by Violet Blaze
There's maybe twenty of them in total? I have no idea if this is the whole club, half the club, a mere fraction of the club. I think another conversation with Royal is in order after this is over. I start mentally adding my questions to a list, decide lists and mentally calculating things is what I've been doing my whole life, and then just let it all go with a sigh.
Some of the men hoot and holler, clap Royal on the shoulder or the back, a few even hold their hands out to me. But everybody's looking, everybody's curious, and their eyes are focused directly on me and the ring on my hand. Nobody looks at me funny or checks me out which is nice and which I imagine is a byproduct of the president's control. He's biker royalty after all, isn't he?
It's because I'm king, love. And I need a queen.
“Lyric Rentz, I want you to meet the Alpha Wolves,” Royal says, his accent creeping back into his words as he starts to calm down, to warm to the situation. “Be nice to this one, yeah? I'm quite keen on her you know.”
“When's the wedding?” It's Dober's gruff voice as he comes out to stand on the deck, lifting the lid of the grill and turning over a few dozen burgers with his spatula. His face is neutral, just this side of frowning.
“For fuck's sake, you want to help Lyric pick out a dress? I asked the girl to marry me last night, Burt. Calm the hell down. Nobody ragged on you when it took Janae six months to choose flowers.”
Royal smirks as Janae appears with an empty plate in one hand and a full plate of raw patties in the other. She gestures at my new … fiancé with the red meat.
“Flowers have all sorts of special meanings. You can't just pick that sort of thing willy-nilly.” The boys laugh, shaking their heads at her, but she doesn't seem to mind, keeping her chin up and spine straight. Janae might be the perfect club wife, but there's dignity there, a sense of responsibility for these men that I'm not sure I'll ever understand. Royal mentioned before that Janae was sort of like the queen of the old ladies; I see that now. “You should have a winter wedding, before the weather changes. Winter weddings are so magical and completely underrated. I just saw a spread in a magazine where the bride wore a furred muffler instead of holding a bouquet.”
I raise my eyebrows, but don't say anything. For a second it seems like I might be the only one listening, but then I realize that Royal's tensing up beside me, his eyes scanning his VP and his wife. I glance over my shoulder and we lock gazes.
A winter wedding, huh? Before the weather changes? As in, right now. As in ASAP.
Nice move, Janae. Very slick.
“I prefer fall weddings,” I say, forcing myself to smile as I slip out of my coat and toss it over the deck railing. “I guess we'll just have to wait until next year.”
Without waiting for a response, I head over to the cooler to grab a beer, finding myself congratulated along the way. I snag a bottle for Royal, too, and rejoin him, passing it over as he leans in and presses his lips against mine. The kiss is hot, possessive, burning the bare flesh on my arms as Royal grips my biceps and pulls me close. I'm aware of noises in the background, catcalls and raucous laughter, but I don't pull away. I know this is some sort of stupid, male posturing display, but the feeling of Royal's mouth against mine is … divine. I guess I can let it slide.
When he lets go of me, I wink at him and turn away, eliciting more sound, more laughter from the group. I make sure to hold Dober's dark stare as I climb up the steps to the deck and move inside.
There aren't nearly as many women as there are men here. Besides Janae, Fauna, Glinda, and Serenity, there are eight others that I can see. Five of them are older, maybe around my mother's age, sitting together in a cluster in the living room with Fauna while Janae and Glinda lead the rest in preparing a meal.
It's a little … medieval for me, but I square my shoulders and suck it up. If I have to shuck corn once a month at a get-together to make it work with Royal, I can handle that. If—and this is a mighty big if—my parents ever accept him, then anytime we spend with my family will be in uptight restaurants with white table clothes where nobody talks and all the food is served in micro portions by waiters in tuxes.
“Put me to work,” I say with a smile, purposefully moving over to stand next to Glinda and across from Janae and Serenity. Fauna's daughter glances up at me with a smile, either oblivious to the tension in the room or just not caring. Considering she is a teenager, I'm betting on the latter.
