Hitched: Spinoff from the Dark Romance Thriller Series: Edge and Whisper Are Getting Married

by Emma James

  The kid next to me with jet-black hair is the throat clearer, who looks about seventeen or eighteen.

  He grins broadly, watching me behind his black-framed glasses. “Kitten, are you lost?”

  “Pardon me?” I can’t be lost. Edge is standing up the front.

  I look closer at the teenager. He’s wearing a Lion’s Den MC leather cut, with PROSPECT stitched above the front pocket, which surprises me a little, maybe because he looks a bit out of place wearing one. Not that I should judge who gets to wear a biker’s cut.

  A thought occurs to me. Oh crap! I whisper, “Is this somebody else’s seat?” I’m about to launch myself up out of the chair when his hand lands on my thigh.

  I don’t think so!

  I stare at it long enough for him to get the picture I don’t want it touching me.

  “Kitten, this chair has your name all over it,” he replies in a voice which is a little too high-pitched, as though his voice is still breaking. To add to the display, he exaggerates looking me up and down.

  Good. Lawd! Somebody save this boy from himself. Was that his attempt at flirting with me?

  “Well, I doubt that—”

  “Romeo!” Torque whisper-growls, “Up and out!” He’s staring down at the kid, hands gripping his hips, giving me the outline of the impressively built man I had the good fortune of seeing virtually naked. “Her name is not Kitten! You do not get handsy with Flora. Got it?!”

  Sitting between Torque and the boy who needs to learn boundaries, the thought that comes to mind when seeing Torque’s face is the saying: If looks could kill.

  “Yes, Prez.”

  “Go watch the Hummer doesn’t get a ticket. I’m not exactly legally parked,” Torque adds on in a calmer voice.

  Romeo—if that is his real name—gets up, not a hint of fear on his face and shuffles past me without a hair touching me and saunters off.

  I stand and whisper, “Torque, if I took your seat, I will find another.”

  “Sunflower, sit down; you are where you should be. Plus one, remember.” It’s a rhetorical question.

  I lean toward him and whisper, “I won’t be able to get a good photo of Bowie from here; I’ll go find another spare chair. It’s no problem at all.”

  “Nope. Give me one sec.” Torque places his hands on my waist to gently maneuver me from where I stand to the other side of him before bending toward the guy in the next chair, murmuring to him. He doesn’t have a cut on, but he has a chest like a tank and a beard that could only get thought of as ZZ-Top length.

  The guy listens, nods, and then turns to the biker next to him and passes on a whispered message until they are all doing it quietly down the row until they get to the two bikers closest to the aisle.

  Every man in the row collectively stands and shuffles two seats toward us.

  I know Edge and all the men out the front are watching what’s going on, making me self-conscious of the fact the-girl-who-doesn’t-date is sitting in a row of bikers with one particular biker making it his mission to get me closer to the aisle.

  The guests’ attention is now focused our way. I can see the bridesmaids’ husbands watching, most with amused looks on their faces. “I think we need to sit down sooner than later,” I whisper to Torque because now Edge has one eyebrow hiked watching all of us, while his brother murmurs to him.

  My attempt at sliding into a spare seat without bringing any attention to myself has backfired on me.

  “Sweetheart”—Torque waves his arm in a sweeping motion—”after you.” He’s paving the way for me to move down the row and take one of the two vacated seats.

  I don’t want to bring any more attention to the little scene we are making, so I hurriedly scooch my way down the row knocking knees with all the men seated until I get to the other end.

  I plop down in the first spare seat I come to, relieved I’m no longer standing and watch Torque’s tight buns slide past me. Oh. My!

  He’s not wearing a suit jacket or long-sleeved button-up anymore. Instead, he has a fresh white short-sleeved button-up with the same tie (the cuffs of the sleeves pull tight across his tattooed muscular biceps), vest, and slacks.

  “Hey there, I’m Viper, and this is my bro, Viking,” says the guy two seats down, pointing to the guy next to me. The redhead talking is in his mid-thirties.

