sharper inserted with sarcasm, not bothering to lift his gaze from his textbook.
Slamming his gun on the table, Cee Cee glared at Sharper’s bent head. “Fuck off. I didn’t ask for your fucking input.”
“Tough shit,” Sharper said. “I gave it anyway.”
“Motherfuck you, asshole,” Cee Cee growled.
Sharper snapped the thick book shut. His teeth flashed white against his brown skin, his smile transforming his entire countenance. He transcended beauty to a magnificence Logan couldn’t describe.
No fucking way he’d ever reveal he had fallen in love with…Fuck…Not only with a man, but a Black. Logan hated anyone not his own kind. Sometimes, he hated Sharper for being so well-spoken and fascinating. He hated his brilliance that deviated between spiritual, philosophical, maniacal, and criminal.
“You still haven’t told me you’ll follow my orders, Donovan.”
Motherfucking Cee Cee was getting out of hand.
“My girl isn’t keeping your fucking monster. She’s been through enough, so I’ll let her carry your garbage, but then I intend to throw away that fucking spawn.”
Shock darkened Cee Cee’s eyes. Satisfaction eased Logan’s stung pride and he swallowed more tequila.
The door to the small building blew open and Joe Foy sauntered in, Kaleb Andrews hot on his heels. Where one went, the other followed. Cee Cee grinned in Joe’s direction. He was tall and muscled, with true blue eyes complementing his golden hair. Logan had made a play for the young gun, but he’d backed off at Joe’s sound rebuff.
Reaching their table, Joe glowered at Cee Cee.
“Hello, Joe,” Cee Cee greeted, the light of insanity surrounding him, like an aura from hell.
Joe nodded, unafraid and unaffected. “Motherfucker.”
Sharper and Kaleb glared at each other, as little love lost between them as between Joe and Cee Cee.
The door opened again, bringing in Wally Bart. Black-haired and pig-eyed, he was one mean motherfucker and had a penchant for Medieval torture methods. If he ever patched in, Logan already had his road name: Rack.
Cee Cee smirked. “If this isn’t a nice little family gathering.”
“Fuck off,” Joe growled, turning to the crudely constructed bar, another source of Logan’s humiliation. The entire situation shamed him. Without family, he never would’ve gotten any members for the club Sharper wanted so badly.
The penniless Death Dwellers consisted of six members, with a metal storage shed for a clubhouse that was set up on overgrown land backing onto the forest. He’d thought about having their meeting place on his dilapidated farm. Though Cee Cee’s fixation on Pattie came in handy, it also changed Logan’s mind about the location. Besides, having the clubhouse several miles from where he lived allowed him time alone with Sharper.
Joe sipped from a bottle of tequila; Kaleb Paul swigged hot beer; Wally positioned himself on the other side of Joe, the center of the universe, a radiant being amongst lowly men who pulled everyone into his orbit.
If only Logan had been lucky enough to have fathered Joe. Or if he’d taken an interest in Patricia. But at twenty-one or twenty-two, he had a conscience. Pattie was fifteen, a child in Joe’s eyes. Untouchable.
He’d only seen her from afar. If they met formally, Joe would want her. Yet, the kid refused all invitations Logan extended to visit the farm for dinner.
Joe tipped his bottle toward him. Licking his lips, Logan nodded.
Underneath the table, Sharper kicked his shin. Pain streaked up Logan’s leg, the point on Sharper’s Derby shoes an effective weapon. “I told you to stop looking at that motherfucker like the sun rises and shines in him. I think you want to fuck him, too.”
Leaning back, Cee Cee assumed a negligent pose in the uncomfortable wooden chair. “Too?”
Logan wouldn’t tempt fate and confront Cee Cee a second time. Instead, he faced Sharper. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Suck my fucking cock.” Sharper grinned. “Or maybe not. Withholding dick is a better punishment.”
Cee Cee’s wild laughter captured Joe, Kaleb, and Wally’s attention. Hot shame roared through Logan.
“As entertaining as you and your suck boy are, Sharper, where the fuck are his motherfuckers with my bitch? I’m here for her. Her pussy is my moneymaker and I think Logan and his boys are fucking me over. Our deal was five bitches. This is the third slut and every time, there’s a fucking problem. At least they arrived. This time…” His voice trailed off and he glared at Logan. “It’s my fucking money who’s fronting this shitty hole you call a club. I lose her, I lose dollars. I also lose fucking face. I already have a buyer for this bitch. I fronted your portion because of your fucking begging, Logan. Now, where the fuck is she?”
Sweat beading his brow, Logan glanced at the door. He’d sent his motherfuckers out hours ago to do a job and they needed to return now before Cee Cee lost his temper. Or overheard anymore damning information.
Resting his forearms on the table, Sharper grunted. “You have a fucking problem on your hands, Donovan.”
Logan glared at Sharper. A kernel of detestation planted in his gut. “Back off, boy,” he growled, still smarting from Sharper’s kick.
“You’re fucking with the wrong motherfucker,” Sharper sneered, hurt quickly morphing into anger. “You back the fuck off before you’re sorry.”
Logan snapped his mouth shut. Sharper, the holy man, was also a killer.
