Absolution (Heaven's Rejects MC Book 3)

by Avelyn Paige

  “Let me pull up your file,” she casually responds. I hear her clicking on her computer, before she comes back onto the line. “Yup, that’s right. Next Friday morning. Do you have a conflict with the time?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I don’t understand how I could have a court date if the paperwork and the payment to get a court date are still sitting on my coffee table at home. How is that even possible?”

  “Oh, your husband dropped it off to me a few days ago.”

  “My what?”

  “Your husband. He came by the office on Monday, and dropped off the completed application, your marriage license, and the payment for the court filing.”

  “That son of a bitch!” I seethe into the receiver.

  “Is everything okay, Mrs. Azzo?”

  Azzo? That’s his last name? Oh dear god, I don’t even know his real first name. How in the fucking hell did he do this? How is this even possible?

  “Mrs. Azzo. Are you still there?”

  I see red, but I find the power to answer her without shattering my phone in the process.

  “Yes, I’m here. I was unaware that my husband did that. Let me check my work schedule, and I will get back with you if there are any problems.”

  “Sounds good. Congratulations on your marriage,” she says, before ending the call.

  When I get my hands on that asshole, I am going to murder him. I don’t even care that I will go to jail because I think the judge would rule it a justified killing for marrying me without my fucking knowledge.

  Pulling up to Willie’s, I can already tell that my goose is cooked. Her body language lets me know that my crazy idea has been spilled to her, and she is not happy about the development. Not that I blame her. It’s not every day that you wake up and find out that the man sharing your bed married you without your knowledge or consent. They say that Hell has no fury like a woman scorned, but I doubt they factored in the woman standing in front of me. If looks had a thousand words, I am betting this one is declaring a bounty for my body, dead or alive.

  Anger radiates from her as she grits her teeth and clenches her fists at the sight of me. Every single thing about her screams that my death is imminent. For the first time in my life, I feel an ounce of the pain that I have doled out to others for the sake of my club. Does it make me remorseful of my past actions? Of course not because it was in the name of protecting those around me, but explaining this to Ricca isn’t going to be easy.

  “We’re married!” she screams at me, charging toward me with her fists flying. “I am going to kill your motherfucking ass!”

  She swings, and nearly connects her fist to my nose. The motion knocks her off balance, and she starts to tumble towards me. I reach out to grab her, while trying to maintain the balance of my bike. How I support them both without bringing us all to the ground is a miracle. Ricca regains her balance, and straightens herself upright. Without a second word, she rears back and slaps me hard across my face. She starts to repeat the motion, but I stop her hand mid-swing. She growls at me, but once was more than enough to get her point across. Breaking free of my grip, she moves away from me.

  If that didn’t scream I’m fucked, than I don’t want know what else would. The couch and I may become very acquainted if she doesn’t understand my reasoning behind it. Not that I don’t deserve the bedroom banishment and no sex penalty.

  “Get on the bike,” I demand. “This isn’t the place to be having this conversation. Do you want to be arrested for public disturbance?”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck whose watching me,” she roars. “I am going to kill you for this.”

  “Yes, I got that idea the first time you said it,” I stoically respond. “But this isn’t going to be solved in the parking lot of a fucking bar.” She huffs in response to me, but I tread forward, hoping she’ll see the logic of my relocation request. “Just get on the fucking bike, and I will explain when we get home.”

  She starts to argue with me again, but I grab her and pull her onto the back of my bike. Ricca makes sure to let me know she’s still pissed when she digs her knees into the base of my spine, as if I couldn’t tell she was still mad. The entire ride she keeps her hands off of me and on the grips on the back of the bike. Yet another bad sign.

  I consider taking the long way back to the trailer, but it’s only delaying the inevitable tongue lashing that I am about to be on the receiving end of. Pulling into the drive by the trailer, she’s off the bike, before I even get the kickstand down and stomps off towards the door, slamming it closed behind her.

  Well this is going to be fun. I get my bike squared away, and for a brief second, I consider wearing my helmet into the trailer for fear that she is lying in wait with a cast iron skillet for my head. It’s not a bad idea, but it would send the wrong message. I need to remain calm, and try to talk myself out of this shit wreck I caused.

  My hand slowly reaches for the door, and when I grasp the handle, I listen for signs of my impending doom via a cast iron induced skull fracture. No sound comes from inside. I take a deep breath and jerk open the door, stepping out of harm’s way. I slowly stick my head in and find that the front room is empty. One foot inches into the door, followed quickly by the next one, until I’m fully inside. A crash comes from the direction of the bedroom, and I bolt towards it.

  “Ricca,” I call out, announcing my presence. “You okay?”

  She doesn’t respond, and the crashes only continue. I kick open the bedroom door, and find her halfway underneath the bed with her ass in the air. The few belongings that I have here are piled up in the corner of the room.

  “Planning to burn my shit while you’re at it?” I question.

  She startles when I speak, and hits her head on the bedframe with an audible thud.

  “Son of a bitch,” she yells, pulling herself from underneath the bed.

