by West, Naomi
Chapter 4
Liona
Liona glanced from her and Carly's reflection in the full-length mirror in front of her to the clock on the wall. Outside, in the actual church, she could hear the guests gathering and the musicians tuning their instruments. It wouldn't be long now, she knew. Her fate was about to be sealed.
In here, they were surrounded by stray clothing and luggage bags. She hadn't shown up in her wedding dress, after all. It was too precious to just wear around.
“You look so beautiful,” Carly said from beside her, her eyes almost beginning to tear up. “I'm so happy for you.”
“I do, don't I?” Liona asked, her thoughts sinking to a dark place. There was no denying what was plain as day. Admittedly, she did look beautiful in the gown she and Wyland had chosen, even with the ridiculously long train he'd insisted on. And, like with everything, whatever Wyland insisted on, he got.
“It'll make more of a statement,” he'd said at the time. To her, though, the only statement the dress made was about how immobile she was while wearing it. How trapped she was, how trapped she'd allowed herself to become. It was like that train was everything wrong with her life, everything wrong with all the decisions she'd made up to this point. Trading comfort and poshness in one area for pain and torment in another.
She realized, then, that she wanted her life back. But no one was simply going to give her free will back to her. She needed to take it. She needed to grab hold and pull it to her.
“Are you ready for this?” Carly asked in her most cheery voice, snapping the bride back to reality by squeezing her bare shoulders.
“Yeah,” Liona replied with a weak smile, “I think so.”
There was a knock at the door.
“You almost ready in here, dear?” the wedding coordinator asked through the door. There was no hint of doubt in her voice, no expectation of impending disappointment. Poor woman.
“Almost,” Carly called back, reassuring her. “We are, aren't we?”
Liona smiled as her eyes flickered over to one of the windows on the far wall, the one she'd been looking at earlier as she daydreamed about being a stray ray of sunshine. It was a fairly large picture window. Easily large enough for a grown woman to fit through. Even if she was wearing a wedding dress.
“Just about,” Liona said. “Can you give me a minute, though?”
“Honey?” her dad called through the door. “Almost ready? The natives are getting restless, dear.”
“Just a minute, dad,” Liona called back.
“You still feeling bad?” Carly asked as she touched the back of her hand to Liona's forehead.
Liona slapped her hand away, laughing as she did so. “I'm fine, silly. I just need a minute to ... I don't know, say goodbye to the single life?”
Carly laughed. “Whatever,” she said as she leaned in and touched her cheek to her friend's. “Five minutes can't hurt, can it?”
Her friend headed out into the hallway and quietly shut the door behind her. Liona heard her on the other side of the door, soothing both the coordinator and her father. Thank god for Carly, and her help. Even if she didn't realize she was giving it.
Finally alone, she sprang into action. She quickly removed the gown's unwieldy train and left the bundle of cloth in a crumpled mess on the floor. With that done, she grabbed her overnight bag off the chair she'd set it on earlier and began to throw any discarded clothes she could find inside of it. She hadn't packed much since they'd planned on going by the house before their so-called honeymoon.
With her bag haphazardly packed, she went over to the big picture window and examined the frame. She could fit through easily. But her car wasn't here. Liona had driven in with Carly. There wasn't much she could do about the vehicle situation at the moment but maybe if she could get away from the church grounds she could call an Uber and use that as her getaway.
She chewed at her lip as she glanced from the window to the door and back again. The door to the hallway didn't have a lock, unfortunately. Someone might hear her in the hall if she started to mess with the window. Liona went over and grabbed the chair her overnight bag had been resting on and carefully pulled it over to the door.
“Honey?” her dad called from out in the hall, startling her. “You alright in there?”
“Yep, be right there,” Liona said from just on the other side of the door from him. “Just one more second, okay?”
She didn't necessarily enjoy lying to her dad, or relish the thought of what she was about to put him through, but she didn't see any other way forward. There was no way in hell she could marry Wyland, and if she told her father what she planned he'd probably just try to talk her out of walking out this way. And, just like always, he'd win his argument and she’d roll over and listen to her him.
Instead, she wedged the back of the chair under the doorknob. It would be difficult for him to win the argument if he couldn't have a chance to make one.
She grabbed her bag and headed over to the window as someone began to jiggle the doorknob. She lifted the window and tossed her luggage through.
“Honey?” her dad called, his voice frantic. “Just tell me you're okay!”
“I'm okay, dad,” Liona called, then silently. “Better than I've felt in years.” She lifted the window the rest of the way, letting in the bright, fresh spring air. A hint of roses hit her nose, setting off a flash of memories about her grandma's backyard gardens. She didn't even want to think what Granny Copeland's opinion of her running off would have been, had she still been alive to give it.
