CHAPTER NINETEEN
RENA
T he irate din of the shower drones, rousing me from my sleep. You’d think that would be an odd way to describe water, but trauma and heightened emotions have a way of bleeding into the atmosphere, infiltrating everything in their wake.
Inanimate objects absorb the torment.
Walls whisper.
Water croons a woeful hymn.
I’m not sure how I know it or why the very molecules of the air are agitated, the atoms in a frenzy. It’s like Ty’s nightmare. I woke before he started stirring, as though my bones ached for him, my skin itching with his discomfort before he even expressed it.
It was the way the room felt the night my parents died. Even the log walls harbored shock and grief. They pulsated with anticipation, withering from the heat of the blaze. The charred memories. Miles away, and smog billowed around us. Hazy.
And when we got the call about Mercy being beaten and left for dead, the floor and ceiling palpitated as the phone trilled, alerting us that life was about to be upended. There was a buzzing from the fluorescent bulbs in the hospital as the doctor said it would be touch and go for the first twenty-four hours. And everything about the dingy tiles and drab colors and framed, painted flowers cried out that she was leaning toward the go scenario.
Even when she pulled through and Ryker’s shoulders garnered a brief reprieve from convulsing in grief, the world was an apocalyptic gray.
That same supernatural caution happened when Ivy went missing , and no one would tell me anything. But it was there, lurking in the silence. In the lack of answers. Remaining even when she showed up at our door and reverberating in the empty space she left behind until we were notified that her father passed away.
Sometimes, I miss the signs, or the world is simply too flippant or fickle to share for certain occasions. The afternoon that Celeste and Ivy were abducted from the dress shop by the Skulls, I didn’t sense a thing. We were laughing when that bomb crashed through our glee.
Oblivious.
But that’s not the case here.
So, yeah, the water slapping against the marble tiles screams agony. Which is why I roll out of bed and promptly pad across the floor to the en suite, ignoring the hole in the plaster, like we did all day. Because we both know I fucking pushed, and that was wrong. Except if I hadn’t, I might not feel so entitled to ogle the tawny-brown god before me.
Inked. And chiseled. And downright delicious.
Beads of water shrewdly cling to him. They’re no fools. Angry maybe, but still gripping the goods—his taut, corded back muscles, thick thighs, and the round globes of his ass.
His eyes slice to mine over his shoulder, and in his gaze, I see the most unfiltered Ty I’ve ever glimpsed.
Broken and devastated. Shaken and guilty.
My heart rattles in my chest. “What happened? Is Gage okay? ”
“He’s fine.” His answer fills the steamy bathroom with stern finality, a gravelly rumble echoing off the solid surfaces, but I swear he’s cloaked in failure.
“Did you not … were you able …” I’m not sure how to phrase my inquiry. I’ve been privy to how my brothers conduct business matters with those who wronged us, but we don’t talk about it. Never. We talk around it.
“Neutralized.” It’s one curt word, leaving me more confused than ever. Baffled as to why he’s so despondent if he accomplished what he’d set out to do.
He twists the faucet knob, and when the water retreats, he slicks the scattered and trickling beads off his skin. His flattened hands glide over his arms, then his pecs and torso, and finally, he lifts each leg to swipe at the droplets. It’s weird. Does everyone do that? Am I missing a step? All I ever do is grab a towel. I don’t think my shower rituals are what’s important tonight though.
As he pushes open the glass door, he turns to face me, and my eyes snag on his impressive V and his huge dick. Even flaccid, it’s just … that fucker was inside me. And it’s embellished. Bedazzled. Not that I have room to talk about that, but it’s unexpected on Ty.
So much is.
Like his silent brooding when he notices me gaping. That would ordinarily bring a smile to his face. Maybe I don’t know that to be true. None of this is ordinary. I’m making myself dizzy. Speechless and fretting because something is amiss, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Maybe he’s racked with guilt about my brothers again. In spite of the pining he copped to, it was a drastic switch in direction from I should walk away to you’re mine . All in the span of a couple of days, even counting the texts we’d exchanged.
What if he’s changed his mind?
