41. Michael #3
He left, came back ten minutes later with a hotel housekeeping uniform to Kate. “Sorry, Princess. But you’re gonna have to blend in.”
He handed me jeans, a black polo, aviators, and a worn leather bomber jacket I hadn’t seen in years.
“You look like a dad on a weekend custody visit,” Kate teased.
I kissed her before she could say anything else.
We slipped out through two different service exits. Brett had a bike club contact waiting by a rusted loading dock. One of the few guys who still had old-school loyalty—and the added bonus of being an ordained minister.
“I want a dress,” Kate said. “A real one. Something ridiculous. Glamorous. Vintage Vegas.”
Brett groaned. “You want me to go dress shopping at four in the morning?”
“You’re the one making me marry him in a mop uniform,” she shot back. “And this is Vegas right? The city you run? Please, getting a dress is an easy task compared to body bags.”
An hour later, we met up just outside the city—at a lookout point facing the mountains, where you could see the full strip in the distance and the desert wrapping around it like a secret.
Kate stepped out of Brett’s borrowed truck in a cream satin halter gown straight out of the 1950s—Marilyn meets mob wife. Her hair was pinned up, lips ruby red, eyes smudged with leftover mascara and defiance.
She looked like sin and salvation wrapped in silk.
I wore black Armani. Her favorite. No tie. Top button undone. A man with nothing left to lose but her.
The MC guy nodded once, no questions asked, and started the ceremony while the sky burned pink and gold behind us. The sun broke over the mountains like it was blessing the whole damn thing.
No guests. No lies. No expectations.
Just Kate. Me. And the vow that if the world wanted war for this… it could come find us.
“I, Michael, take you, Kathryn—Kate— Peters to be my wife,” I said, voice gravel and glass. “To protect. To worship. To ruin anyone who tries to take you from me.”
She smiled like she believed it. Like she needed it. Like she already knew.
“I, Kate, take you, Michael Waters, to be mine,” she whispered. “No matter what. No matter who. No matter how this ends.”
We kissed before the minister finished the last line.
And somewhere down in the city, the sun lit the windows of the my Vegas casino.
They had no idea what was coming.
The sky was still burning pink when Brett popped the champagne.
“You stupid motherfuckers,” he muttered, shaking his head. “We’re all stupid motherfuckers.”
Kate laughed, the kind that started in her throat and spilled out her eyes. It was real. Raw. And I’d die to hear it again.
She looked like some golden-age movie star dipped in sin, the wind tugging at her dress, satin clinging to her curves. My wife. My f**king wife.
I reached into the inner pocket of my jacket.
“Brett didn’t just get you a dress,” I said.
Her brows lifted. “Oh?”
I opened the tiny leather box and pulled out the ring—not just a ring. A Bvlgari Tacori hybrid, diamond-encrusted, platinum and white gold, carved with the kind of delicate detail that takes weeks to make.
Kate’s breath hitched.
“This isn’t the one from the safe,” I said. “This one’s just for now. But when the shitstorm ends? When I go back home and take my life back? You’re getting that ring. The one I locked away the night I realized I’d never settle. Wear both.”
Her eyes shone as I slid it onto her finger. It caught the light and threw it back like fire.
She sniffed once and smiled, then reached into her clutch and pulled out a thin black silk ribbon.
Tied to it was a simple silver band.
“This is all I could get on short notice,” she whispered. “But I didn’t want to marry you without giving you something.”
I held it between my fingers.
“I can’t wear this,” I said, voice soft. “If anyone sees?—”
“I know.”
I pulled the chain out from under my shirt. Took off the charm I never told anyone I wore. Slid the ring onto it instead.
“I’ll keep it right here,” I said, patting my chest. “Next to my heart. Always.”
She nodded once. Her hands trembled.
I pulled her in and kissed her slow, deep—like we had forever, even if we didn’t.
Brett made a gagging sound behind us.
“I swear to God, if I start crying at a shotgun wedding in the desert, I’m quitting this job,” he said, popping the cork and spraying foam over the gravel like it was a damn Formula 1 win.
We laughed. All three of us.
Then Kate turned to me, eyes twinkling. “Did you ever think—back that night, the Fourth of July? Did you ever think it would be this?”
“Nope,” I said, grinning. “How could anyone script this?”
“Only my favorite romance author, Jax Hart could. Come on,” she nudged. “Did you really think I was gonna throw you over that cliff when I took you hiking?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
Her head fell back in laughter.
“God, we’re so stupid.”
“The stupidest,” Brett confirmed, clinking his bottle against ours.
Kate’s voice softened. “But I’m not gonna let them take this from us.”
