Outlaw's Bride (30 page)

Sally moved like a blur. She rushed to the wall next to the door, and I only caught a flash of something large and bulky in her hand before I heard the deafening bang.

“Babe!” I screamed, ready to tell her to get the fuck down, but she'd already hit the floor, crashing on the carpet simultaneously with me.

I didn't realize the explosion was her gun 'til the Mexican dropped. I caught a flash of blood spraying from his throat, heard him make that choking sound, and his gun tottered down the stairs. He fell in the hall, staining the carpet a deep red.

I ran forward, scooped her up, held her so fucking tight she couldn't cry.

“In our house...our house...our fucking house!” she screamed, over and over, like something inside her was broken. “I'm sorry...I didn't know what to do. I couldn't let him walk away.”

“You did good, babe. It's done. Don't think. Just breathe.” I exhaled pure relief, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Fucking hell. I said you were tough, but I had no idea.  You proved me right. Again. You're gonna make the best wife an outlaw could hope for.”

I called the boys over to clean up the fucking mess while I sent Sally over to Brass' place. Jackie and Missy could keep her company while she calmed down, and hold onto our kid for a little while longer.

This shit was too close for comfort. I wasn't gonna be content stripping out the carpet and dumping this fucker off in a cement grave.

It couldn't happen again.
Ever.

I'd wire the house up with cameras, wires, and alarms galore, install bullet proof glass if I fucking had to.

What would've happened if the cartel man hadn't listened to his higher ups? What if he'd slit my girl's throat before I even got here, or walked to my sleeping son's crib?

All the bloody, pitch black possibilities flashed in my mind. They gave me a rage like nothing else, and an energy like I was on cocaine, espresso, and that yerba mate shit all at once.

Asphalt and Southpaw showed up in minutes to deal with the body. I stood by growling orders at the prospects, taking my tools and stripping up the bloodied carpet myself. Good thing half the guys in this club had some carpentry experience.

We never had to rely on outsiders, thank fuck.

Loose lips always sink ships, and the club had almost struck an iceberg over the years. Covering our tracks the right way and keeping as much talent as we could in-house went a long way toward keeping our asses outta prison.

Fuck, prison. I'd never go back. Just like I'd never allow another armed man to come in here and threaten my family.

It took all night to finish the job, working non-stop. When Southpaw and Asphalt finally came home from dumping off the Mexican's carcass, they looked at me like I'd lost my fucking mind, stapling shit in place like I was a mad man.

“Christ, brother. Settle the fuck down before you have a heart attack. You realize we can all help wire this place up in a couple more days?”

“No!” I pointed my finger like a dagger at Asphalt. “Truce or no truce, I don't trust the cartel motherfuckers 'til every last one of 'ems gone. This shit almost went rotten because their own right hand didn't know what the left was doing. I'm not risking my old lady and my kid again. You can either help or keep your damned mouth shut.”

Asphalt clenched his jaw, but he didn't bark back. He marched up and got to work, helping me run wire over all the doors, perfect for installing the new security cams the prospects picked up at a twenty-four hour department store.

Everything human leaves a man when his family's under the gun. It was like I had a goddamned second sun burning in my guts, turning my blood to pure fire, hellbound to finish the job so she never, ever had to worry again.

'Course, Sally's trigger finger just might've saved my ass in the end too. But she'd also put herself in harm's way, and I'd be a dead man before I
ever
let that happen again.

We worked like dogs past sunup. When we were close to finished, I got the call, and so did the rest of the brothers. We needed to get to the clubhouse by eleven.

Just enough time to test the shit. It all worked, minus a few finishing touches, and I'd polish that off later. There was also time to make a quick stop by Brass and Missy's place.

I rode in, parked my bike, and knocked on the door. The Veep let me in, and nodded.

“Hurry up. It took my girl half the night to calm her down. Fucking shit, Roman, you realize you almost wound up like those poor bastards who get themselves shot after the war's technically over?”

“He broke into my house. He threatened my girl. You wanna give me any shit about the truce, Veep, then that's on you. I'd have blown his fucking brains out if Sally hadn't beat me to it.”