No. Ty wouldn’t do that. After fucking me, he’d stick around even if he didn’t want to. Because it was the right thing to do. That thought sickens me. And suddenly, this steam is oppressive. Burdensome.
He steps into me, smashing me against the wall. Every rigid, soaked inch of him molds to my dwarfed frame so that I become his towel. My clothes and skin and hair absorb the stubborn droplets he couldn’t slick away. And my breaths crash into his glistening chest, arrogantly producing a flourishing of bumps.
Without a word, he threads his damp fingers into my hair and angles my face, tilting me up to him. His hollow cognac irises meander over my features. He looks pained, confirming the cryptic confessions of the slapping drizzle. And when our lips collide, the union is no less a depiction of sorrow or torment. He’s apologizing and seeking and excavating, all with impassioned strokes of his demanding tongue.
There are plans woven through this kiss. A message or an outline of events to come. But it’s not a fairy tale or a love letter. It’s ominous. His warnings flit through my head with every commanding sweep of his tongue, every growl, every roving touch of his zealous fingers.
“My family and I aren’t shackles. We’re cinder blocks in the ocean.”
“I’m not a compass, Rena. I’ll drown you in darkness.”
Since I thrive in the dark, I press into him, wrap my arms around his neck, climb my legs to his waist, and return every touch and pant and moan. The apologies and the searching and the mining for more. Because Ty will never be too much for me. His anguish is a shattering I wasn’t anticipating, but I don’t care how many fragmented pieces the two of us are in; I’ll gladly spend my days gluing us together. That’s the response I purr into his mouth, hoping he can read my gestures, like I’m reading his.
After a nibble on my lip, he frees a ragged breath, smacks my ass, and glares at me. Brows furrowed. Eyes crinkled. Teeth gnawing on his inner cheek as his Adam’s apple bobs.
The expression is either rage or regret or lust. Can’t be sure. It’s intense. Although his hard cock, smashed between us, would suggest the latter. But something tells me, all three prevail.
“Get dressed,” he orders, dropping my legs. “We’re leaving in a half hour.”
Nothing about that makes sense, so I feel compelled to catalog all the reasons his command is ridiculous. “It’s got to be after midnight. You said we couldn’t leave. You promised to fuck me tonight. And your cock seems in favor of that promise.”
“Plans change,” is all he says, and my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, jostling around with the acid.
“What kind of plans?” My voice quavers through that whispered query that is so much more of a plea, my eyes instantly welling with tears.
And he’s on me again, cradling my cheeks. “All plans. There is very little we can count on.” His head slants in compassion. “But this? Us? That won’t change. We’re set in stone.”
“Okay.” I nod inside his grip, still wrestling with apprehension about his newfound conviction for us.
His face sobers, resolute and dour. “You’re going to have to trust me. Can you do that?”
Of course I trust him. But I don’t say that because my pulse is accelerating at an alarming speed and I’m growing antsy. “I think maybe that question should be flipped around since you’re not disclosing what the hell is going on.”
He barks an indignant laugh. “You’ll know soon enough, Little Moon. I’ll answer concerns as they arrive. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now, I need you to get ready.”
“Fine,” I volley, conveying an aloofness that is nonexistent. “What should I wear? Fashion is all about appropriateness. I wouldn’t don a gown to go hiking, and I wouldn’t sport combat boots at a ball.”
“You would wear the combat boots,” he retorts.
“Maybe,” I concede. “Depending on the cause of the ball. If it was in honor of warriors, combat boots would be far more apropos than stilettos.”
That finally causes his lips to twitch with a ray of adoration.
He pecks my forehead and struts away to the sink in all his naked glory, eyeing me in the mirror. “Wear something that makes you feel good. You’re always the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, regardless of what clothes drape that gorgeous body, so all that matters to me is that you feel it.”
That squeezes all the foreboding angst right out of my chest, so I bite back a smile and twist to leave, tossing out, “I assume I’ll be losing the ankle bracelet?”
“Of course,” he returns with his haughty tenor. “You’ll be tethered to me.”
That should ring out like another warning, but all I hear is Ty Reynolds falling for me.
