Page 53 of Relentles
She didn’t answer, so he started to turn toward the ensuite.
“CJ?”
“What, Molly?”
“Will I be okay so I can live to February 32nd, 2199, like Mama said? I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Uh, well, you’ll be fine, Mo. I can’t say how long we’ll live because no one can predict that, not even websites.”
“Are you sure?”
“I went on the website you gave me and entered my information. My date of death was the year after I was born.” He pointed to himself. “I’m still here.”
At this new information, her eyes rounded. “You’re right then. My date of death might be wrong.”
“I’m positive it is.”
“I’m glad you survived.”
He cleared his throat. “Me, too.”
“CJ?”
“Yes, Mo?”
“Th-thank you for being nice to me.”
His sadness deepening, he hung his head. “You deserve all the kindness in the world. Never forget that or this: tell me about any motherfucker whoisn’tnice to you.”
For the first time in days, she smiled. “Go pee.”
Laughing, he turned on his heel and hastened to follow her orders.
Chapter Seven – Johnnie
When Johnnie opened his eyes the next morning, it took him a moment to orient himself to his surroundings. The pain hit him first and reminded him that Christopher had shot him. The realization that he wasn’t in his bed at his house next to his beautiful wife occurred to him second.
Groaning, he wrestled himself into a sitting position and shoved the comforter aside, then swung his legs over the side of the bed before glancing around. He was in a room at the club. It wasn’t even his old room, which now belonged to Bishop. It was a smaller room, probably along the second hallway if he guessed right, with only a bed, dresser, and nightstand. Since this was aninterior room, he didn’t even have a window. Nor did he have a private bathroom.
Staggering to his feet, he cursed, fiery pain shooting from his shoulder wound and into his nerve endings. Tears rushed to his eyes and he drew in a deep breath.
He’d suffered gunshots before, but he’d never been in as much agony. Either he was getting old, his pain tolerance greatly diminished over the years, he’d incurred another injury on top of the gunshot, or a combination of the three.
His nostrils flared. He needed a piss, otherwise he’d find his phone and call Kendall. He missed waking up, and admiring her wealth of red hair spread across the pillow and spilling onto his chest.
Cool air brushed over his warm skin. His chest and legs were bare. Tipping his head down worked the muscles in his neck and sent another bout of agony through his shoulder. He wore white boxers and nothing more.
Someone had undressed him.
Fuck, if it had been one of the club girls, Kendall would have a fucking fit. She should’ve been here with him. Or he should’ve been at his house, in his bed with her.
Before he took another step toward the door, it swung open, and he halted. He snapped his brows together at the sight of Tabitha, Diesel’s wife and a paralegal at Brooks and Kendall’s office.
“Hi, Uncle Johnnie,” she cooed, closing the door and leaning against it. Her gaze swept over him, zeroing in on his erect cock, which a piss would remedied.
Stumbling back to the bed, he dropped heavily onto it and blew out a breath. He forced himself to turn, grab a handful of the comforter, and drag it over his lap.
“What can I do for you?” he asked. Even though she was technically a member of his family, he’d never had much contact with her.