“You disappoint me, Banks.” Cee Cee grinned. “I’ve never known you to tolerate disrespect of this magnitude.”
Logan imagined gouging Cee Cee’s eyes out and wiping away that damnable enjoyment. Joe’s blue gaze caught and held Sharper’s dark one, his thoughts closed off.
The door flew open, and the five members of his club trooped in. Krag, Webster, Pete, Talbot, and Boyce rushed to the table. Blood and mud stained their denim cuts and torn jeans. Scratches marred their faces. Broken fingernails topped dirty hands.
The small, cramped shed couldn’t comfortably house the club’s minute brotherhood and their four guests.
Another nugget of hatred toward Sharper crystallized.
Logan had done all of this for Sharper—become a laughingstock, a weak motherfucker with a stagnant club. The Death Dwellers were just six fuckheads, too unorganized to be taken seriously.
“That whore attacked us. We had to chase her down,” Boyce growled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Left us no choice but to fucking bury her.”
Cee Cee roared to his feet and grabbed his .44. “What?”
Sharper rose too, while Joe, Kaleb, and Wally left their seats. The other four—Krag, Talbot, Webster, and Pete—shoved their hands in their pockets and shifted.
“Prez.” Boyce’s eyes implored Logan. “We didn’t mean—”
The report of the gun halted the words. Blood and brain spattered them, making mincemeat of half of Boyce’s face. His body dropped to the ground.
Krag pissed himself.
Cee Cee’s maniacal laughter rose up. “The rounds I got in the chamber can drop a fucking bear.” His humor dying, he shoved the gun against Logan’s temple. “I shouldn’t have ever trusted a fuckup like you to run bitches.”
“Drop that fucking gun, Cee Cee,” Sharper ordered.
“Fuck you.” Cee Cee’s hand shook. “You have the money to reimburse me for my lost bitch?”
“We’ll get more bitches,” Sharper promised, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone, as if he cared about what happened.
The fucking liar. He didn’t give a fuck about Logan’s well-being.
“That’s not fucking answering my question,” Cee Cee snarled. “I’m not a fucking bank. Defaulting on what you owe me is to your great detriment.”
“Fuck off, you sick motherfucker.” Joe stalked forward, stepping over Boyce’s body, unperturbed by the gore. He threw a wad of cash against Cee Cee’s chest.
Bills fluttered everywhere; Joe smirked.
“Take your fucking money and get the fuck away from me,” Logan ordered, appreciating Joe’s toughness. He’d put his money where his mouth was when no one else would.
Cee Cee dug the barrel deeper into Logan’s skin. “One of these days, I swear to fuck I’ll fuck you up, Joe.”
Joe ignored the impotent anger in Cee Cee’s promise. “Back the fuck away from Logan.”
At the hammer cocking, Logan closed his eyes, willing himself not to piss his pants like Krag.
“Money’s repaid,” Cee Cee started, mad dog furious and almost foaming at the mouth. “Balls still full of cum. Dick need a bitch.”
“Sounds like a fucking you problem, Sebastian,” Kaleb pointed out.
“Who asked you, Kaleb Paul?” Cee Cee questioned.
Dislike twisted Kaleb’s smile. “I’m all for blowing this dirty fuckhead away. But then, you and this motherfucker would still be around,” he said, pointing to Sharper.
“Fuck off.” Somehow, Cee Cee had enough focus to not pull the trigger. “One of these fucking days, you and Joe saving my fucking life won’t be enough for me not to cut your fucking heads off.”
“One of these days, I’ll stop kicking myself in the fucking cock for saving your fucking ass.” Joe reached inside his jacket, pulled a .357 and aimed it at Cee Cee. “Maybe, I’ll remedy my mistake tonight.”
“Your panties still in a twist because I fucked Patricia, Joe?”
Joe glared at him. “She’s a fucking child and you violated her, motherfucker.”
“Kaleb Paul’s self-righteousness is rubbing off on you.” Disgust sharpened each of Sharper’s words. “But, like him, you aren’t a cold-blooded killer. You can’t pull the trigger.”
“Well, Bible Bastard, at least we know you suffer no such problems,” Kaleb Paul said dryly.
Flipping the bird to Kaleb Paul, Sharper focused on Cee Cee. “Put the fucking gun down before you accidentally kill Logan, asshole.”
“Make me.” Cee Cee smirked at Joe. “You can’t shoot me. You still have good in you and we made a pact. But I swear to Christ, if this motherfucker lives, you’ll all fucking pay. Logan Donovan is a fucking psychopath and he’ll destroy you all one by one.”
“Logan’s a good man, Cee Cee,” Wally countered.
“And you’re a stupid motherfucker, Wally. Donovan is insane.”
“If he’s insane, what the fuck are you?” Kaleb Paul demanded.
“Aww, shucks, you big softy. Fuck it. You’re right. Kill me.” Before Joe could react, Cee Cee pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. “I wonder if the next chamber is loaded.”
“Motherfuck you, Cee Cee,” Joe stormed, lowering his gun.
