Hard Justice: The Asylum Fight Club Book 3

by Bianca Sommerland

  “You want to drive?”

  Wren’s eyes widened and he grinned. “That would be great. I haven’t driven since before I went to prison. My aunt had this old Caddy. It used to smell like cats, which I never could figure out because she didn’t own any. One time—”

  “Wren?”

  Blushing, Wren clamped his lips shut.

  Jamie grinned and tossed him the keys. “I just need to get there before everyone leaves.”

  “Sure.” Opening the door, Wren issued a happy sigh and slipped inside to stroke the leather-covered steering wheel. “So gorgeous.”

  “Mhm.” He snugged the seatbelt over his hips. “Keep it under sixty this time. We’ll take it out on the back roads sometime soon.”

  It took under ten minutes to get to the cathedral. Outside, cars lined the streets, along with the news vans. After Wren parked them in the rectory driveway, Jamie ducked inside, where everything smelled like new paint, adhesive, and wood polish. The ornate rectory banister curved up toward the second and third floors in the entry, an elegant example of what someone had told him was Victorian architecture. So many footsteps had clattered up and down the stairs in the past, it would have been a shame to let the thing go to ruin.

  Sticking his hand in his pocket, he checked he had his notes and the two little boxes he’d slipped in there earlier and caught Wren’s questioning gaze. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Wren held the door to the connecting hall open for him and he stepped into the room to the side of the one-time nave. Dark wood gleamed, carvings of angels blowing trumpets at a jewel-toned tile mosaic decorating the arched ceiling. Brushing his hands over his jacket pockets, he listened to the voices of the gathered guests. Put on his game face. Started to step toward the door when he caught Wren looking at him funny. “What?”

  Hand on his arm, Wren pointed to his mouth. “You don’t need that. These are your people. Your friends.”

  Jamie blinked, his smile squinting his gaze. “Thanks, man.”

  “Anytime.” The door opened to Wren’s touch and voices rose, then quieted as he walked into the nave.

  Sunlight streamed through the restored stained-glass windows, dappling everything in dancing colors. The gilding on the ceiling glittered, sending sparks of joy around the room. Half the cathedral had been used for the performance space, but it was enough that the original grandeur of the architecture still shone through. Artfully concealed lights focused on the stage now, kicking away any lingering shadows.

  Jamie waved as everyone clapped. Wren moved to the audience and sat in the front row with Lawson, Curtis, and Doc. Noah smiled at him from his seat at the center and he grinned back.

  “Wow. Thanks.” He raised his hands. “I never knew going broke could feel so good.”

  The audience laughed.

  “Seriously though. Thanks for being here today. I’m in awe of the way our community has come together to make this happen.”

  Pulling out his notes, he used Noah’s special gadget—a piece of cardboard with a strip cut out—to read through the long list of donors, craftspeople, volunteers, and others who’d made the day possible. Detailing the programs and spaces they’d built together, he shared his excitement over a project he’d doubted he could make happen in the beginning.

  “I’m not kidding.” He pointed to the before and after photos on easels around the space. “Have you seen how nuts I was?”

  Everyone laughed again. He glanced at the speech he’d rehearsed with anyone at The Asylum who would listen over the past several weeks. Except for the last part. Tucking the cards in his pocket, he cleared his throat.

  “There’s one person I would like to thank personally.” Holding out his hand, he beckoned Noah up to the stage. “Noah, sir, would you come up please?”

  Sitting up, clearly surprised, Noah looked around. His black tie contrasted with Curtis, Lawson, Wren, and Doc’s. They’d told him the store had run out of white and he’d have to just come to the party looking like the badass he was. Cutting him a look that promised enjoyable retribution, Noah stood and came to the stage. Tracey gave Jamie a thumbs up from her seat next to Rhodey in the front row as Noah frowned gently down at him, eyes sparkling with pride.

  “So, I don’t know if you all know this, but the first time I met Noah, he saved my life. Literally. I was choking on a stupid bar cherry, and du—” Jamie bit off the word, stammering when he realized he’d gone off-script. “Um, he, rescued me.”

