Chrome: With a Heart Forged in Steele (Carolina Bad #4)

by Rie Warren

“Serves you right, old man.”

  “I wanna be your old man.” Growling, I scooped her into my arms. “Been missing you.”

  I wouldn’t say I was at an impasse with Rayce, but I’d hardly seen her in several weeks. That was going to end tonight, after I watched Hunter either crash and burn or end up a happily married man.

  My lips slid up the curve of Rayce’s neck, and her skin tasted like hot womanly sweetness. I licked the shell of her ear, ghosted to the corner of her mouth, and touched the point of my tongue against the seam of her lips.

  She parted them with a gasp.

  I looked down at her with heavy eyelids, our mouths separated by just a breath of space. “Been dreaming about kissing you. Feeling your lips on mine.”

  “Why don’t you?” she asked, all throaty and sultry.

  “You don’t want it badly enough yet.” I backed away from her.

  She looked at me with glazed eyes, her lips moist and glistening.

  Placing my hands against the wall behind me, I curled my fingers, desperate to touch her. “Is JB ready, because if she’s not I’m about ten seconds away from spreading your legs and getting my face on your pussy.”

  “That would ruin everything.” Her voice was shaky.

  I shot forward, clasping the indent of her hip and running my hand up to cup her breast. “It really would.”

  “Jessica! Get your ass out here before Boom ravages me!”

  Dragging her wrists against the wall, I crushed my pelvis against her tight heat.

  Rayce shuddered against me. “Oh, God.”

  “Not God, princess. Just me.” Shifting my hips again, I dropped my lips to the top of her breasts that mounded above the dress.

  She pressed against me, gasping my name.

  A door creaked open down the hallway followed by a, “Holy Hell, Rayce!”

  I jerked back.

  “Jesus. Looks like you two could use a bedroom.” JB stood just outside her doorway.

  She was not wrong.

  I cleared my throat and struggled to get my racing pulse under control. Not to mention my cock. It was an obvious, hard, throbbing length inside the tight black leather pants.

  Cleared my throat again. Did not look at Rayce.

  “Yep. So. It’s time to hit the road, girl.” Rayce held out her hand to JB.

  “I’m not so sure about this . . .”

  “Shut it, JB. You’ve been bitchin’ all day while being dressed up, made up, and primped up. You’re coming with us if Boomer has to hogtie you and throw you over his shoulder.” Girlfriend with an attitude winked at me while she told off JB.

  With a final glare at the pair of us, JB let us lead her out of the house.

  Unfortunately, once she caught sight of Tucker, Handsome, Tail, and Brodie milling around their motorcycles, she slammed to a stop.

  “But that’s all the Retribution officers! I didn’t realize all of you were here.” She whirled on me. “What’s really going on?”

  Oh. Hell. No.

  I was not getting caught in the middle of Hunter’s My Big Fucked Up Wedding Surprise.

  “At least tell me where we’re really going,” JB pleaded.

  “To Church,” I answered.

  “What?” she shrieked.

  “Calm your tits, JB. He meant Retribution.” Rayce zipped her leather jacket and grabbed her helmet.

  “I still don’t like this, Boomer Steele.”

  I made sure the soon-to-be-missus straddled her Ducati before I headed over to my 1948 Vincent Black Shadow.

  As I strapped on my brain bucket, I caught Rayce staring at me, her eyes like hazel pools of honey.

  Oh yeah. The woman hadn’t seen me on my ride before. The bike was a thing of beauty and sexy as fuck. Completely restored, there were only two words needed to describe it. Wet. Dream.

  I winked at Rayce before I hopped on and started the engine. With the motor gunning hard, I gave the signal.

  We fell into easy formation. Brodie and me at the forefront. JB and Rayce behind us. Tucker and Handsome next followed by Tail who took up the back.

  That December afternoon we streamed across Mt. Pleasant. The thunderous call of big pipes brought folks to their storefronts, their porches, their front yards with waves and whistles and thumbs-up.

  After fifteen minutes, parading through the mini-tropolis, we hammered into the Retribution MC compound. Brodie and I broke off at the head of the line. The other brothers tailed off at the back, leaving Rayce and JB right in front of the door.

