by Penny Dee
Naked, she steps into the shower, and dressed in just my jeans, I join her. We don’t speak as I wash away the blood and the pain from her body, and when I’m done, I kiss her, and she moans into my mouth as I secure my arms around her.
“Marry me,” I say against her lips.
The words vibrate in the small shower cubicle before she pulls away to look at me. “What?”
I run my hands over the crown of her head and push my fingers through her hair as I look down, losing myself in the vibrant depths of her blue eyes.
“I don’t want to ever be without you, wildflower.”
And I don’t.
She’s my oxygen. My heartbeat. My everything.
“I know it’s only been a month, but I can’t imagine letting you go now or ever. What do you say—”
“Yes,” she says suddenly, a ray of sunshine lifting the clouds from her eyes. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
She smiles, and my stomach clenches because she has the most beautiful smile in the world.
I bend my head to kiss her long and deep, my tongue sweeping into her mouth and claiming her luscious lips permanently. “You sure?”
She nods enthusiastically and grins, then laughs. “I love you, Jack Dillinger, and I don’t want this to end.” The sparkle in her eyes twinkles with mischief. “And I can’t wait to see the look on Loki’s face when he realizes I really am going to be his stepmom.”
JACK
I’m sitting at my desk the next day finishing up some business when Shooter appears in the doorway. Lately, things have been strained between us because he’s made his disapproval of my relationship with Bronte more than obvious.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
When I nod, he walks in and takes a seat across the desk from me.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask.
He takes in a deep breath and then exhales deeply.
I’ve known Shooter forever. Since he kicked Jimmy Pearson’s ass in the first grade for shoving me into the dirt on my first day. Jimmy was a bully, and Shooter was unhinged enough to take him on before I even had a chance to defend myself. We’ve been brothers ever since, so I know when something is weighing heavy on his mind.
“So, you and Bronte… rumor has it you asked her to marry you.”
I’ve forgotten how quick the MC grapevine works.
So far, we’ve only told Faith and the twins.
I brace myself for Shooter’s reaction, ready to put an end to any ideas that this is up for negotiation.
“Yes.” I give him a dark look that dares him to take me on. “You have a problem with that?”
He shifts his huge body in the seat. “Honestly, if you’d asked me last month, the answer would be yes. But—”
“But what?”
He takes a moment to choose his words. “I’m thinking it might be a good thing after all. I haven’t seen this version of you in a long time.”
I’m surprised but don’t say anything. Instead, I let him continue talking.
“I saw what losing your brother, and then your marriage did to you. Saw how it hurt you. How it chewed you up so bad you could hardly function. So, when Bronte came along, I could see a world of hurt coming at you if it didn’t work out. And considering her age and the circumstance she was in, the odds weren’t in your favor.” He shifts uncomfortably in his chair again. Shooter isn’t one for talking about his feelings. “But she’s a good girl, and even I have to admit how good you are together. She loves you, and no one can deny it. That girl would walk to the end of the world for you.”
“And I her.”
He nods. “I can see that. I can also see how happy you are when she’s around. It’s been a long time coming, and I appreciate her for doing that. We all do. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m happy for you. If there’s anyone who deserves this, it’s you.”
Knowing Shooter, this is hard for him.
“I appreciate that,” I say.
I feel a crack in the icy wall that has come between us over the last month. The frost is beginning to thaw.
He sighs. “Not sure why you’d want the pain of an old lady, though.” He pauses before a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Although, you always were a one-woman asshole.”
I relax and lean back in my chair. “Is this you apologizing?”
“This is me saying I was a dick. But I was looking out for you, brother, and I won’t apologize for that.” He leans his thick forearms on the chair, light from the overhead chandelier pinging off the big rings on his fingers. “But I will apologize if I overstepped. It wasn’t my intention.”
I’m a great grudge holder, it helps me to be a good president, but I could never hold one against Shooter. “So I guess this means you’ll be my best man?”
Another smile twitches at his lips. “Again?”
The last time he was seventeen and lugging boxes at the Piggly Wiggly after school.
I show him my middle finger but smile. “Asshole.”
He stands. “It’ll be a fucking pleasure.”
I smile because my best friend is back in my corner.
He offers me his fist, which I hit with mine, just as Bronte walks in.
Seeing Shooter, she stalls. But as he leaves, Shooter gives her a wink and fist bumps her on the way out the door.
She looks perplexed.
“Did he just fist bump me?”
“He did.”
“So, he knows?”
“He does.” I stand and walk around the desk to kiss her.
“And he’s okay with it?”
“Too bad if he isn’t. But yes, not only is he fine with it, he thinks it’s a good thing.”
She smiles slowly. “Well, fuck me.”
I draw her into my arms and brush my lips across hers. “Your wish is my command, baby.”
She giggles. “Is that why you messaged me to meet you here? So, you can do me on the president’s desk?”
“No, but now that you suggest it…” I kiss her long and hard, my body hardening like it does whenever I touch her. But it’s getting late, and I need to take her somewhere before we lose light.
“Where are we going?” she asks as I lead her out of the clubhouse to my bike.
