Chapter 16 #2
Her eyes widened a little, like she heard it too. Like the words had left her mouth without permission and now hovered between us, dangerous and bright.
I lifted the bottle again.
She let me.
The second swallow went down easier. Color came into her cheeks. Her shoulders loosened a fraction. She exhaled, long and shaky, and leaned back against the seat.
“Well?” I asked.
She stared at the ceiling. “One of my bones unclenched.”
A laugh tore out of me before I could stop it.
She gave me a sideways look. “One bone. Don’t get excited.”
“Too late.”
She smacked me again, but weaker this time.
We rolled back onto the highway with vanilla vodka between us, Sienna muttering about legal coercion, cheap liquor, and how the institution of marriage had clearly fallen apart if it could be entered into beside a gas station with slot machines.
But she wasn’t shaking as hard.
So I let her rant.
I let her tell Edge through the radio that she hoped he lost all his money betting against her. I let her tell River he had “divorced uncle energy.” I let her inform Tank that if anyone yelled “consummate” near her, she would personally turn the wedding into a crime scene.
The brothers ate it up.
I just drove with my hand over hers and tried not to think about the fact that in a few hours, she’d have my name.
Not because she loved me.
Not because she wanted me.
Because the world was ugly and I was the only shield close enough to throw over her.
Vegas rose out of the dark like a fever dream.
Neon bled across the windshield. Gold towers. Pink signs. Flashing screens. Fountains. Music. People on sidewalks laughing like nobody had ever died in the desert outside city limits. Sienna went quiet again, but this time it felt different. Not empty. More like disbelief.
She stared out at the Strip. “This can’t be real.”
“It’s Vegas. Half of it isn’t.”
“I’m getting married in a city with a giant glowing cowboy.”
“You wanted classy?”
“I wanted to not witness a murder.”
“Fair.”
She looked at me then, and the lights painted her face in red and gold. There was dirt still in her hair. A bandage on her arm. My jacket swallowing her shoulders. She looked exhausted and fierce and too damn beautiful for the passenger seat of my old truck.
My throat tightened.
I almost told her she didn’t have to do this.
The words clawed up my chest, stupid and noble and useless.
Because she did have to.
And if I gave her an out, she might take it.
Then I’d spend the rest of my life wondering if I’d signed her death warrant by trying to be decent.
So I swallowed it down and pulled into the chapel lot behind Edge’s truck.
The place was ridiculous.
Pink neon heart. Fake roses. Plastic columns. A sign flashing WEDDINGS 24 HOURS. Under that, in smaller letters, ELVIS, WESTERN, GOTH, BIKER PACKAGE AVAILABLE.
Sienna read it and closed her eyes. “Biker package. Of course.”
Edge climbed out already grinning. “Think they give club discounts?”
Regan’s black SUV whipped into the lot before I could answer.
Thank Christ.
She stepped out like a general arriving late to a war she was still going to win. Black heels. Leather jacket. Hair perfect. Eyes sharp enough to skin a man alive. She took one look at Sienna and made a sound of absolute offense.
“No.”
Sienna blinked. “No what?”
“No bride of ours is walking down an aisle looking like she escaped a hostage situation.”
“I kind of did.”
“And now we fix the aesthetic.” Regan hooked her arm through Sienna’s. “Come on.”
My hand shot out before I thought better of it, catching Sienna’s wrist.
She looked down at my fingers. Then up at my face.
I forced my grip to loosen.
Regan arched a brow. “Problem?”
“I don’t want her out of my sight.”
“No kidding. You’ve got the subtlety of a caveman with abandonment issues.”
Edge snorted.
I ignored him. “Regan.”
Her expression softened just enough to make it worse. “I’ve got her.”
Sienna’s wrist turned in my hand until her fingers brushed mine. “I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But I’m going anyway.”
That was my girl.
Not mine.
Not yet.
Not really.
But damn if the thought didn’t settle deep.
I let go.
Regan whisked her inside the chapel like she’d been waiting her whole life to turn a traumatized scientist into a Vegas bride. The door swung shut behind them, and every instinct in me snarled.
I paced.
For an hour.
An actual hour.
The brothers made themselves comfortable in the waiting area like the place was a clubhouse annex.
Tank found coffee. Edge found a vending machine.
River found the officiant and terrified him into making sure every document would be legal in all fifty states.
A prospect took bets on whether Sienna would run, faint, punch me, or say “I do” with a death threat attached.
I ignored all of them.
Mostly.
“Put me down for death threat,” I said.
Edge grinned. “That’s love, brother.”
