“Mason is back. You didn’t lose him,” she says, laying her hand on my knee. “Why won’t you see that?”
“Because I know eventually, I’ll lose him anyway. It’s easier to keep myself distant from him. You don’t know how much I struggled in the foster homes. You don’t know how much I wished I would have died in that car accident with my family. Mason made the little bit of love I had for life worth it.”
She lays her head on my shoulder, and the breeze takes the moment to sweep by. Her long hair dances, and the smell of her shampoo hits my face. It’s that cheap shit, Suave, but it smells so fucking good, like strawberries and cream. She could have the most expensive shampoo, and all she says is, “nothing makes my hair shine like this.”
Good, because I’d miss the scent of her.
We sit there not saying a word to one another, just enjoying the peace and the sun against my face and my girl by my side
That’s when it hits me.
It’s quiet. There isn’t a sound. It’s just the wind picking up dust and a few vultures overhead.
The silence isn’t bothering me, but it’s still speaking volumes. It’s still fucking loud.
And it’s saying what a lucky sonofabitch I am.
I wrap my arm around Mary, my biggest pain in the ass ever, and pick her up to set her on my lap. “Just don’t die, okay?”
“You deal with death every day,” she says, pressing her lips against my cheek.
“Yeah, but I can get over those deaths.” I close my eyes and relish in the feel of her red pouts against me, the softness of the plump flesh grazing against me. I know it won’t be the last time I feel her, I’ll make sure of that, but it feels like it.
With what Seer said, with the threat of her dad, it’s hard for me to stay positive.
“You saying you won’t be able to get over me, Thomas Underwood?”
I groan when she uses my full name. I haven’t been called that since I was fifteen. “Come here.” I turn her around so she can face me, the damn breeze taking another opportunity to blow her hair, so I catch it, holding it down so it doesn’t get tangled. I want a picture of her like this. It reminds me that we have no pictures together, and if we do, it’s with the rest of the club, and we are as far away as we can be from each other.
We always fought to stay away, but now we have to fight to stay together.
And one kiss changed everything.
“I’d never be able to get over you, Mary. You need to know that—”
“Knives…”
“Look at me.” I grip her chin in my hand and force her to. “I can get over a lot of things. I have and I always will, but not you. When all this is over, and you’re back right here where you’re meant to be—” I grab her ass for good measure, making sure she understands me, “—You’re going to be Mrs. Underwood.”
She gasps and then slaps me across the face. Mary covers her mouth with her hand, and water sparkles in her eyes.
“Ow, Hellraiser.” I lift my hand to my cheek and rub it.
Next, like the crazy ass woman she is, she smashes her lips against mine.
She’s going to give me whiplash from not being able to make up her damn mind and what she wants to do to me. She rears back and slaps me again, my cheek blazing and my cock hard. I fucking love it when she makes me insane. “It isn’t funny. Don’t joke like that. Plus, you know it’s too soon—”
“I’m not laughing, am I? I’m not kidding, and I don’t give a fuck if it is too soon. We live in Vegas. I’ll marry your ass on the strip, in front of Elvis and everybody. Tomorrow. I don’t give a fuck.”
“You’re serious?”
“Deadly.” It’s way too soon according to society and normal people standards, but fuck society. They have never done a damn thing for me anyway. There is one thing I have in a drawer in my room. It’s a plastic bag, pushed all the way in the back. It holds my parents’ wedding rings. They’re the only items I have from them. They’re all I have left of them.
Oddly enough, my dad’s ring fits me.
And I’m going to wear it.
Mom’s engagement ring was simple, a teardrop diamond on a rose gold band, but I can see Mary wearing it. It suits her. I’ve saved the rings all these years, not having the heart to part with them, and this is why.
“I could slap you again.”
“You better not unless you want to get bent over and fucked,” I say, my cheek still tingling from her palm.
“I’m sorry, I was shocked, and I had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”
“You usually pinch yourself if you think you’re dreaming, Hellraiser.”
“Yeah, but what fun would that be?”
There she goes, checking all my damn boxes and driving me mad. I smash my lips against hers, diving my tongue inside her hot mouth, and this time the kiss is sweeter. My beard rubs against her chin, and my palm slides down her throat, getting a semi-hard hold, so she doesn’t move.
I bring the kiss to an end and lay my forehead against hers, panting. “You going to marry me or what?”
“And if I say no?” She leans back, her lipstick smeared, so I bring my finger up and wipe it off from her chin. I like it when she’s all fucked up and messy because I know I did it.
“Too fucking bad. You’re going to marry me anyway. I was only asking to be nice.”
She tosses her back and falls back in my arms, laughing at my response. I slide my hand up her spine and make her come back to me, chest against chest. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her laugh finally dies down. “I guess I have no choice in the matter, do I?”
“Nope,” I state.
“Then marry me tonight.” She ups my ante, trying to see if I’m bluffing.
“Tonight it is, Hellraiser.”
No one will take my wife from me.
I’ll claw tooth and nail, peel flesh from bone if someone dares.
She’s my fucking Hellraiser, my Pandora’s Box of fucking emotions.
This wedding has to happen now because in the back of my mind, in eleven days, I might not have that opportunity.
Holy Crap. He asked me to marry him.
I think I said yes. I’m not sure. I wouldn’t say no. I’m just surprised. We have known each other for a while, but we have only been lovers for a few days. If my parents knew what I was up to—well—I guess that doesn’t matter, because they no longer matter.
This matters. Knives matters. The Ruthless Kings matter.
My home matters.
“We’re getting married!” Knives hollers as we walk through the door of the clubhouse, and everyone, I mean everyone, including the dogs, stare at us with open mouths. It’s comical.
And it’s making me nervous, because no one looks happy, but no one is mad.
Well, Reaper doesn’t look too thrilled.
Crickets.
This is awkward. I know it isn’t the best timing, but a little amount of support would go a long way right now. “Knives, maybe—”
“No,” he cuts me off and grips my hand tighter. “I’m marrying her, and I know all of you assholes think it’s a bad time, but what better time is there than right now? With all this fucking shit going on, all I want to be is happy. She makes me happy, and I want to live my fucking life before we do go after her father—”