He shook his head. “No, brother. You made the right call. Truce wasn't official 'til this morning. The cartel's not gonna do shit about a missing grunt as long as they've got their golden boy back.”

I stepped into the house as he walked off into the kitchen. I found her sleeping on a fold out sofa, baby in her arms, both of 'em making soft, peaceful sounds.

Sitting on the sofa, I stretched out, wrapping one hand around her shoulder and pulling her tight. The movement caused her eyes to open.

“You're here!” She whispered. “Is it safe to go home yet?”

“Soon, babe. I'm gonna ask you to put 'til we know this thing's locked down with the cartel. I'll be welcoming you home in the evening to see a few home improvements?”

She cocked her head. “God. Don't tell me you've thrown up barbed wire in the yard or something.”

“Just cameras and some really earsplitting burglar alarms. Trust me, woman,
nobody's
ever getting in our home again. Knowing it happened once makes me fucking sick.”

It really did. My guts churned, but what I really meant was
sick in the head.
Dismembering anybody who actually hurt her or Caleb crowded by head, alongside a thousand other tortures I'd inflict on the twisted fuckers.

“It's all over, isn't it? I can't believe it.” She sighed. “I'll have to help Norm back to the farm next week. He's going to need a lot of help while he gets back on his feet.”

“Sure, once we're done combing those fields. Your cousin's a stubborn SOB, babe. I'll wire up his place too on the off chance those damned jackals are dumb enough to come back someday. Otherwise, tell him to get the hell ready for our wedding.”

She swallowed, her big blue eyes shining like gems. “You really think we can do this? After all that's happened? I mean, I want it too, but we can wait if it makes you feel –“

“Better? Fuck that. The only thing's that's gonna make me feel whole is watching you come down the aisle. You've been through hell, babe. We all have. There's nothing either of us need to worry about now except
this.
”

I didn't give her another chance to speak. My lips found hers, and they didn't let up, not 'til the Veep and his old lady walked in a few minutes later.

By then, it was time for us to go, and Caleb was ready for his breakfast. I shook his little hand and kissed him on the forehead, then headed for my bike outside.

No, I wasn't a hundred percent whole 'til the wedding, just like I'd told her. But something about waking up with a bombshell next to me and a kid who shared my blood was pretty damned close.

This time, church was outside. We all gathered around the fire pit in the back. The inferno normally blazed late at night when we had our rowdy hog roasts and guests came in, or sometimes to entertain high level brothers from other charters.

Not today. This morning, we had the rite of grievances, a first for this charter, and something that had only been used in a couple times before aross the entire Grizzlies MC.

“Step forward, son.” Blackjack waited for me next to the flame, side by side with Stryker.

He passed me the dagger, and I slid it across my palm. Hot blood seeped through the burn, the pain meant to wipe away all the wrongs we'd done to our man.

Blackjack nodded, took back the blade, and I stepped up, looking Stryker in the eye. “I'm sorry as hell, brother. These mistakes are never gonna happen again.”

The tension on the younger man's face melted. He took my hand, gave it a firm squeeze. He felt my blood on his palm, and then gave me a zen-like nod.

“You're forgiven, Roman. It's already ancient history.”

I passed by and waited for everybody else near the fire. Each full patch brother stepped up, plus a few prospects who'd been there before we killed the real rat and a whole lotta cartel assholes. Everyone made the same apology, dripping blood into Stryker's hand and then into the fire, killing the bitterness and guilt we'd summoned with our fuck up.

Blackjack was the last, and he sliced into both his hands. Deep, brutal cuts wept blood on the concrete patio underneath us. He gripped Stryker's hand tight, before reaching up and grabbing him by the neck, pulling him close to the old man's chest.

“I'm sorry, son. Never again. If we ever fuck up this bad, you kill me first.”

The kid had tears in his eyes at the end of it as the Prez stormed away, reaching for the bandages Brass had waiting. Blackjack wrapped his hand like it was nothing, and carried on with the rest of the meeting.