Piss streamed down Logan’s legs. “I’ll call you when Pattie gives birth to your brat,” he promised, his voice trembling. “And you can have Tess. Fuck her until she can’t walk. I don’t care. Just let me live.”
Fearing his own death more than anything, Logan ignored Joe’s horror.
“You disapprove of the offer, Joe? Then let me get rid of this motherfucker. You see good in people when there’s evil in everybody.”
“The world is what you make it, Sebastian,” Joe said quietly. “As long as we’re alive we have hope for another day.”
“You and Kaleb Paul maybe. Me, Sharper, and Wally? This motherfucker?” Cee Cee jiggled his gun against Logan’s temple. “Never.”
Joe’s jaw clenched. “Let the fucking money be enough. Leave his daughter alone. You’ve already fucked one of them.”
“And I intend to fuck the other one and fill her with my cum.”
“You’re such a fucking pig,” Kaleb said with derision as Joe scrubbed a hand over his face and shoved his weapon away.
“What will it be, Joseph?” Cee Cee demanded. “I’m not taking his fucking offer unless I get my fucking money, too.”
Swallowing, Joe glanced between Cee Cee and Logan, stark pain on his face. He looked young and vulnerable.
Cee Cee scowled. “You don’t want me to kill this motherfucker. You’ve gotten it in your head he’s a father figure. As much as I’ve tried to teach you, you’re still a weak, pathetic motherfucker.”
Joe’s face darkened. “I don’t want a fucking father who sells their own daughters.”
“Then you’re safe, fuckhead. He didn’t sell Patricia.”
Cee Cee’s lie shocked Logan, but it served his own purpose so he remained silent.
“Logan gave her to me.”
“Drop the fucking gun or kill the motherfucker,” Kaleb snapped, much to Logan’s fury. He’d remember those words. “Who the fuck are you trying to torture? Sharper or Joe?”
“Never liked talking and torture,” Cee Cee drawled. “But there’s beauty in it. Watching a motherfucker piss himself in fear.”
“Did I ever tell you you’re a fucking asshole?” Kaleb asked.
“Many times,” Sharper responded, then sighed. “Drop the gun, Cee Cee.”
“Nope. I want to see if there’s a bullet in the chamber the next time I pull the trigger.” Cee Cee stepped closer to Logan. “How’s it feel, Donovan? Most motherfuckers fear you or pity you.”
Fear him? As far as he knew, only his wife and daughters were afraid of him and they didn’t count. A cunt never did.
“The five of us have a lifelong allegiance nothing can break,” Cee Cee finished. “Kaleb?”
“Whatcha got?”
“You vote for Donovan’s execution?”
“I would,” he said without hesitation. “If it didn’t hurt Joe.”
“In the long run I’ll help Joe.”
“You know something I don’t?” Joe demanded.
Cee Cee snickered. “A fucking lot, puppy.”
Joe squinted at Cee Cee.
“Fuck, fine. As far as I know, Donovan has never spoke against you, Joe,” he admitted. “I just know men like him. He reminds you of your shithead old man? Well, this motherfucker does the same for me. Only I don’t wish to have him as a paternal stand-in. I got more fucking sense. Logan willingly sacrifices his wife and daughters. My old man sacrificed me to whomever and used me however he pleased. He said he loved me. That cunt that gave birth to me said she loved me too but turned a blind fucking eye to whatever happened to me. She’d say how much she hated him then fuck him and get her pussy off—”
“Shut the fuck up, Cee Cee,” Sharper ordered. “I don’t want to hear that story another fucking time.”
“Fuck you, Sharper. None of that shit happened to you, motherfucker, so choke on my fucking cock.”
“Isn’t your arm fucking tired by now?” Kaleb Paul asked with disgust.
“No!” Cee Cee screamed, wild-eyed. “They made me hang from bars for fucking hours. That slut didn’t care when he played Russian Roulette with me.”
“When who—”
“Don’t fucking ask, Wally,” Joe said, “otherwise we’ll be here all fucking night.”
Cee Cee’s hand shook so violently Logan feared he’d pull the trigger by accident.
“You’re just like him, Donovan.” Cee Cee’s voice dropped to a low, chilling whisper. “They don’t see it, but I do. I checked you out. You had a decent life. You don’t have a reason to hate bitches and mistrust motherfuckers. You’re just a fucking animal who’d sacrifice all of us to save yourself. But I swear to you if you walk out of here with your brain in your fucking head, stay away from Sharper, Joe, Kaleb, and Wally. They are all like family to me. If you ever harm one of them, you’re a dead man. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” Logan croaked, his feet aching from standing in one place for so long.
“Cee Cee, fuck!” Joe huffed. “Fine. You’re right. I saw Logan as a father figure but what I remember of my old man was someone who’d sacrifice himself instead of one of us.” He shook his head and looked at Logan. “Your actions with your daughters disappoint me. I don’t know if I’ll ever look at you the same. On the occasions I spoke to your son, he praised you and said how much his sisters and mother adore you. I don’t know how Pattie feels about you, but I remember how my mother suffered after my father left. I fool myself by saying I want to spare you for their sakes, but I’d be less than a man to tell that lie. No matter how disgusted I am by you, I still see good in you. A man misguided by a need for power.” The pain, confusion and sadness in those blue-blue eyes touched Logan. “I don’t want you to die even if I don’t want you to live.”
