Page 132 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
My chest gets tight as I dig my fingers into the side of the phone, struggling to keep my breathing even enough that Beast won’t bother me. If he thinks I’m upset, he’ll come over here, and I’m not sure how nice he’ll be when he sees I’m talking to Grey.
You’re playing me on a tightrope here, Grey. You’re not leaving much room for error.
I send that, my blood colored with annoyance.
There is no room for error, Gidge. None. We’re both playing with fire. Just remember that it was your brother that offered the casino up to us in the first place. Your brother that’s been feeding us information for years. He told us everything we ever wanted to know about you, your sisters, your house.
I stare at his messages for so long that he actually texts me a question mark in response.
He told you about my sisters? I clarify, and Grey immediately starts typing again.
He wanted all three of you dead.
With agonizing slowness, I type up my final message of the night.
Goodnight, Grey.
He responds in kind.
Goodnight, Gidget.
I fall asleep with the phone tucked up against my chest, and a thorn of betrayal embedded deep inside my heart.
The next few days are spent finalizing plans for the wedding. It wasn’t something I ever wanted to do before … and it still isn’t something I’m interested in. Even though I’m getting the biker wedding I pined for in that stuffy Catholic church, many of the traditions are the same.
It’s not Beast that’s the problem; I just don’t like weddings.
“You don’t want a dress, Gidget?” Nellie asks, and I can sense something else behind her quiet, pleading tone. She’s getting ready to throw some of that ‘President’s Wife’ energy out, the energy that she once used to get the club wives to petition the treasurer to build a daycare center on the compound.
Let me give you the CliffsNotes version: their petition worked.
“I want a white leather jacket,” I say, and both Reba and Nellie look at me like I’m possessed. “What? You’re lucky I’m even going with white. We all know I’m far from virginal.” Reba sighs at me and puts her hands on her hips while Nellie gives me a sharp look.
“Those men oughta be ashamed of themselves,” she says, and I flick my eyes Grainger’s way. His back is to us, but I can see him tense up. He’s been the worst of them all. Fingering me in the clubhouse bathroom, screwing me in a church, on a sink, in a church again, on the forest floor, letting me suck his dick in the garden. He knows Nellie’s words apply to him as well as anyone else. “But that has nothing to do with the dress. You’re my only daughter left.”
There it is, arrow to the heart.
“You only get married once, Gidge,” Reba says, and I cock a brow at her.
“There is such a thing called divorce. It’s been around for a while. You ever heard of King Henry the Eighth?”
“Don’t be contrary for contrary’s sake,” Reba admonishes, slapping my arm. I know before I even start the pretend process of protesting that I’m going to give in. Nellie is right: I’m her only surviving daughter. That, and her son most definitely has an expiration date. Reba, too, is in desperate need of a distraction.
Every night since she’s been here, she’s woken up to nightmares, found her way into my room, and curled up in bed beside me. Grainger, idiot that he is, seems to be jealous. Beast doesn’t comment either way. Crown just smiles in a patronizing sort of way and does nothing. Sin is the only one who interacts with Reba as a human being.
I stretch my neck out, rolling my shoulders and trying to shake off the soreness from my training sessions. They’ve been bumped up to thrice a day recently, and I’m goddamn exhausted. I can, however, disarm a full-grown man and take his knife though, so it’s apparently working.
“Fine, okay, I’ll get a dress,” I grind out, and Reba nods her chin like this is what she was expecting all along. Nellie gives me that sad, desperate smile she’s been so fond of lately. “But don’t expect anything fluffy, diamond-encrusted, or longer than my knees.”
“That’s my girl,” Reba drawls, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Be right back. I need to visit the powder room.”
“You can say toilet, you know,” I remind her, but she ignores me. We both know she’s only going into the bathroom to gather herself together. She saw her fucking parents murdered in front of her. She’s hurting, and she cries at random times, and she stares at nothing for minutes on end. That’s all normal, considering the circumstances.
“I’ll go get changed. I know a bridal store that understands the meaning of shotgun wedding.” Nellie winks at me, but I just stare at her. I’m not pregnant.
