Biker's Bride (Demons MC)

“That’s a big accusation,” Larkin said, sitting back and sighing. “Makes this war fucking harder.”

“Sorry. Thought you should know.”

“Yeah, well, glad you told me. Anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it.”

He nodded. “Enjoy your last night as a free fucking man then, Ford.”

I stood up. “You got it, prez.”

“Bright and early tomorrow. We’ll marry your ass off and move on.”

I grunted at him, turned, and walked back out into the clubhouse.

I had no plans to go home. Let the fucking pledges watch over Caralee for the night.

I got another whisky at the bar, smashing it back. I was going to get good and drunk with the fucking boys. I couldn’t face my wedding day without a hefty fucking hangover, that was for sure.

Even if that wedding day was with Caralee, the only woman I’d ever consider shacking up with.

Chapter Nineteen: Caralee

Every girl dreamed about her wedding day.

Maybe that was a cliché, but I didn’t care. Maybe she didn’t obsess about it, but every girl thought about it from time to time.

When I imagined my wedding day, it was always outside. I saw friends and family all sitting on cute white chairs while I walked down the aisle in a beautiful white dress. Daddy would give me away, but he’d be sober, reformed. My husband would be strapping, handsome but kind, and not at all a drinker.

I never imagined that I would be in the bathroom of a biker bar changing into a borrowed dress with a girl I’d met only two days before.

“How’s it going in there, honey?” Janine asked.

“It’s tight,” I said, taking a deep breath and squeezing myself into the dress. “Really tight.”

“Supposed to be, sweetie,” she said. “Got to show off the goods, make Ford know what he’s getting.”

I sighed. I didn’t want to make Ford know anything. I didn’t want to be in a grimy toilet stall shoving myself into some totally revealing and inappropriate black dress.

That’s right, a black dress. Because, according to Janine, bikers didn’t wear white. It was black or nothing.

I managed to get the thing on and zipped and stepped out, looking at Janine uncertainly.

“I’m practically falling out of it,” I said.

“Oh damn,” she said. “Damn. Girl, you look hot.”

I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. The dressed showed off way too much cleavage and clung to every inch of my body. But I had to admit, I did look good.

I looked really damn good.

I couldn’t help but start laughing. Janine stood next to me in the mirror, smiling.

“I know it’s not what you probably pictured,” she said, “but for what it’s worth, you look good.”

“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it. Janine didn’t have to help me get dressed, didn’t have to stand in as my maid of honor, but she’d shown up and had even brought a dress.

And she seemed to get it. She understood that this marriage thing wasn’t what I wanted, and she wasn’t acting like it was the happiest day of my life. I was grateful for her all over again.

“So,” she said. “I have one final question before I start on the hair and makeup.”

“What’s that?”

“The kiss. You ready for it?”

I laughed. “I’ve kissed a man before, Janine.”

“Sure you have, but never a man like Ford, and not on your wedding day.”

“I think I’ll be okay.”

“Okay, sweetie. Whatever you say.” She began to unpack her makeup kit, her straighteners, hairspray, and more—practically an entire beauty arsenal.

“Do you know what you’re doing with all that?”

She grinned at me. “You just relax. I went to beauty school.”

“Really?”

“Sure. For a few weeks. Dropped out, but I was there.”

I frowned. That did not make me feel confident. But she was already yanking, prodding, and pulling at me. I decided just to go with it. How bad could it possibly be?

Two hours later, I looked like a prostitute.

Okay, maybe not that bad. But my hair was teased out, my makeup was heavy, and I felt like I was just one pair of insanely high heels away from getting propositioned on the street.

Janine disappeared to get us both a drink, and I sat there in her little folding chair, looking at myself in the mirror. I could barely recognize myself, and I had no clue how I had gotten to where I was. The path seemed insanely foggy, the events all too fast. And yet there I was, staring at myself in the mirror on my wedding day.

There was a knock at the door. “Come on in,” I called out. “Right on time. I could use that drink.”

“I hear that.”

I looked over, surprised. Standing in the doorway was Ford, grinning at me. He was wearing a suit, no tie, the dress shirt left open. Around his neck was a small necklace with the Demons MC logo in gold.

“Holy shit,” I said.

He looked good. Really damn good. I was shocked that he was wearing a suit, but there it was.