It’s a gloomy afternoon, dark clouds paint the sky in different shades of gray, and there’s a cold chill in the air. Fall is coming.
“We’ve got to share our news with someone else,” I say cryptically.
Twenty minutes later, we pull into the cemetery, and I see the emotion cross her face as I take her hand and enter the grounds.
“Do you think he’s happy for us,” she asks, her voice small, her eyes heavy with sadness.
I squeeze her hand. “I like to think so.”
When we reach Cooper’s grave, thunder rolls in the clouds above us and a breeze picks up, rustling the leaves in the redbud tree.
Pain is a vice around my heart when I see his smiling face on his tombstone, and I know Bronte feels it too because I already know every inch of her heart. Every beat. Every scar. Every drop of blood spilled from grief and pain because they are syncopated with my own.
She kneels to press her palm against his picture, and her body jerks as she lets out a small sob.
I crouch beside her and rub the small of her back, my chest knotted with the familiar ache of grief.
“I miss you,” she whispers to Cooper. “I miss you so much it hurts. When you left us, it created a giant hole in my heart, one I didn’t think I would ever be able to fill. I thought I’d go through life with that little piece of me missing, you know? And that’s a sad feeling, Cooper, knowing you’re not whole, knowing there’s a little bit of you that will never be happy because that piece of your heart is gone.” She sniffs back her tears. “But I want you to know that my heart is whole again, and it’s full of so much happiness and hope, and it’s all thanks to your brother, Cooper. I hope you’re happy for us. I hope you’re up there smiling down and telling us to get over ourselve
s because, of course, you’re happy for us, and we should stop banging on about it.” She smiles softly, then bites her lip, and she lifts her palm but presses the tips of her fingers to his picture. “But you need to know that I will keep you safe inside my heart until I get to see you again, okay? Because we will see each other again, you got that? You can’t get rid of me that easy.” She turns to look at me, and it’s all I can do to keep my own tears at bay.
I kiss her trembling lips and feel the warmth of it right through to my soul. Breaking away, I stand and help Bronte to her feet. “I hope you can see this, brother. I hope you can see how happy she makes me. And I promise you, Cooper, I’m going to look after her and make her just as happy.”
I close my eyes and let the pain pass through me before opening them again as more thunder rumbles in the sky above us.
I look at Bronte. “Ready to go home.”
“Yes.” She smiles. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s like the last piece of the puzzle just fell into place.”
I have to agree.
Walking away from the grave, I protectively wrap my arms around her and press a kiss to her hair.
I’ve never felt so in love in my whole life as I do in this moment. I just hope that somewhere, wherever he is, Cooper can feel it too.
Climbing on my bike, I guide Bronte onto the back, and when she wraps her arms around me, I bring the Harley to life. Up ahead, the dark clouds give way to a pocket of late afternoon sunlight casting biblical rays onto the road.
I smile contently. I like to think it’s my brother sending us his nod of approval as we leave the cemetery behind us and ride toward an unknown future.
JACK
Four Months Later
The collar of my shirt is scratching my neck, and I can barely breathe, so I pull at it to loosen it, taking in a deep impatient breath to calm my nerves.
“Will you stop attacking that collar like it’s a noose,” Faith says, slapping my hands away and fixing my tie. “Anyone would think you’re about to walk the green mile. Why are you so nervous?”
We’re standing in the church vestry, waiting for my bride to arrive. And I’m restless as fuck.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Then what’s with the grabby hands?”
“I just want to see Bronte.”
I haven’t seen my girl in more than a day. Not since I dropped her off at Faith’s house, and it’s killing me. It’s the longest I’ve been without her since the day she turned up on her grandma’s step.
Turns out, I hate it.
But she’s insisting we do this right.
Seems my nontraditional girl wants an incredibly traditional wedding.
Whereas I wanted to wake up with my girl in my bed next to me on our wedding day. But because she’d been riding my cock when she brought it up, I wasn’t thinking straight when I agreed. “I want to do this the right way,” she’d said, swallowing my cock with her sweet pussy and slowly riding it as she seduced me into agreeing to whatever the hell she wanted.
Say what you like about it, I don’t give a goddamn. I know I’m a slave to my queen’s pussy, and I’m not afraid to admit it. I spent far too long denying myself the pleasure, and I’ll spend the rest of my days making up for lost time.
“Relax, will you. You’re going to see her in a matter of minutes,” Faith says.
“She’s here?”
“Abby just messaged me. They’re in the car on their way. So, you can quit with your craziness.” She shakes her head. “You’re meant to be the president of a motorcycle club, but you’re acting like a teenage boy about to pop his cherry.”
“Not a lot rattles me, but being away from my girl does,” I say, checking my reflection in the full-length mirror. “How do I look?”
I’m dressed in a suit and tie, something I haven’t worn since my granddaddy’s funeral ten years earlier. I didn’t wear one to my first wedding—couldn’t afford it—so I’d worn my best flannel shirt instead. Now things are different, and I wouldn’t have them any other way.
My sister turns me to face her, and a beautiful smile softens her lips. “You look very handsome.” She’s one of Bronte’s bridesmaids and is in a shimmery silk dress with wildflowers in her hair. But because she organized the event, she came ahead to make sure everything’s running smoothly.
