Chapter One
Christopher
Holding onto her gloved hand as they had practiced, Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell grimaced, then glared in the direction of the woman responsible for his current predicament. He reminded himself he wore a fucking monkey suit to benefit the fucking lil’ motherfuckers in need. The goddamn processional march that sounded like a fucking funeral dirge to his abused fucking ears, the annoying formality of it fucking all, and the worse fucking, goddamn travesty of all, escorting her onto the dance floor.
They turned to each other, her hand still in his. Her elaborate plumed mask didn’t help. Her red hair remained visible to him.
He stood still, waiting until the band finished, wishing for a fucking smoke. Herb and Al would do fucking wonders right now. The first year this abomination had taken place, he’d allowed the ball to be held at the clubhouse. The Death Dwellers participated in charity runs and donated a fucking mint to certain causes. A Mardi Gras ball that helped sick lil’ motherfuckers should’ve been so fucking easy.
First of fucking all, Bailey Banks, and her Ma, Roxanne Harrington, had been born and fucking bred in New Orleans. Appeasing the wife and mother-in-law of the club’s enforcer seemed fucking easy. Lucas ‘Mortician’ Banks was also one of Christopher’s closest friends. Knox fucking Harrington was still a goddamn snob, but the motherfucker was too fucking old to change his stripes. He’d pushed for the ball as much as his wife and daughter-in-law. Second of fucking all, the motherfucker was only supposed to last two fucking hours. Except…
Except…
Fuck him.
His clubhouse had been turned into a fucking sea of purple, green, and gold. Swaths of silk in those three colors had adorned the ceiling in the public area. The regular tables had been removed and replaced with little round fucking tables covered in shiny gold tablecloths. Four chairs surrounded each table, two decorated in green and two in purple. His pool tables had been replaced with a temporary dais and a fucking gleaming wooden floor had been brought in.
At the last minute, they’d been fucking informed tuxedoes were required.
The fucking disrespect to his fucking club and his MC had galled the fuck out of him. He wasn’t alone either. Mort had been madder than a motherfucker. Marcus ‘Digger’ Banks, Mort’s blood brother and the club’s sergeant-at-arms had been fucking outraged. Matthew ‘Val’ Taylor, road captain and Christopher’s brother-in-law, had bitterly fucking complained. Even Johnnie, vice-president, Christopher’s brother-cousin, and even preppier than Knox fucking Harrington, had been annoyed. And the fucking general membership had asked if Christopher had lost his fucking mind.
Discovering his woman had fucking known exactly what the fuck was going to happen hadn’t helped his fucking mood. Of all the bitches, Megan especially should’ve known better. He’d lost his fucking temper and ordered the shit removed from the club.
Two months later, he’d been able to beg his way back into her pussy again. He’d donated a quarter rock to whatever they’d been planning to do with the money they’d intended to raise at that doomed ball. He’d sworn to pay for each event going forward, including whatever venue the women chose, and to cooperate with whatever Megan asked of him.
And five fucking years later, here the fuck they fucking were. Every fucking year, the hall that was rented seemed to get larger and larger. The decorations got more elaborate. This year, sprays of fresh purple, green, and golden flowers hung from the ceiling over the dance floor like an upside-down carpet. The dais sat at the front of the hall, a long table with shiny purple tablecloths, dressed up in alternating segments of green and gold gauze. Flamelight flickered against tall, crystal candleholders that marched down the center of the dais. On the side closest to the dance floor was the band. On the other side, the bar stood. Above it, a gigantic Mardi Gras crown dangled. Guest tables started in the area between the bar and the dance floor and extended the entire length of the room, nearly to the back door. Not much was different about these tables from the ones that had been at the clubhouse, except the size. Instead of four chairs, there were eight to a table tonight.
“Our dance is about to start,” she said, her husky voice intruding on his thoughts.
She bowed; he scowled. When she walked closer to him and placed her other hand on his shoulder, he didn’t shove her the fuck away or keep his free hand firmly at his side. Instead, he placed it at her waist, clenching his fucking jaw so hard it shocked him he didn’t crack a few fucking teeth.
“I look forward to Roxy and Knox’s Mardi Gras ball every year.”
Christopher grunted.
“Don’t you? I know Meggie does, too.”
“Only fuckin’ reason I do this fuckin’ bullshit is cuz of her, Kendall,” he snapped.
Her lips thinned. Top priority for next year’s ball was purchasing a fucking full-face mask for Kendall.
“Are you? I’m pretty sure Meggie doesn’t approve of your fucking mask. It’s a fucking skull face with teeth and horns.”
“She the one bought the motherfucker for my ass, Kendall, so shut the fuck up.”