  I walk over to her as she cradles the top of her head in her hands. Thankfully, I see no blood pouring down her face so I know it’s not anything serious, but I need to check her out for myself.

  I try to remove one of her hands, but she throws a punch toward my crotch.

  “Don’t touch me,” she seethes.

  “I get it. You’re pissed as hell at me, but I am going to check that wound, whether you like it or not. Move your hand.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, and I’m a saint. Just let me look at it. Do I have to say please?”

  She rolls her eyes, but begrudgingly complies with my request. As I suspected, there’s no laceration to her scalp. At least karma didn’t add on a head wound to the list of shit I have made happen today. If marrying her didn’t get me killed brain damage, while trying to apologize, just might.

  “You’re fine,” I tell her, helping her off the floor.

  “I tried to tell you that, but of course, you had to be the macho man in the situation and pretend to care,” she says mimicking my voice. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Yes that I am very much aware of.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she questions with an arched eyebrow.

  “Nothing,” I mutter under my breath. “Come on out to the kitchen. You need a bag of frozen peas and an explanation.”

  She knows that I’m right, but fights against me out of principle.

  “I don’t need anything from you except for your ass to get out of my home.”

  “I guess the honeymoon is over then,” I fire back. She screams and finds the nearest object, throwing it at my head. The glass vase whizzes past my head and crashes on the wall next to me. Her chest heaves with exertion and anger as she watches my reaction. My face remains unchanged, and it only infuriates her more.

  “Fine, you stay in here with a splitting headache. I’ll be in the kitchen waiting on you to be more reasonable.”

  I start for the doorway, but her heavy footfalls soon start after me. She hesitates as we both get to the door at the sam
e time. I wave for her to go on, but she stands her ground. Giving up, I start out the door. She shoves past me in the hallway, and heads straight for the newly stocked freezer. While she may not have an interest in cooking, a week’s worth of bar food has taken its toll on me. She was shocked the first night she came home from the bar, and I had a home-cooked meal on the table waiting for her. I may not look like much from an outside perspective, but life has dealt me out many lessons learned, including how to cook decent meals.

  I lean against the edge of the hallway as she makes a show of getting the frozen bag of peas and slapping them to her head. She winces at the change in temperature and contact. Pushing away from the wall, I go to her side. The bag balances against her head as she inhales and exhales trying to soothe herself.

  “Give me that,” I advise, removing the bag. A towel dangles from the front door of the old stove and I snatch it. The bag is too cold, and the shock of it against her already inflamed skin isn’t going to do her any favors. Wrapping the towel around the bag, I gently re-lay it against her head.

  “That’s better,” she comments, leaning into my hand. “How did you know how do to do that?”

  “Life skills, Siren. One of far too many I had to learn the hard way.”

  I give her a few minutes to soothe the bump on her head, before I take her by the hand and lead her toward the couch. The feverish anger that she had earlier still lingers under the surface, and what I’m about to tell her is going to make it go either of two ways. She’ll understand or she’ll explode into a million, tiny pieces. I’m hoping for the latter to not be the case.

  She lowers herself down, but I decide that it’s probably better if I am not within striking distance, so I take the chair that I found buried in one of the other rooms across from the couch.

  “I know you’re mad,” I start, but she instantly cuts me off.

  “Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it, Ratchet. It isn’t even in the same ballpark. How in the fuck are we married?”

  “When two people love each other very much,” I tease, before she glares me into stopping. Okay, leading in with a joke didn’t go over as well as I thought it would.

  “Cut the bullshit. How did this happen without my knowledge? I may not have the best idea of how normal people live their lives, but isn’t there supposed to be a white dress and a church?”

  “Yes, that’s the gist of it. You can probably guess as to the how portion.”

  “Fucking Voodoo,” she growls. “He hacked the system, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but at my request. Do you remember that stack of papers I had you sign earlier in the week? Most of that was about the truck, but one of them was a marriage license.”

  “I signed what!” she shrills loud enough to make me wince in reaction.

  “Let me get this straight,” she says, pulling the bag away from her head. Her hand rubs across her face as she tries to grasp what I just told her.

  “You took it upon yourself to obtain a marriage license, have me unwillingly sign it, and then had Voodoo hack the system to upload it. Do I have that right?”

  “Yes, that’s about it.”

  “How did I not know this was going on? This whole thing took serious planning and you did it right under my nose,” she spills out. “It doesn’t make sense. Not one bit of sense.”

  “Siren, please understand that I did this all for you. Should I have involved you first? Yes, but there’s nothing that I can do to take that back. It’s done.” Hard truth, it is. “We’re married because you needed a husband to help your case for Asher.”

  She sighs and looks away from me. My heart breaks knowing that I have done this to her, but it was only in the idea that it was all to help her. The impulse to protect her has been engrained in me from the moment that I saw her at Red’s, and this situation has only made it worse. My heart beats and soul yearns for her happiness, and along the way, I still find ways to continually fuck it all up.

