There was a slight pause and when she spoke, it was with a slight uncertainty in her voice. “I think so?”
“Abbie, will you marry me?”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
ABBIE
It wasn't the wedding I'd imagined all those years when I was a kid. Back then, I'd had images of majestic castles, hundreds of people filling the pews, elegance at every turn. Back then, I'd been pining for Prince Charming to ride in on his white steed and sweep me off my feet – you know, the sort of stuff little girls fantasize about. The sort of stuff you grow out of over time. For the most part.
This wasn't the wedding I'd imagined, but in its own way, it was absolutely perfect.
We weren't in an ancient castle with a heavenly sounding choir playing – instead, we were actually in King's bar.
We were months removed from the incident with the Incas. It had taken a little time to sort everything out, but we'd managed to make it through. King had gotten out of the life, handing the reins over to Roy, his second in command. So, like the tide and the universe, the Cossacks went on.
King had poured all of his energy into fixing up his bar. I could tell by the passion and zeal he attacked it with that it was a labor of love. He'd closed down for a couple of weeks to make sure he had the time to do it right. He painted everything, repaired and improved a million little things, and I could see that with the painstaking attention to detail he gave everything in that bar – big or small – that he was doing it with love and joy.
The end result had been stunning to me. While he managed to retain that rustic, gritty charm of a biker bar, it was clean and modern. And once he'd finished with the sprucing the place up, he'd turned it over to me to let me work my magic.
I used my knowledge and skills in the PR world to help transform King's bar from nothing but a locals only, hole in the wall, biker bar, into the single most successful bar in the city. We had turned it into a destination for people.
And the thing I loved most about what we'd done was that we'd opened it up to service a broad cross section of people. No longer was it just bikers or grease monkeys who populated it. It was also the after work, need a drink crowd. It was the Friday night hangout for some of the hipsters and millennials who liked to socialize. It was even the place to be for some groups to meet for pub trivia and the like.
It took King a little bit of time to get used to seeing so many diverse cross-sections of people in his bar – and he wasn't sure he liked them all – but when he started making money hand over fist, he learned to love everybody.
And after six months or so of successful, non-stop operation, we'd decided to close the bar down for an afternoon to hold our wedding. It was hard for me to explain to people who were somewhat dismayed by our choice in locale, but somehow, it just felt – right. After pouring so much of our heart and soul into the place to get it to where it was, the bar felt like home. It felt like a part of us. And it only felt natural to take our vows there.
No, it wasn't a gorgeous medieval castle, but it was a home to us – and that's what mattered to me the most.
My stomach was in my throat and my hands were trembling as I made my way down the aisle. A small string quartet had set up on the stage and was playing a gorgeous version of the wedding march, but I could barely focus on the music. I looked at all of the smiling faces looking back at me, and my stomach simply roiled. I was half afraid I was going to throw up right there.
But then I looked up and saw King's smiling face looking back at me. Immediately, my nerves began to settle and calm. He was my lighthouse in the storm. The safe spot I could always go to for comfort or soothing. King was my rock and the one person I knew I could always turn to when the chips were down. He'd become my everything. Just as I'd become his everything.
When I reached the head of the aisle and smiled at him from beneath my veil, I felt my heart flutter. He was beautiful and had somewhat surprisingly, ditched all trace of his membership in the club. Though he stepped down, he still hung out with the guys and went riding with them, and when he did, he'd wear his club stuff. He just wasn't officially part of them anymore. He was simply King. My soon to be husband.
“You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” he said softly as he took my hand.
The tenderness and sincerity in his voice made the tears well up in my eyes, but I was able to fight them off. At least, for now. We turned as one to face the pastor and he began what was a beautiful ceremony – the sort of ceremony that not even an ancient castle could have made better.
With the ceremony done, the celebration began. In earnest. We danced. We drank. And we partied all day long. It was honestly, the most fun I'd ever had in my life. It was a day filled with nothing but laughter and love – it was perfect. But as the sun began to set, King looked over at me and smiled. It was time to go.
We needed to get home, get our things, and get to the airport. I may not have had that fairy tale castle for my wedding day, but King was going to make sure I had it for my honeymoon. Our honeymoon was going to be a tour of some of the most beautiful castles in all of Europe. He'd planned it in secret and had only told me about it a couple of days ago.
Needless to say, I was beyond excited.
He took my hand and we began to make our way toward the doors. Word spread throughout the room that it was time, so everybody pushed by us, smiling and laughing. By the time we stepped outside, there was a line of people on both sides of us that stretched from the bar, all the way to the parking lot where King's bike awaited us.
He looked over at me, shrugged and smiled. “It looks like your chariot awaits, my love.”
“Well, let's not keep it waiting too long, then.”
