Chapter 6
Mica
Getting up at the crack of dawn made sense because it was nearly impossible to sleep for the better part of the fuckin’ night.
All I could think of was Nova’s long silky hair, the way her engagement ring reflected the light, and how she looked in that dress.
I’ve never seen anything as lovely as my wife in her beautiful wedding gown.
Swiping through those pictures of her long sexy legs in spiked heels kept me up when I should have been sleeping.
Having a hard cock was embarrassing, but stroking myself to those images was crass.
That’s the kind of thing that pathetic, desperate men did, not me.
Something told me that if she didn’t take a liking to me soon, I would break eventually.
Nova is still sleeping, so I grab a quiet shower and pull on some clean clothing and head downstairs. The party downstairs has petered out. The few people still up have started drinking coffee in an effort to sober up.
The main room looks exactly the way a room looks when two hundred people spend six hours getting shit faced, dancing, and celebrating.
It’s a complete catastrophe. Bodies fill every horizontal surface, sometimes grouped in twos or threes.
Siege and his old lady are on one of the long couches wrapped in each other’s arms. He and Rigs are both married to social workers. Who would have thought?
There’s trash everywhere. The wedding cake is still standing tall and proud on the bar.
Several club girls are moving around, trying to clean up, including Silver.
“You’re up early, Silver. Did you turn over a new leaf or something?”
She gives me a wink and a grin. “I did. In case you haven’t noticed.”
I snort a laugh. “Not fuckin’ likely, darlin’.” I see her face fall so I add. “Nah, seriously, I know you’re tryin’, and it looks good on ya.”
She preens a bit at that then says, “Is it okay if I have another piece of your wedding cake? It’s really good and it’s a shame to waste it.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Thanks. I’ll wrap up the top layer of your wedding cake and squirrel it away in the freezer for you.”
I vaguely remember that’s a thing. “Deal.”
I pull a cup of java from the coffee station behind the bar. It’s a commercial setup because my ma insisted it would last forever. The first sip of the steaming hot bitter brew is heaven. It’s just what I need to jumpstart my brain cells.
A voice comes from the side, “That was a hell of a wedding, son.”
One quick glance over my shoulder is all it takes to recognize Mac, the man Nova told me was her grandfather’s best friend.
“You’re one of Rock’s boys,” he says bluntly.
“You already know that, since you’re at my wedding,” I tell him. I realize I sound rude, but I’m not sure what he wants.
He nods once. “The name’s Mac.”
Taking another sip of my coffee, I tell him, “I know who you are. Vulture’s best friend. I saw you at the PATCH rally.”
“That’s right, we rode together thirty years before he up and died on me.” He takes a drink of his coffee. “I knew him better than any man alive.”
I lean against the bar and give him my full attention because men like Mac don’t usually stand around shooting the shit for just no reason.
“Thanks for coming to our wedding,” I tell him. “I know it probably meant a lot to Nova.”
“It was a real nice event.” He looks into his mug. “She’s got her grandad’s backbone, that girl. Vulture always said she got the best of him and none of the worst.”
“She’s smart, strong, and capable,” I agree. “And beautiful. More so than any woman I’ve ever met.”
He makes a sound that might be approval. Then he sets his mug down on the bar with a thunk. The shift in his bearing and voice tone tells me we’re done making small talk.
“There’s something you need to know,” he says roughly. “There’s been a situation building since the funeral.”
“If it has to do with my wife, I want to know about it.”
“Nova’s got a problem,” Mac says. “He goes by the name of Devon Marsh. They went on a couple of dates and that was it. Vulture hated him. Said he was a bad seed. Vulture put the fear of God in him and he stayed away.” He picks up his mug again, wraps both hands around it.
“While Vulture was alive, Devon stayed away.”
“Let me guess. Since the funeral he’s sniffing around her again, right?”
Taking a sip of coffee, he nods. “That’s what I hear.
Since the funeral, the crazy fucker has been circling around, trying to get back with her.
He even had the balls to show up at the trucking business looking for her.
He’s been seen driving past her house. This fucker is getting more brazen by the day.
Maybe he’s even sending her messages again.
He used to do that.” He looks at me directly.
I think about the texts I’ve seen her silence on her phone yesterday morning without reading past the preview.