Later, Logan would calculate how to twist Joe’s need for a father to his own benefit. Now, he adopted humbleness. “Son, I promise if you help me tonight, I’ll never turn my back on you.”
Cee Cee slapped the side of Logan’s head. “You’re a fucking liar. Joseph, I’ve told you time and fucking again, don’t leave yourself vulnerable. Fuck, I should kill this motherfucker just for that. Since I hold you in such high esteem, what’s your decision?”
“Let him live, Joe,” Sharper said, before Joe responded. “For me.”
Heaving in deep breaths, Joe glared at Sharper.
“We pledged our lifelong commitment to each other years ago,” Sharper continued, pinning a look between Joe, Kaleb, Wally, and Cee Cee. “As boys struggling in that fucking foster system. We’re brothers.”
“Fuck you,” Joe snapped, glowering at each of them. “I only have one fucking brother in here.”
“One blood brother,” Sharper corrected. “Now I’m asking you again, let Cee Cee keep the money and take Logan up on his offer for me.”
His blue eyes blazing, Joe waved his hand. Cee Cee lowered the gun, while Sharper grabbed Logan’s collar and turned him. Without shame, he covered Logan’s mouth with his and settled a big hand on Logan’s hip.
The scent of body fluids, his piss especially, rose in his nostrils, sharp and pungent. Thanks to his emptied bladder, his underwear plastered to his skin. He wanted to change and have a celebratory drink he was still breathing. More than anything, however, he wanted to wash his mouth and skin, relieve himself of the shame of Sharper’s touch.
The moment his lover released him, Logan turned to Joe. “Thank you, son.”
Joe stiffened. “I didn’t do it for you.”
“Yes,” Logan said with a nod. “But I’d like you to be a part of my club.”
“This isn’t a fucking social club where invitations are issued. It’s a fucking MC. There are rules and requirements. Initiations. Probationary periods.”
“I don’t know how to do it, Joe,” Logan admitted.
“Did you hear?” Wally inserted, awed. “It takes a mighty fine man to admit he’s in over his head. Sir, Mr. Donovan, I’d like to join.”
Cee Cee glared at Wally. “How the fuck can you join the Death Dwellers, fuckhead?”
“You’re here, Sebastian,” Wally snapped.
Undercurrents of resentment flowed between the two men. Uncertain, Logan glanced at Wally.
Joe rolled his eyes. “You want to join, motherfucker?” he demanded. “Get rid of this dead motherfucker and clean this fucking gore.”
A muscle ticked in Cee Cee’s jaw, but he nodded.
At the go-ahead, Wally stripped off his shirt and jacket, grabbed Boyce’s feet and began dragging him away.
“You four,” Joe said, indicating Krag, Webster, Pete, and Talbot. “Get the fuck out. Tonight’s happening stays in this motherfucker if you want your brains in your heads. Understand?”
They didn’t need to be told twice. Slipping in Krag’s piss and Boyce’s blood, they scrambled the short distance to the door and left.
Cee Cee slid his gun into his side holster. “I have a bitch to fuck,” he said, heading toward the door.
“Cee Cee?” Joe’s voice fell like shards of ice in the small space. “When you walk away, the girl better be alive.”
After Cee Cee left the shed, Joe glanced from Logan to Sharper. “You’re fucking him,” he said, thrusting a chin in Logan’s direction. “What about Vivian?”
“Vivian?” Logan echoed.
“His fiancée,” Kaleb supplied absently, ignoring Logan’s sharp intake of breath.
“What about her?” Sharper demanded. “I still intend to marry her. Do you know how far in life I’ll go—we’ll all go—with the wealth and connections her family has?”
Joe turned and started for the door, Kaleb following behind.
“Wait, son,” Logan called, oddly hurt at discovering Sharper’s engagement.
“Fuck off, Logan,” Joe blazed, swinging to him again, though Kaleb left the building. “You’re just a pathetic motherfucker.”
“I—”
“How could you sacrifice your own fucking daughter? Another fucking daughter?”
“Joe—”
“Fuck you. I don’t want to hear it.”
Joe’s rejection piled pain onto Logan’s hurt and humiliation. For now, nothing could be done, so he nodded. “I understand. But you saved me, son. You.”
“I did it for him,” Joe reminded him, pointing to Sharper.
“It doesn’t matter,” Logan said thickly. “I am forever indebted to you.”
Growling in frustration, Joe yanked open the door, storming out without another word.
“Don’t worry,” Sharper soothed, a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “He’ll come around. He’s not down with hurting bitches. He’s kicked Cee Cee’s ass more than once for trafficking broads. The way he defends those fucking sluts, you’d think they were high-born ladies.”
“Why’d he come tonight?”
Logan had been unaware of Joe and Kaleb’s return to Hortensia. Or, maybe they were back in town for school, where they’d enrolled at the local community college for certification as mechanics. They’d come down from Seattle to Hortensia and somehow met Cee Cee, who’d given them positions as bouncers at his Portland strip club. Meanwhile, Wally hovered in the background, never quite accepted by the golden boy and his sidekick.