“This is sort of like your pseudo engagement party,” Serenity says, tucking some blond hair streaked with red behind her ear. “Just sit and relax, get drunk.” There's a pause as she stops to scoop some whipping cream into her mouth, wrinkling her nose and adding more sugar before she starts to whisk it again. “Fauna even bought you a cake.”
“A cake?” I ask as Janae's mouth tightens a bit and she glances up at me. I think she feels threatened by my presence here, like I'm trying to take her spot as Queen Bee. If she knew she had nothing to fear from me, she could relax a little, like letting the incumbent know that you don't plan to run in their district.
“Well, we all knew Royal fancied you,” Glinda drawls, sweeping back her Barbie blond hair and pausing to grab a little girl by the shoulder as she sprints by. She licks her thumb and wipes a smear of dirt off the corner of the kid's mouth. The little girl—a towheaded, blue-eyed mini Glinda—and I exchange a look. Poor thing. “And when he said he had an announcement to make, well, we just up and guessed.”
“Funny. You seemed to know before I did,” I joke with a forced a smile and a laugh. When Glinda flicks her blue eyes up to mine, she's almost frowning. I look down at the floor, wondering exactly how manipulative I want to get right now. In the office, it's all the way because nobody else will hold back wondering if they're going to offend someone. No, politicians always go for the throat. “I hope these heal before the wedding,” I say absently, quietly, like I'm talking mostly to myself.
All the women in the immediate vicinity hear me.
“That's bullshit what Mia did to you,” Serenity says, and I hear Janae make a tight sound in the back of her throat.
“Quiet. You have no idea what happened,” Janae snaps at her, but Serenity just rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, I do. We all do. Mia's been panting after Royal for years.”
“Outside,” Janae snaps, tossing the girl a caustic look that doesn't seem to faze her much. But she obeys, like she's been taking orders from this woman for years. With an eye roll, Serenity disappears from the room and saunters outside. Through the glass, I can see her pausing next to Glacier, their arms practically touching. Uh-oh. Looks like somebody has a crush.
My eyes flick back to Janae's pale brown ones, watching her suddenly hurried movements as she adjusts her dark ponytail and purses her reddened lips. I decide this is as good a time as any to move away, let both her and Glinda cool down for a moment. This isn't about winning, not a contest to see who can throw the most barbs; I just want them to know that no matter what they think, I'm strong enough to handle this.
“Thank you for the cake,” I tell Fauna as she comes out of the living room, pausing for a moment in her tight black jeans and boots. She runs a hand over the tattoos on her left arm, but gives me a small smile. It looks genuine enough which is a good thing. I've liked Fauna from moment one.
There's a pause as she glances out the window and notices her daughter snuggling up to Glacier. Fauna frowns slightly before turning back to me.
“You're welcome, Deputy Mayor,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder and squeezing tight. “It's for luck. Because girl, trust me: you're gonna need it.”
Lyric's official introduction as my old lady goes over about as well as it could considering the circumstances. For at least one afternoon, nobody brings up the fact that she's the mayor's daughter. It's a bloody fucking miracle.
“This is it?” I ask when we stop over at her place on our way home from the barbecue. A black duffel bag hangs from my left hand. It's not even half-full of clothes. “You've got o
nly three pairs of lacy knickers in here; that's not nearly enough.”
“Don't be crude,” Lyric says, tossing a narrow eyed glare over one shoulder. “And I already told you: we're not moving in together.”
“What do you call this then?” I ask, kicking the small plastic bin on the floor in front of me. It's got a hairbrush, a stick of deodorant, a toothbrush, heaps of soap and shampoos. Lyric's been wearing a decent amount of makeup lately, but I notice she doesn't bother to pack much which is fine by me. That's one of the things I liked about her first off, the way she doesn't care about painting her face for every damn outing. She's pretty in makeup, pretty without. Doesn't matter much to me either way.
“I'm only staying with you for a few days, just until this whole … thing with the cartel and the FBI blows over.”