  Noah’s lips twitched when Jamie grabbed his hand. Strong fingers laced with his own, steadying him, and he breathed deep as Lawson and Doc ushered the press out of the room.

  “This entire project wouldn’t have happened without him.” Turning to his love, his Dom, his everything, Jamie tilted his head back and focused solely on him. “Noah… You’ve taught me how to be a better person. How to give my real self, and not just what people expect. I don’t need anyone’s approval but yours, which has been...freeing.” He cleared his throat again as confusion furrowed Noah’s brow. Likely his Dom thought he was going to embarrass him by naming the place after him or something. “So, I know this is unconventional, and you’d probably like to do this the other way around, but I found a loophole, and I’m going to take advantage.”

  “Boy.” Noah leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You’re starting to sound like Wren. Spit it out.”

  Nodding, Jamie took Noah’s cue and ran with it.

  “Since I’m supposed to be the one on my knees, I figured this would be okay.” Blushing, he put his hand in his pocket and knelt as gracefully as Doc had taught him all those months ago. Withdrawing a small box, he popped it open. “Will do me the extraordinary honor of marrying me, sir?”

  The entire Asylum watching, all his friends, his chosen family, on the edge of their seats. Jamie felt everyone, including himself, hold their collective breaths.

  Noah plucked the box from his fingers and examined the ring that perfectly matched the collar Jamie wore, sans loop—that one he’d saved for the matching band, his own—down to the engraving Forever on the inside. Cupping Jamie’s cheek, eyes shining with something that couldn’t possibly be tears, Noah leaned down to bring their lips together.

  Withdrawing, Noah lifted him, one arm looped around his waist. “Yes.”

  A smile broke over Jamie’s face. Behind him the glass wall burst into sparkles as Reed pressed a button from his spot in the lighting booth. The room erupted into cheers and Jamie laughed, tears streaming down his face.

  Lawson, Curtis, and Doc joined them on the stage and Noah looked around. “What? Now?”

  Jamie smirked. “I didn’t want to chance you getting cold feet.”

  “Pushy bottom.” Noah whispered the words against his mouth, nipping Jamie’s lower lip.

  “Hey.” Lawson put a hand on Noah’s shoulder, separating him from Jamie. “Let me get through the ceremony first.”

  Noah shook his head, pulling back. “I should have figured you’d be a J.P.”

  Taking out a copy of The Leatherman’s Handbook, Lawson held it up and grinned. “Figured you’d rather swear on this, even if we are in a church.”

  The members of The Asylum got the joke and laughed. Everyone else just looked confused, except Tracey whose eyes shone with laughter, though she managed to bite her lip as she shook her head.

  Pulling out his script, Lawson read through words standard enough that nothing surprised Jamie. Except the man who stood by his side. Looking up at Noah as they promised to belong to each other, in sickness and health, wealthy or not, Jamie spoke through tears of awe and joy. Lawson put in the obey clause in Jamie’s vows, and he made the solemn promise, his hand straying to his collar where it rested against his neck under his shirt.

  Following Jamie’s fingers with his gaze, Noah smiled a secret smile.

  They exchanged a different kind of ring, and Lawson leaned in, a hand on each of their shoulders. “Now, you may kiss your sub.”

  Gathering him close, Noah lifted J
amie off his feet and slanted a hungry kiss over his mouth that promised all the things he could want and more. Today, tomorrow, and always.

  They moved to the room to the side of the nave when the lights strobed and Reed put on the afterparty music. A catering team streamed in from the rectory to set up tables for the dinner and celebration that would follow. The party would move to The Asylum later as the night wore on and things got...wilder.

  Signing the marriage license, Noah shook his head. “I assume that blood work you did last week, Jared, wasn’t for my insurance physical after all?”

  Doc tapped his silver pen to his lips, eyes shining, and exchanged a wink with Wren who blushed furiously.

