Page 149 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
See, storming into a wedding with assault rifles is a very club-like thing to do.
But it is not a very mafia-like thing to do.
Whatever happens today—because I feel it in my bones that something is going to happen—it’ll be subtle. Sinister. Calculating.
I once said that the club coming to find me was a when not an if.
The same goes for the mafia.
When.
It’s just a matter of fucking when.
The reception takes place in the central clubhouse building. Only today, it’s been entirely transformed, from a gritty, seedy hotbox of fucking and drugs to something with a sprinkle of refinement. Well, okay, it’s still a seedy hotbox, but there are flowers, ribbons, streamers, and black tablecloths. It’s an upgrade, but it can’t hide all of that redneck ratchet.
“Nellie and Reba are talented,” Beast says, swiping his hand over his chin as he glances down at me. I look back at him, struggling to keep the smile off my face. Shocker: I fail. Not only is my new husband ruggedly handsome, but my thong is destroyed and the panties Beast retrieved from my bag are wet with his seed.
I look so pretty on the outside, but really, I’m a fucking maverick.
Beast, also, is a tricky bastard because I see now where the red thong ended up: he’s folded it like a pocket square and tucked it into the pocket of his leather vest so that just a corner of it sticks out. Nobody but the two of us will understand the significance, a private secret just for newlywed demons to enjoy.
“Where did you two disappear to earlier?” Grainger asks, a much nicer version of himself than usual. I pretend like we didn’t even talk to each other in the kitchen this morning, and smile at him, too. He seems creeped out by the expression which I can’t blame him for. I rarely smile. Usually, when I do, something bad is about to happen.
“Crown waited outside the supply closet so we could fuck,” I offer up, and Cade frowns at me. Even though I don’t really want to know the answer just yet, I try to get a read on his expression. Is he being marginally nicer than usual because I am pregnant? Or just because it’s my wedding day?
“Huh.” That’s the response I get, his umber eyes sweeping over me before Beast offers up a curt nod.
“Excuse us, Grainge, but I’m not in the mood to share with you just now.”
A dual thrill goes through me, part excitement and part terror.
“After our wedding, I can’t promise I’ll be inclined to share.”
He did warn me, did he not?
I push the thought aside, allowing Beast to escort me into the room, bracing myself for the onslaught of well-wishers. It’s as bad as I expected, with people I’ve known my whole life treating me like I’m a completely different human.
In the middle of all that, there he is.
My asshole brother.
“Congratulations, Gidge,” Gaz says with this shadow-tinted smile on his face. I bristle at the sound of his voice, using my father’s presence by his side to help control my temper. Cat is watching me so goddamn closely right now. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m sure that you are,” I grind out, wondering if it wouldn’t be too much for me to dig Queenie’s knife out from under my dress so I can stab Gaz with it. You killed my sisters, I think as I stare at him. I haven’t seen my brother since I got that text from Grey, but I’ve done my absolute best to bury the thought. Now that I see him standing here, at my wedding, when my sisters cannot be … oh man, violence has never tasted so pretty on my tongue.
“I’m proud of you, girl,” Cat says, but I just stare right back at him, eye to eye, a neutral expression on my face.
“For what?” I ask politely, and he curses at me.
“You know damn well what,” Cat snaps, turning to Beast and putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s yours now, Catcher. Hope you know what you just got yourself into. Eighteen years of being a royal pain in my ass, and all I can say is: thank God that’s over.”
He takes off as Nellie moves over to join us, staring at her husband’s back before returning a beaming smile to me. I don’t fully trust her yet. I doubt that I ever will. But at least we’re both trying and that means something, doesn’t it?
“You look beautiful today,” she tells me, reaching out to put her hand on my cheek. I wrinkle my nose as she kisses my other cheek, but I allow the contact. If for no other reason than to avoid making a scene. “Your sisters would be so proud.”
“Please don’t say that,” I mumble, because I can’t handle talking about Queenie and Posey right now. Not with Gaz inside this room with me. Not when I miss them so much I could take that knife and plunge it through my own heart, just for the faint possibility of seeing them in some sort of afterlife.
