by Devney Perry
We were here. We were really doing this. I was marrying a stranger today. I was marrying the man who’d saved my life.
It was my turn to return the favor and save his.
Isaiah greeted the clerk at the front desk, speaking for us both because I’d forgotten how to work my tongue. I stood by his side, frozen and dazed, waiting as he filled out the marriage license application. When it was my turn, my hand shook as I filled in the blanks.
“Do you have your IDs?” the clerk asked. She took them both along with the application, then pointed to the row of chairs behind us. “You can have a seat.”
I clenched the arms of the chair as I sat, taking a few long breaths to stop my head from spinning. This was not how I’d imagined getting married. This was not special. I was in a green dress because I didn’t want to wear white when this marriage was a farce. I didn’t know my fiancé’s middle name or how he liked to be kissed. I didn’t know if he drank coffee or what side of the bed he slept on.
My mom wasn’t here to walk me down the aisle.
Blood pumped loud in my ears and the hammering in my chest hurt like crazy. I’d never had an anxiety attack before. Was that what this was? I’d gotten kidnapped just over a week ago and hadn’t flipped out then. If I could survive that experience, then this was a piece of cake.
It’s temporary. It’s only temporary. Eventually, we’d get a divorce and I’d be free to move home to Colorado. A few years here and then I’d get my life back. I could do this for Isaiah.
“We don’t have to do this,” he whispered.
“We do,” I insisted, finding the same determination I’d had when I’d suggested marriage in the first place. “We do.”
“Genevieve . . .” My name sounded so smooth in his deep voice. Each syllable was evenly spaced. He didn’t rush through it like a lot of people did.
I looked up at him, meeting that gorgeous gaze, and my heart softened. Isaiah was a nice man. A good man. He didn’t deserve to suffer because of my mother’s mistakes. “We’re doing this.”
“Isaiah and Genevieve?” The clerk waved us up, sliding a marriage license across the counter. “You’re all set. Just go right through there.”
We followed her finger through a door to our left, finding a man shuffling some papers on his oak desk. His glasses were perched low on his nose. His head was bald except for the ring of gray hair that ran from ear to ear.
“The future Mr. and Mrs.”—he scanned a paper on the desk—“Reynolds.”
Mrs. Reynolds. I gulped, then forced a smile. We were supposed to be in love—a couple who’d met and fallen in love on the same day—so I slipped my hand into Isaiah’s, tensing as the heat and callouses from his palm hit mine.
He didn’t flinch but his frame tightened.
“Shall we?” The judge motioned us to the middle of the room. We stood in front of him as he took up his position and gave us both a kind smile. If he could sense our fear, he didn’t comment.
“Do you have rings?”
Panic hit hard. In everything I’d done this past week, I hadn’t thought to get rings. “I, uh—”
“Here.” Isaiah fished two rings out of his jeans pocket. One was a simple band. Not gold or silver but a dark gray, like titanium. And the other was a thin platinum band with a halo of small diamonds in the center.
My mouth fell open.
“It’s not much.” Isaiah swallowed, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
“It’s beautiful.” I squeezed his hand, then took the ring. Beautiful was the truth. The diamonds weren’t huge, but I didn’t need huge. He’d already done enough. “Thank you.”
“Excellent.” The judge smiled. “Isaiah, Genevieve, please join hands.”
We did, facing one another. Direct eye contact was fleeting at best. Mostly, I focused on Isaiah’s nose and its wide bridge. It was an admirable nose, strong and straight, set perfectly between those haunted eyes.
“By joining hands, you are consenting to be bound together. Husband and wife. You are promising to honor, love and support each other. Do you, Isaiah, take Genevieve as your wife?”
His eyes found mine. “I do.”
“Do you, Genevieve, take Isaiah as your husband?”
“I do.”
Two words and it was done. I was married.
“Then by the authority vested in me by the great state of Montana, I pronounce you husband and wife. I wish you the best of luck in your marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds.”
