Page 20 of Knot Without My Permission
Lore and Ace’s caskets lay side by side in front of me, with both of them closed. All I want is to open Lore’s to say goodbye, so I hold onto Storm’s hand instead until the impulsive thought passes.
“I’m unsure if the world will miss Lore, but we sure will,” Devon sighs. “I know that Wilder is the best person to step into his very large shoes. I do, despite how angry I am. This isn’t the place for promises of retribution, however, I will find it for my brother. I hope he rests easy, despite the holes he’s left behind.”
His eyes move over the pews until they fall on me, and I feel empty as I stare back at him. The words don’t evoke anything inside of me, because of the terrible first impression he left me with.
Moving aside, he allows Wilder to speak, and the first thing my alpha does is acknowledge the man who died protecting his club. Not Lore, but Ace.
“Folks, can we turn in our seats and tell Ace’s uncle how good of a human his nephew was?” Wilder asks. “He owns a mechanic shop here in town, and his name is Henry.”
Turning, I find Henry trying to hide in the corner. Standing, I make my way over to him and sit beside him, holding out my hand until he takes it and squeezes it hard.
“I’ve heard stories of your nephew for the last few days,” I tell him. “He was a hard worker, funny, and saw more than people gave him credit for. I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Fuck,” he whispers, his eyes shutting as a tear leaks out. “Dammit, I almost made it.”
“Sadness has a way of festering before it eats away at you,” I say, allowing my own tears to finally fall. My sunglasses hide them, right up until they slide off my nose. “Your kindness to me kept me alive, or I’d be sleeping on the streets. Don’t lose it because fate is cruel.”
A few grunts around me tell me that my words have been overheard and appreciated. My eyes meet Wilder’s and I incline my head so he can continue. His green eyes warm slightly as he watches me, and I lay my head on Henry’s shoulder as Wilder continues his speech.
His words have more to offer me than Devon’s and soon I’m quietly crying as I sit beside Henry.
“Can I give you a ride to the cemetery?” Henry asks as we stand at the end of the service.
“My presence has been requested for the funeral procession on the back of my alpha’s bike, but thank you,” I say.
My tears taste salty on my lips as Storm arrives at my pew to take my hand, and Henry makes a sound under his breath.
“Scent matches make things complicated,” I say softly, only for his ears.
“I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “That they do. I’ll see you at the cemetery, Marie.”
“You will.”
That’s all I say before I walk out of church with Storm, happy the rain is over as a gust of wind throws my hood off my hair.
“I’m proud of you,” Storm says as we descend the stairs.
“He’s surrounded by people he doesn’t particularly care for. It was the right thing to do,” I reply. “Today is hard enough.”
A loud revving of a motorcycle makes me twitch, and Storm twists his body to catch me when my foot doesn’t land correctly.
His lips move to my ear as I look for the sound, the cocky smirk of the biker sitting on his perch, making me fist my hand so I don’t flip him the bird. His eyes are dark and hooded, and his arms show off the full extent of his tattoos.
“You’re going to be a good girl and sit behind me on my bike, right, Marie?” Storm asks.
“What if I want to learn to ride?” I ask suddenly with a frown. “Is that allowed?”
“I’m pretty sure telling you that it’s not will result in some type of electricity directed toward my knot,” he says. “I don’t have a rule about this, though some clubs are very insistent that their women ride bitch.”
“That’s adorable. I want to learn,” I shrug. “Who’s the idiot who startled me over there?”
Storm’s gaze flicks over to the man just as he pulls his balaclava over the lower half of his face. The weather is getting colder, and it vaguely makes me wonder how he’s not frozen.
“He’s one of Devon’s men. Wilder will know more about him,” he explains.
Nodding, I continue to walk with Storm toward his bike, but I continue to feel as if I’m being stared at the way I was in the church. It takes a lot not to crane my neck around to see who it is, though it won’t do me any fucking good since three fourths of the men around me are wearing helmets by now.
“Let’s see what we can do about this dress, Marie,” Storm says, squatting down to knot it mid thigh. “Fuck, that’s a lot of skin on display.”
