A long knock pounded through Johnnie’s head and he scowled at the door of his efficiency apartment. When the banging started again, Johnnie raised his head and groaned, rubbing his month old beard.
“Open the door, John Boy,” Mortician called.
He started not to answer. After a month of silence from his brothers, he didn’t need any of them coming here and pouring salt into his wounds. He was alone and all because of a bitch he’d wanted to have a go at a relationship with.
“Fuck you, motherfucker!” the man snarled. “I’m gonna shoot the fucking locks off in you don’t open this goddamn door.”
Growling, he roared to his feet, snatched his jeans and stomped to the door, yanking it open in time to see Mortician pulling his piece and aiming it at the lock. “I wouldn’t do that, motherfucker,” Johnnie snapped, spinning on his heel, not caring if Mortician followed or not.
The slamming of the door and the footsteps pounding behind him told Johnnie Mortician had ended up on the wrong side of the door. He headed to his nightstand, grabbed his cigarettes and lit one.
He swept Mortician with a cold look. “What?”
Bailey? Johnnie thought for a moment and recalled the girl in question. “K-P’s daughter?” Wait. “And?”
Mortician pulled on his dreads. “And? What the fuck you think?”
Johnnie narrowed his eyes and sucked on his cigarette. “You’re the daddy, I take it.”
A curt nod.
“Don’t know it’s me, yet. Ain’t gonna take him long to figure shit out, though.”
“And how does this matter to me again?” Johnnie snapped around the cigarette. “I’m no longer your brother, remember? You should be going to Outlaw with this.”
“John Boy, you made the decision with everything,” Mortician reminded him. “You chose to fuck Megan and you chose to save that other bitch’s life. Prez could’ve killed both of you. You touched his girl, brother. You lucky to still be breathing.”
Mortician was right, but the whole situation still left a bitter taste in his mouth. He missed them all so much and he missed the closeness he and Christopher had shared. He knew, however, even if he had remained in the club, everything was forever altered. Christopher would never again trust him around Megs…Megan. She and Johnnie would never share the easy rapport they’d once had. Filled with sexual tension, yes, but still based on friendship and trust. Now, that was ruined.
Johnnie flicked ashes into the ashtray, then sighed. “You want something to eat?”
“Dude, you fucking heard me? I got Bailey pregnant.”
“What do you want me to say, Mortician?” Johnnie snapped. “Christopher fucked with Megan. She ended up pregnant. Val fucked my bitch of a cousin and what happened with Zoann? She ended up having his kid. You fuck with Bailey and now she’s conceived your baby.”
“My point is all three of these women have something sweet—“ He thought of Zoann. “My point is two of those women have a sweet innocence about them and you lost your fucking heads.”
Mortician smirked at him. “Oh, and you didn’t, genius?”
Pounding started on the door. “Mortician, you have three fucking seconds to bring you ass out here,” K-P snarled.
Before the word was out, K-P burst in holding a shotgun and aiming it straight at Mortician’s dick. A car swerved to a halt followed by the rumble of Harley pipes.
“Dad!” Bailey called, desperate. “Don’t shoot him. I love him!”
Mortician choked but before he could respond another voice came.
“K-P, please,” Megan said, right behind her, and Johnnie realized she’d driven Bailey because clearly the girl was in no shape to drive.
“Get her the fuck outta here, Megan,” K-P ordered. “And keep your fucking nose out my fucking business. This prick knocked my girl up because of you.”
A growl, like a bear on the move, was all the warning Christopher had arrived. He glared at Johnnie, walked to K-P and yanked the shotgun from him before butting him in the stomach with it. “That’s for talking to my wife like that, fuckhead.” The cigarette that had been hanging from his mouth during the entire exchange trembled with his words. He pointed to Mortician. “You. Dickhead. What you got to say for yourself?”
“What can he say?” K-P sputtered, rising to his feet and doubling over. He limped to the chair and sat. “Bailey’s carrying his kid.”
Christopher opened the chamber of the shotgun and emptied the barrel of its shells before snapping it closed again. He threw it at K-P’s feet and it clattered in the suddenly still air. He turned his gaze to Bailey. “That true?”
She nodded then hung her head.
“And you had the bright fuckin’ idea to blast the father of your grandbaby to fuck?”
