A round of bobbing heads is their response.

  See. Like I said.

  “We just want you happy,” comes from Bink.

  “I am.” Very.

  “And I wanna know when my sister is getting some after what we went through,” Loretta clarifies, her tone more serious than before.

  “Well, I am getting some.” A lot. According to this salacious text, I’m getting even more tonight.

  I clench at the thought of having him in there again, in just a few scant hours. The magic man. His tongue. His fingers. That voice.

  I miss him already.

  Geez, I’m pathetic.

  “So00…. how do we feel about burgers at the wedding?” Bink throws out, changing the subject.

  Heaving an internal sigh, I mouth thank you. Bink flashes me a knowing smile and nods in understanding.

  As they finish whatever details are needed for the wedding, I text Gunz back.

  Me: I look forward to tonight.

  Gunz: Me, too. I miss you, love.

  Me: Miss you, too.

  Gunz: Pizza tonight?

  Me: Sure. That sounds great.

  Gunz: I’m gonna run into town later. If you need anything else, let me know. I’ll pick it up. Mushroom and pepperoni pizza? Breadsticks with extra garlic?

  Grinning far too wide to be considered sane, I stare in awe at the words on my screen. This man remembers what I like. Down to the extra garlic. This never ceases to amaze me. We haven’t even had pizza together yet. It was only a topic of conversation we had with Adam one night over dinner of all our favorites. Of course, Gunz would file it away to use later.

  Me: Sounds perfect. Thank you.

  Gunz: You’re perfect. Now I gotta get back to work. New security system to go over. See you tonight at dinner. I’ll bring you some chocolate for dessert. Since you’ll be mine.

  This man.

  Oh. This man.

  Wanting to share a snapshot of my day with him, I hug Harley up close, press my cheek to hers, and take a selfie of us together. I send him the text with no words and stow my phone away. He’s gotta work, and I’ve got a one-year-old to chat with. I should also help Bink with the wedding details. It’s the least I can do. Though, cheeseburgers sound like fine wedding food to me. I’m not picky.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  GUNZ

  Seven days ’til the wedding.

  Relaxed in my office chair, I read through the new church documents, including the new name my brother, Bonez, bestowed on the damn thing—Sacred Chaos. I get it. It’s a play on our two clubs. But why he didn’t pick something less conspicuous, like Holy blah-blah-Jesus-Lover-Mary-Amen or whatever the hell else that would sound far more religious, is beyond me. We set this up for him. To give him more space to spread his bleeding heart wings. He’s pleased with the purchase, even if I’m not keen on the name. His business. Not mine. I’m nothing more than a glorified bookkeeper when he’s on the front lines doing all the heavy lifting with the survivors and their recovery.

  There’s a tap at my office door, as quiet as a church mouse, I barely notice the thing.

  “Yeah?” I call out, knowin’ if it was Adam, he’d come in, and if it was my woman, she would’ve texted first.

  “We need your assistance,” comes from a shaky female voice I don’t recognize.

  Laying the pages face down to scour later, I push from my chair, round my desk, and open the door just enough to see who’s on the other side. It’s a young woman. From the looks of her clothes—a club whore I’ve not seen before. Why she’s here during the day doesn’t make a lick of sense.

  “How can I help you?” I arch a curious brow and keep an eye on her hands. Woman or not, I don’t know her, nor do I trust a single soul I haven’t scouted. We’re at war. My idiot brothers would do good to remember that before they let stragglers stay the night.

  The brunette chews her fat bottom lip. Whether that’s cause she’s nervous or she’s tryin’ to entice me, I don’t give a single fuck either way.

  “Well?” I prompt, growing impatient.

  Her brown eyes swim with unshed tears. “My friend—”

  The woman’s words cease as my son jogs toward the office and stops feet from the brunette, breathin’ heavy. “Pops, we got a situation.” He waves me to follow, and I do, but not before I lock the office door, and urge the woman to join us.

