Chapter Four
Feral Heartbeat
Roisin
No one had ever held onto me like that before. I kind of felt bad for carrying on about him not being Catholic. It really wasn’t something I cared about one way or the other, but I knew it would matter to Sean. Not enough to call it off, apparently, but I saw the way he winced. I feathered my thumb along the outside of the stranger’s hand.
He was still a stranger to me. Father McDaniels had started the ceremony, but I was so moved by the man beside me and his brief show of emotion that I’d missed the part where he welcomed the crowd and gave our names.
His leather vest said Dirty Savages on the back. I’d heard of them. They were rivals of Zander and the assholes who’d robbed me.
I had to admit, there were worse people to be stuck with.
I took in the patch on his chest that said, President, and after a few moments of studying him, I decided he was kind of cute for an older guy. He had a little bit of heart, too, so maybe that grumpy demeanor and stern gaze would be tolerable after I got used to it.
“Wyatt, if you would repeat after me,” Father McDaniels instructed, and my gaze snapped back to his face.
Wyatt?
He didn’t look like a Wyatt. His eyes were dark-brown jewels earlier, glistening wildly when I first met him. Now, they had a hint of green in them, but were still more brown than anything. His hair was dark and short. Fine, tiny lines emerged at the corner of his eyes as he subtly squinted, focusing on the priest and his words. With his head turned just slightly, I noticed a scar, high on his neck that I hadn’t noticed when I took his hand earlier.
I hated speaking in front of people. At the university, I once had to do a presentation for a biology class and lost my voice in front of thirty people as I stood before them. Somehow, this felt different. None of the people behind us even registered beyond a passing thought in my mind. I’d even stopped sulking about wearing a dress, something I hated.
The only thing that mattered, or existed for the next twenty minutes was us, and McDaniels.
Not that any of that saved me when it was my turn to speak.
My brain went to war with my tongue.
“Repeat after me, child,” he began, and I nodded in a delayed fashion.
Somewhere along the way, I lost focus, and my gaze returned to Wyatt. I became hyper-aware of his intent stare a split second before I realized McDaniels wasn’t speaking anymore. The warmth in my cheeks made me inwardly curse. I had no idea how long I’d been standing there, checked out.
“I– I Roisin Kilbride,” I started out strong, staring into those hazel eyes.
They weren’t squinting, or grumpy, or glistening with rage. They were sympathetic and it gave me confidence, until Sean cleared his throat, and I glanced toward the sound.
The sea of strange faces staring back at me instantly drained the warmth from my cheeks.
“You must say that you—” Father McDaniels started to hiss in that way he sometimes did at me in the confession booth, and my hands started to shake.
Wyatt collected them in his, and reached for my jaw, steering my attention, and wide-eyed gaze back to him.
“Do you want to marry me?”
Nobody had bothered to ask me, and I didn’t expect anyone would. Hearing the question out loud kind of knocked me for a second loop.
“I– want to get the fuck out of here– With you.” I urgently whispered back, causing McDaniels to suck in a breath.
Wyatt grunted.
My legs shook and I inwardly fought the urge to move before I passed out in front of God and everyone.
“She does,” Wyatt loudly announced to the crowd, before quietly snapping at the priest, “Let’s have them rings.”
“Aye,” McDaniels bobbed his head furiously and fetched them off the nearby stand.
I swallowed hard and watched him slide the ring over my knuckle. I tried to control the shaking so I wouldn’t drop his ring when it was my turn. The sight of his hand was something I hadn’t expected, and apparently, neither had McDaniels.
He sucked in a gentle breath as Wyatt extended it, revealing a perfect revolver tattooed down his hand. The barrel extended the length of his first two fingers and made me smile appreciatively. It was gorgeous art. The shading was highly detailed and worked with his tendons to really make the design pop. His ring and pinky finger contained the letters FI and a quick peek at the other hand confirmed my suspicion, Semper was spelled out on it.
So, Wyatt was a biker president and a marine. Somehow, I found my new husband hotter with every detail I discovered.
I got the ring in place, and when I looked up at him, he flashed a tiny, grateful smile.
I was still trying not to snort at McDaniels’ reaction to the ink, his eyes had even bugged a little. To be fair, though, it may have had more to do with the many skulls covering Wyatt’s arms than the words or the firearm.
“Very good. Then I pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt Nash. You may kiss your bride.”
Nash.
My name was Nash now?
Did he just tell this man to kiss me?
My brain fired in so many directions, and then that pistol-stained paw came up, claimed my cheek and all my thoughts melted away. I got goosebumps and clenched clean to my core when he came in close.
His peck to the opposite cheek, however, was like a cold bucket of water on my feral heartbeat.