It’s tradition around here to take a ride through town after a wedding.
Only … I’m not sure it’s a particularly good idea today. But Cat insisted.
I get the feeling that this is part of his plan, my wedding as a political tool.
Glancing back, I watch as Crown slides onto his seat and Sin offers a thumbs up for Cat.
We’re ready to ride.
Most of the wives and all of the children stay behind today as the sea of bikes comes to life like the roar of a demon horde; the sound of it reverberates through my bones, making my blood boil, making me burn.
We take off as one entity, out the front gates and toward town.
Sin is the mastermind of our route, the invisible guiding hand as we find our way to the edge of Ashbury. There are Daybreakers on either side of the street, waiting and watching. They’re all armed to the teeth, too, anticipating a retaliatory attack from the Grey Wolfe Mafia.
I watch them as we pass, my body wrapped around my husband’s, my senses on high alert.
As we weave through the streets, I take note of the buildings around us, the neighborhoods that we pass through. We’re not just celebrating a wedding here; we’re marking our territory. Claiming it the way Beast just claimed me in the church.
This is a pissing match, one that Cat intends to win.
We finish our rounds, heading back to the compound without incident.
That’s the part I don’t like.
When we park and Cat climbs off his bike, he seems pleased, like he’s won some small battle today. But I know better. Because I lived with the mafia for three months. Because I saw the way the Don’s eyes took in every little detail, the way he planned, the way Grey planned. Everything is calculated, right down to the minutiae.
See, storming into a wedding with assault rifles is a very club-like thing to do.
But it is not a very mafia-like thing to do.
Whatever happens today—because I feel it in my bones that something is going to happen—it’ll be subtle. Sinister. Calculating.
I once said that the club coming to find me was a when not an if.
The same goes for the mafia.
When.
It’s just a matter of fucking when.
The reception takes place in the central clubhouse building. Only today, it’s been entirely transformed, from a gritty, seedy hotbox of fucking and drugs to something with a sprinkle of refinement. Well, okay, it’s still a seedy hotbox, but there are flowers, ribbons, streamers, and black tablecloths. It’s an upgrade, but it can’t hide all of that redneck ratchet.
“Nellie and Reba are talented,” Beast says, swiping his hand over his chin as he glances down at me. I look back at him, struggling to keep the smile off my face. Shocker: I fail. Not only is my new husband ruggedly handsome, but my thong is destroyed and the panties Beast retrieved from my bag are wet with his seed.
I look so pretty on the outside, but really, I’m a fucking maverick.
Beast, also, is a tricky bastard because I see now where the red thong ended up: he’s folded it like a pocket square and tucked it into the pocket of his leather vest so that just a corner of it sticks out. Nobody but the two of us will understand the significance, a private secret just for newlywed demons to enjoy.
“Where did you two disappear to earlier?” Grainger asks, a much nicer version of himself than usual. I pretend like we didn’t even talk to each other in the kitchen this morning, and smile at him, too. He seems creeped out by the expression which I can’t blame him for. I rarely smile. Usually, when I do, something bad is about to happen.
“Crown waited outside the supply closet so we could fuck,” I offer up, and Cade frowns at me. Even though I don’t really want to know the answer just yet, I try to get a read on his expression. Is he being marginally nicer than usual because I am pregnant? Or just because it’s my wedding day?
“Huh.” That’s the response I get, his umber eyes sweeping over me before Beast offers up a curt nod.
“Excuse us, Grainge, but I’m not in the mood to share with you just now.”
A dual thrill goes through me, part excitement and part terror.
“After our wedding, I can’t promise I’ll be inclined to share.”
He did warn me, did he not?
I push the thought aside, allowing Beast to escort me into the room, bracing myself for the onslaught of well-wishers. It’s as bad as I expected, with people I’ve known my whole life treating me like I’m a completely different human.
In the middle of all that, there he is.
My asshole brother.