  My eyes travel to their leather cuts, and I can see their names embroidered on them. The guy’s next to me says Vice President above the pocket.

  “Um... hello,” I whisper to Viking, “my son is going to be walking down the aisle, so I don’t mean to be an inconvenience. I just want to get some nice photos of him. Thank you for the seat, but I’m happy to give your seats back once I have my pictures.”

  Viking does look like a Viking with his long, blond hair, and his braided beard.

  I pull myself up for staring when I find his curious, blue eyes assessing me. I can’t help wondering what he thinks of me.

  “You got a problem, Viking?” Torque cocks his head at him from the aisle seat.

  Viking’s brow turns into a wrinkle fest. “She with, with you?” he asks. His frown is staying put.

  “Only me,” Torque answers.

  “You’ve been busy, brother.” Viking’s brow smoothes out as he stares ahead with a grin on his face, and I swear he nods in Edge’s direction.

  “Yes, I have,” Torque replies to Viking. Then to me, “Sunflower, swap seats with me, so you’re closer to getting that perfect picture of your kid.”

  “Thank you, Torque, but you don’t have to do that,” I whisper to him.

  He looks at me intently before replying, “You don’t understand how seriously I take asking a female to be my plus one. Let me make this clear. Whatever you need, ask me, and I’ll try to accommodate.”

  Could I just for today enjoy this man looking after me?

  He stands, and I slide over while he sits in the chair I vacated. I don’t miss the painful hiss-grunt he quietly makes when his ass meets the hard seat.

  “You got something wrong with your ass, Torque?” Viking doesn’t miss the sound.

  “Later,” is all Torque says.

  “Did the doctor give you a painkiller?”

  “Sunflower, my ass is fine; you enjoy watching your son.”

  The live singing stops and gets replaced by an original song the singer plays for the wedding procession. I know this because Whisper has told me the famous Hudson Raine will be singing a love song he wrote for the processional.

  I get my phone ready to capture some memories and film a little piece to show Bowie later.

  Torque’s lips are now right up against my ear. “Woman, I would move mountains for you.”

  Oh. My!

  My phone vibrates in my pocket.

  It’s Boxer.

  I raise my eyes to the sky in silent prayer that all is well, and I’m not getting lousy news before checking the incoming.

  Boxer: We’re here

  All in one piece

  Had a little hiccup

  All is well enough

  Whisper looks beautiful

  You’re a lucky man

  We’re all good

  Torque and I have everything under control

  What is that supposed to mean? Enough?

  Me: Where is my woman?

  Don’t I fucking know I’m the luckiest man

  I need to lay my eyes on her to know what enough means. There’s no point demanding an answer now.

  Boxer: About to make the entrance you will never forget

  And before you say it, we are taking the ramp and not the stairs

  Remember no peeking at the bride until she is walking down the aisle

  You should be able to get a look at the bridal procession shortly

  Don’t panic

  Deep breath and she will explain

  Stay put and wait until Whisper gets to you

  I have this urge to roll my eyes at the number of incoming messages. I wish Boxer would stop try
ing to reassure me because it ain’t comforting me. My bride is here, and that’s the important thing.

  Me: Stop texting and get your asses down here!!

  Boxer: Keep your shirt on, mate

  Me: Don’t fuck with me Boxer

  Boxer: Wouldn’t dream of it

  Me: Yeah you would

  Boxer: Maybe a little

  I drop the phone back into my pocket and fidget with my suit jacket.

  Ghost might be good at being a shadow, but I didn’t miss him hightailing it up the steps. I know he’s making sure with his own eyes things are good enough, and that’s the only thing keeping me standing here and not jogging around the Wedding Bowl and up those steps.

  Hazard leans around the back of Mathias, getting my attention with a poke to my back. “I think this is gonna be one hell of a story when you get to the bottom of the delay.” I bet it will be too.

  I grunt in acknowledgment.

  To distract myself from looking up at the ramp, I watch Flora hurriedly move toward the guest chairs.