  In the hallway outside of Mickey and Gypsy’s clubhouse bedroom, brothers have gathered. Adam pushes them to the wayside to let me pass. They keep the brunette back as I enter the room to find a pale, buck-ass-naked Mickey, shakin’ like he’s hopped up on somethin’ as he stares at the unmade bed and the naked woman there. The dead, naked woman—on her side, curled in the fetal position, her long, blonde hair plastered to her face. She must be the brunette’s friend.

  In the darkened corner, a fully clothed Gypsy leans against the wall, watching his best friend lose his mind.

  “I didn’t mean it.” Mickey gestures to the blonde.

  He never means it. This isn’t the first dead club whore we’ve come across, thanks to his particular brand of fuckery. Nor will it be the last. When he first joined the club, they were plentiful. A few a year. That was a long while ago. With Gypsy as his constant companion, he’s smartened up and picked better candidates.

  Ya see, Mickey doesn’t screw conscience women. Something happened in his childhood. It’s not my story to tell. So, he micks his sexual partners in the safety of our clubhouse then fucks their asses. That’s his thing. He’s always careful with the women. Never brutal. Gypsy oversees every bit of it. How he missed this, I don’t know.

  Dallas and Axel swallow up the doorway, keepin’ everyone and their prying eyes out. I overhear Kai speak to the girl’s friend in the hallway as I get to the bottom of what happened here.

  “Talk, brother.” Wanting the poor girl to keep whatever dignity she has left, even in death, I cover her naked form with a sheet as Mickey does his best to explain.

  Fisting his hair, he pulls the dark strands on end. “I met her at the club party last night. She was into me. I micked her drink and straight up told her what I did to it. ’Cause I’m tryin’ to be more upfront about that kinda shit, ya know? I told her what I wanted to do to her. That she probably wouldn’t feel a thing. Even asked her what tie she wanted around her wrists when I took her ass. I was upfront. I did what Gypsy told me I should start doin’. Let ‘em have a choice. If they don’t wanna do it, they don’t have to drink it.”

  See, he’s turned a corner. Makin’ better choices.

  “She drank it,” I guess.

  “Yes. She drank all of it and was happy to do so.”

  “And you gave her your normal amount?” I glance over my shoulder at Gypsy, who corroborates Mickey’s story with a slow, solitary nod.

  Eyes buggin’ out of his skull, my naked brother’s head bobs the affirmative. “The same drug I always give ‘em. Same amount. Same everything.”

  “Then how did she die?”

  “She was breathin’ when I took her.” Mickey points to the blue tie on the floor. “I used that on her wrists. Gypsy was there for all of it. He watched me. He saw she was alive. After I came, I cleaned everyone up. Like I always do. I untied her. Then I went and found her friend she’d left with Viper. They were done, so she came back here to be with her friend ‘til she woke up.”

  “And, where were you?” I ask.

  “Here. With everyone else. We let ‘em have the bed. Me and Gypsy took the couch.” Mickey jerks his chin at the blue sofa covered in blankets and pillows, beneath the only window in their room.

  “Then what?”

  “We all went to sleep, and she never woke up,” he explains.

  “They took drugs before comin’ here last night,” our VP calls from the hall.

  Ah. That makes far more sense. “She probably OD’d, Mick. That’s not on you.”

  Expelling a pent-up breath, Mickey’s shoulders deflate in relief as he turns to face his best friend. Gypsy opens his arms and Mickey comes in for a long, far too intimate hug for me to bear witness to. I give them my back to do whatever works for them.

  “You know who to call,” I yell to Kai, referencing the person who’s gotta come, pick up, and then dispose of the body in whatever manner necessary for her family to get closure, but so nothing can lead back to the Sacred Sinners. The only actual issue is the friend. The club whore who could talk. Will talk. She’s worked up. That’s what they do. Then comes the cops breathing down our necks. All of it’s such an ugly thing. Dealing with war and then this, seven days before I marry Kit.

  “Already done,” Kai responds.

  Good man. Kai’s come a long fuckin’ way. Stepped up and took charge.

