Fallen (Redemption Reigns MC Book 3)

by Juli Valenti

  Artist wore a flowing chiffon dress, surprisingly similar to her blue and white one, though all crimson with the exception of a navy sash that encircled her waist. It was strapless and danced along the pale bricks as she moved elegantly. Shakespeare, her old man, was peering down at her proudly, the red rose on the chest of his jacket matching the reds of hers in the bouquet.

  The rest of the wedding party wasn’t far behind them, though the rest were all men - Fallen for Poet’s side, Train for Titan, followed by Tonka then Craze. Each man wore the same crisp suit as Fallen, though the flowers varied. Fallen had a white lily and a deep-red rose. Train just the white lily. It must’ve had some sort of ranking significance, but she wasn’t sure what, and made a mental note to ask Lukas later.

  Silence came across the crowd, loud in its lack of noise, before the double quartets started playing once more. It wasn’t the usual wedding march, instead an instrumental version of November Rain by Guns N Roses. And as Poet appeared, the crowd stood, a collective gasp sounding above the music.

  Poet the hard ass, Poet the President who shot first and asked questions later. Poet, the woman other women wanted to be like, while feared at the same time, was barely recognizable. She wore a ball gown-style wedding dress, the bodice strapless and form fitting, with lace and jewels that could be seen from any distance. But it was the bottom of the dress that stole the show - it was the same white and lace, but covered in silver angel wings across the tulle. It looked like a true princess gown, while representing her club. A veil, adorned with the same jewels along the sides of it, trailed the sides of her face, and in her hands was an ornate bouquet of red roses, lilies, and blue ribbons.

  As she neared, Sarah could see the smile on her face, her eyes on her future husband. The joy was catching, and tears filled her own, forcing her to look upward for a moment in fear they’d fall. But, her efforts were lost as Poet knelt, her gown draping out beside her, in front of an empty chair in the front row. A small easel sat atop it, and craning her neck, Sarah could see it was a picture of Poet as a little girl ... dressed in a white tutu gown, much like the one she was wearing, with a grown man, who had to be her father.

  “Thank you, Daddy. I know you’d love him,” she heard the bride murmur and Sarah gave in, allowing her tears to fall.

  Fallen caught her gaze and smiled softly, his own face full of emotion before he turned his attention back to Poet, who’d stopped to face Titan. He mouthed something to her and she sniffled a second before shaking her head and scowling. Her groom merely smiled a knowing smile and turned to the priest, nodding.

  “You may all be seated,” the white-collared man began, extending his hands out to the crowd. “As you know, we are gathered here to witness the union of this man, and this woman in holy matrimony. Now, in all worlds, the two of them would rarely be together, let alone promising a life of forever to the other.

  “But, in the time I’ve spent with both Titan and Poet, I’ve learned they are nothing like the world expects. They are kind and considerate, they are caring and thoughtful. More, they understand and respect the responsibilities their club positions afford them, and know when to help, yet also when to remain neutral and not interfere. That is something not of most relationships, and is something to be applauded in the character of these remarkable people.

  “To my knowledge, they’ve prepared their own vows. Titan?”

  Titan inclined his head to the holy man before clearing his throat and taking Poet’s hands in his.

  “I’m not a perfect man, nor am I a perfect president. I don’t make perfect decisions, or perfect mistakes. But I promise you, Madeline ‘Poet’ Butler, that my love for you is the perfect love poets write about. It is one in which is consuming yet breathing, it is binding and is freeing. Today, in front of our friends and family, our clubs - filled with brothers and sisters - I make this promise to you. I promise regardless of where our bikes take us, I will never stray from you. When we must fight, we fight together. When you’re in trouble, I will always come to help - not to rescue you, because while you look like royalty, you are far from a damsel in distress who needs to be saved. You can save yourself; I can only promise to help when you’ll let me. I promise to always be who I am today: an imperfect man who perfectly loves you.”

  Poet sniffed as he slipped a ring onto her finger before taking a deep breath.

