Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
RATTLER
She stands beside me in a cute summer dress, which is a great improvement over what she was wearing when I went to my room to collect her. For some fucking reason, she’d thought turning up for her wedding in her Royals-issued uniform was a good idea. I’d quickly disillusioned her.
While she hadn’t mentioned it, she couldn’t hide her smirk when the clerk asked for our IDs.
When I’d taken out a valid driver’s license in her name and placed it in front of him along with mine, she’d stared at it in disbelief.
Yeah, Pippa is a fucking genius. I wished I’d been able to take out my phone and capture her image as she’d leaned over to examine it. Her face was a fucking picture.
Saint, Pippa, Short, Bronwyn and Bullseye had accompanied us to the clerk’s office.
The presence of the women, who’d obviously been given some form of the life-and-death story to persuade them to come along—or maybe they’d just wanted to see me squirm—had negated the impression Ames was being pressured into this marriage.
Pippa’s totally faked enthusiasm and out-of-character squeals had certainly helped the process along.
We’d then returned to the clubhouse. Unlike Freak’s wedding, Words didn’t ham up his role, restricting himself to the basics.
Do I take her, does she take me? Her reluctant response only given under coercion and the threat of the number of men staring emotionlessly at her.
Bullseye had somehow come up with two rings.
I think she tried to break my finger as she shoved mine on.
Of course, I made a show of sliding the one I’d been given onto hers.
Kiss the bride? Fuck no. I wasn’t going to give her an excuse for slapping me around the face for a second time. I’d allowed the first. There’d be no more. She was soon going to learn who the boss was.
Words disappeared to return the marriage license, and Stalker encouraged us both to the bar, but while I partook of a whisky, Ames had only soda, even though we’d have overlooked that she was underage.
Trixie had produced some food, but Ames had no appetite.
There was no cake, no speeches, and no one raised their glasses to us.
My wife acted like an automaton. Her face had paled as she realised her fate was now sealed and tied to mine.
For my part, I felt numb. This marriage is totally fake, just a ruse to draw her brother out into the open, so I wasn’t bothered about that.
What cut me deep down to the soul was that, for all intents and purposes, I was being banished from the club for an indeterminate amount of time.
I drained my glass, then requested a refill, wondering how long it would be before I was surrounded by brothers again.
One million dollars for me. Four for the club.
I repeated the mantra in my mind. Of course, we’d have to wait for years to reap our reward, but pleasure deferred didn’t mean it was being denied.
I tried to focus on where I’d spend the money.
A new bike? House? Fuck, it was more cash than I’d dreamed of.
Maybe I’d just put it away for when I could no longer ride.
Before the wedding, Genie had drawn up the contract, which she had duly signed and sealed, though it had yet to be delivered. But Pippa confirmed it was airtight. On her twenty-fifth birthday, she was bound to give us the money.
If she was still alive.
Problem is, as it stood, I’m not sure it’s only Stone who wants to kill her. Secluded with her in that cabin? I couldn’t be certain either of us would survive.
At last, Bullseye told me it’s time.
I’d rattled the cages of all my brothers at one time or another. Yet now they all lined up to slap my back, shake my hand, and rush to reassure me they’d make haste to ensure I’d only be away for a limited time.
Then came the moment I knew had been coming and dreaded.
It felt too solemn, almost ceremonial, when I removed my cut and passed it into the safekeeping of Bullseye’s hands.
Then, feeling naked as a civilian, I’d walked outside, pausing to stroke my fingers across my bike before passing the key into Freak’s hand.
He assured me he’d garage it and care for it as if it were his own.
I’d turned, only to ensure Ames was following me, and with a hand to her back — not so much gentlemanly as making sure she didn’t run, which I was certain she’d do given half a chance — led her to an anonymous truck.
Trixie rushed up, whispered something to Ames that I couldn’t hear, and then I helped her climb into the passenger seat. After one final glance around, my chin lift returned by my brothers, I hoisted myself into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and headed out through the gates.
My eyes kept flicking into the rearview until the compound was out of sight, my heart full of grief as if I were mourning someone who’d died.
We’d only gone a mile before my wife suddenly covered her mouth and pleaded, “Please stop.”
