SAINT: Kings of Carnage MC - Prospects

by Nicole James

  “As if!” She points toward the closed door. “You saw how shocked I was when I walked in and saw you, and even more so when my mother suggested this whole thing! You think you’re some longed after prize? My life is destroyed. God, get over yourself!”

  “Okay, fine. Just so you understand, this isn’t a love match and it never will be, no matter what childhood crush you had.”

  “I get it, okay? And don’t flatter yourself. You’re just the best of a short list of bad options. Nothing more.”

  “You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for, girl.”

  “Look. I’ve come to the realization my mother needs this, needs to know her daughter is in safe hands. And for some misguided reason, she feels you’re the man for the job.”

  I drag a hand through my hair; regretting I even brought it up. “Okay, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “I was as blindsided by this as you were. Your mother’s done a lot for mine, Kami. So, naturally I asked if there was anything I could do for her. I never expected this.”

  “Neither did I.”

  I pace, jamming my hands in my pockets, and come to a stop by a window. I lean against the frame and stare out at the lawns and gardens my father tended to for years. Some other company tends them now, and they don’t look the same. I feel Kami come to stand near me, and I can’t ignore her. My voice is low when I ask, my eyes still on the view, “So what are we gonna do? You still want to go through with this charade?”

  “Trying to back out?”

  I take a deep breath, struggling to not take offense by her question, but it sears into me, that challenge she just tossed out. I turn to her and lift a brow. “No, I’m trying to make sure you’re not being forced into something.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Your mom isn’t pressuring you?” She shakes her head, but I’m not buying it. “Babe, I’ll go out there and tell her it’s off. Just say the word, and you’re free.”

  She huffs out a laugh. “But am I?”

  I search her eyes, and repeat the question. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Given that we’ve had all of about five minutes to think about it, can I be sure about any of this? No, I’m not sure, but I don’t have much in the way of options, do I?”

  “I don’t know. Do you?” I press her. “There’s no family to take custody of you?”

  She looks at the floor, and then lifts her chin proudly. “There’s no one. Can we just get this over with, please?”

  “Babe, you look scared to death.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Kami, you know me.”

  “Do I though?”

  “You’re right. I guess not, but you must know I’d never hurt you. At least give me that. I’m only trying to help you out here. If you want, I’ll walk out that door and you’ll never see me again. Just say the word.” When she stays quiet and I see her lip tremble, I feel the need well up in me to put her mind at ease. “You’ll be safe with me, Kami. I’ll never force you to do anything, if that’s your fear. If we’re upfront and honest…maybe we could at least be friends.”

  “Friends. Sure.”

  “Three months, and then we quietly end the whole thing, right?”

  “Right. The marriage will have served its purpose, and you’ll be free of me.”

  Taking Kami’s hand, I lead her out of the room and to the kitchen where she signs the paperwork, and the attorney and judge witness it. The moment they’re through, I take my soon-to-be-bride’s hand and lead her out of the back door into the blazing Georgia sunshine. With her body close against mine, I can feel the tension in its lines and wonder how fast her heart is beating right now. Maybe even as hard and fast as mine.

  I can’t quite lie to myself enough to pretend there isn’t a chance this will turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life.

  I remind myself of Barb’s words… it’s only temporary, just until Kami turns eighteen. But a voice in the back of my brain drowns those words out with different words—words I was always raised to believe. Marriage is for life.

  I blink in the sunlight. Everything feels somehow more real outside.

  I block out that nagging voice in my head, my denial that any of this is real holding strong.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kami—

  I’m standing in the garden with a bouquet of pale pink peonies in my hand that my mother cut from her prize-winning bushes, a ribbon hastily wrapped around the stems. The judge is holding a bible and reads a short verse.

  I stare into Santos’ eyes, and he in mine. His gaze is steady and firm, and I swallow. He’s a handsome man, and the thirteen-year-old girl inside me wants to believe he’s my knight in shining armor still. I remember all the nights I fantasized about this boy who’s now a man. Never in all my dreams did I actually imagine this would happen. Oh, sure, I doodled my imaginary married name a hundred times, Mrs. Santos Chaves. But that was a dream. This is reality.

  The judge finishes his verse. We’re down to the serious part now.

  “We have gathered here together to witness and to celebrate the coming together of Kami and Santos as they enter into the sacred and joyous covenant of marriage. It is the highest bond of love.

  “Love is powerful. It softens life’s rough edges. It makes us somehow braver to go forth into the world knowing that the shelter of someone’s love awaits us at day’s end. We are most vulnerable when we love. We place our trust in another to honor us and to care for us, to treasure us and to receive our love.

  “In love, we trust that the other will provide a safe haven in which we can experience and share the fullness of our being with one another. And in so doing, we trust that our lives will be far richer than had we chosen separate journeys through this world.” He nods to my flowers. “Please hold hands.”

  I turn and pass the flowers to my mother, and take Santos’ hands in mine.