  “Marcus, my Titan, I can’t promise to always be the girl who asks for help, any more than I can expect you to be the man who doesn’t demand to help. But what I can promise you is that, regardless of the roads our lives take, of the dangers and trials I know lay before us, I will always be an understanding ear. One who understands the hard choices you must make. I promise to love you, to ask for your guidance - though I can’t promise I’ll always take it,” she added, the crowd laughing as Titan grinned, knowingly.

  “I promise I’ll always be your best friend, the one who runs to be by your side when you need me; I promise to remain loyal, to put you above everything but the clubs, and respect you in your position as President, as you do me. Today, we’re all one, and forever, you and I are one. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, baby.”

  Poet slid the band on Titan’s hand and cheers coursed through the crowd, though the preacher held his hand up, requesting quiet. “With the power vested in me, by the state of New Mexico, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  Applause exploded as he did just that, grasping his new wife and tipping her, kissing her like they did in old movies. They were both laughing as he helped her upright, and the music started to play. The two were the first to go back down the walkway, followed by Shakespeare and Artist. Then, as the other men filed behind, they extended their arms, the women they’d brought - some girlfriends, some wives - proudly taking their places beside them.

  As her finger entwined with Fallen’s, he leaned down to whisper, “The day we get married, we’re going to put this one to shame.”

  Shocked at his words, Sarah stumbled and glanced up at him. He merely winked and led the way to the reception area.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The reception was no less impressive than the ceremony. Large tents, the size of multiple warehouses, were set up, each with the same gray brick paving them as walkways. A giant dance floor was set up in the middle, an elegant MW painted in the center - the bride and groom’s initials.

  Round tables, each with sets of ten chairs, were placed strategically around the dance floor. All were draped in white linens, the chairs decorated with the same blue and red ribbons that were at the ceremony. Centerpieces of the same flowers, candles, and snifters of cognac, little lanterns placed to give light when the sun went down, regardless of an errant breeze. A massive five-tiered wedding cake sat on a smaller table off to the side, an edible version of Poet’s gown, along with a smaller cake done in the shape of a Harley Davidson for a groom’s cake. A table set for two sat at the head of the room, clearly for Poet and Titan.

  A waiter appeared at her side and Sarah accepted one of the offered drinks. Fallen had disappeared to take photos with the rest of the wedding party and she and Teagan were admiring the decorations. They’d really outdone themselves - they succeeded in making their wedding that which was the envy of all who’d come after them. At least, most women. As amazing as it was, it wasn’t Sarah’s style. Which she’d voiced to her friend, who was now looking at her like she’d grown three heads.

  “What?! It’s everything,” the other girl gushed, waving her arms around while careful not to spill her own glass of wine. “Everything a princess could dream of. The ultimate fairy tale wedding.”

  “I see that,” she answered, nodding. “Just ... I don’t know. I don’t want a giant gown and all of this,” she motioned. “I’d prefer to have a much smaller thing, with a backyard party, and go on a nice honeymoon or something.”

  “Not me,” Teagan said, shaking her head. “When I get married, I want this. All of this. Exactly
like this.”

  “Oh Lord, they’re planning our fucking weddings,” a voice Sarah didn’t recognize sounded as arms wrapped around Teagan. A second later she realized it was Train, Bishop Reign’s Vice President.

  “Fine with me. This one’ll be mine one day,” came Lukas’ reply, surprising her again, and she spun to face him.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. One day, I’m going to marry you. Get over it.”

  When he finished his statement, he stuck his tongue out at her and laughed as her nose scrunched at his words. He’d never implied anything more than what they had, or, well, even less than that she supposed. But, truth be told, she’d be okay with marrying him one day. Not tomorrow, or the next day, but one day, for sure.

  “We should find out seats, they’re coming,” Teagan murmured excitedly, pulling on Train’s arm and ignoring the resounding groan that came from his chest. Sarah herself laughed as she and Fallen followed, her hand easily slipping into his stronger grip.