“Does he know about us getting hitched?” I ask.
“He knows,” Mac says. “Word travels fast in a town this size, and a Sons of Rage wedding with two hundred guests ain’t ever gonna slide by unnoticed.”
“How bad do you think this can get?”
Mac is quiet for a second before answering. “I’m worried enough that I’m standing here at six in the morning talking to a man I just met because Vulture can’t do it himself.”
When I don’t immediately answer, he says, “Just keep her close,” he tells me. “And don’t let that slick-talking fucker pull the wool over your eyes. He’s up to no good, I fuckin’ guarantee it.”
He pushes off the bar and meanders through the wreckage of the party, exiting through the front door.
Turning this situation over in my mind brings all my protective instincts to the surface.
I know we haven’t spoken much, but she never mentioned anything about this Devon Marsh fucker.
I’m her protector. I have a right to know when danger is near.
What I want to know is why she felt she needed to keep this from me.
After making us both coffees, I head upstairs because this is a conversation that we need to have right now.
Nothing that involves her safety can wait.
I knock once before opening her bedroom door because it’s polite behavior and our agreement covers personal privacy.
Thank fuck Nova is already up and dressed.
She’s wearing jeans and a shirt with her business name on it.
Her hair is pulled back and she’s pulling on her work shoes.
Her phone is in her hand and she’s scrolling through something that looks like a route schedule.
She looks up when I come in. It only takes a second for her to see the coffee in my hand.
“You didn’t have to bring me coffee.”
“Yeah, I did. You’re my wife. You take one sugar, and no cream,” I tell her, holding out the mug.
She takes it. “How do you know how I take it?”
“I noticed how you made your coffee that day you were in my office.”
Her eyebrows fly up. “You seriously notice everything, don’t you?”
“It’s what I do,” I say, and I pull the chair from the small desk and sit down, because we need to talk this out. “Tell me about Devon Marsh. I want to know everything.”
The mug stops halfway to her mouth.
“Who told you about him?”
“Mac. He was worried about you. Apparently, the asshole has been sniffing around askin’ questions. Now that I’m your husband, it’s my business to know possible dangers in your life.”
Frustration, and something that looks an awful lot like relief, show on her face. She takes a mouthful of coffee, and then answers me, “It’s not a big deal.”
“Mac thinks it’s a big deal. He’s a sixty-year-old man who stayed overnight at the Sons of Rage clubhouse just to make sure I knew about this situation.”
“Mac worries a lot,” she says with a careless shrug. “He’s always been a worrywart.”
I can’t believe she’s trying to minimize this. “That old man knew your grandfather for thirty years and is doing the best he can to look out for his granddaughter. I think we should take his worries seriously. Why won’t you just talk to me?”
“It really is a big nothingburger.”
This conversation is pissing me off. Nova isn’t even great at deceit. It’s one of the things I like best about her. I can’t get my head around why she is intent on fuckin’ deceiving me now.
“Look, Nova, I don’t like it when you lie to me. I don’t expect to be forced to pick information out of my own wife about shit like this.”
She glances away and goes silent for a few minutes. It looks like she’s either trying to come up with a better lie or trying to pull together her thoughts in order to have a decent conversation. I fuckin’ hope it’s the latter.
Finally, she explains, “We dated a few times. He got controlling, belligerent, and it seemed to be ramping up to violence, so I noped out of the relationship. He didn’t handle the rejection very well.”
Her words set off alarm bells in my head. “How badly did he take you breaking it off?”
Her expression turns grim and she doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands.
“Let’s just say I was glad my grandfather stepped in because he wasn’t listening to me.
Devon didn’t show up at the funeral because he was serving time for assault and battery.
I think it was due to some random bar fight. ”
“He sounds like a gigantic fuckin’ asshole. So, I assume he’s been contacting you again, right?”
“Yeah, he’s been getting bolder since he found out Vulture passed away.
He mostly sends texts that swing between love bombing me, insulting me, and even being vaguely threatening at times.
He showed up at our trucking business a couple of times.
Mac said he came off as someone with an impulse control problem. ”
“It shouldn’t fall to an old man like Mac to handle shit like that for you, especially now that you have a husband. You didn’t mention this during our negotiation. Didn’t it occur to you that I’d want to handle this prick myself?”