Sharper sighed. “Cee Cee’s been running off at the fucking mouth about Tess. I think Joe came to make sure nothing happened to her. His pride’s hurting you offered her up as your sacrificial lamb.”
“That didn’t matter to Cee Cee,” Logan said quietly. “If Joe hadn’t allowed him to keep the money…” His voice trailed off. “I need him as president.”
“He’ll come around eventually.”
Betrayal – Tess
“Uno!”
“No fair, Pattie. You’re a cheat.”
“You’re the cheat, Simon,” Pattie said with a little sniff.
“I’m twenty, girl,” Simon snapped. “I know a cheat when I see one.”
“Enough! Your bickering is giving me a headache. Your father expects peace when he comes home. Your defiance has stressed him out enough, missy.”
“Keeping my baby isn’t defiance, Mama,” Pattie retorted tiredly.
“Hush your dreadful mouth.”
Simon snickered at Mama’s rebuke.
Leaning back on the sofa, Tess Donovan closed her eyes. Pattie announcing her pregnancy lent additional misery to their lives. Daddy shouted at every little infraction. He stayed away longer. He punched and kicked Mama and Simon more. In turn, Mama grew meaner. Extra gray streaked her brown tresses. She no longer bothered dyeing her hair. The wrinkles in her face supported the gray better than the color of her youth, anyway.
Mama wasn’t old. She was just Daddy’s wife and it showed in her posture, her attitude, and her features.
Tess intended to escape her family the day she turned eighteen. If she stayed, she’d end up with a man of Daddy’s choice. Little by little, her soul would die, and she’d end up just like Mama.
Hopeless and helpless, living at her husband’s whims in a house badly needing repairs.
Pattie threw her lone game card on the coffee table and stood from the floor. “I don’t want to play anymore.” She dusted the back of her jeans, then squeezed next to Tess on the faded floral-print sofa.
She laid her head on Tess’s shoulder.
She caressed Pattie’s brown hair. “Are you tired?”
“I stay tired,” Pattie responded.
“You’re a pathetic weakling,” Simon mocked. Though he had Mama’s brown eyes, he resembled Daddy with his blond hair and hawkish features, but Simon’s blind loyalty made him pathetic and weak.
“Indeed, she is, son,” Mama agreed in the self-righteous tone Tess hated.
But she hated a lot about her family. The abuse. The coldness. The rigidity.
Daddy.
She even hated her name, bestowed upon her thanks to one Mr. Thomas Hardy and Daddy’s love of the book Tess of the d’Urbervilles. Instead of sympathizing, Daddy felt the character got her just desserts.
Tess Donovan disagreed. Knowing she’d been named after such a tragic heroine taunted her. She lived a dreadful existence as Logan Donovan’s youngest child. As his child, period. Simon, the eldest, served as Daddy’s verbal and physical punching bag. Pattie had been his favorite, until she turned up pregnant. The more she begged to keep her baby, the more he turned against her.
He finally agreed to her wish, though Tess doubted Daddy’s sincerity. The first chance he got after its birth, he’d hurt Pattie, her baby, or both.
Recently, Daddy turned his attention to her. She was the good, obedient one. His new perfect child. Tess didn’t like it. She didn’t like him. No, she feared him. He obsessed over those he deemed perfect. He objectified perfection.
Pattie had been perfect, so he hadn’t wanted her to work outside of the home. He didn’t want her mind polluted with filth. She couldn’t laugh too loud or look him in the eye or answer him. When she’d been stolen, Daddy went out of his mind with grief and anger. He’d taken out his fury on Simon and beat him to a bloody pulp. Then, he beat Mama and made her go and get Pattie back, leaving Tess alone to fend for herself and nurse Simon, even though the scent of spilled blood turned her stomach and the sight of it made her throw up.
She’d never seen Daddy drink as much or cuss or cry. He’d almost seemed human. For three days, she’d cooked all his meals, kept laundry, mopped and vacuumed, triaged Simon, and went to the babysitting job Daddy allowed her to have. Then Mama returned, looking so much worse than when she’d left all beaten and bruised. Pattie, assaulted and terrorized, was with her.
At the opening and closing of the front door, Pattie lifted her head. Tension settled into Tess. Daddy was back. She regretted not excusing herself earlier and escaping to her room.
A jingle accompanied each footstep down the hallway toward the family room. Hands flying to her mouth, Pattie stood. Horror twisted Mama’s wrinkly features a moment before Simon’s confused, “Mother?”
“What are you doing here?” she gasped.
Next to Tess, Pattie trembled.
Tess laid her hand on her sister’s knee and looked toward the door. A tall, scary man stood there. Dressed in denim, he had black hair, green eyes, and a cruel mouth.
“Cee Cee,” Simon managed. He’d gone ashen, his usual viciousness evaporating. “Wh-what are you doing here? Daddy’s at a meeting. I-I-I can guide you there.”
Cee Cee folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I just left your old man.”
Simon turned beet red but went silent.
“Logan knows you’re here?” Mama asked faintly.