“Could be more than a few days, Pint-Size.” My voice sounds grave, too grave considering this is our first day being engaged, but it's true. If the Saldaña Cartel has decided they need our territory to do their business, they won't stop until we either put 'em in the ground or get the FBI to do it for us. “About Sully,” I start, but Lyric's already rising to her feet and giving me a look.
“Tomorrow at dinner, I'll get Sully straightened out.” There's a long pause as she shifts her gaze to the floor and then flicks those big green eyes up to my face. “We'll get Sully straightened out.”
I raise my brows.
“Dinner at the mayor's place? And I'm invited. Bleeding hell, Pint-Size.”
“But not with this,” she wiggles the ring at me, “just as … friends concerned with Sully's well-being. This has to happen; it's the only way I can see avoiding unnecessary violence and heartache. If Sully doesn't throw this bone to the FBI, it really could be weeks or months or even years until they figure out where to start looking. And I sure as hell don't want my town turning into some kind of drug war front.” A shiver travels down her spine. “You hear all sorts of stories about the cartels and the things they do. I can't imagine letting that happen to Trinidad.”
I take a step forward, dropping the duffel bag on the end of Lyric's bed as I slip my arms around her and pull her close, pressing my lips up against the sweet scent of her hair. She doesn't just taste like wildflowers and honey; she smells like them, too.
“Those things,” I say as I kiss my way down the side of her face. “Won't happen here. The Wolves control the underground, and in a way, we also control the city. We have family here, children and wives and houses that we've worked our arses off for.” I pull Lyric's body more tightly against mine and breathe against her ear, enjoying the shiver that works its way down her spine. “If they want in here, they'll have to go to war with us and I guarantee you, Pint-Size, that the Alpha Wolves will win.”
There's something about seeing Lyric in my bed, dressed in nothing but a loose T-shirt and a pair of panties. And it sure is something else to see her moving around in my kitchen, her hair mussy and her eyes half-lidded with sleep as she tries to figure out how to use my French press.
“Well, hello there, the future Mrs. McBride.” I slide my arms around Lyric's waist as she pours boiling water on the coffee grounds and puts the lid over the white steam.
“I prefer hyphenated names,” she says and I laugh, the sound echoing around the quiet kitchen. Outside, it's another bloody miserable morning, gray and dull, the sky like a slice of granite. Fuck, but the weather here is depressing. Good thing I have hot coffee and a hot woman to make up for it.
“You ready for a cuppa?” Lyric asks, affecting a dreadful faux British accent. I snort as I brush some hair off her neck and press my lips to her skin.
“If you're talking about a cuppa tea, then sure. But if it's coffee we're drinking, then it's just that, just coffee.”
“How about a cup of joe then?”
“I think I'd rather have some of you.” My hands slide up and under Lyric's shirt, bringing up goose bumps, sending a little shiver through her that makes me smile. The ring is still on her finger, shining brightly even in the weak morning light. Despite what she said about taking this slow, about trying it on and all that rubbish, I feel like it's real. It'd be a dream come true if there wasn't all this shite about Landon and Clayton Moore and the rest of that filthy lot. “Some of the prospects and the hang-arounds are going to be driving down Redwood Highway today picking up rubbish as part of our agreement with the city. Then we get our name on a fancy Sponsored by sign. It's all very legit and law abiding, and it's all thanks to you.”
“I hope you're prepared for gawking locals,” she says as I grudgingly let go of her waist to lean against the sink. Lyric's brows are pinched and she points at the French press. “Am I doing this right?” she asks as I lean over and slowly push the plunger down, locking eyes with her.
“This dinner tonight, you sure this is what you want? Meeting me, that's something that can't be undone.” Lyric smiles, looking away from me to the coffee.
“Even if it weren't for romantic reasons, having you come tonight is the best way to ensure my father and Sully play the right parts.” Lyric lifts up the French press and pours the dark liquid into our cups. “And I've decided that if Agent Shelley gets too curious about the dinner, we tell her it's a thank-you for what your boys did for Sully.”
