Page 72 of Sweet Revenge for the Bikers

“It’s a long drive home,” Riptide points out.

“Yup, we should probably get on the road soon.” I’m driving my car back. As much as I like riding on the back of their motorcycles, I waited a lot of tables to buy my little piece of junk, and I’m not ready to give up the freedom it brings.

His grin is pure sexy menace. “I was thinking more along the lines of this is the last chance you have to fool around in your childhood room.”

“No…”

Mad Dog cocks his head. “He’s got a point.”

“No…?”

Rebel raises an eyebrow.

I grin. Without saying a word, I spin on my heel and sprint to the back of the house. Three sets of booted feet pound the floor behind me. An arm goes around my waist, scooping me up and carrying me the rest of the way. I burst out laughing as I’m tossed on the bed and bounce.

Riptide is on me in a flash. He slides his fingers into my hair and kisses me hard. I moan into his mouth, and someone starts tugging on my jeans. If Dad could see me now—no. Ew.

I rip my mouth away with a gasp. “Does anyone have a condom?”

“Who do you think we are?” Rebel asks.

Right. I hooked up with the sexual health Boy Scouts.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

39

MELODY

The courtyard in front of the clubhouse is bathed in sunlight, glinting off all the motorcycles parked there. It’s a hot day, but a breeze picked up today, just enough to make it bearable, which I’m going to take as a good sign. Everything points to today being an amazing day.

I sent an invitation to Dad, but I’m not surprised I never got a reply. I’d just feel bad if I didn’t at least try. It’s okay. Just because my blood isn’t coming doesn’t mean I’m not surrounded by family, and by now I consider everyone in the Screaming Eagles family.

It took forever to find a dress I liked, not made easier by the fact that I hardly ever wear a dress to begin with, so when Sandra suggested that I dress up in a way that felt comfortable instead, I kind of jumped on the opportunity. I can look sexy for the guys even if they’re going to have to work a little to get into my pants afterward, as she put it.

My skintight jeans are new, just worked in enough to fit well. My motorcycle boots, a representation of the culture that brought us all together, make me look just bikery enough to make it clear where we are. A fitted V-neck T-shirt, pale pastel pink, exposing a little belly and low cut enough to show off a little cleavage, should keep their eyes on me. I’m wearing a silver chain around my neck that they got me for my birthday. It’s formed like a very fine drive chain, and there are three silver motorcycles that hang like little pendants. And underneath, my lingerie is black and the same pale pink as my shirt, which I’m sure they’re going to love peeling off me after the ceremony.

We’re getting hitched. For real. Well, not for real as the city hall sees it, but in the way that matters—the way the club sees it. I’m becoming their old lady and they’re becoming my old men, even though we’re all still somewhere in our twenties. And since it’s nice out, we’re doing it outside.

It’s been a whole fall, winter and spring since I moved in here, and over that time, Sandra, Mila and Rory have become my core team, the group of friends I always wished for as a kid, but never had. The kind that I feel I can tell anything without judgment, and hope that they feel the same way about me. I think they do. When I told them we were making it official, they became the three-person expert support team to help us get everything set up.

They made sure Chef was available to cater it, with four giant grills set up outside, and enough coolers of beer to drink a whole army under the table. They put up decorations, with balloons, and flowers and even a huge banner with Rebel’s, Mad Dog’s, Riptide’s and my names on it, linked together in an elaborate arrangement. And they made sure everyone knew to block off the day in the calendar so that we’d have a good turnout. And we do, though I bet I can blame the weather for that too.

Riptide is the first to spot me coming down from Emily’s house, where Kaylee did my hair and makeup, making me the prettiest me I think I’ve ever been in my life. Sandra suggested a more dramatic look, but much as I love her style for her, I’m glad I trusted Kaylee in this case.

He waves to me and smiles from where he’s standing with Rebel and Mad Dog. And Eagle-eye, who’s the master of this ceremony as the standing president of the Screaming Eagles MC. He made sure I used the whole title last time we talked, though I think I’m starting to know him well enough to identify his dry sense of humor. He thought it was extra amusing because he was sitting at the time.

Riptide nudges the other two so they turn to look, and if you’ve never felt the intensity of three head-over-heels bikers looking at you like you’re the sun rising after six months of rain, then I heartily recommend it. I’ve never felt as beautiful in my life. They’re one step away from one of those old cartoons with big beating hearts, wolf howls and tapping feet.

As soon as I’m close enough, Rebel wraps me in his arms and pulls me close, careful not to mess up my hair.

That comes later.

“You look fucking beautiful, Mel.”

Riptide and Mad Dog agree enthusiastically and it’s love bombing of the good kind. The earnest kind that doesn’t expect anything in return. Not that they don’t deserve it.

“You boys clean up nice too.” I run the flat of my hand up Mad Dog’s chest, feeling the contours of his muscular torso through the tight black T-shirt. The neck is wide enough to expose a nice amount of smooth skin and hangs off his broad shoulders like it was sculpted to him.