“He sent me,” Cee Cee replied. His nonchalant manner frightened Tess. He looked at Pattie, walked closer. “What’s up, girl?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Fear stopped Tess from snatching Pattie and running. But she wasn’t brave so she watched as her sister stood and went to Cee Cee, hesitating a moment before she took his hand. She didn’t protest his pulling her toward the hall.
“Wait, please!” Mama called.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Cee Cee ordered, not breaking his stride.
“Go to your room, Tess,” Mama said briskly, once it was only the three of them.
“What about Pattie, Mama?”
“Do you want me to slap her, Mama?” Simon’s eyes gleamed with the same malice Daddy exhibited.
“There’ll be time enough later,” Mama responded, then nodded toward the door. “Go, Tess.”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” Tess said, unease settling into her. Mama and Daddy didn’t allow her to move furniture in her room without permission. Tonight, she’d quietly drag her small desk in front of her door. Not much of a deterrent, but enough so she’d hear someone trying to get in. Hopefully, it would afford her enough time to sneak out of her window and hide.
She didn’t want to be stolen like Pattie.
Stumbling away, she crept past the living room. Hearing voices, she paused once she cleared the doorway.
“I mean it,” Cee Cee was saying. “I might not be available immediately, but I’ll get your message. Understand?”
“You’ve seen Daddy and he told you—”
“Don’t worry, Pattie. I reached an understanding with Logan.”
Good for Cee Cee. To Tess, Daddy was beyond comprehension and never kept any of his promises.
At the sound of kissing, Tess hurried down the hallway to her bedroom. Inside, she closed her door and turned on her bedside lamp, puzzled by her sister’s behavior. Pattie had seemed frightened when Cee Cee first showed himself. Yet, they almost sounded like secret lovers.
Not wanting to run into anyone, Tess didn’t shower. She stripped out of her sundress, bra, and panties, and changed into a yellow nightgown. Floor-length, pretty and frilly, it cost $2.00 at the thrift shop. Mama said it washed out her milky skin and made her monochrome with her yellow hair blending into the material. Of course, neither of her parents ever focused on positives, so the criticism didn’t surprise Tess.
Yawning, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers to her chin. At some point she fell asleep.
She didn’t hear Cee Cee enter her room until he jammed his gun against her head and ordered her up.
Forty-nine fucking years old. Almost fifty.
Thirty years ago, if anyone had told Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell he’d live to see this milestone, he would’ve laughed in their fucking faces. No one in his acquaintance believed in such luck. Evading Hoof-foot for so long shocked the fuck out of everyfuckingbody, especially his fucking ass.
“Happy birthday, Outlaw,” one of his brothers yelled.
“Thanks, motherfucker,” Outlaw responded, lifting his bottle and grinning at the cheers rising in the clubhouse.
Several years ago, the floors in the building had been replaced. It was a massive undertaking thanks to all the different rooms, located on the hallways. The main room, his office, the board room, the kitchens, and the bathrooms were finished first. They’d gotten a new HVAC system, upgraded plumbing, and new appliances.
Megan, his sweet angel, pressed her lips against his. She sat in her favorite spot—his lap. “Happy birthday, Christopher,” she whispered.
His wife was as lovely now as she had been when he’d first laid his gaze upon her. Then, she’d been frightened and in need of her father. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe if he’d met her a month before, she would’ve been underaged.
Fuck, if he’d fucking met her the fucking day before.
What-the-fuck-ever. That shit hadn’t happened, so he didn’t even need to fucking go there.
What had happened was Megan captivated him from the moment they met and she continued to do so, all these years later.
She was still gorgeous with her golden hair and too-blue eyes that turned her into an earth angel. Eye color and hair length didn’t fucking matter, either. A few fucking years ago, she’d gotten a pixie haircut.
He’d fucking hated it; she’d looked sixfuckingteen. But she’d still had that face and the inner goodness that made her beautiful even if she’d looked like Miss Fucking Piggy. When her hair grew out again, it relieved him so fucking much.
Thank all the motherfuckers in heaven.
She frowned. “Christopher?”
“Just thinkin’ about your fuckin’ hair, baby.” For a time, after the pixie cut grew out, she’d kept her hair bone-straight and shoulder-length. “How you gone from lookin’ like a girl Peter fuckin’ Pan back to a fuckin’ fairytale princess with your long fuckin’ hair.”
She laughed and stole another kiss. “Are you enjoying your party?”
He nodded. “Alfuckinways.”
And like always, evidence of Christmas decorated the club. Even the Christmas tree was still up since his birthday was January 4th and Twelfth Night happened on the 6th. Thirty years ago, such observances wouldn’t have mattered either. But it was a combination of his woman and his best friend’s mother-in-law, who hailed from New Orleans that precipitated the change.
Sometimes, he wished his birthday fell in warmer months. Then, they could’ve held his party outside. Every year, the celebration grew more crowded.
“Outlaw, we have a surprise for you,” his sister-in-law, Kendall Donovan, called.
“The Mardi Gras ball’s called off and we don’t need no tux?” the club’s sergeant-at-arms, Marcus “Digger” Banks, asked with hope.
“Yeah, Red, that would be a fucking gift for all us,” Lucas “Mortician” Banks, club enforcer and Christopher’s best friend, said.