Marriage.
It was done.
Isaiah was safe. No one in the world could make me tell them what had happened at that cabin in the mountains. Because now, I was his wife.
I turned to the justice, ready to say thank you, then make my escape. But he opened his mouth for one last statement that made all the color drain from Isaiah’s face.
“Isaiah, you may now kiss your bride.”
Chapter Two
Isaiah
The last woman I’d kissed was the woman I’d killed.
Not exactly the thought a groom wants flashing through his mind as he’s standing across from his bride.
Genevieve looked about as terrified of this kiss as I did. Her eyes were wide and full of apprehension. Her lips were pressed into a firm line. No entry. Got it.
Fuck. The judge was waiting. Genevieve wasn’t making a move and I just wanted to get this over with.
I dropped my mouth to hers, closing my eyes on the way. It wasn’t . . . horrible. Genevieve didn’t have on sticky gloss. Her lips were soft and full. I held there, pretending to be her loving husband for ten seconds. Was that enough?
It was going to have to be. I pulled away and dropped my eyes to the floor. Guilt gnawed at my insides. I hadn’t eaten in two days. I hadn’t slept in three. Everything about this situation was wrong, but what the hell was I supposed to do? Genevieve thought this would work and that this marriage could keep me out of prison.
And I’d die before spending another day in a cell.
“Thank you,” Genevieve told the justice of the peace. We were still holding hands. She squeezed mine tight, forcing my gaze up, then practically dragged me out of the room. The clerk at the front desk was all smiles as she tossed out congratulations.
I grunted. Genevieve nodded.
We walked in silence, our hands linked loosely, until we got outside, then she dropped my hand like a hot plate and we both took a step apart.
“So, um”—she touched her lips—“that’s done.”
“Yeah.” Done.
We were married.
What the fuck are we doing? If this blew up, it wouldn’t only be bad for me, it could ruin her life. The corner of our marriage license poked out of her purse. Doubts or not, there was no turning back.
“I’m going to head back to work.”
“Okay. Good idea. I guess I’ll just . . .” She blinked a couple of times, then shook her head, walking down the stairs toward the street where she’d parked.
My bike was five spaces ahead of hers. I waited long enough to make sure she was in her car, then hustled to my bike and got the hell away from the courthouse.
I knew Genevieve would head for Central. It was the fastest way across town and to the garage. I took the side streets, needing some separation—from my wife—to get my head on right.
Why were my lips still burning? No matter how many times I wiped them, the feel of hers remained. Maybe because I hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time.
Six years, one month, two weeks and four days, to be exact. Memorial Day. That was the last time I’d kissed a woman. I’d planned to marry Shannon, but then . . .
Thinking about her was painful. Each beat of my heart pricked. My lungs burned. I’d married Genevieve when my soul was held captive by a ghost.
Genevieve and Shannon were like night and day. Shannon had been a happy, softly spoken person, her voice a chime and her face set in a perpetual smile. Genevieve had a husky, resonating voice. Even her whisper was bold. Her dar
k hair and dark eyes didn’t blend with the sunshine or float on the breeze. Genevieve was a force, one who had changed my life forever.
The metal band on my ring finger bit into my palm as I gripped the handlebars. It was cheap metal, the only thing I could afford after buying Genevieve’s ring.
She’d saved my life today, and for that, she deserved much more than the chip I’d slid onto her finger. But she’d seemed to like it. She’d stared at the halo of diamonds in awe.
Genevieve spoke with her beautiful eyes. Every emotion, every feeling, flashed in her rich, coffee-colored gaze.
I’d do right by her. I’d be respectful and honest. Fake marriage or not, I wasn’t a guy who strayed. I’d do my best to make this easy for her.
And I wouldn’t fail Genevieve—not like I’d failed Shannon.
The garage came into view and my stomach knotted.
