Page 230 of Remiss
“I’m sorry, Mort,” Grant told him. “It just seemed like such bad fucking timing.”
Fuck, it was even worse. “Harley take precedence.” He was such a bad fucking father to his baby girl. How the fuck could he have lost himself so fucking much that he couldn’t even recognize she was in trouble? “How you found out?”
He searched each of the boys’ faces, desperate for answers.
“Mattie,” CJ answered, and explained about the meeting she’d called. “Then, that motherfucker confronted me today. I haven’t been able to contact Harley. I realized she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“The question is why, Uncle Mort,” Rory said, and looked between Ryan and CJ before swallowing. “Her whole crash out was because of CJ. She would ignore you to talk to him.”
“Harley would ignore God to talk to CJ,” Ryan said, worry in his eyes. And something else. Something close to fear. Andguilt? “The point is, Harley’s in trouble if she isn’t answering CJ. I think Mom suspects something. That’s why she’s become so protective of her and spends so much time with her.”
Mort’s heart began beating in a painful rhythm. He knew Chester’s history. If she suspected… “What she think wrong with her?” he pushed out, somehow.
“Which she?” CJ asked carefully.
“Either one.”
“Mattie thinks Nardo’s abusing her,” CJ said, then proceeded to tell him about Axel’s encounter with Dead Jr.
“We were gathering information,” Rory said.
“To do fuckingwhat?” Mortician demanded. “Wait until that motherfucker left her body somewhere?”
CJ went white and his eyes widened.
“I’m sorry,” Mort said immediately. “It’s not on you. None of you. This on me.”
“Uncle Mort, you didn’t know,” CJ told him quietly, still rattled by Mort’s question. “Butyoucan’t do anything to Nardo. He isn’t eighteen.”
“I don’t give a good fuck—”
“I’m not eighteen either,” CJ inserted. “That’s why we didn’t ask Diesel or Bishop here. The only reason I invited Grant was because Mattie asked him to our meeting. But he won’t be in the meatshack with us.”
“No, fuck no.” Mort pounded the table with his fist. “No, that motherfucker mine. He could be fifteen like Harley—”
“You’re drawing attention, Uncle Mort,” CJ told him.
Wildness crept into Mort, worse than what he’d felt when Digger confessed to stealing Meggie’s money. Worse than anything he’d ever experienced as an adult other than when Sharper took Bailey. Losing his mother when he’d been a child started him on his journey to where he was, but he’d compartmentalized it and moved on.
Shemattered to him and always would. She’d shown him how to love as a father and a brother. But after he’d gotten over his grief, he hadn’t allowed her death to matter and dictate his life. He’d done the same with Big Joe, K-P, and Tyler. He’d boxed away that ache, that longing for a different outcome, for them to still be alive and thriving.
But Harley? His baby girl? He wanted to howl at the fucking moon and sob like a bitch. He couldn’t imagine her in pain or afraid or…
“I should’ve killed that motherfucker today.”
“And you would’ve gone to fucking jail, Mort.”
Mortician blinked at the sound of Digger’s voice. The motherfucker hadn’t come to the common room since last Friday, the night Prez stomped and shot his stupid ass.
Grant had wheeled him at the end of the table, since both his legs and arms were still in casts. He also wore a neck brace and a bandage around his head. The swelling in his face had gone down a little.
“I’m her daddy,” Mort said, done with his inventory of Digger’s injuries. “I’m fucking required to catch a murder charge if someone fucks with her.”
“No, you required to stay the fuck out of jail and do shit like normal. Scoop up his daddy and let little bruh—” he nodded to CJ— “handle his son.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t get the fuck up out of my sick bed in case you needed a motherfucker to talk sense into you only for you to be a stupid motherfucker. That’s my specialty…wait…did I just…?”