She reached for both of us—me with one hand, Brett with the other.
“We’re a family now,” she said. “You too, Brett.”
He blinked. Swallowed hard. “Well, shit.”
Then we stood there, the three of us, sipping warm champagne, married by sunrise and madness, and knowing full damn well the war that was coming.
But in that moment?
We’d already won.
She was still glowing in the early morning haze—sunlight catching on her cheekbones, the satin dress hugging her like a second skin, wedding ring throwing prisms across the desert floor.
But there was something else too.
A shift. A tension. Her lips tightened.
Then she bit the corner of her bottom lip—nervous.
"Michael…" Her voice was quiet but steady. “You’re my husband now. No more secrets between us.”
I froze.
"Secrets are what got us into this mess,” she continued, stepping closer. “What’s keeping us apart—even now. And I won't let it anymore.”
“Kate…”
“I mean it.” Her hands trembled slightly as she cupped my jaw. “You're my husband. My soulmate. My love. But they could still kill us all, and if that happens—I want you to know the truth. All of it. I’ll never take our love for granted again.”
She turned to Brett, her eyes full of something almost like guilt.
“We have to tell him.”
Brett’s face drained of color. “Oh, fuck.”
He grabbed the champagne bottle off the hood of the truck and started downing it like it was holy water.
I glanced between them. Something heavy settled in my gut.
“What the hell is going on?”
Kate exhaled, then leveled her eyes at mine.
“Brett and I are working with the Feds.”
Everything stopped.
She kept going, before I could explode. “We’re feeding them intel. On the Redmonds. On the council. On Krystal and her brother. On the trafficking. The extortion. All of it.”
My fists clenched.
“We’re going to burn them from the inside,” she said. “Take away their power. End it. And when it’s done, you and Brett walk free. You get the kingdom. Without the blood.”
“You’re insane,” I said, stunned. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Her chin lifted. “Then at least I die fighting. I already told you—I’d rather die for something real than live under their leash.”
I turned to Brett. “You?”
He nodded slowly, still drinking. “I didn’t like the plan either. Still don’t. But… she’s not wrong. We’re too deep to play it clean. So we play it smart.”
I paced back two steps. My brain spun.
“They don’t have anything on you,” Kate added quickly, stepping in. “Brett made sure of it. He covered your tracks. You’re clean. I swear.”
I looked at her—really looked—and saw nothing but truth in her eyes. Fire and loyalty and f**king faith. In me.
“I’m not clean,” I said, voice low. “Neither is Brett. You know that.”
“I do,” she whispered. “But I didn’t turn you in. I’d never. The Feds aren’t even asking for you.”
My heart cracked, hard.
“They only want the Redmonds,” she said. “The trafficking. The power-hungry monsters. The ones who turned this town into a blood sport. We’re just trying to rip out the rot.”
Brett threw the bottle into the desert. “And we’re all probably gonna die. But at least now we know where we stand.”
I stepped in, took her face in my hands.
“You risked everything for me?”
“I’d do it again,” she said. “A thousand times.”
I kissed her hard. Furious and grateful and alive. Then turned to Brett.
“You’re my brother,” I said. “If we’re doing this… we burn it all. Together. Uncle Roman too. I’m sick of him calling too many shots.”
He smirked, eyes bloodshot. “You say the sweetest things. Well, I hate to break up this little love fest—but the honeymoon’s over.” He dragged a hand through his hair.
I turned, jaw already tightening.
He tossed his phone toward me. “Krystal’s plane touches down at noon. You’ve got another bride on your hands now.”
Kate’s hand went ice cold in mine. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Her fingers were trembling.
I turned to her, gripped her tighter. “Baby. You’re it for me. We’ve come this far. We are not losing each other now.”
She nodded, barely, eyes shining with panic.
Brett sighed. “Look. The next ‘wedding’ in Vegas will be a total farce. I swear it to you—Kate. Minister’s not even licensed in this state.
Whole thing’s a show. Redmond just wants the headlines and the photos.
The moment Krystal posts her bridal glow-up on Instagram, they’ll back off.
” Brett raised the champagne bottle when he finished.
Kate looked at me, begging with her eyes. Say something. Anything.
I stepped closer. “No more secrets. No more lies.”
She blinked at me. “What does that mean?”
I cupped her face. Her cheeks were still flushed, warm from the sunrise and everything we’d just done. “It means I have to tell you the last piece. The darkest one.”
“Michael…”
“They want a baby.”
She went completely still.
I pressed my forehead to hers. “They want a child with tribal blood and mafia lineage. A symbol. A seal. It’s the only way they think they can permanently tie the land, the casino, the power—everything.”
Her breath caught.