When we park in the lot across from a towering hotel and casino, Ty informs me that this is our destination. I’m puzzled. I thought we were hiding out, and here we are, in the heart of the city, but like he said, plans change.
If it wasn’t for the tension emanating from him, making the air stale, an excitement would doubtlessly be thrumming through me. He’s dressed to kill in an all-black suit—a necklace and some of his ink peeking above his open collar, his Rolex and rings glimmering in the dark—which complements my black-and-pink strapless dress with dual thigh slits, classy but chic and teasing the perfect amount of cleavage and leg to leave me feeling sexy. The city is alive and thumping. It’s an unbelievable start to a date. But something is still awry.
He guides me up to a sky lounge on the top level. It’s two in the morning, and the sign says it closes at midnight.
“I don’t think it’s open.”
He ignores me and glides his hand over the small of my back as he flings open the door like he owns the place. As soon as we enter, Gage greets us.
“All clear,” he says over my head as he envelops me in a brief hug.
“Thanks, Big Guy.” Ty gives him a curt nod, laces our fingers together, and leads me out to a balcony that overlooks the city.
A small gasp catches in my throat as I take it all in. “This is stunning.”
The chilly air hits me. Even though we were out in it minutes ago, it’s fresh up here. Down below, it’s stagnant with a stench of coffee, alcohol, weed, and vanilla. Crowds and chaos. Here in the clouds, under the navy shadows of night, where no one can spot us, it’s invigorating.
“I’m glad you think so.” His eyes bore into the side of my face, a laden pause hanging between us until I peel my gaze off the twinkling rainbow lights and grace him with my attention so that he continues. “We’re getting married here.”
“What?” I shake my head at him and laugh at this out-of-the-blue topic. “I’m not sure we should be looking at venues yet. There hasn’t even been a proposal. Or dating for that matter. Talk about getting ahead of ourselves. And once we sell Axel on this, he’ll want to throw us something huge at La Lune Noire.”
“No.” He drags me closer, anchoring our hips together. “Tonight. We’re getting married here. Right now. Well, in twenty minutes.”
“In twenty minutes,” I parrot, as if that will enable me to digest the absolute insanity that is falling out of his mouth.
“Yes.” One unbudging word.
I step back with a huff as the lit-up world spins around me, and my back crashes into the solid balcony railing. “What the hell is happening? Two days ago, you didn’t think us being together was a good idea. Yesterday, before you left, we agreed to take it slow with my brothers. And now, you want to pledge forever to me?”
His thumb and index finger latch on to my jaw, lifting my chin. “ I pledged forever to you the second my cock sank inside you. I told you that. And I …”
“Why?”
No hesitation. “Because you’re mine and I won’t risk losing you.”
He’s saying all the right things, but it’s all wrong.
“You won’t lose me, Ty. I …”
Stepping closer, he cages me against the railing, the city behind me and the man of my fantasies before me. His long limbs bracket me with both comfort and certitude. “Your brothers will respect this marriage. They’ll have to. Without it, they could try to take you away from me, and I won’t tempt fate like that.”
That’s not completely off base. But I was prepared to go head-to-head with them. I’m a grown woman. And Axel will be so glad I’m safe that he’ll be amenable. I know it. But this …
“Axel will be devastated. And Jax … if he got married without me, I’d … we’re connected, he and I; it will kill him. All of them. Ryker, Cash, Maddox. They’re difficult, and they fucked up, but they’re still mine. I can’t do this to them. I won’t.”
His jaw clenches. “I didn’t ask.”
“What?” The one-word gasp falls from my lips with a whoosh. No breath remains in my lungs.
“There’s a reason I didn’t get down on one knee and ask you to marry me, Rena. God knows you deserve that. You deserve everything. But this isn’t a choice I can give you. You already chose to be with me, and you will be, even if that isn’t what you want anymore. It has to be this way.”
“Ty, what happened?” Tears stream down my cheeks in utter disillusionment. This is everything I’ve wanted turned upside down. “Talk to me. I don’t understand. I do want to be with you. I’ve always believed you were my forever. It’s not that. It’s just that my family—”
“We’re your family now,” he insists, wiping my cheeks and peppering me with kisses that lend a perplexing tenderness to this militant acquisition. “Ivy, Celeste, Felicity. Liam, Wells, Gage. And me. Me. That’s who you belong to.”