  “What I did was reckless. That I fully admit. But without that piece of paper, you may have never even gotten a chance to meet Asher. The adoption system isn’t as easy as it looks, and I wanted to give you the best chance possible. With our marriage, it shoves your chances from slim to none to a strong maybe.”

  “How do you even know this? Did you go buy a book on How to Trick a Woman into Marriage to Help Adopt a Child?”

  “I lived it, Siren. My history and your brother’s share a similar plot line. I was raised in the system, and that system ended up putting me on the street with nothing to eat, no roof over my head, and no way to survive. Had it not been for Jagger, I would have died there a nameless child that was the product of an even more fucked up family. Your brother is getting a chance to avoid the fate that I had, and if I had to do this all over again, I would because his life is worth more to you than the piece of paper binding us together.”

  A flash of understanding flashes behind her eyes giving me a bit of hope, but the wheels of her mind continue to turn trying to process this.

  “Is our marriage even legal? If the courts find out that it’s a fake, they’ll throw us both in jail.”

  “It’s not a fake Siren, it’s completely legal. While we may not have said the words in front of a preacher, both of our names on the dotted line make it that way. In the eyes of the law, we are husband and wife until death do us part.”

  “That last may come sooner rather than later.”

  I slip from the chair, and settle in beside her.

  “I know that this makes me the world’s biggest asshole, but you have to understand that I did this for you and for Asher. Not every child in the foster care system has someone on the outside fighting for them. He deserves a chance to have you in his life. I may not have had the same opportunity, but I want that for you both. That’s why I did this, and I do not regret it for a single moment. I meant what I said this morning when I told you that I love you. I may not be the smartest man when it comes to relationships, but if I can make you happy, for just one second of the day, then I am doing my job right.

  She remains silent as the grave, while my heart is beating a thousand miles an hour.

  “I want to make a promise to you, here and now. If in a year’s time, you want out of our marriage, I’ll give that to you. No argument. No fight in court. You can be free and clear if you just say the word. This wasn’t a move to trap you into a relationship with me, and I want you to know that. I will take your lead, and follow it until you tell me to leave.”

  I shove the ball in her court, and all I have left is to wait for a sign. A sign of anything between us that can be salvaged. Her muteness continues for several minutes. I can tell that there’s something else on the tip of her tongue that she wants to say, but she stalls. Flopping her back against the couch, she lets her head fall against the back of it. She hisses forgetting her wound, but stays where she is.

  “We’re married, and I don’t even know your real name. How can we be married and I don’t even know your first name?”

  “Jude,” I proudly state. “My real name is Jude Azzo.”

  “Jude,” she repeats, testing it on her own lips.

  “Does that mean you’ll give this a shot, Siren?”

  She lifts her head from the couch, locking her beautiful brown eyes on mine.

  “I’ll give you your year, but this isn’t me giving you a free pass from the dog house. You have to work a little bit harder than that to get back into my good graces.”

  The biggest sigh of relief in my life, escapes my lips. While I’m still in deep shit, at least our relationship isn’t over completely. She is the first person who I have ever told my story to outside of Jagger, and it feels good to open up more about my past to the woman I want to be my future. Even though we’re technically married already, I want to her know more than on a carnal level. I want to know her soul, her body, and her mind like no other person ever has.

  Reaching across the couch, I rub my hand a
cross her chin and pull her into a kiss. She leans into me, and for the first time, I truly know what it feels like to be owned by someone completely. I break the contact, and a lingering question pops into my head.

  “I have to ask, Siren. What were you looking for underneath that bed?”

  She smiles back at me, and suddenly I get the feeling that I may not want to know that answer.

  “My knife to cut off your balls.”

  Yep, I definitely didn’t want to know that at all.

  Was having Voodoo hack the system, in California, to legalize a marriage license wrong? Maybe. Was having her sign it without telling her what it was worse? You bet your ass it was, but it’s a necessary evil to help her. She would have never agreed to do it, even if it was the best course of action to take. Ricca has lived a life where decisions and choices were never hers to make until now, and being the asshole that I am, I did the same thing. Even if it was for her own good and for the sake of her brother, I’d do it all over again.

  It took me nearly a week to come to terms with the fact that I was married to Ratchet.

  Married. To. Ratchet. Not dating. Not fucking. M.A.R.R.I.E.D.

  An institution that I never thought would include my name in its ranks. He was the type of man I would have never picked to be the marrying kind, but he did it without a single thread of hesitation or a lick of sense. Typical fucking alpha male bullshit. The fact that he never even asked and just assumed was a decision he’s paid for since I found out. It was almost pleasurable to watch him stalk to the couch every single night. Not that he didn’t try like hell to convince me to let him back into the bedroom. I wanted him to know just how much he’d fucked up at his attempt at solving a problem.

  What woman wants to wake up and find that the man in your life and his cocksucker of a brother took you from a miss to a missus? Had we been in Vegas it might make more sense. The absurdity of my life was becoming to be a bit much. I have to laugh just thinking about it. How in the hell had someone not tried to buy the rights to tell my life story on Lifetime or HBO? It might not have flying dragons or vampires in it, but I bet that HBO could make a killing on it.