Page 174 of Rebellious

“Whatever you do, I’ll support you.”

“Roxy wouldn’t.”

“Bailey’s her daughter.”

Tears rushed to Kendall’s eyes. “Do you think she hates me?”

“Have you called her or spoken to her since you left her house?”

“No.”

“You’re in a state today, love. Call her tomorrow—”

“Maybe you and I can have coffee with her tomorrow—”

“It has to be really early,” Meggie interrupted. “Christopher and I are leaving for the cabin tomorrow afternoon.”

“I forgot. When you return, then.”

“I might come back Saturday. It’s Axel’s birthday. I feel so bad about being away. I’ve never missed my children’s birthday. Rebel is planning a party for him at the club, but—”

“But nothing. Stay at the cabin with your husband. You deserve the break. Axel understands.” Kendall settled an arm around Meggie’s shoulder. “You’ll make it up to him. Or I can dress and we can go to Portland and buy out the stores. With every gift you buy, leave him a short, personal note, telling him how much you love him and wishing him happy birthday.”

“Jo is coming home Monday, so we can also pick out more baby clothes for her.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yep.”

Of all the days for motherfucking Lance Hart to request the meeting, it had to be today. Of all the motherfucking meetings Christopher itched to have, it had to be with motherfucking Lance Hart.

Christopher allowed Mort to walk into Lance Hart’s office ahead of him. As his acting sergeant-at-arms, it was Mort’s job to get a bead on a situation. If he didn’t feel comfortable, he’d walk out and shake his head and they’d leave. Or try to. But Christopher felt distinctly watched by the hidden cameras in the high-rise space. However, he’d come to a decision about the deal he was borrowing from Bash.

When Mort didn’t signal they should get the fuck, Val and Stretch walked in next. Christopher didn’t plan to stay long. They’d iron out the deal. Or not. He still had shit to do at the club before he and Megan left tomorrow. Burning Dementor’s possessions for instance. The envelope contained personal shit such as birth certificate, social security card, driver’s license, a gun permit, a passport, and a few photos of him at Bash’s clubhouse with those other fucked-up fucking fuckhead traitors who pretended they loved the Death Dwellers so much.

He shoved those motherfuckers out of his mind and walked into the office. He didn’t mind the wood and marble but all the gold-leaf in the décor and his curlicued initials everywhere gave the room a gaudy feel.

It was rare that he dealt directly with crooked businessmen. That was usually Johnnie’s forte.

Pushing that thought aside too, he walked to Hart’s desk, unable to get Kendall off his mind. He hoped Megan got through to her and she returned to the club.

Lance Hart was tall, nearly eye level with Christopher and about his age. Instead of a cut and leathers, he wore a business suit.

“Outlaw,” Hart greeted.

Christopher nodded to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

“Negative. I have a board meeting to get to. Elevators are the slowest in the city.” He smiled. “Well known fact.”

“Then come to my fuckin’ clubhouse.” Christopher turned. “Next week.”

“You walk out that door and the deal’s off.”

“I ain’t needin’ you or your fuckin’ deal.”

“You sought me out.”

To save Bash from himself. If he thought Bash would agree to Christopher’s terms, he’d tell the motherfucker. However, he was certain Bash wouldn’t just give in, especially with Cleaner in his ear.