An exasperated huff billows out of me. “Isn’t it a little fucked up that my new family is involved in something I know nothing about? You still haven’t told me what you all fell into .”
He leans in closer to my ear for what I’m assuming is a privacy precaution. “Wells and Ivy are leaders in a cabal called KORT. Liam and I are the seconds-in-command, and Gage is the enforcer.”
“A cabal?” I whisper, trying to grasp that information. It seems heavier than the Mafia roles I suspected. “Powerful?”
His scruff grazes my cheek as he responds, “The most.”
“And the name? Is it a family or—”
“It’s inspired by Knights of the Round Table—an acronym for it. There are five seats—three belong to Mafia families, another to a secret society, and another to a financial tycoon.”
So, the Mafia wasn’t completely off base. But something else hits me as a far bigger consideration in light of this.
My heart thrashes, and my throat grows dry as I strive to click the pieces together. “And my birth father—you know him? Who is he?”
“Johnny Balzano. He’s a leader of KORT.”
The name aligns with my findings. But the position … no wonder Axel lied. It sounds messy. And the death threat comes into sharper focus. Ty said involvement with his family was a death sentence, so maybe the threat from Balzano that I overheard Axel mention boils down to KORT involvement. I’d like to know if my birth father is at all a decent person, but Ty would assert that even he and my brothers aren’t good people, so I ask it the only way I know how to get to the root of what I’m searching for.
“Does Ivy respect him?”
“No.” He leaves it at that until my head lolls back, my gaze imploring his for more, so he expands. “She hates him.”
It’s as though this tower crumples around us, demolished and dusty in a heap of wreckage. I’m weak and lightheaded and surrounded by ruins. I trust Ivy’s read on people more than anyone’s. She always just knows. It makes not being a Noire even worse somehow. I’ve always been proud of my lineage. Although maybe this isn’t so different. My other father wasn’t good by any stretch.
What the hell was my mom tied up in?
“What does that all mean for me?” I ask, the full weight of my upended reality cementing me to this balcony, teetering on the ledge.
He said once I knew, there was no way out. A death-sentence secret.
“Aside from you needing to work through your feelings about Balzano, everything and nothing.” He grips the sides of my face, dropping his forehead to mine with a promise and a petition. “I won’t let the rest touch you. Not completely. I would die first before I allowed it to rob you of anything you want.”
There’s a mournful melody between his words, heightening their already-sinister nature. The notes that don’t escort lyrics often set the mood and are more telling than the story. It all has me poking.
“There’s still so much unsaid between us. You’ve got scars all over your body, and I have no idea what they’re from. And I don’t even know what happened to your parents or your sisters.”
“The scars are from when I was a POW,” he supplies with ease. “And my father died in a car accident when I was a little kid.”
“And your mom and sisters?” I probe even though it’s evident he purposely left them out. He can’t be suggesting marriage and hide from me.
He sighs and chews on the inside of his cheek. “I’d prefer not to discuss it on our wedding night, but I will if you need me to.”
There’s no doubt that his willingness to tell me is a grand gesture. It’s written in every strained line on his face, erasing all the joy and sweetness that used to be synonymous with Ty. And of course there’s the revelation that he has expectations for our wedding—that he wants this to be special—tugging at my heartstrings, so I settle on the minimum.
“Give me the abbreviated version. ”
He works through a laborious swallow. “My sisters were molested by my stepfather. I noticed something off with the girls, something that told me they were ashamed, hiding, nervous around him, but they wouldn’t talk to me. Instead of … I confronted him so he killed them, my mother, and himself while I was at baseball practice that afternoon. I found them. It was three months before my eighteenth birthday.”
A handful of obliterating sentences.
“Oh my God, Ty.” The words tumble out, and the anguish drips uncontrollably.
I’m not sure what I thought he’d say. The terror and torment were clear the other night, but … not that.
