Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
LUCIFER
I was fifteen when my uncle, Reaper, the founder and former president of the Fallen Demons MC, put a gun in my hand for the first time and ordered me to shoot.
Adrenaline rushed through me instantly, but I still hesitated in taking that gun from him, because as eager as I was to impress him and make my bones, a deeper part of me knew I was about to sell my soul.
Surprisingly, though, the gun felt light in my hand, and when I blocked out the intrusive thoughts, the kill came easily.
My conscience disappeared.
Never to return until now.
I glance down at the piece of paper in my hand, a piece of paper that somehow feels ten times heavier than any weapon I’ve ever held.
My eyes lock onto the bold words at the top of the page.
Certificate of Marriage.
Issued by the State of Oklahoma.
Legal. Binding. Irrevocable.
My gaze drops lower, zeroing in on the signatures at the bottom. Mine, Nathan Holland, and next to it, hers. Jessica Owens. But only one of them is legitimate; the other we pulled from a canceled rent check Tori had lying around her and Jess’s apartment.
Dread and Tori signed as witnesses on the application, and two hours later, Dread took the paperwork to our friend, the judge. Forty-eight hours after that, he handed me the official certificate, naming Jess as my legally wedded wife, and for the last three days all I can do is stare at it.
I’m a married fucking man—something I swore I’d never become.
A title I never wanted.
An honor I stole.
I fold the certificate and tuck it into the inner pocket of my cut.
Out of sight, out of mind, and if that doesn’t work—well, there’s always bourbon.
My hand closes around the bottle, and I pour another finger into my glass.
Instead of savoring the smooth taste, I down it in a single swallow.
The door to the chapel creaks open, and Dread steps in.
Removing his sunglasses, he tucks them into the collar of his shirt as his eyes sweep over the empty chairs surrounding the table.
“You did call church, didn’t you?” he asks.
“They’ll be here,” I say, leaning back in my seat at the head of the table.
The gavel that once belonged to my uncle sits next to the bottle of bourbon, quietly antagonizing me like the piece of paper burning a hole in my pocket.
I glance away, my gaze tracking Dread as he rounds the table and folds his tall frame into the seat directly to my right.
“Did you do it?” I ask.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Gonna need you to be a little more specific, Boss. You got me running all over town doing your dirty work.” He inches forward, resting his forearms on the ancient wood as he shoots me a glare. “By the way, fuck you.”
“Fuck me?”
“Yeah, man. Need me to deplete my savings? No problem. Take it all. You need someone to commit forgery? I’m your guy. But if you ever ask me to show my face at that girl’s house with a bag of groceries, I’m gone. I’ll go fucking nomad before I do that shit again.”
To smooth things over with Tori after she reluctantly signed off as a witness on the marriage license application, I asked Dread to pick up some groceries for her and her daughter.
She spent most of her time at the hospital with Jess, going home late at night to see to her daughter’s needs, and I wanted to make things more manageable for her.
I didn’t expect her to be receptive—she wanted no part of me.
Still, everyone occasionally needed help, especially when they were being stretched as thin as she was.
I reach for the bottle of bourbon and refill my glass.
“I’m taking it she didn’t say thank you?”
Dread scoffs. “Thank you? The fucking girl threw a gallon of milk at my head.” He snatches the bottle from me and brings it to his lips, taking a swig.
When he pulls it away from his mouth, he swipes at his lips with the back of his hand.
“Fuck, that’s good.” He sets the bottle down on the table and stares at me.
“I sent a copy of the marriage certificate to the insurance company. Since we backdated the certificate to sixty days, they should cover all expenses to reflect that date. Once they issue Jess her card, I’ll file a reimbursement claim. ”
I’m not concerned about getting the money I have already paid back. If it happens, great. I won’t have to pull a rabbit out of a hat to get Dread his money.
“How long until she’s fully insured?”
“Seven to ten days from the day they received the document, so you’re looking at the middle of next week.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back. “Does she have any more surgeries scheduled?”
“They don’t really schedule any of them. They sprung the first one on me hours before they wanted to do it, and they did the same thing yesterday when they did another excision.”
Dread lets out a low whistle. “How the fuck did you pay for that?”