“Boy, shut the fuck up,” Roxanne Harrington, Mort’s ma-in-law, said in exasperation.
Megan sniffed. “Yeah, Digger. We put a lot of effort into the ball every year to raise money for the kids.”
“Fine for you, Meggie girl,” Mort said woefully. “Fucked up for us.”
“This the fourth year we been doing this—” Digger started.
Her body tensing, Megan threw Christopher an evil glare, still smarting over that first fucking ball and his assfuckery. Before she locked her fucking pussy from residual anger, Christopher shut shit down.
“Shut the fuck up,” he warned as she got to her feet and jerked her hair into a messy bun, allowing everyone to see the words Property of Outlaw embroidered on the back of her cut.
Kendall and the other women at his table stood too, all old ladies of his officers. Two were his sisters, but all were family. Two presidents from his support clubs and the old ladies as well as a superstar musician and his wife were also seated with him. As Megan, Kendall, and the nine other women headed toward the DJ, the standing room only crowd parted and silence rolled in. At the railed pool table area where the disc jockey was set up, the women crowded around the motherfucker.
Low conversations resumed, while everyone waited for Megan and her friends now joined by his girl, Rebel, Mort’s girl, Harley, and the club’s VP’s girl, Matilda.
“Ever thought this’d be our lives, Prez?” Mort asked, watching his woman tug their girl closer and wrap her arms around Harley’s waist.
“Nope,” Christopher answered, drinking more tequila.
CJ, his second eldest, inserted himself next to Harley, although the rest of the boys, including his other sons remained seated at various tables. Diesel, his oldest boy, surrounded himself with women, the only motherfucker amongst five bitches.
Kendall crooked her finger at her eldest, Rory. Grinning, the little motherfucker rushed to his ma. Ryan, another of Christopher’s nephews, ignored the summons.
“Ryan lucky it’s your birthday, Outlaw,” Matthew ‘Val’ Taylor, his road captain and brother-in-law, said. “Otherwise, Puff would fuck him up.”
Over the past few months, Christopher marked a change in Ryan. He was becoming a disrespectful assfuck. However, he’d turn sixteen in May, so Christopher chalked it up to teenage rebellion.
CJ headed to the bathroom designated Dicks on the door sign while Rory and the other three boys sat on stools against the wall where a chalkboard, cue rack, and TV hung.
Dweller brothers corralled the crowd, forcing Christopher and his boys to their feet. He nodded, then headed to the pool tables where all his sons and nephews now were to give more room to the other motherfuckers.
“Fuck, Outlaw, I’m glad to be in your inner circle,” Derby, Burning Hounds president, grumbled as they reached the wall of boys. “Otherwise, I’d be stuffed in like a sardine can too while our broads danced.”
CJ walked out of the bathroom, dressed in a blue blazer and dark sunglasses. “Hey, ‘Law,” he called, grinning from ear-to-ear and waving, though he didn’t stop. He headed to his ma.
“What the fuck—”
The music starting interrupted Christopher’s question.
Megan and the other girls filed down the two steps onto the small area his brothers managed to clear. As Gentleman played, CJ danced in the middle of his ma and the women, just as Psy had in his video.
Now Christopher understood why they’d watched the fucking video to this song for fucking weeks. He had been sick to fucking death of it, but his woman’s enjoyment and his boy’s showmanship, reinvigorated his appreciation and he regretted the end of the song. He would’ve followed Megan, but once the women disappeared into the crowd, Ellie, Mattie, and Harley joined their brothers on the floor, line-dancing to Achy Breaky Heart, the Electric Boogie, and the Cupid Shuffle.
By the end of the little motherfuckers dancing, boredom threatened to derail the fucking party. Howfuckinever, no one wanted to offend the children and thus piss off their fathers.
When the kids trooped away, sweaty, red-faced, and giggling, Christopher shifted his weight. “Herb and Al callin’ my fuckin’ name,” he said. “We goin’ outside and visit them.”
“Say no more,” John ‘Johnnie’ Donovan said with a smile. He dug into his cut and pulled out a baggie stuffed with Herb, handing it to Val. “Would you do the honors, Valentine? Roll one for each of us. My treat.”
“You trying to kill us?” Boy, president of the Night Flyers, asked. “If that’s Outlaw’s Cfc, one or two hits will fuck us up.”
“I’m finding Georgie,” Sloane Mason said. After decades in the limelight, his star hadn’t faded. As a recovered addict, however, he didn’t tempt himself with even a small suck on Herb.
As he started to walk away, Megan led the women back onto the dancefloor. Skimpy dresses with fringes and stilettos replaced their cuts, jeans, T-shirts, and motorcycle boots.
Megan’s hair was free and her makeup freshened. The red outfit clung to her curves. Still short in six-inch heels, the crystal-embellished sandals drew attention to her toned legs and thighs.
His cock jumped to attention.
She tossed her hair, licked her lips, and winked at him.
Wobble by V.I.C. began, and Christopher forgot his intentions to go outside and say hi to Herb and Al. He dismissed his mild annoyance that his clubhouse resembled a dance studio during a recital. The other girls dancing, twisting, swaying, and bouncing barely registered in Christopher’s brain.