As the crowd cheered and threw rice at us, we dashed down to the bike. King handed me a helmet that had been decorated to look like a wedding veil, which made me laugh. I slipped it on and hiked my dress up as I climbed aboard the back of the bike. King got on and I wrapped one arm around his waist and as he fired up the bike, I started to wave to all of our friends and family who were watching us with smiles – and some tears of joy, of course.
King gave them all a wave and a smile. “Hold on tight,” he said to me.
I squeezed him tight as he gunned the engine and we tore off into the dimming light of dusk. My wedding train fluttered behind me in the wind and I laughed as joy filled my heart. We were an incredibly unlikely pair – or at least, we had been at one time – but somehow, we'd found a way to come together as one. Two imperfect people who had become perfect for one another.
And now that we were, I was anxious to start this new chapter of my life with this man I loved.
THE END
Read on for your FREE bonus book – HANDS OFF MY BRIDE
HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC
By Claire St. Rose
LET ME MAKE ONE THING CLEAR: KEEP YOUR F**KING HANDS OFF MY BRIDE.
She wants to get away from me, but I know one thing for sure:
I’m never gonna let that happen.
She belongs to me now.
I had to claim everything I’ve ever owned in this life.
Surely, my bride will be no different.
Whether Dakota wants it or not, soon she’ll come to realize the truth:
I’ve put my claim on her, and there’s not a damn thing she can do about it.
It’s my job to keep her safe, not take her to bed.
But I’ve never been good at following rules.
In fact, crossing lines is what I do best.
So I crossed the line between me and her and made the little princess my toy.
She never expected to love it so much.
But now that she’s mine, there’s people out to hurt her.
They think it’s the best way to get to me.
Little do they know, they’ve woken a sleeping beast.
Because anyone who touches my bride is getting buried six feet deep.
CHAPTER ONE
At first
Dakota thought she was hearing fireworks. A series of loud bangs and the echoes that followed tore her out of a deep sleep. She awoke gasping for breath, searching around the darkened bedroom wondering where she was. It took a few seconds for her to remember that she was in her childhood bedroom at her father’s estate. It was still decorated as if her teenage self were going to come in and flop onto the bed, movie posters and pop star head shots strung up on the walls, pictures of her from dances and proms lining the shelves. Awards and prizes hung prominently over her desk. She wondered who was setting off fireworks and why, and then suddenly there were more bangs and the sound of glass shattering. It was then that Dakota Kane realized it wasn’t fireworks.
She scrambled for her cell phone charging on her nightstand and dialed 911.
“911, what’s your emergency,” said the overly-calm voice on the other end.
“Yes, hello? I think someone’s shooting at my house,” Dakota whispered into the phone as the sound of another blast of bullets filled the air. Then, a roaring sound as an engine somewhere outside picked up speed and peeled out of the driveway. “We’re at 227 Evergreen Terrace, there’s a gate, but we never shut it.”
“The police have been notified and are on their way. Is anyone injured?” the voice asked.
“Dad!” Dakota whispered. Her father’s room was on the other side of the house. When Dakota had been twelve she had demanded a room in the west wing of the house. As a typical teenager she had wanted to be as far away from her parents as possible while still having them close by in case anything went bump in the night. And now she realized that decision may have saved her life, and doomed her father. Dakota threw the blankets off the bed; she had to go and check on him. It was impossible that something had happened to him. He had to be fine; he had to be okay. Her father was her rock. He was a fixed thing in the universe, always strong and healthy, always there. But when she stood, her knees literally buckled, every part of her shaking and shuddering uncontrollably. She wanted to cry and scream and crawl back under the covers. But she knew she couldn’t. She had to go and make sure her father was all right. She could stand, and if she could stand, she could walk, and if she could walk, she would find her father.
Wearing an old high school t-shirt for the Fighting Blue Jays and matching sweatpants, Dakota tiptoed to her door and slowly pulled it open, wincing as if she expected some monster to come flying in. She didn’t hear any noises from outside, so she stuck her head out past the doorway and looked up and down the hallway. Everything was dark and silent. She cursed herself for not turning on the alarm system or closing the gate to the driveway before bed. Back when her mom was still alive, they had always made sure the security system was set, but nothing had ever happened and so they became lax, and look what happened.
“Ma’am, I have to ask that you stay where you are until the police have secured the area. Officers are less than five minutes away.” Dakota hadn’t forgotten about the emergency operator; she still held the phone near her ear. The woman’s voice was a reminder that the world was still out there. There were still people who were coming, who were going to save them. But Dakota couldn’t wait.
“I have to check on my father,” Dakota whispered into the phone as she tiptoed out into the hallway and made her way the east wing of the house. It was two in the morning and pitch black. All of the lights inside the house were off and she was too scared to turn them on, aware that it might alert someone to her presence. As she made her way silently down the hallway she only had the light of the moon guiding her. The pale, otherworldly light cast strange shadows in front of Dakota that made her jump until her eyes adjusted.
