Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)

“Brother,” he says as he hugs me. “Thought I’d check in and see how you’re feeling. You ready to do this?”

“More than ready.” I smile.

Bull has been to nearly every big event in my life. The fact he and the rest of the Mississippi Chapter have ridden up for the wedding means a lot. They’re already seated and probably making the reverend’s ears bleed while they wait.

“Then let’s do this, shall we?” Faith says, picking up her cell and shoving it down the front of her dress. “The bridal car has just pulled up the front.”

“That thing better be on silent,” Shooter says, nodding to her cleavage as she walks past him.

“If it’s not, you have my permission to turn it off,” she says with a seductive wink.

Lately, those two have been giving off weird vibes, and I’m wondering if there’s something going on—they’re supposed to hate each other, but that hate has been very suggestive lately.

I ignore them and walk into the church where everyone is waiting. A loud hum rises over the crowd. There are whistles and catcalls, even some clapping. The room is packed with bikers and their old ladies, even a few of the club girls are here at the insistence of Bronte. Brandi and Candi wave excitedly from a pew near the back.

Up the front, Bam and Loki wait for me, both looking uncomfortable in their suits.

The heavy scent of magnolias and lily of the valley lingers in the air while a gigantic colored-glass window beams dapples of light onto the altar where we stand. I struggle to swallow. I’m not nervous, I just want to see my wildflower.

The church door cracks open, and a flood of sunshine spills in. Faith enters first, followed by Abby. There is a pause—the longest of my life—and then Bronte appears with her grandma at her side, a halo of sunshine glowing behind them.

Overcome with sudden emotion, my face cracks, and I let out a harsh breath. She’s so goddamn beautiful. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my tears at bay. I let them fall as I watch my bride walk toward me, a vision in white holding a bunch of flowers in front of her. There’s no veil, simply wildflowers woven into her beautiful blonde hair. I can’t take my eyes off her, barely able to believe that this angel is mine.

Her dress is a shimmering sheath of silk falling over her curves and dipping low at her back. It’s simple and elegant and does nothing to hide the heavy curve of her stomach. She’s five months pregnant with my son, and my insides swell with pride when I think of her carrying my baby.

She sees I’m crying, and she starts to cry as well.

Christ, what this woman does to me.

When she reaches the altar, I don’t wait. I take her sweet face in my hands and crush my lips to hers. I inhale deeply, drinking in everything that is her.

“Whoa, we’ll get to that in a minute, son,” the reverend says, gently prizing us apart.

The crowd of guests laughs, but I just stare at Bronte in awe. I’ve never seen her look as beautiful as she does right this second, and that’s saying something.

She looks up at me with her big blue eyes, and my insides turn to mush. I barely hear what the reverend says. I simply want him to hurry up and make her my wife.

Of course, I stumble on my vows before securing the crown pendant around her slender throat. And when Bronte starts crying again, I start fucking crying again too.

Somewhere in the crowd, someone else sniffs back tears. I glance over at Bam and Loki and seeing the emotion on their faces, I struggle to swallow.

“Jack,” Bronte says, starting her vows. “I never believed in soul mates. Never believed in true love. And until I gave my heart to you, I never believed in fairy tales. You aren’t my prince charming, but you are my king. I love you, and I give you my heart now and beyond the day I take my last breath.”

Fuck it.

I don’t wait for the reverend to pronounce us. Instead, I take her face in my hands and kiss her with more emotion than I thought any man could have.

The crowd erupts.

The reverend shrugs. “I guess I now pronounce you husband and wife?”

I end the kiss and drop my head to Bronte’s.

“I love you, husband.” She smiles through her tears.

“I love you, wildflower.”

And I will.

Until the end of fucking time.