Luckily, the church staff hadn't thought to put a screen in on this window. Either they didn't have a problem with bugs getting in, or maybe they understood that a bride sometimes needed to escape while the getting was good. Liona hoped it was the latter as she tossed her overnight bag out through the window and onto the well-manicured grass, then followed after her flying luggage.
A loud tearing sound ripped through the still morning air. Shocked, she looked back and saw the hem of her dress caught on a nail sticking out of the windowsill.
“Son of a bitch,” she grumbled. It had been a pretty dress, and expensive.
Back in the bridal room, her dad was pounding on the door. “Liona! Honey!”
It tore her heart out to run away like this. She didn't want to consider how her mother would react when she heard the news. Or how poor Carly and her other bridesmaids would take these events. They'd invested almost as much time in this wedding as she had, put just as much effort into this thing. She felt bad for pulling the rug out from under them like this, but she didn't have a choice.
And then, of course, there was her Wyland. What were the consequences of embarrassing him like this? Whatever the case, it couldn’t be much worse than what she’d already endured.
Besides, she'd made up her mind. Her dress was ruined, and she was now on the marital lam. She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. With her high heels still on, she took off across the church lawn and headed for a small path led through the trees and out to main road. The most important thing right now was to get away before anyone, especially Wyland, found her.
Hopefully, she'd be able to figure things out from there. If not, she'd come up with something. She was determined, now.
Chapter 5
Cutter
Cutter whipped down the road on his chopper. He ignored the speed limit signs as he stitched a line between the other vehicles, zigging and zagging in and out of traffic. Cars honked, but he didn't even bother to give them the finger. Besides, that would have meant taking his hand off the throttle.
His knuckles were sore and white from how tightly he was gripping the handlebars. One name kept flashing in his mind like a giant bloody red neon sign: Wyland fucking West. The only son of a bitch he really had a problem with after so many years.
He took a deep breath, though, and tried to control his anger. Beating the shit out of the new assistant DA on his wedding day wouldn't exactly be a great way to begin stating his cas
e for why the Vanguard should be left alone, but Cutter couldn't understand what the guy's deal was. They were trying to go completely legit, trying to divest all their less savory businesses and income streams. For the law to crack down on them now, when things were so sensitive, so in flux, was almost overly punitive, like something else was at work.
It had to have something to do with their past, with the three of them: Cutter, Liona, and Wyland. Back in high school, the two young men had been a tight, if odd, pairing. Wyland had been on the student council and was the class president. Cutter, back then, had been just another kid who'd lucked into a friendship with a richer kid. Even though they were from different sides of the track, so to speak, they'd had a tight bond.
But, then along came Liona. She'd been the new girl their senior year, a transfer student who'd come along when her dad's work relocated her family. Somehow, she'd fallen in with Cutter and Wyland and their duo became a trio.
For Cutter, his friendship with Liona was always something more. He'd been in love with her from the first day they'd met. Her smile, her easy laughter, her quiet, focused strength. He was drawn to her, longed for her. But Cutter was an uncertain kid back then, scrawny and small, with no self-confidence. Times had changed, of course, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.
Wyland had felt the same way about her. He'd made his move first, before Cutter could muster his courage. Seeing them together had gnawed at him until he'd finally confessed his feelings to Liona. Things hadn't gone well from there, and when the dust settled and Cutter's mind had cleared, she and Wyland were already gone. Off to college, and out of his life forever.
At least, forever was what he'd thought. Now he didn't know what kind of feelings he had for her. He just knew he wanted her out of his head, and wanted Wyland West's meddling out of his dealings. The rest of the MC didn't deserve to be targets just because of some high school bullshit. That was asking too much of them.
With all that swirling in his mind, he raced on, trying to beat the clock. He was just a few minutes away when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He downshifted and veered to the side of the road, a symphony of car horns blaring in protest at his sudden stop. A beautiful bride in a flowing white gown was tramping through the trees. Mud crept up the hem of her dress and covered her heels, but her face was angelic. More than that, he recognized her almost instantly, and his blood seemed to stop in his veins. For years, he'd seen those beautiful eyes, those perfect lips, every time he closed his eyes at night. And, for just as many years, that face was the first thing he saw in his mind's eye when he woke up in the morning.
It was her. Liona Copeland, coming out of the forest, walking away from the church. She wasn't more than twenty feet from him, but he could see the look of concern on her face plain as day. That same look she'd had in math class when she almost remembered how to do a problem, but couldn't quite get it.
“Desmond?” she exclaimed, using the name his parents had given him. “Desmond Hawes? Is that you?”
