The display was magnificent.
Upon seeing it, I realized why Tate spent so much time staring at the ocean.
With my eyes still fixed on the horizon, he walked toward me. As he reached me, he glanced at each of the couples and grinned. “This is what it’s all about,” he said. “Family.”
“Amen, Brother,” Crip said.
Standing a few feet in front of me, he lowered himself to his knees and smiled a cheesy smile.
“I thought you felt better?” I asked.
“I do.”
I shook my head. “Then what are you doing?”
He cleared his throat. “Until I met you, there’s been only one place where I could find peace. Right here, on the beach. It was my proof of God’s existence. When I met you, everything changed. Now, all I’ve got to do is see you to know he exists. Your beauty stands as proof.”
It was an eloquent little speech, but it wasn’t surprising. Tate was good with words when he took time to think about it. In his presence, I wasn’t anything but beautiful, and he made sure I knew it.
I bit against my quivering lip and smiled. “Thank you.”
Still on his knees in the sand, he shoved his hands into his pockets. After scanning the group, he met my wondrous gaze.
“Are you going to get up?” I asked. “You look silly down there.”
“In a minute,” he said.
Standing at my side, my father reached around my shoulder and gave me a hug. I glanced at him and grinned, and then looked at Tate.
He’d been in the sand long enough.
I reached toward him with my left hand. “Come on. Get up.”
“Bobbi.” He inhaled a shallow breath and looked up. “In front of my family, your father, and God’s greatest creation, I want to ask if you’d bless me with a lifetime of your presence.”
He pulled his hand from his pocket. A very eloquent diamond ring was pinched between his fingers.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
My entire body began to shake. The man of my dreams was on his knees in the sand, in front of his MC brothers and my father, asking for my hand in marriage.
I was afraid if I spoke, I’d burst into tears. I glanced at my father.
He smiled and gave a nod of approval.
I looked at Tate and nodded eagerly. “I will,” I murmured. “I’d be honored.”
He slipped the ring on the finger of my shaking hand and then stood.
After kissing me, we turned to face the house. Crip slapped his hand against my shoulder and congratulated me. I quickly admired my ring and then looked up.
The entire party was lined up along the barrier that separated the lawn from the sand. Side by side, they stood, watching us. With long beards, goatees, shaved heads, and tattooed hands, they faced us, each wearing a smile.
Someone started clapping. Then, another. Soon, they all joined in. Elated, slightly embarrassed, and madly in love, I walked in their direction.
Halfway there, I took a long look at the ring. The round center diamond was surrounded by a large group of smaller ones. The stones crept down along each edge of the ring, causing it to sparkle regardless of where I looked.
In short, it was a work of art.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “I can’t stop staring at it.”
“Thank you,” he said. “It took me a long time to make it.”
“You made this?” I gasped. “By hand?”
He smiled and nodded. “I sure did.”
I should have known.
In my time with TD Reynolds, I’d learned there was always a little more truth to his books than anyone would ever realize.
Or that he’d ever admit.
Epilogue
Tate
Side by side, sitting three rows back from the screen, we waited with baited breath for the movie to start. The red velvet curtains parted. The crowd, which had been whispering while we waited, fell silent.
The opening scene was exactly what I’d hoped for, but not at all what I’d come to expect from the film adaptation of a book. A little boy sat on the beach, twisting a piece of wire as he gazed out at the vast ocean.
The camera slowly zoomed in on his hands. With precision, he worked the wire into the shape of a tiny – but very detailed – rose. Then, another piece of wire was twisted into shape. And another. With a delicate touch, the boy threaded the wire rope through the back side of the rose, and formed the ends into a perfect round shape. As the camera panned to a wide angle, taking in the entire horizon into view, the boy slipped the ring he’d fashioned into the pocket of his shorts.
Slightly out of focus, a man and a woman stood behind him, holding hands.
“C’mon, Becker,” the woman shouted. “It’s time to go.”
The boy stood and turned to face the couple. After brushing the sand from his legs, he walked to their side.
The camera zoomed in on the family as they walked through the sand.
“Here,” the boy said. “I made this for you.”
He handed the woman the ring. She raised her hand and slipped it onto the one finger that was bare. After admiring his handiwork, she lowered her hand and smiled at the boy.
“Thank you, Becker. It’s beautiful.”
The boy took her hand in his as they walked up the beach.
