by Juli Valenti
Shaking her head to clear it, she did as she was told, though keeping her back to him was a feat of its own. All she wanted to do was sit where she was, in just her panties, and stare at him. Not for the first time she wondered what the hell he saw in her; every time she looked at him she felt like she’d won the lottery.
“You’re the beautiful one,” she murmured softly as he gently ran her brush through her hair. A smile played on her lips; he liked to brush her hair as much as she liked to let him. Except for today, when she felt like a child being punished from seeing the sky of talking back to their mother. “I want to see you.”
“You will,” he said, kissing the top of her head, “I just wanted to touch you for a minute or two.”
“Oh you can touch me.” The words escaped her in an eager rush, her body suddenly alert, and his answering chuckle almost made her head spin.
“No time, Sarah. And besides, what fun would that be? I don’t dress up like this often ... I rather like the idea of your hungry eyes on me all night. Just think about this,” he said, bending, his lips a hair away from her ear. “Just think about how later tonight, I’m going to bend you over and eat that pussy until you beg me to stop.”
She squirmed and swatted at his arm holding him up beside her. “Not helping. And if you’re not going to help you can just stand over there,” she pointed toward the far side of the room, “and keep your glorious hands to yourself.”
“As you wish,” he said, smirking, winking as she spun around to watch him back step away from her. He took a seat in the chair at the small desk and merely looked at her. At her pointed look, he rose an eyebrow and continued grinning.
Sarah shook her head. He could suit himself. Continuing in what she was doing, she finished dragging the brush through her hair, the bristles catching on a couple knots and causing her to wince. Frustrated, she threw it on the bed and stormed back into the bathroom, throwing every ounce of gumption she could muster into blow drying her hair. Only when it was completely dry, which she very rarely ever got it, did she come out of the bedroom. Still, Lukas remained in exactly the same spot he’d been in, with the exception that he had his phone out and was playing a game, his gaze occasionally shooting up and happy smile on his face.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she huffed.
It’s amazing what sexual frustration can do, her mind chastised her, seeing as how not long ago all you wanted to do was look at him. Now you want him to leave you alone since he won’t have sex with you at this moment ... which you totally don’t have time for anyway.
Shut up, she snapped back, though she couldn’t deny her inner voice. It was his own damned fault for looking so good.
“Not at the moment. Besides, I’m comfortable. Carry on like I’m not here.”
Harrumphing, she continued on, this time taking in her own words as she did it. If he wanted to ogle, he was welcome to. Because, as her mind so helpfully informed her, she’d wanted to do the same.
Sarah made her way to the closet, smiling once again seeing her things hanging neatly on hangers. When she’d been at the hospital for a twelve-hour shift, Lukas had taken the time to make room for her, literally. He’d cleared out three drawers in his six-drawer dresser, as well as half his closet - both on the rack for clothes to be hung and on the bottom for shoes. She now had drawers in the bathroom as well for her hair dryer and irons, her toothbrush in the cup beside his. Hell, he’d even put in a shower caddy for her shampoo and bath essentials. It never ceased to make her day.
Hands trailing the fabrics of her clothes, she carefully extracted the dress bag from the rack. Carrying it in to the room, she leveraged the hanger on the bathroom door and unzipped it. As it’d been since the first time she’d seen it, butterflies gathered in her stomach and she got girly excited. This was a dress she could’ve only ever dreamt of.
It was a two-piece, floor-length gown; the top was a deep sapphire blue with Swarovski crystals adorning the neck area and the bottom a white and blue floral skirt, which trailed the floor in light layers of chiffon. The moment she’d put it on, she’d felt like a real-life princess, ready to go to a ball. A part of her had been worried it would be too formal, but the girls assured her it wasn’t. Seeing Lukas in his suit now made her grateful for splurging and spending the extra for it.
A low whistle had her spinning back around to face him - she’d almost forgotten he was there, so wrapped up in seeing her dress. It was her turn to arch an eyebrow.