  The judge turns to Santos, and I’m relieved he’s stopped talking about a love neither of us feels. I see the same relief in Santos’ face, but the words have made his jaw tight, and I know he must be having second thoughts now for sure. Will he actually go through with this? Perhaps the judge’s words have scared him off. Perhaps any second now, he’ll drop the hold he has on my cold hands and shake his head, backing away and saying he’s changed his mind.

  “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer keeping yourself unto her for as long as you both shall live? If so, answer 'I do'.”

  Santos’ gaze remains locked with mine, unwavering as he responds.

  “I do.”

  The judge turns to me, and panic floods me. Perhaps I’m the one who can’t go through with this. My breathing begins to accelerate, but something in Santos’ eyes calms me. His thumb absently brushes across my knuckles. Is it meant to reassure me? Is he even aware he’s doing it?

  The judge says something to me, but I wasn’t paying attention and now I’m lost.

  Santos squeezes my hand.

  The judge repeats his words. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live? If so, answer I do.”

  I take a slow calming breath, and reply, “I do.”

  “Do you have rings to exchange?”

  My mouth parts. We have no rings!

  Santos digs in his pocket and holds one up. I recognize it immediately. My mother must have slipped it to him earlier. It’s the one my father gave her; the one she took off after he died and she married Drake Mansfield.

  “Place it on her finger and repeat after me, with this ring, I thee wed.”

  Santos takes my hand and slips the ring on. I stare down at it, reality slamming into me. I’m his now, legally. And that gives him all kinds of rights. I swall
ow.

  “With this ring, I thee wed.” His voice is a deep rumble and his words vibrate in my ears, echoing again and again in my brain.

  “If there is anyone present who may show just and lawful cause why this couple may not be legally wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” The judge barely takes a breath before continuing, and suddenly all I can think of is that at the end of his words comes the part where we kiss.

  “By the authority vested in me by the State of Georgia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  My eyes drop to Santos’ mouth. Soon it will be pressed to mine. Our first kiss, here, in front of my mother, her attorney, and the judge—all of them watching—our first kiss, and perhaps our only kiss.

  Santos drops my hands and cups my face, tilting his head to fit his mouth to mine, and all I can think of is how warm his lips are and how nice it feels with his hands cradling my face. All too soon he pulls back, leaving me with a chaste kiss as he stares into my eyes. Then the lines around his crinkle and I know he’s smiling.

  The judge shakes Santos’ hand, and my mother hugs me.

  Afterward we move to the big empty hall. My mother has started a fire in the large marble fireplace. Not that it was difficult, it only takes a flip of a switch on the wall and the thing blazes to life. But it’s nice and adds some atmosphere, warming the cold empty room. She disappears to the kitchen, insisting we wait right here, saying she wants to at least have a proper toast.

  Her attorney follows to help, and probably also to avoid making chitchat. The judge wanders to a window on the distant side of the room, also avoiding us, probably wishing he were golfing.

  I stare up at Santos. “Was that supposed to be noble? What you did out there?”

  “What we both did, angel.”

  “I’m talking about that kiss.”

  “What was wrong with the kiss?”

  “Nothing. Forget it. So what are we supposed to do now?”

  My mother enters with a tray of five flutes filled with bubbly champagne.

  Santos grabs two flutes from the silver tray and passes one to me. When everyone has one, mother lifts her glass.

  “To my daughter and new son-in-law. May they have a long and happy marriage.”

  Santos and I stare at her awkwardly, then clink our glasses together and take a sip. The judge apparently is choosing to overlook the fact that I’m underage. I’ve had champagne at functions before, but I’ve never cared for it. I hide my grimace and smile. “Thank you, mother.”

  The judge downs his. “Well, I really must be going. Congratulations to you both.”

  “I’ll walk out with you,” the attorney says then turns to my mother. “I’ll see you Monday morning.” She squeezes my mother’s hand, and then follows the judge, her heels clip across the polished tile floor as she hurries to catch up.

  When they’re gone, my mother looks at Santos. “Let me get a picture of the two of you.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “Yes. Please.”

  Santos’ hand lands on my waist and he pulls me against him. “Make your mother happy, and smile, short cake.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Mrs. Chaves, then.”

  I roll my eyes. I’ve always hated being teased.

  I smile, and she takes a shot with her cell phone, and looks down at it, apparently happy with the resulting image. “Perfect. You both look so handsome together.” She looks up and meets Santos’ eyes as I push out of his hold. “Thank you for doing this.”

  So help me, if he says my pleasure, I’m going to throw my glass.

  “You’re welcome. Are we done here? I’ve got to get back on the road soon.”

  “The road?” My mother and I both turn on him.

  “Yeah, back to my place.”

  “And where is that?” my mother asks the question she maybe should have asked before we sealed this deal.

  “Uprising. Small town outside of Atlanta.”

  “Atlanta?” I squeak, and glare at my mother.

  She covers her shock quickly. “It’s not so far, dear.”

  “Five hours,” Santos offers helpfully with a smirk. Oh, he’s enjoying this. I’m being torn from everything I know, everything familiar to me, and now even my hometown. I’d like to wipe that smirk right off his face, perhaps with my unfinished champagne.

