Page 63 of Ruptured

Glowering, Christopher folded his arms, watching Val and Digger exchange glances and Mort scratch his chin. They were staring at him like he was a fucking lunatic. As if they didn’t understand what she meant to him.

Or how hurt he was. Scared. Livid. And tired. So fucking tired. He was ready to steal Megan away and hide her from the fucking world.

“I got another suggestion, Prez,” Mort said into the silence.

“Fuck, what? Cuz you just full of those motherfuckers this evening.”

“Don’t let CJ and Rebel hear you talk about her like that,” Mort said. “They will fuckingkillyou.”

“They can fuckin’ try. Meganmine. She belong to me, and they wouldn’t be here without my fuckin’ ass. Fuckthem. She mine! She put every bit of gray in my fuckin’ hair. Every goddamn wrinkle on my fuckin’ face. Every hole in my motherfuckin’ heart. My children don’t know half of what the fuck me and their ma been through. Shemine,” he repeated as if that was in doubt, the natatorium footage replaying in his head.

Rebel floating. Megan fighting.

Rule today, sobbing and pleading.

Suddenly, Christopher wanted to weep. Or, maybe, kill.

“They better not interfuckinfere with me andmyfuckin’ wife,” he raged, blaming his children as well for Megan turning on him. “Not if they know what’s good for them.

“I’ll buy some fresh white gloves for your fucking funeral,” Val growled, over his panic at Christopher’s threat and shaking his head. “You touch one of her children andMeggiewill fuck you up.”

“So what? I’m a fuckin’ non-entity in my own fuckin’ house now? I’m the head of the family. They listen to me. From now on,she listenin’ to me. All of them are. From Megan and Diesel on down to Gunner and Jo.”

Val frowned. “Jo can’t even understand yet, Outlaw.”

“She will, and she’ll see Megan bein’ a sweet angel who take care of me and our kids, not a fuckin’ hell goddess who want to burn everything in her fuckin’ path and allow fuckin’ smoke and flame to fuckin’ blind her to me. End of fuckin’ story.”

“Not to change the subject, but since you brought up Diesel, I have most of the cameras installed,” Val said cautiously. “Do you want any in his room, too?”

“Nope.” He couldn’t manage anything else.

“You don’t really think he fucking around with Reb, do you, Prez?” Mortician asked.

“In his mind,sheprobably fuckin’ withhim,” Christopher said. “If Reb did anyfuckin’thing, she don’t understand who she fuckin’ with. All Diesel will see is abody, not a fuckin’ kid. Not his lil’ sister. Not even his fuckin’ imminent death.”

“Say you see something happening between him and Reb, then what?” Val asked. “Meggie’ll let you fuck him up?”

“Probably,” Christopher said with distaste.

Digger dug into his cut, came out with a handful of M&Ms, and popped them into his mouth. “We was young once,” he said, crunching on the candy and barely understandable because of his full mouth. “We all fucked liked Diesel. Everywhere and everything. But we had enough sense not to fuck with underage girls. Give your son some credit, Outlaw.”

Christopher wanted to be wrong. That’s why he hadn’t fucked up Diesel yet. “We’ll see.”

Circling the motherfucker hanging upside down by his ankles from a rope attached to a meat hook, Easton took another drag of his cigarette, rolling his eyes at the screams and pleas from the other asshole who’d gotten in Bash’s crosshairs. He wanted an underhanded engagement with Outlaw. Why, Easton couldn’t say.UnlessOutlaw knew. And, if he did,then, he’d have to give a fuck.

Killing Scorched Devils wouldn’t further Bash’s end game.That small club had no bearing on the Death Dweller’s power or Megan Caldwell’s ownership, and thus Bash’s.

Easton believed Bash was bored, high, or both when he gave the orders. Before he’d been given his marching orders, Easton tried to reason with Bash. To no avail, especially since Tío suggested this fucked up move.

“Stop! Please!”

The last Scorpion fuckhead alive from their latest roundup had the unfortunate luck to have Tío as his executioner. His little brother, Bash’s lauded “oldest” son. Tío hadn’t forgiven Easton for usurping that title. In theory, at least. Because as the months passed, Bash increasingly relied on Tío’s advice and tactics.

Easton thought Bash was insane. He couldn’t compare to his fucking son. Tío was an unparalleled psycho.

Reaching into the dickhead’s belly, slit open in a move Tío called theBraveheart, he yanked out a portion of the man’s large intestine in a squishy sound as grotesque as gurgling.

“Fuck, motherfucker died on me,” Tío complained, dropping the guts and dripping blood and other substances identified by the horrific smell. He pointed to Easton’s target, who was screaming as if someone might hear him. “Can I try with him?”