I waited for the but that didn’t come.
“That’s all you got?”
She laughed. “I’m working on it. I’ve already used my good stuff on Faye.”
Faye stepped back and smiled. “Don’t listen to her. You’re beautiful, and you’re ready.”
I was ready. I’d been in love with Rafe Wilde all my life. While I hadn’t planned on racing to the altar, my father was Irish and old-fashioned. Ever since he learned of Rafe sneaking in my window, he’d been dropping hints about marriage.
The door swung open, and Rose raced inside. “Sorry I’m late. You know Josh? Well, he—” Her blush said it all. I stared at my bridesmaids. How lucky had I gotten with my upcoming marriage? Not only did I get two more Wilde brothers to call family, I got another sister in Faye. Since Josh had moved to Las Vegas, I was able to keep Rose as a good friend.
My father walked in and gasped. “You look beautiful,” he said in Gaelic. It was a language he only used on special occasions—when he had something profound and emotional to say, or when I was about to get my ass beat for some infraction. Today, his words were beautiful.
“Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready to marry Rafe since I was born.”
My dad offered me his arm. “I’ve always known you had a love for the wild side. Never thought you’d marry one, but I think you chose well. He’s a good man, and he knows I’ll kill him if he ever makes you cry.”
I kissed my father on the cheek as we all lined up and waited for the music to play.
“You won’t have to kill him, Da. I can neuter him while he sleeps.”
My father chuckled. “That’s my girl.”
Alex, Matt, and Dean escorted Faye, Katya, and Rose to the front of the church, respectively. I never had to watch where I stepped. I kept my eyes on Rafe, and my heart led me to him.
“I love you,” he whispered as he took me from my father and walked me to the altar.
“I love you too.”
Who would have ever thought the Wildes, Petrenkos, and O’Learys would bind themselves together for life? There were bound to be disputes, but we all agreed to check our weapons and bring our hearts to the table if we ever found ourselves at odds with one another.
The priest performed the ceremony and ended it with an Irish blessing.
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Father O’Connor looked out at the attendees before he leaned forward and whispered, “And may you leave quickly before all hell breaks loose.”
We walked down the aisle and out the front door toward our new lives together. This was going to be some kind of Wilde love.
Thank you for reading.
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A Sneak Peek into Redeeming Ryker
Ryker-Twenty Years Ago
Chapter One
Raptor Savage didn’t put up with losers. He didn’t put up with laziness, and he didn’t put up with liars. Today, I was all three.
The sunbaked asphalt pulled at my sneakers. The trees whispered, ‘turn around, run for your life.’ Each inchworm step I took closer to home slapped my backpack against my butt, but that was nothing compared to the ass whoopin’ I’d get from Dad today.
My report on Abraham Lincoln had been due today, the same report I’d told my mom I’d finished, which meant I was a liar. I hadn’t done the stupid report. Hiding out in the shop, and listening to the War Birds talk strategy, was more fun than writing about a dead president. That made me a lazy loser. I’d gotten a big fat zero for my grade.
Dad would shout, the report is important, school, and getting educated is the only job you have. And I’d roll my eyes or shake my head or just let my shoulder’s slump. Abraham Lincoln couldn’t teach me a thing. He was dead.
Ask me to write about the gun that killed him, and I would have brought home an easy A. Guns, I knew.
I snaked through the bikes lined up like dominoes in the gravel parking lot as my backpack slipped from my shoulders.
So many bikes at the club meant trouble. Dad was busy, so maybe I wouldn’t get a butt blistering after all.
As the president of the War Birds MC, this was Dad’s world, and Mom said he ran it like he was God.
God made the laws. He made the rules. He handed down the punishments. Raptor Savage could make people shake in their sneakers with the lift of an eyebrow. I got that look a lot.
Mom always said my spirited nature would serve me well when I grew up and took over the club. Dad always put an “if” before that statement. “If he grows up.”
I stepped back from the door and slipped around the side of the building. Mom was out back with my brothers, Silas and Decker. Next to them was that pesky little girl, Sparrow. She always looked up at me like I was a movie star.
“Glad you’re home, sweetie.” Mom never called me sweetie in front of anyone else because that would make me seem like a sissy, but I liked when she said it. “Today’s Dad’s big meeting, so I need you to hang out here with the kids. I have to get inside and serve beer.”
I looked around the parking lot at the motorcycles I didn’t recognize. “Who’s here?”
“Friends of your father’s. It has nothing to do with you.”
I glared at the kids playing in the dirt. “That’s not true.” My voice didn’t sound like eight-year-old me. It sounded more like six-year-old Silas when Mom told him to take a bath. “I have to babysit, and that means it has everything to do with me.” I hated babysitting. Silas was fine. At six, he took care of himself. But Decker was just a baby, which meant diapers, and then there was Sparrow. She stuck to me like gum on a shoe.
I threw my backpack toward the stairs. It skidded across the gravel and clunked to a stop against the bottom step. “Is this about Goose?” Goose was a War Bird who’d been killed last week after a cop stopped him for speeding. I didn’t understand it—Goose was a good guy.