Seeing her pallor was not just white but green, I’d pulled over to the side. She fumbled with the handle, then threw herself out and proceeded to bring up all the contents of her stomach. Her retching got to me. I felt like vomiting myself.
She didn’t want this. Neither did I. Perhaps it’s because I shared her feeling that I approached her instead of leaving her to cope alone. While someone being sick normally turned my guts, I’d forced myself to gather her hair and hold it back.
“It’s going to be okay,” I told her, then steeled myself for her reply.
“No, it’s not.”
After little more than a thirty-minute drive, during which we climb over five thousand feet in elevation, we arrive at our destination.
As I turn off the engine, I survey our new, and hopefully very temporary, home.
It’s rustic, but charming. Built of logs and seeming to disappear into the surrounding trees.
I eye the log pile off to one side, thinking that signifies work for me in the future, but also note the solar panels covering the roof, so at least the electricity is covered.
Exiting the truck, the temperature is pleasant, while only slightly lower than what we left in the town it feels less oppressive, fresher. Pleasant enough for now, but I hope the Stone situation will be quickly resolved so we’re not living here in winter. This area gets snow.
The cabin is set well back out of sight from the road and away from the campgrounds and clusters of cabins rented to tourists. Instead of traffic, I hear birdsong. But fuck me, I hate being this close to the compound and being forbidden to set foot on our land.
Seven years ago, I found the club and worked my balls off to get through the prospecting stage.
My life before I found the Kings, I try hard not to remember.
It’s as if I started living at the point they’d voted me in.
I’m already feeling withdrawal symptoms, wishing my brothers were around.
I know I’m going to be fuckin’ lonely here, with only a helpless bitch for company.
One million dollars, I repeat in my head.
Taking out a burner phone, I shoot off a quick text to Bullseye.
Rattler: Arrived safe
Prez: Keep it that way
A thud, a scrape, and a muffled cursing have me heading around to the other side of the truck, where I find Ames pulling herself to her feet and brushing leaves and dirt off her jeans.
I bite back the laugh at the indignant look on her face, and am, yet again, going to comment on her clumsiness.
The truck’s lifted, and she must have forgotten that when she’d gotten out.
I suppose I should have done the gentlemanly thing and gone around to help her. Well, shoot me. I didn’t. And perhaps it’s a lesson she needed to learn. Not that she’ll be going anywhere for a while, or at least until we know what Stone is doing, or has been taken out of the picture.
Problem is that my trips away from the cabin will also be limited.
Fuck my life.
Waiting a moment to check that only her pride’s been damaged, I return to the rear of the truck and open the tailgate. Balancing on the step, I lift one of the many boxes we’d brought with us out. I turn to step down with it, only to find she’s waiting with outstretched hands.
“I got this.” My voice is gruff.
She shrugs. “We’ll get moved in faster if I help.”
Despite my better instincts, I pass down the first box. “Don’t fuckin’ drop it.”
She rolls her eyes and makes a show of securing it in her hands. “Do you want me to take it straight inside?”
“Nah, let's get everything unloaded, then we’ll sort out where it all goes.” I turn back, reach for another load, and again pass it to her. Though I’m loath to admit it, it goes quicker with her help. Soon, the truck bed is empty, and a pile of boxes has built up.
I even see that, in placing them, she’s sorted them as much as she can.
The lighter ones are obviously our clothing and personal shit.
Then there are the open cartons packed full of provisions that will hopefully last us for a few weeks.
I’d been told there’s supposedly a large freezer and a fridge inside.
Among the pile are a couple of dozen crates of beer and two boxes of the white wine she’d admitted to liking, occasionally.
The sealed cases that are for my eyes only are left to one side.
She points at the latter. “I don’t know what you want to do with them, but I guess the frozen food should get into the freezer soon.” Not waiting for my agreement, she picks up a box, adjusts her stance to take the weight, and walks to the front door of the cabin.
Ignoring the weapons and security equipment I’ve gotten on my list to install, I collect another load of the frozen shit. I balance the box on my hip as I extract the key and turn it in the lock, then step aside to allow her to precede me inside.