“Congratulations, Gidge,” Gaz says with this shadow-tinted smile on his face. I bristle at the sound of his voice, using my father’s presence by his side to help control my temper. Cat is watching me so goddamn closely right now. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m sure that you are,” I grind out, wondering if it wouldn’t be too much for me to dig Queenie’s knife out from under my dress so I can stab Gaz with it. You killed my sisters, I think as I stare at him. I haven’t seen my brother since I got that text from Grey, but I’ve done my absolute best to bury the thought. Now that I see him standing here, at my wedding, when my sisters cannot be … oh man, violence has never tasted so pretty on my tongue.
“I’m proud of you, girl,” Cat says, but I just stare right back at him, eye to eye, a neutral expression on my face.
“For what?” I ask politely, and he curses at me.
“You know damn well what,” Cat snaps, turning to Beast and putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s yours now, Catcher. Hope you know what you just got yourself into. Eighteen years of being a royal pain in my ass, and all I can say is: thank God that’s over.”
He takes off as Nellie moves over to join us, staring at her husband’s back before returning a beaming smile to me. I don’t fully trust her yet. I doubt that I ever will. But at least we’re both trying and that means something, doesn’t it?
“You look beautiful today,” she tells me, reaching out to put her hand on my cheek. I wrinkle my nose as she kisses my other cheek, but I allow the contact. If for no other reason than to avoid making a scene. “Your sisters would be so proud.”
“Please don’t say that,” I mumble, because I can’t handle talking about Queenie and Posey right now. Not with Gaz inside this room with me. Not when I miss them so much I could take that knife and plunge it through my own heart, just for the faint possibility of seeing them in some sort of afterlife.
“It’s true,” Nellie continues, sniffling and rubbing at her nose. I wonder if she hasn’t sampled some of the uh, more extreme party favors. Not only do we have kegs galore here, but there’s a full bar, a cannabis bar (aka a cannabar), and a generous selection of recreational drugs.
Tables are laid out with glittering lines of cocaine, but don’t worry: Nellie’s put these huge vases of red roses in the middle of them so it’s klassy with a motherfucking K.
“Beast.” Nellie gives him a quick look over. “I wish the two of you all the best.” She offers him a hug which is one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen and then follows after Cat.
“This is your party,” Beast tells me, pulling me close. He lifts his blue gaze up, scanning the room over my head. “Whatever you want to do, you just tell me. Anything at all.”
“Anything?” I query, running a hand up his chest. He looks down at me and quirks a brow, capturing my hand in his.
“Anything,” he agrees, but before we can move away to find another closet, I see Reba making her way over to me. Outside, rock music blares and I can hear laughter, clinking glasses, can smell the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke.
“This is …” she starts, giving the cocaine laden tables a disturbed look. “Unlike any wedding reception I’ve ever been to.”
“We’re a very sophisticated people,” I agree, and Reba laughs, pulling me away from Beast and wrapping me up in a floral-scented hug. When she pulls back, she looks askance
at him and then sighs. “Well, darn. I might as well, if we’re going to be family.”
Reba hugs Beast like she’d hug any other friend of hers, and my little black heart warms a few degrees.
“I’ll take good care o’ her, I promise you that,” he says, tipping his chin. Reba returns his look with a determined one of her own.
“You better,” she admonishes, reaching out to flick imaginary dust from his vest. “Or I will come after you, and I’m a whole lot scarier than I look.”
“You sure about that, Mother Theresa?” Sin asks, appearing behind her with a drink in hand. I reach out to take it, and he gives me a sharp look. When I pry his fingers off of it, he relinquishes it so as not to make a scene, but damn, he’s staring me down.
I bring the cup to my nose for a quick sniff. Oh, that’s nice. Scotch.
“Cat didn’t pull any punches,” Sin explains, nodding with his chin in the direction of the bar, as if he’s trying to tell me something in as quiet and subtle a way as possible. “We’ve got all the top-shelf booze tonight.”
