A Very Christopher Christmas (A Death Dwellers MC Novella) (3 page)

“Listen up, baby. Some shit we ain’t ever fully figurin’ out. Like all the factors in this motherfucker. How Big Joe used it as fuckin’ leverage. Why Sharper and Logan didn’t make a more fuckin’ aggressive move. What the fuck Big Joe was thinkin’ to put this motherfucker in your name. And that’s okay. Some shit just don’t have fuckin’ answers. But I wanna know whatcha want me to do with the money. With the house. With—”
 

“There’s so many things that could be done with this house,” she said, studying the room and the money once more. “We could turn it into a home for girls.”
 

Yeah, but just thinking of the housing codes and people’s arguments for bringing transient girls into this middle-class neighborhood was a nightmare. Some shit required being on the fucking up and up legally. Like having a house that helped motherfuckers. But if that’s what Megan wanted, Christopher would find a way to get it done.
 

“There’s just such a heavy feeling here.”
 

Yeah, evil.
He kept his mouth shut, allowing her to work it out in her head.
 

Her blue gaze drank him in. “What did you want to do with it?”
 

“Sell the motherfucker.”
 

“Okay.”
 

Her easy acceptance relieved Christopher. She could’ve wanted to keep it out of sentimentality alone as a reminder of the father she’d lost. Big Joe had never shown her nothing but the best of himself.
 

“And the money?”
 

“What were you going to do with it?”
 

“Split it between me and my officers.”
 

“I’ve been thinking about Mama,” she began in response, running her fingers along the dusty plastic wrapped around the money.
 

At the mention of Dinah, Christopher tensed. Never mind that the bitch had stabbed him and neglected Megan. His girl loved her. “What about her?”
 

“I don’t know why I didn’t ask you to put her in a separate grave when she was buried,” she said sadly. “Since you couldn’t put her with Daddy.”
 

He gave her a gentle smile. “I figured Ma could use some company.”
 

She nodded. “But…” Her voice trailed off.
 

Christopher knew what she was thinking. His sisters and nieces were with his mother now, so Patricia had company.
 

“Can we move Mama? I..I mean put her in Daddy’s grave with K-P, Arrow, and Tyler?”
 

“If that’s what you want, baby.” Anything to bring her a measure of comfort.
 

“It is.”
 

“You wanna have a service again?”
 

Tears rushing to her eyes, she tried to smile. She missed her mother so much, even with the raging cunt Dinah had been. Megan would mourn her ma’s death for years, much as she did Patrick. The only difference was she’d finally accepted their son’s death.  Although, according to her, there wasn’t a day that went by that their dead son didn’t cross her mind at least once.
 

“No. I don’t need another service for her. I know you’ll have her moved.”
 

That’s how much she trusted him. She trusted him to always have her best interests at heart.
 

“You musta had this shit on your mind for a while, baby.”
 

“I have,” she admitted.
 

“You mention it now cuz you think I ain’t had the bills before?”
 

“I know we do.” She shrugged. “I never found the right time to bring it up. Asking what to do with this awful money seemed right.”
 

“Megan, diggin’ up Dinah and reburyin’ her ain’t even takin’ half percent of the money.”
 

She nodded and considered the money again. “This is very bad money. Obtained through awful deeds.”
 

“Yeah.”
 

Digger told him Big Joe had burned money that had been kept in the hiding space at the farmhouse. He’d referred to it as blood money. And, yet, this stash had funded a blood trade. What had the motherfucker been thinking?
 

“Can we find a way to do something good with it?”
 

“Like what? This money funded bad shit, but it been sittin’ here not harmin’ one motherfucker. It’s kinda fuckin’ innocent when you think ‘bout it.”
 

She frowned.
 

“C’mon, baby. Even Mort and Digger acceptin’ the money from Sharper estate once all the shit straightened out.”
 

“I know they are.”
 

Sharper had had a lot of assets. He’d made it fucking easy for Mort and Digger to probate his estate by pretending to be blown the fuck up in a hotel and having a funeral to back the claim up. Yet, taxes and past due debts needed to be paid. Char and Tyler had been the life insurance beneficiaries, but upon their deaths the estate absorbed the dollars. It was some complicated bullshit, but Mort and Digger were still taking the fucking money as the motherfucker’s rightful heirs.
 

“Let’s split this money between everyone,” Megan said into the silence.
 

“The whole club?”
 

“If you want, but I meant not only us but Johnnie and Kendall, Val and Zoann, Mort and Bailey, Digger and Bunny, as well as Roxy, Cash, Ophelia, and Stretch.”
 

He stiffened at the mention of his little sister. Outside of Roxy, Megan had named couples. Christopher couldn’t forget the fact that Cash had fucked Ophelia. The motherfucker had been warned away from her. Had he gone against Christopher and hooked up with her again? “Why Fee? You know something my ass don’t?”
 

“No. It just seems fair, since she’s part of our family.”
 

That appeased him. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”
 

She smiled at him. “Right now, I want to go home. Tomorrow’s Halloween and I have to make sure everything’s in place for trick-or-treating.”
 

Halloween was only the beginning of a bunch of fucking holiday festivities the girls had planned. Christopher was looking forward to some events. Barring their second Christmas together, every subsequent one had been marred with threats hanging over their heads.
 

In comparison, this year would be a fucking breeze.
 