  Curtis grinned, taking the pen to add his witness signature. “I was going to give you away, but Jamie said you’d need a best man and I decided I’d rather stand by your side.”

  Lifting his head, expression unreadable, Noah cupped Curtis’s cheek and brushed the other man’s blond hair back. “There’s nowhere I’d rather have you. Thank you, my man.”

  The sun was setting by the time they stood in the rectory drive to say their goodbyes to Tracey, Ezran, and Garet, who lingered around the Bugatti that Reed had decorated with a JUST COLLARED sign and a bunch of glitter condoms blown up into balloons.

  Noah’s fingers trailed up and down Jamie’s back, making him arch when Ezran stepped up to them.

  Cutting a glance to Noah, Ez clapped Jamie on the arm. “I’m glad you’re here, and married, and all that stuff, but dude you are so not my stepfather.”

  Jamie nodded solemnly. “No way, man. I can’t even rock a beard.”

  Apparently satisfied, Ezran snorted, wandering off as Tracey swooped in to say her goodbyes.

  Kissing Noah on the cheek, she leaned over and hugged Jamie. “Now I have another boy.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Blinking back tears, Jamie grinned. “I always wanted to say that.”

  Tracey hugged him tighter and ruffled his hair. “I can see why you call him ‘little cat’.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Noah smiled, then frowned at Jamie’s head shake. “What?”

  Pouting, Jamie threw out his hip and tilted his head back. “You seriously thought I’d forget to plan a honeymoon?”

  Noah groaned and Tracey laughed, waving as she walked away. “Have fun in Thailand.”

  “Thailand?” Surprise looked good on the man.

  I’ll have to put it on his face more often.

  “You’re taking a month-long class in Muay Thai fighting with some friends of Kovit’s, and I’m taking a class in massage.” He trailed his fingers over Noah’s ass suggestively. “It was Reed’s idea.”

  Hand latched to Jamie’s wrist, Noah kissed his fingertips. “Let’s go home, little cat. I want to see you on the dance floor.”

  “What you want.” Grinning, he danced to the Bugatti.

  Never far from his side, Noah swung him around to claim his lips. “And what you need.”

  About Bianca Sommerland

  Tell you about me? Hmm, well, there’s not much to say. I love hockey and cars and my kids…not in that order, of course! Lol! When I’m not writing—which isn’t often—I’m usually watching a game or a car show while networking. Going out with my kids is my only downtime. I get to clear my head and forget everything.

  As for when and why I first started writing, I guess I thought I’d get extra cookies if I was quiet for a while—that’s how young I was. I used to bring my grandmother barely legible pages filled with tales of evil unicorns. She told me then that I would be a famous author.

  I hope one day to prove her right.

  * * *

  For more of my work, please visit: www.Im-No-Angel.com

  About Tibby Armstrong

  Tibby Armstrong is a Contemporary and Paranormal Romance author.

  When she's not busy avoiding the gym, Tibby can be found munching on chocolate, sipping coffee, and scouring local bookstores for her next binge read.

  For free reads and giveaways, news about new releases and events, connect with Tibby on social media and via her blog and newsletter at TibbyArmstrong.com.

  Cold Justice Excerpt

  Breaking a few rules didn’t seem like a huge deal.

  * * *

  With his name on several government assasination lists, Wren Gibson’s prison sentence might’ve been the shortest in hacker history, until an unlikely rescue lands him behind the sturdy brick walls of The Asylum Fight Club. Where everyone can game the rules, yet he’s forbidden from even placing his piece on the board.

  * * *

  But one Dom tempts him to gamble everything.

  * * *

  The Asylum’s resident, on-call medic, Jared “Doc” McCleod is familiar with the histories of every man who crosses the club’s threshold. Their pain, their fear… Of them all, only Wren has held on to his secrets, a fascinating contrast with how completely he gives up control. As the general on the front lines of The Asylum’s internal and external battles, it’s Jared’s duty to make certain the quiet sub with soulful brown eyes doesn’t fly under his radar for long.