The camera switched views. The scene was now viewed from behind them as they walked up the beach, toward a palm tree lined street in the distance. The cloudless sky was the bluest of blue, just like I remembered it being when I gave my mother the ring that day on the beach.
From the speakers on the left side of the theater, a low rumble began. As the sound swept from left to right, a group of motorcycles, riding two abreast, rode across the screen. The filming went into slow motion as they passed.
The boy pointed toward the horizon. “What was that?”
“Hells Angels,” the father said. “It’s a gang. A biker gang.”
“A gang? Are they bad?”
The father chuckled. “Only when they need to be.”
The boy glanced at the last bike as it passed by. A tattooed man with a long gray beard lowered his right hand and gave a slight wave.
The little boy raised his hand in return. The camera panned to his face. A gleam in his eye and a smile on his face said what words could not.
One day, he would own one of those glorious machines.
Silently, we watched the movie. In all respects, it depicted the book with an accuracy that made me proud to have played a part in its development. The two hours and ten minutes passed quickly, with not a dull moment in the entire film.
As the final scene began, I squeezed Bobbi’s hand tightly. My only hope was that the crowd enjoyed the ending as much as I enjoyed writing it.
On the back porch of their home, an 89-year-old Becker and an 87-year-old Allison sat side by side in a loveseat and gazed out at the ocean. The camera zoomed out, showing that that were hand in hand, and then zoomed in on their weathered faces.
In her eighty fifth year, Allison had developed cancer. Despite Becker having sought the best doctors in the country, there was nothing else that could be done. Her time had come. Becker, on the other hand, remained healthy as a horse, walking two miles daily through their beachfront neighborhood.
Allison gazed at the ocean. Her gaunt face gave hint to her physical condition, but her brown eyes smiled nonetheless. They seemed as young as the day she met Becker.
She turned to face him and winced in pain.
Becker squeezed her hand lightly.
Her dry lips parted. As she started to speak, she tensed, closed her eyes, and then opened them.
“It hurts,” she muttered.
Becker, with his eyes fixed on the horizon, nodded once. He then turned to face her. His lower lip quivered. “How much longer?”
Her eyes fell closed.
When they opened, he knew exactly what she was afraid to say.
He cupped her left hand with his, taking
one last look at the ring he’d fashioned for her so many years before. Wearing a smile that represented a lifetime of memories, he leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek, and then relaxed into the back of the chair.
“The only life I can imagine is a life with you,” he murmured.
Using every ounce of energy that remained, she grinned and then mouthed the words, I love you, Becker.
A lone tear rolled from the corner of his eye and then fell along his cheek.
She winced one last time, tensing from head to toe. He held her hand in his, knowing full well the pain she had endured. Her agony quickly ended, her body falling limp as proof.
Becker leaned over, kissed her forehead, and then rested his head on her shoulder. He fixed his gaze on the horizon and closed his eyes.
His grip on her hand loosened.
In front of the ocean that he so loved, with his head resting gently on Allison’s shoulder, Becker Wallace knew he couldn’t live a single moment without her in it. So, he let go, joining her as she floated out over the ocean and into the heavens above.
The camera zoomed out for a moment. Sitting on the loveseat side by side, with his head resting on Allison’s shoulder, it seemed Becker Wallace had simply fallen asleep with his wife. Slowly, the camera zoomed in, coming into focus on their hands.
The ring he’d fashioned for her so many years before glistened in the evening sun, still every bit as beautiful as the day he presented it to her as a gesture of his love.
Fade to black.
The theatre went from dark to light. Blubbering could be heard from the entire crowd. Nervous as to what the reviews would say, I glanced to the left. Peyton, Tegan, Joey, and Sandy were all wiping their cheeks.
Pee Bee was in tears, but that could be expected, considering the loss of his father.
I looked at Crip, who was seated on my left. “Well?”
He raised his hand between us “Give me… give me a minute.”
Clapping began. Whistling followed. I turned to face Bobbi. “Well?”
“I’ve read that damned thing fifty times, and I cry every time. It was great, honey. It really was.” She waved her hand toward the rear of the theatre. “I mean, really? Listen to them.”
I glanced behind me. The entire crowd was on their feet, cheering.
“I want ice cream,” Bobbi said. “With caramel. And some fried chicken.”
“Fried chicken sounds good as fuck,” Crip said. “Is there anywhere to get good fried chicken in New York?”
“We can ride those rented bikes around and find out,” I said.
