Frustrated, Christopher punched the side of Diesel’s head. “Ain’t I fuckin’ told you to stop usin’ fuckin’ drugs? I fuckin’ asked you if you needed rehab.”
“I don’t—”
“Then you need a motherfuckin’ bullet in your goddamn head. I ain’t puttin’ up with that bullshit from you, Diesel. You stop usin’ the drugs with rehab or without or I’m fuckin’ killin’ you.” He punched his jaw. “Cuz, see, I suspect you got fuckin’ high. Jana got high and you letwhoeverfuck her. Wasn’t no fuckin’ reason for her to disrespect herself and you like she did by walkin’ into the fuckin’ bar naked, if you ain’t let her pitch her pussy.”
Shame crossed Diesel’s face.
Christopher laughed bitterly. “See, fuckhead, that’s why Ima fuckin’ kill you if you ain’t givin’ up coke. Cuz you lose all your motherfuckin’ sense. You get fuckin’ high and you don’t give a good fuck about morals or decency.”
Which meant he’d sleep with Rebel, and her age wouldn’t matter.
“We were just partying, Uncle Christopher. Shit got out of hand. She’s aformeraddict,” he insisted, hanging his head. “I-I just talked her into doing a line with me. Don’t be angry with her. Or make her leave. I need her with me.”
“Yeah, motherfucker, and we both know why. Fuck you.”
“Please,” he whispered. “She keeps me grounded. I care about her. You have nothing to worry about.”
“How about if you or her get high again, I kill both you fuckheads?” Christopher barked, fed-up.
“Fair,” Diesel responded.
“Fair?” Christopher asked with incredulity. “You think riskin’ her fuckin’ life, puttin’ it on the fuckin’ line isfair?”
Diesel nodded.
“Then, motherfucker, you ain’t ever cared about Jana. You wouldn’t be so fuckin’ cavalier with her life.”
“I promise I’ll do better.”
Ignoring Diesel, Christopher turned to Torrin and punched his jaw. “What the fuck happened with bein’ his friend and lookin’ out for him?”
“I was fucking when Narci gave him the blow.”
At that moment, Narci groaned. Furious, Christopher stormed to that fuckhead and kicked his side. He moaned.
“Fuckin’ fuckhead, sit the fuck up,” Christopher ordered.
“Outlaw,” Narci managed.
“Fuck you. I told your motherfuckin’ ass not to have drugs on premises last night.”
“I couldn’t sell last week’s inventory. I was expecting more business than I got and was going to lose money,” he gasped. “I swear. You didn’t give the order until Saturday morning. I thought I had some buyers, but the sales fell through. I swear! I swear, Outlaw.”
“Motherfucker—”
Christopher’s ringing phone stopped him. By the ringtone, it was Derby. He had special tones for all his support club presidents.
Taking his phone out of his pocket, answering and putting it on speakerphone, he set it on the bar, then put Narci in a chokehold and dragged him to his feet.
“Are you there, Outlaw?” Derby asked, sounding a little more normal than he had for the past couple of days.
“Talk to me,” Christopher said, ignoring Narci’s struggles.
“I was just calling to tell you there’ll be no need for any tributes for Gypsy.”
“Yes the fuck there is. Megan grievin’ for your woman. That’ll help—”
“I had Gypsy cremated yesterday, Outlaw,” Derby announced.