 

John Donovan shifted in his first-row seat at the private recital he was suffering through at the home of his wife’s boss. This fourth performer gave him a fucking headache. Listening to opera piped into the sound system at his house was one goddamn thing. Even hearing the shit in a concert hall was tolerable. But in a room roughly five hundred square feet with nothing but his goddamn ears to absorb the sound…Fuck him, he had to figure out a way to decline Charlotte Redding’s invitations. No, there had to be a way to get Kendall to
not
want to accept at all.
 

Either would be equally hard. His lovely wife enjoyed this type of high-class event.
 

Johnnie fucking despised it.
 

Kendall smiled at him and he laid a hand on her thigh though the skirt of her evening gown covered it. He liked touching her. Her stiffening in reaction reminded him he couldn’t do any PDA around this crowd. It was considered gauche.
 

“Improper behavior,” she said under her breath, not removing her gaze from the center of the room. The moment the soprano had caterwauled her first note, Kendall was enthralled. “We don’t want to insult Charlotte.”
 

She
didn’t want to insult Charlotte. If she wasn’t so important to Kendall, Johnnie wouldn’t give a fuck.
 

“I need a break from these people, gorgeous,” he whispered in return. A permanent break. Fuck. Every two or three weeks he endured these fucking recitals. “This is lasting forever.”
 

Turning a pleading look to him, Kendall rested her hand on her belly. Immediately, guilt slammed Johnnie and he adjusted the collar on his tuxedo shirt, doing his best to keep his cool. After pretending to enjoy a poetry reading, a Shakespearean skit, a classical music piece, and, now,
this
, he wanted to rip out the throat of the girl, so she’d never torture another motherfucker again in life.  She couldn’t carry a fucking note.
 

Not. One. Fucking. Note.
 

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling as if he’d jump out of his skin. He needed a drink and a cigarette. A joint would be fucking spectacular. He could erase every fucking horrible sound hurting his ears.
 

Subdued clapping brought his attention back to the girl. Even the fuckers who’d been enraptured by the performance applauded with manners.
 

“Fifteen-minute recess,” Kendall told him.
 

“What?” A recess meant… ”This shit isn’t over?”
 

Kendall lumbered to her feet and thrust her belly in his face. Without thinking, he flattened his hand over the sparkling blue material of her gown. She leaned into his touch, for a brief moment, until she looked over his shoulder.
 

Charlotte was probably behind Johnnie, so Kendall went back to propriety. A small diamond tiara kept her red hair in place and showcased her sapphire and diamond earrings. She’d spent a fortune on tonight’s outfit, determined to keep up with the other women in attendance.
 

To Johnnie, it was all so pretentious. Give him club functions any day. That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy symphonies, plays, and dinner parties—he even enjoyed these private recitals Charlotte and Brooks held—but on a limited basis.
 

“There’s a football game on tonight,” Johnnie began, feeling a little pathetic at his plaintive tone. “The guys are at Christopher’s house. If we leave now, I can catch the last quarter.”
 

“Did I hear you say you’re leaving now?” Leann Higgins interrupted. She was Kendall’s paralegal, a pretty, perky little blonde related to Charlotte. “You two have to stay. I’m up next.”
 

Fucking great.
The last thing he needed was to have to pretend to like a piece so he wouldn’t insult Charlotte’s niece, and, in turn, freak Kendall out.
 

“What will you perform?”
 

“Opera.
Ava Maria.
I’m keeping it simple.”
 

“I really want to see the game, Leann,” he said with a polite smile, to soften his refusal.
 

“You’ve got to hear me.” She gave him a dramatic blink and he laughed, unable to stop himself. “Please.”
 

“Hello, Leann,” Kendall said coolly before Johnnie responded to the girl’s theatrics.
 

Leann’s bright smile faltered.
 

“Brandy, sir,” a server said, holding a tray out to Johnnie.
 

Brandy. Elderberry liqueur. Whiskey. All alcohol on Kendall’s list of drinks that she preferred Johnnie to drink. Everything but a fucking beer. The tray of brandy-filled snifters held out to him left him little choice but to accept. The alternative was going without.
 

Gritting his teeth and snatching the snifter from the silver tray, Johnny downed the amber liquid in one gulp. The waiter drew himself up, as snooty as the people he served. In no mood to deal with fuckheads, Johnnie narrowed his eyes. The Glock holstered beneath his jacket was a quick solution to appease his boredom, frustration, and annoyance.
 

Kendall held another glass of brandy out to Johnnie. “Here,” she said graciously. “Just because I love you.”
 

“Ahh, that’s so sweet,” Leann offered as the waiter stomped off.
 

“We love each other so much.” Kendall drew herself up and gave her assistant a tight smile. “There’s no one more important to me than Johnnie and he feels the same about me.”
 

“I know.” Leann either missed the warning in Kendall’s tone or ignored it. “I want a man like yours one day. Witty, handsome, and tall.”
 

Kendall’s look could freeze hell. “There’s no one better for him than I am.”
 

To soothe her jealousy, Johnnie placed a hand at the small of her back. “Kendall is my everything,” he said sincerely, wanting to abate her insecurities. He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead when all he wanted to do was hug her tightly and remove all the emotion in her eyes. “Why don’t we leave so I can show you how much I love you?” He winked at her, enjoying her blush.
 

“You’re so bad, Johnnie,” Leann said with a giggle.
 

Tasting his brandy, Johnnie grinned at the little blonde. She was always fun to be around.
 

“How are two of my favorite girls?” Charlotte Redding glided up to their little group, her black gown as elegant as she was. She offered Johnnie a sour look, disliking him because of his biker lifestyle. “Mr. Donovan, you aren’t stressing Kendall out, are you?”