“I can see that,” I reply as Beast continues to watch the room. He’s on edge. He wasn’t before, but he is now. That much I can tell for certain.
“I’mma go about finding myself something non-alcoholic to drink,” Reba says, putting her hand on my arm. “I’ll come find you in a bit.”
“Sounds good,” I say, but I’m already distracted by Beast’s behavior. “What?” I ask, and he tears his attention away from the crowd to look down at me. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Good question,” Sin agrees, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He cuts a fine figure in them, that’s for damn sure. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Beast says, glancing over at Grainger as he rejoins our little group. He said he didn’t much feel like sharing me with the other guys tonight, but the look the two men share goes beyond romance and relationships. This is club stuff, and three out of my four men seem to hold the same feeling of dread that’s roiling in my own chest.
Crown is … well, I have no idea where Crown’s run off to.
“I’ve had a bad feeling all week,” I explain, putting a hand over my belly and staring down into the cup. Oh. Crap. There’s a possibility that I might be pregnant. That is why Sin is being weird about the drink. I probably shouldn’t risk it. I mean, I don’t know if I’m pregnant at all. If I’m keeping it. I don’t know anything. I hazard a quick glance at Grainger, but he’s too focused on studying the other partygoers to notice my questing stare.
“Same,” Cade agrees, and really, it’s his affability that freaks me out the most. “Gaz seems to be in a disturbingly good mood; that’s the part that fucking rankles me.” He lifts a bottle of alcohol to his lips, taking a small sip before curling the edge of his lip up in irritation.
“You want me to find Crown?” Sin offers, but Grainger just shakes his head.
“Leave him be for now,” he says, and I try not to let that statement bother me. I hand the cup back to Sin, and he gives me a muted smile in response. Thank you for keeping quiet about it, I tell him with a look of my own. I don’t need anybody in this room getting wind of the possibility. Sin lifts the drink up in salute and chugs the remaining liquid before crushing the cup in his hand.
Someone cranks the music as the party starts to amp up, spilling onto the deck, into the parking lot, the road. This is what draws so many lost souls to this life; there’s a feeling of camaraderie here. We’re a team, for better or worse. It feels to me like it’s more often shitty than not, but I am a cynical bitch sometimes.
It’s a good reminder that although we might be at war, we are not alone.
The might of the club is a heavy, powerful thing.
I stay with Beast inside the building, finding a relatively quiet corner where we can be more or less alone. Grainger and Sin remain nearby while Crown stays conspicuously absent. Bad feelings aren’t enough to act on, but one wrong move from Gaz, one spark of violence, and this entire situation will go up in flames.
“Where are we staying tonight?” I ask, because I’m not the one that made these arrangements. This part of the equation was left up to Beast. He stares down at me like I mean the world to him, like the planet spins on my axis, and he’s just an adoring sun watching from above.
“At the farmhouse,” he says, and my heart stutters a little. He means Crown’s farmhouse, my farmhouse. “But we’ll have it all to ourselves.”
Ouch. No wonder Crown is so upset. Not only does he not get the wedding and the wife of his dreams, but I’m going to have my wedding night in his house while he sleeps elsewhere?
I feel like a total dick. Maybe I’m the one with the problem here? Rather than him not loving me enough to accept these new circumstances, maybe I just don’t love him enough to let him go? Fuck.
Beast, perceptive monster that he is, seems to notice my wandering thoughts. He leans down and puts his pretty mouth up against the side of my neck, making my toes curl in my boots.
“There won’t be anybody around to hear you scream,” he whispers, licking the side of my throat. I put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as his arms wrap around my waist. His mouth presses smoldering kisses to my pulse point, and I let my head fall back, relaxing into his touch. I’m baring my throat to this man, this fellow predator in the night.
My husband.
He could kill me right now if he wanted to, snap me like a twig.