  Knowin’ Kai and I gotta have a sit down with Big to discuss how we wanna handle this new club whore predicament, I exit Mickey and Gypsy’s room, and go straight to church, to get this meeting over with. ’Cause I’ve got more pressing matters to handle, like feeding my woman my cock, among other things.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  KIT

  An awfully sexy man straddles an equally sexy piece of steel in front of our house. Booted feet on the ground, he revs the engine. “Come on, love. Let’s go for a ride.” He smiles, revving a second time for show.

  Standing on our porch, arms tucked over my chest, my head cocks to the side. “I didn’t think that was allowed.” The we’re at war and don’t wanna die is left unspoken.

  The hot biker double taps the Sergeant-at-Arms patch on his chest as if that somehow negates the rules. As if he’s above club law. What do I know? He might be.

  Gunz thumbs to the back of his bike and the seat there just for me. I glance down at my clothes—jeans, t-shirt, no shoes. The norm as of late. I spent half the morning working in the compound’s shared garden. Soiled knees aren’t exactly all the rage.

  Flicking my eyes to him, then my bare toes, I wiggle the pink polished things for emphasis. What does the man do? Smiles wider. Full teeth, shining between a thick, graying beard. He fusses around with his saddlebag and produces a pair of women’s black leather boots out of thin air, like Mary Poppins’s bag of wonders. Laces tied together, he drapes them over his handlebar, wearing the smuggest expression I’ve seen in ages.

  “Those for me?” I clasp my hands together at my breasts and pretend to swoon like a damsel in a fairytale.

  Playing right along, Gunz puffs his chest out. “You’ll have to put ‘em on and see.” He winks, ever the flirt.

  Knowing I can’t try anything on without socks, I gesture to the front door. “I’ll grab—”

  Before the words can leave my mouth, that damn man produces a pair of black crew socks from his Mary Poppin’s bag and drapes them over the bootlaces.

  “Are there any other surprises you’d like to share from that bag, babe?” I double-check because it seems someone’s come prepared for whatever it is he has up that sleeve.

  “Not yet. Now put ‘em on, so we can blow this popsicle stand.”

  Dancing down the front steps, his arm then curls around my waist as I snag the new boots and socks from the bike. Gunz draws me in, and I do what any sane woman would—I plant a big, sloppy, grateful kiss on his lips. Gunz chuckles on impact before slating our mouths together and claiming me like a beast. Tongues dueling for dominance, my brain turns to mush, and my panties catch fire. Lost in the moment, I claw at his clothes, not giving a single damn where we are. The quicker we’re naked, the better.

  Wrenching his lips away from mine with a pained groan, Gunz’s hooded gaze stares down at me as I force air to enter my lungs. He boops my nose with a finger. “You’re gonna be the end of me.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I slide my hand over Gunz’s thigh, into the juncture, right alongside his erection. Teasing the tip through his denim, I innocently bite my lip as he gasps, then growls, when he realizes what I’m trying to do. He pries my hand off before we get ourselves into trouble.

  I need to see it.

  I need to play with it.

  He goes down on me… Every. Single. Day.

  Not once has he let me do what I want. To explore and taste him. It’s driving me crazy.

  “Get dressed, love. We’ve got places to go. People to see.”

  Grumbling a slew of unpleasantries, I stomp dramatically over to the steps of our house, boots in hand, plop down, and proceed to do as instructed, all the while glaring at him—partly because I’m sexually frustrated and partly out of fun. What can I say? I love this man.

  Gunz watches me pull on the socks and the boots, wearing the sexiest smile known to mankind. What I did to deserve this guy, I’ll never know, but I’m gonna appreciate every minute.

  Sufficiently dressed for a ride, I use Gunz’s shoulder for support as I swing my leg over and mount the back of his Harley. He downs the pegs for me to place my feet on before reaching into his bag of wonders and handing me a matte black half-helmet. I strap it on as he slides a pair of black sunglasses over his eyes.

  “You ready to ride?!” he hollers over the rumble of his bike.

  “No helmet for you?”

  “I’ll be fine, love.”

  “Erik.” That’s not gonna work for me.

