She nodded.
“Which fuckin’ one, Rebel?”
Smirking, she turned and stomped to her bed, dropping next to the opened suitcase and crossing her legs. The amount of skin her pink micro mini skirt and matching crop top revealed dawned on Christopher. He glanced around her room, fit for his princess, with marble floors, ornate walls, and crystal chandeliers. She had a pastel blue, cream, and gold color scheme and a hidden panic box, along with other safety features, in case of a breach. Spying her robe, draped over a chair, he stormed to it, snatched it, and then brought it to her. He held it out.
Instead of taking it, she stood and started for the door. “You’re ridiculous,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Get back here, Rebel.”
“No.”
Mort’s advice ran through his mind. If he wanted Rebel to listen to him, maybe he needed to consider her feelings. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. As much as he wanted her to trust him and believe him at face value, she’d had a mean introduction to reality.
“Baby, wait. Lemme…just listen to me for a fuckin’ minute.”
She didn’t open the door, though she turned and leaned against it, lifting a brow, refusing to give a fucking inch.
“I love your ma so fuckin’ much, Rebel. I ain’t…I know how shit looked, but I ain’t ever cheated on Megan. I ain’t ever wanted Torie. I shoulda never let her talk to you the way she did. I’m so fuckin’ sorry I hurt you so bad.”
Tears glistened in her eyes and she pursed her lips.
“You a formidable lil’ motherfucker.”
“Like Momma.”
Christopher nodded. “And me.”
Her throat working, she glanced away and clenched her jaw. The pain on her face made him feel lower than a fucking snake.
“You look like your ma, but you act like me,” he told her.
A small smile tipped her lips. She heaved in a breath and returned to where she’d been sitting on the bed.
Awkwardness settled between them, and Christopher searched his mind for what to say or to do. He considered how he’d handle Diesel, CJ, or any of the boys.
Realizing what he had to do, he walked to the bed, pushed her suitcase back, and sat next to her, then dug in his cut and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter.
“Want one?” he asked, holding the pack out to her.
She hesitated for the briefest moment before she capitulated and took one, allowing him to light hers and waiting until he did the same with his before she walked to her cabinet in the sitting area and got an ashtray, placing it between them on the bed.
“Momma’s bringing her phone, Daddy,” she said after long minutes of comfortable silence, eased by the camaraderie of smoking. “So am I. So’s Kaia and Axel.”
Christopher let those words sink in. Unlike the last time, Megan didn’t intend to hide her whereabouts.
“Where are you stayin’? She ain’t told me.”
“Hotels are booked.” Rebel nodded to her phone, where it lay on her dresser. “She said she’s going to contact Q. Or she was going to ask Uncle Mort if he could do it.”
“She thinkin’ about stayin’ at our LA chapter?” Christopher asked in surprise. “And she ain’t askin’ me for help?”
“She knows how hard this is on you,” Rebel said. “If it makes you feel better, she’s leaving to help me, not to punish you.”
Nodding, Christopher took a drag of his cigarette, hiding a smile when Rebel mirrored his actions. “Megan a good ma.”
“She is,” Rebel agreed without hesitation, then discarded her cigarette in the ashtray.
“What Diesel did to you?” He didn’t know how else to ask for her side ofthe story, especially since he’d never been one to hem and haw. “Tell me.”
