Chapter 24
Axl
“Lady Rhodes,” I call after her as she storms up the stairs.
She pauses to give me the finger, but I know she isn’t pissed off.
She will have demands about how this marriage is going to work, and not calling her Mrs Rhodes is the least of it.
It’s not exactly how I thought it would go down, but I will give her anything she wants.
This isn’t my first choice. I didn’t want to force her into doing something she is so against, and to be honest, who is really ready, especially at our age, to do this?
But I would never have agreed to the blood binding if I didn’t know this was forever.
I can’t picture my life without her in it now.
She challenges me, she annoys me, she makes me laugh.
She is everything I didn’t know I wanted.
Crossing over to the coat room near the front door, I reach into my gym bag and haul out a fresh tee, pulling it over my head as the doorbell rings again. I turn to my father, who’s sipping his coffee like he’s orchestrating a symphony rather than upending everyone’s lives before breakfast.
I pull open the door to find a priest standing on the doorstep.
Not just any priest—Father Declan Murphy from the chapel of St. Bartholomew’s, the one man on campus who’s somehow managed to remain neutral in every family feud for the past three decades, or more.
He’s also the only priest in Ireland who’d perform a ceremony like this without asking too many questions.
“Axl,” he greets, his weathered face creasing into a smile. “Your dad said you had need of my services.”
“Come in, Father.” I step aside, letting him enter. “Do you know what is required?”
“Shotgun wedding,” he says with a smirk that makes me think he’s done this more than once. Probably not for the same reasons, though.
“Right,” I mutter as he waggles his eyebrows at me. He probably thinks I’ve knocked her up. “We want this to be simple. Quick. Zero fanfare. Just legit.”
“Done,” he says. “There is always time to change your mind about fanfare and have a vow renewal later on.”
I exchange a look with my dad, who is enjoying this way too much. I turn back to Father Murphy as he sets down a worn leather satchel on the entrance table. “I’ll need the bride, of course. And witnesses. Two will suffice.”
“We’ve got those covered,” I say, jerking my thumb towards Ciar and Cillian, who’ve appeared in the doorway like the protective guard dogs they are.
“Excellent.” Father Murphy pulls out a small book and what appears to be a certificate. “The legalities are straightforward, though I must ask—you’re certain about this, son? Marriage isn’t something to rush into.”
I almost laugh. Marriage isn’t what we’re rushing into. We’ve already bound ourselves in blood, fucked ourselves into oblivion, and declared war on half the criminal underworld. A piece of paper is the least dramatic thing we’ve done all week.
“I’m certain,” I tell him, and I mean it. “She’s it for me. For us.”
Father Murphy’s eyebrows rise at that last bit, but he doesn’t comment. Smart man. “Very well. Shall we set up in the sitting room?”
Dad leads him away, already chatting about God knows what. Probably the weather. Dad’s got that talent—making small talk while the world burns around him.
Ciar moves closer, his massive frame blocking the light from the hallway.
“Are you good with this?” I ask them both.
“Would it matter if we weren’t?” Ciar asks back.
“Yeah, actually. It would.”
“Well, too bad for you, we are fine with it,” he says with a snort. “You can’t use us as an excuse to back out.”
Cillian chuckles as I give Ciar a death stare. “Oh, I’m not backing out. Now I’m going to marry her twice as hard, you dick.”
“How is that even possible?” Sorcha asks from behind me.
I turn to see her wearing a black dress that drapes to the floor, clinging to every curve she has and then some. I raise an eyebrow. “Wow.”
“You bought it,” she shrugs. “Might as well wear it for something other than kicking someone’s arse.”
“Oh, please wear that next time you kick someone’s arse,” Ciar murmurs, his eyes practically on fire as they imagine our girl dressed to the nines with her blade flashing.
I pull her against me, my hands settling on her hips, feeling the silk slide under my palms. “You’re going to be the death of me, sunshine. And you make me feel woefully under-dressed.”
“That’s the plan,” she says, but there’s a tremor in her voice that gives away her nerves. She’s putting on a brave face, but I can feel the tension thrumming through her body. “But you look hot.”
I lean down, my mouth close to her ear. “We don’t have to do this right now. We can wait.”
“No.” She pulls back, those ice-blue eyes meeting mine with determination. “I want to do this. I want it done before anyone else can interfere. Before someone decides I’m more valuable as leverage than as a wife.”
Smart girl. She’s already thinking three steps ahead.
“Come on then, Ms Gannon.”
She narrows her eyes but gives me a smile. “Make sure you remember that.”
She pulls away from me and goes to Cillian and Ciar, taking their hands. “You all mean so much to me,” she says, her voice breaking slightly.
“And you are our world,” Cillian says, gripping her chin to kiss her quickly before stepping back.
She looks at Ciar. He says nothing, but gives her a stoic nod.
She takes my offered hand, and we enter the living room with Ciar and Cillian flanking us, their presence solid and reassuring. This might be my name on the paper, but this is about all of us.
Father Murphy stands near the fireplace, his small book open in his weathered hands.
My dad positions himself off to the side, looking smug.
The morning light filters through the windows, catching the dust motes in the air, and I have the strangest thought that this moment is going to change everything.
Well, more than it already has.
“Shall we begin?” Father Murphy asks, his voice gentle but firm.
Sorcha’s hand tightens in mine. I glance down at her, at the woman who’s turned my world upside down in the space of a few weeks. She’s bruised, battered, wearing a dress meant for violence to a wedding, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
Father Murphy clears his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”
“Can we skip that bit?” Sorcha interrupts, making my lips twitch. “Just the legally binding parts, please.”
Father Murphy blinks, then chuckles. “Straight to business. I can respect that.” He flips a few pages.
“Very well. Axl Alexander Edward Rhodes, do you take Sorcha Gannon to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.
I meet Sorcha’s eyes, those blue depths that have haunted me since the moment she walked into my life with blood on her hands and fire in her soul.
There’s fear there, buried deep beneath layers of defiance and determination, but there’s also trust. She’s trusting me with this, with her name, with her freedom.
“I do,” I say, my voice steady.
Father Murphy turns to Sorcha. “And do you, Sorcha Gannon, take Axl Alexander Edward Rhodes to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
She swallows hard, her throat working. I can feel the tremor in her hand, see the way her jaw tightens as she gathers herself. This is harder for her than any fight in the Pit, harder than facing down her brother, harder than anything she’s done.
“I do,” she says finally, her voice clear and strong despite the emotion I can see churning behind her eyes. “But I’m keeping my name.”
Father Murphy’s eyebrows shoot up, but my dad lets out a bark of laughter from the corner. “Noted,” the priest says diplomatically. “The rings?”
“No rings,” I state, never taking my eyes from Sorcha’s. “We don’t need that shit.”
Sorcha giggles as Father Murphy chokes on his disapproval.
“Thank you,” Sorcha mouths at me, and I nod. It’s not just for her, but for me as well. This is a legal thing we have to do to enter the next phase of our lives. Nothing more. Nothing changes. She trusts me with this, and I trust her back.
“You may kiss the bride, then,” Father Murphy says.
I give her a quick peck, which she pulls away from with a nervous smile. “All good,” she murmurs.
“All good.”
“Now we wait,” Dad says, his eyes gleaming as if this next part is going to drop straight in our laps.
Something tells me, it’s not going to be as easy as that.
Not even a little bit.