  “Flora looks gorgeous,” Hazard comments loud enough to be heard over the music. “Although I don’t think she even knows she’s sat down in a row of bikers. I hope they behave themselves.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

  Christ! She’s sat next to Romeo, who looks far too pleased with his new neighbor. Flora is oblivious to his stare fest as she does that centering thing that I find Whisper sometimes doing when the need arises to take stock and calm herself.

  And why would Flora need to be doing that right now?

  Her eyes pop open as though she can hear my thoughts.

  And if I ain’t reading guilty-as-charged on her pretty face before she ducks her head.

  Why would the woman be feeling guilty?

  “What the hell has been going on in the past hour?” Mathias sees what I see.

  Romeo starts chatting up, Flora. I don’t need to hear the conversation to know that’s what he is doing.

  I know the kid is living up to his road handle—Romeo—when Billy confirms my assumption by shaking his head.

  Torque appears in my peripheral vision, our eyes locking onto each other. I waste no time holding my phone in the air and wave it as a sign. I need some direct answers.

  Torque shakes his head and starts playing charades. He holds his thumb and pinky finger to his ear and mouth in the universal sign of a phone, then pretends to snap imaginary phone in half with two hands and then wiggles his fingers like he’s sprinkling something.

  Okay, so for the win, my guess is his phone is fucked. I frown at the thought of what that means in the bigger picture of Whisper being late because, in the twenty-first century, more than one person has a phone he could have used to dial me up, and he has access to more than one phone in my home.

  I mouth “Whisper” to him.

  He gives me the double thumbs-up and points toward the ramp. Then he gives me a nod before scrutinizing the back of the guests’ heads until he locks onto where Flora is seated.

  Torque ends our game of charades by prowling like a lion toward where the club prospect looks like he’s stepped it up to bothering Flora.

  Romeo doesn’t stand a chance of staying in his seat from Torque’s body language.

  Torque’s only been putting up with the prospect’s antics because he’s his blood—his nephew. The kid has much to learn from his wise uncle.

  Torque’s sister vehemently doesn’t want her son involved in the Lion’s Den MC. Torque respects his sister’s wishes, but he knows the boy has to work these things out for himself. The kid should be going to college; he’s not biker material.

  Family is family, so he’s giving the kid a chance, much to his sister’s ire. He’s letting the boy decide for himself. He idolizes Torque and thinks being in the club will give him street cred, which is not what being in a club is all about. He got given the road name “Romeo” because he’s all about being a chick-magnet and not about what it means to be a club member.

  Torque’s sister highly respects and loves her brother, but wants her son otherwise employed. Torque’s giving the kid a chance to earn his respect from the other members, so it’s all on him if he mucks it up—and he will.

  “You seeing what I’m seeing?” Mathias nudges my shoulder.

  “Yup.” I sure am.

  “Who is this fair maiden?” Blueblood voices his curiosity having not met Flora before.

  “She would be Edge’s next-door neighbor.” Hazard’s rich gravelly voice supplies the answer.

  “Lucky Edge,” Lethal loudly observes.

  “Very sunshine pretty,” Drill adds on.

  “We’ve not been visiting you, brother, at the right time,” Blueblood deduces.

  The urge to look up toward the ramp is tempting, but I keep my word to Whisper; there will be no spoilers. I’ll wait until she walks down the aisle to feast my eyes on my woman.

  “Now, what is Torque doing?” Mathias mutters, leaning into me. “Is he—?”

  “Wait for it...” Hazard tries unsuccessfully not to laugh.

  “Ooo... I feel the burn from here with that scorching look Romeo just earned from the Prez,” Drill joins back in the commentary.

  “Whatever Romeo is saying in front of the fair maiden, the caveman not likey.” Blueblood is reading Torque’s unamused body language.

  “Ouch! And there goes the walk of shame.” Slade’s deep chuckle reaches me.

  “What the hell are they all doing now?” Blueblood laughs quietly.

  “Hermano... isn’t it obvious? He’s assisting the lady into a better seat. I think he’s being—”

  “Chivalrous?” Blueblood questions.