His passion for the women’s shelter and the way he put Mercy’s needs first mean even more now. All these years later, he’s still trying to save his family.
“Don’t do that,” he demands, collecting my grief on his fingertips. “I can’t have—”
“Okay,” I cut him off because he doesn’t want me to pity him, and I understand that because pity feels weak, and Ty is certainly not weak. “But see?” I contend. “We’ve spent three nights together. We need more time.”
“For what?” he clips.
My fingers dab at the corners of my sticky lashes as I try to compose myself. “People don’t get married after three nights.”
He hauls me against him so that no space remains between us, his body vibrating with … something—determination, desire, desperation, anxiety? I’m not sure. But he holds me like he’s rescuing us both.
“We’re standing in a city where people get married after three hours,” he argues, “so I beg to differ. And it hasn’t only been three nights.”
His voice is husky and rough as he speaks into my ear. “I know the music you listen to—the songs plucked from every genre imaginable—your favorite foods, your coffee order, your fashion sense. I recognized you on a grainy camera when you were wearing a wig and not showing your face, solely by your gait, because I know the way you move. Your eyes are invariably captivating, but never the same—a different color conquering each day. Your lips are always painted pink, you have a frighteningly unhealthy candy addiction, you can’t get out of bed in the morning, and you’re adventurous, bold, loyal, loving. And expressive. You’ve always been the most breathtaking girl I’ve ever seen—carefree and full of life—but I can’t stop envisioning the way your features twisted in ecstasy beneath me because it surpassed any fathomable definition for beauty. So, I have no doubt that I want to study that gorgeous face for the rest of my life.”
He dusts his thumb over my lips, his smoldering eyes ping-ponging between mine. “I’ve been collecting little pieces of you for years—gems I’ve pocketed away. Does it sound like I’ve only wanted you for three days?”
Damn, he can freaking wallop me with his words. My knees falter, and I slump against him. I wish I had recorded that so I could play it over and over again each night as I drifted off to sleep.
But I’m a fighter. He probably knows that too. So, no matter how dazed I am by that astonishing declaration, I’m not done. “And if I still say no?”
“No isn’t an option, Little Moon. We’ve been through that.”
“So, you’d what?” I shrug and arch a challenging brow. “Hold me at gunpoint?”
He chuckles. “Let’s not go there. I don’t want to fight you or force you. But I take care of what’s mine. And that’s you, baby girl. This is happening.”
My breaths quicken, jagged and choppy. This whole prospect is startling and scary. But it’s also exhilarating—his commanding presence, his honest answers, and his staggering admission to knowing me, wanting me.
That obstinate side of me needs more reassurance though. “ Weren’t you frequenting the Noire sex club a few weeks ago? And now, you’re ready to be locked down?”
His fingers swipe up and down my back, scratching over the bare skin above my strapless top—a soothing gesture that doesn’t match the threat he issued. “I understand why that would bother you. But despite what it looked like, I told you the truth that day. I was getting a drink there because I was distraught. About you. Because I was told to stay away and it was killing me. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. And never … never like we’ve been.”
Good God, he came armed tonight.
“I just …” I stammer, at a momentary loss for my argument.
“That’s enough objections.” He has a fierce, savage quality to his gaze as it rakes over me, and he tacks on, “I’m planning to fuck you ferociously at the conclusion of the ceremony, but if you need me to fuck you into compliance first, we can go that route.”
A smile tickles my cheeks. I don’t hate the sound of that. All these years, he’s lured me with his benevolence. Not that the hint of his depraved side wasn’t lurking beneath the surface, but it was never the focus. Jax claimed that made him more dangerous—not knowing what I was getting with him. But I disagree. Ty is the depiction of fortitude, smiling through a life of fire and brimstone.
I told him I only had two speeds, and it doesn’t appear that he’s going to permit me to hide from this, so fuck it . Looks like I’m getting married. But I might as well enjoy the ride.
“You can try to fuck me into submission with your big-dick energy, sailor. I won’t go quietly into the night.”
“You’ll be coming quietly into the night in a few minutes.” With that, he smirks, winks, and steps back to the door, opening it and directing his attention to someone inside. “Leave us,” he orders before closing the door and returning to me.