But he won’t. Because he loves me. Because he’s given me his leash to hold.
Beast slants his mouth against mine, and we end up pressed to the wall in the corner, cloaked in shadows. His hands slide down my body to cup my ass, and then he’s lifting me up and my legs are going around him.
I’ve become one of those people, the sort of club barbarian that Giulia mocked, the kind who doesn’t care who’s watching. Guess she was right.
If I had a skirt or dress on still, I’d have probably let my new husband screw me right then and there. Only, the white leather pants I insisted on make that a much more difficult task. Doesn’t keep us from kissing though, from feeling one another up with greedy, questing hands. Beast’s hips rock into mine, grinding me against the wall, promising a repeat performance of the supply closet.
Our wedding night—our real wedding night—is going to be heavy and hot, sticky with emotion, rife with need. I can’t wait.
With a small growl of frustration, Beast eventually sets me back on my feet.
“I don’t much like you wearing pants,” he remarks in a low, dangerous sort of voice. That makes me laugh right there.
“Frankly, I’m not a huge fan of these pants right now either.” I lean back against the wall, secure in his jacket, in his attention, in the way his blue eyes flick away to search for threats before coming right back over to land on me again. I reach up a hand and tickle my fingers against his smooth chin. “I can’t decide if I miss the beard and want it back, or if I like this new look. If you get to decide whether I wear pants or not, do I get to decide how you wear your facial hair?”
“Mm,” he purrs, putting his forearm on the wall above my head. “I’m inclined to say no, because I really do like my beard.” He reaches up with his other hand and strokes his bare chin. “But you’re too pretty to deny anything to, you know that?”
I bite my lip. This is dangerous. Beast is dangerous. He’s temptation incarnate.
“How long do we have to stay here before we can leave?” I ask, and he lets out this low, husky chuckle.
“Cat wants us here most of the night. You’re a symbol to him, you know? New blood, new life.” Beast reaches out to cup the side of my face, and then pauses as a new song begins to play, one that I recognize.
Fire Love by Yacht Money and Gabrielle Mooney.
Considering it’s a song that mentions Tennessee, whiskey, and sex all within the first verse, we’re off to a good start.
Beast surprises me by grabbing my hands and pu
lling me into the center of the room. People cheer and move to the side, watching us as he places strong, confident hands on my hips. Our audience begins to clap and stomp their feet in time to the beat, adding real-life energy to the music. This, I begrudgingly admit, is part of the club’s appeal. I can feel the horde of them at my back, a surging force that could burn entire towns to the ground with their might.
“Dance with me, wife,” Beast says, and even though I wouldn’t exactly call myself a dancer, how can I resist a request as tempting as that? Laughter bubbles up past my lips as Beast guides me around the dance floor.
He moves with total confidence, like he expects the world to make space for him and not the other way around. It’s that aspect of his personality that I find most attractive; I do my best to emulate it, letting my worry and my anger go for the span of that one song, allowing myself to melt into Beast’s arms.
As much as I was dreading the idea of this, of being married to someone in the club, I find that it doesn’t matter like I thought it would. Because I don’t care if Catcher Coffey is a part of DBD or anything else. No matter where he goes or what organization he’s a part of, he’s mine. I’m his.
This is it for us.
Husband and wife.
It isn’t quite the lamentable knell that I always feared it to be.
“I hope you’re okay with me taking you home to Tennessee and showing you off,” he whispers, and my eyes go wide as he pulls me close. It never really occurred to me that any of my men might have family out there. I know it sounds stupid, but once you’re in the club, you’re in. This is your family. Most of the men are like Sin, broken links searching for a new chain.
Beast has family left in Tennessee, family that he wants to introduce me to? That’s news to me.
“More than okay,” I promise, thinking about the possibility of travel, of a life beyond the walls of this compound. Using the club as an anchor instead of a steel trap. It’s an exciting thought. The armor thing, it’s working.
I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 38