  “You’ll be closer to me,” my mother says, taking my arms, and turning me to her. I know what she’s referring to, even if Santos doesn’t. She looks at him. “They’re sending me to Arrendale State Prison. It’s in some small town called Alto, an hour northeast of Atlanta.”

  “Yeah, I know it,” he says quietly, and I frown, wondering how he knows it. His eyes catch mine. “I really need to get back on the road soon.”

  “I’m not leaving today! This is my mother’s last weekend of freedom. You can’t expect me to abandon her.”

  “Dear, maybe it’s for the best. I don’t want you to see me being taken into custody. That’s not the last image of me I want you to have for the next few weeks.”

  “Weeks? What do you mean weeks? I’m going to visit you before that.”

  “They don’t allow prisoners to have visitors for the first couple of weeks, an adjustment period or something. My attorney explained it all to me. I have to notify you once they allow it. I put you on a visitor list and they have to approve you.”

  “Approve me?” I squeak.

  “Which of course they will, dear, you’re my daughter.”

  “Put me on, too,” Santos says.

  I whirl on him. “Why would she do that?”

  “So you don’t have to walk in that place alone.”

  I hadn’t thought of that, but he had. I stare at the floor, and then pace away. I hate this. I hate all of it.

  “You should go pack some things, Kami. Whatever you need for three months,” Santos says.

  Apparently my husband is already ordering me around. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. Three months with a man I barely know. Well, it’s done now, so I have to just get through it. I try to be practical and think of what needs to be done. “What about the rest of my things, mother?”

  “I’ve arranged for a company to come pack them up and transport them to storage tomorrow.”

  Everything is happening so fast. I look over at Santos. “How many bags can I bring?”

  “Many as you can fit in the back of my pickup, short cake, though I doubt you’ll need that much room, right?”

  “You don’t know my daughter, Santos. She’s a bit high-maintenance.”

  “Great.”

  The doorbell chimes, and I exchange a look with my mother. “Were you expecting anyone?”

  She ignores me and moves to answer the door. I follow, and Santos falls in with us.

  Mother swings the tall door open. Two people stand there, a woman and a man, both in suits.

  “Mrs. Mansfield?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Felicia Caldwell with Social Services. I’m here to pick up your daughter.”

  “What?” I back away, and the woman looks at me.

  “Are you,” she glances at her paperwork, “Kami? You’ll need to come with us. You’re allowed one bag.”

  “What?”

  She moves to take my arm, but Santos steps between us, and backs them up.

  “You’re not taking my wife anywhere.” He glares down at the woman with a look I’ve never seen on him before—a don’t-fuck-with-me look that’s all business, and a thrill moves through me at the fact that he’s so quick to defend me.

  “I beg your pardon? I’m an officer of the court, now get out of my way.” Miss Caldwell, it seems, isn’t so easily intimidated. The man with her steps forward.

  “Look, buddy, we’re just doin’ our job here. We have a court order to take the kid into custody.”

  Santos takes a step toward the man, and I’m suddenly afraid he’s going to take a swing. “One, I’m not
your buddy. And two, you lay one hand on my wife, I’ll break your fucking arm.”

  This is escalating quickly. Mother and I step out into the portico. Santos puts his arm up in a protective stance, trying to keep me behind him.

  Thankfully mother jumps in. “There’s been a misunderstanding. My daughter got married today, so the courts have no jurisdiction over her. My attorney just went to file the paperwork.”

  “Until I’ve been notified otherwise, she’s going to have to come with us.”

  “I have a copy of their marriage license inside if you’d care to see. Judge Harlan presided. I’m sure he’d love for you to call him to clear this all up.”

  Mother, God love her, has never been one to shy away from throwing her weight around. She knows exactly how powerful that name drop is.

  “Judge Harlan?” Felicia Caldwell repeats in a much more reserved voice.

  “Yes, he’s a close friend of the family. Please, come in and we’ll call him together. I’m sure he won’t mind you disturbing him.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. If you have the license…” Miss Caldwell back pedals.

  “Of course. One moment.” My mother steps away to fetch it, and my eyes flick between Santos and the guy in the suit. Neither one is backing down; they’re both just glaring at each other.

  I slip my arm around Santos and snuggle up to him, like a happy little bride, trying to diffuse the situation. “Baby, relax.”

  “I’ll relax when they get the hell off the property.”

  Mother’s heels click as she scurries back to us.

  “Here it is. See for yourself.”

  Felicia snatches it from her hand and scans the document. Her cell vibrates and she pulls it out and looks at the incoming text. She turns to her co-worker. “It’s legitimate. The order’s just been rescinded.”

  She hands the document back to my mother and they both walk back to the black sedan parked in the turnabout.

  Santos rubs my back, his eyes locked on the car until it pulls away. I can’t deny the feeling of security I feel when he touches me. Perhaps my mother is right. Perhaps he’ll take good care of me like he promised her he would. If that little demonstration was any indication, maybe I’m in good hands.