He flips me around with a swift spin so that I’m facing the city, places my hands on the cool railing, and nudges my legs apart with his foot. Yanking on my hair, he glides his scruffy cheek against mine with a tantalizing bristle, his breath cascading over my skin as he rasps in my ear, “Be a good girl for me. Keep those hands where they are and your whimpers muffled.”
“So confident in your ability to make me whimper?” I jeer, but my challenge is upended by goose bumps erupting on my arms as he delicately drags his fingers over every inch of visible skin. My shoulders tremble with anticipation, and a traitorous purr breaches my lips.
“There she is. I have your sounds memorized,” he croons, rucking my dress up to my waist, “playing on repeat in my mind”—and ripping down my panties—“and every touch that caused them.”
His fingers coast over me, entrance to clit in a tease of friction. “You’re drenched.” Plunge. “Greedy.” Swirl. “You want this.” Pinch. “You’re mine.” Circle. “And you’re too bright and perfect to be kept a secret, Rena. I won’t hide you. I want the world to know who you belong to.”
For all the years he was tight-lipped with me, he sure knows how to make up for it. My heart is swelling out of my chest.
When I hear his zipper, a fervor zings through me, shivers cascading down my limbs in the breezy night air, but I still dole out a taunt. “What if I hate you for this?” I tilt my face to survey his reaction over my shoulder.
He grins against the darkness, his eyes creasing with mirth as he glides his piercing back and forth through my arousal, the cool metal causing ardent tingles to rack through my core. “For fucking you with the city beneath us? You don’t hate anything about this. My filthy girl.”
“For alienating my brothers,” I clarify on a moan and hate myself for mentioning them during such an exquisitely erotic sensation.
“They wouldn’t want any part of this.” He chuckles, his arrogance shining through that snide rebuttal, but then he addresses what I’m really getting at while thrusting his rock-hard length inside me and stealing my breath. “I’ll take my chances. Having you in my arms is worth every risk.”
He pistons his hips with vigor, and I moan again in response .
So freaking full. My heart. My dreams. My body. It’s all him.
Pain and pleasure mingle in an invigorating prickle that is drastically different than our first time. It’s no less raw and real, but this isn’t in the dark or in our private room. This is bold and beautiful and claiming. I’m not exposed here, half naked and hovering over the bustling streets.
I’m owned and seen and valued. Liberated. Like I’ve always craved.
He did it. Smashed every resolve and objection I had to pieces. All the proclamations he’s made in passing flit around me.
“I’ve always been hyperaware of your existence.”
“Everything I am is yours. Everything.”
“Is that what you think? That I don’t want you? That’s not possible. The issue is that I want you too much, Little Moon. I’ve been relegated to an eternal nightmare, and you are the one source of fucking light.”
This isn’t new for him either. He’s barely told me any details about his past, but that eternal nightmare is evident. So, I’ll be the light he needs. It will break my brothers and only solidify the outrage they would’ve pointed at Ty anyway. Even so, whether or not he’s giving me a choice, I’d make it anyway. Being Ty’s is what I’ve always wanted.
But I don’t say any of that because being fucked on this balcony and making him work for me is the freest I’ve ever felt.
With one hand burning into my hip, he snakes the other around me, slinking inside my sweetheart neckline until his fingers clasp my nipple, tinkering with the piercing in a delectable sting.
I purr appreciatively into the muted raucous of the streets far below us. “What’s the point of this? You can’t fuck a commitment out of me.”
The hand on my hip roams to the front, beneath my scrunched dress, and dips down to rouse my clit again. “Want to bet?” he goads. “You’re already succumbing to it—the way your body molds to mine and our heartbeats sync and your weeping cunt clenches my cock. There’s no denying it. By the time you pant my name, you’ll be confident in who you are.”
That strikes a chord because up until he arrived in Vegas, I’d never felt so lost. But he found me—in more ways than one.