Her lips tipped up into a smile. “Meggie thinks you do it for the children. The Harringtons raise a lot of money with the ball.” Her grin deepened. “I’m sure it helps that you pay for everything, allowing them pure profit.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Christopher reminded himself that Kendall had come a long way from being the psycho-camp-needing, devious, manipulating, stealing-Johnnie-balls cunt that she had been. She had her manic moments and still could use a good fucking psycho camp at times, but she had returned a nut and a half to John Boy.
“Meggie is laughing so hard. I wonder what Johnnie is telling her.”
Christopher didn’t bother to look in the direction of his wife. He did, however, glower in the direction of Roxanne as she danced with Mort. As if he felt the heat of Christopher’s gaze, Mort met his gaze and winced, then offered a small shrug.
Determined to keep his temper in check, Christopher refused to look in the direction of his girl in Johnnie’s arms.
“Remind me again why we have to switch partners during the processional?” Kendall asked with a sniff, her stare fixated in the direction of her husband with Megan. “She said something to him and now he’s laughing.” She dug her heels in, tried to halt their dancing.
Christopher tightened his hold. “You ain’t fuckin’ fuckin’ this fuckin’ dance up, Kendall,” he snarled, low. “You, Ophelia, and Roxanne came up with this fuckin’ bullshit.” How his fucking youngest sister even got fucking involved, he didn’t fucking know. She and her two motherfuckers and their lil’ motherfuckers kept to themfuckingselves at public events. “Shut the fuck up and suck it the fuck up ‘til the motherfucker over.”
She turned her attention to him and frowned. “Why’d I agree to that again?”
Maybe, she didn’t really fucking remember, but he fucking did. “A show of fuckin’ unity or some bullshit after the way the first motherfucker got ruined.”
She pulled him closer. “Say something to make me laugh.”
Though he didn’t release her, Christopher stepped slightly back. “Fuck you. Fuck off. Fuck no.”
He wasn’t trying to be a funny motherfucker, but she laughed anyway, a loud, high laugh that grated on his fucking ass.
“Kendall,” he said on a sigh. “You know what the fuck gonna happen, yet every fuckin’ year, you alfuckinmost flip your fuckin’ shit at this dance. And every fuckin year you insist on keepin’ the motherfucker the same. You pass this bullshit. You been doin’ real good for a real fuckin’ long time. Stop lettin’ this one fuckin’ day set you the fuck back.”
She nodded. “I think the song is almost over.”
“It better fuckin’ be,” Christopher grumbled. “They been playin’ this motherfucker for two fuckin’ hours.”
Kendall giggled. “You know that isn’t true, Outlaw.”
Her genuine amusement made him smile. Truly, they’d come a long fucking way. Years ago, the fucking snicker would’ve annoyed the fuck out of him. “Fuck, it feel that fuckin’ way, babe.”
Just as he said those words, the song ended. He released Kendall so quickly that she stumbled, but he caught her elbow to steady her.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He nodded but saw Megan floating his way out of the corner of his eye and instantly forgot Kendall existed.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Johnnie greeted Kendall as Megan walked up to Christopher and said, “hey, you.”
“Hey, baby,” he said, drawing her into his arms as the band started playing their rendition of Paris By Night by Kenny G.
At first, they said nothing else. He kissed the top of her head and held her close, breathing in her scent and just being. She rested her head on his chest and followed his lead. It was a slow, sensual song and he would’ve fucking fucked up a motherfucker if this had been chosen as the first fucking dance.
For whatever fucking reason, the women had been asked to wear black or white formal attire. Against the backdrop of all the purple, green, and gold decorations, the color scheme for the gowns stuck out like a sore fucking thumb, especially the fucking white. But that’s the color his woman chose, a long white gown made almost entirely of lace and some type of see-through material that showed her beautiful fucking skin. Her custom-made, half mask consisted of silk, crystal, and white gold. She’d curled her golden hair, then swept it up in a type of way that allowed the ringlets to dangle down her neck and halo her face.
She lifted her head and raised her gaze to him. “I told Roxy we had to leave early,” she said.
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “I know you didn’t really want to do this again this year, but you did. I thought maybe we could go to our favorite diner and eat. Relax a little.”
“You sure, baby?”
Once again, she nodded.
“You ain’t happen to bring a change of fuckin’ clothes, so I can get this fuck outta this fuckin’ monkey suit, huh, Megan?”
“No. I only thought of sneaking away on the way over here.”
“Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, baby.” Cuz, really, the fact that she thought of it at all made all the fucking difference in the world.
(c)2022 Kathryn C. Kelly
Text Subject To Change In Published Book