I’d come to care about the people at the garage. They were my coworkers, maybe even my friends. They’d given a fucked-up ex-con a chance to build a new life in a new town. I might not have been forthcoming about my past with them, but I had been honest.
Starting today, I’d look them in the eye and tell them lie after lie.
But it was the only choice. After everything that had happened on that mountain, in that cabin, Genevieve and I had to lie.
The day of the mountain, after taking Genevieve to the airport in Bozeman so she could fly to Colorado and pack up her stuff, I’d returned to Clifton Forge and been assaulted with questions. My boss, Dash, asked questions. His girlfriend, Bryce, who’d been kidnapped with Genevieve, asked questions. Draven, Emmett, Leo—they all asked questions.
I had no truths to give.
So I left town without a word, hiding in Bozeman at my mom’s house for a week, until Genevieve was due to arrive in Montana. It would be easier to lie with her here, wouldn’t it?
Dash was pissed that I’d ditched work. I was lucky he hadn’t fired me on the spot. Because, damn it, I needed this job. I liked this job, and there were few things I genuinely liked these days. I didn’t deserve his grace, but I’d take it.
That was only yesterday.
The blur of the past week made my head spin.
Ever since Genevieve Daylee had entered my life, the order and simplicity I craved and found had vanished.
I parked at the garage and walked toward the open bay doors. The shop was bright and spacious. The tools were a dream. Maybe one day Dash would let me move beyond oil changes and tune-ups so I could work on the custom rebuilds that this garage was becoming famous for.
“Hey, Isaiah.” Bryce waved from a chair beside a truck. Dash was under the raised hood. “We just saw Genevieve head up to your apartment.”
“Yeah.” I glanced over my shoulder to where Genevieve’s gray Toyota was parked in a spot beside the office, one of three spaces near the stairs to the apartment above.
“She’s living with you?”
“Uh . . . yeah.”
Damn it. Genevieve and I should have talked about this. Were we telling people we’d gotten married? Should we keep it a secret for a while? Eventually we’d have to share, but I didn’t trust myself to deliver the news today and not fuck it up. They had to believe we were in love. There was no way I could sell love at first sight right now.
If I kept quiet, then maybe the questions would stop. That had worked for me in prison. I hadn’t talked unless absolutely necessary. It had been the best way to make sure I didn’t say something stupid and get my ass kicked for nothing.
Dash stood from under the hood with a socket wrench in his hand. “Hey.”
“Hey. Thanks for the break,” I told him, avoiding Bryce’s narrowing gaze.
She was a reporter, and a damn smart woman at that. She was likely sniffing out the unspoken lies at the moment, but there was no way I’d talk. She could glare at me all she wanted, fire question after question. I’d spent three years in prison shutting people out. Bryce didn’t stand a chance.
“What would you like me to work on?” I asked Dash.
He jerked his thumb at the truck. “Finish up this oil change if you want.”
“Sure thing.”
I walked over to the tool bench, glancing down at my jeans. They were the nicest pair I owned and the only ones without grease stains. I’d bought them in Bozeman specifically for today because I hadn’t wanted to get married in dirty jeans.
Genevieve had taken me in from head to toe at the courthouse, and though she’d said I looked nice, I realized jeans had been a mistake. I’d felt like trash standing next to her, this stunning woman in a green dress.
She deserved better than jeans. Genevieve deserved better than me. But selfish bastard that I was, I’d let her hitch her wagon to mine.
I was probably going to crash us both.
“You good?” Dash came up to my side and clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah, man. I’m good.”
How would he react to the news that I wasn’t just his employee now, but his brother-in-law? Or half brother-in-law? This family dynamic was weird.
I wasn’t sure what was going on with the Slater family. I’d only moved to Clifton Forge this summer to take a mechanic job at the garage. I’d been desperate to get away from Bozeman, where memories haunted every road.