  Hunter had shoved his head outside as soon as he heard the telltale rumble of loud engines. Sheer wonder worked across his face when JB dismounted in the very untraditional wedding dress and her short leather jacket.

  She pivoted around with a scowl, and Hunter quickly ducked inside.

  Brodie and I did the deed of escorting her inside while Rayce put the shutdown on her protests.

  And then the two of us invisi’d ourselves so Hunter, standing right in front of his woman, could lay his claim and plead his case.

  The clubhouse, decorated in black and white—more black than white considering the denizens—looked boss. Pool tables shoved out of the way, chairs set up, winter flowers in vases . . . and a bunch of Retribution men and Redemption women ready to rock this out.

  As long as Hunter didn’t fuck up the wedding thing.

  “What the hell is going on?” JB let Rayce wrestle her out of her jacket before fully pouncing on Hunter. “First I’m ambushed. Then I’m poked, prodded, ordered into this dress, and brought here for what?”

  “Ouch. That gotta hurt,” Brodie hushed as we accepted shots of tequila quietly handed out by Coletrane.

  “He’s going down in flames.” Tail shoved up, intent on the scene unfolding before us.

  “Shut up,” Handsome snarled from somewhere behind his shaggy brown hair. “He’s about to propose, dickholes.”

  “A little bit too late, dontcha think?” Kinkaid whispered. “Chicks go crazy about the romance shit.”

  Tuck rolled up, tweaking his mustache. “What the hell’s more romantic than this? Saved her life. Giving her his heart. Taking the leap. Damn, I think I might cry.”

  “Have a shot.” Cole passed out one more.

  “Good idea.” Tucker downed it and nodded for another.

  “Hey. You think there’s a reason we’re all bachelors?” Tail frowned.

  “Uh. Yeah.” Brodie smacked him on the chest. “You can’t keep your dick in your pants long enough to dock with one chick.” Then he chuckled. “But I got my honey, hitched or not.”

  “Smug fuck.” Tail elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Also, we’re married to the MC.” Handsome signaled for another round, which Cole dutifully delivered.

  “Fidelity to the MC,” I said, my sights on Rayce and that knockout dress.

  “We probably shouldn’t get shitfaced before the wedding vows.” Cole put the bottle back behind the bar.

  “Riiiight.” Tail spun his thimble-sized glass between his fingers before tossing back the drink.

  “Shhhh. I’m tryin’ to listen here, for fuck’s sake.” Handsome dragged his hair from his eyes just long enough to glare at us.

  And then JB screeched at Hunter, “YOU WHAT?”

  “Oh, shit. Burned.”

  “Like that last shot.”

  “Hit us again, Probie,” I ordered.

  With a minimal amount of grumbling, he did as told.

  We all raised another round of glasses, soundlessly clinking them.

  We sipped instead of tanked our drinks, too intent on Hunter dropping to one knee in front of JB.

  The entire room hushed. All the dudes cringed. The women watched wide-eyed. Waiting to see if Hunter was gonna completely bomb out.

  “Will you marry me, Jessica?”

  We craned to hear her reply.

  “Here? Now?” she asked.

  Wetness shone in Hunter’s eyes as he looked up at his beautiful woman. “I know it’s not
traditional, but neither are we. I thought we could reclaim the clubhouse after what happened, make it our own. Celebrate our love, forget about . . .

  “We can do it again. In a church. Whatever you want.”

  I held my breath.

  No one spoke.

  JB trembled. “You’d marry me twice?”

  “I’d marry you a million times, sweetheart.”

  “Yes, Hunter! Yes!”

  Fuck. Me.

  Chapter Six

  Black Leather Wedding

  THE ROOM EXPLODED WITH the sound of stomping boots. Wolf whistles. Fists pounding on tables.

  “You’re up, Tuck!” Tail prodded our very own preacher man forward.

  “Goddammit. Gimme a second.” Tuck took out a huge white handkerchief, swiped at his eyes, and blew his nose with the sound of a trombone.

  “Sure you can do this, Friar Tuck? You had a few shots there.” Brodie smart-assed.