K-P glowered at him.
Bailey was whispering something to Megs…Megan. Megan squeaked and shook her head. “Are you insane?” she managed, drawing everyone’s attention to them.
Bailey’s gorgeous little face crumpled and Megs groaned.
“What the fuck she say, baby?” Christopher asked.
Megs huffed out a little breath. “Mortician, would you marry Bailey?”
“Fuck no!” K-P yelled, jumping to his feet. “This ain’t the fucking life for my baby.”
“So it’s the life for my mother?” Megan spat, glaring at the one-eyed biker. “Isn’t she marrying you?”
Christopher scowled at Megan and Johnnie didn’t have to guess he still disliked Dinah. He knew he sure the fuck did.
“You two,” he began, pointing to Megan and Bailey. “Back to the club.”
“Christopher—“ Megan began.
“Ain’t up for fuckin’ negotiatin’, Megan. I need to fuckin’ talk to my boys without fuckin’ interference from you two, fuckin’ spoiled brats.”
In the wake of the two women’s departure, Christopher glanced at Johnnie. “I want to fuckin’ talk to you when this shit’s settled.”
“All right, assfucks,” he said, glaring between Mortician and K-P. “Bailey’s fuckin’ twenty-one. Free to give pussy to whoever the fuck she want.”
K-P growled. “My daughter was innocent ‘til he laid his hands on her.”
Folding his arms, Mortician clenched his jaw and glanced straight ahead.
“If I had a baby girl, I’d keep her in a cage,” Christopher went on. “So I understand you pissed, K-P. And, you, you stupid motherfucker, crossed the line. You shoulda never put your dick in a brother’s girl.” Christopher paused and sent Johnnie an ugly glare. “Daughter,” he gritted.
“You think I don’t know that shit—“
“Too fuckin’ late now, motherfucker,” Christopher snapped. “Looks like you fuckin’ shoppin’ for weddin’ rings.”
“WHAT?” Both K-P and Mortician yelled.
“You fuckin’ heard me, fuckhead. Weddin’s goin’ in a week.”
“No!” Mortician snarled. “I’m not ever getting married. I’m not givin’ up all the pussy I get anytime I want from any bitch I want. Having Bailey around, pregnant with my kid, won’t fucking cut it.”
“What you prefer, Mort?” Christopher asked quietly. “Not having Bailey around and still pregnant with your kid? Letting her have your kid and either grow up not knowing its real father—and thinking they ruined her life just by bein’ born?” He shrugged. “Then, again, another motherfucker might come along. Raise your kid in your place. Lay in her bed in your place. Give her more babies—“
Mortician growled in pure frustration.
“Yeah, that’s what the fuck I thought,” Christopher said with a smirk. “Go make nice with her.”
“I should’ve fucking listened to Digger,” Mortician said sourly.
“Yeah?” Christopher asked. “What the fuck for?”
“He warned me to stay away from young pussy.” With that, Mortician stomped out.
Christopher eyed K-P. “You okay with this?”
“Not much I can do, is there?”
“Go find your baby and give her a hug,” Christopher advised. “Tell her you love her no matter what.”
K-P rubbed his eyes and then nodded, before walking out.
When they were alone, Johnnie and Christopher stared at one another. “Give me a minute,” he said, then turned on his heel and left Johnnie standing there. A moment later, he reentered the house, carrying a satchel. He threw it to Johnnie, who reached out and caught it.
When he opened it, he stared at the stack of hundred dollar bills and looked up at Christopher in confusion.
Christopher glowered at him. “Your cut,” he explained. “From the fuckin’ gun deal.” He shrugged. “Ain’t as much as it was supposed to be, but, it’s what you’re owed.”
Johnnie slid the money back to him. “Thank you. But keep it. I’m not…” He paused because he couldn’t finish it.
“It’s yours, John Boy. Do what the fuck you wanna. Burn it for all I give a fuck.”
Christopher turned on his heel and left Johnnie and the satchel. When the sound of the Harley sped away, Johnnie dumped at the contents out.
The last thing to rain out were the patches to the MC.
THIS IS THE END OF THE ORIGINAL PLOT FOR MISUNDERSTOOD. IT WAS AT THIS POINT THAT I DECIDED TO REWRITE THE BOOK.