Mom looked over her shoulder toward the club entrance. “Not now, Ryker.”
Uh oh. She’d called me Ryker, which meant she was losing her patience. I looked toward the kids and let out a long breath. “Okay, but is this about the cop who shot Goose?” Officer Stuart had said Goose pulled a gun first, but that had to be a big, fat lie. Goose would never shoot the police. Dad’s words replayed through my head: ‘That cop has been targeting motorcycle gangs. His goal is to clean up Fury.’ Fury was a small dot in the mountains. The entire town couldn’t fill up the high school sports stadium. How much cleaning up did we need?
“Dad invited the Rebels over to discuss the growing tension in the area. He needs to get it under control before more people get hurt. I need you to help me out.” Mom put her fingers under my chin and closed my open mouth. “Take good care of them.” She didn’t wait but walked in to the club. The club that would someday be mine.
“Hi, Hawk,” Using my nickname, Sparrow pulled on my hand. Her fingers were pink and sticky. “Want some candy?” She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a piece of lint-covered licorice.
“Gross.” I yanked the candy from her little fist and tossed it toward the parking lot. “It’s dirty.”
“It’s mine.” She took off toward the candy that lay in the dirt.
With two giant steps, I grabbed her around her waist, swiping her off the ground.
The rumble of motorcycle engines stopped me like
I’d walked into a brick wall. Pulling in front of the club were at least ten more Rebels. “Too many.”
I raced back to the playpen where Decker slept. Silas drew in the dirt with a stick, and I dropped Sparrow to her sandaled feet.
“Silas, watch them for a minute.” I’d never seen the Rebels up close, and I didn’t want to miss my chance.
He looked up at me with Dad’s eyes. Steel, gray eyes that said it all even before the words came out. “You’re supposed to stay with us.”
Sparrow stomped her little feet, causing the soles of her shoes to light up. “Yeah.” She looked up at me with the crazy cool eyes only she had. “You’re supposed to sit with me.” Her one blue, and one brown, eyes begged me to stay.
“I’ll be right back. Stay here.” I crept to the corner of the club and wiggled the loose board just enough to slip inside the storage room. The place smelled like leather and sweat and anger, but I tiptoed forward and slid behind the stack of crates. I pressed my ear to the crack between the boxes.
Dad’s voice was loud and clear and calm. He talked about rival gangs, feuds, the sheriff, and what they were going to do.
I peeked over the crate of brake pads and counted the heads I didn’t recognize. There were twenty-five Rebels in our nest. This was epic. Never had there been so many enemies in one place without someone needing a doctor.
Something creaked behind me, and I swung around.
Sparrow squeezed through the hole. Little brat. “What are you doing?” I whispered. “Go back,” I gritted through my teeth.
“No.” She said, a little too loud.
I slapped my hand over her mouth. “Shh. This is a secret.” I pulled her close. “You can stay if you can be quiet.”
She nodded, and I went back to my hiding place. She tucked up next to me, and we listened. Or, really, I listened while she peeled the stickers from the boxes in front of us. At least she was being quiet.
All the War Birds were there. Well, all but Goose. Kite, Dad’s vice president, screamed about being targeted. Some of the members paced the room. They reminded me of the time I cornered a stray cat in the garage. Its hair stood on its back while its tail twitched from side to side.
I’d once heard someone say, ‘the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.’ I never understood what that meant until now. The air was thick like Mom’s pudding, and it was hard to breathe.
“Your problems aren’t my problems.” The rebel leader leaned back and crossed his hulk-sized arms over his chest.
“It won’t be long before it spreads to your club.” Dad leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Can’t we have a truce between the two clubs until the problem with the police is under control? We don’t need to be fighting wars from every side.”
Mom crossed in front of me with a full tray of bottled beer. I ducked lower so she wouldn’t see me. Sparrow’s mom, Finch, followed behind picking up the empties. I didn’t know her real name. No one went by their real name at the club. We were War Birds with names like Hawk, Raptor, Kite, and Vulture. The women always chose stupid sissy birds like Warble, Robin, or Sparrow. I looked down at the little bird next to me. She wasn’t so bad. She was like me—spirited.
The front door burst open and a pair of cops filled the doorway.
Dad jumped from his seat. “This is a private meeting,” he pointed to the door, “and private property.”
The big cop, the ugly one, put his hand on the butt of his gun. “Just here to keep the peace.” There was something creepy about his voice. Something dangerous about the way his fingers scratched against the gun.
“Only peace here.” Dad spread his arms wide enough to stretch open his leather jacket and show off his War Bird belt buckle. The belt usually held his gun, but he carried no gun today. He was in a room of enemies—unprotected. Or so it seemed. I knew Dad, and he no doubt had a plan.
Mom popped the tops off two beers and handed them to the cops.
To my surprise, they took them. I guess they didn’t have to obey the rules. They were cops.
Finch passed in front of us, and Sparrow sprang to her feet. I knew she would bolt toward her mother, so I picked her up and tossed her backward toward the broken panel. She stumbled against one box, knocking it down. The loud bang shattered the silence.