  Tuck ambled toward the altar—aka the band stage—with a call back in our direction, “Boys, you know better. I could hit a few bongs, down a dozen shots, and still have this wedding shindig in the bag.”

  We all gathered around as Hunter took his place in front of Tucker, the most unlikely of preachers. Tucker perched his big leather Bible on the tall wooden stand, a masterpiece Brodie had carved years ago for the MC.

  A dozen or so dudes had volunteered to walk JB down the aisle, but her future hubby was having none of that. Rayce offered to stand in, as the maid-of-dishonor. As president of the MC I could’ve offered, but I liked this idea much better. It kept Rayce away from all the other men and gave me a completely unobstructed view of her. In that dress.

  Coletrane stood beside Hunter as best man, and the groom cut a striking figure in his new black suit with his gold eyes crinkling at the corners. Walker stationed himself off to the side. The Native American man who’d come to our rescue when we’d most needed it would be welcomed at Retribution anytime he cared to show his face.

  When JB began to walk down the aisle we parted for her, Rayce by her side, that unusual silence fell again.

  Something important was happening here. I think we were all awestruck by the beauty of the moment.

  We’d been through some seriously shit times recently. The club threatened. Our women put in harm’s way. But this was our place. No one was going to fuck up our family.

  As the ceremony began, Rayce spellbound me. I had my eyes on the prize. Not the bride-to-be but her maid of so-called dishonor, although I was pretty damn sure I’d never met a more honorable woman than Rayce. To stay by JB’s side in the face of extreme danger then take care of her afterward. To put up with her deadbeat slob of a dad and support him despite the fact he seemed to treat her like a second-class citizen.

  My fists clenched at my sides, and my jaw began to tic. I shoved those thoughts from my head before murderous rage could take over. Her dad was something I’d have to deal with later and on a much more permanent basis.

  Right now Rayce, in that pin-up dress, held all my attention as Hunter said his vows, his voice strong and sure.

  Before JB got to hers, he added in a lower tone, “I’ve never given myself to anyone like I do you. I should’ve said that earlier. Or proposed first.”

  “That makes two of us.” She kissed him briefly on the cheek. “Now, will you let me finish marrying you, Hunter?”

  Laughter rolled through the crowd but it petered out quickly.

  “You have the heart of a lion.” She held his big hands between hers. “Body of a warrior. The mind of a military man, and poetry in the way you love me. I, Jessica Barnes do thee wed, knowing you as no other woman has, and damn glad about that too.”

  We all chuckled again, but it was more of the watery, husky kind.

  They exchanged rings, and by the time Tuck got to the final formalities, pronouncing them husband and wife, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

  I watched Rayce wipe her cheeks, wishing I could be the one to take away her tears.

  Hunter and JB’s kiss went on and on as he dipped her over his arm.

  There was no more silence after that.

  We roared together, clapping, whistling, shouting and stomping our feet.

  Fuck if the newlywed—unofficial-like—couple didn’t glow when they came up for air.

  The MC was a madhouse after that. Between the cake and refreshments, the alcohol on tap and the raucous, never-ending congratulations, someone hit the sound system with “Love Is My Religion” by the Rastafarian high priest Ziggy Marley.

  I spied Rayce sipping a beer, talking with a new girl on the scene who’d shown up about the same time as Kinkaid. Her name was Sadie, and she was a recent member of the First Ladies of Redemption. Rayce waved her hands around then knocked her head back, laughing with a husky peal.

  Approaching her, I tried to calm my speeding heartbeat.

  “Hey, Sadie.” I nodded at her, my eyes locked on Rayce. “How’s art school going?”

  She started talking, flicking her long, sandy hair over her shoulder, but I wasn’t listening.

  All I heard was the music. All I saw was Rayce.

  “Sounds good. Sounds good.” More nodding. More staring.

  Rayce smiled and licked her pink lips.

  “You mind if I steal your girl here, Sadie?” I asked.

  “Shouldn’t you be asking me?” Rayce’s edgy hair shimmered like blue-black coals when she quirked her head and popped her hip.

  That was all the invitation I needed.

  “C’mere. Dance with me, princess.” I held out my hand.