“It’s strategy.”
“Sure.”
I checked my phone. Checked the door. Checked the front windows. Checked the street.
Every minute she was gone, the fear crawled higher.
Not fear of marriage. Not anymore.
Fear she’d come out with clear eyes and say no.
Fear she’d realize a life tied to mine, even on paper, meant danger didn’t end at sunrise. It followed. It watched. It slept outside windows and waited in blind corners. Being my wife protected her from one kind of threat and painted a target for another.
Maybe she’d see that.
Maybe she’d be smart enough to walk.
The dressing room door opened.
The whole chapel went quiet.
Sienna stepped out.
And every thought I had burned to ash.
She stood under the ugly fluorescent hallway lights like someone had cut her out of a dream and dropped her into the wrong world.
Regan had put her in ivory—not a full gown, nothing fussy or sweet.
Short satin that hugged her waist and skimmed her thighs.
Off-the-shoulder sleeves. A little veil tucked into her hair.
White boots. My jacket was gone, replaced by a cropped leather one that somehow made her look both bridal and dangerous.
Her hair fell in soft waves around her face. Her mouth was painted a deep, soft red. The scrape on her arm had been covered. The dirt and blood were gone.
But her eyes were still hers.
Sharp.
Scared.
Brave anyway.
My throat worked.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing came out.
Edge whispered, “Damn.”
I nearly hit him on instinct.
Sienna’s gaze found mine across the room. Her chin lifted a fraction, like she was daring me to make a joke. Daring me to say something crude. Daring me to turn this into another distraction so she didn’t have to feel whatever had just slammed into both of us.
I couldn’t.
There were a hundred things I could’ve said. Something cocky. Something dirty. Something to make the men laugh and put the armor back between us.
But looking at her standing there in that impossible dress, ready to marry me because the world had turned vicious and I was the bastard holding the line, all I could think was that she deserved a better moment than this.
Better than neon.
Better than fear.
Better than me.
I stepped toward her slowly.
The chapel, the brothers, the Elvis impersonator waiting by a fake rose arch—it all blurred at the edges.
Sienna swallowed. “Well?”
My hand lifted before I could stop it, fingers hovering near her cheek. I didn’t touch. Not until she tipped her face the smallest inch toward me.
Permission.
That tiny bit of trust almost broke me.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, voice rough.
Her lips parted.
I shook my head once, because that wasn’t enough. Not even close.
“I never imagined this is the way I’d get married.”
Something flickered across her face. Hurt, maybe. Or panic.
So I closed the last step between us.
“But now,” I said, my voice scraping low, “I can’t imagine it any other way.”
The chapel stayed dead silent behind us.
Sienna looked up at me, pale under the makeup, nervous as hell, hands trembling at her sides. But she didn’t run.
She just whispered, “This is still name only.”
A smile pulled at my mouth, even though my chest felt cracked wide open.
“Whatever you need, baby.”
River muttered from behind me, “Forty-eight hours.”
Without looking away from me, Sienna lifted one hand and pointed in his direction. “A month. Minimum. And I expect my winnings in cash.”
The men roared.
I laughed, but my eyes stayed on hers.
Then I offered her my arm.
After one breath, one last visible battle with herself, Sienna slid her hand into the crook of my elbow.
Her fingers were still shaking.
I covered them with mine.
The Elvis officiant cleared his throat beneath the crooked arch of fake roses. “Y’all ready to get married?”
Sienna looked at him.
Then at me.
Then at the chapel full of Royal Bastards making bets on our wedding night.
Her mouth twitched.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
Then she started walking anyway.
Sienna was going to run.
I could feel it in the way her fingers kept flexing inside mine, like she was measuring the distance to the door, the odds of making it past Regan, Tank, River, Edge, and half the Royal Bastards before I caught her.
She wouldn’t make it.
Not because she wasn’t fast.
Because I’d burn the whole damn Strip down before I let her bolt into danger alone.
Still, I didn’t tighten my grip. Didn’t trap her. Didn’t make the mistake of thinking fear could be handled like a threat. Sienna wasn’t one of my brothers. She wasn’t club. She wasn’t used to solving problems with guns, blood, and paperwork done at two in the morning under neon lights.
She was a scientist who’d seen men die in the desert.
And now she was standing beside me in a white dress, about to become my wife because my world had reached out and sunk its teeth into hers.
The club woman insisted on being included in this shotgun of a ceremony so Hacker rented the jet for them.
Half even wore leather—the rest bridesmaid’s dresses they had just worn at Tank’s wedding not long ago.