Everything changed in an instant. Guns drew and shots fired—lots of shots. Bullets flew through the air with the hiss of a mosquito, only a thousand times louder. Metal hit metal with the ding of a pinball machine. Wood splintered from the rafters above.
People fell to the ground in front of me. Sparrow screamed and I grabbed her, crouching with her behind the brake boxes and prayed we wouldn’t be next. Prayed until my mom crumpled to the ground. “Mom.” Still holding Sparrow, I sprung from my hiding place and ran to where she lay in a pool of blood.
“Where are your brothers?” Her words, no more than a whisper, were hard to hear with the popping sounds filling the air. I crushed Sparrow beneath me and hugged the cement floor.
“Outside. They’re safe outside.” I reached for Mom, trying to find her wound.
Sparrow popped her head from under me and screamed.
Mom’s eyes grew wide. “Get her out. Save her. Save your brothers.” Her words slipped slow and wet from her lips. “Promise.”
The wooden beams splintered, sending chunks of wood flying through the air. Clouds of white chalk burst from the walls.
My heart exploded in my chest, and tears ran down my cheeks. “Mommy.”
Her head fell to the side.
“Mommy.” I was a man but cried like a child. “Don’t leave me.” I turned her face toward mine and wiped the blood that trickled from her mouth. “I promise.”
Her once bright blue eyes faded to the color of cold, gray concrete.
Bullets buzzed. People collapsed. Sparrow screamed and screamed and screamed. I swept her into my arms and ran toward the door, but hot fire shot through my shoulder. I stumbled. I fell. Blood covered the walls, the floor, the bodies.
I scrambled to stand, but my sneakers slid on the smooth concrete. I slipped and fell over and over again until I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die.
Sparrow lay beside me, but she was quiet. Dead quiet. Blood seeped across her yellow dress like spilled ink on paper. The bright sunflower pattern disappeared in the crimson pool.
I’d failed. I’d failed Sparrow. I’d failed my brothers. I’d failed to keep my mom’s final wish. “I promise I’ll never fail anyone again,” I cried. Everything turned to black.
Chapter Two
Ana-Present Day
I walked inside The Wayfair Lounge, tugging at my clothes. This wasn’t the place a girl went dressed in jeans and a ratty sweater, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t looking to hook up. I was looking for Grace.
Men in suits walked the edge of the bar, shopping the seated women like they were goods on a shelf. Waving like a lunatic in need of a white buckled jacket, Grace jumped from the corner booth. Her stilettos clicked on the wood floor, the gauzy fabric of her skirt swished around her legs.
Every man’s gaze fell on those long limbs.
“You made it.” She noosed my neck and pulled me in for a hug. “What do you want to drink?”
“Water.” I slid into the booth and plopped my purse on top of the table.
“You can’t drink water.” Grace waved to the bartender, motioned to her Cosmo, and held up two fingers.
“I can’t afford anything but water.” I pulled my wallet from my purse and opened it to reveal a lone ten-dollar bill. It was the only money I had until next week when I’d get paid for my last design job—a flier for the new donut shop on Colfax. It wasn’t the work I’d envisioned when I graduated with a graphics design degree, but it paid some of the bills.
“This one is on me.” She looked me up and down, then frowned. “If you had dressed for the place, the drinks could have been on him.” She nodded toward Mr. Pinstripe, leaning against the wall, and
staring. Staring at Grace. I might as well have been invisible.
I grabbed Grace’s glass, and the drink sloshed over the side. I sucked the sticky liquid that ran down my fingers.
“Keep doing that, and the whole bar will buy you drinks. It won’t matter what you’re wearing.”
I popped my finger from my mouth. Yep, at least a dozen men zoned in on my mouth—my lips—my tongue. The heat of a blush rose to my cheeks.
The bartender set a tray of drinks on our table. He looked around the room and nodded toward several men. “Compliments of your admirers.”
Grace pulled out a twenty and slid it in the bartender’s pocket. “Thanks, Tony.”
“No problem. Cosmos for the next round?” he asked, as if we’d just slammed the first round.
I shook my head. “No more for me.” After two of these, I’d be done. Three would have me slurring my words. Four, and I’d be waking up some place strange with a hairy chest pressed to my face.
“Keep them coming and keep them the same.” Grace gave him her Hollywood smile. “No one wants a sick date. You know the saying: Mix your liquor, never been sicker.” She toasted her martini at the crowd. “Here’s to man-whore Mondays.”
The bartender laughed and left.
“I’ve got to stop coming here with you.” It was the truth. The past several Mondays I’d tipped back a few too many martinis and made too many poor choices. Mondays never produced the right kind of men. I wanted more than an in-the-minute Mike. I wanted a long-term Luke. “I don’t get it. I’m smart. I’m funny. I’m low maintenance. I’m not crazy. I can pull off sexy. Shouldn’t I be beating men off with a stick?”
“With a stick?” Grace was half a martini to full-on giddy drunk. “In my experience, they’d prefer you beat them off with your hand.” She made an obscene gesture. “I think that might be your problem.”
Betting On Us (Wilde Love Book 3) Page 17