“That’s stunning,” he commented, his gaze darting from the garment to her and back again.
“Thank you.”
Sarah had decided not to show him when she’d bought it, instead placing it in the closet. At the time she wasn’t sure if it was because she hadn’t wanted him to dislike it when she’d so desperately loved it, which was what Vinny would’ve done, or if she’d merely wanted to surprise him. Now, though, seeing his expression told her she’d done the right thing.
She slipped the skirt on first, the fabric light and airy, resting perfectly against her skin and cascading to the floor. The top followed and she zipped it up the back, relishing in its perfect fit. So rarely could such a thing be bought and be an exact fit, without any alterations, but it was. A sigh escaped her and she fought the urge to hug herself.
Not ready for him to see her in it yet, she disappeared out of his sight and into the bathroom once more. Taking her time, she painstakingly curled her long, dark hair into curls, pinning and spraying each one until it looked like a salon had done it. Half up, half tumbling down her back, with curled tendrils framing her face, and she felt even more like a princess.
Makeup was next; she followed every instruction Teagan and Artist had given her, applying each item just as she’d been told to. It was weird, she felt like she was wearing an entire makeup counter, but she did her best to ignore the feeling. And, after slipping on her silver, jeweled butterfly stilettos - purchased with the gown - she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
If anyone had told her this was where she’d be a year ago, she would’ve called them a liar. Happiness hadn’t come to her in pretty things, in fancy gowns and makeup and hair styles. Happiness hadn’t been complete in a man she’d just met, one who she didn’t know if they were actually dating since he wouldn’t sleep with her. Happiness hadn’t come at the hands of an abusive ex who made her life hell. But, at that moment it did.
With nothing left to do, she took a deep breath, and emerged from the bathroom and stood in the doorway. This time it took a long few seconds for Fallen to look up from his phone, and she fought the urge to fidget.
“Sweet Jesus,” he breathed, his eyes wide, his fingers going lax on his phone, causing it to crash to the floor, the sound loud in the silence of the room. “Sarah, you’re ... God you’re...”
Watching the man she knew so well, the one who always had answers, who was quick with his wit and things to say, fumble with his words was as satisfying as whatever he was trying to say. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as he stood and slowly walked toward her.
“I mean, you’re always beautiful. You don’t need makeup or fancy hair styles, it’s one of the things I adore about you ... but this?” he continued, his eyes taking her in again, starting at her toes and moving to the top of her head. “You’re breathtaking. I’m one lucky son of a bitch, going to have the most beautiful woman there.”
Sarah shook her head, her smile wide and spread from ear to ear. “Not true.”
“No truer words, my beauty. Let’s go. I want to show you off.”
And, feeling like a princess who’d found a prince, who was going to a ball and wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight, she took his arm, her head held high as he led her from their room.
Chapter Fifteen
Fallen had taken one of the club’s Escalades to drive them to the wedding site, to which Sarah was grateful. She’d spent so much time on her hair a part of her would have died a little inside if she’d
had to put a helmet on over it.
As he helped her out of the passenger seat of the larger vehicle, she couldn’t help but gasp as she took in their surroundings. Only idly did she hear him give his keys to one of the valet, a young man dressed in a tux - and surprisingly not one of the prospects. Her eyes were fixed on the sight before her.
They had driven about a half hour outside of Soccoro, and Sarah’d been surprised when Luke pulled off onto a small dirt side road. As far as she’d known, there had been nothing out this way but fields, and trees, and greenery. Poet’s house wasn’t far from where they’d turned, and a lot of people had houses in the hills. But she hadn’t been prepared for ... more.
Sarah found herself in field, sure, but it was so much more. It stretched farther than the eye could see, more than a few acres for sure. Below her feet, rather than dirt or grass or even mud, soft gray bricks had been laid in decorative patterns, creating a long pathway, at least eight feet wide. Flowers, lilies and roses, lined the walkway, along with the occasional glasses of cognac. The reference to Edgar Allen Poe clicked immediately, which made her smile - even she knew Poet’s mother had been a big Poe fan.