Cutter grinned. He hadn't seen her or heard her voice in years, and there was still something about her that lifted his spirits, made him feel like he was on cloud nine.
“Lose your way, or something?” he asked as nonchalant as he could manage.
“You're a biker now?” she asked, incredulous as she emphasized the word biker. She seemed oblivious to the rest of the traffic and the fact she was in a wedding dress as she stared at him. “And you wear leather?”
“Like you've got any room to talk on weird outfits.”
She hiked up the bag on her shoulder, readjusting the load, and looked down at herself. “Yeah, well, this is just for today.”
He checked his watch like he didn't have a care in the world. “Don't you have some place to be right about now?”
“Well, I did,” she said, and glanced back over her shoulder, almost like a scared animal on the run would. Something was wrong here.
“Not doing it, then?” She shook her head. Cutter sighed and looked away, down the road. “Wyland's gonna be pissed.”
She shot daggers at him when he turned his gaze back to her. “That's the last thing I give a shit about,” she said. Something about her attitude, the way she held herself as she replied, said the exact opposite, though. She cared about his opinion, even if she didn't care about him.
“Running away, then?”
“Gonna try,” she said, a slow, uncertain smiling creeping onto her face. She seemed to hold her breath before saying, “Wanna help?”
“Help out an old crush?” he asked, a little grin on his lips. “And piss off that motherfucker Wyland in the process?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!”
He jerked his thumb behind him. “Jump on.”
She sighed in clear relief and swung a leg over the seat behind him and climbed aboard. With her overnight bag tucked between them, she leaned forward and instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist.
He hated to admit something like this, even to himself, but it felt damn good to feel her touch again. Even after all these years, and all the changes that had happened in their lives. Except, this time, it was different. He was different.
“Ready back there?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” she said, “let's go.”
They took off, heading back the way Cutter had just come. The cars blared another symphony as he cut across traffic, this time hollering out a victory call.
Chapter 6
Cutter
They pulled into the Vanguard clubhouse's parking lot on Cutter's bike. Liona's wedding gown had fluttered behind them the whole way, even though she'd wrapped up all its extraneous cloth beneath her when she'd straddled the seat and climbed aboard.
He hadn't been able to think of any better place to take her. And she hadn't been able to come up with any solutions either. So, by default, they'd settled on the clubhouse. It was far from perfect, that was for sure, but at least Wyland would never come looking here for her.
Besides, he didn't have any plans of letting her out of his sight. He wasn't exactly sure what kind of leverage it might give him over Wyland, but he could spot an opportunity coming from a mile away. And this woman right here was an opportunity if he'd ever seen one.
“This your place?” Liona asked, a note of disbelief in her voice as she looked around at the trees on the perimeter, and the old metal building in front of her. Clearly, it was the kind of place she wasn't used to.
“Yeah. Why?”
She shouldered her bag again, hitching it up a little higher. “No reason,” she replied. “Just, well, isn't it weird living in a place like this?”
“Nah,” he said, reaching for the bag on her shoulder. “It's home.”
She glanced down at his hand, and the help he offered, and just shook her head. “I've got it.”
“Suit yourself,” Cutter said, then headed off to the front door of the clubhouse, resisting the urge to look back and see if she followed.
“How many guys live here?” she asked as they pushed through the entry and went inside.
“We got rooms for seven or eight guys, me included,” Cutter replied as they headed back to the small room reserved for him. “We keep it pretty low-key most nights, though. Weekends, all bets are off. Still, it ain't like it used to be. We all gotta earn an honest living now.”
Her face was a case study in wonder as she looked around at the empty building, at the flags up on the wall, the posters and the hunting trophies. All the others were gone still. The ones who worked at Farm to Fable were probably still in the middle of their closing duties, and a lot of the other guys had errands, jobs, girlfriends, and all manner of other reasons to be out and about.
“Honest living, huh?” she asked as they turned down the hall that led to the rooms.
“Absolutely,” Cutter said with a grin. “You're looking at the head chef and manager for Farm to Fable.”
“Wow! Really?” Liona said, surprise in he
r voice. “I went in there once, but I didn't know you were the owner. I thought it was some guy named Slick, or Gash, or something.”
“Cutter,” he said, grinning. “That'd be me. I was probably in the back house, making your brunch.”
“Cutter? All of you guys got nicknames like that?”
“Most of us,” he said. He shrugged as they turned a corner and were presented with a whole new row of doors.
“So, which do you prefer? Desmond? Or Cutter?”
“Cutter,” he growled. “Might confuse the guys otherwise.”
“You run the whole thing? The restaurant, I mean.”
“Yep,” he said as they stopped in front of his bunk door. “What'd you think? About the food?”