Shooter appears in the doorway with an open bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. “How you doin’?”
The look on my face must tell him I’m feeling impatient because he offers me the bottle, but I shake my head. My queen deserves me sober as a judge today.
Faith, on the other hand, takes the bottle and skulls before handing it back to Shooter.
“Have you got the rings?” she asks him.
He’s my best man.
Shooter pats the front of his suit jacket. “Safer than the crown jewels.”
The door opens again, and Bull walks in—The Kings of Mayhem president who reigns over all the chapters. Dressed in a tailored black shirt and black pants, he looks more like a ruthless CEO than the king of kings. He’s wearing black aviators because his acute colorblindness makes his eyes sensitive to light. Behind them, his eyes are the color of the brightest sapphires and are almost unhuman. Dolly calls them unholy.
“Brother,” he says as he hugs me. “Thought I’d check in and see how you’re feeling. You ready to do this?”
“More than ready.” I smile.
Bull has been to nearly every big event in my life. The fact he and the rest of the Mississippi Chapter have ridden up for the wedding means a lot. They’re already seated and probably making the reverend’s ears bleed while they wait.
“Then let’s do this, shall we?” Faith says, picking up her cell and shoving it down the front of her dress. “The bridal car has just pulled up the front.”
“That thing better be on silent,” Shooter says, nodding to her cleavage as she walks past him.
“If it’s not, you have my permission to turn it off,” she says with a seductive wink.
Lately, those two have been giving off weird vibes, and I’m wondering if there’s something going on—they’re supposed to hate each other, but that hate has been very suggestive lately.
I ignore them and walk into the church where everyone is waiting. A loud hum rises over the crowd. There are whistles and catcalls, even some clapping. The room is packed with bikers and their old ladies, even a few of the club girls are here at the insistence of Bronte. Brandi and Candi wave excitedly from a pew near the back.
Up the front, Bam and Loki wait for me, both looking uncomfortable in their suits.
The heavy scent of magnolias and lily of the valley lingers in the air while a gigantic colored-glass window beams dapples of light onto the altar where we stand. I struggle to swallow. I’m not nervous, I just want to see my wildflower.
The church door cracks open, and a flood of sunshine spills in. Faith enters first, followed by Abby. There is a pause—the longest of my life—and then Bronte appears with her grandma at her side, a halo of sunshine glowing behind them.
Overcome with sudden emotion, my face cracks, and I let out a harsh breath. She’s so goddamn beautiful. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my tears at bay. I let them fall as I watch my bride walk toward me, a vision in white holding a bunch of flowers in front of her. There’s no veil, simply wildflowers woven into her beautiful blonde hair. I can’t take my eyes off her, barely able to believe that this angel is mine.
Her dress is a shimmering sheath of silk falling over her curves and dipping low at her back. It’s simple and elegant and does nothing to hide the heavy curve of her stomach. She’s five months pregnant with my son, and my insides swell with pride when I think of her carrying my baby.
She sees I’m crying, and she starts to cry as well.
Christ, what this woman does to me.
When she reaches the altar, I don’t wait. I take her sweet face in my hands and crush my lips to hers. I inhale deeply, drinking in ev
erything that is her.
“Whoa, we’ll get to that in a minute, son,” the reverend says, gently prizing us apart.
The crowd of guests laughs, but I just stare at Bronte in awe. I’ve never seen her look as beautiful as she does right this second, and that’s saying something.
She looks up at me with her big blue eyes, and my insides turn to mush. I barely hear what the reverend says. I simply want him to hurry up and make her my wife.
Of course, I stumble on my vows before securing the crown pendant around her slender throat. And when Bronte starts crying again, I start fucking crying again too.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone else sniffs back tears. I glance over at Bam and Loki and seeing the emotion on their faces, I struggle to swallow.
“Jack,” Bronte says, starting her vows. “I never believed in soul mates. Never believed in true love. And until I gave my heart to you, I never believed in fairy tales. You aren’t my prince charming, but you are my king. I love you, and I give you my heart now and beyond the day I take my last breath.”
Fuck it.
I don’t wait for the reverend to pronounce us. Instead, I take her face in my hands and kiss her with more emotion than I thought any man could have.
The crowd erupts.
The reverend shrugs. “I guess I now pronounce you husband and wife?”
I end the kiss and drop my head to Bronte’s.
“I love you, husband.” She smiles through her tears.
“I love you, wildflower.”
And I will.
Until the end of fucking time.
in
Doc
Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee Chapter Book 2
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BLURB
One tragic night took the only good thing in my life from me and set me on a new path.
A path that eventually led me here, to the Kings of Mayhem motorcycle club in Tennessee.
They call me Doc because that is what I am, even if the law says I can’t be. I’m inked head to toe, ride a Harley and wear a cut, but my love for medicine is the blood in my veins. I don’t need liquor, and I don’t need women. But when a rival club decides I have what they need and goddamn kidnap me off the street, I come face to face with the last damn thing I need—the woman of my dreams.