  * * *

  Showing his hand could cost them both.

  * * *

  When Jared takes on the task of helping Wren recover from an unexpected injury, Wren begins to wonder. While the Dom is tending to everyone else, who is there for him? To show Jared he can be the sub he needs, he would willingly light himself on fire. For an ex-con with a target on his back, risking that kind of notice is a dangerous strategy, but...

  * * *

  Sometimes, getting what you want requires going all in.

  Prologue

  * * *

  Three years earlier

  * * *

  Breaking a few rules didn’t seem like a huge deal. Until the cops busted down the door to the computer room, guns drawn. Wren Gibson scrambled away from his computer, knocking over his Red Bull. The can hit the floor, splashing up the leg of his jeans as he rushed to follow the shouted orders.

  Put your hands up. Kneel. Don’t move.

  “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you—”

  “Yes, please. An attorney would be great because you’re making a huge mistake and I have a lot to tell you.” Wren tried to look over his shoulder at the officer cuffing his wrists, glasses sliding down his nose as he spoke in a rush. “I didn’t keep the money—well, I kept some of it, but I didn’t have a choice. I’ll give it all back, just give me a minute and—”

  The officer glared at him. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Another cop laughed and pulled out a pad and pen. “Let him keep talking, Jennings. The D.A. can get an early start to his weekend.”

  Wren snapped his mouth shut. He needed to save the information for someone who could get him out of this mess. The lawyer. Yes, he’d tell the lawyer everything and be back home in no time. He winced as officers started pulling apart all his equipment. The wires to his three CPUs, all neatly organized, dangled onto the dark wood floor, the multicolored lights on the towers going out, one by one. His room was too bright with the inlaid, overhead lights on, gleaming off the dark purple walls, off the shelves with all his books, which were being packed up too.

  The space he spent most of his days and nights invaded. Torn apart. Ruined.

  A lump formed in his throat as he ripped his gaze from the destruction. He could fix this. All he had to do was go along with the officers. Not give them any trouble so they’d let him talk to the right people.

  Time passed in a blur. So many questions. A kind lawyer came to him every day and his world revolved around the time he spent with her. The deal. The deal was a sure thing. He believed that even when he stood in front of the judge months later. Even when the gavel sounded, accepting his guilty plea.

  Ten years in prison sounded like a lot, but he wasn’t worried.

  He had a...deal.

  As he was led to his cell i
n the maximum security prison, his mind went numb. The last words his lawyer said to him going over and over in his head.

  “I’m sorry, Wren. The information you provided wasn’t enough.” Soft brown eyes met his, the kindness still there, but her words were everything but. “You’re still young. You could get out in eight years with good behavior. Spend this time learning to make better choices.”

  Better choices? He shook his head, laughing to himself, drawing a cold look from the guard. Swallowing, he focused on the compact, square room. Different than the smaller prison where he’d been in his own cell, pending investigation. His new home while he was alive.

  Which won’t be long.

  Everything was...white. The smooth, bare walls. The beds that looked like big shelves with thin mattresses on them. The bottom bunk had a man on it. Wren almost backed right into the guard when gray eyes shifted from the open book in the man’s hands to him. He fumbled the stack of blankets, sheets, and uniforms he’d been given after processing.

  “Gibson, this is your cellmate, Leonov. Leonov, you start shit with this one and you’re going in the SHU for a month, hear me?” The guard nudged Wren forward. “Set up your bunk and get comfortable. You missed lunch, but you can go to the commissary in about an hour if you want to grab a snack to hold you over until supper.”

  Wren nodded, turning to face the guard with a hesitant smile. The guards hadn’t been allowed to talk to him in his old prison. Here was different. Maybe that was a good thing. “Thank you. I don’t have much money, all my accounts were frozen, but—”

  The guard sighed and shook his head. “You’re going to have to learn to keep your mouth shut, kid.”

  “Okay.” Wren took a deep breath. “But—”