“Brothers, I signed off on the treaty this morning. The cartel's got their man back, and they've already begun to pull out of LA, with our men watching them like hawks. We won't let up 'til they're all back across the US border. It's over.”

Brothers jeered. They clapped their bloodied hands together, pounded each other on the shoulders, or just quietly smiled. Asphalt and Rabid looked the most relieved, but we all felt it in our chests, like a damned gorilla just crawled up outta our skins.

“Don't turn your backs yet. These bastards across the border will never be our friends. They're rivals. Competitors. Killers.” He paused. “Let that sink in, and get ready to watch them with every ounce of vigilance we have. We don't let up until every last goon with an eagle patch is
out.
We don't quit before our territory's really ours again. I know I can count on you. Every man here's put his heart and soul into this club, and we made a grave mistake doubting it.”

He stopped and looked at Stryker. “Whatever happens from here, we'll keep this club tight. We've made friends with the Devils and smashed the greatest threat we've ever faced. There'll always be new ones, bastards who pop up like weeds, threatening to strangle everything we've fought for. But as long as we never let bad blood come between brothers, and no man sinks a dagger into his brother's patch, we're whole. We're alive. We're men.”

I nodded. The Prez looked down and pulled one of his bandages tighter.

“You can count on everybody here,” I said. “I'll do my damnedest to make sure every last one of those fuckers is outta Redding's city limits next week, on their way to San Diego and gone.”

“You'll do no such thing, son,” Blackjack snapped. “You're taking the next two weeks off to make sure your woman's the happiest old lady in the world before the big day. I won't risk that thing on your shoulder opening up again either. We've got the manpower to deal with anything, Roman, and you've already given us your brains and your courage. Now, stop working like a maniac and smell the goddamned roses. That's an order. Your only job right now's making sure this club has the best damned wedding we've ever seen.”

God help me, I grinned. So did everybody else, even Stryker, the first time I'd seen him smile since we almost skinned him alive.

“Anybody else?” Blackjack asked, slowly scanning over the ranks of brothers.

Nobody said a word. The shitstorm threatening to blow the club to pieces hadn't let up for a second since I'd walked outta the pen.

Now, at last, the end was in sight. Every brother here might actually get a chance to ride off into the sunset, and I'd keep the peace for the club as a married man, happier than every other day I'd ever been alive and breathing on this planet.

S
hit.
I didn't dare breathe a word of panic. Only in my own head, and I really wished I'd practiced walking in these high white heels a little longer.

It was going to be embarrassing as hell if I tipped over and landed on my butt in front of all the guys and the grinning old ladies, my whole extended family. Then I stopped in my tracks.

Seriously, if this was the
only
problem today, we'd come a long way. Walking in my wedding shoes was a universe away from worrying about bullets flying.

Pick yourself up,
I thought.
Keep walking. Smile like you mean it. The sun's shining on you today, girl, and you've already walked through hell on hot coals to get here.

I smiled as I sashayed down the narrow aisle in the clubhouse. And I actually meant it too. By the time I got to the makeshift altar where they were waiting, I was positively beaming, and my face burned a few degrees hotter when I finally looked up.

Blackjack looked neater than ever. He locked eyes with me, smiled, and nodded, adding a few more wrinkles to his tough old face.

When I took a good, long look at the man I was about to marry for the first time, my heart stopped.

Remember to breathe. Remember to beat, heart.

Yeah, I really needed to remind myself. I had to remember how to
live
through the biggest day of my entire life without going into a coma.

The clubhouse fell silent as Blackjack waited for the last of the chatter to die down. A thin, wiry brother I didn't recognize from some other charter stood behind him – probably the man who'd observe and make it official for the state of California.

I barely noticed anything else because my eyes were glued to Roman. I'd never seen him in an honest-to-God suit before. Wet didn't begin to describe how my body responded.

I burned. I ached. I pressed my thighs together uncomfortably, holding back tears at the crazy lengths he'd gone to go traditional.

It wasn't exact, of course. He still had his club jacket on over it, and a small Grizzlies MC pin fixed to his lapel. But seeing him outside his cut and jeans made this all
real
, reminded me I was really about to take this man as my husband, 'til death do us part.