Page 96 of Bleed Me

Justice tried to muffle laughter, but it was heard. All heads turned to her.

Lynx, with a sleeping Rhett over his shoulder, snarled from a captain’s chair. “Oh, go ahead, have a good laugh. We missed an episode of SOA.”

Now I was laughing. “A bunch of bikers are sitting around watching a bunch of actors pretending to be bikers on TV?”

Lynx shrugged. “Elle thinks I look like Jackson.”

All surrounding brothers grumbled about an ego that needed to be checked.

Still laughing, I asked, “Where is Elle?”

Lynx sulked. “No Jax, no ass.”

At that very perfect moment, Rhett let one rip, right next to Lynx’s face. He glared at us both. “You assholes have made my club a laughingstock with your gassy hellions.”

Justice cooed as she walked to him. “Let me have my Ice baby.”

Ice, Ice, Baby started singing my brothers.

“Is that puke on my cut?” bitched Lynx, even though the word was he didn’t share Ice very well when we were gone. In fact, he was a bit of a hog over the little man. He played tough, but we all knew the truth. He wanted a Junior so bad he could taste it.

Grabbing Gracie from Dagger, I said, “Thanks, Pops.”

I’m not sure when that name became my go-to with Dagger. I guess with the kids, he took that grandpa role since he was such a father figure for me. Either way, it felt right, and he never objected.

Our bedroom had become a little on the overstuffed side since adding two cribs, but we made it work. After getting her GED, Saph was taking college courses. She was loving being a mother but also loving the freedom we offered so she could also make a life for herself. Her goal was full independence. Even though she knew I would never give up responsibility, nor stop paying for my kids, she thrived with all the possibilities life had finally offered her.

After we would drop off the babies back to Saph, Justice and I fucked like mad rabbits, making up for lost time. God, I loved her like crazy.

My Old Lady was a planner with her biker boys. They made it from point A through Z without a hitch, ever. But planning a wedding, it seemed to make her skin crawl. Hence it not happening yet. So, I enlisted the other women I knew, who happen to be heavy hitters in the ‘girlie’ department—Elle and Saph. I even got Jamie to help.

“Me?” She sat at one of the small tables, her fingers passing through long blonde hair that finally had grown back after being so ruthlessly shorn from her head by the sickos who had abused her.

Saint smiled, no longer needing to point out the nervous habit she had developed about pulling at the hairs on her head now that they had grown to a length she was happy with. “I think this is a great idea!”

As if nodding to a past conversation these two had recently had, she set her shoulders back and faced me, her hazels beaming with pride. “Giver, this would be an honor. Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”

From behind the bar, Elle dipped her chin to me with respect before handing a new Prospect a tray of dirty beer mugs and shot glasses from the night before. I wasn’t sure about the young man. Gracie didn’t seem keen on him. That was a warning sign for me.

No wedding rings or tattoo bands on Justice’s or my ring fingers, we were advised. For rivals who didn’t know better, we didn’t want any of them linking Justice and me. It was a recipe for disaster. If in the middle of a gunfight or some sort of turf war, an enemy learned who Justice was to me, they could take me to my knees with one blow. I refused to put a mark on her back like that. Her job as an Officer was dangerous enough. And, since she was a known sister of our President, her going down could cripple two Stallions at once.

Two birds. One stone…

Justice only had a few requests for Elle and her helpers when it came to the wedding. “No pink shit. No high heels. My boots or nothin’. No wedding games. Gag me.”

Elle complained, “Can it at least be a sunset wedding, or do you prefer machine guns?”

Justice clucked her teeth. “Smartass. Oh! And no bachelorette party bullshit.”

Happy as Hell my girl wasn’t gonna be sucking on dick straws or going to male strip shows, I shrugged, telling the girls, “I can agree to those terms. I just want my woman to be happy.”

Justice added, “And he ain’t havin’ no bachelor party.”

“Huh?” I almost squeaked.

Bikers spit out their shots.

“Are you shitting me?”