  “Kit,” he mocks.

  “Helmet.”

  “Love, we’re not goin’ far.”

  I don’t care. “We’re at war. You need a helmet. You’ve already had two surgeries. I’m gonna guess ridin’ wasn’t in the doc’s approved notes, but we’re doin’ it anyhow. Helmet, babe.”

  It’s the least he can do to protect himself.

  Gunz nods stiffly in agreement, unhappy with my demand. He pulls out his phone, fires off a text, and less than a minute later, Adam comes running from the clubhouse with a helmet similar to mine in hand.

  “Hey, Mom,” he greets, delivering the protective shell to his father.

  “Hey, back. Thanks for bringin’ it.”

  “No problem. Stay safe.” Adam taps the side of my leg and gives a chin lift to his father before jogging back to the clubhouse.

  My guy secures the helmet on his head. “There. Better?” he grumbles, knocking the side with his fist.

  From behind, I squeeze him around the middle, careful not to get too low and bother his stitches. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” He pats the back of my hand before repositioning my hold around him.

  Settled on his Harley, I relax the best I can, given I haven’t ridden on one of these in forever, as Gunz heels up his stand and gets us rollin’. White Boy opens the front gate for us to leave, and before I know it, we’re cruising on the open road. Cool wind in my face, warm sun on my back, and a beautiful man in my arms.

  The longer we ride, the more my muscles ease. The stress I’ve been carrying for months fades, replaced by a calm I’ve never felt before. This is where I belong. Each day, I heal a little more from what happened. Each day, I’m accepted into a world I never realized I needed. In a week, I marry this man.

  Chin resting on his shoulder, I close my eyes and fly. A mishmash of happy, sad tears paint my face, disappearing just as fast as they come. Their remnants a memory on the wind, and with them goes the past, the pain, and the fear of what was or is to be.

  Reaching town, Gunz rides through streets I’ve never been down before until we pull up to a large, concrete building at the city center. He parks in the only space available, drops his stand, and cuts the engine.

  “What’re we doing here?” I ask, taking in my new surroundings—there’s a water fountain on the lawn and bright, colorful flowers planted everywhere. Old, well-kept brick buildings line the street, each filled with cute mom-and-pop shops.

  “Gettin’ our marriage license. To make this legal.” From his bag of wonders, Gunz procures a manilla envelope and hands it back to me. “All our documents are in there.”

  Oh.

  I unclasp the packet and peek inside. He wasn’t lying when he said all our stuff’s here. Down to my previous divorce decree. Even my driver’s license. Sneaky, sneaky man.

  With his help, I dismount Gunz’s bike and remove my helmet on the sidewalk as he does the same seated on his Harley. We rest our safety gear on our seats before climbing the courthouse steps hand-in-hand to make things official. Less than fifteen minutes later, we’re walking back down those same steps an envelope richer.

  Next to his bike, Gunz pulls me in by the waist and nuzzles the side of my throat. “How ya feel?” His facial hair brushes over my flesh, making me shiver.

  “Like I’m about to be married.” I swallow hard at the truth as nerves bubble in my gut like a witch’s cauldron.

  A pair of sexy lips drag up my neck to the shell of my ear, where he whispers, “To me.”

  “To you,” I whisper in return.

  My man pulls back to look me in the eye. “You ready for that?”

  “Yes. Are you?” I am ready. Nervous, but ready. Scared, but ready.

  “We wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Somehow reading my unease like he always does, Gunz extracts two Dum Dums from the inside of his leather vest, removes both wrappers from the orbs, and offers them to me to pick from.

  Knowing it isn’t the polite thing to do, but not caring either way, I steal both and stick them in my mouth anyhow. One in each cheek. Cherry and strawberry.

  Amused crinkles at the corner of Gunz’s gorgeous blue eyes surface just before a chuckle emits, accompanied by a head tilt and a lopsided smirk. He boops me on the nose then leans in to kiss me there before extracting another Dum Dum for himself. He pops it into his mouth. “It’s gonna be okay, love. We’re gonna get through this.”