Page 148 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
I can’t see him; he’s just limned by light. But I can feel him. I wonder what he’s thinking? How he feels right now?
“Crown,” I start, but he puts up a hand.
“Please don’t,” he says, and his voice, it’s far too rough for me to argue with. He’s clearly struggling with a lot of emotions. So I say nothing, leaning back against the wall for support and keeping my legs tightly squeezed together.
Beast comes back in fairly short order and Crown steps aside, letting my husband take his place.
I accept the bag, kneeling down on the floor to dig through it until I find the period panties I packed. They’re designed to catch and hold a heavy flow, so I figure they’ll work great for this. I may or may not have brought them with me with this exact moment in mind. I’ve also got those white leather pants that Sin mentioned, along with Beast’s jacket.
I offer him his cut back and swap it for the long-sleeved leather instead. The pageantry of accepting his cut at the altar was nice, but I’m not riding a motorcycle with bare arms. Never again. Also, for comfort’s sake, I slip Queenie’s knife into my pocket and switch the Magnum’s thigh holster out for a shoulder holster.
It’s a lot, moving all of these weapons around, but I refuse to be caught with my pants down.
I mean, I’ll be caught with my thong torn off, that’s fine, but like, metaphorically, I refuse to be without weapons for even two seconds.
“Don’t let me die out there today,” I tell Beast, stepping forward and allowing him to take my head in his hands.
“I won’t,” he promises, and then he’s kissing me again, working his tongue between my lips with slow certainly, with a fraction more restraint than he had before our quick fuck. I can only imagine what secrets our wedding night will hold; he still feels coiled, poised, a red-blooded male that needs to mate.
After he’s kissed me breathless and left me reeling, Beast pulls me from the closet by the hand. He keeps me close, hooking a possessive arm around my waist before leading me over to the door where Crown is waiting. He opens it and steps aside, waiting for us to exit the church before following after.
The crowd outside is massive, flanking both sides of the road. A sea of lesser demons gathered together before the pits of hell. They look it, with their tattoos and leather, their piercings, the hardness etched into each and every face. Man, woman, or child, it doesn’t matter.
The life digs its claws into your soul; it marks you; it owns you.
No matter where you go or what you do after, it’s a part of you.
Down the center of the road, there’s a line of motorcycles, their chrome accents shiny in the sunlight. They may as well be red-eyed stallions for all it matters, Luciferian beasts pawing at the ground with sharpened hooves.
And today, it’s all for me. It’s all mine. My dark parade.
Cat is waiting at the head of the procession. Beast’s bike is just behind his, waiting for us. Beyond that, Crown’s bike sits empty. Grainger is already on his, followed by Sin. They watch me as I approach with Beast, climbing up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist.
It’s tradition around here to take a ride through town after a wedding.
Only … I’m not sure it’s a particularly good idea today. But Cat insisted.
I get the feeling that this is part of his plan, my wedding as a political tool.
Glancing back, I watch as Crown slides onto his seat and Sin offers a thumbs up for Cat.
We’re ready to ride.
Most of the wives and all of the children stay behind today as the sea of bikes comes to life like the roar of a demon horde; the sound of it reverberates through my bones, making my blood boil, making me burn.
We take off as one entity, out the front gates and toward town.
Sin is the mastermind of our route, the invisible guiding hand as we find our way to the edge of Ashbury. There are Daybreakers on either side of the street, waiting and watching. They’re all armed to the teeth, too, anticipating a retaliatory attack from the Grey Wolfe Mafia.
I watch them as we pass, my body wrapped around my husband’s, my senses on high alert.
As we weave through the streets, I take note of the buildings around us, the neighborhoods that we pass through. We’re not just celebrating a wedding here; we’re marking our territory. Claiming it the way Beast just claimed me in the church.
This is a pissing match, one that Cat intends to win.
We finish our rounds, heading back to the compound without incident.
That’s the part I don’t like.
When we park and Cat climbs off his bike, he seems pleased, like he’s won some small battle today. But I know better. Because I lived with the mafia for three months. Because I saw the way the Don’s eyes took in every little detail, the way he planned, the way Grey planned. Everything is calculated, right down to the minutiae.
