Page 71 of Remiss

She nodded.

“Serve the fuckin’ food, Celia,” he growled. “Let Kendall meet with Bash, then Ima fuckin’ decide if the motherfucker should live. Hear me?”

“That’s all I can ask for,” she said hoarsely. “And more than I expected.”

Uncle Christopher shrugged. “Ain’t a commutation to life yet. Just a fuckin’ reprieve from imminent death.”

“So, you intended to kill him at the meeting?”

“Nope. I ain’t puttin’ Kendall in that type of fuckin’ danger. If that’s what the fuck he worried about.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” she insisted.

“You might be tellin’ the fuckin’ truth, but that don’t mean I fuckin’ believe you. I don’t fuckin’ know you and your main objective to save that motherfucker not to be my friend.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

“Can’t say the fuckin’ same. Didn’t know about you until recently. Even if I had wouldn’t made a difference.”

“Because of Daddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Fair enough, but he valued you much more than he did me. The only woman he ever truly loved was his sister, Kimber. Of his daughters, he recognized me because of her.”

“So I got more sisters I ain’t knowin’ about?”

“Several more, but I’ve never met them. Spread throughout these United States. Brothers, too. But he cherished Bash and you the most. He was about to be nineteen when Bash was born and you were a fighter. Resilient. He admired that so much.”

A muscle ticked in Uncle Christopher’s jaw and anger flickered in his eyes, yet he asked a surprisingly civil question. “How old are you?”

“Fifty-four.”

“You my big sister then?” he asked with a small smile.

“I am.”

“Never had one of those.”

Celia offered him a tentative smile.

“Ain’t makin’ a difference. You still a girl, so Ima treat you like I do my lil’ sisters. Any motherfucker get outta line with you while you here and Ima fuck them up. But if you here to fuck with Megan, Ima fuckin’ kill you myself.”

He gave Celia one last look, turned, and sauntered away, with those words hanging in the air.

Sitting in the chair at Molly’s bedside, Easton pretended she didn’t look small and vulnerable. Asleep because of sedatives but gravely injured and lacking proper medical care. He’d dug the bullets out and sewed the wounds as best he could.

But he wasn’t a fucking doctor. She was running a fever and he knew one of the wounds was infected. There were more thanenough pills for someone to lose consciousness. Anything that actually helped though? Few and far between.

Thrusting his fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see her. Yet, he saw her anyway. As she had been six days ago before Bash shot her and after.

Easton wondered if he’d ever forgive himself for fucking her. She hadn’t resisted. Even if she’d been conscious, she was so abused he would’ve been just another motherfucker using her.

He couldn’t fucking believe he’d fallen for Bash’s promises that if Easton slept with this girl, he’d finally let her go. The one time Easton broached the subject, Cleaner reminded Bash of an imminent appointment. Since then, Easton hadn’t had another opportunity to talk to him.

He didn’t trust leaving her for too long. When he’d sought out Bash and returned, he found Willard and Wally in here, cocks already out. He’d threatened to shoot the fuck out of them if they didn’t get the fuck away from her.

Fucking fuckheads. They were now added to his list of enemies within the club. Not that he cared. Death might be fucking easier than living with the guilt of what he’d done.