I stood, turned to face the crowd, and tugged against the bottom of my kutte. Seeing the level of emotion in the crowd was all the reward I needed. The money I received had gone toward a modest beach house, new tires for my motorcycle, and our children’s college fund.
I reached for Bobbi’s hand. “C’mon, baby. It’s going to take us a while to get out of here.”
She stood, stretched, and then let out a sigh.
“You sure you’re up for the ride?”
“I’m pregnant,” she said. “Not crippled.”
I glanced at her stomach and smiled. In three more months, our little Allison would be here. Sitting on our back porch and staring out at the ocean was high on my list of things to do with her once she was old enough.
Amidst the throngs of A-list movie stars, the twenty-four of us waded through the crowd, and toward the front doors of the theater.
As we reached the door that led into the foyer, Crip turned toward the front of the theatre. “You made me proud, brother. You really did. Any word on the other five books?”
“They bought the rights last week to all five of them.”
“Can’t wait to see ‘em. I wonder who’ll they’ll get to play Crip?”
“Hard saying,” I said. “Contract says I have the right to refuse, though.”
“Good lookin’ out,” he said. “Better not be some dip-shit.”
He took one last look at the screen. Frozen on the closing credits, the message stood as an eerie reminder, and as a tribute.
In loving memory of
Morrison “Stretch” Walker
1957-2017
Crip raised his clenched fist in the air and cleared his throat.
“Filthy Fuckers Forever!” he shouted.
Amongst some of Hollywood’s finest, twenty-three voices responded in unison, sending our message echoing throughout the theater.
“Forever Filthy Fuckers!”
Also by Scott Hildreth
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Dedication
I hereby dedicate this novel to E.L. James. Yes, that E.L. James. If not for her courage, and her uncanny ability to speak to a vast audience through her written words, I’d be peddling my novels out of the trunk of my car in secrecy. She opened up the world’s eyes, and in doing so, made Steamy Contemporary Romance and Erotic Romance a household word.
An acceptable household word.
For that, I not only give her recognition, but a special thank you.
I now live my very own dream as a result of her bravery.
Thank you, Mrs. James. This one is for you.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.
HIS RULES 2d Edition Copyright © 2017 by Scott Hildreth
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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Prologue
The sound of his footsteps and my own shallow breathing were all that I could hear. On my back in the center of the bed, I was completely naked. My eyes were cinched closed. I’d been in the same position, deprived of my clothing and sight, for an amount of time I was incapable of comprehending.
Simply because he’d asked it of me.
He seduced me verbally at first, luring me closer with each carefully chosen word. When I was intrigued to the point that walking away was impossible, he crawled inside my head. I’d heard the word mind-fuck before I met him, but I had no idea of the complexity of the phrase.
I now had a full understanding.
Fascinated by his intellect, I mentally begged for more. He sensed my desire and fed me as if I were starving. He taught me things about myself. His understanding of human nature was second to none.
He was a compassionate man. And kind. Above all things, he was always kind.
The sound of his footsteps stopped. He’d been pacing the
room for some time, and now that he wasn’t, the silence was deafening.
He drew a long breath, and then exhaled heavily. “Describe what you’re feeling.”
My throat was anxious and tight. I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and then swallowed. “Courageous. I feel courageous.”
He cleared his throat. “What else?”
My response was prompt. “Curious.”
“Frustrated?” he asked, his tone inquisitive.
“No,” I breathed. “I’m not frustrated.”
It wasn’t an entirely truthful response, but it was appropriate. In the time that we’d been together, I realized there was a vast difference between what I wanted to say, and what I needed to say.
The sound of his footsteps followed my response, each one coming closer to the foot of the bed. The mattress heaved to accept his weight. Gently, he placed his hands on my knees. A hint of his cologne made its way to my nose. My body quaked in anticipation. The tension that had built within me could only be released from his touch.
I spread my legs wider, affording him room to do with me as he pleased. Barely capable of containing my excitement, I waited for what was next, knowing only pleasure would come my way.
He wasn’t simply my lover, he was also my protector. In his capable hands, I was always safe.
My mind raced as he wedged his upper body between my legs. With my arms at my sides, I clenched the bedding in my fists, but it did little to prepare me for what followed. He kissed his way up the inside of each thigh, taking time to make sure I knew exactly where he was pausing in his quest to bring me pleasure.
My body tensed.
His fingertips traced lightly along the surface of my skin. Starting at my hips, he followed the contour of my body’s edge. After slowly passing along my ribs, they came to stop on top of my breasts.
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