  “I’m not sure where my seat is,” she said absently as they moved together, though Fallen produced two small name cards from his pocket, their names written in an elegant script along with the number of their table. Grateful he’d thought to grab them, she let him lead her to a table, surprised to find they were amongst most of the wedding party - it had been her experience that usually the members of the bridal party sat together, while their significant others sat nearby.

  Kissing her hand before releasing it, Fallen pulled her chair out for her. He waited, clearly expecting her to elegantly hover, or however women in fancy situations managed to have their chairs pushed in without their weight in them, and she merely shook her head and waved him off. As he took his place beside her, Sarah allowed herself to be distracted by the beauty in front of her.

  Aside from the elaborate centerpiece in the middle of the table, each seat had a placard with their name written in the same script matching the name card. Traditional finery - plates of what looked like real china, fine silverware, and long-stemmed glass wine goblets were neatly set. Everything glittered and the light bounced off the polished metal of the motorcycle keepsakes strategically gifted to each guest.

  “When we get married, we’re giving out something way cooler than Harley charms,” Fallen said, leaning over and speaking in a hushed whisper. “We’ll have guitars or skulls, or something equally bad ass and unexpected.”

  “I doubt that’ll be unexpected where you’re concerned,” she replied, inclining her head toward the front of the tented area, to a stage already set up with his guitars. “Seeing as how you’re a rockstar and all, it’s sort of a given.”

  Before Lukas could give whatever cheeky remark, judging by the expression playing across his face, an emcee announced the entrance of the bride and groom. The declaration of “Mister and Missus Marcus Warren” made her chuckle - everyone knew there was no way Poet would ever just be “Mrs. Marcus Warren.” The fact that the female president was beaming from ear to ear, clearly on a happy, elated, just married high, made it all the better.

  Sarah watched as Titan led Poet to the dance floor, the music of a harp softly filling the air of the tent. After a couple minutes, Fallen swallowed a laugh and she looked at him, curious as to what was so funny. In her eyes, the couple was dancing as though they’d been practicing forever, as if it was just the normal for the two to be floating across a floor to a melody. Nothing about it seemed comical to her.

  After a long moment, and at the arch of her eyebrow, Fallen finally whispered, “It’s a harp version of a Metallica song. Totally something I would’ve done.”

  Shaking her head, Sarah turned her attention back to the two presidents. She had to agree with Teagan: it was a lot like a fairy tale. And watching as Poet gracefully spun in her dress, it was easy to picture the petite blonde like Cinderella, dancing with her prince without a care in the world. Of course, the woman held an entire world on her shoulders and everyone knew it, Titan too, but, for those moments, for that day, there was nothing that could touch them.

  The rest of the reception followed suit, much of the usual and customs being followed. Train gave a speech, Teagan beside him beaming with pride as the man spoke eloquently and respectfully, with an alarmingly rare use of the f-word. Artist’s “Best Man” speech was heartwarming yet chiding, playful, and had the crowd equally misty eyed and laughing as she recanted days of a young Titan, and of new days to follow with Poet. Shakespeare’s Man of Honor toast, though, was one Sarah would always remember.

  The Vice President was always a man of few words, and when he stood to speak, the entire guest list hushed, staring up at him in anticipation. He held up his champagne glass. “There was a day when I had no family. When I was tossed away with the garbage, and I had no one. And while this knowledge isn’t somethin’ I’m completely comfortable with, I’ve learned much from this. Hells Redemption, via the man I called Pop, gave me a home. They fed me, taught me, trained me, and, when I needed it most, rode my ass.

  “But it was this girl, this woman, this President, who gave me a family. Poet was just a little thing when she was younger ... but she was full of piss and blue vinegar - it drove her pops nuts. But not me. It made me proud when she approached me, askin’ me for advice on how to hold a gun, or begged me to take her to the shootin’ field without her dad knowin’. And, one day, when she was told to do one thing - she did another. In doing so, she saved lives, on her own instinct.

  “I’ve been VP for a long time. It would’ve stood to reason that when the time came, I’d have taken up the torch and lead the Redemption,” he paused, shaking his head. “But I knew there was a better man for the job, one who, like me, could make the tough choices and take care of business, but could also lead the club to a different way of life - one of respect for their brothers, and the women around them. And so when it came down to it, I put this woman up for the job.