A guy who’d been inside with me had connected me with Draven, Dash’s father. He’d interviewed and hired me, though I officially reported to Dash. The pay hadn’t been much at first, but it must have been probationary, because they’d quickly bumped up my hourly wage. That, and when my landlord had screwed me over, Dash had given me the apartment above the garage rent-free.
Had moving here been the right choice? If I’d stayed in Bozeman, I wouldn’t have gotten married today. I wouldn’t have gotten mixed up in a fucking kidnapping. I wouldn’t have tangled my life with a former motorcycle gang.
The Tin Gypsies had closed their clubhouse doors, but that hadn’t kept trouble away, had it?
Six weeks ago, Genevieve’s mother, Amina, had been murdered at the local motel. She’d been brutally stabbed to death. Draven, the first person I’d met in Clifton Forge and a man who I’d deemed decent, had been pinned for the crime.
Draven had been the president of the Tin Gypsies until he’d passed the title to Dash. They didn’t wear their patches or leather vests any longer, but the targets remained on their backs.
I didn’t know all the details about the club—didn’t want to. Dash and Draven kept quiet about it. So did Emmett and Leo, two of the other mechanics who worked at the garage and had been part of the club.
They’d all sheltered me from the details, but I’d picked up on a few things. Mostly, that Draven was innocent. He was being framed for Amina’s death. I’d stayed out of it until Bryce had been kidnapped.
Everything changed that day.
I’d gone with Dash and the guys to rescue her. I liked Bryce and I’d wanted to help. We’d found her in the mountains, frozen and scared. That’s where I’d found Genevieve too.
In the middle of a hell that had already broken loose.
Genevieve and I needed to get our stories straight. We had to work out what lies we were telling and what truths we’d use to fill in the gaps. I didn’t have the energy to hash it out today.
For now, I needed the reliability of work.
As I pulled on some coveralls to save my jeans, Dash put his tools away in a drawer. When they were stowed, he gave me a nod. “Glad you’re back.”
“Appreciate the second chance.”
He shrugged. “Around here, we believe in second chances. Third and fourth, actually. Just ask Leo how many times Dad has fired him over the years.”
“I won’t let you down again,” I promised.
“Good.” Dash nodded, then disappeared into the office with Bryce.
I opened a drawer on the workbench and the ring on my hand caught the overhead florescent light. Shit. I checked over both shoulders to make sure the other guys weren’t
close, then I slipped the ring off and into my pocket where it would stay. At least I had an excuse as to why I wouldn’t wear it. Rings at work were a good way for mechanics to lose fingers.
How had this happened? I’d come to work one day, gone on a motorcycle chase to rescue my boss’s girlfriend and now had a wife.
Mom always said trouble found me no matter where I went.
I grabbed a handful of tools and got started on the oil change. I hadn’t been a mechanic for long, but I was a fast learner and auto mechanics came naturally. Gears fit with other gears. Bolts threaded through nuts. A screw tightened with a turn to the right and loosened with a turn to the left. I soaked in the simplicity that one part was designed for another and blocked out the chaos of my life.
I spent the rest of the day on oil changes and one bumper-to-bumper inspection. Even after Dash and Bryce went home, followed soon by Emmett and Leo, I kept working.
The last place I wanted to go was upstairs where Genevieve waited.
“Isaiah? Are you still here?”
I turned from the shop sink as Presley’s voice carried through the garage. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Want me to lock up?”
“Nah. I got it.” I shook my hands dry.
Presley left the doorway to the office and walked deeper into the shop. Her hair was like snow, cut short at the sides and swooped long on top. She tucked her hands in her overalls as she approached, the denim baggy around her small frame. Emmett always teased that she was no bigger than a fairy princess.
“I know I said it this morning, but I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too. How are things?”
“Good.” She shrugged. “I’m just going home for the day. You should too.”
I’d drag myself upstairs soon enough. “Yeah.”
Presley had to know Genevieve was in the apartment, but she didn’t ask. She was the one person at the garage who didn’t have questions. Maybe because she knew I wouldn’t talk.