“Oh, you're so bloody calculating. I love it.” I flash Lyric another grin as she hands me my coffee and lifts her own to her lips, pausing a moment before drinking.
“Janae gave me her number last night and then texted me this morning.” I raise a brow at that. “She wants me to go shopping with her and 'the girls', whoever that happens to encompass.” Lyric pauses and makes a face. “And then she wants me to come back to her place to bake. I don't bake, Royal.” I laugh and grab Lyric's coffee, setting it alongside mine next to the sink. When I pick her up and set her on the edge of the counter, she doesn't protest.
Lyric spreads her thighs wide and I step between them, sliding my fingers along the bare flesh until our faces are only a few inches apart.
“This is a good sign, love. Janae bakes to solve problems. She baked to try to win a seat with her kid's PTA board; she baked for the whole club when Dober and her were dating; she baked when Jump-Start got engaged to Bettina.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Lyric pants as I hook my thumbs under her panties and give them a tug, snapping the elastic against her skin. “So I should go? I should do this?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely. When does she want you?”
“Tomorrow. After I get off work, of course.”
“Of course,” I growl, taking hold of her panties and sliding them down her legs. I toss them to the floor and reach down to shove my sweats out of the way, dragging Lyric forward so her ass is pressed against the edge of the counter. The head of my cock teases the liquid heat of her core. “You're going to win the other old ladies over, Lyric. Trust me. Your moment will come—but first, so will your body.”
I push into her, loving the way her head tilts back, exposing the pale line of her throat. Warmth envelops me, draws me in, the silken slide of her thighs on either side of me a tantalizing sensation.
Lyric presses her mouth against my bare chest, against the black and gray pistol on my right shoulder. Her teeth graze my skin, biting down and drawing a groan from me as I thrust forward, burying myself inside of her. When she moves to my nipple and takes the hardened point between her hot lips, a growl escapes me.
“You're my fucking queen, Pint-Size,” I tell her as she traces her fingers down my arm, gripping the hardened curves of my biceps as I use my strength to hold her up. “My fucking old lady.” I pause with my chin against the top of her head, my body buried inside of her. “And I've never wanted anything half as much as I want you.”
“Oh, Royal,” she whispers as I move my mouth to her forehead, kissing her soft skin as she arches into me. My body moves slowly, languidly, enjoying the easiness of being with Lyric, the uncomplicated pleasure I feel when we're together. It's at complete odds with the horrid c
omplication that is our real lives, but I savor it anyway, draw her into me as she pulls me into her.
We're just getting into it, looking into one another's eyes when the fucking doorbell rings.
We both pause, but then decide it isn't worth it, moving and sweating and grunting. My hands squeeze Lyric's ass as I bury myself deep and come hard inside of her. I step back and pull her down with me, dragging her towards the bedroom for an orgasm of her own.
Doorbell again.
“Jesus fuck,” I murmur as we both pause and listen to it ring two, three, four more times in quick succession. I'd continue to ignore it if I wasn't concerned there could be some legitimacy to this person's urgency. “One quick second,” I tell Pint-Size with a kiss, grabbing my Ruger from the table before I move up to the door and check through the peephole.
Worse than the FBI, than Clayton Moore, than some bastard from the Saldaña Cartel, standing outside my front door is Mia.
“Who is it?” Lyric asks as I curse and set the gun on the built-in bookcases to my right. I move away from the door and down the hall to grab some clothes.
“It's Mia,” I tell her as I drag a t-shirt on over my head. Lyric's staring back at me with those bright green eyes of hers, her mouth tight, but her expression resolute. “I have no fucking clue what she's doing here,” I start and then realize what that look on Lyric's face might be about. “And I never brought her home, yeah? I can promise you that.”
“I guess you should just answer the door and see what she wants,” Lyric tells me, nodding her chin towards my bedroom door. “Don't worry. I'll stay in here, give you some privacy.”
“Don't need much privacy to tell the bitch to get lost,” I say and Lyric raises her brows. “But if you don't want to see her, you can wait in here and get our shower started.”