In the distance, she could see chairs dressed in white linens, navy blue and deep scarlet ribbons pinning them in place. Straining, Sarah tried to see more, but couldn’t and impatiently she pulled on Fallen’s hand.
“Patience, baby. This isn’t going to be a quick thing - it’s the wedding of the fucking century, so let’s take it a step at a time.”
Nodding, she allowed him to set the pace - he’d clearly either already been there, or he knew what to expect. Following the path, on both sides, she could see frames sitting on easels and curiosity had her straining to see what was inside of them. As they neared, she smiled. They were large enhanced images of their wedding invitations, which read:
You are cordially invited to share in the union of
Marcus “Titan” Warren
And
Madeline “Poet” Butler
On
Saturday, June 18th, 2016 at 4 O’clock in the Afternoon.
Following the ceremony, a reception celebrating the love of these two will commence.
No RSVP needed.
Black tie affair.
No cuts will be admitted, as, for the day, we’re all one.
All over again, Sarah couldn’t help but be impressed with the impressive time frame the couple had set out for. Titan had proposed on Christmas, and they’d managed to throw an amazing wedding together in only six months - something that generally took at least a year or two. Apparently when you had the equivalent of two armies behind you, more could be accomplished faster.
“Oh, so that’s the reason there were so many vests on bikes in the garage?” she said, though it came out a question, as she noticed the last line of the invitation. It was a rare thing to see so many vests not being worn - but all the men, and women, had left their bikes, and their cuts, in the garage.
Fallen nodded. “When your president states no cuts, then no cuts. And, more so, when two presidents from two different clubs says no cuts, then really no cuts. Anyone who shows up in one will be escorted off the property.”
“By whom? Surely not the valet - those boys can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen.”
“No,” he shook his head, “they’ve got walkies. Someone shows up in a cut, they’re to radio for help - myself, Shakespeare, and Artist have an in-ear, to which one of us will respond. If there are multiples at a time, and hostile, the valet are to ring down to the police channel ... where half of the Soccoro police force, along with most of the surrounding police forces, are on standby. We passed at least two cops on our way here; they’ll deal with anything more than an errant club member.”
“Police are here?” Sarah couldn’t help the surprise she felt. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that the clubs participated in illegal business. Most had been like she used to be - hear no evil, see no evil, that sort of thing. Of course, that was before she killed and jumped both feet into that world, but still. To have police around shocked her.
“Of course. Soccoro is on our payroll. The two surrounding towns are on the Bishops’ payroll.”
Fallen’s words were matter of fact, like he was talking about the beautifully clear weather they were having with no cloud in sight. Then again, to him, it was just a part of life ... one Sarah was equally now grateful for, and still uneasy. Not only was she wrongly arrested, but she was also now a legitimate criminal. Her and police were not a cocktail to be taken lightly.
More picture frames lined the pathway, distracting her from the dark thought trail she’d started going down. There was an image from one of the many club parties, some sort of country soiree, where Poet looked anything but cowgirl-ish. She looked as she always did, punk rock, but she was surrounded by folks in large brim hats, boots, and the occasional hay bale on the ground. The next was a photo of Titan from the same party, though his eyes weren’t trained on the camera as he smiled; his gaze was on Poet, smiling for her own photograph.
Another followed, a heartbreaking image of what Sarah could only assume was Titan in the hospital, Poet at his bedside, his hands in hers, her head resting atop his arm. Both of their eyes were closed, her face tear-stained, his forehead scrunched in a fitful sleep. It was a stolen moment captured in time - the one she’d heard about after the fact, when Titan’s own son tried to kill Poet, almost killing his father in the process. It had been a bad time for both of the clubs, keeping Fallen running most of the business until both presidents were on their feet. Whoever’d taken the picture probably hadn’t shown Poet. Knowing what she did of the woman, she knew she wouldn’t have liked her momentary weakness being frozen for the world to see. But, from an outsider’s point of view, it was as beautiful as it was heart-wrenching.
