Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)

I kiss her trembling lips and feel the warmth of it right through to my soul. Breaking away, I stand and help Bronte to her feet. “I hope you can see this, brother. I hope you can see how happy she makes me. And I promise you, Cooper, I’m going to look after her and make her just as happy.”

I close my eyes and let the pain pass through me before opening them again as more thunder rumbles in the sky above us.

I look at Bronte. “Ready to go home.”

“Yes.” She smiles. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s like the last piece of the puzzle just fell into place.”

I have to agree.

Walking away from the grave, I protectively wrap my arms around her and press a kiss to her hair.

I’ve never felt so in love in my whole life as I do in this moment. I just hope that somewhere, wherever he is, Cooper can feel it too.

Climbing on my bike, I guide Bronte onto the back, and when she wraps her arms around me, I bring the Harley to life. Up ahead, the dark clouds give way to a pocket of late afternoon sunlight casting biblical rays onto the road.

I smile contently. I like to think it’s my brother sending us his nod of approval as we leave the cemetery behind us and ride toward an unknown future.

JACK

Four Months Later

The collar of my shirt is scratching my neck, and I can barely breathe, so I pull at it to loosen it, taking in a deep impatient breath to calm my nerves.

“Will you stop attacking that collar like it’s a noose,” Faith says, slapping my hands away and fixing my tie. “Anyone would think you’re about to walk the green mile. Why are you so nervous?”

We’re standing in the church vestry, waiting for my bride to arrive. And I’m restless as fuck.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Then what’s with the grabby hands?”

“I just want to see Bronte.”

I haven’t seen my girl in more than a day. Not since I dropped her off at Faith’s house, and it’s killing me. It’s the longest I’ve been without her since the day she turned up on her grandma’s step.

Turns out, I hate it.

But she’s insisting we do this right.

Seems my nontraditional girl wants an incredibly traditional wedding.

Whereas I wanted to wake up with my girl in my bed next to me on our wedding day. But because she’d been riding my cock when she brought it up, I wasn’t thinking straight when I agreed. “I want to do this the right way,” she’d said, swallowing my cock with her sweet pussy and slowly riding it as she seduced me into agreeing to whatever the hell she wanted.

Say what you like about it, I don’t give a goddamn. I know I’m a slave to my queen’s pussy, and I’m not afraid to admit it. I spent far too long denying myself the pleasure, and I’ll spend the rest of my days making up for lost time.

“Relax, will you. You’re going to see her in a matter of minutes,” Faith says.

“She’s here?”

“Abby just messaged me. They’re in the car on their way. So, you can quit with your craziness.” She shakes her head. “You’re meant to be the president of a motorcycle club, but you’re acting like a teenage boy about to pop his cherry.”

“Not a lot rattles me, but being away from my girl does,” I say, checking my reflection in the full-length mirror. “How do I look?”

I’m dressed in a suit and tie, something I haven’t worn since my granddaddy’s funeral ten years earlier. I didn’t wear one to my first wedding—couldn’t afford it—so I’d worn my best flannel shirt instead. Now things are different, and I wouldn’t have them any other way.

My sister turns me to face her, and a beautiful smile softens her lips. “You look very handsome.” She’s one of Bronte’s bridesmaids and is in a shimmery silk dress with wildflowers in her hair. But because she organized the event, she came ahead to make sure everything’s running smoothly.

Shooter appears in the doorway with an open bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. “How you doin’?”

The look on my face must tell him I’m feeling impatient because he offers me the bottle, but I shake my head. My queen deserves me sober as a judge today.

Faith, on the other hand, takes the bottle and skulls before handing it back to Shooter.

“Have you got the rings?” she asks him.

He’s my best man.

Shooter pats the front of his suit jacket. “Safer than the crown jewels.”

The door opens again, and Bull walks in—The Kings of Mayhem president who reigns over all the chapters. Dressed in a tailored black shirt and black pants, he looks more like a ruthless CEO than the king of kings. He’s wearing black aviators because his acute colorblindness makes his eyes sensitive to light. Behind them, his eyes are the color of the brightest sapphires and are almost unhuman. Dolly calls them unholy.