  “Poet,” he said, turning to face his President, her makeup-face pink and her eyes blinking rapidly with emotion, “you’ve been my best friend for a long time. My sister, my leader ... and there’s no one’s hands I’d rather put my life in than yours. And, while Titan may not have been a choice I would’ve made for you, I can see why you did, and I’m happy you have. Titan,” he added, looking at the Bishop president, who was grinning from ear to ear, “I’d normally tell you to take care of her - at any other weddin’, I’d suppose - but we both know she ain’t gonna let you. She’s gonna do what she damn well pleases and that’s what we love about her. Instead, I’mma tell you to hold on for the fuckin’ ride ‘cause it’s gonna be a loud one.”

  The answering applause had been deafening, and as Poet wiped away the errant tears that attempted to escape her eyes, she hugged Shakespeare. Titan shook his hand and murmured something no one could hear, though the VP laughed and took it in stride before taking his seat beside Artist and kissing her hand.

  After the food was eaten, the cake cut, and the bouquet thrown, the atmosphere shifted. Gone were the sweet feelings, and in came the mood to party. And, as Fallen took the stage, swinging his guitar strap over his head and strumming a note, the crowd erupted. Everyone, the bride and groom included, crowded toward the front of the stage, dancing and cheering as the Sergeant in Arms played a concert for them.

  Having seen them multiple times now, Sarah was entertained seeing the band done up and dressed up. Lukas’ bass player, whom she’d learned was named Nell, was dressed in his signature timberland boots, ripped blue jeans, and bandana tied around his head. He had swapped his usual cut-off button up for a black pressed dress shirt and added a tie with what looked like cigars on it. From behind his drum kit, she could see that Earl also wore a button up with a bow tie, though, she noticed as she glanced down, he remained barefoot. Delia, their singer, had her hair swept to one side, curls cascading down her shoulders, and traded her usual tight pants and crop shirts for a white and black polka dot circa 1950’s pin-up dress. They looked nothing li
ke the usual Lunatic Grin.

  Sarah remained off to the side, bringing Fallen water when he ran out, and taking his jacket when he rocked too hard and it got too hot. The man was never one to remain still when playing - rather spinning around, jumping, and getting the crowd involved. She could see his sweat soaking into his shirt, could see the exertion on his face after the long day and the Nevada heat, but it didn’t stop him. His smile never faltered, truly in his element, in his ‘”happy” place. He’d once told her that the MC was his blood, but music was his veins; he couldn’t live without either.

  She was always impressed with how he could juggle the two - his band and the club. His Sergeant duties took him away often, doing runs and such, which Sarah rarely asked about ... not that he wouldn’t tell her. They’d had a tell-all policy between them, but she just didn’t like knowing the details of his club work. But the band also had gigs a lot of nights, playing in bars and biker events. Lukas put a lot of his earnings into the club, not just for his dues, but also for the support.

  Watching him play, watching them all perform, had become a sort of zen for Sarah. Having learned most of the songs, she often sang along, and helped where she could. Many late nights were spent rolling cables and putting away the guitars, once she’d learned how to not break things, despite her having to work early the next day. It didn’t bother her, though. She preferred spending what little time they could steal together, rather than sit around waiting for him to come home.

  Of course, she’d made friends with some of the other women of Hells Redemption. Often times when Fallen was working, she’d hang out with Artist or Teagan, or even Reagan, Cyrus, the HR Secretary’s, wife and their daughter. It was a fuller life than she’d known and one that made her happy. For the first time she felt like she belonged - she wasn’t just a tag along to the club, she made herself scarce when she needed to, and helped where she could. Many times she was called into the room they called the Chapel, where they had meetings and such, to do stitches and wound control. Originally she’d shaken her head, encouraging the members to go to the hospital just in case, though her concerns were usually shaken off or flat out denied. Now, she didn’t even try - she’d do what she needed to get them back on the road and on their bikes, and they’d all go about their business.