The next was one of Titan, Poet, and Artist. Poet was beaming, Titan was scowling, and Artist stood between them, her back to the camera, showing off the giant wing and track that was Hells Redemption’s sigil. A large smile spread across Sarah’s face - this image had to have been right after Poet patched the other girl in. It was common knowledge that Titan had refused her to be a Bishop, and his girlfriend had taken his sister in, teaching her, training her, and making her one of his rivals. A small chuckle escaped her as Fallen led her to the next easel.
This one was different than the last. It was clearly a photo taken in a private moment; Poet’s blonde hair fell softly around her face and across what had to have been a pillow. Titan lay beside her, his hair mixing with hers, his eyes gazing at the camera he held with a free hand. The expression on his face was one so personal, it made Sarah want to look away. More, Poet wasn’t looking at the screen. Instead, she was peering at the Bishop, a vulnerable love all but written across her.
“You look at me that way,” Lukas stated softly beside her, and she jumped, lost in her own thoughts and in the image. Her eyes turned to meet his and he caressed her cheek with his free hand, before pulling them onward.
Photos continuously lined the long path, dozens of them. Pictures of them smiling and laughing, glimpses into their relationship in a way no one usually got to see. Sure, they were always clearly a couple, very rarely far from the other when in the same vicinity of the other, but never like this. There were playful ones - ones with him trying to put her HR cut on, while his BR cut swamped her - or the two clearly fighting over a box of cereal. One was a proud display of a tattoo on Titan’s ribcage, the Raven and Ouroboros trailing off into a bike track, which he’d gotten to honor her - the ink done by Artist.
There were serious photos, posed photos. Engagement photos, which, of course, proudly displayed their Harley’s together and their cuts. Their hands touching and their fingers laced. Pictures of the two of them all over the New Mexico suburbs, looking every bit the hardcore, in love bikers they were. But the last picture surprised Sarah.
She would’ve assumed Poet would’ve chosen her favorite engagement shot to be the final. Or
even the first one they’d ever taken together, but she didn’t. Instead it was a snapshot from the Christmas before. She’d been there, recognized the surroundings. In it, Titan was on one knee, a jewelry box extended toward his love. His expression was earnest, serious, and worried all at once. Poet was standing with one hand clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide and visible tears filling them. It’d been emotional, even for her as an onlooker, the entire club waiting with baited breath to what the woman would say, if she’d accept him forever or deny him. The entire clubhouse had exploded when she’d finally agreed.
“Such a beautiful moment,” she murmured and Fallen made a sound of agreement as they continued walking, the soft lilt of violins filling their ears.
Searching for the sound, Sarah found two sets of quartets on both sides, tucked almost completely away, playing in perfect sync. Damn, someone shelled out a hell of a lot of money.
“It’s almost time, baby. I’ve gotta go. Teagan’s saving you a spot up front. I’ll see you after.”
Sarah nodded, allowing herself to walk as confidently as she possibly could to the seat the fiery redhead was saving for her. The other chairs, and there had to be at least five hundred of them, were mostly full; it took a lot of convincing to herself that they weren’t all staring and hoping she’d fall. Old habits from high school died hard.
“You look fucking stunning,” Teagan exclaimed happily as she reached her and she smiled at the Redemption Wing, grateful once again to have her on her side.
The music grew louder and Titan emerged from practically out of nowhere, walking proudly to his place under the archway with a priest. It took a moment but Sarah realized the archway was just as elegant, just as elaborate as everything else was - it was done in extreme detail, even from where she was sitting, in a solid wood and chrome piping, draped in tulle. More roses and lilies surrounded the guests, and, just like the pathway, there were scattered glasses of cognac.
A rustle came from behind and she turned with the others to watch. Coming down the aisle were Artist and Shakespeare, Artist on the left, the VP on the right. Sarah internally chuckled. It seemed Poet’s VP was her Man of Honor; Artist, Titan’s sister, was his Best Woman. Only them.