“Dad!” she whispered as loudly as possibly, but heard nothing in response. The house was utterly silent. Was anyone still inside? Was whoever had just fired all of those guns lurking around somewhere, waiting for her, waiting for their chance to strike? “Dad!” She called out again. This time louder, this time it was a real shout. But she was met with only silence. Whoever had shot at their house had left, but where was her father. Had they kidnapped him?
She began to run, flat out run, down the hallway, ignoring the emergency operator who was ordering her to go find somewhere quiet to hide. She raced through the empty house. There was no one else here. The Kane mansion hadn’t had live-in servants in years, not since Dakota moved out. She raced down the hall and into the grand entrance way and then over to the other side of the house, passing a billiard room, a home theater, and her old playroom, cursing every one as she passed. All of these pointless rooms and things were keeping her from the one thing she couldn’t live without.
The floors were a deep and shining chestnut brown, the carpet runners a deep red with a gold trim, and as Dakota’s eyes filled with the tears all of those colors blended together in front of her until she couldn’t see anything. Furiously, she wiped them away and wrenched open the door to her father’s room.
There’s was shattered glass and shards of wood splayed across the room. The large window on the northern facing wall was just a hole now, and the cool night air poured in and swirled around Dakota as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The entire window had been destroyed and bullet holes had ripped into the solid oak paneling on the other side of the room. Someone had shot at her father’s room from the street below. They must have sent hundreds of bullets into the house, hoping that one or two of them would give them their man.
“Daddy!” Dakota yelled, running to the side of his bed. Blood was pooling on the sheets and dripping onto the floor as Dakota crawled into the bed, calling out her father’s name, but there was no response.
“Are you there?” she sobbed into the phone.
“Yes, I’m here. The police are close, less than three minutes out.”
“Please, you have to send an ambulance. He’s been shot.”
“Who?”
“My father, please, you have to help me.”
John Kane had fallen asleep in a ratty Yale t-shirt that was now stained and sticky with blood. Dakota could see the holes in it where the bullets had penetrated his skin. He looked pale and feeble, like his skin was made of paper. He was breathing, but it was ragged and wet, like he needed to cough. His eyes were closed, but every few seconds his face would seize up in pain, relaxing only for a moment before seizing up again. “Dakota?” his voice sounded so thin and frail. Her father with his strong arms and deep voice who had never let her fall or skin her knee. Now he was on this bed, crying out to her.
“I’m here, Dad,” she said, cradling his head with her hands.
“You’re all right?” he asked, blood foaming at the corner of his mouth.
“Daddy, I’m fine. This was the only room that got hit. What happened? Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Truly, I don’t.”
“POLICE! Ms. Kane, are you all right?” She could hear the police banging on the door, and then the sound of the door crashing open.
“Up here!” Dakota screamed. “Please hurry, he needs help.” Her father’s breathing was shallow and weak. She placed her fingers on his throat and could only feel the butterfly-light thump of his heartbeat. “Stay awake, okay, Dad? Please just try to stay awake until the paramedics get here. The ambulance is going to be here soon. Please make it, Dad. Please.”
CHAPTER TWO
The police burst into the room behind her, guns drawn, though there were no enemies to point them at. The paramedics weren’t far behind, but it didn't matter to Dakota anymore. The world had dimmed, the edges of everything were blurry, and the only thing that stood out in sharp relief was her father. She stroked his thinning white hair, and whispered to him. As a child she used to have terrible nightmares where she was being chased. In her dreams there would be a monster, but she could never see what it looked like. It was always lurking in the shadows. She would try to run, but it was like the air around her was thick as molasses, her legs and feet dragged and no matter how hard she tried, she could never get them to
move any faster. She would go slower and slower, and the monster would get closer and closer. When she finally awoke, crying out for help, it was her father who found her. He would turn on the Little Mermaid lamp by her bed and hold her in his lap as she sobbing told him what happened. He would sooth her and rock her until, before she even knew it was happening, she was back asleep.
Now it was her turn to hold him, to comfort him and tell him everything would be all right. She felt like she was lying to him, as she brushed his hair off of his forehead. She was telling him it would be all right, but would it? Would he live? Would he get better? She had no way to know. All she could do was continue to make promises she didn’t know she could keep.
Flashing lights flew around her father’s room as the police shouted questions at her. She didn’t have any answers for them. She didn’t know what had happened or who had done it. They faded into the background and all she could see was her father’s rapidly greying face beneath her. Finally the paramedics gently pulled her off the bed and out of the way.
HANDS OFF MY WIFE_Black Cossacks MC Page 24