“I didn’t. I think the only reason they didn’t get on my case about it is because the day after her first surgery I let them charge ten thousand to my credit card. The thing is maxed out now, so if they try to submit another payment, it’s gonna get declined.”
“I wouldn’t give them another dollar if I were you,” Dread says. “And you really need to figure out what your next steps are. I’m guessing since you sent me to the Firecracker’s house with the groceries, you didn’t talk to her about moving Jess to another hospital.”
One thing about Dread is he’ll give you a solution to a problem, but he’s also going to cover all bases. He won’t leave room for error. He thinks I’m going to raise all sorts of red flags when I suddenly present Jess’s insurance card to the hospital, and I suppose he isn’t wrong.
“We went over this,” Dread continues. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, propping his elbows on top of the table.
“We needed to backdate the marriage certificate so the insurance can’t deny the claims, but you can’t go into that hospital and magically produce an insurance card after handing them thousands of dollars.
Your ass will be behind bars before your new bride ever opens her fucking eyes.
You need to have her transferred to a different hospital, and you need to do it before the insurance kicks in.
I don’t know what the fuck you’re waiting for. ”
I drag a hand down my face, feeling the stubble scrape against my palm. “You make it sound so fucking simple, Dread.”
“It is simple.”
“It’s not.” My fingers curl around the edge of the table.
“You’re not factoring in a goddamn thing.
I don’t know of another hospital that has the capabilities to treat her burns.
The specialists here are the best in the region.
Transferring her means moving her to Tulsa or Oklahoma City, and that’s a two-hour drive, minimum.
You think Tori’s gonna be able to commute that every day?
She’s got a twelve-year-old daughter to take care of, a job to hold down.
I’m already asking her to bend over backward. ”
Dread opens his mouth, but I keep going.
“And that’s assuming Jess is even stable enough to be moved. The doctors have her on a ventilator, she’s sedated, and they’re monitoring her grafts every few hours. You want me to throw her in an ambulance and bounce her down the highway like she’s a fucking package?”
Dread’s jaw tightens. “So, what’s the plan, then? You’re running out of time, brother.”
The roar of engines cuts through the air before I can fire back, vibrating through the chapel walls.
The windows rattle, and the bourbon in my glass trembles.
I push to my feet, my chair scraping against the concrete floor.
Dread rises beside me, and I grab his arm before he can move toward the door.
“Not a word,” I growl. “About the marriage. About any of it. You breathe a single syllable to anyone in this club, and I’ll bury you.”
His gray eyes hold mine for a beat before he pulls his arm free.
“I don’t need to be told twice, and I’m fucking insulted that you think I do.”
The chapel doors swing open, and the club files in, all my brothers taking their respective seats around the table, except for Shadow. He stands behind the empty chair to my left, bracing his hands on the back of it as he glares at me.
“You tell Maddox to halt construction on Della’s dude ranch?”
The chapel goes silent as every pair of eyes lands on us. It’s Mammon who breaks the silence, though, muttering a curse under his breath.
I lean back in my chair, my fingers drumming against the armrest. I’m in no mood for his bullshit right now, and honestly, he’s got some pair of balls even confronting me about this nonsense.
Yeah, I paid Maddox a visit, and yeah, I asked him to halt construction on the fucking dude ranch, but he shot me down real quick.
Apparently, things move quickly over there, seeing as they wasted no time hiring an architect.
Halting construction means losing all the money spent on retaining him, plus whatever else they dropped on building supplies.
“I did.”
“And you didn’t think to run that by me first?”
I hold his stare, my patience teetering. “Out of respect for the patch and the fact that you sit to my left, I’m going to give you a minute to collect yourself before we continue this conversation.”
His fingers flex around the back of the chair, and his nostrils flare.
“That dude ranch is Della’s project. You can’t just pull the rug out from under it.”
“No one is pulling the fucking rug out from anything, Shadow. Too much money has already been dumped into your woman’s pet project, which is a real fucking shame because we could’ve used that fucking money.” I tip my chin toward his seat. “Sit the fuck down and I’ll clue you in.”
His jaw tics, but he pulls out his chair and drops his ass onto the seat. After a beat, I reach for the gavel, tapping it against the grain of the table.