Hair swirling and fringes wiggling, his woman shook and crouched to the beat. Only her hot moves and blazing gaze on him mattered.
Four minutes into the song, CJ joined his ma and aunts, loving to dance as much as Megan. Male shouts and roars of approval drowned out the song’s end. The women and CJ moved to the side, revealing the Bobs, special Dweller girls possessing exception oral skills, and brought out for big celebrations. They wore beaded thongs and red stilettos.
“Did Megan coordinate with them?” Johnnie asked in amusement.
Christopher doubted it, although their sandals almost matched Megan’s and her friends’.
“Where’s Roxanne?” Knox Harrington, Roxanne’s husband, asked. “And Jordan?” he added, referring to her best friend and Megan’s gynecologist.
As the Bobs fanned around him and his motherfuckers, Knox received his answer. Roxanne and Doc Will rolled a huge cake toward him.
“Fuck, if this is your 49th birthday party, what the fuck’s going on for your 50th?” Derby asked, cupping the pussy of the Bob closest to him. Although the pool table blocked his old lady from clearly seeing him, it wouldn’t have mattered if she stood right there. His hand went to his belt. “Suck my cock.”
“Fuck off,” Christopher snapped. “Our lil’ motherfuckers here. Wait ‘til they leave.”
Scowling, Derby complied. “Don’t go far,” he told the girl.
She smiled at him.
“Uncle Chris.” Diesel’s voice resonated through the speakers as he pushed in front of two Bobs, holding a microphone. “First, I want to wish you a happy birthday. You deserve the best. On your special day, I also want to thank you. You and Aunt Meggie raised me as your own, never distinguishing me from your biological children. Being your son is an honor and a privilege. On your 45th birthday, I patched in and was given the terribly difficult task of overseeing the Bobs.”
Christopher snickered, joining everybody else’s laughter.
“Today, Potter is retaking the position.”
The bombshell killed Christopher’s amusement. Diesel had begged to be in charge of those bitches. Christopher expected a bit of fucking courtesy since he’d given into Diesel’s whiny fucking pleas. This wasn’t the fucking time or place to confront his kid, so Christopher didn’t stop Diesel from handing the microphone to a tall, strawberry blonde and stepping aside.
“Floor’s yours, Chastity,” Diesel said.
“Chastity?” Derby whooped.
“Outlaw,” the girl cooed when the chuckles died down. “Somehow, our plans to give you lap dances were discovered.”
“Lap fuckin’ what?” he demanded, snapping his brows together.
Licking her lips, she lowered her lashes. “We’re here to please you and the brothers,” she went on, like a clueless cunt. “We vetoed Meggie’s idea, although she overrode us, so I want to apologize—”
“Not accepted,” Christopher snapped, losing his fucking patience and his temper. He couldn’t see his Megan because of all the bitches around him, but that didn’t matter. His hand went to his nine.
Kendall shoved Chastity away, glared at her, and snatched the microphone. “Move,” she ordered, sure of herself and her place. “Thank me later for saving your fucking life later.”
Dismissing the Bob, she smiled at Christopher. All the Bobs, except the one Derby wanted, headed into the crowd.
Kendall cleared her throat. “Outlaw, we’ve had ups and downs through the years, but in the end, you welcomed me back with open arms as your sister-in-law, cousin-in-law, and the vice-president’s old lady. Happy birthday,” she said with heartfelt sincerity. “I wish you many more years of happiness and prosperity.” Smiling, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you, Kendall,” he said, kissing her back, then releasing her to Johnnie.
“Let’s go to our old room and fuck, gorgeous,” Johnnie said, leering at her exposed skin and the swell of her tits.
She giggled. “I’ll send the kids home. Ella is there with Blade and Gunner,” she said, referring to her nanny, who was watching over Christopher’s nephew and son, “so they’ll have supervision.”
“John Boy, you got the right fucking idea,” Mortician said, giving Bailey the once-over as she helped her ma and Doc Will light the candles on Christopher’s cake.
“’Law,” CJ said, mic in hand. He’d removed the blazer and sunglasses and was back in his cut with the words Son of Outlaw on the back. “You’re the best dad any kid could want. Thank you for all your love and support. You’re more than my dad. You’re my idol and my hero. I love you so much and happy birthday.”
The lil’ motherfucker embraced Christopher.
“I love you too, boy,” he said gruffly, returning his son’s hug.
Megan sashayed to them. Immediately, CJ turned and hugged her, then kissed her cheek, handed her the microphone, and stepped away.
Her eyes soft and her cheeks flushed, she gave Christopher a tender look. “My love. My Christopher. My everything. Happy birthday! I look forward to celebrating many more with you. I love you so much.”
“And I love you, baby.”
She tipped her chin up and he bent and kissed her lips.
“Let’s sing happy birthday, everyone, so my children and me can clear out and—”
“The fucking can start!” someone boomed from the crowd.
Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, that.”
After cutting the cake, they stayed another hour before heading to their house so his brothers could enjoy the clubhouse debauchery and Christopher could enjoy his wife’s private shamelessness.