Page 131 of Remorseless

The numbness spread.

“CJ?” Narci.

The room swirled, tilted. It felt as if he were suspended from the ceiling.

“Fuck! CJ?” Panic rose in Uncle Mort’s voice. Suddenly, he was there, dragging CJ to his feet and into his arms.

CJ’s heart pounded. It would beat out of his chest at any moment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! CJ!”

“I’m dying, Uncle Mort,” CJ slurred, his pulse roaring in his ears and his eyeballs seconds away from popping out of their sockets. He wrapped his arms around Uncle Mort’s neck. “Tell Mom and Dad I love them. I loveyou—”

He didn’t have the strength to finish. His eyes rolled back and the world faded to black.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Normally, storms didn’t interfere with Christopher’s sleep, but the pounding thunder woke him the fuck up.

Or maybe not.

He and Megan were spooning, and her hair covered most of his face, including his mouth and nose.

Yeah, survival instincts had kicked the fuck in and made him open his fucking eyes. Imagine kicking up his cock because his woman’s hair had smothered him.

Eternal fucking humiliation. Big Joe would never fucking let him live it down…or whatever the fuck they’d be doing…

Instead of contemplating a smothered-by-fucking-hair fate, he found a measure of goddamn sense and moved his head away from the heavenly scent of Megan’s hair. No fucking doubt it was thatsmell that had drawn him to bury his nose in the golden mass.

The lamp’s light flickered off, then flared on again. Lifting his head, Christopher scowled toward the lamp that Megan couldn’t sleep without.

The motherfucker with the low-wattage bulb flickered off and on afuckingain, because the electricity wasn’t sure if it would bow to the wind and rain and go the fuck out or if the motherfucker could stand strong and stay the fuck on.

He fucking hoped it was the latter. If Megan woke up to a dark room, she wouldn’t be fucking happy at fucking all.

Christopher drew her closer to him, buried his nose in her hair again, and thrust his hard cock against her ass. Shifting against him, she made a little noise in the back of her throat.

He kissed the back of her head. “Sleep, baby,” he whispered.

“Umkay.”

Smiling at her mumble, he caressed her hip, the feel of her silky-soft skin burning his fingertips.

“Christopher?” she said quietly, vestiges of sleep hoarsening her voice. “What time is it?”

He raised his head and looked at the wall clock, illuminated by the night lamp. “Just after fuckin’ midnight,” he answered. Early for them, but the evening had been exhausting.

No wonder they’d taken a quick shower after a quick fuck and stumbled to bed. More tired than either of them realized if they both fell asleep so fucking quickly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked around a yawn.

“Besides that fuckin’ clock?” he teased. “Not a motherfuckin’ thing, baby.”

She gently elbowed him. “I love that clock,” she protested. “And, before I bought it, I asked if it was okay with you.”

“Unfuckinnecessary,” he responded. “This your fuckin’ house, Megan. If you wanted to buy a fuckin’ elephant and turn into a clock to put on the goddamn wall, that shit up to you.”

“I wouldn’t buy an elephant. It would have to be killed and it’s a defenseless animal.”