Page 206 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Tonight, the entire team were dressed like waiters at a Beverly Hills restaurant. God was shedding his jacket and tie the second the reverend said, ‘I now pronounce you married.’

Fox stood near the bar in the same tux as him.

Bull was beside him, huge in a dark dress shirt and new tan cowboy hat. He had one arm braced on the bar as a woman in a flowy, yellow summer dress read to them from the paper attached to her clipboard.

Most of God’s team stood a few feet from the bar.

Furi of course stood out in his groomsman tux, his long champagne-gold hair braided back in an elaborate style by Bull’s housekeeper.

“Sasha,” Day called, lifting his glass. “Cheers.”

Ro turned slowly and faced him. “Call me that again.”

“Awww, don’t be like that, Sasha,” Michael sing-songed.

“I hate all of you.”

Johnson slid an arm around Ro’s waist and kissed the side of his head. “I love your name.”

God’s good friend Judge—Michael’s life partner—was having a conversation with Duke and Quick nearby, all three of them dressed nicer than God had ever seen them.

They’d brought a few of their bounty hunters too, men God and his team had crossed paths with over the years on streets.

Quick lifted his glass toward God. “Congratulations on your new careers. I’ve heard of West Security. They’re the real deal.”

God accepted the toast, tipping his beer bottle against Quick and Duke’s raised tumblers.

Their old captain had come too, along with a handful of officers from the precinct and a few of Hart’s SWAT team.

Mason was there with one arm around Jesse’s shoulders, the other holding his glass of whisky while they stood in line with the people waiting on their turn to ride one of the horses.

Day and the guys were talking about getting together for the upcoming holiday, something here on the ranch before the year ended, when a ripple of commotion started near the entrance.

At first, God thought it was the carriage for Curtis.

He peered through the cluster of guests and saw the stretch SUV limo— glossy black, huge, and expensive—rolling up the long drive.

It stopped near the edge of the lawn, and the driver climbed out to open the rear door.

Law stepped out first in his black suit, and Wes followed behind him, wearing denim and a black suit jacket over a white collared Polo shirt.

Behind them, Cassidy Morrison unfolded from the vehicle in a dark suit with that guarded, steady presence before he turned back toward the open door and offered his hand.

Xander Vale climbed out into the glow of the ranch’s overhead lights.

God heard before he saw it—the sharp inhales. The frantic whispers.

A few people moved, then caught themselves, as if trying not to swarm him, or to not act like one of the most famous men in the world hadn’t just arrived at a family wedding in rural north-central Georgia.

Xander wore a fitted cream suit with a faint shimmer in the fabric, not flashy, just enough for the sunset to kiss it every time he moved. His shirt was pale gold silk and open at the throat. His brown, blond-streaked hair was brushed back in glossy waves and tucked behind his ears.

He seemed strong. Healthy. Bright-eyed.

In love.

Cassidy stood at his side like a wall with one hand resting against the small of Xander’s back.

Rid made a sound that might’ve been a gasp, a curse, or the beginning of a cardiac episode.