  “Hmmm... I think you have chosen well, Hermano. Torque is indeed acting chivalrous, organizing Flora with a better choice of seating.

  Has Torque taken a shine to Flora?

  “Interesting,” I add from the commentary box.

  “I can feel a bet coming on.” Drill rubs his hands together.

  “A lot seems to have happened since we’ve been all standing here,” Mathias theorizes next to me. “He’s had approximately two hours from arriving at your house with the stretch Hummer. The man works fast!

  “Considering Flora hasn’t been too keen on mixing it up with a male since I’ve known her.” I wonder what gives this time?

  “They do make a handsome looking couple,” Drill concludes.

  I agree, but I’m leaving that alone.

  Ghost walks back to his seat. We start up a telepathic conversation, something we’ve gotten very good at.

  Is Whisper all right?

  He gives an unconvincing nod, followed by a hand that wiggles in the air.

  Fuck!

  Tension levels rise inside me. Before I can pull my phone out and get some answers, I watch Raine receive the cue from Juan to start playing the song he’s written for the wedding processional on the baby grand piano, marking an end to my conversation with Ghost.

  My attention focuses on the decorative screen Juan has in place to hide the bridesmaids and the bride from everybody until they are ready to walk down the aisle.

  Joy is the first bridesmaid to take to the aisle runway, followed by petite Birdie, who wastes no time waving at me with a cute grin on her face, which puts some of my tension to bed.

  Five bridesmaids—in turn—reassure me with a smile or a wave as they make their way through the flower petals and take their place.

  Phoenix is number six. She locks onto me and nods, which I note is not a wave. I respect the hell out of the woman. She’s tough, smart, and beautiful. She’s had Whisper’s back from the moment she met her in Alaska, and she’s never wavered with any guidance or support Whisper needed to feel comfortable with becoming the butterfly who could finally spread her wings and fly to great heights. I owe the woman a lot.

  They all look stunning, and their husbands and partners watch on, admiring the beauty of their women, but I only have very impatient eyes for one woman.

  I
take a deep breath. I need to calm my spidey sense the fuck down.

  Everybody finally arrived, and that can only be good.

  Raine and Tucker are now playing an original piece of music in the background.

  Presley is up next looking smart in his suit, proudly holding the little pillow with the rings bound by a ribbon to it. Our son walks down full of confidence, giving me a thumbs-up when he pauses to let Nana Lily take a photo or three of him while Jagger squirms in Jakob’s arms to get closer to his brother. Colton gave up staying awake half an hour ago. The baby can sleep through a storm.

  I pull my phone from my pocket, waiting for Presley to make his way down. The twins know they are always going to have to keep stopping for happy snaps from everyone, including the photographer who is taking the professional shots.

  The photo album my mom, Lily, gave me for Christmas eight years ago, showed me the value and importance of documenting the life of your loved ones. I flip through it regularly.

  It’s all the proof I have of thirty-one years of lost days, hours, minutes, seconds of my blood family’s lives that were living on the opposite side of the world. It’s so fucking precious to me.

  Sometimes it’s hard for me to fathom that up until eight years ago, my life was going in a very different direction.

  If destiny had crossed my path ten years ago and told me I would try to kill my soul mate—then live happily-ever-after with her and a bunch of kids—I would have laughed in destiny’s face.

  But here I am proudly watching my son. There are no words for how consumed with love for my family I am—it’s that profound a thing for me.

  When Presley gets closer, I snap a candid pic of my boy. I have to have this memory taken through the eyes of a proud father.

  I take candid pics all the time to keep on my phone and to put up at Masson & Schenk to remind me of what I value most. Nothing can ever happen to my family. Losing Cruz was a reminder—life is fragile, and the Lord can taketh away. Thank God, I have my brother and mother for the remainder of what time we all have left on this planet.

  I aim to take a whole lot more happy snaps from my perspective before the day finishes.

  Who knows, maybe one day in the future, Whisper might need an album of her own to give her biological parents. Boxer never gives up looking for a lead. He’s made it his part-time mission.