“We didn’t bring it up,” Devon pointed out. “She did.”
“Kaia, pack,” Axel said, focused on Devon before smiling at Ryder and Ransom. “Men, I need to give you some instructions. Come with me.”
The moment Ryder and Ransom stood, Axel said, “Mark time, MARCH!”
They began marching in place.
“Forward, MARCH!” Axel ordered, and the three little fuckheads marched out.
“What are they doing?” Devon asked.
“Planning your gruesome death,” Diesel said calmly. “I’d tell you to hide, but I taught Axel to never give up until all threats are annihilated.”
Standing in front of Rebel’s door a half hour later, Christopher raised his hand to knock, then lowered it. Their chasm was so deep and wide, he didn’t know how to approach her.
He wanted to feel her out. Ask her about Diesel, how she felt about Kaia,ifany of those club cunts had done her anything recently. He wanted to tell her to come to him instead of going to her ma.
He’d thought Megan had thawed out, abandoned her new murderous side. But he’d gone after her and she just doubled down, swearing if Fia slept with Kaia one more time she’d die.
Defeated, Christopher left her, unable to watch her close her suitcases, knowing she’d soon leave him again.
Whether Diesel did his bullshit to teach Rebel about men or because he was a jealous fuckhead, Christopher couldn’t dwell on that at the moment. He was too concerned over Megan leaving—her anger—to really consider the truth. He needed to build a case against his woman leaving again, a convincing argument that would make her forgive him and get her back on his side.
Sighing, he laid his hand against Rebel’s door. Lately, she annoyed him more than anything else. He couldn’t break through her resentment toward him. She refused to believe him about Torie or listen to him about Diesel.
Backing away, Christopher shoved his hands in his pockets. He started to turn, but seeing Rebel walking down the hall toward her door halted him. Rebel froze. He did, too. They stared at each other. Her wariness irritated him. On a day-to-day basis, her blue eyes were icier than Megan’s, more akin to Snake’s. Yet, the older Rebel got, the more she looked like her ma. Christopher had been so proud of Rebel’s breathtaking beauty. Until he realized, motherfuckers were looking at her and thinking about shit they needed to die for. She was his baby girl, gorgeous like her ma. He just wanted her to stay his princess.
“What do you want?” she demanded, storming by and opening her door, then pausing with her hand on the knob. “I have things to do, so we don’t miss the flight. If youjust intend to stare at me, I’ll snap a photo and text it to you.”
Scowling, he followed her into her room. “Obviously, I fuckin’ came to talk to you.” He brushed past her. The sight of four suitcases lined up near her door and one opened one, overflowing with shit on her bed, turned his stomach.
She slammed her door closed. “What, Daddy?”
“Your ma said you comin’ back Wednesday,” Christopher said, his gaze glued to all the luggage.
“And?”
“That’s three fuckin’ days away.”
“And?” Rebel repeated with more impatience.
“You got enough fuckin’ luggage for a month.”
Folding her arms, Rebel rolled her eyes. “They’re empty.”
Christopher stiffened. “You must think I’m a fuckin’ jackass.”
“Your words, not mine.”
Determined not to lose his temper, Christopher ignored her comeback. “Why the fuck you bringin’ empty motherfuckers? You gotta pay to check that shit in.”
“We’re going shopping. Momma’s bringing extra suitcases, too.”
Panic flared inside Christopher. Shit felt so out-of-control, which he never responded well to. “Stop bein’ so fuckin’ spoiled and selfishand tell your ma she ain’t got to go anywhere. Tell her you’re fuckin’ fine.”
“Even if I’m not?”
“Fine, spoiled or selfish?”