It takes a beat for me to respond because his pumps and slams have picked up their pace, his mammoth cock hitting the bull’s-eye every freaking time. Due to that perfect aim and the foray on my clit, I’m nearly heady enough to surrender. But what kind of fool would I be if I didn’t milk this while also being able to claim that I did my due diligence, investigating the wisdom of this life-altering decision?
“Why don’t you spill the goods? I’ve been a little lost, Ty. Who am I?”
“My wife,” he replies without reservation. “I told you, you’ll never be lost again. True north, Little Moon.”
“I’m not your wife yet.” That retort unfurls with a quiver because the city lights are blurring into a streaky rainbow, obscuring all else. Including any coherent thoughts.
“You are,” he says, thrusting so fiercely that the railing cuts into my ribs and my whimpers enwrap us. “Shh,” he coos. “You’re doing so good, taking all of me.” Pump. “I wish you could see this.” Slam. “How perfect we fit.” Harder. “How stunning we look.” More. “You were made for me.”
Made for him. I love that. But I’m not sure I understand the rest.
“What do you mean, I am your wife?” I rush out as I feel my body crest the euphoric wave. Heated and weightlessness. Floating and flying.
His rhythm never wavers as he explains, “This ceremony is just a formality. You’re already my wife, Rena. I drew up the paperwork, signed it for us, backdated it to yesterday, and filed it. So, it’s done. I did this for you. And someday, I’ll give you the wedding of your dreams.”
I wish I could be furious about that. Livid. But he wanted to ensure I was his so much that he executed a hostile takeover with a marriage license, and his orgasm gifts are out of this world, so who am I to complain?
Everything sways and fades and topples around us.
I’m about to inform him that I’m going to come when he hits me with, “Tell me you know who you are, or it all stops. I’m only interested in fucking my wife.”
“Yours, Ty,” I squeak. “Mrs. Reynolds. Don’t stop.”
His hold on me tightens everywhere so that his warmth and weight and scent trump every other element out here. All I feel is him. And all I want is him.
“That’s my good girl,” he praises, wrenching my face to his so that he can stare into my eyes as we plummet off the edge together—the metaphorical edge, of course. Or that would be an unfortunate outcome.
He kisses me wildly, as though he wants to lap up my very soul, but I’m finding that the after with Ty is as passionate as the buildup and even the leap off the summit. How could I not say yes to this?
“I have no doubt that I want to study that gorgeous face for the rest of my life.”
“Does it sound like I’ve only wanted you for three days?”
After he cleans us both up, he tows me inside, where we embark on a whirlwind of wedding traditions. We exchange vows. He slides a stunning pink diamond ring on my finger, which is encircled by smaller white diamonds on a platinum band, popping against my other jewelry; he chose coordinating wedding bands for us as well. And we become husband and wife at Chapel in the Clouds with my most beloved classic rock songs warbling in the background.
I bet my mom would’ve thought this was pretty cool. The music. The city lights. The spontaneity. It’s all so her. The ache of her absence hits me so deep that my insides twist.
Gage is our only guest. It’s lonely and not at all how I envisioned this momentous occasion, but his boisterous, “Welcome to the family. You’re one of us now, angel,” in the form of a bear hug is endearing, so I try to hold on to that .
We eat cake and candy and sip champagne. And somehow, Ty senses how palpable the loss of my mom is tonight, so he asks me questions and encourages me to share everything I remember—treasures that didn’t incinerate with her, but are often kept with her ashes. Not with him though. Here, they are alive and well.
So, anytime my heart pangs with the alarming cognizance of how shattered my brothers will be, I remind myself that we can do it again with them later. That we can endure all the heartbreak between us because I’m where I belong, and they’ll see that. They all respect Ty. If he’d expressed interest in me prior to the Skulls incident, I think they would’ve been in favor of this. Maybe this marriage was wise. They’ll fuss less over a done deal.
As Ty sweeps me into his arms for a husband-and-wife dance, I extend my gratitude for the gift he bestowed upon me tonight. “I’m good. This is my blueberry fields and rain. Us.”
His shoulders droop as he pecks my nose, and the glum cloud from his steamy shower encapsulates every craggy breath he releases. “Not yet, Little Moon. We’ll find our way there. But this was field prep. We still have to endure the burn.”