  She narrowed her gaze, sipped the last of her beer, and placed her palm against mine.

  Heat sizzled through me.

  The reggae beat switched to “She Talks To Angels”. I could just about believe it with this woman.

  We started out slow. Fire arced between us even though I held her loosely. Her hips moved, and I followed the dipping sway of motion.

  My breath flew from me in a tight groan when she stepped fully into my arms, coming completely against me. Her inked arms wound around my neck, and she toyed with the short hair at the back of my neck.

  I just about caught her low whisper when she ducked her head against my shoulder, “Good with his hands. Awesome with babies. Knows how to dance. Fucking hot. Hate.”

  Grinning, I held her closer. She swiveled to the sinfully sexy rhythm, and I kept up with her, my hands settling just above her oh-so-fine ass.

  Her nose grazed my neck, her lips almost brushing against me. “You look good tonight.”

  I felt her lick like a hot sting, just below my ear.

  “Smell good too,” she murmured.

  My hands cruised up her back and down again, this time settling on her lush rear end, dragging her in tight.

  Rayce threw her head up and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She gripped my biceps.

  “Boomer!”

  “Yeah?” I sucked on the shallow indent of her collarbone.

  “Jesus. You’re hot tonight.”

  I raised my head, my nostrils flaring, my hips grinding harder. “Glad you think so.”

  “Fuck. I don’t know how you can fit all that into your leathers.” She hissed when I rocked my erection against her.

  “Feels good?”

  “Uuuhhhn.” She swiveled around and pulled my forearms over her tummy. “Know what else I like?”

  Her ass hit me just right in this new position.

  “What?”

  “Your entirely too big body. All these muscles.” She rubbed her hands up and down my thighs, burning heat through the leathers. “You’re so calm and cool, Mr. Retribution MC President. Calm and cool just like those damn blue eyes of yours.” She arched into me, and I gripped her hips, moving her against me. Her arms twined behind my neck. “Does it turn you on? Being with someone so small?”

  I growled, nipping her neck. My hands skated to the undersides of her big, beautiful breasts.

  “Wouldn’
t call you small.”

  Through the fabric her nipples perked up, and she panted.

  “Mmm.” Rayce circled around, deliberately brushing her tits against the thin cloth of my shirt. “I feel small in your arms. Tiny. Protected.”

  My lips parted. I could barely keep my eyes open. She made me so fucking horny I was close to opening my pants and pulling her onto my cock.

  I stared greedily at her, filling my hands with her short, soft hair, colliding against her. This wasn’t dancing anymore. This was full-on foreplay.

  “I’ll always protect you.” My voice came out harsh and guttural.

  A faster song started, but we ignored the beat, intent on this hot lovemaking. This almost fucking.

  “I’m not the only one who thinks you’re hot, by the way.”

  I chuckled. “That so?”

  “Carlie.” Rayce licked up the length of my neck and my cock surged against my leathers. “Can’t stop talkin’ about how hard you fucked her all night long.”

  Pulling back, I tried to remember the night with Carlie who’d taken over the Ladies of Redemption helm after Leta died.

  The truth was I’d dipped my pole in many a hole. Those days were past. And I honestly didn’t remember any of them—Carlie or Connie or Clara. They were nothing compared to Rayce.

  “That was over a year ago.” I thought.

  “She doesn’t seem to think so. She’s staring at you right now.” Rayce’s hands found the bottom of my shirt, and her fingers suddenly skimmed my abs. “Like you’re a meal.”

  I hunched forward with a groan, so close to blowing my wad.

  “Carlie has resting bitch face.”

  My body shuddered as Racye’s fingertips foraged just inside the low waist of my pants.

  “What?” I huffed against her neck, willing her fingers to slide farther.

  Her other wandering hand coasted to the base of my spine, almost on top of my ass.

  “She has that I don’t care what anyone thinks face. And she’s pretty. I’m just one of the guys.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Unbelievable.

  Rayce ducked her head against my chest.

  “Look at me, princess.” My knuckles beneath her chin, I tilted her face to mine. “Why do you think I call you princess?”

  “To piss me off?”